I adjusted my golden mask in the mirror, tilting my head just enough to appreciate the sheer majesty of my reflection. Because when your armor is forged by Hephaestus, augmented by the Deathly Hallows, and made of Celestial Nanotech, you don't just put it on—you admire it. Black and gold shimmered under the soft glow of the room's lights, the crimson gemstone on my chest pulsing faintly like it had a heartbeat of its own. My red hooded cloak settled around my shoulders, completing the whole "mysterious badass with an undeniable sense of style" look. Not that I needed the cloak, but let's be real—it added to the intimidation factor.
Behind me, the chaos of superhero prep time unfolded like a beautifully dysfunctional sitcom.
Kara hovered mid-air, arms crossed, looking like she was contemplating the meaning of life—or just regretting signing up for this Gotham charity event. "Are we seriously doing this? A high-profile, public event? In Gotham?" She shook her head, platinum-blonde hair flowing like she was starring in a shampoo commercial. "This is how people die in horror movies."
"Optimism, Kara," I said, adjusting my gauntlets. "It's good for the soul."
"It's Gotham," she deadpanned. "There are no souls here. Just bad decisions and crime."
"You wound me."
"I'm just saying."
Meanwhile, Kori was her usual radiant self, literally. As in, she was glowing. She adjusted her golden bracers, the warmth of her energy filling the room. "I am most excited for this event! Charity is a most noble endeavor!" She beamed. "And if there is battle, that will be delightful as well."
"That's the spirit," I said.
"I am always full of spirit!"
Across the room, Megan was fully in mission mode, hunched over a holographic display, her red hair spilling over one shoulder. She looked up, eyes bright with excitement. "Okay, so the security detail is set, the press is already there, and Commissioner Gordon confirmed extra patrols. So, theoretically, this shouldn't turn into a complete disaster."
I stared at her.
Megan blinked. "What?"
"You just jinxed us so hard," Tia muttered, rolling her shoulders. She was already in her white-and-gold Galatea bodysuit, stretching like she was about to bench-press a car. Which, given her Kryptonian strength, she probably was. "I give us twenty minutes before something explodes."
"Fifteen," Zatanna corrected, twirling her wand between her fingers. She was in her usual magician-chic ensemble, looking like she was about to step on stage in Vegas. "It's Gotham, after all. Chaos is basically a local pastime."
"Guys, you're being dramatic," Mareena said, adjusting her Atlantean armor. Her expression, however, betrayed her words. "I mean, statistically speaking, we should have at least thirty minutes."
Deedee, still perched on the couch armrest, kicked her feet back and forth, watching us with the same amusement someone reserves for a reality TV trainwreck. "Oh, please. We all know this ends with a supervillain crashing the party." She grinned. "I'm just here for the commentary."
"You're not even coming," I pointed out.
"I could," she sing-songed. "But then I'd be tempted to, you know, do my job."
"Which is?"
"Escorting people to the afterlife." She smiled sweetly. "So, you see the problem."
Megan made a face. "That's morbid."
"Oh, honey." Deedee patted her knee. "It's Gotham. Morbid is their aesthetic."
Tia cracked her knuckles. "Okay, but seriously, we all know this is going to get interrupted. Who's taking bets?"
"Killer Croc," she declared. "He's overdue for a public rampage."
"Joker," Zatanna countered. "He loves charity events. Always a crowd-pleaser."
"Two-Face," Mareena added. "Grand opening? Feels poetic."
"Riddler," Kara said. "He hasn't annoyed me in a while. That worries me."
I sighed, rubbing my temple under the mask. "So glad we're treating this like a betting pool."
"Hey," Kori chimed in, "if we are expecting an attack, we should at least prepare accordingly."
"And if we prepare accordingly, we might as well make some money off it," Megan added.
I sighed. "Fine. Put me down for Firefly."
There was a collective groan.
"Oh, come on, he's so basic," Zatanna said. "Not even trying."
"Hey, I didn't say I wanted him to show up," I pointed out. "Just that Gotham has a nasty habit of throwing C-listers at us when we least expect it."
Megan made a note. "Firefly. Got it."
"Alright, degenerates," I clapped my hands together. "Let's get this show on the road before Gotham remembers we're supposed to have nice things."
We activated the teleportation sequence, the air shimmering around us.
