The wheels of a black vintage Dodge Charger rolled down the cracked pavement of Gotham's outskirts, the engine's deep growl blending with the rock music blaring from the open windows. The scent of smoke, exhaust, and urban rot filled the air. Neon signs flickered, graffiti coated nearly every wall, and shadows leaned unnaturally long from alleyways.
Floyd Lawton tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the music, sunglasses low on his nose, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips. He was used to cities grimy, mean, and full of rodents. Gotham was no different. Not until he saw it.
A massive black sheet billowed in the wind outside a freshly restored high-rise on the edge of Gotham's commercial sector. The wind pulled the sheet just enough for golden letters to glint beneath the streetlights:
He let off the gas, and his car screeched to a halt with a sharp jerk.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I'll be damned."
He took a slow drag from the cigarette and muttered to himself, "Maybe I'll return the favor."
He flicked the cigarette onto the pavement, crushed it under his moving tires, easing the Charger into a vacant spot directly across the street. His boots hit the concrete with practiced weight. With one hand, he slung a duffel bag over his shoulder and crossed the street.
The lobby was sleek new marble, deep amber lighting, and the kind of silence that cost money. The air smelled faintly of cigars and lavender. Two bellhops flanked the elevator with their hands clasped neatly in front of them.
At the desk, a woman in a pinstriped waistcoat and burgundy tie greeted him with a soft smile.
"Welcome to the Continental," she said, voice smooth and professional.
"I'll take a room," Floyd said, glancing around. "Top floor if you've got it."
She tapped gently on a brass-plated keyboard and slid a small leather-bound check-in form toward him. "Fifteenth floor. One of our more private suites."
He reached into his pocket, counted out a few folded hundreds, and passed them across the counter. Hiding his confusion with the fact the 15th floor isn't near where he assumed the top meant.
She accepted the bills then, just as casually, slid a single gleaming gold coin across the desk to him.
Floyd stared at it. "What's this?"
"The real currency," she said, eyes calm. "In your line of work, Mr. Lawton, this is how business is conducted."
He raised the coin up to the light and turned it over once. Elegant markings, intricate as a family crest. No country of origin. No serial number.
"Uh-huh," he muttered.
A tall bellman approached silently. "Allow me to show you to your suite."
Floyd followed him to the elevator and rode it up in silence, passing gilded numbers until the light blinked on 15. The bellman stepped out and led him down a quiet corridor. Room 1512. Polished. Opulent. Clean to the point of being sterile.
The bellman opened the door and gestured for Floyd to step in. "Please, take note of the far wall," he said, then walked across the suite and placed his hand on the back panel of the bookshelf.
With a subtle push, the entire wall rotated silently to reveal a hidden compartment sleek, metallic, and built into the framework of the room. Inside: weapons racks, encrypted lockers, a private terminal screen glowing faintly behind tinted glass.
Floyd let out a low whistle. "Well damn. It really is that kind of place."
"We ask that all business be handled off-premises," the bellman said. "But we recognize our guests may require… storage."
Floyd tossed his duffel onto the bed and cracked his neck. "This'll do."
"Enjoy your stay," the bellman said, bowing slightly before exiting with the quiet click of the door.
Floyd stood alone in the room, watching the wall seal back into place. He tossed the gold coin onto the dresser, pulled off his coat, and stared out the window toward the Gotham skyline.
"Looks like he actually built himself something real, go figure," he muttered with a smirk
The night was quiet in Arkham. Too quiet.
Nolan lay in his cot, one arm draped over his eyes, trying to ignore the distant echoes of shouts and footsteps from the other wings. The cot beneath him creaked with every shift of his weight, and the cell's dim light buzzed softly above.
He was just beginning to drift off when the sound of his door unlocking jolted him upright.
The door slid open slowly.
A guard stood in the doorway, face partially shadowed by the flickering light behind him. Nolan sat up, unease prickling the back of his neck.
"Lights out was an hour ago," Nolan muttered. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on novᴇl(ꜰ)ire.ɴet
The guard stepped inside, locking the door behind him.
"Black Mask says hi," he said coldly, drawing a small pistol from beneath his uniform.
Nolan's breath hitched then something inside him snapped.
In a blink, he was gone and Vey was in control.
The tension in Nolan's body disappeared, replaced by something feral. Vey's lips twisted into a crooked smile.
Before the guard could raise the gun fully, Vey was on him.
He surged forward with predatory speed, grabbing the guard's wrist and slamming it against the wall. The gun clattered to the ground.
The guard tried to scream, but Vey's hand was already around his throat. They wrestled briefly, but the outcome was inevitable. Vey's was too skilled. The guard's legs kicked out weakly before going limp.
Vey held the choke for a moment longer then released.
The body slumped to the floor.
Across the hallway, a face appeared in the small window of the opposite cell. Two-Face, watching quietly. He said nothing for a beat, then reached into his pocket and flipped his coin. It spun in the dim corridor light.
"You're lucky," Harvey muttered through the bars.
He pulled out a small flip phone and typed a message.
Moments later, a janitor in a clean white uniform came strolling down the hall with a linen cart. He didn't say a word just opened Nolan's door, nodded once, and knelt to grab the guard's body. He folded a towel over the corpse, smoothed it out, and pushed the cart away without a glance back.
Vey stood still, calm but alert. After a long silence, he exhaled.
Then, without another word, he closed the cell door, walked back to the cot, and lay down.
The buzz of the ceiling light hummed on.
Sleep took him like a storm.