100YoP Chapter Eleven "We can rule this town!"

“Your apartment’s fucking depressing, man.”

“That how they say hello where you’re from?”

Farah ignored my comment in favor of giving the bare walls of my  apartment disapproving looks, before pausing in front of the Calamaro  poster, then turning to give me an inquisitive look as she pointed at  it.

“Gift from my mom,” I said, shrugging. “She likes his music, and he is an icon of Argentinean music, so...”

“Right,” she went back to exploring my apartment. She’d come in with her  backpack, which she assured me had all the essentials required that  night’s activities. “Maybe you should ask her to send some more  presents. Better than nuthin’.”

“Yeah, let’s agree to disagree on that front,” I muttered, before  turning to look at Billy (who was already raiding my fridge, the  fucker), “You know if Yua’s gonna be long?”

He shrugged as he came back from the depths with one of my beers, saying “She said she’d get here in time, and we are kinda early.”

“Right, right. I think I’mma start cookin’, you mind making sure Farah doesn’t steal any of my shit?”

“Sure,” he said, at the same time as Farah shouted an objection from my room. (“What the fuck am I gonna steal? Drywall?”)

“Next time, we’re holding movie night at her place,” I grumbled as I put on an apron (which proudly read ‘No Bitchin’ in the Kitchen’) and then took the bottle that Billy offered, “See how she likes it when I talk shit about her place.”

“So you are planning to make this a tradition,” Billy said, as I  took a swig from the bottle and handed it back, “You sure about that?  You’re not exactly crazy about having people over.”

“Team won’t work if I think of them as just people,” I said. “You  and me work as well as we do ‘cause we’re brothers. Ain’t no forcin’  that with the others, but we can work towards it and hope for the best.”

“Makes sense,” Billy nodded. “So movie night?”

“And other things,” I nodded, setting up the onions to chop and the  potatoes and carrots to peel. “Still gotta celebrate when Yua feels well  enough to go to a bar.”

“True,” he said.

He left me to prepare the meal (Shepherd’s Pie, since none of us were  vegetarians) as he went to talk shit about my sense of aesthetics with  Farah.

Bunch of pricks. Maybe I could take my money and install a stripper pole? Yeah, that’d show ‘em.

... show them that I have no idea what makes an apartment stylish. I thought, washing and peeling the potatoes. The fuck would I use a stripper pole for anyways? Am I going to invite strippers into my apartment?

Once peeled, the potatoes were put to boil after chopping them up into  more or less equally-sized parts, so that they’d be ready at the same  time.

Why not just go to a strip club? Would it be more or less expensive  in the long term? I mean, I try to be a big spender if I’m gonna go, so  that’s plenty of money down the hole repeated a few times over the  years. How does that match up to the cost of installing a pole and then  inviting strippers when I want them?

Salt and oil in water, lid on, heat low, potatoes are good for now. I  peeled and grated the carrots, diced some sweet yellow onion and then  crushed and finely minced some garlic.

Maybe I can organize shows, make it like a side hustle? Make a sort  of exclusive gentleman’s club? I learned enough from watchin’ Big Mike,  could be one of those ‘this doesn’t cost money, it makes money’-type  deals. Like buyin’ a gun.

I put ground beef on the pan, picked and chopped just a bit of rosemary  and thyme I was growing on two pots on top of the fridge and added them  in with the meat. On a whim, I added paprika, salt and pepper, to better  bring out the flavour.

But who’d want to come to my ratty-ass apartment for it? Would I need  to get a better place? Or just install some nice red lights? Shit, neon  signs would look tight around here.

I added the carrots and onions to the meat, mixed it up, cleared a hole  in the center of the pan and dropped the garlic in, accompanied by some  tomato paste.

Maybe I could make one of those underground places New Yorkers love.  Gothamites love secret shit, so maybe it could be hidden behind a  dry-cleaner, speakeasy-style.

I gave it a good stir, before going to my fridge and adding the vital  ingredient: half a can of guinness. Plus a pinch of brown sugar, since  beer goes sour when it heats up. Had to fight it in a way that didn’t  fuck up the flavour the other spices brought in.

The question then would be to get the girls. Well, I still got some contacts, so that shouldn’t be too hard.

