100YoP Chapter Seventeen "Can I make a reservation for ambulances?" (Patreon)

Samuel Andrés Reyes/Spider:

The call connected with a click and a, “911, what’s your emergency?”

“Hi, yeah, I have a question.”

“Uh...” the effeminate voice on the other side of the line replied. “Sure?”

“Can I make a reservation for ambulances?” I asked. “Not a long one, but like... I’d rather not get interrupted, so if you could send ‘em in like... ten to twenty minutes, that’d be great.”

“... this is... you do know you called 911, right? Emergency services?” she asked, sounding bewildered. “And what do you mean ‘interrupted’?”

“So no reservation, huh?” I sighed, “Fine, just send help for seven assholes. They’re gonna need critical care, by the way.”

I hung up before she could reply, and I looked up at the seven members of Namond’s army that had followed me into the army. Despite themselves, they looked afraid.

“Right, sorry for the delay,” I said. “I’ve never said this, but this is going to be over quickly. Anyone that feels like not owing the healthcare system for the rest of their lives can fuck off now.”

To my disappointment, none of them took the offer. I kept my face calm, even as I took a fighting position. For all my shit-talking, this was a dangerous situation. I’d left home without a gun, and without my powers a seven-to-one fight had the markings of an actual problem. Especially considering they all had knives and bats.

“You must be the stupidest motherfucker in Gotham,” said the apparent leader, a sumo fighter-looking asshole carrying a bat. “I was wondering what you did to get the Big Man to put a hit on you, but now I’m thinkin’ he just talked to you for five minutes.”

“... pretty much, yeah,” I nodded, “So this is about sending a message?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he mocked. “Big Man said to make a show of it. Break every bone in your body, cut out your eye, that sort of shit.”

“Right,” I said, “Well, when your friends go to visit you in the hospital, you tell ‘em I said Namond can go find me himself if he wants to give me a message.”

They seemed to take that as an invitation. One guy holding a cooking knife rushed towards me, holding the knife in a reverse grip that looked like he was copying a movie. The others stood back and watched, which was inconvenient for the message I wanted to send.

I leaned back a little in preparation, and when he got in range and tried to stab me my hand lashed out, catching his knife hand by the wrist. I pulled my arm back and twisted his wrist in one movement, pulling him forward a little as I put my right foot forward and used the movement to add momentum to an uppercut right at his elbow.

The bone burst out of his skin, and he dropped the knife as he screamed in agony. I let go of his wrist to catch the knife while I twisted my right leg to bring forward my left knee, right into his nuts.

He dropped the ground, writhing and squeaking. I stepped over him, kicking him in the jaw on the way, passed the knife to my right hand and made a ‘come hither’ gesture with my left hand.

“If you want to make things easy on me,” I said, “Feel free to keep coming one at a time.”

They rushed me, brandishing their weapons. The alley wasn’t narrow enough that it was a real problem fighting one-on-one, but it did make them stumble a bit as they all approached, leaving only three getting to me in time.

One holding a knife to my left, two with bats to my front and right. I put the knife in a stabbing grip and rushed forward, towards the Middle Bat Guy.

He took a swing I ducked under, which is harder than it sounds when you’re almost two meters tall. While he was still pulling his arms back from the swing I lashed out with my right elbow, smashing his nose to bits, then tightened my grip as I carved a diagonal line across his chest with the knife.

Right Bat Guy took me by surprise by smashing his weapon into my back, making me stumble, but my focus was on Left Knife Guy as he tried to take a stab at me.

I dodged by tackling Right Bat Guy into the wall, stabbing the knife into his thigh, then turning around and pinning him with my weight against the wall as Left Knife Guy went for me. I kicked him in the balls, buying me a little space while Right Bat Guy struggled to push me off, and made to go forward to continue kicking his ass, but I saw one of the other four guys going for me with a bat.

Before he could finish swinging, I stabbed the knife into his side and left it there to hold the blood flow. While he stumbled back, shocked, I tore the bat from his hands, took a long step forward and quickly spun around, using the momentum to swing the bat harder into Right Bat Guy’s cheek, sending him straight to the floor.

