The numbness came quickly.
It disappeared just as fast.
Selina withdrew the syringe.
Clutching his neck, Will collapsed onto the ground.
Hearing the commotion, Oswald rushed into the alley, gripping a brick.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Get away from him!”
“Relax.”
“I mean no harm.”
“I merely wanted a sample of your friend’s blood.”
Hugo accepted the blood collection tube from Selina and gently shook it.
Listening to the liquid slosh inside, he smiled with obvious satisfaction.
Having obtained what he wanted, he turned and walked away.
Deep within the darkness, the heavy footsteps of the biological monsters gradually faded into silence.
Oswald started after him, demanding an explanation.
Will grabbed him by the arm.
“Forget it.”
“We’ve got the money.”
He handed the checks over.
“I’m sorry.”
“I should’ve told you beforehand.”
“I was just afraid you’d say no…”
Selina avoided his eyes.
Moments earlier, she’d betrayed her own partner.
“It’s fine.”
“If I were in your position…”
“I would’ve done exactly the same.”
Will comforted her.
At first he’d been genuinely frightened.
But after thinking it through…
If Selina had truly intended to betray him, she never would’ve returned to the sewers to save him.
Nor would she have handed back four and a half million dollars’ worth of checks.
Hugo Strange was meticulous.
Dangerously intelligent.
For someone as inexperienced as Selina to be manipulated by him wasn’t exactly surprising.
Fortunately…
All Hugo had taken was a single vial of blood.
Although Will couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping through his chest…
Returning the money to Maroni and ending this nightmare remained the top priority.
He explained his thoughts.
Oswald rejected them immediately.
“No.”
“I’m taking this to Falcone.”
Just moments ago…
Oswald had conceived a bold plan.
A plan to drive a wedge between the two most powerful men in the Roman Empire.
Ever since the Joker incident, the relationship between Falcone and Maroni had steadily deteriorated.
Falcone had been searching for an opportunity to replace his increasingly ambitious subordinate.
“I’ll tell Falcone that everything—from beginning to end—was a performance staged jointly by Maroni and Hugo Strange.”
“I’m going to make Maroni pay.”
Oswald’s eyes bulged unnaturally.
Bathed in the flashlight’s glow, his face looked almost grotesque.
Will remained silent.
Oswald had served under Maroni for years.
He undoubtedly understood the inner workings of the Roman Empire far better than Will ever could.
If anyone could judge whether such a plan might succeed…
It was him.
Yet…
For some reason…
The whole thing felt absurd.
“What do you think?”
Will turned to Selina.
“I think it’s worth trying.”
“If the two of them turn against each other, the Roman Empire will become much weaker.”
She answered a completely different question.
Then again…
That made perfect sense.
Selina’s true objective had always been bringing down Falcone.
Even if the odds were slim, she’d seize any opportunity that advanced that goal.
Besides, as an outsider…
She wouldn’t have to risk anything herself.
She only needed to wait and see how events unfolded.
I shouldn’t have asked her.
Because Selina had just given Oswald exactly what he’d been missing.
Confidence.
“See?”
“I told you, Will!”
“This can work!”
“Let’s go find Falcone right now!”
“If we help him overthrow Maroni, he won’t forget who made it possible!”
Oswald grabbed Will’s arm impatiently.
He could hardly contain himself.
“Can’t this wait?”
“I’ve got a really bad feeling about this…”
“What are you hesitating for?”
“It’s already past midnight!”
“Maroni’s assassins could find us any second!”
“…Wait.”
“Maybe…”
“We should let them find us.”
“If we get wounded too…”
“Falcone will think Maroni’s trying to silence witnesses.”
“He’ll believe us even more!”
Unable to change his mind, Will reluctantly agreed.
There was no stopping someone consumed by both hatred and ambition.
Will’s instincts told him something was fundamentally wrong.
He simply hadn’t had enough time to untangle the logic.
If Falcone and Maroni’s relationship had truly deteriorated so badly…
Why had Falcone kept him around all this time?
Could five million dollars really become the final straw?
After obtaining Falcone’s address from Selina, the two men pried open a parked muscle car.
Oswald climbed into the driver’s seat, removed the steering column cover, and quickly hot-wired the ignition.
Only moments ago, Will had promised Gordon he wouldn’t break the law.
Now he was an accomplice to grand theft auto.
He simply turned toward the window and pretended not to notice.
Then…
Something outside caught his eye.
Two drunkards who’d been sprawled motionless on the sidewalk suddenly sat upright.
Their gazes locked onto the car.
A second later…
Both reached inside their coats.
Will’s scalp went numb.
“DOWN!”
“DRIVE!!”
The instant he shouted, a burst of automatic gunfire tore through the night.
The sports car’s side windows exploded beneath a storm of bullets, showering the cabin with glittering fragments.
Glass scattered across Oswald’s hair as he slammed the accelerator to the floor.
The muscle car fishtailed violently before roaring into the darkness like an enraged bull.
