Kian stood in the heart of Gotham's darkest district, staring at the towering structure ahead. It was a relic of a time long passed—an old industrial building that once hummed with the activity of factories and manufacturing. Now it was little more than a fortress of crime, a place where Gotham's most dangerous players hid from the light. Steel walls, reinforced windows, and heavy security systems made it all but impossible to get inside. Yet, Kian was undeterred. This was where the next piece of the puzzle lay: Julius Steele.
The kingpin had evaded Kian's reach for weeks, using his network of thugs, corrupt politicians, and underworld allies to shield himself from justice. But the time for evasion was over. The very foundation of Gotham's crime syndicate would be toppled, and Steele was the key.
As Kian stood across the street from the building, his mind buzzed with the task ahead. He had dealt with criminals before, but Steele represented something deeper, more insidious. The man wasn't just a drug lord or a thug. He was a symbol of everything wrong with Gotham—unchecked power, a government that turned a blind eye, and a city too broken to fight back.
Kian felt the weight of the responsibility settling over him. This wasn't just about cleaning up Gotham's streets. This was about rebuilding a system of justice, one that didn't rely on weak laws or leniency for the powerful. It was about eliminating the disease at the heart of Gotham, pulling the root of corruption out and exposing the festering wound beneath.
And Steele would be the first to fall.
With a sharp breath, Kian closed his eyes for a moment and focused. His telekinetic powers flared as he centered himself, drawing on the energy around him. Every object, every scrap of debris, every atom seemed to come alive with the power of his mind. He could feel the pulse of the city itself—the heartbeat of Gotham was his to control. With a small movement, Kian reached out with his mind, ripping the locks and security systems apart, sending them flying out of his path. The building was about to become his playground.
Kian moved with purpose, striding toward the entrance. The massive iron doors, reinforced to withstand any intrusion, groaned in protest as Kian's will bent the metal. In one swift motion, he yanked them off their hinges, sending them crashing into the wall with a deafening crash. Inside, there was no immediate movement. No sound. It was as if the building itself held its breath in anticipation.
He entered.
The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of smoke and something darker—something metallic, the scent of blood lingering in the corners. The space was massive, the high ceilings echoing with the sound of his footsteps as he walked deeper into the complex. From what Kian had gathered, this was Steele's last line of defense—his final bastion. If Steele had any hope of escaping, it was here. But Kian knew one thing for certain: there would be no escape tonight.
Kian's eyes scanned the shadows. His mind was already reaching, probing, searching for signs of movement. He could sense them. The guards. Dozens of men stationed throughout the building, each one carrying weapons, each one tasked with keeping the gates to Steele's kingdom intact. But they were nothing compared to the storm Kian had become. He had no interest in subtlety tonight. The criminals of Gotham had earned their reckoning, and it would come swiftly.
He closed his eyes and focused on the air around him. He could feel the weight of the metal, the plastic, the fabric of their clothes, the weapons they carried. He could hear their heartbeats, the quickening pulses of anxiety that betrayed their preparedness. They were waiting. But they were about to find out that their weapons were meaningless in the face of Kian's judgment.
Kian moved first, a silent force sweeping through the building. His telekinetic abilities unleashed, sending heavy objects flying through the air, disarming the nearest guards before they even had time to raise their weapons. The men were tossed around like ragdolls, their bodies slamming into walls and the floor with bone-breaking force. He could hear the cries of pain, the gasps for air, but Kian remained silent, his focus absolute.
He moved further into the building, his steps purposeful and deadly. He could see them now—Steele's men, huddling together in an attempt to prepare for the attack. But it was too late. Kian had already seen them.
A guard raised his rifle, trying to steady his shaking hands, but before he could fire a single shot, Kian flicked his wrist. The rifle was torn from the man's hands and thrown across the room, crashing into a concrete pillar. The guard fell back, eyes wide with fear.
Another man made the mistake of reaching for a knife, but Kian was quicker. A wave of force shot through the air, lifting the knife from the man's hand and sending it spinning toward the nearest wall with a force that embedded it deeply into the stone. The man froze, his terror palpable as he realized his weapon had been rendered useless.
"Your lives are forfeit," Kian's voice rang out, cold and unyielding. "Your boss has sealed your fates."