And with that, we were off to Gotham—where absolutely nothing could possibly go wrong.
Right?
—
The teleportation sequence ended in a shimmer of light, and suddenly, Gotham wrapped around us like an overenthusiastic funeral shroud. The air smelled like rain, car exhaust, and bad decisions. Classic Gotham ambiance.
We'd landed on the rooftop of the newly constructed Gotham Centre for the Lily Potter Foundation. The building was ultra-modern, sleek, and somehow managed to look both welcoming and vaguely prepared for an attack at any moment. Because, you know… Gotham.
Waiting for us with the expression of someone who had long since run out of patience for nonsense was Renee Montoya, former GCPD cop, now head of security for the Foundation. She was all business—short hair, sharp eyes, and the presence of someone who could absolutely bench-press you if needed.
"Shadowflame," Renee greeted me with a nod before sweeping her gaze over the team. "Ladies."
"Renee," I replied. "How's security?"
She crossed her arms. "Tighter than a miser's wallet. As tight as it can be when you're hosting a high-profile event in a city where 'high-profile' usually translates to 'prime target.' Volunteers are inside, keeping things organized. Outside, we've got press, metas hoping for a second chance, and, of course, protesters."
Kara folded her arms and squinted at the street below. "Are they the 'we don't like metas' kind of protesters, or the 'we don't trust billionaires' kind?"
"A delightful mix of both," Renee deadpanned. "With a sprinkle of 'this is secretly a government facility to experiment on metas' conspiracy theorists for extra spice."
I groaned. "The internet has absolutely melted people's brains."
"You run a tech company," Kara pointed out.
"Yes, and I regret it daily."
Megan, floating beside me, nodded sagely. "Have you considered setting up a hotline for people to call when they realize their entire worldview is based on Reddit threads?"
"Sweetheart, if that worked, Gotham would've been fixed a long time ago," Renee muttered.
Below us, volunteers were running around like caffeinated squirrels, directing foot traffic, finalizing schedules, and making sure the refreshments didn't mysteriously vanish before the event even started. I spotted a few familiar faces—metas who'd found their way to the Foundation looking for help, now paying it forward.
Just as I was about to say something optimistic (a rookie mistake in Gotham), a familiar voice purred from behind me.
"Now, this is a sight. A billionaire actually doing something good with his money. I might have to check if the world's ending."
I turned to see Gotham's most famous former cat burglar leaning casually against the rooftop railing, looking effortlessly elegant in a black suit and heels, her dark hair tumbling over one shoulder. Selina Kyle. The woman who could make stealing the Mona Lisa look like an art performance.
"Ms. Kyle," I greeted, tilting my head. "Should I be worried that you're here? Usually, when you show up, something expensive goes missing."
She smirked. "I could say the same about you. But relax, I'm here in an official capacity. Talia put me in charge of running this place."
I blinked. "Talia got you to give up jewel theft for philanthropy?"
Selina's smirk widened. "Let's just say she made a very persuasive argument."
I made a mental note to ask Talia what kind of wizardry she'd pulled off to get Catwoman to go straight. Probably something involving leverage, charm, and possibly mild extortion.
"I assume you've got everything under control?" I asked.
Selina waved a hand toward the crowd below. "As much as anything in Gotham can be. Now, should we take bets on how long before something explodes?"
Tia cracked her knuckles. "Oh, we already did that back at Mount Justice. Joker, Killer Croc, and Two-Face are the frontrunners."
Selina laughed. "Good to know you've all embraced Gotham's unique brand of chaos."
"Embrace it?" Kara muttered. "We have a survival strategy."
Deedee's voice crackled over the comms, amusement dripping from every word. "Oh, sweetie, you jinxed yourselves the moment you agreed to do this in Gotham. Have fun with that."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Alright, let's get inside before we tempt fate any more than we already have."
With a collective sigh, we headed toward the rooftop entrance, fully expecting the universe to throw its worst at us. Because, well… Gotham.
—
We made our way down the fire escape like it was a casual stroll through the park, except instead of birds chirping, Gotham's distant sirens and the occasional whoosh of a Batmobile were our soundtrack. The city was like that, a living, breathing thing that never really let you forget it existed—kind of like a grumpy cat that decided to live on your chest.
As we hit the ground level, I could feel the familiar weight of Gotham pressing on my shoulders. It was that strange mix of "Nothing's going to go wrong" and "Everything's definitely going to go wrong." And you know what? I was leaning toward the latter.
