Bane was satisfied that he had not committed his forces to the Court of Owls' attack. It had been disappointing; for all their vaunted influence over Gotham, their grand strategy amounted to nothing more than a public assassination.
It seemed he had been correct in his assessment of their arrogance. How foolish it was to underestimate their foe so completely.
They had called Bane a coward, yet the result spoke for itself.
The assassin had only bolstered Jean Valjean's reputation, serving as little more than a prop for his opponent's display. The attack had been thwarted with such impeccable timing that it was obvious to all who could see that Jean Valjean had been aware and prepared for it.
Bane could not even begin to grasp how he could have even known and prepared such an elaborate show.
Information on his foe was scarce. He suspected Jean Valjean was empowered in some fashion, as his feats and reputation belied the capabilities of a normal man. Yet the question remained—by what means? Theories ranged from metahuman abilities to alien technology, or experimental drugs like his own venom.
There were too many rumors and far too little substance to work with. So he would wait, like a spider crafting its web. Only a fool charged in blindly, and Bane was no fool.
Thankfully, he had quite a few of those at his disposal.
"Are you prepared, Mother Superior?"
"Almost," she replied. "Soon… soon we shall show this heretic the wrath of God."
The quiet tent, hidden just beyond the Iceberg Lounge, was filled with robed cultists. A circle carved from blood surrounded a strange cube supplied by Intergang. The cultists bowed and whispered in unison, their voices rising and falling as the cube pulsed with energy, red veins twitching across its unnatural surface.
It was an impressive sight.
Yet Bane had to restrain the disdain threatening to show on his face as he observed the fanatical expressions around him.
Could they not see they were obsessing over something alien rather than divine? He did not decry faith, but this… this was madness.
Still, it was not his place. Let fools worship what they wished, so long as they remained useful.
"And you are certain this will be enough? The Court of Owls' failure has likely put him on high alert," Bane said.
The Mother Superior scoffed, her expression maniacal. "Do not compare divinity to those cowards who hide in the shadows. Soon, we will call upon one of our God's mightiest generals. Nothing will dare stand in his way. Do your job, and question me no further."
"Of course," Bane said evenly. "My men have already been alerted and will ferry you inside."
It was either an unfortunate oversight on his opponent's part or simply the inevitable consequence of scale. An event of this magnitude required a large amount of outsourcing.
Infiltration, from there, had been simple.
One of his front businesses had taken the contract, a catering company legitimate in all respects save for a handful of carefully placed personnel. The men transporting the object into the target area would remain blissfully unaware of their role in the operation.
Of course, placing all his faith in a single plan would be foolish. Hidden among decorations, infrastructure, and supply crates were dozens of bombs, each primed to detonate at his command.
Now, how would he respond?
Bane found himself curious to see what masterstroke this Jean Valjean would employ to defend against him.
—
"Do you remember
The 21st night of September?
Love was changin' the minds of pretenders
While chasin' the clouds away—"
I moved with the beat among a crowd of guys who had long since gotten lost in alcohol. It felt good, finally getting to enjoy the party I'd spent so much time putting together.
"How the stars stole the night away, oh, yeah—"
As the chorus hit, I stepped back with a satisfied smile, glad I'd managed to enjoy at least a little of my own work. I slapped outstretched hands from faces I recognized, and plenty I didn't, riding the energy all the same.
Unfortunately, I couldn't stay there all night.
I made my way up the stairs and shot Cobblepot an apologetic smile as I approached.
"You look mighty happy for a man who was nearly killed twenty minutes ago,"
"What, am I supposed to be shivering in my boots?" I shrugged. "It's not like we didn't expect something like this to happen sooner or later."
Cobblepot grunted as we walked side by side toward one of the second-floor lounges. "I'd rather you not kick the bucket, so a hint of caution would be appreciated. This entire venture hinges on your particular brand of insanity."
"Ah, is that worry I hear?" I cooed.
He shot me a look of pure disgust.
I chuckled. "Alright, alright. Seriously, though, I've done everything I can. I alerted all our guys, got patrols running low-key, and sent some experts to deal with any… additional owl assassins. Beyond that, what else am I supposed to do but party?"
"Whatever," Cobblepot muttered. "Just don't make a fool of yourself up there."
"Me? Never." I grinned.
He only shook his head and sighed as we entered the VIP lounge. It wasn't as extravagant as the personal rooms set aside for people like Red Hood, but it had a more "classy" feel compared to the chaos downstairs—at least as classy as a room full of criminals and miscreants could get.
This space was reserved for the Union's VIPs, gang leaders who had pledged themselves to our cause, along with potential high-value clients.
The room quieted almost immediately as eyes turned toward me.
Yeah. That never got old.
It still felt strange, being someone.
I could feel the weight of their attention, hungry, curious, calculating.
Well… time to work.
Throwing this whole event hadn't just been about screwing over the Joker.
Okay, maybe like ninety percent.
But the rest of it was opportunity. A chance to establish rules, reputation, and authority within the Union.
Which meant I had to do the terrible, soul-crushing task of networking.
Apparently, even criminals couldn't escape that hell.
So, with a smile firmly in place, I got to work. I started with the gang leaders, moving from group to group, handing out compliments and in return getting my fair share of ass-kissing.
All the while, I began laying down the ground rules of the Goon Union.
Hard bans on heavy drugs like opium. No human trafficking. No pointless, wanton violence. On top of that, I made it clear that Union members were to be treated with a certain level of respect.
Anyone who mistreated a "goon" would be answering to all of us.
No more capping your own people or dumping them in the river with concrete boots just because you were in a bad mood.
It was interesting seeing the range of reactions. Most people accepted the harsher bans—human trafficking, wanton violence—without much resistance. A lot of the smaller gangs rarely resorted to that kind of thing anyway. The pushback came with drugs, as expected, but even that turned into low grumbling once I dangled the promise of more potions. Most of them were bought off soon enough.
Speaking of potions, that led neatly into my second obligation of the night: the rich and hungry "businessmen"—or, more accurately, the white-collar criminals who purchased and smuggled my products.
Those conversations were… different. Slimier, I guess. It said something when these guys came off more predatory than literal gangsters. White-collar crime really was its own kind of cutthroat.
Still, I played the game. I stoked their interest, offered reassurances, and made promises. My alchemy was progressing nicely, and while I hadn't cracked improving the scale of my effects yet, the sheer variety I could produce was a different story. By the end of this week, I'd have new potion blends, alcohol mixers, enhanced seasonings, even perfumes and cosmetics ready to roll out.
They ate it up like starving hounds.
The night dragged on after that. I half expected another assassin to show up and break the monotony, but apparently I wasn't lucky enough to escape networking hell.
"Ugh…" I muttered, rubbing my face as I leaned back against the couch. I'd talked to most of the important people and hit my main objectives for the night.
Establishing my reputation and the expectations of the Union had been firmly achieved.
Still… it was boring. Painfully boring.
Next time, I was dumping this whole mess on Cobblepot.
I scanned the room, noting who was left. There were a few faces I still had to talk to. But most of the rest I could ignore without causing any real issues.
But could I not have one boring ass conversation?
My gaze swept across the lounge and paused.
A blonde-haired man and a black-haired woman sat together in one of the side lounges.
Ah. It was that guy.
Definitely a better option than dealing with another round of floozies.
I grabbed a bottle and headed over.
***
Not super happy with this Jean part. Was gonna write the Lucifer part here, but well felt bogged. Big man deserves his own chapter so onto the next one it went
Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices.
I have advanced chapters on my Pa tre on/daisyberry if you wanna read ahead.