Middle Bat Guy was staring to get up, so I swung the bat into his face like a golf stick, then backed up a little as Left Knife Guy swung for me while the other three started walking forward.

Left Knife Guy approached, so I waited with my bat raised until he swung the knife at me. I jumped back to avoid it, and brought the bat down on his shoulder, dislocating it and making him drop his weapon, then spun the bat into his jaw, breaking it and sending him to the floor.

I walked backwards to keep gaining space, looking at the three remaining fighters. A guy with a bat, a guy with a bowie knife, and Sumo Fighter.

I pointed the bat at them and forced myself to smile, showing as many teeth as possible. “Still feeling cocky?”

Sumo snarled, shoving Knife Guy forward, “Fuck ‘im up!”

Knife Guy seemed a lot less enthusiastic about his odds, but he still ran forward, holding it in a forward grip as he approached. To my surprise, he showed a certain amount of discipline, staying out of my reach as he waited for an opportunity.

I took a step forward and jabbed with the bat, using its length to maintain distance between us, and he stepped back to avoid. I jabbed again, and this time he took the bait, grabbing the bat and trying to pull it out of my grip. I let go willingly, making him use too much force and fuck up his own balance, giving me a tiny window that I used to rush forward, lashing out with my fist.

He ducked under the punch and swung his knife at my abs, and I just barely got my left arm in the path of his cut. He opened a gash down the length of my arm, but before he could get back I lashed out with my left elbow, breaking his nose and making him stumble and fall backwards.

I threw my weight on him, straddling him and punching down at him. Within a few punches, I’d broken his jaw and a few of his ribs, then dislocated his shoulder.

Once I was sure he wasn’t getting up, I looked up and found only Sumo Fighter was still there.

As much as I wanted to believe that I was scary enough that Bat Guy fucked off, I knew my luck too well for that. It only took a few moments to realize where he could have gone, and I turned around to look at the other side of the alley.

Just in time to catch the bat to the face.

My vision went black for a second, and I felt the impact of my body to the floor like a buzz over my brain. Instinct alone made me bring up my arms, just in time to defend myself from another hit from the bat.

My vision cleared up to find Bat Guy, holding his weapon overhead just before he brought it down on my arms, making them sting and grow more and more numb with pain. It was almost a miracle that nothing broke, but it probably would if I caught a few more hits like that.

I dropped my arm, making an exaggerated wince to keep from questioning why I did it. Going from the smile that appeared on his face, it worked.

So he didn’t notice the way I grabbed the bowie knife from Knife Guy’s loose grip, until I was already using it to sever his Achilles tendon, making him cry out in pain.

He fell backwards, screaming bloody murder, and I rolled over, forcing myself to my feet. I crawled towards him, pulled the bat out of his grip, then raised the knife over my head and smashed it down into his hip. His screaming intensified.

I left the knife there to hold the bleeding then punched him in the throat, forcing him to stop and cough.

Once that was done, I turned around. Sumo was there, staring at me with wide eyes.

I grabbed the bat, got to my feet and glared at him as I took a fighting stance.

“Do me a solid and fuck off,” I told him. “I cut up a few bitches already and I’m not afraid to keep the trend going.”

Unfortunately, I said this in a woozy, weak tone that he must have taken as a sign of weakness, ‘cause he just took it as his cue to start approaching, bat in hand.

I sighed, took a deep breath, and forced myself to steady.

Once he was close enough, I rushed forward and weaved around a swing of his bat, smashing my own into his hands.

He let go of his weapon with a curse, and I turned the movement of a bat into a jab into his mouth. He barely flinched, taking hold of my weapon and pulling it out of my grip.

A part of me resented the effect a lack of superpowers was having in my life. Another part of me thought, ‘oh shit, he’s about to bash in my teeth with my shiny new bat!’.

He tried to jab me in the face with it, but I batted it away with a hand and cut the distance between us in a single step, lashing out with an elbow to his face. He stumbled back, but barely reacted besides that as he tried to gain distance to use the bat.