Once the gravy was thick enough, I added in the peas, turned off the stove and covered it with a lid.

I could probably take better care of them. I got to break Mary’s pimp’s knees this weekend, right?

I checked the reminders on my phone while I prodded the potatoes with a fork, making sure they were all soft.

Yeah, this weekend. Good, been lookin’ forward to it. Okay, so place  and girls are checked, how would I advertise it?Well, Billy can put a  word out with the Goonion... hell, that would actually cover questions  about my lifestyle if anyone’s wondering how I can afford shit after  quittin’.

I emptied the pot into a strainer, then put the potatoes back in, added a  bit of butter (not as much as I’d seen some gringo kitchens use,  because good lord), some grounded nutmeg and garlic poweder, then  I got mashing. Occassionaly, I’d pause to sip at my beer before it got  too warm.

Actually, that’d be a good cover. Openin’ my own place would justify  lyin’ to my mom in the eyes of Gordon—not that he don’t know what I’m  doin’ anyways—and give me a good way to launder money on my own terms.

I added in some milk to soften the potatoes, and added shredded cheese  to make it creamier. Once that was through, I put the meat in baking  dish, added the mashed potatoes on top and capped it off with a little  extra shredded cheese, turned on the oven, and put the dish inside.

Shit, I think I just talked myself into becoming a pimp. Wait, no, it’s just strippers. Although... shit, I would make sure they get treated right, wouldn’t I?

I closed the oven and sighed. Fuck it, I’ll ask Butchie about startin’ a business, and Cass before I become an actual pimp.

And then I turned around and said, “What the fuck?”

“Wow, he really didn’t notice the whole time,” Farah said, pausing in her graffittying my walls with a thick black marker.

“Told you,” Billy said, holding Farah’s open bag. Which I could now see had her laptop and a lot of art supplies. “When Sam gets in the Zone, he doesn’t leave until the cookin’s done.”

“Yeah, I’m very focused, what the fuck are you doing to my walls?!”

“Decoratin’,” Farah said, going back to her drawing. It was a map inside  a chalkline-styled silhouette, and on closer inspection I recognized it  as a map of Gotham, with Crime Alley at the heart. “What’cha think?”

I stared at it for a moment. “... okay, I ain’t even gonna lie, that’s fuckin’ tight.”

“Right?” Said Billy. “Apparently our Weaver here’s an artiste. Had a whole sketchbook.”

“Was having trouble finding a place where I could make the more  difficult ones without gettin’ interrupted,” she said, carefully etching  out the lines of a corner I remembered shooting a man over.
“Figured I might as well make lemonade, y’know?”

“... want help?” I said. “Seems wrong to just have you decoratin’ my shithole without pay.”

“You are payin’ me,” she said, “Unless what I’m smellin’ ain’t for  eating, in which case I take cash, credit, debit and endless adoration.”

I chuckled, “Couple minutes. Should be done by the team Yua gets here.”

“I am here.”

“JESUS!” I jumped onto the ceiling and clung there, turning to find Yua  standing there holding one of my pillows. “... okay, that one’s on me. I  should’ve heard the door open.”

“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “I’m very quiet.”

“I noticed,” I said, falling back to the ground. “Nice seein’ ya, Saito. How’re you healin’ up?”

“I am already fully recovered,” she said. “I am ready for the next mission.”

“... right,” I said.

I looked at Billy and Farah over her shoulder, and they gave me twin shrugs. Well, they were getting along...

I focused back on Yua. Through no fault of her own, she’d ended up just a  bit more out of synch than everyone else on the team, and that had me  worried. Not just for how it’d affect teamwork, but also for how it’d  affect her. Billy hadn’t told me much about her, but from what he had said and what I’d seen, Yua seemed to be a pretty lonely girl.

“Hey, so...” I tilted my head towards the kitchen, “I think we’re a lil’ overdue for a chat, huh?”

“Are we?” she asked.

“... Yes. C’mon, let’s talk in the kitchen.” She went ahead while I looked to Billy and gave him a little tilt of my head.

He nodded and took out his phone, connecting to my speakers through bluetooth and putting on some tunes.

