Chapter 5 Let's do this

The Center of Gotham

A towering statue, covered in a black tarp, loomed thirty feet above the ground. It stood atop a four-foot-tall plaque, its presence casting a heavy shadow over the gathered crowd.

A red velvet rope enclosed the perimeter, guarded by armed men in black suits. Inside the restricted area stood Clad Belmont, his daughter Sophie, and the Mayor of Gotham—an aging man with frail brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, dressed in a black suit and polished brown shoes.

Beyond the rope, reporters swarmed, cameras flashing incessantly as they captured the scene. Flashy black cars lined the streets, their sleek exteriors reflecting the city lights. Hundreds of citizens stood outside the restricted zone, their murmurs filling the air as they waited in anticipation. The crowd's whispers mixed with the endless bursts of white light from flashing cameras, turning the moment into a spectacle.

Jaxon and Milo approached the swarming crowd, Milo panting relentlessly, his hands resting on his knees.

"Hey... Jaxon, you're tired too, right?" Milo asked between breaths.

Jaxon remained upright, his gaze dropping toward Milo. "No, I'm actually pretty good," he replied.

His eyes then lifted, locking onto the massive statue ahead. Awe spread across his face. "Wow." It was the only word he could muster.

"Pretty cool, right? Took them six months to finish it," Milo said, grinning.

"Incredible," Jaxon murmured, still captivated.

Before he could take it all in, Milo grabbed his arm and pulled him forward. "Come on, we need to find a way through."

Jaxon followed, weaving through the dense crowd, pushing past bodies as the murmurs continued and cameras flashed non-stop.

Then, the Mayor stepped forward, his deliberate movements demanding attention. The weight of his voice silenced the restless crowd, halting all movement.

"As you all know, we have gathered here today to unveil the statue of Clad Belmont—Gotham's greatest friend. Over the years, his contributions to this city have been immeasurable. It is only fitting that we honor him in return."

Jaxon's focus sharpened, his eyes darting left and right before settling on a conclusion. "Hey, Milo."

"Yeah?"

"We need to get out of here. Now."

Milo frowned. "Why?"

"This place is about to be attacked."

Milo's eyes widened. "How do you know that?"

Jaxon exhaled sharply. "Look around. Tell me what you see."

Milo turned his head from side to side. "People... cars... umm... buildings?"

Jaxon sighed, frustration creeping in. "Of course. What was I thinking, asking you to look around?" He shook his head. "And now—"

Before he could finish, their attention snapped back to the Mayor.

"I present to you... the Clad Belmont Statue!"

The black tarp slipped off, unveiling the massive stone figure of Clad Belmont himself.

Gasps of amazement rippled through the crowd, quickly followed by a thunderous round of applause.

Above, a man dressed in a black suit stood by an open window, raising a small device to his mouth. "Now."

Jaxon's instincts screamed. He grabbed Milo's arm. "We have to go."

A single gunshot rang out.

A security guard's head snapped backward as a bullet tore through his forehead.

Thud!

His body collapsed. Blood pooled beneath him.

For a moment, silence. Then—

Screams erupted as the once-still crowd became a panicked stampede.

Dozens of armed figures emerged—some positioned on rooftops, others weaving through the streets, all clad in black. Without hesitation, they opened fire.

Security forces rushed to shield Belmont, his daughter, and the Mayor, ushering them toward a waiting car.

Bodies fell left and right.

Jaxon held onto Milo, pulling him through the chaos. They dove behind a parked car, Milo gasping for air while Jaxon remained eerily calm.

Peeking over the car, Jaxon watched as a woman ran desperately, her terrified eyes locked on an escape route. A single shot silenced her.

Shit.

Jaxon's gaze darted across the battlefield. People were dying—people he knew he could save. His heart pounded, his instincts screaming at him to move, but his body remained frozen.

Then, he turned to Milo. "Do you have anything I can use to cover my face?"

Milo blinked in confusion. "What are you planning?"

---

A young boy sprinted forward, panting, only to trip and fall at the feet of one of the armed men.

The man pointed his gun at the trembling child.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for death.

Before the trigger could be pulled, a blur of black and white streaked through the chaos.

A teenage figure in a black mask and white shirt launched himself from the left, body twisting mid-air. His knee crashed into the gunman's face with bone-shattering force, sending him flying.

The masked figure landed smoothly. Without sparing the child a glance, he sprinted forward, vanishing into the chaos like a living shadow.

Jaxon dashed toward the gunman, closing the distance in a blink. The man's panic spiked—his hands trembled as he fired wildly at the incoming blur. Jaxon wove through the bullets, his movements fluid, instinctual. The instant he reached his target, he planted his foot and unleashed a crushing punch. Bone cracked. Blood sprayed from the man's nose as his body flew backward, crashing hard against the pavement.

Jaxon wasted no time. He bent down, grabbed the fallen man's gun, and checked the magazine. "Only three rounds." He snapped it shut, raised the weapon, and scanned the chaos.

Gunfire rattled through the streets. Screams tore through the air. Bodies collapsed in every direction. Then—he spotted another shooter.

Jaxon exhaled, steadying his aim. His thumb pulled back the trigger.

A single shot. The golden bullet cut through the air, a sharp gust trailing in its wake. It struck home, burrowing into the gunman's chest. He crumpled instantly.

"Two left."

A sudden crack—the whistle of a bullet slicing through the air. Jaxon ducked on instinct, the round barely missing his head before splintering the concrete behind him.

His gaze snapped upward. A shooter stood on the rooftop, rifle aimed directly at him. The barrage continued, bullets kicking up dust and debris as Jaxon rolled out of sight.

The gunman hesitated, scanning for his target. Nothing.

Then—a flicker in the corner of his eye.

Jaxon's gun was spinning through the air, tossed high above the rooftop. The shooter instinctively followed its arc, distracted for a split second.

That was all Jaxon needed.

In a blur, he reappeared behind the man. A brutal strike to the neck. The gunman's eyes rolled back before his body toppled off the building, vanishing into the chaos below. Jaxon caught his gun mid-air, gripping it tight. 

Jaxon barely had time to breathe before he sensed it—shadows shifting, eyes locking onto him from every direction.

He looked up.

The battlefield had changed. Every remaining gunman had turned their sights on him. Unknowingly, he had drawn too much attention.

Jaxon exhaled, a slow grin forming. His fingers tightened around the gun, his heart pounding—not from fear, but from exhilaration.

"Let's do this."

With a confident flick, he cocked the weapon—two bullets left, and an entire battlefield ahead.