Approaching the entrance of the event hall, I spotted them—Batgirl and Robin. Yes, Batman had finally decided to let the kids play with the grown-ups. I could almost hear the swoosh of Batgirl's cape in my head as I looked at her, but honestly, her side-eye was more intimidating than the cape. Her sharp, red hair was framed like a fire-streaked halo, and her black-and-gold suit had enough tech to make Tony Stark wish he'd invested in more than just his shiny suits.
Robin, aka Dick Grayson, was standing next to her, looking like he'd just jumped out of a comic book (which, considering the world I live in, was entirely possible). His grin was way too smug for someone who was about to step into Gotham's version of a cocktail party with a side of chaos. He gave me a quick nod.
"You're late," Dick teased, hands on his hips. "But hey, in Gotham, it's all about fashionably late, right?"
I straightened up and gave my mask an exaggerated tug. "Do I look late? I think you mean 'fashionably on time,' which, you know, is a thing. I practically invented it."
Barbara didn't even look at me; she just sighed with the kind of exhaustion only Gotham's finest could muster. "You're lucky I don't roast you alive with a hundred quips. I'm saving my energy for the actual chaos."
I winked at her. "Oh, I'm sure you're just jealous. I'm basically a walking fashion statement. Just need a runway and some dramatic music."
Dick snorted, giving me a playful shove. "If Gotham wasn't so jacked up, I'd totally be your personal stylist, but, uh, priorities."
"Yeah, Gotham's pretty good at making people forget about their wardrobes and focus on the 'probably going to explode at any second' vibe," I quipped, scanning the crowd inside. "It's like the city's favorite hobby."
Barbara, still keeping her eye on the perimeter, didn't miss a beat. "Batman's doing his usual ninja act—patrolling the shadows, making sure Gotham doesn't collapse into full-blown disaster before he decides to punch someone in the face."
Dick leaned in closer, lowering his voice like we were in on some big secret. "The dude has a one-track mind. If it doesn't involve punching or brooding, he's probably not interested."
I nodded sagely. "Brooding. Yeah, that's what we're calling it now? Batman: World's Best Ninja. It's like he's allergic to any social interaction that doesn't involve a fistfight."
Barbara rolled her eyes. "Can you two focus for once? Gotham's unique. It's always on the edge of something, but it never quite tips over into absolute chaos—until it does."
Kara, who'd been awfully quiet up until now, finally spoke up. Her voice was sharp but with the hint of sarcasm I'd come to expect. "You ever thought about giving Gotham a makeover? Like, I don't know, a nice coat of paint, maybe some cheerful murals?"
Dick burst out laughing. "You'd have to cover up all the bullet holes first, but yeah, it'd be a start."
Kara gave him an exaggerated side-eye. "You guys seriously live here? Like, voluntarily?"
"I know, right?" I added, tapping my foot impatiently. "You'd think someone would take a hint and at least try a little, 'Hey, let's not make every street corner look like a disaster movie.'"
"That's Gotham for you," Dick said, clapping me on the back. "It's not about fixing it; it's about surviving it. Trust me, it teaches you to roll with the punches. Literally."
I snorted. "Oh, I've rolled with plenty of punches. Gotham's just the city where punches have names like 'Riddle,' 'Clown Prince,' and 'Definitely Gonna Blow Up Your Day.'"
Megan's voice crackled through the comms, smooth and serious. "Heads up, we've got incoming. Nothing too big, but hey, it's Gotham—nothing's ever 'nothing.'"
Deedee's voice followed, more upbeat. "It's the universe, darling. It does what it does best, which is screw with us all."
"Fantastic," I muttered, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "Because this is definitely the perfect time to head into a high-society gala in Gotham. What could possibly go wrong?"
We moved into the building, and I was immediately hit by the sharp contrast between the glittering lights and the atmosphere that screamed, "Everything is a trap." Gotham really was a special kind of awful.
Barbara's voice brought me back to the present. "We've got eyes inside, so just keep your heads on straight. For now, we're good."
Kara's voice was dripping with sarcasm again. "Relaxed? In Gotham? I swear, 'relaxed' is a foreign concept here. What does that even mean?"