Farah rolled her eyes at our Bro-lepathy, but obliged and gave us some  privacy by turning her attention back to her artwork, studiously  ignoring Billy’s comments about how she should warp the streets around  the crotch so they’d look like a dick.

Yua was waiting in the kitchen, and I paused for a moment to take a good  look at her. She didn’t  look much worse for wear after recieving  Penguin’s hospitality, her skin was still like porcelain, her long black  hair was still silky-smooth and her nails weren’t even chipped.

She really didn’t look like she could take a tomahawk to a tentacle  monster, bony as she was. But I could tell there wasn’t a bit of useless  muscle to her, not to mention whatever that glow had been indicative  of. Fact was, Yua was less a teammate and more a cooperative pile of  questions with a kinda bland personality.

And as her boss, it was my job to make her shift from one to the other.

“So...” I said, “First things first, I don’t wanna bother, but I gotta make sure. You a’ight?”

“Yes.”

“Just to be clear, I ain’t askin’ as your boss,” I said. “I’m askin’ as a  friend, because you got a ton of bones broken. Don’t try and be tough,  answer honestly. You a’ight?”

She looked at me for a moment, but nodded slowly, “I am healthy.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said. “Movin’ on, you wanna explain how that’s possible?”

“It’s a family-“

“A family secret, right,” I nodded, then walked around her and started  pulling out plates and handing them to her. “Yua, we’re going to be  doing a lot of jobs together, if all goes right. Knowin’ each other’s  skills, and the limits of those skills, means that we don’t need to  waste time talkin’ when we reach those limits.”

Yua didn’t answer as I put two plates on her hands, though she followed  me and copied me as I put my own two plates on the counter and adjusted  the stools around it. We went back into the kitchen and she waited as I  checked on the food. Seeing that the cheese on top had melted and  developed a nice brown crisp on top, I turned off the oven and left it  with the door slightly open, going to grab four forks.

“Grab the glasses, please? They’re up there,” I said, and she obliged.  “Now, despite the advantage of my Spidey Sense, I ain’t that much of a  marksman. Billy knows that, so when a target’s at a certain distance, I  ain’t gotta say ‘Billy, ventilate the fool’ before he does. And Billy’s a helluva fighter, but he ain’t meta-level. I am.”

We put the stuff on the table, then went back to the kitchen. I gave her a look, “D’you get what I’m sayin’?”

She nodded, and I realized her jaw was clenched so tight I could see a muscle twitching on the side.

Carefully pretending I hadn’t, I carried on, “That bein’ said, you ain’t have to talk ‘bout anything you don’t wanna. If how you do you is ‘family secrets’, that’s one thing. But what you do is just you, and I gotta know that.”

Her jaw unclenched a little, but she still looked hesitant as she glared down at her feet.

Carefully, like I’d approach a scared animal, I put a hand forward so  she’d be able to see it and then tilted her head up a bit so she’d look  me in the eye. “I ain’t gonna force you if it’s hard, but it would be better sooner rather than later.”

I backed off to get my oven mitts, then dropped the baking dish on a  wooden cutting board I sometimes used as a casserole stand. I gave it a  good sniff, smiled proudly at my work, and shucked off my mittens.

“Can... this stay between us?” Yua asked, still standing where she’d been. “For now, at least?”

“Sure.”

Curtis’ song had cut off, and Billy had chosen to put in a different song that filled the background while she talked.

She explained her abilities, the slightest bits about her about her  family, and how one gave her the other. I offered a hug, she declined.  It was brief, since the food was getting cold and she didn’t feel like  talking all that much, but it was the first for a life-long friendship.

More on that later, though.

First things first, we ate dinner, I recieved some compliments for my  cooking which was pretty flattering, and then we had to decide on some  movies from Farah’s collection of pirated flicks.

We boiled it down to ‘Castle in the Sky’, ‘Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs’ and ‘Monsters Inc.’. Then Yua mentioned she’d seen absolutely none of them, so we decided to maraton them.

While Farah went to make popcorn, Billy and I played Rock-Paper-Scissor  to decide what language we would watch the films in, a tradition that  dated back decades (or rather, one decade and two years). Billy lost,  Farah screamed in outrage and argued, and we ended up in an impromptu  tournament that ended with Yua victor and all of us waiting around as  Farah downloaded the japanese dub for all three films.

