[Leonard Snart's POV]
I stood with the gang, waiting for Tom. He always had a knack for crazy ideas, and this time was no different. He had even changed the plan at the last minute, but I couldn't help but appreciate his outside-the-box thinking. Fortunately, we managed to acquire a horse for our mission – well, technically, we stole it.
"Hey guys, I see you managed to get everything ready," He remarked as I spotted Tom descending with Black Mask and an injured man in tow, holding them both by their shirts.
"Who's the other guy?" I inquired, studying the unfamiliar face. My memory for faces was usually spot-on, but this one didn't ring any bells.
"Oh, him? He's one of Black Mask's lackeys. I thought it would be fitting for one of his subordinates to watch him meet his end," Tom casually explained. I glanced over at the hostages, noticing that they couldn't move or speak, thanks to whatever Tom had done to them.
"You're a sick bastard," Deadshot chimed in, while Deathstroke and Red Hood prepared for the final part of our mission.
"Ready to go," Red Hood announced.
Tom used his powers to strip Black Mask of his clothes including his underwear, rendering him helpless. Black Mask's eyes widened in fear, but he couldn't scream, thanks to a piece of duct tape Deathstroke placed over his mouth. He was about to endure a brutal and humiliating death.
"Goodbye, Black Mask. Oh, and Ghost sends his regards," Tom said, and then Deathstroke set fire to the horse's tail. The horse bolted down the rocky road, dragging Black Mask along, leaving a gruesome trail of blood behind.
"Now that you've seen your boss's demise, it's only right for you to welcome him in the afterlife once he gets there. Don't you think?" Tom declared as he approached the other captive.
He leaned in close to the terrified man and asked an absurd question, "Do you know what happens when air bubbles slip into a man's veins?"
"No… No, please don't kill me," the man pleaded, but his words fell on deaf ears. Tom seemed intrigued by the man's fear, and even Deathstroke was amused by Tom's wild imagination, rather his creativity.
"Shhh," Tom hushed the man, attempting to calm him. He leaned in even closer, asking, "Relax. Just answer me. Do you know what happens?"
"No, I don't, but I know it can't possibly be good," the man stammered. There might have been a time when he would have faced death with pride, but now, facing someone as overwhelmingly powerful as Tom, he could only hope for a swift end after witnessing Tom's brutality.
"Well, I guess it's time you found out. After all, experience is the best teacher," Tom said as he placed his gloved hand on the man's chest.
After some more pleading, Tom seemed to take pity on the man, shocking the rest of us.
"I was just following orders. I'm sorry. Please don't kill me. I won't say a word to anyone," Black Mask's henchman begged, and we all watched in wonder at how this unexpected drama would unfold.
"How about I let you go?" Tom offered, sparking a glimmer of hope in the man's eyes.
"Fuck no," Jason, always the hothead, protested.
"Relax, Red Hood," Tom said, drawing our attention. He was clearly crossing a line with this act.
"You've got to be kidding me," Deadshot remarked. "Let's just smoke this fucker already," he added and with a pistol pointed at his head, while Deathstroke remained silent.
Tom turned back to the man and removed his hand from his chest. "Run like hell and don't breathe a word about what happened here tonight or at your boss's place."
"Yes, I won't. I swear on my life," the man promised before getting up and sprinting away from us. Jason wanted to pursue him, but Deathstroke stopped him. I signaled Deadshot to lower his gun.
Suddenly, the escaped henchman collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest as if trying to reach his heart. He struggled for a moment before taking his final breath, his eyes crimson as if he would cry blood any moment.
"What... What did you do to him?" Jason asked, confirming the man's death.
"No biggie," Tom replied, offering a brief explanation. "I simply injected air bubbles into his veins, the ones responsible for carrying blood to the heart. The others clogged his arteries, cutting off blood flow, especially to the brain."
"Scary," Deadshot commented, following it with a sarcastic whistle.
"Well, at least when the police find the body, they'll only see his prints on Black Mask's body since we're all wearing gloves," I remarked.
"They might think he killed his boss and then committed suicide," Deathstroke added.
"Exactly," Jason marveled at how smoothly Tom had covered up Black Mask's murder, leaving no traces to us.
If anyone tried to investigate, they'd hit a dead end – the dead pilot, the collapsed building, and Black Mask's death far from his territory. It was time to call it a night as we each returned to our respective hideouts. But before we left, Deadshot approached Tom.
"You're one sick bastard, you know that?" he commented. Tom responded with a double tap on his shoulder before levitating into the night sky.
"Goodnight, fellas. It was a fun playdate. Hope we get to do this more often," Tom said before disappearing. Jason and I hopped on his bike and headed home, leaving Deathstroke and Deadshot behind.
"Welcome back, fellas. From the looks of it, you had quite the evening," Tom remarked with audible sarcasm as he munched on chips and watched a movie.
"Yeah, it was one hell of an evening. I haven't been this worked up in a long while," I admitted. Tom was acting this way because Jason wasn't yet aware of his identity as Ace the Tyrant who we spent all night with.
"Hey, don't finish all the chips," Jason said, snatching the bag from Tom as he settled onto the sofa with the TV remote in hand.
