Chapter 3: The Judge's Verdict
The dim glow of Gotham's cityscape stretched far beyond the horizon, bathed in shadows and streaks of red and yellow from neon signs flickering through the rain. It was the kind of night where the storm seemed to echo in the bones of the city, and the very air felt thick with tension. Kian Mathis stood on the roof of a dilapidated building, looking down over the streets. The chaos that pulsed through this city was palpable, a never-ending undercurrent of violence, crime, and greed. But tonight, the city was quieter than it had been in weeks.
It was almost as if Gotham knew something was coming.
Kian's thoughts were not far behind, his mind preoccupied with the choices he had made. He had killed before—had taken life without hesitation, without guilt. But something about Gotham made it different. Something about the scale of the corruption, the desperation, and the faces of those he encountered seemed to weigh heavier on him now. He had been given power—more power than most could ever dream of—and with it, he had a responsibility. Or so he thought.
In his previous life, Kian had always believed in the system, in the law, and the idea that justice could be tempered with mercy. But in Gotham, he had learned that such notions were luxuries—luxuries that people like him could no longer afford. The people here had long since been failed by any form of higher authority. There was no system to believe in anymore. No greater truth to find.
The sound of footsteps behind him pulled Kian out of his thoughts. He turned to see a figure emerging from the shadows. A tall woman, draped in a dark leather trench coat, her face partially obscured by a black hood. Her stance was confident, poised, and she moved with the purpose of someone who knew the city well.
"I wondered how long it would take before you showed up," Kian said, his voice calm and unreadable.
The woman stopped a few feet away, her gaze cold but measured. "You've been busy, Mathis. People are starting to notice. Some of us think you might be crossing a line."
Kian's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Crossing a line? I don't think I've even come close. I'm doing what needs to be done."
"You're playing judge, jury, and executioner. It's one thing to go after the small fry, but you're going after people with power. That's dangerous," the woman warned, her eyes narrowing.
"Dangerous?" Kian echoed, raising an eyebrow. There's not much left that scares me.
The woman sighed, her expression softening ever so slightly. "It's not about fear. It's about consequences. When people start dying, the chaos will spiral. You may be able to handle it, but Gotham won't."
Kian regarded her for a long moment, his gaze cold and unblinking. "Then I guess Gotham better learn how to handle it."
The woman stared at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of doubt, of hesitation. But Kian knew there was nothing there. There was no room for doubt anymore. Only certainty. The certainty that Gotham needed to be broken and rebuilt. And if he had to be the one to do it, so be it.
"What's your name?" Kian asked suddenly, his tone shifting.
She hesitated, studying him for a moment before answering. "Harley.
"Harley," Kian repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. It wasn't familiar to him, but in a city like Gotham, everyone had their own reputation. "What do you want from me?"
Harley smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "You've already made an impression. People are talking. You're drawing attention. I just wanted to see for myself if the rumors were true."
"Do I look like the kind of man who deals in rumors?" Kian shot back.
Her smirk deepened, and she nodded toward the city below. "You've got your hands full, Mathis. Gotham isn't a place you conquer easily. And those you think are on your side might not be."
Kian stared out over the city once more. He had already made some powerful enemies—gang leaders, crooked officials, and worse. But Harley's words stayed with him. This city was more complex than he had imagined. And if he was going to survive it, he had to learn to navigate the webs of power, betrayal, and survival.
"You're right about one thing," Kian said after a long silence. "Gotham's not easy to conquer. But someone has to bring justice to this hellhole. And I'm not going anywhere."
"Just don't get too comfortable," Harley warned, her tone more serious now. "There's always someone worse than the people you're dealing with. And they don't like people like you."
Kian turned to face her, his expression hardening. "And what exactly does that mean?"
Harley didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer, her eyes scanning him carefully, as if weighing her options. "It means you're not the only player in this game, Mathis. Gotham has its own rules. And they're not written in your kind of ink."
Before Kian could respond, she turned on her heel and began to walk back into the shadows. "Think on it," she called over her shoulder. "You'll learn soon enough."
Kian stood still, watching her disappear into the night. Harley's warning echoed in his mind, but he didn't let it cloud his thoughts. He was already moving, already past it. There was no room for hesitation, no room for second-guessing. He had a job to do.
The following days were a blur of action. Kian moved through the streets of Gotham with purpose, striking at those who thought themselves untouchable. He had started small—local thugs and corrupt officials—but it was becoming clear that Gotham's web of crime was far more expansive than he had originally thought.
One evening, as he was patrolling the city, his attention was drawn to a small news report blaring from a TV in a rundown corner store. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as the image on the screen shifted to a photo of a man—Julius Steele, the local drug kingpin whose name had come up in several reports. He was smiling arrogantly from the screen, wearing a suit that looked too expensive for someone like him.
"Authorities are on the lookout for Steele, who is wanted in connection with several high-profile murders and ongoing drug trafficking operations. Steele's operations are believed to span across multiple districts in Gotham, including several ties to corrupt police officials," the news anchor continued, her voice grim.
Kian felt a tightness in his chest. Steele was the one man he hadn't yet dealt with, the one criminal who had slipped through his fingers so far. But now, the stakes were higher. Steele was not only a criminal but a symbol of everything that was wrong with Gotham—a man who operated with impunity, using his wealth and connections to avoid justice. That was something Kian could not allow.
He started his investigation the only way he knew how: through the criminal underworld. Every informant, every street-level dealer, every lowlife knew Steele's name. And as Kian made his way deeper into the maze of Gotham's criminal network, it became clear that Steele had far more influence than Kian had anticipated. The man was a puppet master, pulling the strings from the shadows.
Kian soon learned that Steele was holed up in a high-rise building in the heart of the city—a fortress surrounded by layers of security. But Kian wasn't intimidated. He had faced bigger threats before, and he wasn't about to let Steele escape justice.
He had a plan. It was risky, but it was the only option. He would strike quickly, before Steele could react, before the network of corrupt officials and armed men could rally to his defense.
The night of the assault, Kian stood outside Steele's high-rise building, his eyes scanning the perimeter. The security was tight—cameras on every corner, guards stationed at every entrance, and steel-reinforced doors that could withstand any force. But Kian wasn't deterred. He had come too far to turn back now.
With a deep breath, Kian began his ascent. His telekinetic abilities flared as he used his mind to propel himself upward, his body moving in smooth, fluid motion as he scaled the side of the building. The wind whipped through his hair, the night sky above him a black void. Gotham sprawled out beneath him, unaware of the reckoning that was about to unfold.
He reached the top in minutes, his feet landing silently on the rooftop. Below him, the building's security system hummed, but Kian knew he had no time to waste. He made his way toward the elevator shaft, his mind focused on Steele—on justice. The man was in there, hiding behind layers of protection. But Kian would not allow him to escape.
With a swift movement, Kian broke through the ceiling, using his telekinesis to send a blast of force that shattered the metal like a toy. He descended quickly into the building, his eyes scanning the interior. Inside, Steele's men were waiting. But they weren't prepared for someone like Kian.