Gotham City — The Narrows.
It was one of Gotham's slums, an island of rot where illegal immigrants, repeat offenders, and society's castoffs all blended into the same gray tide.
Batman had just dragged the Joker out of one of his hideouts.
The clown had been laughing the whole time.
"Ahahahaha—Batman! Come on, let's play a round of hide-and-seek!" Joker wheezed, eyes bright with sick excitement. "Find the dirty bomb and you win!"
The damage Batman had dealt him didn't read as pain on Joker's face. If anything, every brush with the edge of death only made him more exhilarated—like the world had finally started matching the chaos in his head.
Batman's fists came down again and again.
He was furious.
And he was forcing himself—forcing himself—not to cross the one line he'd sworn never to cross.
Inside his cowl, the AR display pulsed with a new message from Cyborg. Alongside it came a live surveillance feed—clear enough to show Oswald Cobblepot stepping into a stadium VIP suite, smiling like a generous host.
Batman's jaw tightened.
"Don't do anything reckless," he said into comms, voice low and hard. "I'm on my way."
He ended the call, drove his fist in one last time—hard enough to drop the Joker cold—then hauled the limp body into a restraint suit with practiced efficiency.
Headlights cut through the Narrows' crowd as a police car pushed forward. Commissioner Gordon leaned out, scanning the scene with a grim expression.
Batman raised a hand, beckoning him closer.
"Gordon," Batman said. "Joker's yours. Take him to Arkham."
Gordon didn't hesitate. He stepped out, took the unconscious clown with careful strength, and nodded once.
"Leave it to me."
For a long time, coordination like this had been rare—too many disasters, too many compromised chains of command, too many tragedies that had left Gotham's systems limping. But since Batman's expanded role after the Apokolips invasion—and Gordon clawing his way back into the commissioner's seat—the old rhythm had returned, piece by piece.
Gordon shoved the Joker into the back seat, slammed the door, and pulled away toward Arkham.
Batman was already moving.
Gotham Stadium — VIP Suite.
The moment Cobblepot entered, Cyborg's posture hardened.
"Oswald Cobblepot," Cyborg said, voice edged with warning. "You dragged me here—what do you want?"
Ben and Billy kept up the act, eyes on the game as if they were just two kids lucky enough to be in a fancy box. But their bodies told the truth: they were ready.
Ben's left thumb casually rolled the Omnitrix dial, slow and deliberate. If Cobblepot twitched wrong, Ben would slam it down without a second thought.
"Easy," Cobblepot said, lifting his hands as if to soothe a startled animal. "No need for hostility."
He could tell his carefully curated public persona had already been gutted. Of course it had—Cyborg wasn't just a hero, he was a walking supercomputer. Digging up buried records was effortless.
Still, Cobblepot tried to push his smile into something gentler, something almost human.
It didn't work. That sharp beak of a nose and a face carved from greed made every attempt at kindness look like a threat.
"I simply want to be friends," Cobblepot said smoothly. "With you… and with the Justice League."
Cyborg gave him a look of pure contempt.
"Funny," Cyborg said. "Because my other friend—Batman—doesn't want to be friends with you."
Cobblepot's eyelid twitched. He'd heard something in that sentence. Felt it.
But he didn't retreat. He couldn't afford to.
"Now, now," Cobblepot said, voice tightening behind the charm. "If we're being precise, I just did Batman a rather significant favor."
He straightened his cuff as if he were a respectable businessman instead of a Gotham kingpin.
"I don't call myself a criminal. I provide a marketplace. I hire security. I keep order. That's all."
Cyborg didn't blink.
Cobblepot leaned forward, lowering his voice like he was sharing a confession.
"Once upon a time, I had no choice," he said. "Now I want to be a good man. Since I was discharged from Arkham, I've turned over a new leaf. I'm legitimate. A proper businessman."
Ben let out a sharp laugh—small, but impossible to miss.
Cobblepot's eyes flicked toward him, irritation flashing like a knife drawn halfway from its sheath.
Ben didn't flinch. His gaze stayed on Cobblepot's umbrella.
Everyone in Gotham knew that umbrella wasn't an accessory. It was a weapon disguised as manners. If that bird-headed handle pointed the wrong way, Ben would transform before Cobblepot could blink.
Before Cobblepot could snap back, Cyborg's display lit again—Batman's incoming message.
Cyborg read it once, then looked up.
"Is that so?" Cyborg said coldly. "Then explain what got dumped into the harbor earlier. The cargo Joker stole from you—two trucks' worth. What was it?"
Cobblepot's face drained.
"Batman told you," he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
So they were connected. Either that, or Cobblepot had been under surveillance from the start.
His mind raced—and beneath the greed sat something rarer: fear.
He didn't want to cooperate with Amanda Waller. People like her didn't make deals; they made uses. When they were done, they threw you away like a disposable tool.
Compared to her, the League—no matter how much they despised him—were still, fundamentally, good.
Cobblepot swallowed and pushed his pitch forward, fast and desperate.
"I came with sincerity," he said. "I can provide cleanup services after League operations—free of charge. Battlefield clearing. Disposal. Containment. My employees are all ex-cons—people who've already paid their debts. Under my supervision, I can keep them from reoffending. I'm offering charity. Truly."
Cyborg didn't respond. Billy stayed silent, listening.
Ben's grin returned—sharp and knowing.
Cobblepot pressed harder.
"You understand," he said, voice almost pleading now. "Your battles leave behind… debris. Exotic materials. Technology no one else can safely handle. Let me be useful. Let me take the burden."
He wasn't lying about one thing: getting alien tech through legal channels was impossible.
So he was willing to do the dirty work nobody wanted to acknowledge.
Even scrap metal—if it came from Apokoliptian weapons, Atlantean armor, or something off-world—was treasure.
Ben leaned back, amused.
"From what I've heard," Ben said lightly, "free things are usually the most expensive."
Cobblepot froze.
Ben's eyes narrowed, voice turning razor-clean.
"You don't want to 'help.' You want what gets left behind."
He tapped the Omnitrix dial once, a quiet warning.
"What you really want is the alien material the League leaves on the battlefield… right?"
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 120)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 100)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 100)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter89)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter86)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter63)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter75)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 53
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 57
From Junkman to Wasteland 35
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