"So, how was your first day on the job?" I asked Jason, hanging my jacket on the coat rack before taking a seat.
"It was like the usual, just with a team. It's been a while since I've worked with a team," Jason replied, recalling his lone wolf days after taking up the Red Hood mantle.
"Oh, I see... Did you get to meet that Ace guy?" Tom inquired casually, curious about Jason's impression of Ace now that they'd met in person.
"Yes, I did," Jason replied tersely, his attention focused on the TV. It was apparent he might end up playing PlayStation later as he couldn't find anything to entertain him.
"Really now? What was he like?"
"He was just as I imagined him to be, just like on the TV broadcasts."
"I sense a 'but' coming," Tom prodded.
"But he was even crazier than I could have imagined. Seeing the aftermath of what he did to those men and the kind of power he held made me question his mental stability."
"Why do you say that?" Tom inquired, genuinely curious.
"He was willing to push criminals to their limits until he broke them, body and soul. He's a complete freak. I wonder if that's the kind of person heroes need to become to permanently subdue crime," Jason concluded, his tone low as he contemplated the matter.
"Well, everyone has their own ideology and opinions about this world. He has his, and you have yours. Just stay true to your convictions; it'll work out," Tom reassured him, giving Jason a gentle pat on the shoulder.
"If you'll excuse me, I have some work to do," Tom said before getting up and heading into his room.
I watched him as he walked towards his room, how time changes people. He was no longer that frail little bartending brat I persuaded into joining my way of crime, now he was something else entirely, a different monster in his own.
Although he talks the same and acts the same, his mind and thoughts aren't the same as it used to be. He's slowly changing and his heart is starting to become more cold than mine ever was, I just hope this lifestyle of he's doesn't consume him at some point.
[Bruce Wayne's POV]
In the heart of Gotham City, on a frigid and chaotic night, sirens wailed like mournful ghosts, weaving a dissonant symphony that reverberated through the streets. A relentless dance of red and blue emergency lights painted the surroundings in eerie, ever-shifting hues, casting shadows that seemed to have a life of their own. A web of yellow caution tape encircled the grim tableau, keeping curious civilians at bay.
In this grim backdrop, the Gotham City Police Department found itself at a perplexing impasse, grappling with the enigmatic death of their elusive nemesis, Black Mask. The investigation had hit a brick wall, prompting Commissioner Gordon to summon the city's enigmatic protector, Batman, to untangle the mysteries that shrouded the crime scene.
Commissioner Gordon led Batman through the maze of caution tape to the macabre centerpiece of the investigation. Black Mask's lifeless body lay sprawled, brutally mutilated, with a grotesque trail of blood and brain matter leading to a phantom horse.
Batman's deep, gravelly voice resonated in the eerie silence as he surveyed the gruesome tableau. "This modus operandi deviates significantly from any criminal I've encountered."
Gordon, a seasoned lawman with a permanent furrowed brow, regarded Batman with a mixture of respect and concern. "That's what deeply concerns me. We're in uncharted territory."
Batman, clad in his iconic cowl and cape, stroked his chin thoughtfully, his piercing gaze never leaving the disturbing scene. "This suggests either a radical reinvention by the perpetrator, a novel approach, or an earnest effort to erase all traces."
Gordon nodded, his wearied eyes reflecting years of battling Gotham's darkness. "Any fingerprints?" Batman inquired.
"Yes," Gordon replied, gesturing towards the second body nearby, concealed in a body bag. "And they all lead back to the other deceased individual."
Batman's legendary detective skills were already at work, probing deeper into the mystery. "Who is he?"
Gordon provided a succinct yet informative summary. "He was a Gotham criminal who somehow clawed his way to become one of Black Mask's lieutenants, steeped in countless crimes and released from prison just months ago."
"How did he die?" Batman inquired, his voice commanding as the shadows that enveloped him.
"Reportedly, he killed his boss and then took his own life," Gordon explained, his skepticism palpable. "But in Gotham, taking out a boss is a power move, not a prelude to suicide."
"Indeed," Batman acknowledged. "So, what's your working hypothesis?"
"Batgirl and I examined Black Mask's base of operations," Gordon began, his voice solemn. "We found no sign of machinery capable of causing the building's collapse."
Batman's piercing gaze met Gordon's, the weight of their unspoken concern evident. "Are you suggesting a metahuman capable of seismic activity might be involved?"
Gordon nodded gravely. "It's a possibility, though far from confirmed. I'll continue to pursue leads. Please keep me apprised of any developments." In that chilling night, their words resonated with gravitas, bound by a shared mission to unravel the darkness that clung to Gotham's streets.
About an hour later, Barbara returned from her customary city patrol, her red hair tousled from the night breeze. Bruce, the Dark Knight, was hunched over his computer in the Batcave, his piercing gaze locked onto the screen as he delved into the enigma that was Black Mask's murder.
Barbara cracked open a soft drink can and took a long, refreshing sip, the condensation beading up on the aluminum. She looked over at Bruce and inquired, "Are you still dissecting Black Mask's murder? I initially thought it'd be a straightforward case."
