DC: All for One Chapter 12 — One Month: Part 2 (Patreon)

Five Iron Row dealers lounged on a sagging leather sofa in the back corner of a  warehouse where the  crates  created makeshift walls around their spot. Empty beer bottles rolled on the concrete floor near their feet, and lines of powder sat cut on a glass table in front of them. Two women knelt between the men's legs, heads bobbing on their cocks while the dealers leaned back with eyes half-closed. Another girl sat on the armrest, passing a joint around while laughter mixed with low groans.

One dealer, a skinny guy with tattoos crawling up his neck, snorted a line and wiped his nose before he spoke. "Boss been acting straight loopy lately. Man spit some acid or something at Rico last week over eight grand. Eight grand. Melted the dude's face right off."

The heavy guy next to him getting his dick sucked just grunted and pushed the girl's head down harder. "Long as the money keeps coming, I don't give a shit what he does. Boss gets results."

A younger one with fresh track marks on his arms shifted uncomfortably. "Results? He killed Vince for bringing bad news. Shot him point blank. I'm thinking about jumping to Falcone crew. They pay good and don't melt your face for talking."

The others laughed loud enough to make the girls pause. Neck-tattoo guy grabbed the scared kid by the shirt. "You jump ship, you die slowly. Kieran finds rats and feeds them to the pigs till there's nothing left but bones. Stay put and collect your cut."

The heavy guy pulled the girl off him and slapped her ass. "Enough talk. Line these bitches up. Time to fuck."

They started shoving the women toward the sofa cushions while dropping their pants and grabbing their asses, when a faint scrape came from behind the crates.

Heavy guy turned his head first. "The fuck was that?"

A figure stood there in complete black tactical gear that covered every inch, bulletproof vest strapped on with pouches on the belt and a plain black mask over the face. Ethan drew a long combat knife in one smooth motion and stepped forward. The blade sank straight into the heavy guy's temple before anyone registered the movement. Blood sprayed across the sofa as the body slumped sideways. Ethan raised a suppressed pistol in his other hand and fired four quick shots that punched through chests and heads of the next three dealers in sequence. Blood exploded across the leather and concrete while the fifth tried to scramble up with pants around his ankles.

The women screamed as bodies hit the floor. One tried to run but slipped in blood and fell.

Ethan holstered the pistol and grabbed the nearest girl by the hair, yanking her up to her knees. "Where is the stash," he growled out, using Voice imitation to sound like a demon he'd watched in a film. 

"W-we don't know anything, please, we just—" She stuttered through tears and snot.

He drew the pistol again and pressed it under her chin. The other girls sobbed harder.

"Sticky Ricky," one blurted out. "He runs this spot. He knows where everything is."

"Where is he."

"Upstairs office, end of the catwalk, please don't kill us." Ethan threw her down hard enough that her head bounced off the concrete. He holstered the gun and moved toward the hallway that led deeper into the warehouse. He walked fast through corridors lined with stacked product, knife in one hand and pistol in the other. Two guards rounded the corner smoking and joking. Ethan shot one in the throat and stabbed the second through the eye before the body hit the ground.

A third guard further down saw the bodies and managed one loud scream of "Intruder!" before Ethan put two rounds in his chest that dropped him.

It seemed that Ethan hadn't managed to silence him in time as shouts echoed through the building as dozens of Iron Row members grabbed weapons and converged on where they heard the shout. Ethan reached the main stairwell where six men rushed down with bats and pistols raised towards him. He activated wall-crawling and ran straight up the side wall, avoiding the first wave of bullets that chipped concrete where he had been. From the wall he dropped onto them slamming both feet into the centre man and rolling forward off him, clipping the other two with his gun mid roll and grabbing another one; with hyperadrenal active he lifted him by the head and whipped him around like a piece of paper blocked several bullets form the other two and also snapping his neck at the same time. 

He tossed the man down and charged the other two. However they had already made it to the stairs and turned and fired wildly. One bullet grazed Ethan's shoulder, burning through the vest edge. He charged forward, tackling the shooter and driving the knife up into his stomach again and again, before flipping him over his back. 

The final man swung a bat that caught Ethan across the ribs. Ethan absorbed the hit, grabbed the bat, and yanked the man close before headbutting him again and again until the nose collapsed. He finished with a pistol shot to the head.  More footsteps thundered from below. Ethan reloaded quickly and moved up to the walkway that ran above the main warehouse floor. Metal grating shook under running feet as fifteen gang members spread out below and on the catwalk.

"Spread out! Flush the fucker!"

"Light him up!"

Bullets sparked off railings and crates as Ethan sprinted along the walkway. He vaulted over the side and slide down the wall, before pushing off it and jumping behind three shooters who were focused forward. They all turned the moment he did, Ethan grabbed one of their guns by the barrel and held it towards one of his friends letting him fire prematurely, he then ripped iit out of his hands and spun around using the full momentum of the swing to smash it across the others face. The gun hit him so hard his spine collapsed and his neck twisted sideways. 

"You fucker!!! I'll kill—" 

Bang

Before he even finished he had been shot in the head by Ethan, who didn't even spare him another glance as he turned a group of five who were charging him from the opposite direction with bats and machetes in their hands. Ethan met them head on, blocking a machete with his forearm guard, grabbing the attacker's wrist and snapping it backward before stabbing him in the throat.

Another bat caught him across the knee that buckled his leg momentarily. He rolled with the hit, came up firing, and dropped two more with headshots. The last swung a chain that wrapped around his pistol arm. Ethan yanked hard, pulling the man off forward, then drove his knee into the face three times until teeth scattered across the grating, but he wasn't done there as he grabbed the man and lifted him up with two hands before body slamming him again. 

The sound of thudding boots alerted him that he wasn't yet done. Ten more members formed a firing line with rifles and shotguns. Rounds tore through the the spot where Ethan stood he moved and ducked behind a stack of product. 

For the first time he activated size adjustment, he grit his teeth in pain as his body expanding rapidly until he stood over eight feet tall and weighed close to 350 kilograms of dense muscle. In this form not only was he much stronger, but hyperadrenal worked a lot better. 

He leaped from his spot and cleared near thirty feet as he landed on the wall. He then boosted forward running along the wall as bullets fired at him until he jumped down crashing down onto two shooters and crushing them beneath his weight. Bones snapped audibly as his feet landed on their chests. 

"What the fuck!?"

"Kill him!!!"

"Help!!!!"