Time passed, and I woke up the next morning with Billy sleeping on one  shoulder, Farah on the other and Yua smiling slightly at me from the  other side of the couch.

We all agreed to do it again next week.

{[X]}​

[It was fun,] I signed, resting against a gargoyle next to the one  Batgirl was crouching on. [F-A-R-A-H talks a little too much during  movies for my taste, but still.]

[Siblings are the same,] she signed, though most of her attention was on  the vacant in front of the building we were perched on. [Night won’t  stop making dumb jokes in serious moments. Bird hates it.]

She’d taken to using nicknames for her siblings, since she seemed a  little ashsamed of her consistent mispellings despite my efforts to  alleviate that. She also was very careful not to even begin to spell their civilian names or even use a nickname that might hint at their identities.

I’d tried to find a good moment and way to tell her I already knew who  the entire Batfam was, as Gotham-related comics had been a few of the  things that stuck only kinda-blurred in my memories out of necessity.  But the feeling of our relationship’s fragility still hung around us,  and there were so many topics that turned awkward and talking about our friends and family seemed to be one of the few safe options, and I really didn’t want to screw it all up, and ugh.

The date we were on was part of our collective efforts to keep things  working. It’d been Cass’ suggestion, though she credited Robin for the  idea. She said that since beating up drug dealers was the neutral grey  area where both our jobs met up, we could try doing a sort of work-date.

Go together to check out this building Gordon informed the family about,  collaborate, she’d try to get used to me keeping part of the cash and  I’d get used to her less brutal methods. It was bound to be a little  awkward at first, but it would be nice to see those legs in action  against someone else for once.

[I don’t like most movies, though,] she signed, [With few exceptions, acting always feel very fake to me.]

[Makes sense. And animation?]

[Opposite problem,] she signed, her mask shifting over the grimace  forming behind it, [Too little language. Too still. Kinda creepy.]

[That’s a shame,] I signed. [But you implied there were movies you liked?]

She nodded, enthusiastic, [Night showed me movie called M-S-O-L-U. Very  good acting. Only sometimes felt fake. Also like most Stop-Motion.]

[I thought animation was hard for you?]

[It is, but Stop-Motion has a weird effect,]  she seemed enthused to  talk about it, and it ocurred to me how rare it must be for her to talk  to someone outisde the Batfam about the weird quirks brought up by her  upbringing. Not to mention that the Batfarm probably tended to focus on  the negatives, if only to help her. [Every frame, I can see in the  characters how much effort went into moving them. The attention in every  frame. It’s humbling.]

[Lots of work,] I signed, and she nodded vigorously. [You ever watch P-A-R-A-N-O-]

[That’s one of my favourites!] she interrupted, attention fully on me  and her hands moving faster. [Did you know they made actual, solid  blurred faces for the effects?]

I did, but instead of saying that I signed, [Tell me more?]

She did, detailing the efforts of the crew that worked on the film and  how it unfolded before her eyes in every frame. Cass didn’t usually make  a big deal out of her Body Reading besides treating it as an useful  tool, though a double-edged one. Still, she seemed to take pride in the  deep insight it gave her for this aspect of her life.

Can’t be that common that it worked out that well in her favor, especially with the cost attached.

Suddenly, she stopped signing and became tense, turning to look at the  warehouse. I followed her line of sight and found several cars stopping  in front of the vacant, with soldiers exiting in droves.

“That can’t be good,” I muttered. I turned to look at her and signed, [Do you have binoculars on-?]

She handed a small set from her utility belt, then another one for herself.

“Gotta get me one of those,” I said, before going back to watching the gangsters gathering up while a few forced the boarded up doorway open. “... damn, what the hell am I lookin’ at?”

It was a menagerie, a real who’s who of Gotham’s bottom feeders. Devil’s  Tongue, a local wannabe-triad from our Chinatown. Seventh Street  Sickos, a bunch of pampered rich kids with delutions of criminality.  Death Corner, White Flags, Ciphers, Smilers, Black Teeth, Glass Eyes,  and more that I didn’t recognize.

All nobodies with shit product and little to no real estate to their  name, three to four soldiers representing each gang on average.