The remaining guards tried to form a defense, but it was futile. Kian's telekinetic power swept through the room like a tidal wave, knocking them aside one by one. Every weapon, every barrier, was torn from their grasp, leaving them defenseless. Their bodies hit the floor with sickening thuds, but Kian didn't stop. He didn't feel the need to. They had chosen their path, and now they would pay the price.
At the center of the room stood Steele himself. The man was not as surprised as Kian expected. The smug smile that curled on his lips spoke of arrogance—of a man who believed he was untouchable, that no one could ever break his power.
"You must be the famous judge everyone's talking about," Steele said, his voice a mix of mockery and amusement. "Is this how you dispense justice? By playing god?"
Kian didn't answer. He didn't need to. His eyes narrowed, locking onto Steele. The man had tried to hide behind his walls and his minions, but Kian had seen through all of it. Steele's fate had already been sealed the moment he had allowed corruption to rule his life. And now, Kian would make sure he never harmed this city again.
Kian stepped forward, his focus absolute. Steele's face twisted in a moment of realization, and in that instant, he scrambled to his feet, pulling a gun from the holster at his side. But Kian was already moving, faster than the eye could see. Before Steele could even take aim, Kian's hand raised, and the gun was torn from his grip, flung across the room with such force that it shattered against the wall.
Steele's breath caught in his throat. "You think you can just waltz in here and take me down?" he spat, trying to regain some semblance of control.
"I'm not here to 'take you down,' Steele," Kian replied. His voice was low, almost a whisper. "I'm here to deliver your verdict."
Kian extended his hand, his telekinetic power sweeping over the man like an invisible force. Steele's body lifted off the ground, his arms flailing, as if the air itself was squeezing the life from him. Kian held him there, suspended in the air, his feet dangling inches from the ground.
"You've been a parasite to this city," Kian continued, his voice cold and final. "You've taken lives, ruined families, and sold hope to the highest bidder. Your crimes are unforgivable."
Steele struggled, gasping for breath, but Kian's grip on him tightened, his telekinesis constricting his every movement. The air seemed to grow thicker, colder, as Kian's power intensified.
"No! No, I—" Steele managed to choke out, his eyes wild with desperation. "You can't do this! You think you're any better than me? You think you have the right to judge me?"
Kian's eyes burned with a cold fury. "I am your judge. And you are guilty."
With a thought, Steele's body was slammed hard against the concrete wall. The impact was violent, and the sound of bones cracking echoed through the building. Steele let out a pained gasp, but Kian wasn't done. He moved toward him, walking with a steady, relentless pace.
"Please, don't," Steele begged, his voice desperate now. "I've got money, influence! I can make it worth your while. You can have everything you want."
Kian paused. He looked down at the broken man before him, watching as Steele's words crumbled into desperation. There was no power left in the man, only the last vestiges of his arrogance. The man had been a king in his own world, but Kian was the one who had come to strip him of it.
"I don't want your money," Kian said, his voice softer now. "I want justice."
With a final, violent motion, Kian's telekinetic grip crushed Steele's chest. The man's body convulsed once before going still, lifeless.
Kian stood over Steele's lifeless body for a moment, his mind calm, his thoughts as sharp and cutting as the air around him. The man who had plagued Gotham for so long was finally silenced. But there was no satisfaction in it. No relief. Steele's death was a necessary part of a larger equation, and Kian's role in that equation was far from over.
Kian exhaled slowly, his breath coming in measured, controlled breaths. The building was silent now. The guards were unconscious or broken, scattered like fallen pieces of a game Kian had played with no interest in winning—only in seeing it end. His eyes moved over the wreckage of the room: bodies sprawled across the floor, the remnants of shattered weapons and broken equipment. None of it mattered.
He had done what needed to be done. Gotham was one step closer to its reckoning.
Kian turned away from Steele's body and moved toward the elevator. The job wasn't finished. Steele had been a significant part of the criminal underworld, but Gotham was filled with others who would take his place, just as corrupt, just as dangerous. But they would now be watching their backs. The Judge had arrived, and his verdicts were final.
As Kian made his way out of the building, the sound of approaching sirens reached his ears. The Gotham Police were too slow—too weak to stop him—but they would be here soon enough. It wouldn't matter. By the time they arrived, the evidence of Steele's crimes would be all around them. A message would be left behind, as it always was.
Kian's thoughts briefly flickered to the faces of those he'd seen along the way—the families, the ones who had lost someone to Steele's drugs or his violence. The mothers who had buried their children. The men who had been forced into lives they didn't choose. They'd never know what had happened here tonight, and that was fine. For Kian, the truth of his actions was something he kept to himself. Justice did not require recognition or applause. It simply needed to be done.
