The cold Gotham air cut like a blade as Bruce and Dick sped through the darkened streets in the Batmobile, the biting wind seeping into the cracks of the vehicle despite its reinforced exterior.
The hum of the city's distant sirens blended with the roar of the Batmobile's engine, the only sound cutting through the thick, oppressive silence between them. The scent of gasoline and wet concrete filled the air, mingling with the faint, lingering stench of the harbor as they drew closer to the city's underbelly.
Bruce's mind raced, the fragmented pieces of information swirling like the fog that clung to the streets. Venari—the drug that had poisoned Jason, that had twisted his life into a nightmare—wasn't just some street-level threat. It was something darker, far more insidious, orchestrated by a man who reveled in power and chaos: Roman Sionis.
Black Mask. Ruthless. Cruel. Powerful. The image of his skeletal mask, carved with cold precision, flashed in Bruce's mind. Sionis wasn't content with controlling the underworld through fear alone. He wanted more—he wanted control, total and absolute, and Venari was the key to his empire. Jason had become one of the many lives shattered in the process, and Bruce's pulse thrummed with the burning need to end it.
The Batmobile screeched to a stop, the rubber tires hissing against the slick asphalt mere blocks away from The Viper Pit. A rundown strip club, its neon lights flickered weakly in the distance, casting long, twisted shadows across the cracked sidewalks. The street was dead quiet, but it carried the weight of Gotham's decay—the sour stench of garbage and the faint, musty odor of mildew from the alleys seeped into the air.
Bruce's nostrils flared slightly as he spoke, his voice low and firm. "We go in fast. No mistakes. Rico is just a link to Black Mask. Once we get him, we'll have the leverage we need."
Dick nodded beside him, his face grim, the tension evident in the way his body remained poised for action. "I know. But if Black Mask is involved, this isn't going to be simple."
Bruce's jaw tightened, the chill of the night creeping under his cowl. "It never is."
The two moved like shadows, slipping into the darkness as they approached The Viper Pit. The dim, flickering neon sign buzzed faintly, casting an eerie, sickly red glow over the graffiti-stained walls. The pavement beneath their boots was wet from the evening rain, and the soft squelch of their steps was masked by the distant hum of the city. The club looked quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that made Bruce's instincts scream. It was the silence that came before violence.
As they neared the back entrance, Bruce's eyes scanned the area, taking in the faint glint of weapons in the distance. Armed guards, their breath visible in the cold, lingered at key points, their silhouettes barely distinguishable in the low light. The faint smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the acrid scent of gun oil.
Rico was expecting trouble.
Bruce's gloved fingers worked swiftly, disabling the security on the door with practiced ease. The small click was barely audible, but the door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit hallways of the club. The smell hit them first—stale liquor, sweat, and the pungent odor of something rotting in the walls. It was suffocating, the kind of stench that clung to your skin long after you left.
The narrow hallways were cramped, the flickering lights above casting erratic shadows across the grimy floor. The place reeked of desperation, its walls stained with years of neglect and hidden deals. The low hum of voices from the front of the club was muffled, almost drowned out by the pounding bass of the music.
Bruce's focus was razor-sharp. He and Dick moved silently, their footsteps barely making a sound on the worn floor as they made their way to the back. The tension was thick, the air heavy with the unspoken threat of violence.
As they approached Rico's office, Bruce raised a hand, his senses alert. He could hear faint voices through the door—Rico's rough, grating voice punctuated by laughter. The distinct scent of gunpowder and sweat seeped from the cracks, warning Bruce that Rico wasn't alone.
Bruce's gloved hand brushed against the cold steel of the door handle. "Get ready," he whispered, his voice steady, low.
In a swift, fluid motion, Bruce kicked open the door, the force of the impact reverberating through the narrow hallway. The wood splintered, the door swinging wildly on its hinges as it crashed into the wall. Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating—thick with the smell of cheap cigars and something sour, something unclean.
