Rain dotted the tinted windows of the sedan as it glided through the evening streets of Metropolis. The city had entered that comfortable hour between the end of the workday and the beginning of the nightlife, leaving the roads busy without becoming congested. Towering buildings drifted past one after another, their glass faces reflecting neon advertisements, traffic lights, and the occasional passing train that rumbled overhead. Nolan sat comfortably in the rear seat with one leg crossed over the other, absently watching the city blur together while the steady rhythm of the windshield wipers filled the silence.
His driver hadn't spoken once since leaving the penthouse.
That was one of the reasons Nolan liked him. The man understood that conversation wasn't always necessary.
Nolan adjusted the cuff of his jacket before letting out a quiet sigh.
"Well," he murmured to the empty car, "I suppose now would be a good time."
Silence answered him.
Then Kieran's familiar drawl drifted through his mind, "This is a trap."
Nolan smiled faintly, "You've mentioned."
"Three times," Kieran corrected. "I'm fixin' to make it four if I have to. Rich folks don't just send mysterious invitations written on paper worth more than my first suit. Somebody wants somethin', and I don't reckon it's your sparkling personality." It seems Kieran was a fan of the southern accent
Before Nolan could respond, another voice entered the discussion.
Vey's was calm, "He's correct."
Nolan leaned his head back against the leather seat, "I figured you'd agree."
"Unknown location."
Vey spoke with the same clipped precision he used while planning operations, "Unknown attendees. Unknown organizers. Unknown security measures. Unknown objective. Every variable favors the opposition."
"Exactly!" Kieran exclaimed. "Finally, somebody around here has some common sense."
A low chuckle echoed through Nolan's thoughts.
Quentin needed to interject, "You two are unbelievable."
There was unmistakable amusement in his voice, "An invitation-only auction hidden from the public? Anonymous organizers? Wealthy buyers? Criminals rubbing shoulders with businessmen?" Quentin laughed again, the sound growing warmer the more he spoke. "That's the most interesting sentence I've heard all month."
Kieran groaned dramatically, "Of course you'd say that."
"You're damn right I would."
"You'd walk into a burning building if somebody promised you it'd be excitin'."
"Depends."
"Depends?"
"Is there whiskey?"
Nolan couldn't stop himself from laughing.
The driver glanced briefly into the rearview mirror before politely deciding he hadn't heard anything.
Kieran, however, was far less amused.
"See?" he complained. "This is exactly what I'm talkin' about. Quentin don't care if somebody's waitin' inside with a sniper rifle and a marching band. Soon as they call it exclusive, suddenly he's puttin' on his nicest suit."
"Well…" Quentin replied thoughtfully. "That does sound rather fun."
"You are impossible."
"Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I accepted it as one anyway."
Another quiet laugh escaped Nolan.
Despite the disagreement, despite the constant arguing, moments like these reminded him why he continued inviting their opinions. None of them thought the same way. None of them approached problems from the same direction. Individually they possessed glaring weaknesses.
Together…
Together they forced him to see angles he otherwise would've missed.
He finally cleared his throat, "My turn."
The arguing ceased almost immediately.
Nolan folded his hands together, watching another stretch of brightly lit storefronts pass beyond the rain-speckled glass.
"I understand why the three of you are concerned."
"Good."
"Wonderful."
"Continue."
"The invitation is anonymous."
He nodded once.
"That bothers me too." He counted off on his fingers "It could absolutely be a trap."
Another nod, "I won't pretend otherwise."
Kieran looked momentarily pleased.
Then Nolan continued, "But if it isn't…"
Silence settled once more, "We're in a new city." His voice remained calm.
"Star City is functioning sort of. Gotham can survive without me for another week. Metropolis is the next step, and unlike the other two cities, we don't know anyone here."
He looked down at the invitation resting neatly beside him on the leather seat, "Relationships built through ordinary business take years."
He tapped the envelope lightly, "This could accomplish the same thing in a single evening."
Quentin hummed approvingly, "Now you're thinkin'."
Nolan ignored him, "We've spent years building the Underpass because we understand something most people don't."
His eyes drifted back toward the rain outside.
"Power isn't measured by money."
"It isn't measured by violence."
"It isn't even measured by influence."
