Arias stepped through the hallway, unhurried, the blaring alarms a mere background nuisance. The moment he reached the main entrance, movement caught his eye. A group of men in black tactical gear were making their way inside, their stances rigid, alert.
Security.
One of them pressed a finger to his earpiece.
"Sir, we've located Arias Markovic."
Arias didn't slow his steps. He had already gathered enough from the way they moved—sent by the commanding officer, no doubt, tasked with keeping him within the premises.
Predictable.
As he neared, the lead guard, a thick-set man with a military posture, suddenly extended an arm to block his path.
"Mr. Markovic, sorry, but we've been ordered to keep you inside due to the sudden attacks on the city. If you'll please lead the way to the bunkers, we'll ensure—"
"Ensure what?" Arias scoffed, not even bothering to look at him. "My safety?"
The man stiffened. His jaw tightened, and for a split second, he looked as if he might argue. But then he swallowed hard, shoulders tensing under the weight of unspoken words. He slowly retracted his arm.
Arias said nothing more. He walked past the group, and not a single one of them moved to stop him. Whatever loyalty they had to their orders, it wasn't enough to override their survival instincts.
The cold air greeted him as he stepped outside. His gaze flicked toward the distance, where columns of thick black smoke climbed into the sky. The city burned.
Nearby, in the parking lot, the commanding officer stood with the rest of the security detail, a phone pressed to his ear.
"Yes, sir. Arias Markovic is still on the premises, and I've sent men to ensure—"
He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes snapped toward Arias.
The officer's grip on his phone tightened. He frowned, lowering it slightly.
"One moment, sir," he muttered, before signaling to his men and striding toward Arias. His boots hit the pavement with sharpsteps, the weight of authority carried in his gait.
Stopping just a few feet away, he spoke bluntly. "We have orders to keep you here until the current situation is under control. So whatever you're thinking, I suggest you stop and head for the bunkers."
Arias didn't even acknowledge him. His gaze remained locked on the skyline, where destruction painted its message in fire and smoke.
Then his eyes flickered—an eerie, unnatural blue.
The commanding officer barely had time to react before his entire body locked up, his limbs held in place by an unseen force. His subordinates stiffened, eyes widening as they realized they, too, were immobilized.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" the officer yelled, straining against invisible restraints.
Arias finally looked at him—just long enough to let amusement flicker across his face.
Then, without a word, he began to rise.
His body lifted effortlessly off the ground, the air around him humming with unseen energy. The commanding officer could only watch, realization sinking in.
There would be no stopping him.
———
Meanwhile, Inside the Bunker…
The underground bunker was nothing short of a technological fortress. Walls of reinforced titanium alloy stretched across the expansive interior, neat and sterilized, illuminated by soft blue-white overhead lights.
Large monitors lined the walls, displaying live surveillance feeds, security alerts, and tactical readouts. Advanced filtration systems hummed softly in the background, ensuring the air remained crisp and breathable.
In the far corner, automated storage units housed emergency supplies, their compartments seamlessly integrating into the walls. The entire facility exuded the same meticulous design philosophy that governed the rest of the Ark Academy Institute—structured, efficient, and nearly impenetrable.
Through the main entrance, Cheshire walked in first, her grip firm around the unconscious body of Lois Lane. With little care, she unceremoniously dropped her onto the cold metallic floor.
"Wha—" Lois stirred, her fingers curling weakly against the ground. Her eyes blinked open, unfocused for a moment before she jolted upright. She quickly took in her surroundings—sterile walls, unfamiliar faces.
Then her gaze snapped to Cheshire.
"Hey! You can't just keep me here by force!" she snapped, pushing herself to her feet. "I could sue, you know?"
Cheshire barely blinked. Instead, she gave a slow, lazy shrug. "Be my guest."
Lois scowled, crossing her arms. Clearly, the response wasn't the dramatic reaction she had hoped for.
Nearby, Billy bounced on the balls of his feet, the only one unfazed by the situation. His voice was bright, unwaveringly confident.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Lane. Mr. Markovic is going to deal with whatever's going on."
Tala scoffed, her arms folded across her chest. Just standing in the same room as these people seemed to irritate her.
"Zhat is correct," she muttered, eyes narrowing. "One zhould not doubt zhe Mazter."
Lois exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "I don't care what he is going to do. I care about what I am going to do. Which, if you haven't noticed, is currently being dictated by a group of lunatics."
