"So Nolan got any idea on how we approach this mess?" Quentin asked as he made his way to the safe house
"Play it safe man don't be you. Just offer him a safe place for a day or two no strings attached. Deadshot wont kill us or anything, at least I think?" Nolan replied it was like he was standing right next to Quentin but only he could see
"Don't be how I always am? Are you crazy? You're asking me to be lame like you!" Quentin pointedly ignored the odd looks he received and kept walking
"No, if Deadshot threatens us Kieran would just switch out anyway you got this."
Kieran took this chance to voice his opinions, "I'll be in your ear the whole time buddy calm down, maybe we can go a sniff money after this or whatever you like doing."
The shelter was quiet, its low hum broken only by the occasional creak of old pipes. In a dim back room, Deadshot sat on a narrow cot, shirt off, bloodied gauze wrapped around his side. His gear was gone—securely locked away somewhere else. His helmet sat on a nearby chair, dented from the rooftop brawl with the Bat.
He looked up when the door opened.
Quentin stepped in, cool and composed, suit still crisp despite the hour. He walked like he owned the place, like nothing here could touch him. In one hand, he held a bottle of water. In the other, a burner phone.
"Thought you might be thirsty," Quentin said, setting the bottle on a wobbly table.
Deadshot didn't respond at first. He just studied the man. Calculating. "You don't look like a doctor."
"No. I'm the guy who got you off that roof before Batman cracked your spine."
Deadshot snorted. "That wasn't gonna happen."
Quentin smirked, leaning against the wall. "Right. You slipped completely by accident after getting punched in the ribs hard enough to break a mailbox."
Deadshot exhaled sharply through his nose. "You got a name?"
"That a real name, or a just some bullshit?"
Quentin tilted his head. "Does it matter?"
"No," Deadshot said, leaning forward, "but it tells me how paranoid you are."
There was a silence between them, stretching out. Deadshot broke it first.
"So what is this place? Safehouse for the pitiful and bleeding?"
"It's what we call a pivot," Quentin said. "A middleman's solution for people who find themselves suddenly out of time and out of options."
"You saying this is some kind of… relocation service?"
Quentin raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Sounds like bullshit. What type of reolocation service puts someone up in this dump?"
"The type that doesn't get caught." Quentin replied smoothly. "Who would look for someone as high profile as you in this place."
Deadshot leaned back. "You're hiding me from the Bat. That takes balls, I don't know whose supposed to be the 'big shot' here. You got a target on your back now kid."
Quentin said, spreading his arms. "Wounded, hunted, and not dead. You didn't get here by accident, Floyd. You got here because my people were already watching, already ready. Just as ready as we will be when the bat comes."
'You can cool the theatrics' Kieran mocked while holding in his laughter
Deadshot's eyes narrowed. "You know my name?"
Quentin gave a small, polite smile. "I know a lot of things."
'Seriously I'm getting second hand embarrassment. Nolan let me switch in I'm the dramatic one!' Quentin had to suppress his retort
"Getting real tired of the mystery act, Quentin."
"Then let me lay it out straight," Quentin said, stepping forward. "You're a professional. A damn good one, even if your moral compass spins like a roulette wheel. You got caught in the open. We saved your life. Now, you're here. You heal. You vanish. That's the trade."
"No strings, so long as you don't pull any."
Deadshot stared at him. His fingers flexed slightly. "You don't seem like the charity type."
"I'm not," Quentin said. "But I believe in leverage. I believe in having friends in low places. And I believe in building something that scares the people who used to look down on guys like us. You could be a good friend to have."
"…You're building a network? Don't tell me I'm your first client."
"Hardly, what I'm building is a system," Quentin replied, his voice calm. "The way Gotham runs now, everything filters up. The cops. The capes. The corruption. My system? It filters sideways. Out of sight. Off the grid."
Deadshot took a slow sip of the water. "That system of yours… it's gonna get someone killed probably you. I can't even count how many toes your stepping on right now."
"Maybe. But it's already saved one. Yours."
Another long silence followed. Deadshot finally looked away.
"…Alright. I'll give you this—whatever you're building? It's clever. And gutsy. But if it ever blows up in your face…"
Quentin smiled, faint and unreadable. "That's the nice thing about not existing on paper, Floyd. When it all burns down, there's no one left to catch."
Deadshot snorted. "You're crazier than you look."
"Oh you don't even know the half of it."
Quentin stepped toward the door. "You'll stay here a couple more hours. Then we'll move you again, make sure everything's good before you leave. You'll have your gear, new plates, a way out."
Deadshot nodded once. "And after that?"
Quentin paused with his hand on the doorknob. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on NovᴇlFɪre.nᴇt
"After that… you don't forget the name Quentin."
He left the room with a quiet click of the door.
After Deadshot was safely relocated, the heat had blown over, and things seemed to quiet down for a while. Quentin paced inside the control center, checking on every burner phone and tracking the network of safe houses. His mind spun, calculating the next steps, even as he listened to the faint sounds of the homeless community moving quietly around the shelter.
One of the underlings who had helped relocate Deadshot came up to him, a nervous edge to his voice.
"He's gone. The heat's off. Deadshot's in one of our safe houses."
"Good," Quentin replied, his voice smooth but with an undertone of caution. "But you're sure he's settled in?"
"Yeah, we got him hidden well. Just like you said, no one knows where he is. But…" The man hesitated, his hands fidgeting. "We did overhear some of the others talking. They were asking about you. What they think of the boss."
Quentin's brow furrowed, but he kept his voice even. "And what did they say?"
The underling glanced around, lowering his voice. "One of 'em, I think it was the guy who helped Deadshot, said something like… 'I think he's insane, but… he treats us right. We get what we need, and we're still alive.'"
Quentin felt a sharp breath leave him. He let the words linger in the air before he spoke again. "Good. They should think I'm insane. I want them to. It's better that way."
The underling nodded slowly, sensing the shift in Quentin's mood, and then stepped away, leaving him to the quiet of the control room.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Quentin let out a slow breath. He wasn't sure if the underling's words comforted him or unnerved him. The people in his network, the ones who relied on him for protection, were starting to see him as a leader, but at what cost? He didn't care about being liked, but the idea that they thought him insane… It made something twist in him.
The man he was, the person Nolan used to be, was slipping further away. And as the days passed, it felt more like an impossible dream, a life he might never reclaim.
He sat down at the table and activated the burner phone. The screen lit up with several new alerts from the network. Low-level criminals, some with no significant ties to Gotham's bigger players, had started filtering in, each one needing some form of escape. Nolan's plan had taken root in ways he hadn't anticipated.
Quentin swiped through the alerts, his mind calculating the odds. The first few people were just petty criminals, run-of-the-mill guys trying to outrun bad debts or angry drug dealers. But more were coming. And with every call, with every relocation, they were gaining traction.
He rubbed his eyes, exhausted.
The business was becoming real, and with it, the weight of responsibility pressed down on him. His personality was fractured, his life a constant blur of identity, but this — this was the one thing that kept him grounded.
The most important part of this system was the autonomy, it could still run even if Quentin disappeared. But now, as Quentin looked around he felt maybe he didn't want to leave.
He only hope for once in his life Nolan didn't try to run when the pressure got to him.