The two of them stood overlooking the building from a neighboring rooftop, Gotham spread endlessly around them in dim lights and distant noise. Below, the target property sat quiet from the outside, its expensive architecture hiding the fact that it functioned as one of the Court's financial fronts.
Quentin yawned softly, rubbing at one eye beneath the edge of his mask.
"Remind me again," he asked lazily, "why we're letting the police take these ones?"
Batman's attention never left the building.
"Because whatever information they possess is equal to or less than what we already obtained in the labyrinth," he replied. "And unlike the others, we don't need to worry about the Court eliminating them immediately afterward."
A brief pause followed before he added, "They're too busy dealing with what you created."
Quentin smirked faintly at that. "You don't sound very unhappy with my work anymore."
Batman didn't answer right away.
The silence dragged just long enough to become uncomfortable.
Finally, he spoke.
"You are a liar," Batman said flatly. "Reckless. A detriment to this city and to the people around you."
Quentin's grin widened slightly.
"But," Batman continued, "you are actively trying to stop the Court."
The wind blew across the rooftop carrying the scent of cigarettes and piss.
"After this," Batman said, finally turning his head slightly toward him, "you will join them in Arkham."
Quentin barked out a genuine laugh at that.
"Been there, done that, Batman," he replied. "I think I'm over the place."
Batman looked entirely unconvinced.
They were moments from moving when Quentin suddenly stilled. It was subtle. A shift behind the eyes.
Batman noticed immediately.
Quentin tilted his head slightly, a thought taking shape so quickly it almost seemed physical.
Then he smiled, "Hey, Bats," he said. "I have an idea."
Batman stopped mid-turn and looked back toward him silently, waiting.
Quentin stepped closer to the ledge again, glancing down toward the building.
"If you hate it, fine," he said. "But I was thinking we adjust the plan." He gestured lightly downward. "Instead of both of us hitting this place, you do it alone." Batman's eyes narrowed slightly.
Quentin continued before he could interrupt.
"If we're letting the police arrest these people, then I'm assuming you already have enough evidence stacked to keep them in custody for at least a while."
"I do," Batman replied cautiously.
"And the Court won't kill them immediately because things are too chaotic right now," Quentin continued. "But they will question them."
Batman understood almost instantly.
"You want them to learn Batman attacked the site," he said.
Quentin's smile widened.
"With Two-Face publicly executing one of the lawyer," Batman continued slowly, "and the gangs already circling because of the information you leaked… you want the Court to believe pressure is closing from every direction."
"Exactly," Quentin replied brightly.
Batman stared at him for several seconds.
"Interesting," he said at last, "how every faction in Gotham suddenly appears to be at war with the Court…"
His gaze sharpened.
"…except you and your people."
Quentin spread his hands innocently.
"Well," he said, "would you rather the story become that Batman is cooperating with me?" He shrugged lightly. "People don't stay quiet in prison."
Batman didn't answer immediately.
Because that, unfortunately Was true.
Quentin leaned slightly closer, voice quieter now.
"Right now," he said, "you're a variable they can't account for. If they learn we're working together, that changes." His smile faded just a little. "And honestly? I think both of us benefit from them staying confused."
Batman looked back toward the building again.
Toward the lights.
Toward the people inside who had no idea Gotham's walls were already closing around them.
Then finally, "You stay here," Batman said.
Quentin grinned immediately. "Knew you'd like the idea."
"I didn't say that."
"No," Quentin replied, amusement slipping back into his tone. "But you're going down there alone anyway."
****
Quentin watched as Batman left a sigh escaped his lips, "Good idea." He murmured
It really was but Batman agreed to easily. Something's up with him and Quentin needed to know what.
They had an exit strategy formed for when this whole thing came to a close but, he was still nervous.
***
The building belonged to Gerald Vane Holdings, a respected financial consulting and investment firm nestled among Gotham's glittering downtown towers. During business hours the place looked pristine and legitimate. Wealthy clients moved through its marble lobby discussing investments, mergers, political favors, and tax shelters while assistants carried coffee between glass offices overlooking the city skyline. Everything about it projected refinement and stability.
At night, however, the building became something else entirely.
Hidden beneath the executive levels was a private basement club accessible only through secured elevators and invitation-only approval. Gotham's upper class descended into it after midnight wearing tailored suits, expensive jewelry, and carefully crafted smiles. The basement itself looked more luxurious than most penthouses in the city. Rich mahogany walls lined the halls, velvet furniture rested beneath warm golden lighting, and crystal chandeliers hung low above polished poker tables where fortunes changed hands over quiet conversation.
Music drifted softly through the air while liquor worth thousands flowed freely behind a private bar staffed by silent professionals. Beautiful women circulated through the room laughing at jokes they had heard a hundred times before, leaning close to powerful men who believed money made them untouchable.
The Court of Owls used places like this carefully.
Every conversation was monitored, every affair was documented and every vice was recorded and catalogued.
Blackmail was more useful than loyalty, and the Court understood that better than anyone.