Some Ciphers that’d arrived in a Chevy truck had brought kegs, portable  party speakers and coolers that I guessed were full of ice. I’d heard  they had snatched some real estate downtown, and it must be truth since  the speakers looked new and I recognized the brand on the kegs as some  expensive foreign shit.

The Black Teeth, whom I’d heard had gotten a new connect recently, were  pulling in some pretty obvious bags full of square-ish bulges. So they’d  been bringing in enough product to use some on a party? With all the  people showing up it was going to take a lot of product, and they seemed  to be providing most if not all of it.

This was looking to be a pretty huge meeting of the worst minds of our  generation, and I could only see it going poorly for everyone entering  that vacant.

Or at least that’s what I thought until a new car pulled up, and I felt  my body tense up as I recognized the ride. Long black limo,  poorly-buffed out buckshot over the trunk, and a golden hood ornament  styled to look like a lion.

I clicked my tongue. “Hello, Russ. What’s a big fish like you doin’ in this lil’ pond?”

As I thought, Russell Broadus stepped out the ride, seeming amused at  being surrounded by his lessers. He was tall, with wide shoulders, a  narrow waist and full of lean muscle. He had a goatee and a scar that  ran diagonally across his face from the top of his right eye past the  left corner of his mouth. He had a grey shirt and black tie on, covered  by a bomber jacket with a wide fur lining around the hood.

The leader of the Blackgaters walked out of his ride like he had all the  time in the world and nothing to fear, accompanied by two significantly  more tense soldiers who were very clearly just waiting for someting to  go wrong so they could pull their guns.

Batgirl pulled me under cover by the shoulder and signed, [You know that guy?]

[Used to work for him. Or for people that worked for him, really,] I  admitted. [Doesn’t make sense. He’s way bigger than the rest here.]

Batgirl frowned, then looked over the parapet. She looked back to me, [All inside. You want we call dad?]

I thought it over, then shook my head, [Wait. We should learn more before we call in the big guns.]

She nodded, [So we sneak.]

I tapped my chin, thinking, [You have something to record?]

She gave me a flat look, then gestured at her utility belt.

I chuckled, [Right, dumb question. Let’s go.]

I turned on my camouflage and swung out, and when I looked over my shoulder she was already gone.

Man, dating  a ninja is fucking sweet.

It was a quick climb down the face of the building, but I kept my eyes peeled the whole time.

The cars had been parked kinda wherever they stopped, fucking up the  scarse late-night traffic, and there weren’t even any lookouts left  outside. Even if cops tended to take their sweet time gettin’ to Crime  Alley, you can’t expect to have a meeting this bold and not have the police all up in your shit.

Everything pointed to some unexperienced wannabe that’d managed to  organize a meeting. Except that Russ motherfucking Broadus didn’t go  where just anyone called for him. He was just one big  player in the scene, but as far as Gotham’s gangs went the Blackgaters  had most beat on numbers, age and success dodging cops.

And it was Russ showing up in person. He often did what he pleased ‘cause it amused him, but he wasn’t stupid. Only way he’d show up would be if he was offered something for it.

So... an unexperienced wannabe with good connections? I had too many  questions to waste time speculating. I jumped off the face of the  building and rushed around the parked cars to get in the building.

The boards hadn’t even been placed back, so it’s not like it was a  challenge to get inside and take a little jump up the wall, so I could  climb onto the water-damaged ceiling. The paint was peeling and the  material crunched suspiciously as my weight dragged it down, but I found  a solid enough spot to hang around in.

Naturally, as soon as I was comfortably upside-down I realized that  Batgirl was sitting next to me on a beam that seemed to be made more out  of rot than wood. I barely kept myself from cussing when I turned my  head and she suddenly was just there, like she’d been sitting there with her BatCamera all night.

She gave me a little smirk and wiggled her fingers at me. I gave her a  flat look and flipped her off, so she smacked my shoulder and we went  back to serious mode as we spied down on the meeting.

A few soldiers from different gangs were uneasily collaborating to put  the speakers, kegs, ice and such around the room. They never stopped  giving each other wary looks, but clearly something was keeping them  from fighting.

Russ, obviously, just sat back and watched everyone work, one of his  mooks at his side while the other helped set up the speakers.