Cheshire smirked. "Lunatics with excellent taste in bunkers."
Before Lois could fire back, murmurs rippled through the room. The other occupants—mostly students and staff—were huddled in groups, whispering anxiously among themselves. Some glanced toward the main monitors, others toward the entrance, as if expecting someone to burst through at any moment.
Billy, ever curious, wandered over to one such group.
Among them was a lanky teenager with dark, messy hair and a sharp, angular face. His jacket was half-zipped, revealing the standard-issue Ark Academy uniform beneath. His arms were crossed, his foot tapping anxiously against the floor.
Beside him, two other students stood close—one, a girl with short, platinum-blonde hair and dark-rimmed glasses, the other, a taller boy with broad shoulders and a nervous expression.
Billy stepped up to them.
"Hey, what's going on?"
Billy's question had interrupted their hushed murmurs, and the teen—older by a couple of years. His lips parted, probably to tell Billy to mind his own business, but then he noticed the figures standing behind him. Cheshire. Tala. Barbara.
His throat bobbed as he gulped.
"Uhm… it's a video, online. It's everywhere, look."
With a quick tap, he turned his phone around, revealing the grainy yet chilling footage on the screen. The same masked men from earlier. The same HS insignia, fraudulently worn. But this time, they weren't just executing officers at random.
They were inside the commissioner's office.
Billy blinked, not immediately recognizing the location. He was too focused on the wreckage—shattered glass, overturned desk, the walls riddled with bullet holes. "Woah, this is bad."
But Barbara? She knew.
She had been inside that office more times than she could count, from childhood visits with her father to official police business in recent years. The realization struck her like a freight train, her breath hitching as she pushed forward.
"Lemme see that."
She didn't wait for permission. She snatched the phone right out of the teen's hands.
"Hey!" he protested, but he didn't try to take it back.
Barbara barely heard him. Her eyes locked onto the screen, scanning the destruction, taking in every horrid detail—until the feed panned.
And then she saw him.
Commissioner Gordon.
He was on his knees, arms wrenched behind his back, secured with a set of industrial cuffs. Blood smeared his face, dripping from a gash at his temple.
One of his eyes was swollen shut, his glasses long gone. His uniform was torn, the fabric stained with red, and his breaths were ragged—strained through what was likely a fractured rib or worse.
Barbara felt her stomach drop.
"Dad… no…" she whispered.
The kind of fear she had never experienced before—cold, suffocating—clawed its way into her chest, locking her lungs, tightening its grip around her throat.
The attackers continued their rampage, laughing as they smashed furniture, tipped over filing cabinets, and tossed important case files into the air like confetti.
Then, from the side of the frame, the masked man—the one from the earlier feed—stepped forward, gripping the commissioner by his hair and yanking his head up.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the man called out, his voice smug, theatrical. "Would you look at what we have here? I present to you the failure of a commissioner who allowed Arias Markovic to do as he pleased in your city and turned a blind eye to his obvious crimes!"
He gave Gordon's head a rough shake. "Such a dirty pig deserves death, don't you think?"
Lois had been half-listening, but the moment she heard that statement, she turned sharply and walked toward the screen. Billy followed, standing just beside Barbara as he stared.
"Oh my god…" Lois muttered.
Billy, his usual optimism cracking, could only look on in disbelief.
The masked man pressed the barrel of his shotgun against the side of Gordon's head.
"Any last words, fuckface?" he sneered. "Maybe an apology to the people of Gotham? Haha?"
Gordon didn't speak. He barely moved. He just glared up at the man, silent defiance in his bloodied gaze.
Barbara's grip on the phone tightened. Her hands were shaking now, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
The man let out another chuckle. "No? Fine. Works for me. Goodbye, Commissioner Gordon."
"NO!" Barbara's voice cracked as she screamed, tears slipping down her face.
The masked man pulled the trigger—
—but before the blast could fire, the shotgun suddenly wrenched itself from his hands, yanked away by an unseen force.
The camera jostled as the cameraman scrambled, the frame shaking violently.
"What the fuck!?" the masked man yelled, spinning around.
Then—
A voice.
Clear. Familiar. Unmistakable.
"You all just made the biggest mistake of your miserable lives."
Billy's breath caught. His eyes widened as recognition hit him like a jolt of electricity.
"It's… it's Mr. Markovic!"