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The sleek, black armored SUV purred softly as it waited outside the estate, tinted windows hiding the two guards in the front and the man sitting calmly in the back—Dominic Anderson, the Don of the Anderson family.
Jason adjusted his tailored black coat, exhaling a slow breath as he stepped into the vehicle. The door closed with a muted thunk, sealing the world out. He slid into the seat beside his father. Dominic didn't look at him right away—just stared ahead, fingers slowly tapping against the wood inlay of the armrest. The air was heavy with the faint scent of expensive cologne, aged leather, and gun oil.
Then, finally, Dominic turned.
A rare, quiet smile tugged at the corners of his weathered face.
"You clean up well," he said. "Almost didn't recognize you."
Jason gave a short grin. "Gotta play the part, right?"
Dominic chuckled under his breath. "You're not just playing anymore, son." His voice held weight. "You're finally stepping in."
Jason glanced out the window as the car began to move, city lights painting the glass in streaks of gold and red. "Guess I figured it was time."
Dominic nodded slowly. "I'm proud of you, Jason. You were always the wild one. Smart—too damn smart—but reckless. Now you're showing… clarity. Control. That's what it takes in this world."
Jason said nothing, letting his father's words hang in the air.
Dominic reached into the side panel of his seat, pulling out a black leather folder and opening it just slightly before continuing.
"Tonight isn't just a trade. It's a statement."
He tapped the edge of the folder. "Black Mask—he's not like the old families. He's taken over most of Gotham's underworld, fast and brutal. Scare tactics, executions, leverage—he runs that city like a butcher, not a businessman."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "And we're dealing with him because…?"
"Because Gotham isn't ours," Dominic said bluntly. "Not yet. We've got the west coast, Florida, Mexico ties. But Gotham? That's still a battlefield. We need footing. And doing business with Black Mask gives us a voice in that city's underworld. We're not bowing to him—we're buying time, leverage, opportunity."
Jason leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. "You trust him?"
Dominic laughed dryly. "Hell no. But I understand him. And tonight, I want you to do the same. Watch how the game is played. Watch everyone. And remember—no one in this world gives you power. You take it."
Jason nodded once. His eyes didn't leave the dark streets rushing by.
"I'll remember," he said.
...
The abandoned warehouse stood like a forgotten relic on the outskirts of Gotham, rusting under the choking fog. Its busted windows and graffiti-scarred walls made it the perfect place for criminals to pretend they were kings.
Three black SUVs rolled in without a word, tires crunching on gravel. Armed men exited swiftly, forming a perimeter.
Dominic Anderson stepped out first, sharp in a three-piece gray suit, cold eyes taking in the place like a chessboard. Jason Anderson followed, hands in his pockets, chewing gum with his usual amused smirk. Nia was last, silent as ever, her stride poised, deadly.
They entered through the warped metal doors, walking into a nest of guns.
On the upper catwalks, dozens of armed thugs watched like vultures. In the center, surrounded by crates and shadows, sat Black Mask—his trademark facepiece glinting like polished obsidian under a swaying light bulb. He didn't rise to greet them.
"You're late," he said coolly. "I'm not a fan of waiting."
Dominic barely acknowledged the jab. "And yet here you are."
Black Mask chuckled. "Still the gentleman, Dominic. Still pretending your blood money smells like cologne."
Dominic's expression didn't shift as he signaled to one of his men to set down a metallic briefcase. "We brought what you asked for."
Black Mask gestured lazily. One of his men cracked open the case, eyes going wide. Inside: sleek, state-of-the-art firearms—custom-forged by the Andersons, illegal in most countries due to international laws
"I'll give it to you," Black Mask muttered, "You make beautiful tools."
He motioned toward one of his goons, who tossed a duffel bag onto the table.
Nia unzipped it.
Her brow furrowed. "This is half."
Dominic looked up. Calm. Steady. "We had an agreement."
Black Mask rose slowly, the air shifting around him. "You had a fantasy. But this is Gotham, Dominic. The price is what I say it is."
"You mean you're stiffing us," Jason said, finally chiming in from his corner. "Cheap and dramatic. Classic Gotham."
Black Mask snapped his gaze to him. "What was that?"
Dominic raised a hand slightly, a silent warning for his son. "Let's keep this professional."
Black Mask walked around the table now, slow and theatrical. "Let me explain something, Andersons. In this city, I am the market. So if you're walking out of here with half, that's already more than I'd give most people."
Dominic stood still. "Then maybe we're not most people."
Tension sparked in the air.
Then Jason laughed.
Loud. Disrespectful. It echoed across the steel beams and concrete like a challenge.
Black Mask's men stiffened. The man in the mask slowly turned toward Jason, stopping just a few feet away.
"What's so funny, party boy?" he said with venom. "You think this is L.A.? You think daddy's money and slick suits mean anything here? This is Gotham. You play cute here, you die ugly."
Dominic stepped in between them. "That's enough. Talk to me. Not my son."
Black Mask didn't back down. "Tell your brat to keep his mouth shut before I—"
"You really wanna do this?" Dominic interrupted, tone ice-cold. "You really want to find out what happens if we turn this room into a warzone?"
Black Mask sneered, then snapped his fingers.
Instantly, the upper level filled with the sound of clicks and slides—fifty guns drawn, aimed, ready.
Anderson's men responded like a tide: weapons out, safeties off, no hesitation.
The air turned electric. One spark, and hell would break loose.
Jason stepped forward between them all, hands still in his pockets.
"Nah. No one's pulling the trigger," he said, smiling like he was about to deliver a punchline.
Black Mask turned toward him again, furious. "You think I won't?!"
Jason leaned slightly forward, his voice low and deliberate.
"Because if a single shot goes off... the Bat will be here in five minutes."
Black Mask faltered.
Jason grinned wider.
"Isn't that right... Sionis?"
Silence.
The name hit the air like a gunshot.
Black Mask's hand twitched near his gun. His head tilted slowly. "…What did you just say?"
Jason stared him dead in the eye. "I said, Sionis. Not many people know that name these days, huh?"
The silence stretched taut.
Black Mask slowly raised his pistol and aimed it at Jason's forehead.
Dominic and Nia raised theirs in sync, locking onto Black Mask's skull.
But Jason didn't flinch.
Instead, he reached out and grabbed the gun.
Metal groaned.
Black Mask watched in disbelief as the barrel began to bend and crush under Jason's tightening grip.
Jason's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Do you wish to experience it?"
Black Mask stepped back in shock. "...Metahuman…"
"I asked you a question."
"…Experience what?"
Jason's pupils dimmed to pitch-black voids. Two jagged black streaks slid down beneath his eyes like demonic tears.
He smiled.
"DEATH."
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If you Like this story! Check out my other storys ! Lord of Chaos In Dc! and Dragon Slayer in Marvel!
AND
If you wish to read more or simply support me just because ? than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/Riadooo"
You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want !