Willis stood at the edge of Gotham's outskirts, his silhouette swallowed by the towering skyline that loomed ahead. He pulled up the collar of his coat and stared straight ahead. It had been years since he had been in Gotham, and it appeared little had changed. It was still a cesspit of corruption.
The skyline shimmered with the false promises of wealth and progress, but Willis knew better. The underbelly of this city was as rotten as ever—perhaps more so now.
Every corner of Gotham felt like it still carried the weight of his failures. The streets whispered with the ghosts of his past. Memories of old deals gone bad, enemies left unburied, and most of all, the son he had abandoned.. No matter how far he'd run, Gotham's cold, merciless grip had always pulled him back. And now, it wasn't just the city that demanded his return—it wasn't his blood. It was Jason's.
He was a shit father, he was more than ready to admit, but he loved the boy. He'd loved him from when Sheila knocked on his and Catherine's door with a baby that was too small in her arms. She had thrust the baby into his with nothing more than his birth certificate and left.
Sheila hadn't even stayed long enough for explanations. Not that Willis had asked for any. He had stood there, dumbfounded, as the door slammed shut behind her, leaving him with the tiny, wailing bundle. Catherine had been the one to act. She always had a steadier head than him. She took the baby from his arms and cradled him gently, her face a mixture of shock and something Willis couldn't quite place.
"I guess this is Jason," she'd whispered, reading the name on the birth certificate as she rocked the baby.
And just like that, they had a son. He'd expected Catherine to rage at him like she had when he first told her months before about his cheating on her with Sheila, but if she was angry, she didn't show it. She was snuggling her cheek to his and rubbing his little tummy, totally enamored. And just like that, they had a son.
Willis clenched his fists now as he remembered that day. Jason had been his responsibility from the start, and yet, somehow, Willis had managed to screw it up. He hadn't been there when Jason needed him the most.
He had left when the weight of his own failures had become too much to bear, convincing himself that Jason would be better off without him, especially when he found out the kid had gotten himself adopted by a billionaire.
Bruce Wayne could give his kid so much more than he ever could, and he could keep Jason safe, whereas Willis could barely keep his boy fed. He had been wrong. So wrong.
The streets were quieter now, but Gotham's pulse remained constant. Every alleyway, every shadow, felt alive with the dangers Willis had always known, the dangers he had tried to shield Jason from by leaving. But running had never been the solution. It was time to face the reality he had been avoiding for years.
He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling in the cold night air, and stared down the road ahead. Jason had grown up without him, and now the kid was in deeper trouble than Willis could imagine.
He had heard bits and pieces—rumors, mostly—but they were enough to send a shiver down his spine. Something had happened to Jason, something dark. And Willis was going to find out exactly what...
He took a long drag, his mind racing. What would Jason think when he saw him again? Would he be angry? Hurt? He wouldn't blame him if he were. But Willis wasn't coming back for redemption, not for himself. This wasn't about making things right between them. It was about protecting his boy. That was all that mattered now.
He crushed the cigarette beneath his boot and started walking, each step heavy with the memories he couldn't shake.
The alleys were darker now, the city's decay even more pronounced as he made his way deeper into Gotham's underbelly. He could feel the weight of it all pressing down on him. The city was alive in its own twisted way, and it seemed to sense his return. It never forgot, just like he never truly forgot the feel of these streets beneath his feet.
Willis had a destination in mind. Tommy Tully, a small-time crook who had managed to stay alive long enough to know more about Gotham's criminal underworld than most. Tully had been a rat, selling information to anyone with enough cash or leverage.
But he was also careful, knowing when to keep his head down. Last Willis had heard, Tully was still operating out of a rundown boxing gym on the east side, where Gotham's lowlifes liked to hide in plain sight.
As he moved through the narrow streets, the occasional sound of distant sirens echoed off the brick walls, but otherwise, the city felt eerily still.
Gotham always made you feel like prey, no matter how tough you thought you were. The shadows seemed to shift around him, and despite his best efforts, Willis felt his nerves tightening. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and the years away had softened the edge that had once kept him alive in this place.
He turned into a back alley, the gym now only a few blocks away. The streetlights flickered, casting long shadows along the cracked pavement. Willis had barely taken another step when a sudden gust of wind swept past him. Before he could react, something landed behind him with a soft but unmistakable thud.
Willis froze, his instincts screaming at him to turn around, but he didn't need to. He knew that sound. The drop of a shadow from above the silence that followed was unmistakable in Gotham. One of the bats!
"I should've known," a calm, familiar voice said behind him, cutting through the silence. "Willis Todd, back from the dead."
He didn't turn around immediately, instead keeping his posture relaxed, though his hand in his coat tightened into a fist. Whoever it was, they didn't announce themselves, but Willis could feel their presence. Years of running with the worst of Gotham's underworld had taught him to recognize danger before it made itself known.
"You've got guts coming back here, Willis Todd," a voice said from behind him, calm and collected but laced with something cold. "Most people would've stayed gone."
