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Chapter 11 - Dangerous alliance

Kian sat in his dimly lit safehouse, the hum of the city outside barely reaching him. The recent encounter with Robin had shaken him—not in fear, but in frustration. The Bat Family was onto him, moving faster than he'd anticipated. He knew they wouldn't stop until they unraveled everything about him. If he kept this up without changing his approach, he risked making mistakes, and mistakes were something he couldn't afford.

Yet, even as his thoughts sharpened on strategy, another idea began to stir in the back of his mind, an idea that felt strangely exhilarating: creating something truly his own, a suit and tools that could make him a force to be reckoned with. Something that would make him more than just a shadowy figure dispensing justice—something that would make him unforgettable.

He glanced at his reflection in a broken shard of mirror, catching the intensity in his own eyes. The Judge. It was a title he'd taken up, yes, but it was time to craft a persona, something that would make his presence undeniable. His mind immediately turned to the two warriors who had always embodied efficiency and ruthlessness: Deathstroke and Deadshot.

Both men were legends in their own right, wielding weapons and armor that were as distinctive as they were lethal. Kian had always respected their approach: tactical, calculated, and built to survive in a world where one misstep could mean death. But this wasn't admiration alone. He needed a suit of his own, armor that would serve his unique needs and adapt to the demands of Gotham's underworld.

He began sketching rough ideas on a notepad, the lines coming alive with each stroke of his pen. A sleek, dark armor—something that would be just as intimidating in the shadows as it would be in open combat. The suit would need to be lightweight but reinforced, allowing him to move quickly yet withstand the relentless punishment he'd face from both the Bat Family and Gotham's deadliest criminals.

Armor around the chest, shoulders, and legs, he noted. Something that could withstand the impact of close-quarters combat but still provide flexibility. As he thought about the Bat Family, he felt a twinge of satisfaction at the idea of standing toe-to-toe with them, with armor of his own that would give him the advantage.

His mind drifted to the colors and insignias he might choose. Deathstroke had his iconic orange-and-black suit, a striking choice that made him both a ghost in the shadows and a terror in the open. Kian's instinct was to avoid bright colors—he'd never been one for theatrics. No, a matte black, edged with dark silver or charcoal gray, felt more fitting. It would be subtle, yet the metallic hints would catch just enough light to make him a formidable presence.

But he stopped, wondering if this was a step he was truly ready to take. Would a suit make him more effective, or was he venturing into something he didn't need? He'd always operated in the shadows, quietly picking off his targets without much fanfare. Was this desire for a suit merely vanity? He shook his head, dismissing the thought. This wasn't about ego. This was about preparation.

As he leaned back, his mind began to shift to the tools he might wield. If he created his own suit, it wouldn't be complete without weapons that matched his powers. Guns were standard, efficient, but he was coming to realize his telepathic abilities offered him opportunities that went beyond conventional firearms.

Weapons that complemented his growing mental powers—that was where he could gain the edge he needed. With telekinesis at his disposal, he could do things others couldn't even imagine, but he wasn't quite certain of the limits yet. Could he use his mind to move objects at a distance in combat? Could he control projectiles in the middle of a firefight? The potential was intoxicating, and the ideas began to swirl.

Throwing knives? He mused, imagining a set of sleek, steel-tipped blades. With his telekinesis, he could control their direction mid-flight, even recall them if he needed. That way, each throw would be as deadly as the last, the blade an extension of his mind rather than just his hand.

Or perhaps something more… visceral. He considered a pair of customized pistols. Not ordinary ones—something heavier, with silencers and enhanced grips that would allow him to stabilize them even under extreme movement. He could integrate a targeting mechanism to accommodate his telekinesis, allowing the bullets to bend in the air or swerve around cover. The thought of such precise control sent a thrill through him.

Then there was the possibility of something entirely unexpected. A baton, perhaps, or an electrified staff. He could wield it in close-quarters combat, using his telekinesis to amplify each strike. He could feel the weight of it in his hand already, picturing the brutal force it would bring to a fight. The combination of telekinesis and a weapon that required proximity would create a powerful contradiction—intimate violence, brought upon by a distant mind.

But he hesitated. The idea of relying on weapons was foreign to him. So far, he'd used only his wits, his hands, and the occasional stolen firearm to get by. Was he diluting his focus, veering too far into the world of tools and gear instead of trusting his instincts? Or was this the step he needed to evolve, to make his position in Gotham undeniable?

Lost in thought, he was startled by the sudden ring of his burner phone. He glanced down, immediately recognizing the contact.

"Yes?" he answered, his voice calm but alert.

"We've got movement," the voice on the other end replied. "The Bat's put his team on high alert. The family's crawling all over the city, and they're looking for you."

Kian felt a grim smile form on his lips. "Good. Let them look. They won't find anything."

There was a pause. "Are we ready to take this to the next phase?"

Kian thought for a moment, weighing his options. "Not yet. I have a few… adjustments to make."

As he ended the call, Kian pocketed his burner phone, the gears in his mind shifting. If Batman was rallying his family, it meant they were beginning to sense the full scope of his threat. He'd forced their hand, but he knew he couldn't face them alone indefinitely. The Bat Family's resources, training, and sheer numbers were formidable. Kian needed allies of his own—people he could trust to stand with him when the inevitable clash came.

It was time to reach out to some of Gotham's most ruthless mercenaries. And if anyone embodied the brutal efficiency and pragmatism he respected, it was Slade Wilson, better known as Deathstroke, and Floyd Lawton, the lethal marksman Deadshot. Both were known not only for their skills but also for their ability to adapt and thrive in Gotham's merciless landscape. Their allegiance would be critical, but loyalty wasn't something men like them gave easily.