He lunged at the nearest gang member and caught the man by the chest. With one hand he lifted the shooter and slammed him upward into a low-hanging steel beam. The metal rang with a dull thud and the man's spine snapped before he hit the ground. Ethan turned his head as a volley of fire erupted from behind a stack of wooden pallets. He did not take cover. He sprinted directly into the hail of lead and his vest ansorbed the small-caliber rounds with little more than a flinch, though a few managed to hit him in other places. 

He reached the pallets and kicked the entire stack. The heavy wood crates flew forward and crushed the two men hiding behind them against the warehouse wall. Ethan did not stop to watch them fall. He jumped and latched onto a vertical support pillar. He used his grip to swing his massive weight around the pole and launched himself toward a catwalk where a sniper was reloading. He caught the edge of the metal railing and pulled himself up in a single motion. The sniper screamed and tried to swing his rifle like a club. Ethan caught the barrel and bent the steel tube into a horseshoe shape with a single squeeze. He then grabbed the sniper by the belt and tossed him over the railing. The man fell twenty feet and landed on the floor with a wet thud.

Below him the remaining gang members scrambled for the exit. Ethan dropped from the catwalk and landed in a crouch that cracked the floor tiles. He stood up and saw a man trying to start a forklift to use as a ram. Ethan reached the vehicle before the engine could fully rev. He placed his hands under the frame of the forklift and heaved upward. The several-ton machine tipped onto its side and pinned the driver underneath the heavy chassis.

The last three men in the room dropped their weapons and backed away toward a wall. 

"Listen man we give up!"

"Yeah, please man I don't wanna fight you!"

"Take whatever you want, I don't give a shit about Ricky!"

Ethan walked toward them and reached out and grabbed two of them by their shirts. He smashed their chests together, the force of the collision stopped their hearts instantly. The final man fell to his knees and begged for mercy. Ethan looked at him and then he drove a massive fist into the man's face. The blow sent the survivor skidding across the warehouse floor until he hit a brick pillar and went still. Ethan stood in the center of the carnage while the adrenaline hummed in his ears.

Breathing heavyily in his enlarged form, Ethan deactivated his ability and shrank back to normal size, no one was left now so he climbed the final stairs to Ricky's office. Blood dripped from multiple wounds, but none would be fatal so he didn't need to worry about it. 

The office door stood guarded by two men with automatic weapons. Two shots was all it took and they were down and laying across the door for Ethan to step over. 

He kicked the office door open.

Sticky Ricky sat behind a desk counting cash stacks, pistol in front of him but eyes wide at the blood-soaked figure in black. "Who the fuck are you?"

Ethan stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "A Saviour," he said in the demonic voice. Before he rushed forward and cleared the space between them in two seconds. Ricky tried grabbing his gun but his hand was instead impaled to the table. 

"AHHHHHHHH!!!!" Ricky screamed as tears formed in his eyes. "You MOTHERFUCKER!!!" He tried grabbing the gun with his other hand just for Ethan to grab his hand before he could do so.

"IM GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!!!" Ricky spat as he tried pulling away from him.

Ethan held the hand firmly in place on the desk and twisted the knife still embedded in the first one, grinding the blade against bone while blood pooled around the handle. Ricky howled again his body jerking forward as pain shot through his arm. Ethan released the free hand only to seize Ricky's thumb and bend it backward until the joint popped out of place with a loud crack.

Ricky thrashed in the chair, sweat pouring down his face while he shouted through gritted teeth. "You think you can walk in here and do this? Iron Row will hunt you down! Boss will melt your fucking bones!"

Ethan ignored the threats and grabbed another finger, snapping it sideways with a quick jerk that echoed in the small office. Ricky's screams rose higher, echoing off the walls. Ethan leaned in closer as he twisted the broken finger further. "Keep talking."

Ricky bucked against the restraints. "I'll gut you myself! You hear me? I'll find your family, your friends, and make them watch while I—AH FUCK!" His words cut off as Ethan took the knife out of the impaled hand and stabbed it through the other palm, pinning it beside the first. Ricky's threats devolved into sobs mixed with curses while he stared at his ruined hands. "Please... stop... you crazy fuck... what do you want?"

Ethan pulled the knife free again, wiping the blade on Ricky's shirt before he grabbed the man's pinky cut it off. Ricky convulsed in the chair, his head slamming back against the headrest. "Okay! Okay! What do you want? Just tell me!"

"Where are the money and weapons stored in this warehouse?" Ethan asked. 

Ricky panted through tears, nodding frantically toward a door behind the desk. "Back room... through there... safe in the floor under the rug... weapons and money in crates marked 'parts'... keys in my pocket..."

Ethan released the man and reached into Ricky's pocket, retrieving a key ring. He stood and moved to the door, unlocking it to reveal a storage area filled with shelves and crates. He pulled back the rug in the center and found the floor safe, which he opened with one of the keys. Inside lay bundles of cash and ledgers. He checked a nearby crate labeled 'parts' and lifted the lid to expose rifles and ammunition packed in foam as well as another which had the cash.

He returned to the office where Ricky slumped in the chair, hands bleeding freely onto the desk. "Thank you," Ethan said calmly.

Ricky looked up with hope flickering in his eyes. "That's it? You got what you want?"

Ethan shook his head and holstered his pistol briefly. "Give me the addresses of all the stashes and hideouts you know of."

Ricky hesitated, swallowing hard while blood dripped from his fingers. "I can't... they'll kill me if I...please, don't make me."

Ethan stepped forward and grabbed Ricky's ear, twisting it until cartilage tore. Ricky screamed again, body arching in the chair. "Okay! Stop! I'll tell you!" Ricky rattled off addresses one after another—warehouses in the harbor district, apartments in the East End, safe houses scattered across the narrows, while Ethan noted them mentally. When the list ended, Ethan released the ear and drew his pistol once more. He pressed the barrel to Ricky's forehead and pulled the trigger without hesitation. The shot echoed in the office, brain matter splattering the wall behind the chair as Ricky's body went limp.

Ethan holstered the gun and lifted Ricky's sleeve where an Iron Row tattoo marked the skin on his forearm. He drew his knife and cut around the design carefully, peeling the section free in one piece that he folded into a plastic bag from his belt pouch.

