The rain hadn't let up since Kian left the Joker a broken, humiliated mess. Streams of water cascaded through Gotham's gutters, washing away grime and remnants of the night's chaos, as if the city itself were cleansing away a sickness. Yet, Gotham felt no safer. It was as if the city's heart had skipped a beat, and everyone—criminals, citizens, and vigilantes alike—sensed a shift in the air.
In his hideout, Kian paced, replaying the night's events in his mind. The Joker's final pleas and manic laughter echoed in his head, and he felt something he hadn't expected: satisfaction. The chaos-clown of Gotham had finally been given a dose of his own medicine, and the city had witnessed it. For too long, the Joker had terrorized Gotham, his crimes stacking up with little consequence beyond brief stays in Arkham. Tonight had been different. Tonight, Kian had made a promise to the city—a promise of justice that cut deep and left no room for doubt.
But Kian knew Gotham would not simply fall in line. He needed allies, and he needed a force to back up his brand of justice. He knew he couldn't carry the entire weight of Gotham's reckoning alone.
His thoughts drifted to the few trusted individuals who were already beginning to pledge their loyalty. Deathstroke and Deadshot had seen the opportunity that came with his rising influence, and they were smart enough to know that aligning with him was in their best interest. They would be invaluable assets, but Kian needed more than skilled mercenaries—he needed those with conviction, those who understood his mission.
As he sat, looking over a map of Gotham's boroughs, a new idea took root. He needed a symbol. Something that would solidify his presence, give his justice a face. He leaned back, fingers brushing over the edges of the map, his mind churning with possibilities.
Elsewhere in Gotham, the reaction to Kian's actions was spreading like wildfire.
In the Batcave, Bruce Wayne stood before a wall of monitors, his expression grim. He watched the footage of the Joker's brutal defeat for the third time, analyzing every detail. The look in Kian's eyes, the calm efficiency in his movements—it all spoke of someone with a dangerous, unbreakable resolve.
Behind him, Nightwing and Damian stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Nightwing spoke up, his tone laced with concern. "Bruce, this guy's no ordinary vigilante. He's not out for redemption or even justice the way we are. He's… he's making an example of the Joker. He wants Gotham to fear him."
Damian scoffed, arms crossed. "Fear can be effective. The Joker's been running circles around us for years. Maybe Gotham needs someone willing to cross that line."
Bruce shot Damian a sharp look. "We don't cross that line, Damian. Fear is a weapon, but it's a double-edged sword. If we allow it to dictate justice, then we're no better than the criminals we hunt."
Damian frowned, but he remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he looked back at the footage of Kian's confrontation with the Joker. Inwardly, he was torn. Part of him admired Kian's ruthlessness. The other part knew that, if left unchecked, Kian's brand of justice could corrupt Gotham's already fragile balance.
Nightwing sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, what's the plan, Bruce? Do we go after him? Bring him in?"
Bruce shook his head. "Not yet. He's a calculated risk. He's clearly a strategist, and if we make any moves now, it could push him deeper underground. He's too careful for that. For now, we observe. And we prepare."
He paused, glancing over at Damian and Nightwing. "But I think we'll need more help. This isn't something we can handle alone."
Meanwhile, in a shadowy corner of Gotham, the city's criminals gathered in uneasy clusters, speaking in hushed tones about the man who had broken the Joker. The underworld was in chaos, the sudden power shift leaving everyone uncertain of their place. Fear rippled through Gotham's criminal ranks, and many of the old alliances and territories were beginning to crumble.
In one of these meetings, Roman Sionis—better known as Black Mask—stood before a gathering of his most loyal henchmen. His mask glinted under the low light, and his voice was filled with barely restrained rage.
"This… upstart… thinks he can come into my city, take down the Joker, and suddenly he's calling the shots? I don't care who he thinks he is. Nobody upsets the order in Gotham without answering to me."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Yet, a few faces bore expressions of doubt. After all, if this man could take down the Joker, what chance did they stand?
Black Mask noticed the hesitation and narrowed his eyes. "Are you all cowards? The Joker was a lunatic. This guy? He's just another vigilante with an ego. And I'll make sure he learns that Gotham doesn't belong to him."
But as his men exchanged uneasy glances, it became clear that Kian's actions had left a mark. Fear was spreading, and for the first time, the criminals of Gotham felt the gaze of someone who wouldn't hesitate to wipe them out.
Back in his hideout, Kian began laying out his plans. He was deep in thought, sketches of armor designs scattered across the table. He wanted something practical, but intimidating—a suit that combined the lethal precision of Deathstroke and the unerring focus of Deadshot. His mind wandered over the materials he would need, the tech, the weapons to complement his powers. A rifle might suit Deadshot, but Kian wanted something versatile, tools that would let him adapt to any situation Gotham threw at him.
As he sketched, he considered the various resources he'd acquired. Contacts from old military contracts, suppliers who'd worked on experimental tech… it would take time, but he had the means to make this suit a reality. It would be more than just armor. It would be a declaration, a warning to anyone who dared to challenge his authority.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. One of his operatives stepped inside, looking slightly apprehensive.
"Kian, we… we found something. During the job in Old Gotham."
Kian raised an eyebrow, motioning for the man to continue.
"It's… well, we found some kryptonite."
Kian's eyes narrowed as he processed this information. Kryptonite. The one thing that could potentially weaken Superman himself. A rare find in Gotham, but one that could prove invaluable.
"Good," Kian said slowly, a dark gleam in his eye. "Keep it safe. I may have use for it soon."
The man nodded and left, leaving Kian alone once more. He considered the possibilities, his mind racing. With kryptonite in his possession, he had a potential edge over the city's more… superpowered visitors. But he wouldn't wield it recklessly. It was a weapon of last resort, a failsafe if he ever needed to confront Gotham's godlike protectors.
His thoughts drifted to Batman. The Dark Knight had yet to interfere directly, but Kian knew that wouldn't last. Batman would be watching, waiting for an opening. He'd want to understand Kian's motives, his methods. And when the time came, they would clash.
But for now, Kian had the advantage of ambiguity. No one knew him well enough to predict his moves, and he intended to keep it that way.
And then, an idea struck him. If Batman had his family of vigilantes, perhaps he should form a team of his own—a coalition bound by the same brutal vision of justice he upheld.
His mind wandered to potential allies. Deadshot and Deathstroke were a start, but they were mercenaries, men who fought for profit. What he needed was loyalty, conviction. Someone like… Jason Todd.
The name brought a faint smile to Kian's lips. The Red Hood was known for his fierce independence, his willingness to get his hands dirty. Unlike the other members of the Bat Family, Jason shared a more ruthless approach to crime-fighting, one that had often put him at odds with Batman.
Kian's fingers drummed against the table as he considered his options. Finding Jason would be a challenge, but it was worth the risk. With Red Hood by his side, his team would gain the firepower and tactical prowess needed to keep Gotham's underworld in check.
He glanced back down at his sketches, now envisioning Jason as part of this team. Together, they could take on Gotham's worst and root out the rot that had plagued the city for so long.
But even as he planned, a single, lingering question hung in his mind: How far was he willing to go? He was already prepared to make Gotham's criminals fear him, but would he be able to win the loyalty of others who didn't share his vision for absolute justice?
Time would tell. For now, he would continue to build, to recruit, to consolidate his power. He was no longer just another vigilante in Gotham. He was its judge, and soon, the city would be forced to reckon with his authority.
And somewhere, in the darkness of Gotham, Batman watched, waiting for the moment to strike.