Maroni’s hunters had opened their jaws.
The chase raced through Gotham’s empty streets.
From the rooftops, flashes of muzzle fire flickered one after another.
Unexpected sniper rounds hammered against the car, punching fresh holes through the hood.
Will glanced into the rearview mirror.
More than a dozen motorcycles were rapidly closing in.
“What the hell is this?!”
“They’re sending an army just to kill two nobodies who failed a job?”
Before he could finish complaining…
One motorcycle pulled alongside them.
An Uzi extended through the shattered passenger window.
Its barrel pointed directly at Oswald.
Without hesitation, Oswald kicked the weapon aside.
The burst of gunfire shattered what remained of the windshield instead, spraying nearby office windows with bullet holes.
Disarmed, the assassin immediately deployed a hidden wrist blade and lunged toward Will’s femoral artery.
Oswald reacted instantly.
He seized the man’s wrist and yanked hard.
The assassin was ripped clean off the motorcycle.
Thunk!
The rider’s helmet slammed against the side of the car.
A split second later came a sickening crunch.
The sports car rolled directly over his body, bouncing merrily across the road.
“Can you drive?”
Oswald scooped up the fallen assassin’s submachine gun.
“…Does Need for Speed count?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“Get ready.”
Will froze.
Only then did he realize Oswald probably had no idea what Need for Speed even was.
By then it was already too late.
Oswald had climbed into the back seat.
Will was forced into the driver’s position.
With both hands free, Oswald became terrifying.
Using the rear seats as cover, he leaned out and emptied burst after burst.
Within moments, nearly half of the pursuing motorcyclists were dead.
Will, meanwhile, desperately tried recalling everything he’d learned from racing games.
A sharp bend approached.
Downshift.
Brake.
Turn.
From his perspective, his execution had been flawless.
Yet one side of the vehicle still lifted completely off the pavement.
Turns out…
Real life wasn’t quite the same as video games.
“What are you doing?!”
“Why’s the car flying?!”
“I’m drifting!”
“…Why are you drifting?!”
“Because every movie car chase has drifting—”
He never finished the sentence.
The sports car lost control entirely.
It smashed through the guardrail and plunged toward the Gotham River.
The assassins stopped their motorcycles atop the bridge.
Watching bubbles rise to the surface, they emptied magazine after magazine into the water.
Meanwhile…
Will and Oswald clung silently to one of the bridge’s support pillars beneath the freezing current, shivering uncontrollably.
Although Will had flipped the car…
Perhaps that wasn’t entirely a bad thing.
At least…
For the moment…
They had disappeared from Maroni’s sight.
Once the assassins finally withdrew, the two exhausted men dragged themselves ashore and collapsed upon the grassy riverbank, gasping desperately for air.
After resting for a little while longer, Will Quentin made sure the checks were still intact.
The two of them then walked toward Carmine Falcone’s nightclub.
…
After handing over all his gray-market operations to Sal Maroni, Falcone had transformed himself into a respectable businessman with considerable standing in Gotham.
The only thing he had kept was this nightclub.
Some said he had grown old, lost his ambition, and was no longer the once all-powerful “Roman Emperor.” Others said he was merely biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity to make another move that would shake Gotham.
But when all was said and done, who could truly fathom what this old fox was thinking?
Even Oswald Cobblepot, sitting across the dining table from Falcone with his clothes still soaked through, couldn’t figure him out.
But Oswald felt there was no need to overthink things.
All they had to do was hand over the five million dollars and pin everything on Maroni.
He was just about to speak when Will Quentin cut in first.
“Mr.
Maroni asked us to give this money to you.”
He wasn’t trying to sabotage Oswald.
Will’s instincts told him that the white-haired old man sitting before them, slowly chewing his steak with a napkin tucked around his neck, was extremely dangerous.
Even more dangerous than Maroni.
Falcone had never really looked them in the eye.
Yet a few casual glances were enough to make Will feel as though he’d been stripped naked and every secret he possessed had been laid bare.
Falcone knew everything.
If they lied, they would die.
Will understood the situation.
Oswald, however, hadn’t seen through it.
He was even somewhat annoyed that Will had changed their story.
“That’s not what happened!
Maroni stole this money.
We came here to report him, and his assassins chased us!”
The instant the lie left his mouth, Will covered his forehead in despair.
We’re screwed!
Sure enough, Falcone raised one eyelid.
The corner of his mouth curled upward, and a short, cold snort escaped his nose.
Oswald simply wasn’t thinking straight.
He waved his hands around, trying to use exaggerated gestures to make his story sound more convincing.
Then Falcone pulled out a revolver.
Oswald’s expression instantly froze.
His mouth hung open, but he couldn’t make a sound.
“I don’t care whose story is true.
Let God deal with troublesome matters.”
Falcone loaded three rounds into the cylinder and slid the revolver across the long dining table.
“Gentlemen, I only want to hear the living speak.”