Iron Row tattoos indicated rank within the organization through specific designs and placements. Lower members bore simple chain links on the wrist, while mid-level enforcers added spikes or flames. Higher ranks incorporated skulls or crowns, with size and detail denoting authority. Ethan had struck five different Iron Row hideouts and warehouses over the past week, collecting eight tattoos from higher-ups he eliminated. He preserved each in a formalin solution, labeling them with dates and locations. He did not fully understand the compulsion to keep them, yet the act felt necessary.

Ethan gathered the cash from the safe into duffel bags he found in the storage room, then loaded crates of weapons onto a dolly that he wheeled to the loading dock where his van waited. He transferred everything inside, stacking boxes securely before he planted shaped charges at structural points throughout the warehouse. Timers set, he drove a safe distance away and detonated them remotely. Explosions ripped through the building in sequence, flames erupting into the night sky as walls collapsed and the roof caved in.

He headed back into the city, van blending with traffic while he planned the next targets from Ricky's list. Iron Row's downfall accelerated with each strike, and Ethan moved closer to the purge he envisioned.

_____________________________________

Gordon stood in the middle of the smoldering wreckage where the warehouse had once stood on the edge of the harbor district, and surveyed the scene while officers moved around him with flashlights still pulling things from the wreckage. Charred beams lay twisted on the ground, and debris scattered in piles that forensics teams sifted through carefully. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand while he listened to the reports that came in from various officers who approached him one after another.

One sergeant handed him a clipboard with notes scribbled on it and said, "Commissioner, preliminary sweep shows all victims were killed before the explosion went off. Gunshots, stabbings, blunt force trauma, just like the other locations we've been at this week."

Gordon nodded as he scanned the list of body counts and wound descriptions. "And affiliations?"

"The same all Iron Row, sir," the sergeant replied while he pointed to gang tattoos visible on some of the less burned corpses. "No survivors inside, but we've got IDs on a few already from priors."

Gordon handed the clipboard back, "Any witnesses?"

Another detective stepped up with a notebook in hand that he flipped open. "Yeah, a few women who were... entertaining the dealers. They didn't have much beyond what we've heard before, a tall figure dressed in black tactical gear. One said his voice sounded like a demon."

Gordon rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger while fatigue settled deeper into his bones. Five different places now known to be Iron Row hideouts or stash houses had been hit over the past week, with everyone inside slaughtered before the buildings were destroyed. If it wasn't for a few witnesses giving consistent descriptions of a single assailant, he would have assumed the Falcones were making a play to wipe out the competition entirely. But no, this was someone else operating alone or with minimal support, someone who left no traces that pointed to any known player, though he also couldn't rule out a hired gun. 

They were at a loss, no fingerprints lifted from any scene, no viable DNA that forensics could separate from the mess of blood and tissue, no camera footage since the explosions took out any systems. They had no leads whatsoever, not unless you counted Harvey's crazy theory that Ethan Kane, the kid living under his own roof, masterminded it all; Gordon dismissed as obsession born from grief over Renee.

He sighed heavily and pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. "Seems I picked the wrong week to quit smoking."

One of the officers nearby shifted uncomfortably but said nothing while Gordon lit it with a match from his coat. He took a long drag before he looked over to the sergeant, "Where's Detective Bullock? He should be here by now," he asked.

The sergeant checked his radio quickly, "Haven't seen him yet, Commissioner. Last I heard, he was doing paperwork back down at the station."

Gordon growled in his throat and exhaled smoke that curled into the night air. "Fine... damn lazy bastard. Gather any evidence you can find, shell casings, fragments, anything that survived the blast. Get forensics down here immediately to process what's left. Start bagging the bodies and transport them to the morgue for full autopsies."

The officers nodded and dispersed to carry out the orders, shouting instructions to teams that continued to clear the rubble.

Gordon turned back to the central crater where the main structure had collapsed when a soft thud sounded on a wrecked car frame next to him. He spun around expecting to see Batman emerging from the shadows. Instead, Robin perched there in his red and green suit.

"Where's the boss?" Gordon grumbled out in a tone ruder than he had intended.

Robin laughed lightly and flipped backward off the car to land on his feet. "Whoa, someone's grumpy tonight. Rough day at the office?"

Gordon just looked at him with annoyance etched on his face and took another drag from the cigarette.

"Didn't you quit smoking?" Robin asked while he crossed his arms and leaned against the car frame.

Gordon grumbled again and stubbed the cigarette out on the ground with his shoe. "Where's Batman?" he asked for the second time.

Robin shrugged casually. "Busy. If you haven't noticed, Gotham's a little hectic right now."

Gordon snorted and walked over to the edge of the rubble where charred remnants of crates smoldered. "No kidding. This is the same as the others. Someone hit the place hard, killed everyone inside then blew it sky high. Witnesses gave us the usual, tall guy in black. It's the sixth site tied to Iron Row in a week. Over 68 deaths total, and our informant says 5.4 million in stolen cash plus enough weapons to level a building."

Robin whistled softly and pushed off the car to follow Gordon closer to the wreckage. "Someone must really hate them. Or maybe one of the other gangs hired outside help to speed things along."

"That's what I was thinking," Gordon commented while he kicked at a loose piece of metal that clattered away. "Has your boss kept tabs on mercenaries in town lately?"

Robin snorted in response. "Who do you think we are? Amateurs? Yeah, KGBeast rolled in a couple weeks ago, sniffing for contracts. A few others too, mostly low-level hitters from Blüdhaven and Metropolis."

Gordon hummed thoughtfully and crouched beside one of the bodies that officers had dragged out from under debris. The man's sleeve had been rolled up, revealing a patch of skin where an Iron Row tattoo had been carved away cleanly. "From the other sites there were always a few members who had a piece of their skin carved out, more specifically a tattoo."

Robin knelt beside him and examined the wound with a grimace. "Creepy. You think he's collecting trophies?"

Gordon nodded and stood up, brushing dust from his pants. "We're still searching what's left of the building, but if this matches the pattern, we won't find much. DNA's a cocktail in there, blood from dozens mixed together, and half these guys aren't even in the system. No prints, no fibers, nothing usable."

Robin straightened and scanned the ruins with a practiced eye. "I'll take a look around see if I can find anything." He moved off toward the collapsed sections, leaping over barriers and climbing remnants of walls. He poked through twisted metal and charred wood for several minutes, flipping debris aside and checking angles from higher vantage points on the remaining scaffolding.

After a thorough search that yielded nothing new, Robin returned to Gordon and shook his head. "Zip. The explosion did its job, wiped any trails clean. Boss isn't gonna be happy about this."

