The heavy silence in the room was broken by the low hum of machinery in the background, as Kian's new suit glinted under the fluorescent lights. He knew his allies sensed the significance of the moment—this was no ordinary meeting. This was a declaration of his readiness to move with more precision and aggression than ever before.
Deadshot shifted in his seat, shooting a questioning look toward Kian. "So, boss, now that we're armed, suited up, and spreading across these cities, what's the next step?"
Kian leaned forward, his fingers steepled as he considered his words. "The next step is to establish dominance. Gotham's underbelly needs to know who's in control, not just here but everywhere. It's time to expand and set an example for anyone daring enough to stand in our way."
Jason, the Red Hood, nodded with a knowing grin. "We'll make sure that message is loud and clear."
"I don't want unnecessary bloodshed," Kian added, though his eyes betrayed his ruthlessness. "But I do want everyone to understand that resistance is futile. The age of fractured power in Gotham is over. This city—no, these cities—are going to bend to my will. And we'll make sure they understand that we're in this for the long haul."
Deathstroke's deep, gravelly voice chimed in. "With respect, Kian, Gotham's criminal network is notoriously fickle. A few more defections, and they'll scatter out of fear or loyalty. But the ones like Black Mask… they're stubborn. Some won't accept a new leader without a fight."
Kian's eyes darkened at the mention of Black Mask. The notorious crime lord had been a thorn in his side from the start. Black Mask's operations were messy and vicious, a stark contrast to Kian's meticulous approach. The two men couldn't be more different in how they managed their empires—and, eventually, one of them would have to give way.
"That's why we need to act strategically," Kian replied. "Black Mask has a reputation built on brutality. His followers are loyal, but that loyalty is fragile if they believe they're on the losing side. The moment they sense he's slipping, they'll turn."
"Loyalty's an illusion in this game," Deadshot said, adjusting the sight on one of his pistols with a smirk. "Give his men a reason to think you're the safer bet, and they'll be yours. It's all about survival to them."
Kian nodded in agreement. "Precisely. We destabilize him from within while consolidating our influence. The goal is to avoid an all-out war with Black Mask. If he chooses to make this a battle, we'll respond, but we aren't going to give him that satisfaction until he forces our hand."
The room fell into silence again as Kian's words sank in. They all knew that Gotham was a brutal place, and taking down someone as entrenched as Black Mask would be a dangerous endeavor. But Kian's meticulous planning, paired with his team's skill, had brought them this far. If Black Mask wanted a war, he'd be met with something far more calculating—and lethal—than he anticipated.
Elsewhere, under Gotham's labyrinthine maze of streets and abandoned warehouses, Black Mask brooded over reports that had come streaming in over the past weeks. His empire, which he'd painstakingly built over years of ruthlessness and terror, was beginning to fray at the edges. Not long ago, he'd been the undisputed king of Gotham's criminal underworld. But ever since Kian Mathis had emerged, that power had felt threatened.
Black Mask knew what Kian represented—a fresh and brutal approach that catered to criminals tired of Gotham's chaotic state. He was methodical, organized, and commanded a level of respect that even Black Mask's followers had noticed. It was maddening.
Sionis clenched his fists, feeling the familiar anger rising within him. He'd fought his way to the top, clawing through the filth of Gotham to stand as its criminal king. And now, this newcomer threatened to unravel it all.
"Enough," he muttered to himself, the words barely audible but filled with venom. "I won't sit back and let this nobody take what's mine."
His most trusted enforcer, a burly thug with a twisted grin, stood by his side, waiting for orders. "You want us to take him out, boss? Send a message?"
Black Mask hesitated, torn between his growing rage and a sense of caution he rarely allowed himself to feel. Kian Mathis was no fool. Every attempt to spy on his operations had ended in failure, his men either never returning or coming back with tales of a tightly-run machine that left no room for errors. Kian had somehow amassed loyal fighters, deadly weapons, and an uncanny intelligence network, making it nearly impossible to undermine him.
But the alternative—to let Kian continue gaining influence, amassing more control, pushing into Black Mask's territories—that was unthinkable. Roman Sionis was not a man to be pushed aside.
"No," Black Mask growled, his voice low and menacing. "We don't move yet. But get the men ready. I want eyes on Kian Mathis, every single move he makes. The moment he shows a crack, we strike. This isn't just about control—this is personal."
The enforcer nodded, though he noticed the rare glint of hesitation in Black Mask's eyes.