I stayed too close to hit, hitting him with body shots and punches to the face, but he barely reacted. He dropped the bat, choosing instead to grab me by the shoulder and pull at me, sending me crashing into a dumpster and pushing all the air out of my lungs.

I barely had time to wheeze in a breath before he punched me, breaking my nose. A-fucking-gain.

That was like the twelfth time I’d broken my nose in this life.

I weaved before he could punch me again, ducking to his right—my left. I hooked a foot around the back of his knee and put my arm in front of his outstretched arm, then grabbed the back of his head. In one movement, I sent him kneeling and pushed his head forward, smashing it into the dumpster.

With my arm still hooked around his, I walked around, pulling at his arm until I heard something pop and him start screaming. Then I let go of his arm, wrapped my fingers around his short, curly hair, and smashed his face against the dumpster again. And again. And again.

Once he stopped resisting, doing nothing but wheezing and bleeding in my grip, I dropped him in something resembling recovery position.

I stumbled back and surveyed the scene, finding everyone either knocked out or groaning in the floor. Satisfied with my work, I grabbed the bat and stumbled out of the alley towards No Strings Attatched.

I had paperwork to finish.

{[X]}

Sonya Sobral

There was a map of Gotham spread over Sam’s desk, the uptown of it already littered with notes made with colored markers.

Downtown also had a few notes regarding which gangs held which territory, but it was much less detailed than the marks around Crime Alley and its surrounding parts. That much was to be expected, everyone in the office probably hadn’t been downtown more than a handful of times each, if ever.

On the wall, there was a whiteboard that that cute girl, Farah, had scribbled an approximation of Crime Alley on. It was a pretty faithful representation of the neighborhood, though it was missing a number of details that didn’t feature in maps. Sammy was editing those in with Billy’s help.

Once they were done, Sam capped the pen with a click and put his hands on his hips, looking around at the people in his office.

It was still weird to think of. During his time with the Blackgaters, it seemed like Sam more or less lived on his feet, always walking from one brutal beating (given or received) to another. They’d always met and talked while walking down a street, sharing smokes or those candies he used to carry in his pockets.

Now he was sitting down, and wearing a suit. Where the hell did Sam even get a suit, anyways?

Granted, it did very little to make him look respectable, Sonya noted with some amusement. His nose was in a splint, there were bruises littering every exposed body part, and his rolled-up sleeves showed that one had fresh stitches holding a fresh red line that went down one forearm.

Plus, with the shaggy mohawk that was starting to grow a little long at the sides, he mostly looked like the drummer of a punk band on his way to court for charges of assault, battery, arson and public urination. Or like someone that’d been put through a mostly dull woodchipper.

Not to say he was unattractive, Sonya thought. If you looked past the scars and tilted nose, he was kinda good-looking. Nice muscles, forest green eyes, tan skin, and he carried himself confidently. But if you grabbed a hundred people off the street, you’d probably find half of them were better-looking than Sam.

I should probably focus instead of objectifying my boss, thought Sonya, before her eyes went towards Billy. Or I could stare at Sammy’s ass... nah, I should focus.

“... so that’s everyone,” Sam was saying as the door closed behind someone. “Well, first things we gotta settle is where the soldiers are going to be sellin’.”

“We haven’t got that many,” some white kid said. Sam had said his name was Manny, right? “We can cover three... maybe five corners if we stretch ‘em thin.”

“More than enough to get a start,” Sam assured him, uncapping a red marker and making circles at three spots on the map. That would be... two of the high rises and a corner shop down by eleventh, right? “We’ll play it safe for now. There’s a pretty strong fiend community ‘round these places; between that and the product we’ve got we’ll start raking in cash fast. We can build from there.”

“Aren’t those corners occupied by Namond’s people?” Farah asked, looking at the map on Sam’s desk.

“For now,” Sam said, giving a smile that was mostly teeth. “Luckily, Spider just finished signing a long-term contact with Mr. Priest here, in his function as head of the Gotham’s Henchmen Union.”