Bruce, his jaw clenched in concentration, glanced at her briefly. "Yes, I'm still on it. Superficially, it appears simple, but unraveling the killer's motive and unmasking their identity has proven elusive." His fingers danced over the keyboard, navigating through an array of files.
"We've established that the building's collapse was the handiwork of a metahuman, not machinery," Barbara observed. "How about starting from there?"
Bruce exhaled audibly, frustration etched across his face. "I've explored that avenue as well. I scoured the wreckage for any security cameras that might shed light on the situation, but they were conveniently disabled just before the attack."
Barbara nodded thoughtfully. "That's a cunning move. Disabling surveillance before an assault is a classic tactic, effective in maintaining anonymity. What if we examine the security systems of adjacent buildings? They might have captured something."
Bruce replied, "As I mentioned earlier, I've already pursued that lead. The cameras in nearby buildings were tampered with just thirty minutes prior to the incident."
Barbara's emerald eyes narrowed as she brainstormed. "There must be a crack in their strategy somewhere. No criminal operation of this scale is flawlessly orchestrated. Perhaps there's a building with an overlooked blind spot?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. "I hate to disappoint you, but you won't find anything. The entire grid suffered a power outage for a brief fifteen seconds, just ten minutes before the operation. Whoever these culprits are, they're exceptionally skilled."
Frustration coiled in Barbara's chest as she watched Bruce rise from his chair. "Where are you going?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
Bruce's voice was laced with an air of determination as he donned his cape and cowl. "To extract some answers, the old-fashioned way." He left the Batcave, vanishing into the inky darkness, leaving Barbara to continue her digital investigation while he resorted to his more hands-on approach.
…
Batman embarked on a covert quest to squeeze information from the criminal elite of Gotham but hit a brick wall. His hope of the Penguin shedding light on Black Mask's mysterious demise fizzled, leaving him one last resort.
As Batman strode into the opulent office of Mr. Falcone, the room was steeped in darkness, save for the glimmering cityscape outside. The don of Gotham's underworld lounged in his leather chair, a Cuban cigar smoldering between his fingers, and a glass of whiskey cradled in his other hand.
Falcone's baritone voice cut through the silence. "It's been a while since I received a visit from you. I hope all is well."
Emerging from the shadows, Batman's grim tone resonated. "You've been keeping a low profile for far too long, and that concerns me."
Falcone released a plume of smoke from his cigar, its cherry tip casting an eerie glow. "Let's just say I'm contemplating a different line of business, one that ensures freedom from your unwelcome intrusions."
Batman's gaze remained unrelenting. "That would be a welcome change, but you and I both know you're not capable of it."
Falcone shifted his chair and took a sip of whiskey. "True. What brings you here tonight?"
Batman cut to the chase. "You're aware of Black Mask's fate."
"Yes, I am. What a tragic and humiliating end. What of it?"
Batman, the embodiment of resolve, pressed further. "If anyone has knowledge of this, it's you. Spit it out."
Falcone, a shrewd businessman, leaned back. "You can't simply barge in here and make demands."
"I can," Batman countered, and the door opened to reveal Falcone's right-hand man, a silent sentinel with a gun as a reminder that the don's empire was aware of the Bat's presence.
Falcone signaled for his underling to withdraw, and they continued their dialogue alone.
Falcone cut to the chase. "Assuming I do have information about Black Mask's demise, what's in it for me?"
In his signature deep voice, Batman asked, "What do you want?"
Falcone leaned in, savoring his whiskey. "Nothing for now, but I may call in this favor in the future."
Batman's commitment remained unwavering. "I don't negotiate with criminals."
Falcone, unyielding in his own way, replied, "And yet here you are, demanding information."
Batman conceded, "Okay. Tell me what you know."
Falcone's gaze shifted to a burning dollar bill. "There's a saying: 'If you play with fire, you'll get burnt.'" He watched the dollar smolder before letting it fall into an ashtray. "Meaning, there's a new player in Gotham's criminal underworld, a brilliant mafia boss who makes the impossible seem effortless."
Batman probed, "You said 'mafia boss,' implying others work under him like you operate."
Falcone confirmed, "Correct."
Batman, perplexed, asked, "Why haven't I heard of this figure before if he's a top boss in Gotham's underworld?"
Falcone, now thoughtful, replied, "With recent events, you've had your hands full, and this business doesn't harm civilians or disrupt the peace of Gotham."
Batman pressed on, "Who is he, and how is he linked to Black Mask's murder?"
Falcone grinned and took another drag from his cigar. "Black Mask challenged him for power, a decision that ultimately cost him his life. This new player wasn't initially interested, but Black Mask's persistence made him act."
"One last question," Batman inquired, his patience waning. "What's his name?"
Falcone leaned in with a sinister smile. "His name is… Nothing."
"Nothing?" Batman was taken aback by that reply.
Falcone turned to look at the cityscape, his cigar smoldering. "He is also the most trusted broker in the criminal underworld, I've said too much already. Do your own homework." When he turned back, Batman had vanished, a wisp of darkness in the dim room.
Want more chapters? Kindly visit my to read ahead./Maverick_DaSupreme