Using Constantine to rein in Amanda Waller might seem like overkill at first glance. But appearances can be deceiving. Though Waller's schemes run deep and her calculations are razor-sharp, her reach remains limited. The one person in her orbit who might have detected Constantine's presence has already been swayed by Hong Fei's influence.
The odds of her uncovering Constantine's involvement are slim to none. And cracking the chaos he deliberately sows? Even less likely. Waller's thirst for control rivals Nick Fury's, and her deep-seated insecurity only fuels it. She'll likely seize these disruptions as opportunities, eager to bolster her ranks at Belle Reve. That's Constantine's opening—and Hong Fei's too.
Now, if the target were someone else... Take Superman, for instance. The moment Constantine makes a move, secrecy goes out the window. Sure, Constantine might slip away, but faced with Superman's raw power, Hong Fei knows the man wouldn't hesitate to sell him out. He'd cozy up to Superman's strength, only to betray him down the line—maybe fatally. Hong Fei has no doubt about Constantine's knack for backstabbing.
The Flash? Hard to say. Barry's quick, sure, but he's young. Pitted against a seasoned manipulator like Constantine, he'd be outmatched ten times out of ten. Batman? You might fool him briefly, but the fallout would be catastrophic. Hong Fei can afford to underestimate almost anyone—Superman included. But Batman? Never. The universe's favorite son might have lost his parents, but he gained its undivided affection. It's enviable, really.
All things considered, Amanda Waller—despicable in every way—is the perfect pawn for Constantine's game. Even in the worst-case scenario, if Waller somehow captures Constantine, he wouldn't betray Hong Fei to win her favor. Hong Fei's dual identities, his enigmatic background, and his grand designs far surpass anything Waller could offer. And if things go south? Hong Fei could frame it as eliminating a public menace—and maybe walk away with a hefty boost in physical attributes. A win-win.
"Don't worry," Hong Fei said, his tone reassuring. "She's just an ordinary person. If you handle this yourself, it'll be a breeze."
He met Constantine's gaze, his expression radiating confidence, as if to say: With you on the case, this is as good as done. Constantine almost believed him. Still, he thumped his chest with mock sincerity and vowed, "Alright, I'll catch the first flight tomorrow. I'll make sure this goes off without a hitch. Seven days? Hell, I'll stretch it to half a month if I have to."
"Then half a month it is," Hong Fei replied, deadpan.
Constantine stared at him, speechless.
Hong Fei's eyes crinkled with amusement.
"Just kidding. Your turn to talk."
Constantine tucked away the photos and leaned back.
"I've got a pretty good handle on New York's underground scene."
The most numerous are the street gangs; they don't have many members, but there's no shortage of them. You'll find one on almost every block. Then there are the mid-tier gangs—groups that control a few blocks, with around a hundred members each. Finally, you've got the big players, the district-wide organizations that dominate entire sectors of the city.
"There are seven of them—the ones who truly control New York's underworld."
"Seven? That seems excessive."
"This isn't Gotham. New York's dynamics are simpler. Those seven gangs might not get along, but outright war? Rare. They've already carved up their territories. Their real fight isn't against each other—it's keeping the smaller players from rising up."
Hong Fei tilted his head.
"So the mid-level gangs are struggling?"
Constantine smirked.
"Struggling? They're barely breathing. You know how gangsters are—profit over loyalty. The big players just have to nod, and the little fish turn on each other."
He leaned in, voice dropping.
"If you're targeting gangs, skip the small fry. Even if you bag a dozen, it won't move the needle. Go after one of the big seven. Do it right, and you could be Director in a year or two."
He kept his head down, but his eyes flicked up to gauge Hong Fei's reaction. Another test. Constantine needed to know why a man like Hong Fei—someone who banished ghosts on sight, carried impossible gear, and spoke like they shared secrets—would bother with a beat cop's badge. No, this was a calculated play. Whatever Hong Fei wanted, it wasn't justice.
Hong Fei caught the scrutiny and played along, furrowing his brow in mock consideration.
"You've got a point. Break down these seven for me."
"Simple. I've got files ready."
Constantine waved a hand.
"But it's a long story. Give me your email."
"Mm. That hotel earlier—their backers weren't top-tier, were they?"
"Correct. But the guy you iced? He had ties to one of the big players. A pet, really."
"Then why run his own gang? Thought he was a councilman."
Constantine snorted.
"Councilmen are a dime a dozen. The real powers use them as puppets. Hell, sometimes politicians need gangsters to do their dirty work."
His grin turned sly.
"Speaking of, now that you're a cop… planning to groom your own gang?"
Hong Fei's voice went icy.
"Are you trying to piss me off?"