As he exited the building, Kian's steps slowed. The rain had begun to fall harder, a sharp hiss as it hit the pavement, mixing with the distant sounds of the city. Gotham was alive in its own way, a city caught between life and death, in a perpetual struggle for its soul.
But Kian was unyielding. He had crossed the line, the one that divided right from wrong, justice from vengeance. There was no turning back. There was no going back to the life he had once known. He had become the city's reckoning, the judge whose decisions were final. But even in that truth, there was a cold emptiness. He didn't know if he would ever feel anything again—not satisfaction, not redemption. Perhaps there was no redemption for a man like him.
Before he could disappear into the shadows of the night, Kian felt a presence. A familiar one.
"Impressive," a voice called out from the darkness. It was a voice he'd heard only once before, but it was unmistakable.
Kian didn't turn, didn't even flinch. Instead, he kept walking, his pace unhurried. "Harley," he said flatly, without looking back.
The sound of boots clicking on wet pavement echoed as she stepped into view. Harley Quinn, dressed in her signature black-and-red outfit, her face a mixture of amusement and something darker.
"Did you think I wouldn't find you?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of curiosity and mischief. "You really thought you could do all this without anyone noticing? You're making waves, Mathis. Big waves. And Gotham's sharks? They're gonna notice."
Kian didn't stop. He was done with talk, done with games. If Harley was here, she wasn't going to stop him. She could warn him all she wanted, but it wouldn't change the inevitable.
"I'm not afraid of sharks," Kian muttered.
Harley caught up to him, falling into step beside him. "Oh, I know. But you're not alone, are you? You think just because you knocked off Steele, the big bad of Gotham, that you've won? You're just getting started, hon."
Kian remained silent. He didn't need her to tell him that. He knew it well enough.
"You see," Harley continued, her voice low and almost conspiratorial, "Gotham's a city of monsters. And sometimes, the monsters like to stay in their little corners, and as long as they stay there, we can pretend the city's not a complete nightmare. But you—" She pointed at him with a finger that seemed both playful and dangerous. "You've made it personal."
Kian's eyes met hers for the first time. His gaze was cold, hard. "What do you want, Harley?"
She shrugged, a grin on her face. "Oh, I don't want anything from you. Yet. I just wanted to see how long you'd last. Gotham's got a funny way of breaking people like you. People who think they can change things. But you're not changing it, Mathis. You're just a part of the mess now."
Kian didn't flinch. "I'm not trying to change it. I'm trying to fix it."
Harley tilted her head, studying him. "That's the problem with people like you. You think fixing things is as simple as breaking a few bones. But Gotham's broken in ways you can't see yet. It's not just about crime. It's not just about power. It's about something bigger. Something deeper. You can kill all the rats you want, but the city will still be crawling with them."
"Then I'll kill them all," Kian replied coldly.
Harley laughed, a wild, carefree sound that echoed through the empty street. "You're a piece of work, aren't you? But hey, I'll give you this—you've got guts. And for someone who's all about justice, that's saying something in a place like this."
Kian didn't respond. His gaze shifted to the looming skyline of Gotham, the towering buildings casting long shadows over the streets below. The city stretched out before him, sprawling and corrupt, a festering wound in need of a cure. But Kian knew that the cure wouldn't come easy. It never did.
Harley's voice broke through his thoughts. "Just remember, Mathis, you're not the only one with power. And Gotham's not as simple as you think it is. The players? They'll play back. And when they do? Well, let's just say… it's not gonna be pretty."
Kian turned toward her. For the first time, he allowed himself to meet her gaze fully, his expression unreadable. "I'll be ready."
Harley smiled, a smile that was both genuine and twisted. "Oh, I'm sure you will be. But just remember, this city is full of people who've been broken—and some of them are worse than you think."
With that, she turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Kian alone on the rain-slicked street.
Kian stood still for a moment, absorbing the weight of her words. He had no illusions about what lay ahead. Gotham was a city full of people with broken souls, and its monsters wore many faces. But Kian had crossed a line that he couldn't uncross, and he had become one of those monsters. He had become the reckoning. And the city would feel the weight of it.
The only question was: would Gotham survive what was coming?
Kian didn't have an answer, and he didn't need one.
For now, he had only one focus: delivering his verdict.