The room was sterile, quiet. A square space with no windows, just four pale walls, a solid metal table bolted to the floor, and a pair of chairs facing each other. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above.
Nolan sat in one of the chairs, blazer off, sleeves rolled, a sheen of stress sweat glinting faintly on his brow. His lawyer, the same man who had been assigned—or so he said—by friends from "the underpass," was pacing slowly beside the table, flipping through a legal pad covered in highlighted notes and tight scribbles.
"We're using the peremptories sparingly," the lawyer said, tapping the pad with his pen. "Three definite removals. The guy in the gray suit with the smug face? Gone. That woman who kept writing during questioning—out. But with challenges for cause, we might still push out a few more if we push the bias angle hard enough."
Nolan was only half-listening. His hands sat folded on the table, his fingers twitching subtly. His eyes kept drifting—not out of interest, but unease. Watching the walls. The corners. The ceiling vents.
The lawyer stopped pacing.
Nolan blinked. His mouth was slightly parted, jaw tense.
"Is this room monitored?" he asked quietly, eyes still flicking to the corners.
The lawyer's brow furrowed. "No. It's illegal to monitor confidential client meetings. Especially pretrial strategy."
Nolan stared at him for a beat longer, then gave a small nod. "I need you to step outside the room for a minute."
The man frowned. "I can do that, but there are two officers posted outside your door. It's not like—"
"I'm not trying to escape," Nolan cut in, voice low. "I just… need to be alone. Five minutes."
The lawyer studied him for a moment. Then nodded, slowly. "Alright. But I'll be right outside."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Nolan sat in silence.
The room felt smaller now. More suffocating. The air was dry and metallic, and under the fluorescent hum, his own breath felt too loud.
He rubbed both hands hard down his face. His shoulders trembled, barely noticeable at first, until he exhaled sharp and fast.
Then, staring down at the table, eyes wide and unblinking, he whispered—not to himself, not really—
"…What the fuck is happening?"
There was no immediate answer. Just the silence. Just the four pale walls. And a man trying to hold it all together before he fell apart.
Nolan's breath left him in a slow, uneven drag. He rubbed his temples, pressing his fingertips into his skull as if pressure could press the madness out.
The room was not empty anymore.
Kieran sat perfectly straight in the chair across from him, where his lawyer had just been. His immaculate suit was unwrinkled, his tie pinned with the subtle precision of someone who cared far too much about appearances. Hands folded. Eyes calm.
Quentin lounged atop the metal table itself, legs crossed like a bored high schooler, picking at his nails. His hooded eyes flicked to Nolan, unimpressed as always.
And in the corner, near the ceiling vent, stood Vey. Motionless. Towering. Watching. His arms crossed over his chest like a coiled beast in human skin.
But the strangest part wasn't that they were there. It was how they looked.
Not hazy or translucent like usual. Not fragments of a psyche conjured in Nolan's peripheral vision. No. They looked real.
Flesh and bone. Shadow and depth. Nolan could feel the weight of their presence. Could almost swear he felt the temperature of their skin radiating in the stale air.
He knew. knew they weren't truly there.
But for the first time, it didn't feel like delusion. It felt like trespass. Like reality itself had cracked open and let them bleed through.
Quentin gave a low whistle. "We have no clue what's happening either."
The voice didn't echo in Nolan's mind the way it normally did. It vibrated in the air. Carried through his ears. It was as though someone had really spoken, right there beside him.
Nolan flinched. His fingers tightened against the sides of the chair.
"That wasn't… that didn't come from my head," he muttered.
Kieran arched a brow and leaned forward just slightly, his voice low and composed. "Then maybe you're slipping deeper than we thought. Maybe we're getting stronger. Or maybe—" his eyes glinted "You have finally gone mad, think of all the fun we can have!"
"You think it's her?" Quentin asked, tossing a glance at Vey changing the conversation, "The new shrink?"
Vey remained still, silent. But his expression darkened like someone processing the possibility of being hunted.
Nolan leaned back slowly in his chair, running a hand down his face. He didn't speak.
He just sat there, surrounded by the voices that weren't supposed to have bodies… feeling more like a man haunted than a mad man, no more like a mad man than a haunted man.
Nay that wasn't it either, what was it?
Nolan rubbed his eyes trying to wish them away he couldn't be going more insane than he already was!
He just couldn't be, it wasn't fair he was just getting into the groove of things what if this was only the tip of the iceberg?
all he could think deep in the cold hush of that room was
What the hell is happening to me?
The warehouse stank of rust and mildew. The metal door groaned as it shut behind her, sealing out the sirens and shadows of the city behind her. Cheshire moved like a wraith silent, swift, and furious. Her mask was slightly torn, her chest heaving beneath the tactical suit as the adrenaline slowly bled out of her system.
She had barely escaped.
She still couldn't get the image out of her head Artemis standing there, bow drawn, eyes sharp. The moment of hesitation. The anger. The recognition.
And then she was gone. Just another shadow in the wind.
Cheshire gritted her teeth and pushed deeper into the warehouse's dim interior.
This place had been her backup. A contingency. A stash house used only in emergencies, and known only to a few. It should've been empty.
Her senses went taut. She slowed her steps.
A campfire flickered faintly at the far end of the structure, throwing tall shadows against the steel walls. Four figures sat around it scrappy, weather-worn men and women. Homeless, from the looks of it. But not the kind that cowered. These ones were sharp-eyed and quiet, with gear stacked around them that spoke of planning, not desperation.
One of them spotted her immediately.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, stepping forward.
A thin man with a scarred cheek—sitting cross-legged near the fire tilted his head. "You the one used to keep gear here?" he asked calmly.
"This is my safehouse," Cheshire said flatly. "Or it was." The source of this content ɪs ɴo(v)elFɪre.ɴet
"Hasn't been touched in months," the man replied. "Place was cold, empty. So we made use of it. You know how many Gotham buildings go to rot when folks like us could use 'em?"
She narrowed her eyes. "How'd you even find this place?"
A shrug. "Word spreads in the underpass. Everything abandoned eventually gets claimed."
She stalked a step closer, and three of them shifted slightly—just enough to suggest they were armed, even if she didn't see it.
The man with the scar looked her up and down again. "But you," he said, more thoughtfully this time, "you don't smell like the usual street ghosts. You look like you're in a special kind of business."
She didn't reply. Her hand hovered near her hip blade.
Instead of flinching, the man reached slowly into his coat. "You ever need a place to land," he said, and held something out toward her.
She blinked, not taking it immediately.
"Take it," he said. "Gives you access to a spot where people in your line of work don't get followed. They call it the Continental. Hotel, yeah, but not the kind with chocolates on pillows."
Cheshire hesitated… and took it.
"Downtown," he continued. "You'll know it when you see it. Just slide the coin across the counter."
She lingered a moment. The firelight danced across her mask. No one spoke.
Then she turned and vanished into the shadows without another word.
By the time they blinked again, she was gone.
A/N: these next couple chapters are gas.
might seem like a small change for Nolan to freak out about, best u could compare it to is seeing someone at a very far distance to the point they are blurry to suddenly seeing them up close, feeling the heat of their presence, their smell, etc etc. more to be expanded on in these next couple chapters