Chapter 20: The Mayoral Election Plan

Chapter 20: The Mayoral Election Plan

"Shit, it's already this late? I'm heading back to base."

Allen glanced at his wrist, where a watch didn't actually exist, then hoisted his bicycle onto his shoulder and leaped off the rooftop.

The members of the Bat Family watched his figure disappear into the shadows between the towering buildings, falling into a heavy silence.

"Father, who is he?" Damian asked.

For someone so powerful to suddenly appear in Gotham, it was undoubtedly an unstable factor—one that required preparation. If that person ever fell into darkness, it would be a disaster for them all.

"His story… is rather unbelievable," Bruce murmured, gazing up at the full moon as memories of Silent Hill surfaced in his mind.

...

"I'm back."

Allen pedaled up to the iron gates of Arkham Asylum, calling up toward the watchtower.

Moments later, the gate creaked open, and a group of guards escorted Warden Quincy's arrival.

"Allen, did you have fun? Next time, don't sneak out again," Warden Quincy said warmly.

"Watch your wording—I was out fighting crime."

Allen casually handed Quincy a leftover sandwich. "Here, have this as a midnight snack. I'm off to wash up and get some sleep."

Stepping into the asylum, Allen strolled through the familiar halls toward his private room, grabbed a clean set of hospital clothes, and headed to the shower. He moved with the ease of someone returning home.

"Warden, should we put him in solitary confinement?"

Quincy shot his deputy a glare and snapped, "Don't even think about it! Allen is hiding something."

"But he's just a lunatic," the deputy grumbled, unwilling to accept the answer.

"Let him be."

Quincy had already received the latest orders from Fury and Amanda—monitor Allen, but do not interfere.

If he overstepped his bounds, considering the way S.H.I.E.L.D. and Task Force X operated, he might just disappear one day without a trace.

"Just make sure to lock up the bicycle."

That said, Quincy was still bitter about Allen having stolen his bike, and he reminded his men, "Use the thickest chain we've got."

…

The first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the windows, heralding a new day.

"MY BICYCLE!"

Warden Quincy's furious roar echoed throughout Arkham Asylum.

He had just planned to go home for a bit, take a shower, and change his clothes, but when he reached the bike rack, all that remained was the lock—firmly securing a lone wheel, while the rest of the bike had vanished.

A room check confirmed his suspicions. As expected, Allen was gone.

…

At that moment, on the highway leading to Gotham—

Allen pedaled along, completely at ease. "Who says you need two wheels to ride a bike? One is more than enough. Ghost Rider, let's roll!"

…

In a warehouse at Gotham's docks—

The Penguin, Oswald Cobblepot, and the Riddler, Edward Nygma—Gotham's infamous duo—had wasted no time reuniting after regaining their freedom. They were now rallying the remnants of the Penguin's old crew for a meeting.

Once upon a time, Penguin had ruled Gotham's underworld, and his name still held weight. He had no trouble gathering a group of ambitious, unemployed criminals.

Unfortunately, the Joker's gang was on the rise, forcing every other faction into submission. Given the circumstances, Edward suggested lying low for the time being.

What they didn't know was that their entire discussion had already reached Nightwing, who was eavesdropping from the rooftop.

Gotham might appear calm on the surface, but beneath it, chaos brewed. Bruce was overwhelmed, so he had called Nightwing and others back to help.

"The Joker's gang has several key hideouts. If we launch a surprise raid and seize their shipments, we'll cut off their funding," Edward explained, mapping out locations on a blackboard.

"At the same time, we can secretly approach their buyers and take over their deals."

Within the Penguin's ranks, Edward played the role of strategist—his position second only to Cobblepot himself.

The Penguin nodded approvingly. His admiration for Edward was evident.

Rumors had long circulated that their relationship was… ambiguous—somewhere between partners and something more.

BANG!

The warehouse doors suddenly burst open, leaving behind a human-shaped imprint.

As the dust settled, a lone figure skidded to a halt in a dramatic entrance.

"Hands up! Men to the left, women to the right, and anyone in between—stand in the middle!"

Allen parked his unicycle, planted his hands on his hips, and added, "You are now officially surrounded—by me."

Before heading into the city, Allen had stopped by Wayne Manor.

Bruce was out, but Alfred relayed a message: head to the docks and assist Nightwing.

After searching the area for a while, Allen hadn't found him—so he took matters into his own hands.

"Allen!"

The moment Edward spotted him, his fighting spirit surged. He had never forgotten his humiliating defeat in their last riddle contest.