Gordon crossed his arms and stared at the horizon where city lights flickered against the dark sky. "Tell him we're on the same page. Whoever's doing this knows how to cover tracks. If it's a merc, it's one we haven't seen before."

Robin nodded and fired his grapple line and disappeared into the dark. "We'll keep eyes out. Stay safe, Commish." He swung away into the night, leaving Gordon alone with the teams that continued processing the scene.

Unknown to commissioner Gordon, Robin landed on a rooftop nearby a massive grin on his face. What the commissioner and the rest of the police seem to have missed was the tyre tracks that lead out of the warehouse. To be fair it could be forgiven as there were quite a few cars going in and out, but Robin had been keeping track of each tire track across the five different warehouses that had been hit. 

there were a lot of cars a lot left duplicate tyre marks, but at this site he had finally narrowed it down enough to know the type of vehicle it was and hopefully what make. 

A grin formed on Robins face as he managed to get a model number of the van that was used. He then checked the security camera footage on his wrist terminal. He could track where the van went now even if the cameras were a blur. 

'Barb is gonna be pissed when she finds out who her Prince Charming is,' he thought with a laugh as he launched another grappling hook.  

...

While Commissioner Gordon stood down by the harbor surveying the smoldering ruins of yet another Iron Row warehouse, Harvey Bullock remained at the police department downtown where most colleagues assumed he caught up on overdue paperwork. In reality, he pursued something far outside protocol, something Gordon would never approve of if he knew. A life hung in the balance and Harvey could not wait for warrants or bureaucracy any longer.

Harvey stepped out onto the rooftop access door that led to the roof above the precinct, he pulled his jacket tighter around his bulk to fight the biting cold wind that whipped across the open space. He grumbled under his breath while he paced near the edge, hands shoved deep in pockets as he scanned the shadows between air conditioning units and satellite dishes. "Come on, already. How long does a guy gotta freeze his ass off up here? I ain't got all night."

He checked his watch for the third time in five minutes, breath fogging in the chill air, and muttered more complaints about unreliable contacts and Gotham weather. Minutes dragged on until he finally threw his hands up. "Screw this. He's not coming." Harvey turned toward the door to leave, boots scraping on the gravel.

Batman stepped out of the shadows directly in front of him.

Harvey jumped back with a startled yelp his hand instinctively dropping to his holster where his gun waited. "Jesus Christ! You trying to give me a heart attack? Warn a guy when you show up like that, you winged freak!"

"You wanted to meet," Batman said bluntly.

Harvey grumbled as he straightened his jacket and caught his breath, his heart still pounding from the scare. "Yeah, well, manners ain't your strong suit, are they? You're a hard man to get hold of these days."

"I've been busy," Batman replied without elaboration.

Harvey grumbled again under his breath about cryptic vigilantes and their attitudes, but he composed himself quickly while he reached into his coat for the thick file he had prepared. "Fine, you're here now. Gordon ain't with me. He wouldn't agree with what I'm about to do, and that's why I contacted you instead."

Batman turned fully toward him, his white lenses fixed in a way that encouraged Harvey to continue.

Harvey handed over the file while he started talking, flipping pages as he went to highlight sections. "Now there's a lot to unpack here, but I'll narrow it down for you. I think Ethan Kane is involved in multiple felonies, homicide in both third and first degree, kidnapping, assault on a peace officer, domestic terrorism, and a bunch of other charges that would bury him for life."

Batman took the file without immediate reaction and opened it to scan the contents. "Explain," he said.

Harvey grunted in satisfaction that Batman at least listened without dismissing him outright like Gordon had. "It all started with Creedence Upshaw. Mid-level drug dealer for Iron Row, found murdered in an alleyway in the East End. That alley sits only a ten-minute walk from Ethan's apartment building, and if you look at the map I marked in the file, you'll see the quickest route between Gotham Academy and his place runs right past it."

"I see," Batman replied.

Harvey held up a hand. "Wait, there's more. Flip to the next section. Eric Davis, also known as the Apostle—high-level enforcer for Iron Row, suspect in dozens of murder cases we could never pin. He was going around questioning people, trying to track down whoever killed Creedence. Around the same time, me and Renee figure Creedence might've died in a deal gone bad, so we need his client list to follow leads."

Harvey paced a few steps. "That's the day she went missing. Renee heads to Creedence's apartment to search it, and I never see her in person again. But there's a massive explosion at the building that night, and dental records confirm Eric Davis died in the blast."

Batman remained silent.

Harvey stopped pacing and faced him directly. "Can't you see what happened? Someone else had to be there. Eric was a meta-human. Renee couldn't have taken him alone, no matter how good she is. And if Eric grabbed her, he wouldn't end up dead in his own apartment. There had to be a third person in that room."

"Ethan Kane," Batman said blankly.

Harvey nodded vigorously. "Exactly. I know what you're thinking... but hear me out. Ever since we interviewed him at the academy, every piece of evidence connecting him to the Upshaw murder vanished. First the client list disappears, then the explosion at City Hall wipes out the server rooms with all the surveillance backups."

Batman closed the file slowly. 

Harvey opened it again immediately and jabbed at another page. "They sent a full hit squad to his apartment building and murdered his parents in their own home. But why target him specifically unless Iron Row knew he killed Creedence? Then they hit him again right after he leaves the station. And now, right now, a lone figure in black is tearing through Iron Row hideouts across the city, killing everyone inside before blowing the places sky high."

Harvey took a deep breath and waited for Batman's reaction, hands clenched at his sides while the wind tugged at his coat.

Batman handed the file back without a word at first, then spoke in that same tone. "You're an excellent detective."

Harvey blinked in confusion as he took the file. "What? Come on, don't patronize me."

Batman turned slightly toward the city skyline. "I never lost access to the city's CCTV network. I maintain backups separate from GCPD servers. The figure who bombed City Hall matches Ethan Kane's height and build exactly. I also recovered exterior footage from his apartment building the night of the attack, a normal student does not escape a professional hit squad by jumping from a fourth-story window without hesitation."

Harvey's eyes widened as excitement built. "So you see it too! That means you'll grab him, right? Bring him in for questioning?"

Batman shook his head. "The priority is finding Renee Montoya. Cornering Kane now risks pushing him to kill her if he believes he has no options left."

"What about Jim? Harvey said with slight concern. "He's staying in his damn house! His whole family is at risk."