Rico leaped to his feet, his greasy hair catching the dim light as his eyes widened in shock. He was flanked by two thugs, their hands hovering over their guns, muscles tensing in anticipation. The air in the room crackled with sudden panic, the tension ratcheting up as Rico tried to regain his composure.
"Well, well," Rico sneered, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. "The Bat himself. I was wondering when you'd show up."
Bruce's gaze was cold and unyielding, his shadow filling the room. He moved toward Rico with the silent grace of a predator, the scent of fear palpable as the two men beside Rico twitched, unsure of their next move.
"You've been dealing Venari," Bruce growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to resonate in the walls. "You've been poisoning this city."
For a brief second, Rico's sneer faltered, a flicker of fear flashing in his eyes before he forced it away, leaning back against his desk. The weak light caught on the sheen of sweat gathering at his brow, but he forced a grin, his teeth flashing in the dim light.
"You don't know anything, Bat. You think this is just about some drug on the streets? Venari is bigger than you can imagine. And I'm just doing what I'm told."
"You're working for Black Mask," Bruce said, his voice as cold as the night air outside. The name lingered like a curse, hanging in the smoky air.
Rico's grin widened, but his eyes betrayed him—wide with fear, pupils dilating as adrenaline coursed through his veins. "That's right. Black Mask runs this city now. And if you think you can stop him, you're more delusional than I thought. He's got his hands in everything—Venari is just the start."
Bruce's fists clenched, the muscles in his arms tightening beneath the fabric of his suit. He took another step forward, the scent of fear from Rico filling his senses.
"Where is Black Mask?" Bruce's voice cut through the air like a knife, sharp and unrelenting.
Rico's laugh was forced, a weak attempt to mask the desperation creeping into his voice. "You think I'm gonna tell you that? You think I'm gonna give up my boss just because you waltz in here, throwing your weight around? Black Mask owns Gotham. You don't touch him."
"I don't need to touch him," Bruce said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that sent a chill through the room. "I'll bring his entire empire down around him."
Before Rico could react, one of his men made a move, lunging toward Batman. Dick was faster, his movements fluid as he took the man down with a swift strike, the sound of the thug hitting the floor barely registering in the tension-filled air. Bruce grabbed Rico by the collar, yanking him forward with enough force to rattle the desk behind him.
"You're going to tell me everything you know," Bruce growled, his face mere inches from Rico's. "Or I'll make sure Black Mask knows exactly who sold him out."
Rico's bravado crumbled, his breath coming in shallow gasps as panic took hold. The smell of sweat and fear intensified, the weight of his situation crashing down on him.
"You don't get it, man," Rico stammered, his voice shaking. "If I talk, I'm dead. Black Mask doesn't care about loyalty—he'll kill me the second he finds out I said anything."
Bruce's grip tightened, the leather of his gloves creaking. "If you don't talk, you're already dead."
Rico swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for some unseen exit, but there was none. The walls seemed to close in on him, the pressure of Batman's presence overwhelming. His breath came out in shallow, ragged bursts, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the club's music bleeding through the walls.
Finally, with a resigned sigh, Rico slumped back against the desk, his hands trembling slightly as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "Alright, alright. I'll talk. But you have to keep me safe. You hear me? If Black Mask finds out, I gave you anything…"
Bruce stepped back, his gaze cold and unyielding. "I'll deal with Black Mask. Start talking."
Rico took a deep breath, his voice wavering as he spoke. "Venari… it's not just some street drug. Black Mask—he's using it to get inside people's heads. It rewires them, breaks them down."
Rico took a deep breath, his voice trembling as he spoke. " It takes people down to their most primal level. Alphas turn vicious and can't control their aggression or their urges. And omegas? They get submissive, scared… easy prey. The drug makes sure they can't think straight, just running on instinct. They're good for nothing after that."
Bruce's jaw clenched, the fury building inside him like a slow burn. Every word Rico said pushed him closer to the edge, but he held himself together—barely. The drug wasn't just about control; it was about destruction. It reduced people to animals, stripping away their intellect, their identity, and their will.
