It wasn't until Alberto Falcone started speaking that Savage realized his character was the exact opposite of what was described in the report.
According to the file he had obtained from the Batcave, Evans was an introverted personality, closer to an artist at heart. He preferred thoughtful reflection over quick decision-making, was not particularly nimble on his feet, and preferred to express his thoughts through art forms.
Such people would find it difficult to thrive in the mob, but luckily for him, he came from a good background which provided him with a comfortable lifestyle.
However, this could turn out to be a death sentence for him. Given his anxious demeanor to prove himself, Savage could infer that his relationship with the Godfather was on thin ice.
If someone were to reach out to him at this point and offer help, he would likely not refuse the opportunity, even if he knew the person could not be trusted. After all, any form of aid would boost his sense of security under such circumstances.
An heir who is not in favor and aware of his unfavorable position, living under the power of a king and father who could at any moment make a decision that could strip him of everything, could not bear such pressure. Desperate for a lifeline, Savage had no qualms about approaching him. It wasn't merely throwing himself at Alberto, but rather providing help in a time of need.
However, when he laid eyes on Alberto, it was apparent that circumstances were different than he had anticipated. He knew at first glance that this man was not the artist mentioned in the report; he was a born competitor, a wild beast.
Alberto gestured to a chair across from him, saying, "Please, have a seat, Mr. Savage. If you insist on having this discussion, we can set aside unnecessary formalities and get to the matter you are concerned with..."
Savage took the seat, maintaining a relaxed demeanor. However, inside, he had no such confidence. The lack of desperation he anticipated seeing in Alberto meant he wasn't at an absolute advantage, but he still planned on trying his luck. The resources of Gotham's mob were too tantalizing to discard.
"Greetings, Mr. Falcone, I am Vandal Savage, from an era you might not be able to fathom…," began Savage, setting the tone for his pitch. He was compelled to utilize his third and fourth planned talking points to pique Alberto's curiosity.
"Oh?," queried an intrigued Alberto, "How ancient?"
"I have danced alongside the Neanderthals, witnessed meteors fall, and seen prehistoric creatures from your history books sprint past me, the currents of time have swept me here…," Savage eloquently painted a vivid picture, evoking memories of historical artifacts seen in museums.
"If I had all the time in the world today, I'd be more than happy to hear tales of your past," Alberto, glancing at his wristwatch, said, "But I do have something coming up. Let's start with the present."
With a sigh, he continued, "The cargo in these cold storages arrived just yesterday. Just a day later, you show up. We've ascertained that you do not belong to any of Gotham's mobs, which has been fortunate for you…"
Alberto's tone grew colder as he stared into Savage's eyes, "If you were a member of any mob controlled by the Twelve Families, you'd be meeting God by now."
"I am older than God, and your earthly beliefs are merely the con of a group of gamblers…" retorted Savage, rising to his feet defiantly.
A gunshot rang out followed by several more, the glow of gunfire mixed with shattering glass and splintering wood filled the room. In a blink of an eye, Savage disappeared.
All the while, Alberto's expression remained unchanged. He fondled the dial of his watch and said, "It's been a long time since anyone dared to cross a line in here. I don't care if he can teleport or not. If I can't meet him before tonight, only the Godfather can decide his fate…"
With that, he turned and left. The remaining Cobblepot and other mob leaders in the room bore stern expressions. One strode forward and asked Cobblepot, "What's going on, Oswald? Why is the young master so upset?"
Cobblepot shook his head and explained, "Lately, he has been interning on top of having spent way too many hours at the hospital, keeping him busy till late at night. Last night, that damned intruder interrupted his rest by infiltrating the Falcone Family's major storage area…"
The other mob bosses shook their heads, but they all came to the same conclusion; this potential future Godfather was walking down the same path of power his father had, and he might even perform better in the role.
Once back at his hotel, Savage couldn't shake his grim mood. He was starting to believe there was an error in the intelligence he possessed.
The only thing that baffled him was the level of detail in the report. If it was merely a smokescreen, a trap, why would they go into so much depth in creating it?