"Everything he has done has been in order to keep himself anonymous and to cover up his crimes, he won't expose himself in front of the Commissioner, nor will he try to hurt his family," Batman replied. 

Harvey deflated slightly but pushed back. "What about surveillance? You said you can still watch the city feeds. Track his movements through them."

Batman walked toward the roof edge. "Kane carries a device that interferes with cameras when active. He activates it randomly, making patterns impossible to predict. The larger issue is transport. He collects money and weapons from these sites, loads them into a vehicle, but enters and exits off-camera every time. When the device deactivates, he's indistinguishable from normal traffic."

Harvey rubbed his chin. "I see. So what are you gonna do about him?"

"Nothing," Batman replied. "Ethan Kane is low priority at the moment. My focus is on the Falcone family, they just hired KGBeast and Deadshot. I need to determine why and intercept before they act."

Harvey's face reddened with anger. "Low priority? Renee's been missing for weeks! You can't just—"

Batman cut him off. "Robin will handle surveillance on Kane and leads toward Montoya. He can manage it without my assistance."

Before Harvey could argue further, Batman fired his grapple line into the night and swung away, vanishing between buildings in seconds.

Harvey stood alone on the roofwith the file clutched in his hand while anger simmered alongside a small spark of relief. Batman believed him at least enough to assign Robin. 

But that wasn't enough.  

Renee was a friend. 

He would do anything for his friends. 

That meant he had to do something he never thought he'd do. 

...

Harvey Bullock waited in the shell of an abandoned textile factory in the Narrows, the kind of place where homeless people stayed in and drug deals happened on the regular. He stood near the loading dock doors with his arms crossed over his chest, coat open despite the chill that seeped through the broken windows. Two uniformed officers flanked him both men who had ridden patrol with Renee Montoya for years and who had grown increasingly restless as the weeks dragged on without a single solid lead on her disappearance.

Ramirez shifted his weight from one foot to the other and kept glancing toward the open bay doors. "This is a bad idea, Harvey," he said. "If the commissioner finds out we're meeting with Iron Row leadership without clearance, we're all looking at suspensions at best. Internal Affairs will bury us."

Patel snorted and adjusted the grip on his service weapon, which he hadn't holstered since they arrived. "Shut up, Ramirez. We've been sitting on our hands for over a month while Renee's out there somewhere. No leads, no witnesses, no nothing. If this gets us closer to finding her, I don't give a damn what Gordon thinks."

Ramirez opened his mouth to argue again, but Harvey cut them both off with a sharp gesture. "Enough. Both of you shut up." He kept his eyes on the cracked asphalt outside the loading bay. "If Gordon finds out about this meet, I'll take full responsibility. I'll say I ordered you here under direct instruction and that you followed protocol. You two just nod and keep your mouths shut. Clear?"

Ramirez exhaled through his nose but nodded. Patel gave a curt jerk of his chin.

They waited in tense silence for another minute before headlights swept across the interior of the factory. A black SUV rolled slowly through the open bay doors. Iron Row symbols were stenciled in white on both front doors.

The vehicle stopped ten feet from where the three men stood and the doors opened.

Kieran Deloe stepped out first, flanked by four lieutenants who immediately fanned out with hands resting on holstered pistols. Kieran wore a dark leather jacket over a black shirt, scars visible across his cheeks and neck even in the darknessa. He walked forward until he stood five feet from Harvey, his gold teeth glinting when he smirked. "You wanted to talk, Bullock," Kieran said. "So talk. I don't like being summoned to shitholes like this."

Harvey didn't flinch. "You've been getting hit pretty hard lately. Warehouses ransacked. Money and weapons stolen. People killed before the places get blown sky-high. Six sites in one week. I know you know who's responsible."

Kieran's smirk vanished. His scarred face twisted with rage. "You think you can stand there and talk about my business? Yeah that little fucker's been bleeding us dry. You got something to say about it, or did you just want to piss me off?"

Harvey kept his arms crossed. "Ethan Kane isn't going to stop until he kills every last one of you and tears  Iron Row apart. He's patient. He's smart. You never know when or where he'll strike next. You can't guard every stash house, every safe spot, every dealer on the street."

Kieran took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Get to the point, cop, or I'll paint this floor with all three of you."

Harvey didn't move. "I have a way to get him."

Kieran paused the scowl slipping from his face and interest flickering in his eyes. "I'm listening."

"Ethan's targeting Iron Row," Harvey continued. "But there's one target he won't be able to resist. You. If you spread the word through your people and let it leak that you'll be at a specific location on a specific night he'll come for you. Then you can set up an ambush. Your crew takes him down."

Kieran stared at him for several seconds. A slow, ugly smile spread across his scarred face. "And what do you get out of it, Bullock? You're not exactly Iron Row's biggest fan."

"When you've got him hurt enough to stop fighting," Harvey said, "you call me, I'll be waiting nearby and I'll show up with twelve officers. We take him into custody. Officially."

Kieran laughed harshly m. "No. That kid's dying. He insulted Iron Row. Humiliated us. He doesn't get cuffs and a nice comfy bunk. He gets a bullet in the head and my fist up his ass."

Harvey's eyes hardened. "I don't care if he lives or dies. But I need information from him before he does. After that... people die in lockup all the time. I'll also look the other way on your activities for a while."

Kieran studied him for a long moment. Then he laughed again, this time louder with genuine amusement in the sound. "Goddamn. I didn't expect ruthless from a cop like you. You're dirtier than half my crew."

Harvey didn't smile. "I don't have much of a choice."

Kieran nodded slowly. "Fine you got yourself a deal detective, I'll soften him up for ya just don't forget what you said." He turned and walked back to the SUV without another word. His lieutenants followed they for in the car and slammed the doors. The engines revved and they disappeared into the Narrows.

Ramirez let out a shaky breath and holstered his weapon with trembling fingers. "Jesus Christ. I feel like I need a shower."

Patel stared at the empty doorway. "We just made a deal with the devil to find Renee. I don't know how to feel about that."

Harvey felt worse than either of them. His stomach churned. He had crossed lines he never thought he would cross, lines that would end his career and possibly land him in prison if anyone found out. But Renee had been gone for over a month. Every official channel had failed. Every warrant, every lead, every tip line.... nothing. If this was what it took to bring her home, he would live with the consequences.

He turned to the two officers. "It's time to go."

They walked back to the unmarked car parked behind a stack of rotting pallets. Harvey climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled out onto the cracked street without looking back. 

