Robin's POV
Batman was right… again.
I grumbled as I replayed the finals of the underground tournament Julius had signed up for in Ivy's fight club.
After he disappeared into Ivy's domain, it didn't take a genius to put two and two together. A young meta testing his limits—bolder than you'd expect for someone his age, but with his criminal record, not outside the realm of possibility.
What followed was one of the most astonishing displays of skill and meta-development I've ever seen.
He went from inconsistent bursts of power—enhanced physicality, healing, and some strange limited invulnerability manipulation—to outright decimating Zsasz, even after the psycho juiced himself up on Venom.
That final punch didn't just knock him out—it generated a shockwave and blew Zsasz's head clean off his shoulders.
My body went cold the first time I saw it. My mood hadn't improved much since.
At least he seemed torn up about it.
Torn up enough not to take my head off if I try to drag him in?
Wouldn't count on it.
So, long-range containment strategies it is.
I nodded to myself, toggling through the Underground's upcoming exhibition matches—but there was no mention of him.
The winner of the other bracket had an exhibition lined up with a meta, but not Julius.
"He got out, then."
I guess cash and glory weren't enough to keep him around. Kind of surprising—for a fifteen-year-old thief.
He's going to try and kill Black Mask, even if it costs him his life.
I'll just have to bring him in first, won't I?
Rising from Bruce's chair in the Batcave, I closed all my tabs and walked to the glass case holding my Robin suit.
A smile tugged at my lips.
This was going to be fun. Couldn't wait to see the look on Bruce's face when I bring him in.
---
Julius's Pov
Check the news tonight.
I sent the message to Penguin, slipped my phone into my briefcase, and started the truck.
It roared to life—but just as I shifted into drive, my leg froze.
No. I froze.
Artemis's words twisted in my ear.
You're repeating the same mistake.
Was I?
Giving Penguin so much leash, letting him hold the cards…
I was already recording conversations and gathering evidence, building a failsafe for when he inevitably double-crossed me. But maybe it was time to go further.
Stronger metas than me have faced Batman, the police, and the crime bosses in this town—and lost.
I needed something my predecessors didn't have.
An edge over every single one of them.
Short of killing them, nothing seemed as effective as blackmail.
Batman. Robin. Black Mask. Penguin. Everyone hides secrets.
And once I had them, I owned them. At least temporarily.
I'd need an unhackable computer and a few reliable agents to help forward information to out-of-state police and reporters. Can't have anyone I'm blackmailing figuring out I was coming for them.
It was a crude beginning, but a bright one nonetheless.
But it also meant sneaking around, buying listening devices, cameras, and leveling up all my espionage-related skills.
I rubbed the back of my neck. I suppose it could be worse.
The thought steadied me.
I pulled the truck from the alley, made two tight turns, and parked across from the store where it all started.
To the outside world, it was a dying record store with spotty traffic. In the back? Something else entirely.
My recent hit had forced them to up security. I wondered if any of them were left over from last time.
I slipped on my mask and did one final check.
Smoke bombs hung off my sides.
Katana in the first inventory slot.
Baretta in my hands.
Knuckle dusters sat in the second slot.
Grenades were in my third.
And my tape recorder rested under my vest, recording, just in case someone got cocky.
I tied the steering wheel to a metal rod, keeping the wheel steady while I weighed down the accelerator.
The truck launched forward, tires screaming, and crashed through the front of the store with a metallic shriek.
Screams followed.
I rushed forward, cursed energy propelling each step.
I slipped through the opening, expecting Mask's men with their guns raised.
But I'd overestimated them.
Or underestimated what a semi could do.
Half the store was rubble. The other half was empty… except for the bleeding clerk behind the counter.
Tattoos, piercings, bloodied forehead. She blinked at me in confusion, then reached under the desk.
I put two in her chest, and she dropped.
She wasn't dead—wooden bullets don't kill like that. But I doubted extracting those splinters would be painless.
My perception flared. Cameras.
I picked them off one by one with clean, precise shots.
Congratulations: You've learned Gun Mastery Lv. 1
That came easier than expected. Likely thanks to my high stats.
The counter was easy to vault. There she was. Unconscious.
A sawn-off shotgun rested under the register.
Clever.
I unloaded it, tossed the gun into the street, and flung the shells in the opposite direction.
Then the door burst open.
They came in hot, bathing the store in hot lead.
But I was ready.
A curtain of cursed energy wrapped around me and the clerk.
I ducked behind the desk, watching Black Mask's goons burn through magazines.
Eventually, they slowed.
One passed by, AK at the ready. Another peeked into the truck wreckage.
"You think he already left?" the first said.
"No," the second answered. "There is no 'they.' Just him. The boss warned us—said to be careful. You've seen the news."
"Unless he's bulletproof, he's not getting through us," a third sneered.
But a fourth—girl, young, jittery—snorted. I didn't recognize her voice or the other three. Black Mask must've switched them out after the first attack.
"We're way in over our heads. He's killed six of us already. We need to get the cash out—"
The bullets flew fast.
Two in the chest of the big one. Two more for the smart girl.
Gunfire converged on the booth, but I was already gone.
Blood burst behind me.
Shit.
The clerk was dead.
I dove, melding back into reality, putting two shots in the knees and vests of the third and fourth gunmen.
I flipped and came down with a kick, driving a rising grunt back into the ground.
I swapped my guns for the knuckles, hands hitting the floor as I spun.
My foot cracked into the jaw of another.
Fist rocketed forward—no cursed energy, just raw power—and knocked the first man cold.
I rose, guns back in hand, and advanced.
There was movement in the backroom. Energy pulsed through me, and I ran.
Three men waited inside the room. One stood guard with a tire iron, of all things. The second stuffed a duffel bag in cash, and the third...I recognized.
Hendrick.
I clenched my jaw. He was the asshole who woke up that night that Eddie died. He was still as severe as I remembered--standing over six feet tall, muscular, in full military gear, earpiece in place.
He didn't spare me so much as a look, raising the radio his earpiece connected to.
"He's here, sir. Putting you on speaker now."
I almost laughed. Of course, Black Mask wanted to gloat.
"You had to know this was a trap. Same spot where your friend died? The semi-truck threw me for a loop. But sure as sunshine… here you are again, trying to top the worst day of your life."
"The cops won't come for you," he said, savoring every word. "And I just sent your location to every bounty hunter in Gotham."
"Let them come," I said.
Black Mask laughed. "Of course you're not afraid. You're the slayer of slayers. The boy who killed Zsasz. Fail or win—I'll be watching. Do your best not to disappoint."
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