"Edward, you recognized me even in my new Whip-Woman disguise? You really are my most understanding nemesis."

Allen strode forward casually, while the criminals around him instinctively reached for their weapons. With just a signal from Penguin, they could turn him into Swiss cheese.

From the rooftop, Nightwing tensed, ready to detonate a micro-bomb to assist his new ally.

After all, last night, Bruce had officially acknowledged Allen as a member of the Bat Family.

"Allen, before I kill you, I demand another battle of wits," Edward declared solemnly.

In Gotham, there were only two people Edward acknowledged as intellectually superior—

One was Batman, who had captured him and locked him in Arkham.

The other was Allen, who had repeatedly outwitted him in riddle contests.

Killing Allen with brute force would feel like cheating. If he couldn't win intellectually, it would be a disgrace.

"Edward, I accept."

Allen stroked his chin. "But this time, I get to pose the question."

"No problem."

Edward's expression grew serious—so much so that even Penguin sensed his tension.

Allen glanced at the blackboard and suddenly smirked.

"You're planning a gang war, correct? Then my question is this: how do you become Gotham's king?"

A stunned silence fell over the room.

How was an internal gang fight related to ruling Gotham?

Even Nightwing, still hidden, was full of question marks.

Edward grinned.

He had thought about this very question countless times.

Especially in the midst of Gotham's current turmoil, he had long since formulated a plan to reclaim power.

"As per our usual rules, the loser speaks first," Edward declared.

"Go ahead. I'm listening," Allen said, looking as attentive as a studious child.

Everyone in the room perked up, eager to hear how to seize control of an entire city.

Edward cleared his throat and began:

"The main obstacle is the Joker's gang. We'll cut off their funding, seize their buyer connections, and restore the Penguin's influence. Then, through bribes, coercion, and assassinations, we'll take control of Gotham's underworld. Once we've established dominance, Cobblepot will run for mayor. During the campaign, we'll hire hitmen to eliminate competitors."

The criminals nodded approvingly—it all sounded perfectly reasonable to them.

Nightwing, on the other hand, was itching to jump down and start making arrests.

If Penguin became mayor, who knew how many people would die in the process?

"Bullshit."

Allen scoffed. "That's the dumbest plan I've ever heard. No wonder Batman keeps throwing you guys in jail."

"You think you have a better plan?" Edward challenged.

Allen grinned.

"Sit back, kids. Professor Allen is about to teach you how to be the baddest of the bad."

He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote a single word on the blackboard—

"Foot massage."

We're a gang. If we don't sell "flour" and run a foot spa instead, we'll be laughed out of the business.

"That's right. Open a foot spa to generate funds."

Allen tossed aside the chalk in his hand, clasped his hands behind his back, and put on an air of wisdom. "Everything starts with money. Money can make even the devil push a millstone."

What millstone? What devil?

We're gangsters. We've at least gone through basic elementary education. How much money can a foot spa even make, let alone sustain the operations of a gang?

"A regular foot spa won't make enough. But if we target the elite, with a membership card starting at ten thousand dollars, filtering out the working class…"

"There's a flaw in your plan. The elite don't care about foot spas. A bar would be more appealing."

A burly foot-washing thug voiced his objection.

Allen slightly turned his head. "Of course, I considered that."

"The technician's fee is ten bucks…"

At this point, Edward's lips curled up involuntarily.

This plan was doomed. A ten-dollar service fee? The place wouldn't last a week before shutting down.

"The key is themed services. Customers can choose the technician's outfit and even the setting."

Allen paused for dramatic effect, then elaborated, "Imagine this—you're in a police station setting. Batman is kneeling to serve you a fruit platter, Batgirl is massaging your shoulders, and Batwoman is tending to your feet. Worth it or not?"

At that moment, several criminals' eyes gleamed with excitement.

This… might actually work.

"Of course, the superhero theme is just one option. Many elite individuals are dissatisfied at work. We can offer custom role-playing scenarios. For example, a kneeling female boss, a fake male boss for customers to curse out and vent their frustrations, a secretary-dressed technician giving a massage on the side. Light rail, subways, classrooms, cars—whatever the customer wants, we provide."

At this point, a look of panic surfaced on Edward's face. He was desperately searching for a fatal flaw in the plan, hoping to tear it down.

The criminals listened with rapt attention as if a door to a new world had just been opened.

Even Penguin was contemplating whether to give it a try.