A few nights later, Kian arranged a discreet meeting in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Gotham. The space was dimly lit, with only a few beams of moonlight cutting through broken windows, casting jagged shadows across the concrete floor. Kian stood in the middle of the room, his silhouette barely visible, waiting in silence.

The sound of boots hitting the ground broke the quiet as Slade Wilson strode in. His one visible eye gleamed with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Deathstroke was clad in his signature black and orange armor, its polished surface catching the scant light in glints. Moments later, Deadshot entered from the opposite side, his silver wrist-mounted guns resting on his arms, and his cold gaze fixed on Kian.

"Interesting choice of venue," Deathstroke commented, his voice low and measured. "I assume you have a good reason for bringing us here."

Deadshot's lips twisted in a smirk. "You've got our attention, Judge. But don't waste our time. We're not in the business of charity."

Kian met their stares with unflinching calm. "I have a proposition. The Bat Family is onto me, but they won't be able to stop me. I don't intend to flee, nor do I intend to back down. But I'd be a fool to think I can take them on without some… reinforcements."

Deathstroke tilted his head slightly. "And you think we're just going to sign up to be part of your crusade?"

Kian crossed his arms, unphased by the skepticism. "This isn't a crusade. It's an opportunity—for all of us. Gotham is a power vacuum, and Batman can't control it forever. With him distracted, there's space for those who are smart enough to seize it."

Deadshot chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against a crumbling column. "And what exactly makes you think we need you? I work solo for a reason. So does Slade. It keeps things clean."

"Normally, yes," Kian replied, his tone steady and unyielding. "But Batman's preparing to hunt me down with his entire family in tow. I've put them on edge, which means they're going to be on edge with anyone who associates with me. We all know how that goes. Gotham's underworld will be under more scrutiny than ever. But I have an edge."

He let his words linger for a moment, watching their reactions. Deathstroke's expression didn't shift, but there was a glint of interest in his eye. Deadshot merely arched an eyebrow, waiting for Kian to continue.

"Imagine Gotham without Batman," Kian continued, letting the idea sink in. "No one breathing down your neck, no constant interference. You can do your jobs, get your pay, without worrying about him ruining your plans. That's the future I'm offering you."

Deathstroke's gaze narrowed. "Bold talk. But what makes you think you have what it takes to pull this off?"

Kian allowed himself a slight smile, his voice cool and resolute. "Because unlike most of the criminals in this city, I'm not just another rogue with a grudge. I'm methodical, calculated. I know how to turn the Bat Family's strengths against them. You both are the best at what you do, and I respect that. With my skills and your expertise, Batman doesn't stand a chance."

Deadshot exchanged a glance with Deathstroke, and Kian could see the faintest hint of calculation in their eyes. They weren't convinced yet, but they were considering it.

"So what's in it for us, exactly?" Deadshot finally asked. "I don't do charity work."

"Neither do I," Kian replied smoothly. "I'm offering you both a long-term stake in Gotham's underworld. Control, freedom, and the opportunity to operate without interference. When we take the Bat down, we reshape the power dynamics of the city to benefit us. Think of it as… establishing our own justice, a world order where people like us decide what goes."

Deathstroke let out a low hum, seemingly intrigued. "And how do we know you won't turn on us once this so-called order is established?"

Kian met his gaze with a steely determination. "Because you're both too valuable to betray. I'm a judge, not a dictator. I only eliminate those who threaten the order I intend to create. You two would be integral to maintaining that order."

Deadshot rolled his shoulders, a smirk creeping onto his face. "I'll admit, it's tempting. Watching the Bat Family crumble from the inside out? I've wanted that for years. But we're not joining just because you're ambitious. We need to know you can deliver."

Kian nodded. "Then consider this a trial run. Stay on board long enough to see the Bat Family start to splinter, and decide for yourselves if you're in."

Deathstroke and Deadshot exchanged another glance, and finally, Deathstroke extended his hand. "You're playing a dangerous game, Judge. But I've always enjoyed a good challenge."

Kian clasped his hand firmly. "Then let's make Gotham ours."

Deadshot nodded in agreement, his usual smirk replaced by a look of deadly intent. "Just don't get us killed, and we'll get along just fine."

As the night drew on, Kian returned to his hideout, the thrill of securing Deathstroke and Deadshot's allegiance still fresh. With them at his side, he could enact his vision, a new order in Gotham. But now, something even more dangerous had begun to stir in his mind.

He had allies now—loyal ones, at least for the time being. But he knew that with the Bat Family's full resources poised against him, he couldn't depend on allies alone. The city was chaotic, and the people who tried to control it were often the first to be swallowed by it. If he was going to do this, he needed to ensure he had a grip on Gotham tighter than anyone had ever managed.

A thought lingered, one that had been forming ever since he'd first donned the mantle of the Judge. He could rule this city, not just from the shadows, but from within. Batman had been a symbol of order for so long, a figure who had inspired loyalty and fear in equal measure. But what if Kian could do the same—on his own terms?

He would create a team, a force to maintain his vision of Gotham's justice. Not bound by law or mercy, but by unyielding purpose. A team not afraid to make the hard choices, to cut out corruption and destroy the rot that plagued the city.

As he lay back, staring up at the cracked ceiling, he let the idea take root. He would not simply judge this city; he would control it. And with Deathstroke and Deadshot as his allies, he'd soon have the strength to rival even the Bat Family.

It was time to assemble his own force, one that would be loyal to him alone. And with them, he would transform Gotham into a city that bent to his will, a city where the truly guilty would face judgment without mercy.

Kian's journey was just beginning. And Gotham had no idea of the storm that was about to come.