Blüdhaven.
If Gotham was a crumbling cathedral of crime, Blüdhaven was its neglected younger sibling, darker and filthier, with none of Gotham's flair for theatrics. The air here was thick with salt and rot from the harbor, mingling with the ever-present stench of sweat, oil, and despair. The city was a web of narrow streets, crumbling tenements, and neon-lit dive bars that hid gang deals in their back rooms.
It was exactly the kind of place Adrian Wells needed right now.
Adrian stood on the corner of St. Mary's Avenue, a dimly lit street flanked by boarded-up storefronts. A flickering neon sign above a laundromat cast a pale red glow over the sidewalk. In his black hoodie and worn jeans, he blended in perfectly with the other shadows that roamed the streets. His orange mask was safely stowed away in his backpack. For now, he was just another face in the crowd.
Blüdhaven's a cesspool, Maya's brother had told him when he arrived. But it's my cesspool, and if you're smart, you'll follow my rules. No hero shit. No drawing attention. You need to stay low, stay useful, and keep out of trouble.
Adrian had nodded, knowing he couldn't afford to screw this up.
Maya's brother, Carlos Cruz, was the leader of a small-time gang called the Black Knives. They weren't as big or as infamous as the Maroni or Falcone crime families, nor as fearsome as Gotham's Rogues Gallery. But in Blüdhaven, they held their own. The Black Knives specialized in smuggling—drugs, stolen goods, and the occasional weapons shipment that no one wanted to pass through Gotham's tighter network of eyes.
Adrian met Carlos at a run-down bar near the docks. The man had the same sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes as Maya, but his demeanor was colder, his voice rougher.
"You the guy Maya sent?" Carlos had asked, lighting a cigarette as he leaned back in his chair.
"That's me," Adrian had replied, keeping his voice casual.
Carlos had looked him over, his sharp eyes narrowing. "You don't look like much. Maya said you're a fighter. That true?"
Adrian had smirked faintly. "I've been in a few rings."
Carlos had taken a long drag from his cigarette before nodding. "Good. You're in."
No initiation, no hazing. Just like that, Adrian was part of the Black Knives. But he knew better than to think it was out of trust. Carlos had a pragmatic streak—if Maya vouched for him, that was enough. For now.
---
For the next few days, Adrian settled into his new life. The gang operated out of a dilapidated warehouse near the harbor, its exterior blending in with the countless other rusting structures lining the water. Inside, however, was a bustling hub of activity—stacks of crates containing everything from counterfeit electronics to unmarked weapons, tables covered in maps and cash, and gang members coming and going at all hours.
Adrian kept his head down, doing whatever was asked of him. Moving crates, acting as muscle during tense meetings, running messages between the gang's higher-ups. It wasn't glamorous, but it kept him fed and gave him a place to sleep—a mattress in the back of the warehouse, surrounded by the constant hum of machinery and the salty tang of the harbor.
His plan was simple: stay low, make some money, and then disappear. He knew staying in the U.S. was a death sentence. Cadmus wouldn't stop hunting him, and it was only a matter of time before they tracked him here. His first move would be international—somewhere Cadmus' reach wasn't as strong. But escaping was only part of the plan. Revenge could wait, but it was always there, simmering at the back of his mind.
One day, he thought. One day, Cadmus will pay.
Late one evening, Adrian found himself sitting with a few of the Black Knives at a dingy diner near the docks. The neon "Open" sign buzzed faintly in the window, casting a sickly glow over the cracked linoleum floors and chipped tables. Plates of greasy fries and half-empty mugs of coffee cluttered the table as the gang laughed and swapped stories.
"So you're telling me," Adrian said, leaning back in his chair, "you just rolled into this guy's territory and took it over? Just like that?"
One of the gang members, a wiry man named Rico, grinned. "Hell yeah. Guy had no protection. Green Arrow came through last week and tore his whole operation apart. Took out his warehouse, his stash, his crew—everything."
"Green Arrow?"
"Yeah," Rico said, shoving a fry into his mouth. "Dude came in with his fancy arrows and wrecked the place. It's what they do, right? Show up, take down the bad guys, and leave the rest of us to pick up the pieces."
Adrian frowned. "And you're not worried about the guy retaliating?"
"Nah," another gang member, Luis, chimed in. "The guy we took out? He's nobody. Little brother to some big-time gangster in Blüdhaven—uh, what's his name?"
"Victor," Rico said, snapping his fingers. "Victor Moretti."
Adrian's stomach tightened. The Moretti family was one of the oldest and most dangerous crime families in Blüdhaven. They weren't flashy like Gotham's villains, but they were brutal, controlling large swaths of the city's underworld with an iron fist.
"And you're not worried about Victor?" Adrian asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Rico shrugged. "What's he gonna do? Green Arrow's on his ass now. Guy's probably too busy lying low to come after us."
Adrian wasn't so sure. The Morettis weren't the kind of people to let a slight go unanswered, even if it meant playing the long game.
He pushed his plate aside, his appetite gone. "Yeah," he said, though his tone was wary. "Probably nothing to worry about."
The gang continued chatting and laughing, but Adrian's unease grew. His instincts told him something wasn't right. He'd learned long ago to trust those instincts—they were the difference between survival and death.
And then it happened.
A scream pierced the air, sharp and panicked, cutting through the diner's low hum.
The gang went silent, their heads snapping toward the door. Rico and Luis exchanged nervous glances, their earlier bravado fading.
"What the hell was that?"
Adrian's jaw tightened as he stood, his senses sharpening. He didn't know what was coming, but he knew one thing: trouble had just arrived.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at P@treon.com/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support