“I’ll be supplying some of our men to Mr. Reyes here, they’ll push the soldiers out of there,” said Billy, joining in on the joke.

“I didn’t know the Goonion did mercenary work,” Farah mocked, crossing her arms and smirking at Billy.

“We usually don’t, Ms. Kane—” “Fuck off.” “But we do work in conjunction with any organizations that supervillains take part in, and Spider is a part of Mr. Reyes’ new gang.”

“Speaking of which,” said Manny, “Do we have a name?”

“You can figure out one between yourselves if you like,” Sam waved a hand dismissively. “My main concern is not letting some power-hungry shit-heel take over my city.”

“Your city?” asked Farah.

Sammy sighed, “Our city.”

“Better.”

“If you’re done undermining me...?” Farah nodded, and Sam turned to Sonya as he capped the red marker and grabbed a blue one. “Sonya, your girls are going to be doing some intelligence gathering. Unless you have any second thoughts...?”

She shook her head, “Extra pay and promises of horrible violence against anyone that takes issue go a long way. I’ve still got volunteers.”

Sam nodded, starting to mark corners with blue crosses, “These are areas where some of the higher-ups from the different gangs are. I’ll give you a list of the different colors of the gangs after the meeting, and which correspond to which spots. Tell your girls to target the important ones, but if they just get low-level soldiers that’s fine. They’ll probably drop an interesting tidbit anyways.”

Sonya nodded, already having plans. “Got it.”

“Farah, you’re on intelligence gathering as well. I want you finding out meeting spots, stash houses, drop sites, everything,” at Farah’s nod, he continued, “Spider’s crew is going to hit some of those, and the rest will be handled either by henchmen or by our own soldiers, as soon as we have enough muscle.”

“That’ll probably be quick,” Manny said, smirking. “I didn’t expect your name to ring out that much, Boss.”

“Nice to know I’m still popular,” Sam snorted. “Focus on getting loyal people, we’re not desperate yet, so we can afford to take our time vetting and shit.”

“Will do,” Manny nodded.

The meeting carried on for a bit, but eventually they were let out while Sam ironed out some details with his inner circle. Assured he’d hand her the list when he finished, Sonya followed Manny out.

Manny was a short guy, covered with tattoos up to his forehead and with his hair shaved closed to the head. His teeth were more metal than bone, but he didn’t have any other traits that marked him as a meth addict, so he was probably just bad at dental care. Billy had explained that he was an acquaintance of Sammy’s from his early henchmen days. One of those guys that could get you anything given enough cash and time.

Sonya wasn’t too sure what to feel about a guy with panties that read ‘JUICY’ tattooed on his neck, but he seemed nice enough.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” he asked her, tilting his head back at the office as they walked for the bar.

“Probably stuff involving Spider,” Sonya said, grimacing.

The bartender, seeing them approach, got two glasses ready. Nice kid, he also worked in the kitchen. His name was... Kamasi, she thought.

“Not a fun of villains?” asked Manny as he took his seat. He nodded at Kamasi, “A Manhattan, strong as possible.”

“Screwdriver, please,” she said, then thought over Manny’s question, “I’m not really a fan, but I don’t mind him. Just not where I thought my life was going.”

And wasn’t that the truth? Sammy had warned her that she’d be working with a supervillain, but as far as those went Spider seemed mostly tolerable. Less the ‘poison the water supply’ type and more the ‘rob a bank’ kind, which was always a nice distinction.

But he was still a supervillain. Someone with abilities beyond human limits that chose to use them for criminal shit. It was a little scary to think that one of her co-workers could pop her head with a hand. Although it was probably better than having him be her boss, so there was that.

Their drinks were made and set in front of them, and the kid spoke up, “I know what you guys mean. Never thought I’d see a villain up-close.”

“You’ve actually seen him?” asked Manny. “Sam just told me about him.”

Kamasi nodded, starting to wipe a glass, “I saw him come up early the other day, had to talk some shit over with Sam. They seemed friendly, but Spider was really... uh, cut?”

“You mean curt,” Sonya corrected. “Like, he spoke little?”

