Chapter 9 The Devil's Pawn

Belmont Mansion

The dim glow of a chandelier flickered over Belmont's office as the heavy oak doors creaked open. The Mayor stepped inside, his movements stiff, beads of sweat forming at his temple.

Belmont sat at his desk, swirling a glass of bourbon, his gaze locked on the amber liquid rather than the man before him. Alfred stood at his side ever the silent observer.

The Mayor cleared his throat. "Y-You wanted to see me, Belmont?"

Belmont took a slow sip before finally meeting his gaze. "Mr. Mayor, come on in. Have a seat."

The Mayor hesitated before stepping forward, his shoes clicking against the marble floor. Each step echoed through the grand office, amplifying the tension hanging in the air.

He settled into the chair across from Belmont, his nerves betraying him. His limbs trembled slightly, his throat dry. Belmont's gaze bore into him, unblinking, heavy with expectation.

A long silence followed, broken only by the steady ticking of the clock.

Then, Belmont spoke. "Who controls Gotham, Mr. Mayor?"

The Mayor swallowed hard. "Well, uh… the people elected me to—"

Belmont's hand moved in a blur. The drawer slid open. A gun glinted in his grip. He leveled it at the Mayor's forehead.

The Mayor's breath caught in his throat, his head lowering instinctively.

Belmont's voice remained calm, almost bored. "Tell me. Why did I appoint you as the Mayor of Gotham?"

The Mayor stammered, his words trembling as much as his fingers.

"Answer me!" Belmont's voice cracked like a whip.

"To do as you say, sir!" The Mayor blurted out.

The gun clicked. Belmont's expression darkened. "Is that all?"

"To protect your image… to make sure the people still see you as their hero!"

Belmont's gaze lingered, his grip on the gun tightening. "Good. Now tell me—why are the people blaming me and not you for what happened?"

The Mayor's face paled. "I-I don't know, sir…"

Belmont's eyes flared with fury. "Wrong answer."

BANG!

The gunshot roared through the office. The Mayor's body flinched, his eyes squeezed shut, already bracing for death.

But… he felt nothing.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Smoke curled from the desk, a fresh bullet hole sunk deep into the wood.

Alfred's fingers rested lightly on Belmont's wrist, his calm grip having redirected the shot at the last second.

"There's no need for bloodshed just yet, Master," Alfred said smoothly. "The Mayor still has his uses. Why not resolve this like mature gentlemen?"

Belmont exhaled sharply, lowering the gun, but his glare never left the trembling man before him.

Belmont's head snapped upward, his glare searing into Alfred. For a moment, his grip tightened around the gun, but with a deep sigh, he shoved it back into the drawer, rubbing his temples in frustration.

Alfred, unfazed, clasped his hands behind his back. "How about this, Mr. Mayor? Right now, a great number of people despise Master Belmont due to the incident that, unfortunately, backfired."

Belmont groaned, his fingers drumming against the desk.

Alfred continued. "We can't stop them from being angry… but we can redirect that anger toward you."

The Mayor stiffened. "Me? And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

Alfred's lips curled into a smirk. "The masked man who saved them that day—he's already being seen as a hero. The people adore him. So, you're going to declare him a public enemy. That will make them furious at you. Then, Master Belmont will step forward, publicly opposing your decree—siding with the people, claiming he fully supports the masked vigilante."

Belmont's eyes glinted as the plan took shape in his mind.

"Of course," Alfred added, "he won't actually support him. But as Mayor, your orders are absolute, even over the richest man in Gotham. The people will see Belmont as their true leader again, and their hatred will shift toward you instead."

Belmont leaned back, letting the weight of the plan sink in. "A clever move, Alfred. But there's one issue—this masked man isn't exactly a public figure yet."

Alfred nodded. "Which is why you can't declare him an enemy just yet. But if he acts again—and he will—that's when we strike." He paused, adjusting his cuff. "I'd estimate a 97% chance he'll make another move soon. When he does, we set the plan into motion."

The Mayor's wide eyes betrayed his awe. "That's… brilliant."

Alfred smirked, his posture never breaking. "They don't call me the Devil's Pawn for nothing."

****

"Really?" Milo's voice shot up with excitement.

"Could you not raise your voice?" Jaxon muttered.

Both of them wore blue, prisoner-style jumpsuits—Milo fully dressed, while Jaxon had his tied around his waist, revealing a black singlet that clung to his muscular frame.

Jaxon balanced a stack of wooden planks against his shoulder, their edges reaching his neck. Meanwhile, Milo stood atop a ladder, occasionally bending down to grab a piece, nailing it into the wall. The sharp scent of wood filled the air, and the rhythmic clang of metal against nail echoed through the empty living room.

"I knew you had it in you, man!" Milo beamed. "Oh, this is gonna be great. I'll be like your sidekick or something."

Jaxon sighed, adjusting his grip on the planks. "I didn't tell you so you could get all noisy about it. And there's no way in hell you're gonna be my sidekick."

"What? Why?" Milo frowned, looking down from the ladder.

"First, I'm not some superhero who needs a sidekick. Second, even if I did, it definitely wouldn't be you."

Milo scoffed. "That's just rude."

Then, as if his enthusiasm couldn't be dampened, he perked up again. "Have you thought about a name?"

Jaxon exhaled sharply. "I don't need a name, Milo."

Milo grabbed the last wooden plank from Jaxon. "Alright, alright. But still, I bet I can be useful. You don't know Gotham like I do."

Jaxon gave a small nod. "Yeah, you might be right about that one."

Milo hammered in the final nail and hopped down from the ladder, dusting off his hands. He grinned.

"All done" Milo enthused.

"Yo, Mr. Denvil! We're done with the work!" Milo yelled.

He turned to Jaxon and handed him a small white paper. "Here you go."

Jaxon took it hesitantly. "What's this?"

"A list of things you're gonna need," Milo said, smirking.

Jaxon frowned, scanning the paper. "When did you even write this?"

Milo grinned. "While I was up there."

Jaxon sighed and started reading. "A pack of gum?" He tilted his head, waiting for an explanation.

Milo nodded. "You gotta look cool. Nothing cooler than a guy whose mouth is moving all the time."

Jaxon exhaled and continued. "Comic books?"

"Sometimes you'll be waiting for bad guys to show up. Gotta keep yourself entertained."

Jaxon rolled his eyes. "A pen and a jotter?"

"To take notes on criminals, obviously."

"A pair of sunglasses?"

"Still part of the cool factor."

Jaxon sighed, crumpling the paper in his fist.

Milo's eyes widened. "Wait! You didn't even get to the good part!"

Jaxon shook his head. "The only things I need are swords, guns, and a mask to cover my face. And I already have all three."

Milo blinked. "Wait... You have a gun?" he whispered.

"Three, actually," Jaxon said flatly.

Milo slowly raised three fingers. "Three guns?"

Jaxon scoffed. "What exactly do you think is in my bag? Comic books and sunglasses?"

He turned and started walking toward the door.

Milo stared after him, jaw slack. "Seriously?"