Dick flashed her one of his signature cocky grins. "Relaxed means we let Gotham do its thing, and we just avoid getting smacked by the chaos. It'll come in waves. Let it crash. Just don't drown in it."
"Right," I muttered, my fingers itching at the uncomfortable tightness of my suit. "Because that sounds like a plan that totally works in a city where half the population might be insane and the other half probably has secret villainous agendas."
Just as Barbara gestured for us to move deeper into the event, a distant explosion rumbled in the distance, followed by the unmistakable sound of a crowd roaring. Gotham had officially kicked off whatever mess was about to unfold.
I grinned, even though I knew things were about to get way more complicated. "Well, folks, the betting pool is now officially open. Take your picks—this is either going to be the world's most ridiculous gala or the universe's most catastrophic trainwreck."
—
The Gotham Centre was buzzing—like, big-time buzzing. I'm talking about that electric hum that hits you right in the chest, the kind you get when you're about to witness a disaster... or maybe something better. The crowd was a glorious mix of the usual Gotham freakshow: the overzealous reporters who seemed like they might burst into flames from sheer ambition, a bunch of protesters in the back who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else (preferably somewhere with more snacks), and the Metahumans hanging out on the sidelines, hoping this Foundation thing would actually do something useful for them.
And then, of course, there was me—Shadowflame. Charis Peverell if you wanted to get all formal about it. Son of Wonder Woman. Heir to Peverell Industries. The guy who was here to cut a ribbon and look like a superhero. Yeah, I know, it sounds cheesy, but in my defense, I was wearing a black and gold armored suit, with a big ol' glowing gemstone on my chest. Very heroic, I'll have you know.
Selina Kyle, or Catwoman for those of you living under a rock, stood near the door, managing to look like she owned the place without even trying. That was one of her skills—looking like she owned everything and everyone around her, and no one ever doubting her. She was the one running the Gotham Centre of the Lily Potter Foundation, and let me tell you, that woman could make even cutting a ribbon look like a well-planned heist.
She smiled at the crowd, giving them a couple of seconds to realize they were all going to watch her and listen to her. When she finally spoke, I half expected her to announce that she was going to rob the place, just to mess with everyone.
"Thank you all for coming," she said, sounding like she could talk a snake into a straight jacket. "We are here tonight for a reason. A reason that will help Gotham. A reason that will make a difference for the metahuman community."
I noticed a couple of reporters looking like they were about to cry at the idea of an actual event with a real cause. You know the type—"journalists" who probably just learned how to spell "metahuman" five minutes ago. The cameras clicked like a swarm of mosquitoes, and I had to fight the urge to stick my tongue out at them. Then there were the protesters, standing in the back with their really original signs—"Metahumans deserve rights" and "Stop Metahuman Discrimination." At least they were getting their point across. But the real star of the show were the Metahumans themselves, scattered throughout the crowd, watching the stage like it was their turn in the spotlight.
And then there was me, standing in the background, trying my best not to look too awkward.
Selina turned to me and smiled. Oh boy, here we go.
"Now, I'm not going to stand here and give you a history lesson on how Gotham has failed to acknowledge its metahumans for decades," she said, smoothly pivoting to the next part. "You all know that story. What I will tell you is that this Foundation would not be here today if not for one man."
Uh oh.
She gave me a pointed look. The crowd went quiet. The reporters paused mid-click. The protesters crossed their arms and squinted at me. I tried not to smile. But it was like a reflex. "Ahem. This man, the hero we are here to honor today, is not just a philanthropist, not just the heir to Peverell Industries, but someone who truly believes in changing the game."
A reporter's voice piped up, probably trying to get a quote. "How does he plan to do that? Can you elaborate?"
Selina didn't even flinch. "Let's hear from him himself."
She gestured toward me like I was a VIP guest at a very exclusive party. Yeah, the spotlight was definitely on me now, and I could practically feel the burn of a thousand camera flashes on my skin.
I pushed my shoulders back, stood tall (as tall as you can with a sword and a bunch of flaming gauntlets), and stepped forward, trying my best not to look like I was going to panic.
"Thanks, Selina," I said, trying not to crack up at the way she'd just made me sound like a saint. "Yeah, I guess I could give a speech about how Gotham's been messed up for years and how this Foundation is going to fix it, but honestly, I'm not here to win a popularity contest."
The crowd shifted—some were intrigued, others were probably wishing they could toss a tomato at me.