“Barely said two words to Sam,” Kamasi nodded, “And they were all fucked-up because of his mask, I think.”

“Did he use any of his powers?” asked Manny, leaning forward.

“Nah, he just walked in normally,” said Kamasi. “He went to Sam’s office and stayed there for a while. I went to the kitchen before I saw him leave.”

“Hm,” said Sonya, “Maybe they’re fuckin’?”

The two boys looked at her with grimaces.

Prudes, thought Sonya, rolling her eyes.

“Ignoring that...” Manny said, “How do you think they know each other?”

“Probably from his henchman days,” Kamasi said.

“Most likely,” Sonya nodded, “Maybe Spider was an ex-henchman and he somehow got powers from being mixed up in metahuman shit.”

“Right, I heard that happens,” Manny said, pointing at her. “Lab accidents and shit, right?”

“Right,” Kamasi said, seeming satisfied by the explanation.

“... can I ask you a question?” said Sonya, looking at the kid.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“You’ve been wiping that glass for like, a while,” she said, pointing at it. “And at the same spot. Are you gonna do anything with it, or...?”

Kamasi looked down at it, then blushed.

“That’s what they do in movies,” he mumbled, setting it down with a red face.

“Oh, you’re adorable,” laughed Sonya, making him go even redder.

Well, villain presence or not, at least her new job had nice coworkers.

{[X]}

Samuel Andrés Reyes/Spider:

I watched, eyes wide and straining not to blink so I wouldn’t miss a moment. Yua’s eyes were squinted and focused with deadly concentration. Besides me, Billy was sweating and swallowing, dreading the results.

She moves, our heads snapped to follow the dart, and we watched it hit the bullseye, pressed tight along all the other darts she’d tossed.

“Perfect score!” Yua cheered, uncharacteristically loud. “You gotta gimme a piggyback ride!”

Everyone that had been watching in the bar cheered with her while Billy groaned in disappointment.

“That’s what you get for gambling with a ninja,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.

“Eugh,” he said, already kneeling so Yua could jump on his back.

Laughing, I walked over to Farah as she inspected the old jukebox that Butcher kept next to the stage.

“There’s Rolling Stones next to Britney Spears,” she told me, sounding like a Lovecraft protagonist after encountering a minority. “What twisted monster was behind this selection?”

“Ten-year-old me,” I said, putting in a dollar and picking a song. “Butchie told me he wanted to reach a wide audience and I kinda went ham.”

“You’re a monster,” she said, smiling at me.

I returned the smile as we headed to a booth. The place was mostly full that night, with people crowding the bar and filling almost every available seat. But there was a booth in Butcher’s Shop with my name on it (literally, because being eight and having a knife is a dangerous combination) and a sign that said ‘reserved’.

I put the sign face-down as we sat down, Farah opposite of me.

“Are you sure we can afford to screw around like this?” she asked me, eyebrows pinched tight as she looked around. “Things are starting to kick into gear.”

“Not like we can talk business with Yua being a loud drunk,” I said, ignoring my circular logic. “And we owed her this much for the Penguin thing.”

Farah didn’t seem happy, so I turned around, made a vague gesture at Billy (who was still running around with Yua on his back) that I was sure he’d understand, and gave her a confident smile.

In a way, she was right. Namond knew both my names and it was only a matter of time before he knocked down my door. Having Billy show up in my costume was a solid enough start for separating my identities, but it was only a start. Eventually, the cat would escape the bag, and I’d be fucked unless I prepared enough.

And yet...

“Hey, better we take this chance now, right?” I said, “We don’t know when the next time we’ll be able to relax will be.”

“I guess that’s true,” she said, although the tension didn’t leave. “I just... it’s so big now, y’know?”

“I do.”

And I did. I’d never wanted to be the leader of an entire gang. Just a small crew had always seemed like enough. A part of me felt almost guilty at falling ass-backwards into being a crimelord, considering all the people that died trying to achieve it.

Then again, I’d been a soldier for seven long-ass years and a henchman for three, so fuck ‘em, I earned my shit.