"It comes from knowing people."
"Knowing who solves problems."
"Knowing who sells information."
"Knowing who needs favors."
"And knowing who owes them."
He looked once more at the invitation.
"If half the people I imagine attend this auction actually show up…" He smiled faintly, "…then walking away because we're afraid would be the greater mistake."
Kieran sighed.
A long…Exasperated sigh, "You're already convinced."
"I am."
"Then why ask us?"
"Because I value your opinions." Nolans softened smile pleased the others
There was no humor in his voice now, "No matter how often I disagree with them."
For perhaps the first time since the conversation began, none of the others immediately responded.
Finally Vey broke the silence.
"If you are determined to proceed…"
"I am."
"Then alter the objective." Nolan frowned thoughtfully, "What do you mean?"
"Do not attend intending to purchase anything." Vey's tone remained perfectly level.
"Observe."
"Identify influential attendees, evaluate security, map exits and learn who speaks with whom."
"Treat the auction as reconnaissance."
Quentin clicked his tongue, "That's considerably less fun."
"It is considerably more survivable."
Nolan slowly nodded.
"I like that."
Kieran groaned again, "Course you do. Look at me I'm vey and I say everything in a cool voice."
Nolan smiled toward the rain-streaked window, "I think it's a good compromise."
"It ain't a compromise!" Kieran protested. "We're still drivin' straight toward the mysterious criminal auction! The only thing that's changed is now we're callin' it reconnaissance."
Quentin burst into laughter, "See? Compromise!"
"Now he's getting into the spirit of it."
Outside, the sedan quietly turned away from the brightly lit business district, descending toward an older quarter of Metropolis where historic brick buildings stood shoulder to shoulder beneath flickering street lamps.
The auction, it seemed, was no longer very far away.
***
The sedan rolled to a smooth stop beneath the covered entrance of an aging stone building tucked between two historic banks in the older district of Metropolis. From the outside it was remarkably unremarkable. No bright signage adorned its walls, no luxurious valet service greeted arriving guests, and no obvious security force stood watch over the entrance. It looked more like the headquarters of an old law firm than the gathering place for some hidden society of the wealthy.
Appearances, Quentin reflected, were often the finest disguise.
The rear door opened. Nolan remained seated for only a moment longer before closing his eyes.
The world around him faded.
When they opened again, the warmth lingering in Nolan's expression had vanished, replaced by something altogether different. His posture relaxed against the leather seat, confidence settling naturally across his shoulders while the corners of his mouth curled upward into an easy grin that bordered on mischievous.
Quentin stepped from the car.
"Well," Kieran grumbled somewhere in the back of his mind, "I still think this is a terrible idea."
Quentin straightened the sleeves of his tailored jacket before adjusting the cuffs, "I know."
"Then why exactly am I not the one wearin' the suit?"
Quentin chuckled quietly as he climbed the short flight of stone steps leading toward the entrance, ""Because you spent the entire drive complaining."
"I was voicin' legitimate concerns."
"You were whining."
"Wh—"
"You don't get to spend forty-five minutes telling us not to come and then expect me to hand you the body once we arrive."
"I'm the people person!"
"You were."
Quentin pushed open the heavy wooden door without slowing, "Then you kept trying to convince us to turn the car around."
Kieran made an indignant sound.
"So now I'm bein' punished for havin' common sense?"
"Precisely."
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
Quentin's grin widened, "No."
He stepped into the warmly lit foyer.
"The dumbest thing I've ever heard was you telling Oliver Queen you survived four tours in the Boy Scouts."
Even Vey gave what could almost be interpreted as quiet amusement. Kieran, meanwhile, muttered something decidedly impolite before retreating into sullen silence.
Satisfied with his victory, Quentin approached the reception desk. An older gentleman dressed in an immaculate black suit inclined his head politely.
"Invitation, sir."
Quentin produced the cream-colored envelope.
The attendant handled it with obvious care before opening it just enough to inspect the embossed seal. A small handheld device emerged from beneath the desk, passing briefly across the invitation before emitting a soft green light.
"Excellent." The attendant smiled, "If you would be so kind as to follow me."
Without another word he stepped away from the desk, leading Quentin deeper into the building.
