The underpass reeked of damp concrete and burnt coffee.
A humming generator provided dim light, flickering in intervals. A folding table had been pushed to the center, littered with open folders, outdated laptops, and printouts still warm from a stolen city hall copier. The atmosphere was tense, quiet not from fear, but from focus.
Terrell Gaines stood hunched over a map, his denim coat draped over the back of a broken chair, sleeves rolled. His eyes weren't on the map, though they were locked on a printed court sketch of Nolan in chains, seated beside his lawyer.
"Judge's name is Harlan Sykes," Stitch said, voice low.
Across from him, Marcy Liu leaned forward, placing a steaming mug next to a laptop. Her braid was tied tight, her brow furrowed.
"Got two files on him," she said. "One from our archives. The other from Black Mask's stolen cache."
She pulled out two manila folders, slapping them down. One marked Gotham Judicial Overview Internal, the other BM Judge Contacts in crooked handwriting.
Wall loomed nearby, arms crossed and leaning against a rusted support beam. "You think Black Mask had dirt on the guy?"
Naima Rez answered without looking up. "He had dirt on everyone. Let's just hope it's worth something."
Marcy opened the BM folder first. A list of judges, scribbled notes in shorthand, a few names underlined in red. Her finger paused as she reached a file marked SYKES. There was a scan of a credit ledger monthly payments to a shell account tied to a private school just outside Blüdhaven.
Marcy narrowed her eyes. "Looks like someone helped his daughter get into a very elite academy. One of Black Mask's shell orgs footed the tuition."
Stitch stepped closer. "That's leverage."
Naima reached for the second folder the underpass's own collected data. It was thinner but included community rumors and internal affairs whispers. "No proof of bribes here. But it does mention that Sykes presided over a few questionable plea deals back in the day. All with ties to the Maronis."
"Can we use it?" Wall asked, pushing off the beam.
"Not directly," Marcy muttered. "Nothing's confirmed. But it's a crack."
"We're not blackmailing a judge," Naima said bluntly. "Not unless it's a last resort. That kind of move makes the wrong people come sniffing around. We need more than rumor and tuition receipts especially if he is connected to the Maroni family."
Stitch nodded slowly. "So we build a profile. We learn what pressures he folds under. Family. Money. Public image."
Marcy was already typing. "We'll dig through school records, foundation donors. See if we can trace who actually paid the tuition. If it connects back to any of our stolen documents, we've got a pattern."
"Meanwhile," Wall added, "we keep the city distracted. That crew that hit Janus? They're ready to move again. We show the cops that bosses people are still out here. Still organized. Make 'em nervous."
Naima looked toward the back corner, where a radio softly buzzed in the background with news from the courthouse. Her voice was quiet but firm.
"We keep our eyes on the trial. We protect our own. Kieran stood up for us when no one else would, now we return the favor."
Stitch reached out and dragged the photo of Judge Sykes closer.
"Let's find out what kind of man he really is."
As they were ready to make some calls, the phone rang once.
A static-laced voice answered from the depths of the underpass. "Yeah?"
"This is Keller," the lawyer said, seated alone in a car parked just outside the Gotham courthouse, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping the phone. His tie was loosened. The window fogged from his breath. "Passing along a message from your guy. He made his choice."
On the other end, Marcy Liu signaled for the others to gather. Stitch turned down the radio. Wall stood up from the crate he'd been using as a stool, and Naima slid closer, her arms folded.
Keller's voice was steady.
"He's staying in Arkham."
There was a brief pause before Marcy responded. "You did at least try to move him to Blackgate didn't you?
Keller exhaled through his nose. "I did. Court was ready to approve it. But he turned it down."
"Smart now that I think on it," Stitch muttered.
"He knows Black Mask's in Blackgate," Naima said quietly. "It'd be a death sentence, this is why he's the boss." "
Keller continued, voice lower. "He didn't say much else. But he wanted me to let you know he's thinking ahead. He's expecting you to keep pressure on. Said the 'Janus work paid for time' whatever that means."
Marcy's lips curled faintly. "It means we're not done."
"He also said to tell his hotel staff to 'run as planned'."
Wall chuckled darkly. "He's giving orders from a padded cell now. Gotta respect it." New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on No(ᴠ)ᴇlFire.nᴇt
"You'll get another update before the end of the week," Keller said. "If anything changes."
"You'll let us know," Marcy corrected him.
A pause, then Keller gave a slight chuckle. "Right. Of course."
Naima turned to the others. "He's making a play. Arkham buys time, gives him room to think. We have to use it."
"Start pushing," Stitch said. "Money moves. We get people talking about that judge. Apply pressure in the right circles."
"And we keep expanding," Wall added. "Now's not the time to go dark."
Marcy walked back to the center table, flipping open a folder that showed Gotham's judicial tree, one name circled at the top.
"Kieran's still in control," she said softly.
"And we're not letting him fall he has done far too much."
The heavy door to the transport van creaked open.
Nolan blinked against the dim, grey light of Arkham Asylum as two guards tugged him out by the elbow. Cold wind bit through his sleeves. The looming gothic facade of the asylum stood like a monument to madness. He took a breath, held it, then exhaled slowly.
"Let's go, Everleigh," one of the guards grunted.
No cuffs this time they knew he wasn't violent, or maybe they just didn't care anymore. The routine had dulled the edges. Down the halls he went, his footsteps echoing on cracked linoleum as the metal gates groaned open ahead of him. One. Two. Three sets of reinforced doors before they reached his corridor.
The guard opened it with a buzz and a click.
Nolan stepped back inside, the cot still unmade, the same ceiling crack running jagged across the top left corner like a scar.
The door slammed shut behind him.
"Back already?" came the voice from the adjacent cell.
Nolan turned. Harvey Dent—Two-Face—was lounging on his own cot, flipping a coin absently between his fingers.
"How'd the trial go?" Harvey asked, not looking up.
Nolan sat down slowly, rubbing the side of his face. "Preliminary hearing. Bail was denied."
Harvey chuckled. "Shocker."
"I've got a lawyer," Nolan added, vague but even. "One with… useful connections."
"Must be nice." Harvey finally looked over, his unscarred eye narrowing. "They say you picked Arkham over Blackgate."
Nolan met his gaze he didn't question how Two face already knew he denied blackgate, "Blackgate's the one with the dead men walking."
"Can't argue with that." The coin flashed in the air. Harvey caught it, slapped it against the back of his hand, and peeked. "Lucky day," he muttered.
Nolan leaned back against the cold wall and stared up at the ceiling.
Arkham was bad, but it bought him time and time was something he needed badly. Nolan knew from the beginning he was going to find his way here.
That was just his luck after all.