Chapter 130: New Hero In Harborview

Harborview City is a place that feels familiar but also completely different, depending on who you ask. Ask a thousand people on its streets what they think of the city, and you'll get a thousand different answers.

For some, Harborview City is like quicksand. At first, people don't realize they're sinking, but by the time they do, it's too late—they're stuck, unable to escape no matter how hard they try.

For others, it's a predator. People work hard, not to succeed but just to survive. But this city doesn't let go easily. It devours them whole while keeping up the appearance of a polished, well-dressed gentleman.

Yet, for some, Harborview City is full of gold and opportunity.

Take Frank Whiteman, a hitman from the "Black Sun" organization.

A helicopter landed roughly on the tarmac, whipped by the winds. Frank stepped out, his trench coat flapping like a cape in the breeze stirred up by the rotor. He pulled out his buzzing phone and answered it.

"It's me, poisonous bee," he said casually. "Yeah, I'm in Harborview City. Just landed. Once the job's done, I expect the remaining $40 million to be transferred. Don't worry, sir, you can trust Black Sun to deliver."

He hung up after a quick confirmation of payment. Frank smirked. This was why he loved Harborview City. For someone who made a living taking lives, this place was the best. Generous clients and plenty of work made it a goldmine.

"This guy's already as good as dead," Frank muttered to himself with satisfaction as the helicopter's engines wound down. Another man stepped out, a tall, muscular figure whose suit couldn't quite hide his bulk.

This was Haig, Frank's partner and younger brother.

They had a tight schedule: land at 5:30, finish the job by 8:00, and leave by 8:30 because there were more jobs lined up that night.

"Relax, Haig, this one's going to be easy," Frank said, walking ahead. "This city's great—best bang for your buck."

Suddenly, Frank flinched, spinning to the side. A black dart whizzed past his face, nicking his cheek before embedding itself in the helicopter's exterior.

A bat-shaped dart.

Frank's eyes locked onto the direction it came from. Standing there was a girl—slim, youthful, dressed head to toe in a black suit with a bat logo on her chest. Her cape fluttered behind her as she stood defiantly.

"Ha, a bat," Frank muttered, unimpressed.

As a top hitman for Black Sun, Frank had heard about these new vigilantes. Some group in Gotham started it, and now freaks in masks and capes were popping up in cities everywhere. They thought they were doing some kind of heroic work, but to Frank, they were just clowns.

He dismissed these so-called heroes, figuring that while a few might have some skill, they were no match for true professionals like him and Haig.

Frank had even bragged to his colleagues that if he ever crossed paths with one of these masked idiots, he'd make them wish they'd never been born. He hadn't expected to get his chance so soon.

"Tch, just a little girl?" Frank grunted, clearly bored.

He figured she was probably some teenage martial arts prodigy who'd gotten a few awards and thought she was unstoppable. Then, inspired by the masked crazies on the news, she decided to dress up and play hero. But she was in way over her head.

"Haig, she's all yours."

Haig cracked his knuckles, ready to fight. "You're lucky I don't like beating up little girls," he said coldly. "So you've still got time to run."

But he clearly didn't grasp the seriousness of the situation.

The "little girl" standing before them was Cassandra Cain, the third-generation Batgirl and one of the top fighters in a world where even Batman wasn't unusual.

She didn't bother with a fighting stance. Instead, she extended a hand from beneath her cloak and beckoned Haig forward almost tauntingly.

Haig felt insulted.

"Alright, you asked for it."

Haig charged at Batgirl, throwing a powerful punch.

Despite his contemptuous attitude, Haig's moves were precise and professional. He was a natural powerhouse, skilled at channeling his strength into every move. In his early days, he'd earned a reputation for crushing enemies' skulls with his bare hands. He was known as "Bronze Hammer Hand" in the hitman world, and he had the scars to prove it.

Frank watched from the side, arms crossed, with a smug smile.

As a hitman, Haig was above average, but as a brawler, he was nearly unbeatable. Few in their line of work could match his strength and skill.

Haig didn't know who this bat-clad girl was, but he didn't plan to kill her. He wanted to teach her a lesson—show her the difference between a true master and a kid who'd learned a few moves at a dojo. Maybe then she'd realize how dangerous her little hero fantasy was and go back to being a normal kid.

Suddenly, Haig froze. It was like a speeding truck had just hit the brakes. He'd taken a punch straight to the face. Blood and a broken tooth flew from his mouth.

Batgirl stood calmly, one arm extended from under her cloak, still in a casual punching stance, almost mocking him.

Frank was stunned.

What just happened?