After a while, it was set up, but nobody was drinking yet. Instead, I  saw a thickset black man walk out and call for everyone’s attention with  a clap of his hands. His body was almost square in shape, he had a  thick curly beard with just the slightest hints of grey starting to show  up. No one I recognized, but the way he looked around and held himself  told me he’d been in the game for a while.

“Thank you for comin’,” he said. He didn’t have a Gotham accent. Not a  New York one either, and since the only other nearby option was Metropolis and no one was laughing in his face, I had to guess he was farther away  than that. “I know you were all offered something different to come  here, but right now I carry the word straight from the big man, and it’s  for all y’all.”

There were a few discrete scoffs that came up when he said ‘offered  something’. I took a mental note that whoever the Big Man was, he had  probably threatened or blackmailed to get some of the people here.

“Now, I’mma ask that everyone here look around,” he said. “No, fo’ real.  Look. We got everyone here sittin’ together, and nobody’s cappin’  anybody! With Toxins and White Flags sittin’ together, I’d say that  ain’t nothin’ short of a miracle!”

A few chuckles did come up at that, and I caught the representatives of  the White Flags trading looks with some folks that looked like they came  from Robbinsville. It was tense, but no violent moves were being even  considered as far as I could see.

“How many soldiers have we got here?” the man asked, gesturing around.  “Just with a couple representatives, we’ve got the room fit to bust.  How many soldiers in each of our gangs, huh? Enough to fill Crime  Alley? And how many cops are there in the city? Not to mention they're  so easy to buy, we can have this whole meeting!”

... son of a bitch. He was pulling a Warriors. The Big Man wanted to make an army.

“Think of what we can do!” he shouted, hands spread out, and his  excitement at the possibility could be felt. Could be shared, as his  audience did. “Think what we could do together! Think what we could  become! Used to be a time where the mafia ran everything! Owned  congress, owned Hollywood, shit, the motherfuckers built Vegas! Used to be fools couldn’t spend a dollar without paying a quarter to them!”

“Used to be Batman wasn’t running around, either!” someone in the  audience shouted, secure in the anonimity of being a voice in the crowd.  This brought a few whispers of agreement up, and I looked at the  speaker to see how he’d handle it.

And to my surprise, the speaker smiled like that was just what he was  waiting for and pointed in the direction the shout came from. “You  right, you ab-so-lute-ly right! Who said that? C’mon, step up, man!”

The crowd parts, and I found a Smiler standing there, suddenly looking a  lot less brave. The Smilers were kind of like off-brand Jokerz, people  that took advantage of a Gothamite’s instinctual reaction to seeing  someone in clown makeup to carry out robberies and dealt some product on  the side. Leeches on Joker’s reputation, basically.

Still, the speaker wasn’t deterred. “You’re right, Batman is a  problem that the mafia never had to deal with in their golden years,” he  nodded. “Nowadays, any yahoo can fall on chemicals or get zapped by  lightnings and what-fuckin’-ever. But we got something the mafia never  had in their best day.

“We got supers of our own.”

Murmurs broke out, and I traded a look with Cass. Her frown was as deep as mine.

“You’re talking about villains,” the Smiler said.

“No. A villain would be a crazy nigga that goes around wearin’ spandex,  talkin’ ‘bout world domination and shit,” the speaker grinned, “I’m  talkin’ ‘bout soldiers like you and me. Boys from ‘round the way that  work for a paycheck, only difference bein’ that they got a lil’  advantage on their side.”

He was talking them into it. I could see a few whispering between each other.

“Just think what that could do!” the speaker shouted, “Ain’t like there are super cops goin’ around, and the Bats can’t be everywhere at the same time!”

A few nodded, and some ‘yeah’s came up.

“It’s a new era! Our era! We can be unstoppable!”

“Yeah!” a few said, grinning and looking around at their friends, bringing them into the excitement.

I looked to Russ, and for once, he wasn’t smirking. He felt it like I did.

“We can be an army!”

“Yeah!”

These crazy motherfuckers were going to sink Gotham into anarchy.

“We can rule this town!”

“YEAH!”

Shit.

{[X]}​

“Well that was a fucking mess,” I muttered, once I finished changing in  the back of Butcher’s Shop. Batgirl met me in the back alley, and she  gave me an agreeing nod.

