And so it all begins

Nolan hunched over the computer, fingers tapping a slow, restless rhythm along the side of the keyboard.

The glow from the screen lit up the small office space he carved out of the Arden's unfinished twelfth floor half-wired, half repaired, but functional enough for nights like this.

Another alert blinked onto the screen.

Incident Report: Black Mask Territory

Victim: Unidentified male, presumed homeless, found deceased.

Nolan swore under his breath, pushing back from the desk hard enough that the chair creaked.

Third one this week.

He rubbed his face, trying to clear the exhaustion.

It wasn't isolated anymore. At first, maybe it could have been coincidence. Now it was a pattern which meant black mask was trying to send a message.

He grabbed his burner, scrolled through the list of contacts, and sent out a mass ping: Emergency Meeting. Warehouse off 6th and Bertram. Tonight. Midnight.

No explanations. No debates.

***

The warehouse was an old textile plant, stripped to its bones just broken windows and cracked concrete floors.

The perfect place for people like them to gather unseen.

By the time Nolan arrived, the homeless that answered his call were already waiting.

There were maybe twenty of them men and women who had been with him the longest, who had clawed their way out of gutters and back alleys with the help of the network they had built. Faces lined with experience, suspicion, and a guarded kind of loyalty. Some of them were defacto leaders of their own sections having been there the longest.

Nolan stepped into the center of the space, pulling his hood down so they could all see his face.

He didn't shout. He didn't need to.

"Thank you for coming." he said trying to hide his nerves and debating whether he should have Quentin switch in 

"Yeah yeah, why are we meeting here don't you have a nice hotel now?" someone asked causing Nolan to frown 

"I thought this would fit the ambiance better," he replied earning him absolutely zero chuckles, guffaws or laughs 

'Nice one!' Kieran laughed causing Nolan to realize his joke was truly terrible 

"In all seriousness, the hotel is still being renovated. They have done spectacular work so far and I think it will finish early but, that's not why I'm here." 

"We are being picked off," he said, voice low and even. "Our people are being taken out by Black Mask's territory."

A few heads dipped in silent acknowledgment. Others stiffened.

"I know you've all noticed, the missing faces. He wants us to back off and cease our operations." Nolan lost himself in thought realizing he wasn't very good at public speaking 

Quickly Quentin took the reins. 

He let that sit for a moment, the cold air biting between the words.

"I promised, when we started this, that this would be a safe place. A better place. I promised no violence. That we would never become what we hated."

He took a slow breath, steadying the fire burning in his chest.

"But I can't stand by anymore. I won't."

A murmur ran through the gathered crowd, low and uneasy.

"I'm not asking you to become killers," Nolan said. "I'm asking you to protect what we've built. To protect each other."

He looked at them, one by one.

Faces he knew.

People he had fought for, even when they didn't know it.

"Are you with me?" he asked, voice rough. "Are you prepared to do this?"

The silence was heavy.

A few shifted their weight, uncomfortable.

One or two shook their heads and started to step back, faces hard with regret.

"I didn't sign up for this," a woman muttered.

A man near the back nodded grimly. "We're not soldiers."

Nolan opened his mouth to respond, but another voice cut through the cold.

"If you asked me in the beginning," a gravelly voice said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "if I wanted to turn into some gang member that carries a gun around with him, I'd have told you to fuck off."

Heads turned toward the speaker a wiry, scarred man named Darrell, who had been living under bridges long before Nolan had ever come to power.

Darrell shoved his hands into his coat pockets, squaring his shoulders.

"But now?" he said. "After seeing what we built? After getting a place to sleep that's not a goddamn sewer pipe? After knowing there's people who give a damn whether I live or die?"

He shook his head, a small, crooked smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"I want to protect that. I will protect that."

A beat of silence.

Then another voice: "Same here."

And another.

And another.

Until the old warehouse echoed with a quiet, growing chorus of agreement.

Quentin didn't smile.

He didn't celebrate.

He just nodded once, solemnly an oath shared without words and stepped forward.

"Alright," he said. "Then we start preparing. I can't believe I'm saying this but, the first order of business is getting strapped let's start finding some weapons." 

"Next order of business, new rules," he said simply. His voice carried without effort now. He didn't need to shout. They were listening.

"No one goes anywhere alone. You move in groups of three minimum. You stay in sightlines. No shortcuts through alleys. No solo runs. I don't care if you're taking a leak, you take someone with you."

There were a few small chuckles. A few nods.

Nolan let that settle before moving on.

"I'm organizing patrols starting tonight. Rotating shifts. If something feels wrong, you don't investigate you call it in."

He paused, feeling the unspoken tension rising.

"But," he said, his tone sharpening, "there's a problem."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a battered Glock and handed it to Darrel one of maybe a dozen weapons he'd scraped together from various contacts.

"We're practically unarmed."

The room shifted uneasily.

"If they come for us really come for us words aren't going to stop them."

Quentin's voice was steady, but underneath it boiled a quiet rage.

"Now," Quentin said, sweeping his eyes over them, "I have a way we can get arms."

He let the words settle. Some of them stiffened, others leaned forward, sensing the shift coming.

"Black Mask thinks he can come into our neighborhoods, kill our people, and we'll just lie down and take it."

"He thinks that because you're homeless because you don't have penthouses and private security that you're weak."

He shook his head slowly.

"You are not weak."

A quiet murmur ran through the crowd. Quentin's voice sharpened, cutting through it.

"Our network—" he tapped the side of his head, "—our information network, it's one of the best in Gotham. You know it. I know it. We built it with our own damn hands. And until now, we've held back. We've chosen not to pick fights. We've chosen to stay under the radar."

He stepped forward into the dim light, his once gaunt face now was full and firm.

"But not anymore."

The room seemed to pulse with the change in the air. Quentin kept going, voice low but commanding.

"Black Mask forgets that we've hidden people in his territory before. He forgets that we've planted eyes and ears where he thought no one was watching."

He let the silence stretch a heartbeat longer, letting that sink in.

"We know when his shipments come in. We know where his gun caches are."

He took another step forward, practically daring them to object.

"I say we hit one."

A flicker of fire lit in a few pairs of eyes.

"Then another."

More nods now, cautious but building.

"And another."

A ripple of motion heads turning to look at one another, measuring, calculating, feeling the stirrings of something they hadn't felt in years: hope.

Quentin's voice lowered to a growl, "I say we take this war to them."

He opened his arms slightly, palms up, as if offering them a choice.

"No more hiding. No more waiting for them to strike first."

He looked each one of them in the eye the leaders, the survivors, the people who had outlasted the streets, the gangs, the world itself.

"Are you with me?"

—

A/N: upload schedule switching to a chapter every other day like my other stories just telling yall so you don't think it's dropped