I continued, "What I am here for is simple: the Lily Potter Foundation isn't about empty promises. It's about doing real work, the kind that actually helps Metahumans who've been stuck in the shadows for too long. I know some of you out there—" I pointed to a group of protesters—"probably think this is all just a photo op. Trust me, it's not."
I could hear one of the protesters yell, "Prove it!"
"Gladly," I replied. "But first, let me do this thing before I forget."
I turned toward the oversized ribbon hanging across the entrance—green and gold, naturally—and flicked my wrist. My gauntlets flared to life, and flames erupted from the metal tips like a mini-sun. With a snap of my fingers, the ribbon disappeared in a puff of smoke.
"Ta-da!" I threw my arms wide, waiting for the crowd to either cheer or throw rocks at me.
There was a beat of stunned silence before the reporters finally snapped back into action. The cameras started flashing like they'd just witnessed the second coming of... well, me.
The protesters were still skeptical, but even they couldn't deny that the ribbon had disappeared.
"Alright, alright," I said, taking a casual step back. "Don't worry, folks. I'm not here to do tricks, or be some flashy distraction. There's a lot of work to be done, and tonight's just the start. The Lily Potter Foundation is about giving people like you—" I gestured to the Metahumans in the crowd, "—a real shot. This is your chance to get the help you've been denied for too long. So, let's roll up our sleeves and make some actual change."
The applause was hesitant at first, like everyone wasn't sure if they should actually clap for me, but then the reporters started really clicking away, and I could feel a sense of relief washing over me. They didn't throw tomatoes, and I didn't have to chase anyone down with a giant flaming sword.
"Okay," I said, standing at the front with a slight smirk. "Enough about me. Let's actually do some good, yeah?"
Selina gave me a look that said she was very pleased, but she wasn't going to say it. Instead, she stepped forward and gave me a playful nudge. "And here I thought you were just some fire-and-brimstone guy. Turns out, you've got heart."
I grinned. "Well, with all this heat, it's hard not to have a little heart."
And that, my friends, was how I—Shadowflame—managed to make my big entrance. And maybe, just maybe, I was starting to like the idea of doing good for a change.
—
From the shadows across the street, Victor Stone was doing his best impression of a guy who didn't have robotic limbs and a glowing red eye. That's right—today, he was just a regular dude in a hoodie and sweatpants, hiding his Cyborg self beneath layers of fabric like a teenager trying to skip gym class without getting caught.
Next to him, Sarah Simms—always the optimist—was practically bouncing on her heels, clearly hyped about the spectacle unfolding across the street. Victor, however, wasn't quite as impressed. The Gotham Centre event was supposed to be some kind of grand unveiling for Shadowflame's new Metahuman Foundation, but as far as Victor was concerned, it was a bunch of people in suits applauding a guy who could light things on fire with his hands. Which, okay, cool, but... not exactly his vibe.
"I still don't get why you're so hesitant about the whole 'saving Gotham' thing," Sarah said, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow. "It's literally the greatest thing you could do for the people out there—and for yourself. Think about it—recognition, a cause, maybe even a fan club—"
"I'm not trying to start a fan club, Sarah," Victor interrupted, crossing his arms. "I'm just here to watch, okay? No capes, no speeches, no 'we're all in this together' speeches. You know, the usual."
Sarah raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You sure? You don't even have to wear a cape if you don't want to. But honestly, Vic, look at this guy"—she pointed across the street at Shadowflame, who was now snapping his fingers, literally setting a ribbon on fire to symbolize the 'grand opening' of his Foundation. "That's the kind of thing you could do—showing Gotham that metahumans aren't just 'freaks,' but real heroes."
Victor's eye flickered to Shadowflame, who was now standing tall in front of the gathered crowd, basking in the applause. He couldn't help but admit the guy had style. The flames licking the air around him were mesmerizing, making him look like he'd stepped out of a comic book. Maybe Shadowflame had the whole 'hero' thing down to an art, but Victor wasn't so sure he was ready to be on the same stage.
"Yeah, well, Shadowflame's got the whole 'flames of destiny' thing going for him," Victor said, leaning back against the wall. "But I'm not exactly built for speeches and crowds, Sarah. And I'm definitely not some 'symbol' like he is."