“Trouble,” she muttered. “Big trouble.”

“No kiddin’,” I sighed, lighting a smoke. I gave her a look, then signed, [Thoughts?]

[Gonna show dad the video,]  she answered. [He’ll know what to do.]

I scratched my chin, thinking it over.

On the one hand, while I wasn’t above snitching on someone particularly  heinous, I didn’t know shit about Big Man except that he’d had the same  idea as I: the use of powers as weapons rather than as an identity. It  seemed like every fool in this world that got powers, or even just got  in the cape game, built their whole identity around it. Poison Ivy,  Clayface, Two-Face, Harley Quinn, Star Sapphire, and so on. While heroes  kept their secret identities, it seemed like villains were bound to be  little else than what they were with the mask on.

Sure, I wasn’t the first villain with a secret identity, and I sure  wasn’t looking to be the last. But what he was planning... the game was  the game because everyone got to play, and as rigged as it was, everyone had a shot at winning, even if nobody won for long. The imbalance of  power from gangs gaining metas while cops are left in the dust would  leave the streets running with blood, and from there I could only see it  going further down the drain.

How long could that little alliance we saw last? How long until they  split up and it was gangs against gangs against cops against heroes,  with civilians caught in the middle as always?

Fuck it, I thought, a little annoyed, Gotta take a stand.

[D’you have anything to write on?]

She did, so I got to work making Batman a note about my suspicions of  Big Man’s connections to the Blackgaters, and telling him that I’d get  my crew to focus on hitting some of the gangs we saw at the meeting so  that they couldn’t pick up too much momentum before he found the  mastermind. Once it was done, I gave it to Batgirl, wished her a good  night and made to walk home.

Or that was the plan, before she suddenly put a hand on my shoulder and  gently pushed me against the wall, holding me in place with a strong  grip.

“Uh...” I looked at the hand on my shoulder, then up at her unreadable mask. “Am I getting mugged?”

Even with the mask, I felt the flat look she gave me before letting go and signing, [You’re going to help with all that?]

I nodded and shrugged, [Sure. I live here too.]

She gave me a very serious look, then before I could react pulled off  the lower half of her mask, grabbed my shoulders and pressed a kiss into  my mouth.

It was unexperienced on her end and out of practice on mine, her lips  were rough, we were next to a dumpster, and when she pulled back I had  the biggest, dumbest grin on my face. And so did she, and what little I  could see of her face was flushed red.

I realied that, without thinking, I’d grabbed on to her hips, holding  her close enough that I could feel her breath on my mouth. I also  realized her arms were now wrapped around my neck. We stood there for a  moment, just looking at each other before she finally decided to leaned  in again. And this time I met her halfway.

This time, it was a little less rushed and felt more like she was  exploring, and it grew more and more enthusiastic the more we kissed.

I admit to losing track of time a bit, distracted by every little thing  she did. Despite being the instigator, she seemed surprised whenever I  leaned into the kiss, but retaliated with enthusiasm before I could make  sure she was fine, pressing her body against mine and barely coming up  for breath before going back in. She squeaked a little every time my  hands wandered up and down her body and she leaned into every touch.

She was short enough that my neck was starting to hurt a little, though,  so I decided to take action. I pulled back, getting a disappointed  little whine out of her that would have been worth it on its own. then  used my amazing powers that I had never appreaciated as much as I did in  that moment to gently lift her so her head would be level with mine. I  shifted my grip to her legs, which she wrapped around my body with an  appreciative hum as she dove back in.

One of her hands ran through my hair and I returned the favour by giving  her bottom lip a playful nibble, making her release a shuddering breath  that left my pants feeling a whole lot tighter. Her bodysuit squeaked a  little when she moved, making me smile against her lips, and it seemed  to be contagious as she laughed a little, pressing her forehead against  mine.

I was using the full potential of my brain to decide if it was too early  to introduce tongue when she pulled back, putting a hand on my chest. I  almost asked if I’d done something wrong when she looked to the side  and put a finger to her ear, frowning.

“... Busy,” she said in that halting way of hers, “Send Robin.”

There was another pause as someone, probably Oracle, talked in her ear.

Cass gave me a considering look, then slowly said, “Very busy.”

