CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES

The Narrows were tense, simmering with the eerie, hollow silence that always came after something terrible. Word had spread quickly—Ra’s al Ghul’s operatives were still in the city, regrouping after the failed weapon deployment. People were scared, and rightfully so. Gotham had always been dangerous, but this was different. This wasn’t a street-level crime or even a gang war; this was something far more calculated, far more ruthless.

Taylor moved through the streets, her hood pulled low over her face. She could feel the fear in the air pressing on her shoulders, the familiar shadows of the Narrows feeling heavier tonight, as if even the city itself was holding its breath.

She had done what she could with Robin—disrupting supply lines, scouting enemy movements, raiding warehouses and the odd operative—but it wasn’t enough. She needed help, and not from the Bat-family or the police. This wasn’t their fight. It was theirs—the people who lived here, who knew these streets better than anyone else.

Taylor’s steps slowed as she approached the small community center, its windows boarded up and walls marked with graffiti. It wasn’t much, but it had become a gathering place for the people she’d helped over the past few months. Tonight, it would be something more.

. . . . .

Inside, the air was thick with tension. A small crowd had gathered—men and women of varying ages, most of them looking tired, worn down by years of surviving Gotham’s worst—murmuring among themselves, their voices low and uncertain. However, the room fell silent when she stepped forward and pulled down her hood, though her shitty five dollar mask remained in place.

Among them were familiar faces, some approaching her once all eyes turned to her: the woman from the first building fire, her daughter clutching her hand tightly; the elderly man she’d rescued from a mugging; a handful of workers from the warehouse raid; even a few ex-gang members who’d turned their backs on Black Mask and Penguin.

“Word’s spread,” said Marcus, a dockworker with a build like a tank and a voice like gravel. He stepped forward, carrying a crowbar over one shoulder. “We know what’s happening. This… League of Assassins or whatever—they think they can burn our home to the ground? They’ve got another thing coming.”

Taylor blinked, caught off guard. “Marcus, you don’t have to—”

“We want to,” interrupted the woman, who held her daughter a little closer. “You stood up for us when no one else would. You think we’re just gonna stand around while they tear this city apart?”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, their expressions steely and resolute.

Taylor felt a lump rise in her throat. She’d always thought of herself as someone who best worked alone, someone who bore the weight of the world on her own. But here, now, these people were looking to her—not as a vigilante, not as a freak with bug powers, but as a leader.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “All right,” she said, her voice firm. “But this isn’t about revenge. It’s about protecting what’s ours. If we’re going to do this, we need to be smart.”

Marcus grinned, tapping the crowbar against his palm. “Smart, I can do.”

“But first, I need to convince the others.” Taylor turned to the crowd. “I’m not going to lie to you,” she began, her voice steady yet raised as high as she could. “What we’re facing isn’t like anything we’ve dealt with before. These aren’t gangsters or petty criminals. They’re trained operatives, and they won’t stop until they’ve turned this neighborhood into a war zone.”

A few people shifted uneasily, glancing at each other.

“But we’ve survived worse,” Taylor continued. “We’ve survived the Penguin’s extortion, Black Mask’s thugs, and everything else this city has thrown at us. And we did it by standing together.”

She paused, letting her words sink in. “Ra’s al Ghul’s operatives think they can walk in here and take what they want because they see us as weak. They think we’ll hide, that we’ll let them do whatever they want. But they’re wrong.”

A murmur ran through the crowd, growing louder as Taylor’s words sparked something in them.

“We’re not powerless,” she said, her voice rising further. “We know these streets better than anyone. We’ve rebuilt what others tried to tear down. It will be difficult, some might say even risky, but if we stand together now, we can protect what’s ours!”

An older man near the front—Jack, a retired mechanic who had lived in the Narrows his whole life—stepped forward. “What do you need from us?”

Taylor met his gaze. “We don’t have to fight them head-on. We just need to make it impossible for them to move freely. Block their routes. Warn each other when they show up. Keep them on edge.”

Jack nodded slowly, turning to the others. “She’s right. We’ve been through worse. We can do this.”

More voices joined in, one by one, until the room was filled with quiet determination.

Over the next few hours, Taylor worked with the group, organizing patrols and setting up communication lines. They mapped out the neighborhood, marking key routes and potential choke points. Those who couldn’t fight volunteered to act as lookouts, using burner phones to relay information.

As the plan took shape, Taylor felt a spark of something she hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. This wasn’t Brockton Bay. She wasn’t commanding an army of insects or controlling unwilling Parahumans. She was helping people help themselves.

She had come to realise that Gotham wasn’t just a city of crime and despair. It was a city of people who refused to give up, no matter how dire the odds. They might not have been soldiers, but they were survivors.

By the time the meeting ended, the tension in the air had shifted. It wasn’t gone entirely—fear was still there, lurking at the edges—but it had been tempered by resolve.

. . . . .

Later that night, Taylor stood at the edge of a dilapidated overpass overlooking the crumbling neighbourhood below, watching as small groups of residents moved through the streets. They were nervous, but they were out there, standing guard, keeping watch. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

Robin appeared beside her, silent as ever. He studied the scene below, his expression unreadable.

“They’re not soldiers,” he said after a moment.

“No,” Taylor agreed. “They’re better. They’re people who care about their home. That makes them dangerous.”

Robin glanced at her, a flicker of something—respect, perhaps—crossing his face. “You’ve done well. But this isn’t over.”

“I know,” Taylor said. “Ra’s won’t stop. But neither will we.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the city stretching out before them. The battle wasn’t over, but tonight, they had taken a stand. And sometimes, that was enough.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Taylor allowed herself a small, fleeting smile. They weren’t powerless. They weren’t alone.

In Gotham, that counted for everything.