Blood in the Water

Monday, October 27th, 10:30.

New Jersey,

Gotham City,

Gotham Heights.

The low hum of conversation filled the Maroni estate, a grand yet foreboding structure that loomed over the Gotham skyline like a relic of a bygone era. Inside, Salvatore Maroni sat in his office, the heavy scent of cigars clinging to the air as he nursed a glass of whiskey. The liquor burned his throat, but it did nothing to ease the growing anxiety coiling in his gut.

The Burnley Town Massive—a gang he had always considered nothing more than street thugs—was hitting his operations with surgical precision. Not like reckless upstarts or desperate lowlifes trying to make a name for themselves. No, this was something far more calculated. They were striking at the heart of his business, taking out key shipments, disrupting money laundering schemes, hitting his enforcers when they were most vulnerable.

The worst part?

It was working.

He clenched his jaw as he stared down at the reports spread across his desk. His grip tightened on the glass as he skimmed through the damages: warehouses burned down, shipments intercepted, high-level lieutenants assassinated in the dead of night.

It was all too methodical.

Maroni exhaled through his nose, tapping a thick ringed finger against the wooden surface. He had seen something like this before.

'It's like what Black Hood did to the False Face Society all over again.' The thought came bitterly. That damn kid had been a thorn in the side of Black Mask for weeks. He had chipped away at the False Face Society with pinpoint strikes, not enough to tear them down alone, but enough to cause a power shift. Rivals had smelled the blood in the water and descended upon Black Mask's empire like vultures.

Now, it was happening to him.

His hand twitched toward the cigar resting in the ashtray, but before he could reach for it, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The air grew colder as presence made itself known. Maroni didn't look up immediately. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on the documents before him, swirling the whiskey in his glass with slow, deliberate movements. He knew better than to let his enemies see fear.

"You're making quite the mess out there," he muttered. "I'd say I should be impressed, but I don't like surprises."

A deep chuckle answered him. "You should be," a voice responded smoothly. "We've gone through quite the effort to make sure you realize your time's up, Maroni."

Maroni finally lifted his gaze, his steely blue eyes locking onto two figures standing just inside the doorway. The first was tall and lean, his movements fluid like a predator in control of its surroundings. The faint glow of the room's dim lighting reflected off the curved, bladed gauntlet resting against his forearm—Raptor. The man was an infamous killer, known for his efficiency and utter lack of remorse.

Beside him stood another figure, more rigid in posture but no less lethal—Saiko. His mask was sleek, his presence one of silent menace. Unlike Raptor, he didn't speak. He didn't need to. His reputation preceded him.

Maroni exhaled, shifting his weight back in his chair. "Well, shit. I should've known the Burnley Town Massive wasn't this smart on their own." He placed his drink down, his fingers steepling together. "I assume you two ain't here for a social call?"

Raptor took a slow step forward, running a gloved finger along the edge of Maroni's desk. "Not exactly. The Light has plans for Gotham, and you? You're in the way."

Maroni smirked. "The Light, huh? Thought they were all about big-picture shit. What's a bunch of street-level thugs and mobsters got to do with them?"

"Everything," came a third voice, smooth and cold as a blade pressed to the throat.

A figure emerged from the shadows, moving with the practiced ease of a ghost—Talon. His owl mask glinted in the moonlight, clawed gloves flexing as he moved with deadly grace across the room.

Maroni's fingers twitched under the desk, feeling the reassuring weight of the pistol hidden beneath the wood. "So this is how it is, huh? You're not here to talk."

Talon tilted his head slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, we are talking, Maroni. Right now, we're talking about how you're going to die."

Silence settled between them, thick and suffocating.

Then, in a single motion, Maroni yanked the pistol free, bringing it up to fire.

But he never got the chance.

Saiko moved first, his blade flashing through the air like a streak of silver lightning. The gun was sliced cleanly in two before Maroni even pulled the trigger.

Maroni barely had time to register what happened before Raptor was on him, driving a knee into his gut with enough force to lift him from the chair. He wheezed, doubling over as pain flared through his abdomen, his glass of whiskey shattering against the floor.

Talon walked around the desk, moving slow, unhurried, like a man with all the time in the world. "You helped run Gotham's underworld for a long time, Maroni," he mused. "But times are changing. The Light is ushering in a new era. And you? You're just another relic of the past."

