Gotham Under Boogeyman Chapter 3: Infamous and Popular John Wick.

Chapter 3: Infamous and Popular John Wick.

-3 years later-

Beneath Gotham’s oldest cathedral, a chamber filled with monsters in suits gathered. Crime lords. Kingpins. Arms dealers. Drug barons. The real rulers of Gotham.

They sat around an oval mahogany table, candlelight flickering against hard, weathered faces. Some were old and grizzled, others young and hungry.

But every single one of them had one thing in common. Fear. And all that fear had a name.

Sal Maroni scowled as he spoke. "We can finally put a name to what has been our biggest problem these ast 3 years gentlemen."

Murmurs of agreement followed.

Maroni slammed his palm on the table. "Scratch out problem. He's more of a goddamn plague." He leaned forward, his eyes sharp and dark. "John fucking Wick. The Boogeyman."

Silence.

Then, a voice—smooth as silk.

"Wick’s just a kid," purred Oswald Cobblepot—the Penguin. "Talented, big in the MMA world no doubt, but still a kid."

Maroni laughed, humorless. "Tell that to Tony Fischetti or that psycho Zsasz."

No one spoke. Because both were dead. Along with everyone else who had tried to go after the Boogeyman.

John didn’t just survive Gotham’s underworld. He hunted in it. And every time a mercenary, assassin or goon thought they could outgun the Boogeyman, 100% of the time, they ended up in body bags.

Penguin exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Carmine has no idea what he created."

That got a reaction. Carmine Falcone had raised John Wick. Which meant one thing: John wasn’t just a killer. He was family. And killing family? That was dangerous business.

At the far end of the table, a woman chuckled. All eyes turned. Talia al Ghul. Daughter of Ra’s al Ghul. Heir to the League of Shadows.

She sat with the poise of royalty, sipping her wine. "You’re all making this far more complicated than it needs to be."

Maroni’s eyes narrowed. "And what’s your grand idea?"

Talia smiled, leaning forward slightly. "Recruit him."

The room exploded. "Recruit him?! Are you insane?" "He works for Falcone!" "He’d slit our throats before shaking our hands!"

Talia waited, amused, until the shouting died down. Then she said, smoothly: "You believe he’s the problem. You’re wrong. Gotham is the problem."

She let the words hang in the air. "I came to this city to bring peace. To save you from the Boogeyman and...your own limited thinking. It's not always about shootouts gentlemen."

A murmur rippled through the room. She had been the one who revealed the Boogeyman's identity to them. Her shadows the ones to find out that a 16 year old brat was responsible for their untold losses.

The crime lords exchanged glances, considering her words.

Penguin, ever the strategist, steepled his fingers. "Even if we wanted to steal away Falcone’s rabid little pup, that would be a declaration of war." Light glinted off his monocle. "And a war against Carmine is a war we can’t win. He’s not the same man from 3 years ago. He's too powerful now. Owns too much territory. Has too many soldiers."

Penguin tilted his head. "Better option? We talk to Falcone directly. Neutral ground. Get him to call off the Boogeyman."

A majority of the room agreed to a ceasefire.

Talia’s expression didn’t shift, but her eyes gleamed with amusement. "Suit yourselves." She stood, adjusting her coat. "When that approach fails and you’re in the soil, rotting flesh marked with dog bites, I’ll be more than happy to take over your operations."

And with that, she walked out, her heels echoing against the stone floor.

The room sat in uneasy silence. No one doubted her words. Because if the Boogeyman wasn’t soon on their side, they were already dead.

A figure watched the meeting. Silent. Hidden. Batman. He had seen criminals scheme before. But this? This was something else. A storm was brewing. And at the center of it—John Wick.

Batman’s jaw tightened. Time to pay the Boogeyman a visit.

-0-

A 16 year old John sat alone in his apartment, cleaning a disassembled pistol with steady practiced hands.

His long dark hair was let loose, strands brushing against his shoulders. He was shirtless and across his chest and back were tatoos meant to cover battle scars.

These last 3 years he'd seen a lot of fighting and death. Falcone had sort to expand his territory beyond East End and this had sparked the second Gang Wars.

And John, as Falcone's instrument of conquest had been knee deep in blood.

He looked around the space in his apartment, his instincts suddenly flaring.

The room was small, spartan. A bed, a chair, a desk. A single weapons case by the window. John wasn’t one for luxury.

The candle light- because he hated light bulbs- rippled in the sudden breeze.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even look up. He wasn’t alone.

A shift in the shadows. The faintest whisper of fabric.

John set his gun down and spoke.

"You’re quiet." A pause. "But not quiet enough."

A deep voice answered from the dark. "You’ve been making enemies, John."

The shadows close to his single window moved. A figure stepped forward—massive, imposing and black. The Bat.

Batman’s cape barely stirred as he stopped a few feet away, arms crossed. "You’ve caused a stir in Gotham. And yet no exhibit, evidence or witness testimonies have ever tied back to you."

John said nothing.

Batman continued, voice like gravel. "The crime families. The underground. They’re all afraid of you." His white lenses gleamed. "And now, they know who you are."

"Took them long enough after stalking me for more than a year." John picked up his gun, slowly putting it back together.

Batman’s tone darkened. "You should leave the city."

John glanced up. "Not possible."

Batman studied him. "You work for Falcone. You’ve killed for him."

John didn’t react.

"And yet… you’re still an outsider."

It was John's choice to move out of the Falcone Estate, but that was not Batman's point.

John smirked. "Always. I prefer to be alone."

A long pause. Then Batman stepped closer. "What do you want, John?"