He had done the easy part, now all he had to do was tell one other person.

_____________________________________

THUD

The knife left Ethan's hand with a flick of the wrist, cutting through the air before thudding into the corkboard. It buried itself deep, the tip piercing right through the center of a photograph pinned over a map of Gotham. The photo showed a dilapidated warehouse in the Iron Row district, the fifth one he'd hit this week.

Ethan stomped down the last few stairs, his boots echoing against the concrete. His chest was heaving, his lungs burning, he was once again suffering the effects of the prolonged use of Hyperadrenal. He reached up, grabbed the bottom of his tactical mask, and ripped it off his head in one violent motion. He didn't care that his hair was a matted, sweaty mess or that his face was flushed. He threw the mask onto a nearby workbench and kept walking toward the board, his eyes locked on the map.

He stared at the five locations he'd already gutted. He'd taken their money and enough hardware to arm a small army. Assault rifles, crates of ammo, high-grade explosives. By all accounts, he was winning. But as he looked at the map, he felt a knot of pure frustration tightening in his gut.

"It's not enough," he muttered.

Iron Row was just a drop in the bucket. They were small-time thugs, the kind of guys who thought they were kings because they controlled a part of the docks. If he was going to make a real dent, if he was going to take on the Falcones or the Maronis in the future he needed to be more efficient. He needed a bigger lever to pry Gotham apart.

"You're making a mistake," a voice said from behind him.

Ethan didn't turn around. He knew exactly where Renée was. She was sitting on the edge of the cot in the glass-walled cell in the corner of the basement. Ethan didn't answer her. Instead, he reached for the buckle of his tactical vest. He undid the straps, letting the heavy, ceramic-plated armor fall to the floor with a clunk. He followed it with his shirt, peeling the sweat-soaked fabric away from his skin.

His body was a map of its own, a brutal showing of the week's work. His pale skin was mottled with deep, purple bruises where his vest had caught the blunt force of high-caliber rounds. But the vest hadn't caught everything. On his shoulder, there was a ragged hole where a stray 9mm had hit him and come out the other side, and another, deeper puncture in his side where a bullet had buried itself in his muscle.

"What mistake am I making?" he asked emotionlessly.

He pulled a rolling stool over to a metal table cluttered with gauze, tweezers, and bottles of antiseptic. He sat down heavily, the plastic of the stool creaking under his weight. He didn't look at Renée as he picked up the tweezers. He focused on the wound in his side, his breath hitching slightly as he probed the broken skin. He found the lead fragment and pulled it out dropping it into a metal tray.

He didn't reach for the antiseptic. Instead, he stuck a couple of cotton buds into his mouth, swirling them around until they were soaked with his saliva. He pulled them out and pressed them directly into the open wounds. Almost instantly, the bleeding slowed. It stung like a swarm of hornets, but within seconds, the edges of the holes began to dull into pink, new scars.

"The way you're doing this," Renée said, her voice echoing in the small room. She stood up and walked to the glass, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You're going to get yourself killed eventually. You're one man, Ethan."

"Possibly," Ethan replied, dabbing another swab against his shoulder. He watched the skin bubble and close in the reflection of the glass cell. "But if I were afraid of dying, I wouldn't have made it this far."

"Is that what you want?" she challenged, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. "To die fighting some low-level gang? Because I don't think you do. I don't think you're that simple."

Ethan stopped what he was doing. He looked up, catching her gaze through the transparent barrier. "What would you know about what I want, Detective?"

"I think I know a little about you considering how much time we've spent together," Renee replied. 

"Is that right..." Ethan said in an emotionless voice.

"I know you think you don't relate to other people," she said. "You see us as some sort of alien race. You're an overachiever. Likely a prodigy. You've probably found everything in your life easy, and you've spent every waking second bored out of your mind because nothing was ever a challenge."

Ethan leaned back in his seat, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "Not very hard to discern. Most prodigies find themselves bored. It's the curse of genius... I'm not the first to have experienced this."

"True," Renée nodded. "But then you killed Creedence. And the moment you did that, it was likely the first time you actually felt alive. The events that followed, like staying one step ahead of the GCPD, fighting metahumans it thrilled you in a way you've never felt. I'd even go so far as to say that your life never even started until that moment in the alley."

Ethan sat in silence for a long time. He could hear the hum of the dehumidifier and the distant drip of water from a pipe. "What's the point you're trying to make?"

"You want meaning," Renée said firmly. "You want your life to have some kind of substance, but you're not doing it the right way... let me help you."

Ethan didn't speak. He stared at the tweezers on the table, considering her words. He'd kidnapped this woman, kept her in a box like a prize, and yet here she was, trying to save his soul. "You seem to be going through a lot of trouble for someone who kidnapped you," he finally said.

"I don't think you're a bad person, Ethan. Not deep down," she said, and for a second, he almost believed her. "Like you said before, you never meant to kill Creedence. It was an accident. And everything you've done since then has been about protecting yourself, about survival."

"What about now?" Ethan asked, gesturing toward the board. "What about the sixty-eight counts of first-degree murder I've racked up this week? Are those accidents too?"

Renée didn't flinch. "No one will miss those men. If you ask me, the city is better off without the Iron Row gang. But you can't keep going on like this. Look at your body. Look at how hurt you've gotten. If one of those bullets had been six inches higher, if it had hit your head, it would've been over. Your 'meaning' would be a stain on a warehouse floor."

She stepped closer to the glass. "You have enough evidence on that board to sink the rest of the warehouses. You've got the ledgers, the manifests, the locations. Bring the cops into this, Ethan. Give me the files. I can call in a coordinated raid. We can end this gang for good, the right way. I'll speak for you. I'll tell them you were instrumental in the operation. I can get you a deal. It's not too late to change the ending of this story."

Ethan sat there, crossing his arms over his bare, scarred chest. He listened to her talk, watching the way her eyes lit up with hope. "You know," he said slowly, "one of the reasons prisons are designed the way they are is to deprive inmates of mental stimulation. It's why so many of them resort to mindless exercise, or why they form gangs. Humans need stimulation. Without it, the brain starts to eat itself. You lose your sanity because there's nothing to push back against."

Renée stood still, her body tensing. She could feel the shift in the room, the way the temperature seemed to drop.

"My entire life has felt like I've been in a prison, the outside world is so boring," Ethan said, a small, genuine grin spreading across his face. It wasn't a happy smile; it was the smile of a shark that had just spotted a drop of blood. "And you want me to voluntarily go to a place where I'd have even less stimulation? You want me to go back to the boredom?"