Willis finally turned around, his eyes landing on a figure standing in the middle of the alley. The man was clad in dark, sleek armor, a blue logo emblazoned across his chest, his face obscured by a mask. The streetlights above barely illuminated him, but Willis could make out enough to know this wasn't just some random thug.
"Aren't you supposed to be in Bludhaven?" Willis asked, narrowing his eyes as he sized up the vigilante.
Nightwing didn't flinch. His posture remained calm, but there was an intensity in his stance that Willis couldn't ignore.
"Things in Gotham tend to pull people back," the masked man replied coolly. "Just like they pulled you."
Willis smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I didn't come back for Gotham. I came back for my son."
The vigilante took a step forward, his eyes hidden beneath the mask but the weight of his gaze unmistakable.
"And what makes you think you'll help him? After everything?"
Willis felt a flicker of anger rise in his chest, but he pushed it down. He wasn't here for a pissing contest with some caped crusader. He'd been in this city long enough to know when someone was trying to size him up.
"I don't need a lecture from some guy in a costume," Willis said, keeping his voice steady. "I made mistakes. I own them. But I've seen the paper. My boy Jason's in trouble, and I'm not walking away this time."
The masked man crossed his arms, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. "Word is that you left him all on his own. The kid was living on the streets when Wayne found him. What makes you think you can help now?"
Willis clenched his jaw, taking a slow breath. "Because this time, I know what's at stake. I know Gotham, I know these streets, and I know Jason. He's my kid. Not Wayne's.
There was a pause, the air between them thick with tension. Then, the vigilante took another step closer, his voice lowering to almost a whisper. "You don't know Jason anymore. Not the way you think."
The words stung, and for a moment, Willis wasn't sure if it was the truth behind them or how they were delivered that cut so deep. But he kept his face hard, refusing to show any cracks.
"I don't need your permission to look out for my son," Willis growled. "So unless you're here to help, get out of my way."
The vigilante tilted his head slightly as if considering something. Then, after a long moment, he spoke again. "Stay out of Gotham's deeper shadows, Todd. You're wrong if you think you can just walk in and fix things. Things are happening here that are bigger than you."
Willis held his ground. "If Jason's involved, I don't care how big it is. I'll deal with it."
The vigilante stared at him for a beat longer before letting out a quiet sigh. "If you get in over your head, it won't just be you that pays the price. Rumer is that's how your boy got hurt in the first place."
With that, the masked figure moved swiftly, leaping onto a fire escape with effortless grace and disappearing into the shadows above.
Willis stood there momentarily, watching the spot where the man had vanished, his heart still racing from the encounter. Whoever that was, he wasn't just some ordinary vigilante. He knew things—things about Jason, about Gotham. And Willis couldn't shake the feeling that the guy was right about one thing: this wouldn't be a simple fix.
But Willis wasn't here to back down. Not this time.
With a final glance up at the rooftops, he adjusted his coat and continued down the alley toward the gym. Jason needed him, and there was nothing Gotham could throw at him to make him walk away now. He'd face whatever came head-on.
Willis adjusted his coat and continued down the alley, his mind racing. The encounter with the vigilante had unsettled him, but not enough to stop him. Jason needed him, and he was determined to find out who was responsible for what had happened to his son.
As he neared the corner where the gym loomed just ahead, something caught his eye—a rusty old newsstand sitting beneath a flickering streetlight. The vendor had long since disappeared for the night, but the day's paper remained, weighted down by a rock.
Willis slowed as he approached, his eyes locking onto the bold headline on the front page of the Gotham Gazette:
"Billionaire's Son Latest Victim of Venari Drug Epidemic: Jason Todd Hospitalized."
His heart sank as he grabbed the paper, his hands trembling as he quickly skimmed the article. Jason's name was plastered across the front page—Bruce Wayne's adopted son reduced to a headline about Gotham's latest epidemic.
"Jason Todd, the adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, was found in critical condition earlier this week, allegedly one of the latest victims of the dangerous drug Venari. Rumors suggest the young man was found assaulted and 'bitched'—a term referring to the forced transformation from alpha to omega,
Willis clenched his teeth. Bitched. The word hit him harder than any punch he'd ever taken. Jason had been humiliated, violated, and used as a pawn in Gotham's sick underworld. The kind of thing he had tried to protect Jason from all those years ago—only to leave him vulnerable when it mattered.
He stuffed the newspaper under his arm, every step forward filled with a rising fury. Jason wasn't just in trouble—he'd been broken. His strong alpha son had been reduced to omega, and Gotham did them with no kindness.
It wasn't just that. He'd have been proud to have a sweet omega for a kid, but this was forced on Jason. Someone had violated his boy, drugged him, and touched him in a way no man should ever touch a child. Whoever was behind it was going to pay.
The old gym came into view, its faded paint and broken windows the same as Willis remembered. Inside, the familiar sound of punching bags being worked over reverberated through the air. The fighters in the ring were ghosts of their former selves, just like this city.