"And Wayne's son, Jason Todd?" Bruce's voice was low, filled with barely contained rage. "Why him?"
Rico swallowed, his eyes darting nervously toward the unconscious men on the floor before meeting Bruce's piercing gaze. He knew there was no way out of this, no way to run from Batman's wrath. "It wasn't supposed to go this far," he muttered, his voice shaking. "It wasn't about Wayne, It was about Willis. Willis Todd.
Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Willis?"
Rico nodded, shifting uncomfortably under Bruce's scrutiny. "Years ago, Willis double-crossed me. Stole from me, ran off when things got too hot. But he never stopped talking about his boy. Jason. Always bragging about how strong he was, how smart. How he was already shaping up to be one hell of an alpha, someone no one could mess with. We saw Jason walking the streets one day, and we knew he had to be the kid Willis wouldn't shut up about."
Bruce's heart pounded in his chest, the image of Jason wandering Gotham's streets, unaware of the danger lurking nearby, flashing in his mind. The anger inside him flared, but he forced himself to stay focused, to keep listening.
Rico's voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "So we saw our chance. A way to hurt Willis in the worst way. We took Jason… turned him into an omega. Reduced him. Then we pumped him full of Venari to make sure he wasn't good for anything but… well, you know. We wanted to make him useless. A brainless lay. Revenge for what his old man did."
Bruce's fists tightened, the leather creaking under the force of his grip. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of Rico's confession. This wasn't just a random attack. This was the cruelty of the highest order—calculated, cold-blooded revenge. And Jason had paid the price.
Dick's face was taut with barely contained fury. His escrima sticks twitched in his hands, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his composure. The room felt like it might explode with the force of the anger brewing between them.
"You're saying this was all because of Willis?" Bruce's voice was a growl now, deep and menacing. "You targeted Jason to get back at his father?"
Rico flinched at the intensity of Bruce's tone, nodding quickly. "Yeah… we figured it'd hurt Willis more than anything. Turn his precious alpha son into something he couldn't fix. Something worthless."
Bruce felt his vision narrow, the edges of the room darkening as his mind filled with images of what they had done to Jason. They hadn't just hurt him physically. They had tried to take everything from him—his strength, his mind, his dignity.
Bruce took a step forward, looming over Rico, his voice like ice. "Where is Black Mask in all of this?"
Rico's face twisted with fear, his bravado completely shattered. "Black Mask? He's the one supplying Venari. He's been using it to keep his operations in line, but he didn't order this. This was all me and my crew. Black Mask doesn't care about family revenge. He just wants control."
"So you turned Todd's son into your tool for revenge," Bruce growled, the rage bubbling just beneath the surface. "And you think he'd let you live after what you did?"
Rico's eyes widened, his back pressed firmly against the desk as he tried to stammer out a response. "I-I didn't think it would go this far, I swear! We didn't know who Jason was—who he really was—until after. Didn't think about him belonging to Wayne. We just thought he was Willis's kid!"
Bruce leaned in closer, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "You're going to tell me where the rest of your crew is. And then I'm going to make sure none of you ever hurt anyone again."
Rico nodded frantically, his body trembling as he spat out the information. "Pier 39. That's where we've been working with Black Mask to push Venari. My crew's there too—most of them. That's where the shipments go in and out. But I swear we didn't know he was connected to you!"
Bruce pulled back, his anger ice cold now, and his decision was made. "You're going to wish you hadn't touched Jason."
With that, he turned on his heel and stormed toward the door, Dick following closely behind, his silence only amplifying the intensity of his rage. Rico was left trembling in the dimly lit room, his face pale with fear.
The night air hit them as they stepped outside, the cold biting at their skin, but neither of them felt it. The sounds of Gotham's streets, the distant hum of sirens, the faint buzz of the city—it all faded into the background as Bruce and Dick prepared for what was to come.
Pier 39.
It wasn't just about stopping Venari now. It wasn't just about taking down Black Mask.
This was about justice. This was about Jason. And nothing—not Rico, not Black Mask—would stop Bruce from ensuring they paid for what they had done.