“... if you wanna back out, you still can,” I told her. “That’s always an option for you, Farah.”

She blinked, surprised, and a laugh escaped her. She said, “You know, the idea didn’t even occur to me.”

A smile pulled at my face, and a warm feeling pushed out from the inside of my ribcage. For all her snark and all her undermining me, Farah was a pretty damn loyal friend.

Billy and Yua arrived then, each carrying two glasses of beer. Billy sat next to me, handing me my glass, and Yua plopped down onto Farah’s lap, setting down the beers on the table and half out of the glasses.

“Being drunk is aweshome!” Yua cheerfully informed us. “I don’t know why I never tried it before!”

“I guess of all the types of drunk she could be, a happy drunk was the best option,” Billy drily noted, “Although maybe a sad drunk wouldn’t have been hell on my back.”

“Nah, she still would’ve been,” I said. “I would have made you carry her around until she laughed.”

“Dick.”

“Ah, um, Yua, c-could —could you, maybe, getoffmylap?” Farah stumbled over her words.

“But you’re comfortable,” Yua whine, even as she slid off of Farah’s lap and under the table. “It’sh cold down here.”

“This is delightful,” I said. “I am delighted.”

“You’re a prick is what you are,” said Farah.

“Farah, you can’t shay that!” Yua slurred, “He’sh our boss.He has bosh powers.”

“It’s true, I do,” I nodded.

“Shee?!”

Despite herself, Farah grinned.

“So,” Billy said, taking his own beer in hand. “What do you wanna do with your last day before the war, fearless leader?”

“Well, I definitely wanna get drunk while I can,” I said. “And then I want to do something stupid while I’m too drunk to know better.”

“Like what?”

“... I always wanted to get a tattoo.”

{[X]}

Bruce Wayne/Batman:

Standing in Samuel Reyes’ apartment, Batman pondered the conundrum that was the man himself.

He did this while looking down on his snoring form, draped over the back of the couch without his pants and with the words ‘Dancing Queen’ scribbled with black marker on his lower back. He also had a fresh tattoo on the fingers of his right hand, a letter for each knuckle. S-H-W-G, in gothic script. Batman had never gotten any tattoos, but from what he understood that must have been rather painful.

In any case, Batman grabbed the back of Reyes’ shirt and pulled him off the floor, dropping him on the ground.

He landed with an “Oof!” and curled up for a second, muttering Spanish cuss words, before he rolled over a bit and looked up at Batman with squinting eyes.

“... hi?” he croaked miserably.

“Reyes. We need to talk.”

“... can it wait ‘till breakfast?”

“No,” replied Batman, reaching down and pulling Reyes up by the shirt with one hand, dropping him unceremoniously on the couch before walking around it so he could loom in front of him.

“Mm’kay, guess we’re doing this,” Reyes said, rubbing his eyes and clearing his throat. “What’s up?”

“You’re out of control,” said Batman, glaring down at the young man. “I’m here to tell you to stop.”

Reyes blinked slowly, almost visibly trying to connect his braincells with a dehydrated brain. “Stop what? Helping you? What are you—”

“I’m talking about the seven men you put in the ER yesterday,” Batman said. “I’m talking about you starting a money laundering service, peddling drugs, and pimping. You’re not helping, you’re adding to Gotham’s problems.”

“That’s kinda unfair,” said Reyes. “All those things would be around without me, I’m just trying to do it in a controlled—”

“Controlled? You call what you did in that alley ‘controlled’?” Batman challenged. “Most of them need surgery. One of them might never walk again, Reyes.”

“They were trying to kill me, and I’m kinda missing my powers!” Reyes objected. “Besides, you’ve put way more people in the hospital with the exact same wounds!”

“My attacks are always measured. Precise. There was never a risk of them dying.”

“I’m sure you believe that, but it rings a little fucking hollow when I personally know people that you’ve dangled off of rooftops, or put in bodycasts!”

“I believe it because it’s the truth, Reyes,” said Batman. “You know I have the means to check, and I always have. No one I’ve ever fought has died directly or indirectly because of it.”