Maroni spat blood onto the floor, his breathing ragged. "You think…you can just waltz in here…and take over Gotham?" He managed a weak chuckle. "Gotham ain't that easy. I remember you tried once. You failed."

Talon crouched down, meeting Maroni's gaze with a smirk. "Oh, I know. That's why I'm burning it to the ground first." With a final nod, Saiko and Raptor moved in, their blades flashing under the dim office light. The last thing Salvatore Maroni saw was the cold, merciless stare of Talon as everything faded to black.

Blood painted the mahogany desk.

The underworld had just lost a king.

-X-

Monday, October 27th, 10:30.

New Jersey,

Gotham City,

Gotham Heights.

Gotham Heights was quiet—unnaturally so. The streetlights bathed the pristine sidewalks in a soft glow, the neatly paved roads looking almost out of place in a city known for its crime-ridden alleys and crumbling infrastructure. Connor and Kaldur took in the view as they walked alongside Esau, the three of them moving at a leisurely pace beneath the flickering neon signs of high-end businesses.

"This place isn't at all what I expected," Connor said, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket as his sharp blue eyes scanned the street. "The way people talk about Gotham, I thought we'd be dodging bullets by now."

Kaldur nodded in agreement. "The rumors of Gotham's crime seem exaggerated. If this is Gotham, then it does not seem much different than any other city in America."

Esau chuckled, shaking his head as he casually turned down a side street, leading them deeper into Gotham Heights. "Yeah, I get why you'd think that. But you guys are looking at the nice parts of Gotham." He gestured around them. "This area? It's Gotham Heights—the expensive section. And this specific part of Gotham Heights?" He smirked. "This is basically the safest place in Gotham, but not for the reasons you'd think."

Connor raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten us."

Esau spread his arms, motioning to the towering buildings, sleek restaurants, and high-end storefronts that lined the streets. "See, these buildings? They're owned by some of the richest people in Gotham, a lot of them criminal enterprises dressed up as legitimate businesses. And what do criminals hate more than anything?"

Connor frowned, thinking for a moment before answering. "Getting robbed?"

Esau snapped his fingers and pointed at him. "Exactly. That's why the police presence here is the highest in the city. GCPD doesn't exactly patrol this area out of duty—they do it because the people here pay them to. The ones running these businesses don't want random thugs messing up their investments. No gang wars. No unnecessary killings. No chaos. Just a well-oiled, money-making machine."

Kaldur folded his arms, his expression contemplative. "A strange sense of order…controlled by criminals."

Esau nodded. "Yeah, Gotham's got rules. You grow up here, you learn them real fast."

Connor shot him a look. "And you grew up where, exactly?"

Esau gave a short laugh, shaking his head as they walked. "East End."

Kaldur's brow furrowed slightly. "That is one of the worst areas, is it not?"

"Yep," Esau confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck as a nostalgic smirk crossed his face. "East End's a whole different beast from this place. Over there, every alley, every street, every corner had something going on—fights, muggings, murders, rapes. You name it, it happened. There were nights where I'd hear screaming and gunshots and just knew that someone wasn't making it to morning."

Connor exhaled through his nose. "Damn…"

Kaldur nodded solemnly. "I can see why your alter ego, Black Hood, was so violent."

Esau rolled his shoulders. "Yeah, I was a pretty violent kid growing up. Didn't really help that I had a knack for getting into fights—especially when I got into Gotham Academy on a sponsorship."

Kaldur raised an eyebrow. "You attended Gotham Academy?"

Esau smirked. "Yeah. Hated every second of it. Lot of rich kids who thought they could do or say whatever they wanted to people like me. Let's just say…I didn't take their shit lying down. Got into plenty of fights—some with kids my age, some with older ones. And then, of course, there was the underground fighting rings."

Connor let out a low whistle. "I always figured you had experience, but you were already fighting in underground rings before you became Black Hood?"

Esau shrugged. "Yeah. Needed the money, and I needed a way to get better at fighting. Turns out, when you're good at punching people in the face, there's always someone willing to throw cash at you."

Kaldur and Connor shared a glance, both clearly impressed—and maybe a little concerned—but neither commented further as Esau led them into a restaurant. The place was nice, a low-lit establishment with polished wooden floors, sleek modern decor, and the faint hum of jazz playing over the speakers.

They took a seat at a booth near the window, menus already placed neatly in front of them. As soon as they were settled, Kaldur leaned forward. "Have you kept in touch with the team since you left?"