Shit, almost don’t mind the interruption now, I thought. This is doing wonders for my ego.

Cass seemed to sense that, because she gave me a playful swat on the  shoulder as she listened. Her argument didn’t seem to have much effect  on Mission Control going from the way Cass’ body slumped, so I set her  down.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “On way.”

She took her finger off her ear and gave me an apologetic look, but I just smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“To be continued,” I promised.

Her face, already flushed, got about two shades darker as she nodded  enthusiastically then pressed a hand against my chest, like she’d done  in my apartment.

“You...” She pointed at me, then gave me a thumbs up before quickly  marching out of the alley and zipping off with her grappling hook.

I watched her go, grinning like an idiot, then nodded to myself as I went the other way.

... and then I did a stupid little dance that she saw and would go on mock me over for years.

{[X]}​

I was still bobbing my head and feeling happy when I got to my  apartment. The part of my head that doesn't let me have anything nice  was reasoning that Cass was probably just riding the high of a first  relationship, and that she'd probably only meant to try out kissing and  got swept up in my simping-ass enthusiasm.

And truth be told, the argument made sense to me. I really couldn't  picture Cass actively planning to make out in an alleyway. But I was  also still kind of a hormonal dumbass and really liked her, so I just  became very determined to do everything in my power to make things work  between us.

I mean, it ain’t all bad, I rationalized as I microwaved up some leftovers, Someone’s first relationship is usually with another person that either never dated or only dated a few people before, right? I got some experience on my side, so I can probably avoid the basic mistakes and keep it going.

Of course, that still allowed for the chance that I’d screw up in some  new and inventive way in typical Sam Reyes fashion, but I’d web-swing  over that burning bridge when I got to it.

It was with that trademark positivity that I sat down and finally-

Tap-tap-tap

God fucking dammit!


Well, Spidey Sense wasn’t blaring, so the person tapping at my window was probably...

Yup, Steph was sitting outside my window, looking a little hurried even  as she winced when she saw that I was holding my dinner. She had a few  bandaids stuck to her fingers, some of them with fresh red spots.

I walked over with my tupperware of re-heated spaghetti and sat next to her, giving a nod. “Wha’s good?”

“Hey, Sam,” she said. “Listen, I need a solid.”

“If you need me to kill a motherfucker, I gotta tell you I’ve been  tryin’ to steer clear of that business lately,” I said. “So I’ll only do  it if there’s a really good reason or it’s really funny. Or if you pay me a lot.”

"What? No!”

“You sure? I’d give you a discount.”

She gave me a weird look, before shaking her head. “Listen, you’ve got like, really big muscles, right?”

“Actually, these are-” she glared at me. “Yeah, I work out.”

“Cool, can you tell me where your gym is?” she said. “I know a little  karate, but I haven’t trained in a while and I wanna get stronger.”

Ah. The pieces were starting to fall together, “I actually train at a friend’s place, so I can’t help you there.”

“Crap,” she sighed, “Every place nearby is super expensive and mom doesn’t want me going too far to work out.”

“...” Leaning my head a little to the side, I managed to peek into her  room. Having confirmed my suspicions, I looked at Steph. “I can help you  work out.”

“Really?”

“Came across a lot of money lately, I can just buy some  equipment,” I shrugged. “Wouldn’t mind not having to walk twelve fucking  blocks three times a week to work out, and I’d rather know you were  doin’ it right. Could show you how to really throw down, too.”

She seemed enthused by the offer for maybe five seconds, before her  Gothamite training came in and turned on her paranoia, making her give  me a skeptical look.

“Why?” she asked, “If this is just you feeling bad about my dad, then I’d rather you didn’t.”

“It’s not just that,” I said, waving her off. “First of all, I  figure I owe it to you after stressin’ you out all that time. And  second, I owe it to your mom for all her help.”

“You don’t owe us anything, Sam,” she said. “And honestly, I think you know that. What’s the real reason?”

I hesitated, then spoke up, “Look... we agreed that my friendship with  your mom fell apart ‘cause we were basically lyin’ to ourselves about  each other, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, in the interest of not doin’ that with you, I should tell you that you left your supersuit on your bed, dumbass.”

“FUCK!”