Renée opened her mouth to argue, her hands coming up to gesture, but Ethan spoke right over her, his voice growing louder and more intense.

"This is the most fun I've had in my life," he said a wider smile blooming on her face. "I don't want it to stop. In fact, I hope it gets worse. I hope things start to spiral out of control. I want it to get harder. I want to be challenged. I want someone to come for me who gives their everything just to try and beat me. That struggle... that's what gives my life meaning."

Renée's hands dropped to her sides. She looked at him, really looked at him, and the hope died in her eyes. She'd been trying to build a bridge for weeks, trying to find a spark of humanity she could use to negotiate her way out. But looking at the grin on his face, she realized it was hopeless. 

He wasn't a victim of circumstance. 

He wanted to be in this situation.

Ethan didn't wait for her to respond. He turned back to the table, picking up a fresh bandage to cover the new scars on his side. He was about to reach for the tape when a loud beep echoed through the basement.

He froz and frowned his head tilting toward the bank of monitors on the far wall. He stood up, ignored his half-patched wounds and walked over to the screens.

The security system he'd rigged up around the perimeter of the building was lit up red. Something had tripped the infrared sensors in the driveway. He tapped a key, pulling up the feed from the high-definition camera hidden in the brickwork above the back entrance.

He watched the screen as a shadow moved with impossible grace. It wasn't a cop. It was too small, too fast. The figure flipped over the landing bannister, landing silently on the landing before moving toward the backdoor. The moonlight caught the flash of a yellow-lined cape and the red chest-plate.

"Robin," Ethan whispered. A surge of genuine excitement shot through him. 

"It seems you have a rescuer, Detective," he said, turning back toward the cell as he grabbed a clean black t-shirt and pulled it over his head. "Though it's not the big man himself. The Boy Wonder decided to do some solo work tonight."

Renée's eyes widened, her hands flying to the glass. "Ethan, stop. If Robin is here, Batman isn't far behind. Give it up. You can't win this. No matter what you do here, it won't end well for you."

Ethan didn't even look at her. He reached over and hit the master switch for the basement lights. The room plunged into total darkness, leaving only the faint, ghostly glow of the computer monitors. But for Ethan, it didn't matter. His pupils dilated instantly, his vision shifting into a sharp, high-contrast grey. He could see the dust motes dancing in the air and the frantic rise and fall of Renée's chest. His expanded vision was certainly a boon in situations like this. 

"I certainly hope not," he murmured.

He turned away from her and headed for the back of the basement, where a heavy steel door was hidden behind a rack of tools. This route led through a narrow crawlspace directly up into the master bedroom of the house above. As he climbed the ladder, his mind was racing. How had the kid found him? He'd been careful. He'd had to have identified the van he used, but how and how had he tracked him. 

He stepped out into the master bedroom, and reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular device the size of a deck of cards. He flipped the toggle, and a tiny blue LED blinked to life. It was a wide-spectrum jammer he'd built to keep the Iron Row thugs from calling for help during his raids. Now, it would serve a different purpose. It would cut Robin off from the Dark Knight, leaving the boy without any backup.

A small smile spread on Ethan's face as he heard the door open downstairs.

____________________________________

Robin crouched on the rooftop of a neighboring building, which overlooked the sprawling mansion that he had tracked the van to. He tapped his wrist terminal to pull up property records. He scrolled through the data and discovered that the house belonged to Richard Doothenhall, a man who had fled the country years ago amid sexual assault and kidnapping charges. Richard's son, David Doothenhall, attended Gotham Academy, the same school where both Ethan and Dick had gone.

Robin smiled as he pieced it together, realizing that Ethan must have known about the case from school, and he had chosen to use the abandoned mansion as a base. "Pretty smart," he muttered. "No one would've thought to look here."

"Well, I would've eventually," he chuckled to himself as he flipped off the house he was perched on and swung down a flagpole and landed smoothly on the street below. "I have to tell Barbara about this, it's too good not to," he said to himself, activating his comms with a quick tap. Bruce had wanted to keep all of this a secret from Barbara, since she was actively dating Ethan and couldn't be trusted to be impartial, but it should be fine now. He was about to catch him and send his ass to jail, so the risk seemed minimal.

Robin got Barbara on the comms, and she answered with an annoyed tone. "What, Robin? I'm a little busy here," she said; she was dressed up as Batgirl, fighting a bunch of gang members in a warehouse across town.

Robin teased her lightly. "Oh, come on, Babs. Just thought you'd like to know I'm about to have a little meeting with someone you know," he said, adding a playful edge to his voice.

Barbara, short-tempered from the fight, snapped back. "What are you talking about? Stop being a dick and get to the point," she said as she dodged a swing from one of the thugs.

Robin chuckled. "How could I stop being Dick?" he replied, drawing out the pun with a grin under his mask.

Barbara groaned. "I'm hanging up," she said, her frustration evident.

"Wait, don't," Robin said, getting her not to. "I found the person responsible for all the gang killings this past week, and it's the same person who blew up city hall, I'm outside his base right now," he added, his tone shifting to something more serious.

"Have you told Batman what you're doing?" Barbara asked, her voice laced with concern as she landed a kick on another gang member. Both of them knew that they needed to call for backup when confronting someone on their home turf, too much could go wrong. 

Robin made fun of her. "Oh, come on, Babs, always the stickler for the rules," he said, mimicking her in a high-pitched voice before laughing it off.

Barbara huffed. "I'm hanging up," she said, the sound of her flipping over a table echoing through the line.

"Wait," Robin told her. "It's Ethan, Babs, your boyfriend he's the one responsible," he said, but as he closed in on the house and slipped in through an open window on the ground floor, the call cut off abruptly. Robin frowned as that happened, static filling his earpiece. "Damn," he muttered, before he tried again, but any communications was being cut off, the signal dropping to zero.

"Impressive, a signal jammer, you never said you had such cool toys Ethan..." he said to himself, nodding at Ethan's resourcefulness as he pocketed his comm device. Robin knew that he should go back out and call for backup, since protocol demanded it in unknown situations, but he was too confident, he thought he could handle Ethan on his own, given his training and experience.

He continued onwards, using his mask to activate night vision as none of the lights worked, the green-tinted view illuminating the empty hallways and dusty furniture. He looked around for Ethan but didn't find him. "Maybe he's not here," he whispered to himself. "Could've dropped off the stuff and left," he guessed, since the place seemed deserted.