The elegant entrance hall soon gave way to older architecture. After several turns they reached what appeared to be the end of the hallway.
The attendant pressed a concealed switch. A section of the wall silently receded. Beyond it waited an elevator.
Interesting.
Quentin stepped inside without comment. Neither man spoke as the elevator descended. There were no button or floor indicators, but the way down couldn't have been longer than thirty seconds.
Only the faint sensation of moving deeper beneath the streets of Metropolis. When the doors finally opened, Quentin found himself momentarily impressed.
The auction hall spread out before him like something torn from another century. Rich mahogany paneling climbed toward an elaborately painted ceiling while crystal chandeliers bathed everything below in warm golden light. Plush crimson carpeting muffled every footstep, and rows upon rows of exquisitely upholstered seats surrounded a raised auction platform positioned at the center of the room.
Above the main floor, private viewing boxes lined the walls in a wide semicircle. Each was enclosed by darkened observation glass.
Occupants could clearly watch the auction below. No one outside would see who watched from within.
Exactly the sort of place powerful people preferred. The attendant gestured toward one of the private rooms overlooking the stage.
"This will be yours for the evening, Mr. Everleigh."
Quentin stepped inside.
The room was surprisingly spacious. Two luxurious leather chairs overlooked the auction floor through the one-way viewing glass while a polished bar occupied the opposite wall. Everything had been prepared with understated extravagance.
As Quentin took in the surroundings, he noticed something immediately.
Two chairs.
Not one.
He glanced back toward the attendant, "I was under the impression this invitation admitted a single guest."
"It does." The attendant smiled apologetically, "However, each viewing suite is shared."
Quentin raised an eyebrow.
"With whom?"
"I'm afraid I couldn't tell you even if I wished to."
The man's smile never faltered, "Assignments remain confidential until all invited guests have arrived."
"Hm."
Quentin considered that for a moment before giving a slight shrug, "I suppose surprises keep life interesting."
"They certainly do."
The attendant moved toward the doorway before pausing, "May I arrange refreshments while you wait, sir?"
Quentin didn't hesitate.
"Whiskey." He smiled, "And cigars."
The attendant inclined his head.
"Excellent choices."
"I know."
Once the door closed behind him, silence settled over the room.
Quentin wandered toward the observation glass, studying the steadily filling auction floor below. Men and women dressed in impeccable evening attire drifted between conversations with practiced ease, every movement carrying the quiet confidence of people accustomed to wealth.
No one looked nervous.
No one looked out of place.
Everyone belonged, that was telling for events like this. It means they usually have the same group of people or everyone they invite is extremely wealthy and well protected.
"Still don't like it," Kieran muttered.
"I know."
"Just makin' sure."
"I appreciate the consistency."
Several minutes passed before another polite knock sounded. The attendant returned pushing a small serving cart.
An expensive crystal tumbler.
A bottle of eighteen-year Scotch. A polished cedar humidor containing half a dozen hand-rolled cigars.
Everything arranged with almost ceremonial precision.
Quentin sampled the whiskey first.
He approved.
The cigar followed shortly afterward, its fragrant smoke curling lazily upward as he leaned comfortably into one of the leather chairs.
Now this…This was a proper evening.
Nearly twenty minutes drifted by before another knock interrupted the quiet. The same attendant entered, offering a respectful bow.
"It seems your fellow guest has arrived."
Quentin nodded once.
"Send them in."
The attendant stepped aside.
He exchanged a few quiet words with someone waiting beyond the doorway before holding it fully open.
Measured footsteps echoed softly across the polished wooden floor.
Quentin remained seated, lazily swirling the amber liquid inside his glass while watching the reflection cast against the observation window rather than turning around immediately.
A tall man entered.
Impeccably dressed and he was confident, not only that but he was a killer. Of that Quentin had no doubt.
The stranger calmly crossed the room before taking the chair positioned to Quentin's right.
Only then did Quentin finally turn.
A broad grin spread across his face as he removed the cigar from between his lips.
"Kieran Everleigh."
He extended a welcoming hand across the space between them.
"A pleasure."
The newcomer regarded the offered handshake for the briefest moment.
Then, slowly a faint smile appeared.
"Ra's al Ghul."