“Well that’s fucking swell for you,” Reyes mocked, “But we can’t all fucking be ninjas! I was fighting for my fucking life, Wayne!”

“Then you should have stayed at home—”

“And let you all deal with Namond without my help—?!”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Batman snapped, and Reyes’ jaw clicked shut. His eyes were wide and his nostrils were flaring, anger, barely contained. Useful. “I’m here to tell you that if you don’t shut down your criminal activities by tomorrow night, I’ll take drastic measures. It was one thing when you contained yourself to stealing from villains, but you’re going too far.”

He let his hand peek out of his cape, and clenched it in a fist that made his black glove creak. Reyes’ eyes fell on it, then snapped up to look at Batman with indignation shining in them.

“Drastic—?!” but he cut himself off, taking a deep breath and squinting up at Batman. “... you’re tryingto piss me off. You want me to prove to you that I’m unstable.”

“That’s—”

“Shut the hell up,” said Reyes, lip curling back in a slight snarl before he continued, “I’m an agent outside of your control, and you’re trying to prove that I’m unstable. This whole thing—showing up when I’m just waking up, interrupting me and telling me not to cut you off, it’s all designed to make me trip up.”

Batman said nothing, and Reyes took that as his cue to stand up to his full height and stare down the Dark Knight, eye-to-eye. It was a bit annoying to Bruce that this eighteen-year-old kid was a full inch taller than him, even if it was hard to notice in the suit.

“Are you that much of a fucking control freak?” asked Reyes. “Are you that fucking desperate to manage this city that you feel the need to pull scare tactic bullshit on your fucking ally?”

“It’s not about managing Gotham,” Batman said. “It’s about keeping crime off its streets.”

“It’s fucking Gotham,” said Reyes, indignant. “There’s always going to be fucking crime on the fucking streets. It’s the human goddamn condition. What I’m trying to do—unionizing the prostitutes, making it so dealers don’t work near schools? That’s as fucking good as you’re going to get.

“And instead you want to spit on my face and call it heroism?”

Bruce drew the fist back into his cape shortly, making Reyes startle slightly into a fighting position, then relax back to a neutral position. But it was too late. Batman knew for a fact that Reyes was scared of him.

Good. That would be necessary soon.

“There’s a line on the ground, Reyes,” said Batman, closing the distance to glower down at him. “I’ll be there if you cross it.”

Reyes glared back defiantly and said, “I haven’t killed a single fucking person since I quit the Blackgaters, and you goddamn well know it.”

“And does that make all the deaths that happened before okay?”

“I was a child.”

“And now you aren’t,” he replied. “Don’t cross the line.”

With a last glare, Batman started walking around Reyes. The young man stayed in place, staring ahead and making it easy for Batman to slip out of the window and down to a discreet car with tinted windows he could go away in.

As soon as he was in, he turned on the microphones he’d hidden in Reyes’ apartment. Most people tended to say something revealing as soon as the target of their ire was out of earshot.

The first thing he heard was, “--gonna take for-fucking-ever to get rid of whatever microphones he stashed here, goddamit.”

Bruce sighed as he drove through Gotham’s early morning traffic, thoroughly disappointed.

And that was the worst part of dealing with Samuel Reyes; the disappointment. The boy was so clever, so loyal, so determined. He’d figured out Bruce’s identity and seemed to have an almost instinctive grasp of Batman’s go-to tactics and moves. He contained his fear of the Dark Knight and the villains he had to work for admirably, and he seemed to have a knack for surviving messes that defied reason.

All that, spent in Gotham’s criminal underbelly. All that talent, loyalty and intellect, wasted.

Most of Batman’s enemies were misguided. Mr. Freeze, Harley, Poison Ivy, and so on. He was no stranger to having enemies that needed a firm hand and professional help in getting back to the right track. But it had been a while since he faced one so... young. Or so connected to his family.

Cass is going to be so mad at me, he thought, even as he confirmed his decision.

By the end of this whole mess with Namond Little, Samuel Reyes and the rest of his crew would have to go to Blackgate. For their own sake, if nothing else.