Nightwing briefly considered calling up Red Hood to go undercover for a themed session but quickly dismissed the idea—after all, the membership card cost ten thousand dollars, and he simply couldn't afford it.

"I got it!"

Edward excitedly pointed out, "What if we get reported? What if law enforcement cracks down? How do we deal with that?"

Allen's smirk deepened, as if he had been waiting for the Riddler to ask that exact question.

"Themed services require actors, right? Hiring actors in Gotham would be too expensive. So, we recruit from the homeless districts. Give them a haircut, a wash, and a suit. Train them to bow respectfully and greet customers in a perfect British accent, 'Sir, it is my honor to serve you.' Who doesn't dream of feeling like an English noble?"

This move had serious psychological impact.

The elite crave status and identity validation. If their inner desires are completely satisfied, they'll part with their money willingly.

"A part-time actor earns twenty-five bucks an hour. That's a highly sought-after high-paying job. Once business expands, not only do we generate tax revenue, but we also solve Gotham's homeless problem. If they dare shut us down, the next day, hundreds of homeless people will be protesting at City Hall. At the same time, we get reporters to cover the story and control the public narrative. Let's see who dares mess with our legitimate business then."

"Under media pressure, we publicly announce that 20% of our revenue goes to charity, building a positive reputation. Whether you're from the legal world or the underworld, no one can interrupt our expansion. We go all in, opening more branches. One becomes two, two become four, four turn into sixteen… Once we reach a certain scale, we register a company in the wellness industry and go public as a healthcare stock—milking investors dry."

"By the time the first phase is complete, we'll have at least a billion dollars on hand. Then we invest in the Gotham Police Department—armored vehicles, helicopters, bulletproof vests—the full package, all up to Marine Corps standards. We'll clean up crime and restore Gotham's order."

"We establish the Gotham Fund to provide free medical aid to citizens who can't afford healthcare. This wins public support and paves the way for our political ambitions."

"Then, we frame Batman for excessive brutality, painting ourselves as the victims. Haha! As victims, we run for mayor. The people will support us with open arms."

Allen spread his fingers wide before slowly clenching them into a fist, grinning maliciously. "Every move supports the final step—becoming the true King of Gotham."

Edward slumped into his chair, sweat beading on his forehead. The plan was flawless.

If it went smoothly, they could unify Gotham without firing a single shot and become its undisputed rulers.

The criminals glanced at Allen, then at Penguin, calculating whether it was time to switch bosses. Allen's plan seemed much more reliable.

Nightwing, who had been eavesdropping, felt his heart pound.

Bro… which side are you even on?

Clap, clap, clap…

Just then, Penguin started clapping, clearly impressed by the plan.

But now, it had become their plan.

"Edward, your QQ pet is quite special. It even knows how to clap." Allen curiously sized up Penguin.

"I am not a pet. I am the former King of Gotham—Cobblepot."

Penguin shot a sinister glance at his subordinates, but they all ignored him, seemingly more interested in switching allegiances.

Boom!

Suddenly, the ceiling exploded, leaving a gaping hole.

Nightwing descended from above, twisting in midair before landing beside Allen, his tone urgent. "Batman, we have a situation!"

Allen leaned back in surprise. "Bro, who are you?"

"I'm Nightwing. We met last night."

Nightwing reminded him helplessly.

"Ohhh…"

Allen stared blankly. "Don't remember."

You don't remember?! Then what the hell was that "ohhh" for?!

"That's not important. Batman's missing. He hasn't contacted us since midnight. We need your help to find him." Nightwing's expression turned serious.

Bruce's gear had tracking and communication devices.

Losing contact for so long was a huge red flag.

"If Bats is in trouble, why didn't you say so earlier?"

Allen hopped onto a unicycle. "Let's head back to base for a meeting!"

Boom!

With that, Allen rode straight into the door, leaving a human-shaped hole.

Nightwing, meanwhile, grapple-hooked his way to the roof.

Inside the warehouse, the criminals were still recovering from the shock.

Their hideout had been under surveillance all along, and they'd been sitting there, openly discussing plans.

What the hell were they doing?

Boom!

Before they could fully process the situation, Allen rode back in.

Now, the door had three human-shaped holes.

"Almost forgot something."

Allen rode up to Edward, patted him on the shoulder, and instructed, "Gotham is in your hands now. When you become its true king, I'll teach you how to run for president."

Boom!

Unable to take any more abuse, the door finally shattered completely under Allen's relentless crashes.

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