Behind the desk sat Tommy Tully, his gray hair greasy and unkempt as he flipped through channels on a tiny, static-ridden television. When Willis stormed through the door, Tully barely looked up.
"Tully," Willis barked, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.
Tully finally glanced up, his eyes wide when he recognized the man standing before him. "Well, well, if it ain't Willis Todd. Thought you were smart enough to stay outta Gotham. What brings you back?"
Willis wasn't in the mood for small talk. He threw the crumpled newspaper onto the desk before Tully, the headline staring up at the old man. "Tell me everything you know about this drug, Venari. And who's behind it."
Tully looked at the paper and then backed up at Willis. "Jason's your kid?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine surprise. "Didn't know that. Though he was just some rich boy Wayne took in."
Willis leaned in, his voice a low growl. "He's my son. And someone did this to him. I want to know who."
Tully rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin, his face growing serious. "Look, Willis, you don't wanna get mixed up in this. Venari, it's bigger than just some street-level pushers. It's organized and controlled. You're talking serious players, guys you don't mess with."
"I'm not asking for your advice," Willis snapped. "I want names, Tully."
Tully glanced around as if checking to make sure no one else could hear them. Then he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Alright, alright. You want names? Fine. It's Black Mask."
Willis narrowed his eyes, the name striking a nerve. "Black Mask?"
Tully nodded, his face grim. "Yeah, Roman Sionis—Black Mask. He's been expanding his grip on the city for months now. He's got a stranglehold on the East End, and most of the trafficking rings run through Gotham. He's using Venari to beef up his operations. Fight rings make a lot of money, after all and omegas make even more."
Willis clenched his fists, his knuckles white with fury. Black Mask. He'd heard of him—one of Gotham's most ruthless crime lords, a man who thrived on control and chaos. If Black Mask was behind this, then Jason wasn't just another victim—he was a pawn in one of the darkest games in Gotham.
"Where can I find him?" Willis demanded, his voice cold and deadly.
Tully hesitated, then shrugged. "Black Mask operates out of an old warehouse near the docks. That's where most of his shipments come through. But listen, Willis, you go after him, and you're walking into a death trap. Sionis ain't the kind of guy you take down easily. He's got half the city in his pocket."
Willis didn't care about the warnings. His mind was already set. "Where at the docks?"
Tully sighed, defeated. "Pier 39. That's where you'll find him. But I'm telling you, Todd—you go there, you better be ready for a war. Likelihood is he aint done nothing but supply the drug. You're too small a fish for a shark like him to want to deal with."
Willis clenched his fists, his patience thinning as Tully hesitated again. The weight of what was happening to Jason pressed on him, the anger bubbling just below the surface. He wasn't here to play games, and Tully knew it.
Willis leaned over the desk, his voice low and dangerous. "Fine. Then tell me what son of a bitch might have bought the drug off him and touched my son."
Tully swallowed hard, clearly aware that Willis wasn't in the mood for stalling. The tension in the air was thick, the dim light casting long shadows across Tully's face as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"I want names, Tully," Willis growled, his eyes locked onto the old man's. "And I'm not asking twice."
Tully's face went pale as he glanced nervously around the room as if hoping for a way out. But there was no escape from the intensity in Willis' gaze.
"Alright, alright," Tully muttered, holding up his hands in surrender. "There's a guy… goes by Rico. He's been buying heavy off Black Mask for a while now. He deals in everything—drugs, trafficked omegas, you name it. Word is, he's got his own operation running through the East End, but he's a middleman for the bigger players like Sionis. If anyone's touched your kid or bought Venari to break him… it's him."
Willis leaned back slightly, his jaw tight. Rico. A name. A target.
"Where?" Willis demanded, his voice cold.
Tully sighed, rubbing his hand over his stubble again. "He operates out of an old strip club called The Viper Pit, down on LeMaire Avenue. It's not a place you wanna walk into unarmed. Rico's bad news, Willis. If you go after him, he won't go down easy."
Willis nodded, his decision already made. Rico had made himself a part of this nightmare, which meant he would answer for it.
"Thanks for the warning," Willis said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He turned on his heel and headed for the door, his mind racing about how he'd handle the next step. "If I find out you've held back on me, Tully, you'll wish Black Mask got to you first."
The door slammed behind him, leaving Tully sweating at his desk. Willis didn't need to look back. He knew Tully wouldn't dare lie to him now.
As Willis stepped back out into the cold night air, a fresh sense of purpose filled him. Rico was next, and The Viper Pit was where he'd get the answers. If Jason had been dragged into this, then Rico would pay. First Rico and then Black Mask. Nobody touched his kid and got away with it.
And Willis Todd wasn't stopping until he made sure no one touched his son again. If he died in the crossfire, then so be it. His life wasn't worth much anyway. But first, there was someone else to see. It was time to visit dear old Ma.
Faye Gunn wasn't much of a mother and likely wouldn't lift a finger to help him against Black Mask. But he felt she'd be more than happy to destroy Rico. After all, one less competitor off the streets was only good business. Alpha's were territorial like that.