John met his gaze. It used to be about Purpose but after so much killing and chaos, the answer had changed. "A quiet life."

Batman’s expression didn’t change. "People like us don’t get quiet lives."

A beat. Then John spoke, voice quiet, certain. "I know."

The two men stared at each other.

Then Batman shifted. "They’re planning something."

John raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

Batman’s voice was steel. "The League of Shadows."

John finally stilled.

Batman noticed. "They want you, John." His tone was unreadable. "And they don’t take ‘no’ for an answer."

John exhaled. Then, calmly, he placed his reassembled gun on the table and met Batman’s gaze. "Unfortunate then."

Batman studied him for a moment. Then, without a word, he turned and vanished into the shadows.

John sat still, listening to the silence left behind. Then he picked up his gun, checked the magazine, and slid it into place with a soft click.

If the League of Shadows was coming for him, they’d better not miss their first shot. Or they would learn who really ruled the shadows.

-0-

The city’s crime lords were gathered in a smoke-filled room, tension thick between them. There was a truce in effect, which meant no hostilities, no matter the hatred or grudges.

At the head of the table, Carmine Falcone steepled his fingers, surveying them.

Sal Maroni scowled. “Falcone, your guy is killing business.”

Roland Daggett scoffed. “He’s cost me a ton of my people. Real talent too.”

Oswald Cobblepot swirled his brandy, chuckling at Falcone. “A real catch there, old friend. The Boogeyman of Gotham. Word is he’s unstoppable."

Maroni slammed the table. “No one’s unstoppable. He’s just one kid.”

"You sound stupid Maroni." Black Mask leaned forward, his skull-like mask gleaming. “I sent 12 professionals after this one kid. Highly trained mercs. None came back.”

Silence.

Falcone finally spoke. “John works for me.”

Maroni sneered. “Yeah, we noticed.”

Falcone ignored him.

“I let him loose to remind Gotham who’s in charge.” His gaze swept the table. “And now you remember.”

They did. Before Wick, Gotham’s underworld was splintering. People doubted Falcone’s grip. Then John started killing. Now, order had returned—Falcone’s order.

Maroni exhaled sharply. “And when you can’t control him anymore?”

Falcone smiled. “That won’t happen.”

Sionis chuckled. “Sounds like famous last words.”

Then—darkness.

The lights cut out. The emergency lamps flickered red. Guns were drawn. Falcone remained still. He knew what was coming.

A shadow moved. A figure stepped into the light.

The Boogeyman.

Dressed in all black. Silent. Unstoppable.

The men who had just debated his fate sat frozen. Fear settled in. Even Gotham’s crime lords felt it. Death had entered the room.

"Carmine you piece of shit! This is neutral ground!" Penguin yelled, slowly creeping back.

John took a step forward. Then another.

“You should’ve stayed home.”

Gunfire erupted.

John moved before the first shot. His gun fired—three kills. A knife flashed—one man gurgled and fell. Another reached for his weapon—John broke his arm, took the gun, fired.

Panic. Chaos. Bodies hit the floor.

Maroni scrambled back. “Kill him!”

Black Mask’s men opened fire. John rolled, shot back. Every bullet counted. Sionis’ second-in-command dropped, a bullet in his head. Penguin grabbed his umbrella-gun—John shot him through the hand.

Sionis ran—John put a bullet in his knee.

Maroni screamed. John kicked the table over, pinning him.

Violence. Blood. Silence.

It was over.

John stood alone, gun smoking, bodies at his feet. All dead. Except one.

Carmine Falcone.

The Roman remained seated, untouched. He had planned this. The massacre wasn’t an accident—it was a reset.

With the others gone, Gotham now truly belonged to him.

John exhaled. Killing was instinct. He scanned the room, the fallen kings of Gotham and their underlings all reduced to corpses. With this the Gang War was effectively over.

Falcone stood, stepping over bodies like trash.

“Beautiful work.” He poured himself a drink. “Efficient. Precise.”

John reloaded without a word.

Falcone smirked. “Always ready for the next fight.”

John holstered his gun. “Always.”

Falcone returned to the head of the table—the only chair left standing. He took a sip. “This city has always belonged to me.” His gaze flicked to John. “And now, there’s no one left to argue.”

John didn’t react. He only cared about the next mission.

Falcone swirled his glass. “You did what no one else could my boy. You can ask me for any reward you desire. Come now, don't be shy.”

John hesitated. While he desired little, there was one thing he wanted. "When this war is over, I would like to travel the world, sir."

Falcone hummed in thought before slapping his thigh with a smile. "Granted." He set the drink down. “But first, one last thing.”

John waited.

Falcone leaned in. “Send a message.”

John’s fingers twitched.

Falcone smirked. “The police, the politicians, the Bat—they’ll come sniffing around. I need them to understand.”

John turned without a word.

Falcone watched him go.

He already knew where John was heading. To send Gotham the only message it understood.

Through blood.

By sunrise, the city knew.

A corrupt police captain working for Penguin—found hanging, his throat slit. A bullet casing left behind.

A city councilman—executed in his car, a coin on his tongue.

A judge—shot through the eye, discarded in an alley.

Gotham got the message alright.

The Boogeyman wasn’t a myth. He was real. And he wasn’t finished.

On a rooftop, Bruce Wayne watched the flashing squad car lights below. Another crime scene. Another pile of bodies.

The Boogeyman had wiped out Gotham’s underworld overnight, all while slipping past Batman.

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

Wick wasn’t just a threat to criminals anymore.

He was a threat to everyone.

And if Batman didn’t stop him now—

No one would.