Esau sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not much. I talk to Barbara, obviously, and Kaldur checked in on me. But the others…not so much."

Connor frowned. "M'gann's been asking about you. Artemis too."

Kaldur nodded. "The team has been struggling. The simulation…did not leave anyone unscathed."

Esau exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the booth. "Yeah… I figured."

Connor rested his arms on the table, his expression serious. "You know, you could come back."

Esau arched an eyebrow. "Could—but won't."

Connor smirked, leaning forward slightly. "You better not be running from an ass-whooping."

That made Esau chuckle. He met Connor's gaze with a smirk of his own. "Oh? You think you can take me now, test tube baby?"

Connor grinned. "I know I can."

Esau leaned forward, challenging. "Then find a fight worth my time and we'll see."

Kaldur, watching the two of them with amusement, chuckled and shook his head. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before this became a challenge."

Esau crossed his arms. "What? You want in on this too, Kaldur?"

Kaldur smirked. "If you are so eager to test yourself, I see no reason why I should not."

Esau laughed. "Oh, now this I have to see."

Connor grinned. "Then consider yourself officially challenged."

Esau shook his head in amusement, already looking forward to whatever insanity this would lead to. If nothing else, it felt good to be with his friends again—even if they were about to try and kick his ass.

-X-

Monday, October 27th, 11:00.

New Jersey,

Gotham City,

Gotham Heights.

The office of Able Crown was silent, save for the faint hum of a flickering light in the corner. The stench of blood clung to the air, mixing with the scent of expensive whiskey that had spilled across the mahogany desk, pooling beside the lifeless body of the once-ambitious crime lord.

Able's corpse lay slumped against his chair, his face frozen in shock, a deep slash across his throat painting his tailored suit crimson. Around the office, his lieutenants—men who had once thought themselves untouchable under the Burnley Town Massive—were sprawled in various positions of death, their bodies broken, throats slit, or spines snapped.

Saiko stood near the window, wiping blood off his blade with a silk cloth, his movements methodical and precise. The dim neon lights from the city outside illuminated the faint metallic gleam of his armor, casting an eerie glow over his masked face.

Raptor, meanwhile, stood by a nearby liquor cabinet, casually pouring himself a drink. He swirled the glass lazily, his golden gauntlets still dripping with the remnants of his previous kills. "You know," he mused, taking a sip, "for all the talk of the Burnley Town Massive being the next rulers of Gotham, they didn't put up much of a fight. Bit disappointing, really."

Talon—Alton Carver—stood at the center of the room, his owl-like mask casting a shadow over his expression. He ran a gloved hand along the edge of the desk, his sharp eyes scanning the carnage they had wrought. There was no remorse in his stance, only cold calculation.

"This was never about them ruling Gotham," Alton said evenly, finally turning toward his associates. "They were a means to an end. A tool to weaken the Maroni Crime Family and set the stage for what comes next. And now that they've served their purpose…" He gestured to the bodies littering the office. "They are no longer needed."

Saiko stepped forward, slipping his blade back into its sheath. "So what now?"

Alton looked at him, the faintest trace of a smirk behind his mask. "Now? We bring the real players to the table."

He turned to Raptor first. "Gather the Court's agents. The ones stationed outside Gotham, waiting for their orders to return. Their time is coming. I want them ready to move on my command."

Raptor took another sip of his drink, rolling his shoulders before setting the glass down. "So the Owls finally get to stretch their wings again, huh?" He chuckled darkly. "Should be fun. I'll get it done." Without another word, he turned on his heel and exited the office, his coat trailing behind him.

Alton then shifted his focus to Saiko. "As for you—spread word to the leaders of the Hammer, the Dubelz Crime Family, the Yakuza, the Neon Dragon Triad, and the Lucky Hand Triad. Tell them I'm calling for a meeting. It's time to put the next phase into motion."

Saiko nodded. "And if they refuse?"

Alton's voice was devoid of emotion. "Then remind them what happens to those who stand in the way of progress."

Saiko tilted his head slightly, his mask hiding the smirk that played at his lips. "Understood." He turned and disappeared into the shadows, vanishing as swiftly as he had appeared.

Alton remained in the office, the dim light casting long shadows across the bloodstained walls. He walked toward the large glass window, gazing out at the Gotham skyline. The city stretched before him, unaware of the storm that was about to be unleashed.

The pieces were moving into place.

Chaos was coming.

When it was all said and done, Gotham would belong to him.