Sarah rolled her eyes, though she had the smile of someone who knew exactly how to push Victor's buttons. "Listen, big guy. You might not have the whole 'firestarter' thing going for you, but you've got your own thing. You've got that robot body, that insane tech, and—oh yeah—let's not forget the fact that you've got about five different modes of punching people in the face."
Victor groaned. "The 'punch first, talk later' thing only works in movies, Sarah. And trust me, Gotham doesn't need another freak with a bad attitude running around."
"Yeah, because that's totally been your entire personality," she teased. "You've been 'the lone wolf' for way too long, Vic. It's time to put the hoodie away and show the world what you're really about."
Victor stared at the scene across the street, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets as the crowd continued to cheer. Shadowflame looked like he was about to launch into his next bit of self-congratulatory nonsense when he turned and caught Victor's gaze for a split second, his eyes gleaming like he could sense that Victor was contemplating something big.
"I don't know, Sarah," Victor muttered, rubbing his neck. "I've tried stepping up before, and it didn't go so well. You don't know what it's like being shoved into a body that doesn't even feel like your own. People... they just see me as a freak. And I'm not about to let Gotham do that to me."
Sarah's expression softened. "I get it, Vic. I do. But running away from who you are—what you're capable of—isn't going to make it go away. You don't have to change the world in one night, but if you keep hiding, the world's going to change around you, and you'll just end up more isolated. Look at Shadowflame. He's not afraid of what he is. And maybe you shouldn't be either."
Victor exhaled, his breath steady as he turned his attention back to the man across the street. Shadowflame was all smiles, his confidence practically radiating off him. He wasn't afraid of being seen, being noticed. And yeah, that rubbed Victor the wrong way, but there was something else there too. Something that made him pause.
"Maybe," Victor said slowly, "maybe Gotham does need a guy like me. But I'm not ready to start cutting ribbons, Sarah. Or whatever it is that hero types do."
"Fair enough," Sarah said with a grin. "But, just so you know, I'm not going to stop nagging you about it. Sooner or later, you'll see the light."
Victor smirked, shaking his head. "Yeah, sure. But for now, I'll just stick to being the guy who stands in the shadows, giving the 'hero' types their moment. No speeches, no ribbons. Just me and my hoodie."
Sarah leaned against the wall next to him, looking over the crowd. "I mean, for now, that works. But someday, Vic, you're gonna be the one up there. And I'll be there with a big ol' 'I told you so' on a sign. I'll make it look like a billboard."
Victor let out a short laugh. "Oh yeah, I can't wait for that."
For a moment, they both just stood there, watching as the crowd began to dissipate, people filing into the Gotham Centre's fancy, glass-lined building. The whole event had been more spectacle than substance, but there was no denying it—things were changing. Metahumans were stepping out of the shadows. And Victor wasn't sure if he was ready to be one of them. But... maybe, just maybe, Gotham needed him more than he wanted to admit.
"Yeah, maybe Gotham could use a guy like me after all," he muttered, mostly to himself.
Sarah gave him a knowing look. "Told you so."
—
Just as Victor's brain was locked in an intense debate about whether to stay in the shadows or make his dramatic entrance—cue spotlight, cue heroic music—the world around him erupted into chaos.
It started with a low tremor underfoot, like a stampede of elephants had suddenly decided to throw a rave in the streets of Gotham. That was quickly followed by a BOOM—a sound so violent, it felt like the city's very foundation was about to crack open and swallow everyone whole. A massive plume of smoke and fire shot up from the side of Gotham Centre. For a split second, Victor thought it might've been the start of a fireworks show. And then he heard it.
That laugh.
It wasn't just any laugh. It was the laugh. The kind of laugh that made you question your life choices and wonder if you'd accidentally walked into a funhouse designed by the world's most unstable maniac.
It was Joker.
Victor didn't even hesitate. His instincts kicked in faster than a caffeine-fueled squirrel running from a cat. Without thinking, he pushed off the wall, his heart thumping like a subwoofer at a heavy metal concert. He glanced at Sarah, who was standing beside him with that oh-what-a-surprise smirk plastered across her face.
"You going to do something or just watch the fireworks?" she asked, her tone bright and teasing, like she was daring him to actually be the hero for once.
Victor's jaw tightened, but there was no stopping what was coming. "I'm really not a fan of Gotham," he muttered, pulling his hood low over his face. "But fine, let's see how bad this gets."