Tonight, however, the illusion of safety shattered.
The first guard disappeared without anyone noticing.
He stood alone near one of the service corridors scrolling through his phone while occasionally glancing toward the elevator entrance. The overhead lights flickered once, subtle enough that he only looked upward out of irritation rather than concern.
That was his mistake.
A massive black shape dropped silently behind him. One armored hand clamped over his mouth while the other struck hard into the base of his skull. The guard collapsed instantly, his body caught before it hit the floor. By the time his phone finished skidding across the tile, Batman had already vanished back into the shadows.
Elsewhere in the building another guard touched his earpiece after failing to get a response from his partner.
"Tom?" he muttered quietly.
Only static answered him.
The man frowned and began moving down the hallway with growing caution, one hand drifting toward the pistol beneath his jacket. The corridor ahead appeared empty, but the silence pressing against him felt wrong somehow. Too still.
Then something metallic struck the wall beside him.
The guard jerked instinctively toward the sound.
A batarang spun harmlessly across the floor.
He barely had time to register confusion before Batman dropped from the ceiling directly above him. The impact drove the air from the guard's lungs as Batman slammed him into the wall hard enough to crack plaster. The pistol never cleared the holster. Two precise strikes later and the man crumpled unconscious at Batman's feet.
Downstairs the club continued operating completely unaware.
Poker chips clicked across tables while drunken laughter echoed softly beneath the music. One wealthy businessman boasted loudly about a political deal while another disappeared into a private room with a woman on his arm. Waitresses moved elegantly through the crowd carrying crystal glasses and expensive bottles.
Then the lights dimmed.
Not enough to plunge the room into darkness.
Just enough for people to notice.
Conversations slowed. Heads turned. Security personnel exchanged wary looks as they pressed fingers against their earpieces trying unsuccessfully to contact the upper floors.
"Control?"
Nothing.
A nervous ripple spread quietly through the basement.
Then someone saw him.
At the far end of the lounge, partially obscured by darkness between two pillars, stood a towering black silhouette. Motionless. Watching.
A woman gasped softly.
Several people turned fully toward the figure.
The lights flickered again.
Batman vanished.
Panic began immediately afterward.
Security moved first, drawing concealed weapons and rushing to secure exits while trying to keep the guests calm. The wealthy patrons reacted far worse. Men who spent their entire lives insulated by power and money suddenly looked terrified as the reality of Gotham's most infamous predator sank in.
Batman was inside.
Not the police. Not rival criminals. Batman.
That distinction mattered.
One guard hurried toward the surveillance room with sweat already forming along his temples. He moved carefully through the narrow hallway, weapon raised as his breathing quickened despite his efforts to control it.
Inside the surveillance room, operators frantically watched monitors cut out one by one.
"What the hell is happening?" one whispered.
The answer came violently.
Every screen exploded simultaneously as batarangs shattered the displays in a storm of sparks and broken glass. Smoke pellets burst across the room a heartbeat later, flooding the space with thick gray clouds. The operators coughed and stumbled blindly before something massive moved inside the smoke.
A scream cut short.
A body slammed across a desk.
Another crashed into the control panel hard enough to break it apart entirely.
When the smoke began settling, both men lay unconscious among shattered electronics.
The panic downstairs had evolved into chaos by then.
Guests rushed desperately toward exits only to find doors sealed shut with grappling lines. Several men attempted deleting files and messages from their phones while others hid drugs, cash, or documents beneath tables with trembling hands. One particularly drunk executive shoved a woman aside trying to flee toward the stairwell.
Batman landed directly in front of him.
The man recoiled so violently he fell backward across a poker table, sending cards and chips scattering across the floor.
"I didn't do anything!" he shouted immediately. "I swear, I didn't know—"
Batman never acknowledged him.
That frightened the man more than if he had spoken.
Because it meant Batman already knew enough.
Near the private office corridor deeper within the basement, three armed guards finally attempted coordinated resistance. They formed a defensive position covering multiple angles, trying desperately to slow whatever was hunting them.
One watched the hallway.
One covered the stairwell.
One looked upward.
The ceiling exploded downward.
Batman crashed through the tiles like a falling nightmare, driving the first guard flat onto the floor beneath him. The second opened fire instinctively, muzzle flashes lighting the corridor in violent bursts, but Batman moved impossibly fast through the darkness. One strike shattered the shooter's wrist. Another elbow crushed into his jaw hard enough to send him spinning into the wall.
The third guard panicked and ran.
Batman fired the grappling gun.
The line wrapped around the fleeing man's leg before snapping tight violently enough to rip him off his feet. He crashed hard across the marble floor and slid backward directly into Batman's grasp.
By the time police sirens echoed outside the building, the entire operation had collapsed.
Unconscious bodies littered the halls.
The luxurious basement now looked ruined, with shattered glass, overturned tables, broken lights, and unconscious guards sprawled across bloodstained carpets. Gotham's wealthy elite sat zip-tied against walls or huddled beneath furniture while evidence had been laid neatly across tables for incoming police.