Constantine held up his hands, still grinning. His eyes said everything—no way did he buy Hong Fei as some white knight. Not with the arsenal he carried, or how casually he'd dropped that grenade. And the "accidental" phone left at the crime scene? Please.
They shared a knowing look, two predators recognizing each other.
Hong Fei rattled off his email. The moment Constantine hit send, he was dismissed.
Honestly? Hong Fei had no issue with same-sex relationships. But Constantine's vibe? That got under his skin.
Closing the door, Hong Fei called out to Arthur, "Help me analyze the file and give me a more detailed report tomorrow."
"Very well, sir."
For the first time, Hong Fei felt a pang of missing Big Head. Big Head had a knack for flashing that signature villainous smirk, the kind that always made Hong Fei think of The Leader from the comics—cold, calculating, and utterly terrifying. It sent a primal urge through him to knock that smug look right off Big Head's face.
Still, there was no denying Big Head's competence. Among all the superpowered individuals Hong Fei had encountered, Big Head stood out for his efficiency and ability to get things done. Frank was good, no doubt about that, but he lacked Big Head's intuitive understanding. Xu Wenwu might be growing stronger, surpassing Big Head in raw martial power, but that didn't diminish Big Head's value. With Big Head around, Hong Fei only needed to say one thing, and the man would instantly grasp his intent. He executed orders with precision and speed, delivering results every time.
In truth, Big Head was more than qualified to be the second-in-command. Hong Fei made a silent promise as he stepped into the bathroom: When I get back, I'll take out Ebony Maw and upgrade you. Then, I'll promote you properly.
After a quick shower, he collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion hitting him like a tidal wave. Sleep claimed him almost instantly. The past few days had been relentless, leaving him physically drained. He blamed that cursed seal for most of it.
Dealing with the New York gangs was just one brick in the wall he was building for his Police career, but it wasn't his ultimate goal. He had no intention of being a model officer. The priorities were clear: being a cop was a means to an end, not the end itself.
He wasn't interested in simply cleaning up the gangs or consolidating them into one massive organization. Instead, he planned to use his Police identity to dismantle the existing structures while carefully selecting who to keep. The unqualified would be arrested; the necessary would be eliminated. Those who met his standards would be gathered under another identity, gradually unifying the New York underworld. This time, he wanted to be the Kingpin.
What kind of cop got promoted the fastest? First, solve cases—big, high-profile cases. That was the foundation. But to solve cases, there had to be cases. If all the criminals were locked up, where would the big cases come from? You couldn't spend your days finding lost dogs and cats and expect to climb the ranks. Cultivating enemies to ensure your own importance—that was the wisdom of the ages.
Second, influence mattered. The old saying about "walking in silk robes at night" didn't apply here. If you wanted promotions, you couldn't just solve cases; you had to make sure everyone knew you solved them. Publicity was key.
Third, continuity was crucial. Just like capital hype for celebrities, if you made a splash and then disappeared, the momentum would be wasted. You had to stay visible, reminding everyone you were still around.
To achieve these goals, Hong Fei needed two things. First, the right people. He'd already identified his initial targets. Second, money. You couldn't expect a beast of burden to work without feeding it. His funds were dwindling, dipping below four digits. It was time to make some money.
In Gotham, deep within the halls of Arkham Asylum, Harleen lay on an unfamiliar bed, tossing and turning. Sleep eluded her, the new environment too unsettling to allow rest. Yet, despite the insomnia, a spark of excitement burned in her chest. Moving into Arkham and securing funding from Wayne Enterprises had put her research on the right track.
"Lack of Empathy" was a crucial project, and she could feel it gaining momentum. However, she felt more excitement in her heart now, because with every step forward, she was closer to unlocking the secrets she'd been chasing. The pieces were falling into place, and the future looked brighter than ever.
Success meant everything. If her research bore fruit, Harleen could confidently approach Wayne Enterprises—perhaps even the government—for funding. With that money, she could expand her experiments, maybe even develop treatments for the tragic, terrifying souls trapped in Arkham Asylum. Her mind drifted to Joker first, then to Hong Fei.
Joker had been a revelation. Every textbook symptom of empathy deficit manifested in him, stark and undeniable. Hong Fei, on the other hand, was a pleasant surprise. While he shared Joker's lack of empathy, his behavior leaned closer to what society deemed "normal." He was cooperative, even eager, making him an ideal subject for her research.
Thinking of this, Harleen excitedly grabbed her cup, a satisfied and gratified smile appearing on her face. As the night deepened, she drifted into sleep. By her bedside, her phone screen flickered to life. A soft, melodic chime—like a gentle breeze—wafted through the room. Harleen's brows twitched momentarily, but she remained undisturbed, sinking deeper into slumber.