Just as he took his first step toward the madness, a bubbly voice cut through the air, almost as if it had been waiting to announce the arrival of the real show.
"Puddin'! I think we made an entrance!"
Victor whipped his head around. And there they were. The Duo. Joker—bright green hair, purple suit, that twisted grin that made the Joker's smile in the mirror seem like a mild joke—and Harley Quinn, with her signature red and black ensemble, swinging an oversized mallet like she was auditioning for Swan Lake... if Swan Lake involved a lot of explosives and reckless endangerment.
"You think that was impressive, Puddin'?" Harley chimed in, twirling her mallet like she was at a parade float competition. "You should see what else I got for ya!"
And just like that, a wave of purple smoke erupted from Harley's foot, engulfing the area in a dizzying, sugar-coated haze. The crowd around them was in full-blown panic mode, with some screaming and others scrambling for cover. And it was only just beginning.
Victor blinked and muttered under his breath, "You have got to be kidding me." He was definitely the kind of guy who preferred a neat, calculated takedown. Strategic. But Joker and Harley? They didn't care about strategy. They didn't care about anything except total chaos. And it was perfect for Victor, who had somehow found himself mildly entertained by their brand of insanity.
"Not sure I'm a fan of being a hero today…" Victor muttered, eyes narrowing as Joker laughed maniacally in the distance.
"Well," Sarah said, nudging him with her elbow, "Looks like you're about to get your hands really dirty. Can't skip the show, right?" Her grin was full of mischief—she was more excited than anyone else in Gotham at the moment.
Victor groaned as Sarah pulled him toward the destruction. "I really hate Gotham," he grumbled, but in his heart, he knew it was game on.
Meanwhile, Joker was living his best life. His laugh rang out across the plaza, an uncontrollable burst of joy as he watched Gotham's finest scramble like panicked chickens. The police were already rushing toward the scene, only to be immediately halted by the real showstopper—purple smoke bombs, a confetti explosion, and… was that a giant inflatable shark?
"Look at this, darling!" Joker yelled, turning to Harley like they were in the middle of a Broadway production. "They'll never learn, will they? Gotham isn't about peace, it's about chaos! And chaos—chaos is what we do best!"
Harley, who had clearly been working on her "party-girl gone rogue" persona for years, picked up an oversized gift-wrapped box and casually tossed it into the air like it was just another Tuesday for her.
"Surprise, Gotham!" Harley grinned, her eyes sparkling like she'd just won a million-dollar lottery. The box exploded into a burst of pink cotton candy, turning the surrounding area into a sticky, sugary nightmare. "Ooh! I love it when things go boom!" She clapped her hands in giddy delight.
Victor, now just a few yards away, barely had time to pull his hood down low. This wasn't exactly his kind of fight. No amount of well-thought-out plans could help him here. This was unbridled chaos. But he wasn't going to back down now. He'd have to improvise, which meant it was time to get in the game.
"Alright," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Let's see if we can make this entertaining."
He gave Sarah a sidelong glance. "I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?"
"Oh, definitely," she replied, her voice a little too cheerful for his liking.
Victor gave a mock-salute and then took off toward the mayhem. It was one of those days when running headfirst into an explosion was just part of the job.
Joker, meanwhile, was watching the whole scene unfold like he was a child in a candy store. "Take a good look, folks!" he yelled to the random camera crew filming the destruction. "This is the kind of entertainment Gotham deserves!"
Harley, feeling a little left out, jumped up and down like a kid on a sugar high. "Puddin', you're a genius," she said, leaning in to kiss Joker on the cheek. "We should really throw a party like this every week."
Victor's jaw clenched as the insanity spiraled further out of control. Explosive mallet swings, confetti explosions, cotton candy nightmares—and all of it centered around Joker and Harley, who were just waiting for the next round of destruction.
Victor cracked his knuckles, his mind already starting to work in overdrive. "Let's give them a show they won't forget."
"Yay!" Sarah shouted, almost bouncing off her feet in excitement. "This is going to be so much fun!"
Victor shook his head. "I really hate Gotham."
But they were already running toward the mess. Because when Gotham called, you didn't wait around. You just ran in headfirst—and hoped you could survive the madness.
—
Note to self: Do not let Harley Quinn hit you with that mallet. It's not worth the cotton candy.
---
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