He continued to look around, checking rooms one by one, after a whole he found himself going down to the basement, where it was incredibly dark, the stairs creaking faintly under his weight; however, he could see the cell at the far end, and he spotted Renee inside it, huddled in her pajamas.

"Oh shit!" Robin said as he rushed towards the cell.

Snap

As soon as he felt it ge realized his mistake, the thin wire snapping under his foot with a twang.

"Son of a bit—"

BANG

A flash grenade went off and completely deafening Robin, the blast ringing in his ears like a siren, though the mask protected his eyes from being blinded, he was still stunned, his balance thrown off as he staggered forward. At the same moment, Ethan dropped from the ceiling behind him, where he had been clinging to the ceiling, and he grabbed Robin by the back of the neck. He then grabbed his utility belt and, using his enhanced strength, ripped it off, though the belt did try and shock him when he grabbed it, sending a jolt through his arm that he ignored.

Despite being deafened, Robin still managed to defend himself, he jumped and tried to flip back and kick Ethan, twisting his body in mid-air. But Ethan caught the other foot and let go of his hand; he then spun and slammed him so hard against the wall that even Renee could hear the snap of bone and the splat of blood on the wall.

"I was expecting more of a fight if I'm honest," Ethan said as he pulled him back by the leg and grabbed him by the throat.

"I'm disappointed," he muttered before lifting him up onto his feet, his fingers loosening just enough to let Robin stand.

Robin stood there, wobbling a little, dazed but he still tried to fight. "Come on," he growled, throwing a weak punch toward Ethan's jaw.

Ethan launched forward with a vicious combo, two punches to his face that he tried to block with raised arms, then a liver shot that doubled him over, before he ended it with a kick to his leg that snapped his kneecap and sent him to the ground in a heap.

Ethan looked down at Robin, seeing that he wouldn't be able to put up a fight anymore. He sighed and walked over to the wall and turned the lights back on.

Renee, finally being able to see, looked on in horror at what Ethan had done to Robin, her face paling as she took in the blood and the awkward angle of his leg.

"What the hell have you done?" she shouted at Ethan, banging on the glass. "Stop this now! You're going to kill him!" she added, her words cracking with panic.

"I will give you credit it is rather impressive that you managed to track me here," Ethan said while ignoring Renee, his focus on the fallen vigilante.

He knelt next to the boy and ripped his mask off, again it gave him a shock that coursed through his fingers, but he was able to power through it, yanking the fabric free. He then looked down at Robin. "Mmmm, Dick Grayson, I recognize you; you go to Gotham Academy, you're a few years younger than me," Ethan said, tilting his head as he examined the face.

A smile spread on Ethan's face as he held his mask, the implications sinking in. "If you're Robin, that likely means Bruce Wayne is Batman," he said, the pieces clicking together in his mind. Ethan laughed a little, something that unnerved everyone in the room, especially Renee, who felt a chill run through her.

"Get away from him!" she still shouted at Ethan, pounding on the glass harder. "Leave him alone, you monster!" she demanded.

"How did you do it?" Ethan asked Robin, leaning closer with the mask dangling from his hand. "How did you find me?"

"Go to hell," Dick said, glaring up at him, his words slurred slightly from the blood in his mouth.

Ethan pulled a gun out of his waistband. "No!" Renee shouted even more, trying to get him to stop. "Ethan, don't! Put the gun down!" she pleaded, her words turning desperate as she slammed her fists against the barrier.

"How did you find me?" he asked again while pointing the gun at his head.

Dick smiled a bloody smile. "You're not as smart as you think you are," he said, his teeth stained red.

"Evidently, if a child managed to outsmart me," Ethan replied calmly, his expression unchanged.He then instead pointed the gun away from Dick and towards the glass where Renee was, the muzzle aimed directly at her.

"How did you find me?" Ethan asked. "Tell me."

Dick paused and looked towards Renee, his eyes widening at the threat. "You wouldn't," he said, his voice hoarse.

Bang

Ethan fired the bullet and it hit the glass, causing a large crack to form that spiderwebbed across the surface.Ethan simply stared at Dick, his gaze unblinking.

Dick hesitated for a moment before he gave in. "I found you by matching the tire marks across all five crime scenes," he said. "Each time you attacked a warehouse, it narrowed down the vehicle that was used," he added, the unique tread designs leading back to an old van registered under a false name, which he had traced to this neighborhood through traffic cams.

Ethan lowered the gun and raised his eyebrows. "Ingenious," Ethan commented. "To think you managed to find an avenue that I hadn't thought of."

Ethan sighed before he picked up his mask again, turning it over in his hands. He looked at it with his expanded vision, using electromagnetic vision to scan the internal circuits and components, the glow of the internal wiring visible to him.

"This is quite advanced technology, but I suppose when you're rich enough, you can make anything you want," he said, tracing a finger along the edge.

While he was distracted with looking at the mask Dick hatched a plan to attack Ethan when he was off guard, tensing his muscles despite the pain in his knee. 'Now,' he thought to himself, ready to lunge for the gun.

But before he could do anything, Ethan grabbed him 

by the arm and started removing all the trackers from his equipment, his fingers deftly locating and yanking out the small devices hidden in the cape, boots, and gloves. He then grabbed him by the throat and knocked him out with a heavy punch, Dick's eyes rolling back as he went limp.

"Let him go!" Renee screamed through the glass, demanding Ethan release him. "What do you plan to do next huh!? This is insane!" she added, her voice echoing in the basement.

Ethan knelt beside the unconscious Dick Grayson and stripped him of his Robin costume, peeling off the cape, tunic, gloves, boots, and pants. He discarded the gear in a pile, then dressed him in plain clothes from a nearby duffel bag. Dick remained limp throughout, his breathing shallow from the injuries.

He stood up and looked around the basement, his eyes scanning the board, the cell, and the scattered equipment. He couldn't stay here anymore; there was no doubt Batman would be able to trace Robin's path here, perhaps through hidden trackers he hadn't found or something else. That meant he needed to move them to a new location. He had a few good candidates in mind, but none that were as secure or well-equipped as this mansion.

"Seems I got my work cut out for me," he said with a grin.

(AN: Was originally gonna do 2 parts but changed it to 3 though 3 might have a lot more words than 8k I'll try and cut down. Anyway hope you enjoyed this chapter.)