[Roman Sionis POV]
"Li. Is everything in place for tonight's plans?" Roman asked, his voice even and controlled—but the doubt sat heavy beneath it.
His office was well lit, the city of Gotham visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. The room smelled of expensive cologne and old money, with a faint undertone of gun oil that never quite went away. Roman stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back with his jaw tightened as his eyes tracked the city below.
Li didn't look up immediately.
"We are as ready as we can be, sir," she replied, her tone calm to the point of indifference as she cross-checked the contents of her tablet—for what had to be the hundredth time. The screen reflected faintly in her glasses as lines of logistics, routes, personnel, and contingency notes scrolled past.
Every detail had been vetted, timed, and rechecked. If something went wrong, it wouldn't be because she hadn't planned for it.
Roman turned slightly, watching her now. He trusted Li more than anyone else to get things done—more than most people in Gotham—but that didn't stop the unease curling in his chest. This move felt different. Bigger. Sloppier.
She paused, fingers hovering over the tablet before finally lifting her gaze to him.
"But Roman," she continued, measured and deliberate, "you know the Joker cannot be trusted.
Even if he helps you get rid of Red Hood, who's to say he wouldn't turn into a bigger nuisance than him?"
There it was. The concern she'd been holding back since the idea first left his mouth.
Li rarely questioned him outright. She didn't need to. Her job was to execute, not object—but that didn't mean she agreed. Her expression stayed neutral, professional, yet Roman caught the subtle tension in her eyes. Disapproval, carefully restrained.
Roman exhaled through his nose and walked back toward his desk, the sound of his shoes echoing softly in the cavernous office. He moved behind it and lowered himself into his chair, leather creaking beneath his weight.
"In a deck of cards," he said calmly, "whoever holds the joker has an edge." His skull mouth curved faintly—not quite a smile. "The literal Joker will serve as my black horse in this war against Red Hood. Or clown, in this case."
Li's eyes narrowed just a fraction.
Roman leaned back, fingers steepled as he continued. "I know the risk of this chess move. I'm not blind." He reached for the crystal bottle resting on the side of his desk, pouring a generous measure of gold-colored liquor into his glass. The alcohol caught the light, swirling thick and slow. "But I'll have my men protecting me. Every last one of them fully armed."
He lifted the glass, watching the liquid shift as he rotated his wrist.
"Joker is a clown," Roman went on with a steady and confident voice, "and he's crazy enough to think about stabbing me in the back. But with every man in the room visibly armed?" He took a slow sip. "I doubt even his insanity would override basic self-preservation."
Li glanced away, her jaw tightening as she stared back down at her tablet. She didn't bother hiding the look she gave him from the corner of her eye—one of quiet disbelief. Roman Sionis playing with fire was nothing new, but this? This wasn't fire. This was a bomb with a smile painted on it.
Still, she said nothing.
There was nothing she could say.
She had already arranged the logistics for Arkham. The routes. The extraction window. The secure transport. Every variable she could control had been accounted for. All that remained was hoping the clowns complied—and that Joker didn't decide tonight was the night to burn everything down for fun.
Roman noticed her silence.
Not having received a direct answer earlier, Li straightened and rephrased her concern, her voice sharper this time, more direct. "And what exactly are you planning to do with the Joker if he stabs you in the back after dealing with Red Hood?" She paused. "That's assuming he even complies with your plan once he's released."
Roman chuckled softly, the sound low and humorless.
"That," he replied, "is why it's a gamble, my dear." He rested the glass on the desk, leaning forward slightly. "Using a greater evil to vanquish a lesser one—fully aware there's a chance of getting caught in between."
His tone made it clear: he had already accepted the risk.
Li looked up from her tablet, fixing him with a level stare. Her face remained composed, but had a look in her eyes that said… 'You have to be kidding me.'
"There's no way," she said at last, "you intend to take a risk with Joker like that without something up your sleeves."
Roman expressed a knowing smile as he subconciously recounted his life as a gambler.
With a calm, almost relaxed air, he swirled his drink again, watching the liquid cling to the glass before sliding back down. "Li, my dear," he said smoothly, "you know me too well."
The way he spoke made her pause.
It sounded… wrong. Too calm. For a brief moment, she wondered what cocktail of medication his doctors had him on—and whether it was doing something strange to his personality. Not that she was complaining. This version of Roman was quieter. Almost thoughtful.
Almost.
"Once I'm through using Joker to eliminate this pest that's become a thorn at my side," Roman continued, his eyes hardening and voice losing its softness, "I'll have him assassinated by that mercenary."
He met her gaze directly now.
"Grifter."
There it was. The Roman she knew.
"I should have hired him in the first place instead of that quack—" Roman scoffed, pushing himself up slightly from his chair, irritation bubbling over. "All brawn, no brains. Even calls himself a beast," he spat, his voice rising sharply at the end. "Of course he's got a couple of screws loose in his damn head!"
His outburst echoed faintly across the office, bouncing off cold marble and glass before dying out. The polished Black Mask emblem mounted behind his desk seemed to stare back at him, unamused.
"Well," Li said flatly, not even bothering to look up, "you hired him."
Roman shot her a sharp look, his jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to it. He simply huffed and turned away, pacing a few steps before stopping beside his desk. The brief flare of temper drained out of him as quickly as it came, leaving behind a more focused, calculating presence.
"Just brief me on how tonight's operation will be carried out," he said, waving a dismissive hand.
"Sure."
Li tapped a few times on her tablet, the soft clicks the only sound in the room besides the hum of the building's systems. Then she stepped forward and handed it to him, the screen lighting up as though she'd prepared a full presentation just for his benefit—maps, schedules, personnel routes neatly layered and color-coded.
"Arkham's security measures are airtight," she began coolly, "or so they think."
Roman glanced down at the display, his eyes scanning quickly.
"We'll have some men sneak in by replacing the janitors who clean the asylum late at night."
Roman raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Surely there'd be security check-ins," he said, tapping the tablet once with a finger. "And the guards know the actual janitors."
"Normally," Li replied without missing a beat. "But with the right kind of threat, they'll be persuasive enough—not only to gain entry, but to take control of the entrance. Once that happens, our men will have clear access."
Her tone suggested the matter was settled.
Roman frowned slightly. The explanation was vague, and he didn't like vague—but experience told him pressing her further wouldn't change anything. Li didn't bluff. If she said it would work, it would.
He handed the tablet back.
"How about our exit?" he asked. "You break the Joker out of Arkham, alarms will be screaming, and the cops will be crawling all over the city within minutes."
Li accepted the tablet and nodded. "If we take the highway toward the bridge, they'll catch up quickly. That's expected." She swiped to another schematic. "So instead, we'll use the officers already on our payroll to delay the initial response—long enough for us to break off before reaching the bridge."
She paused, then added, "They'll set up an emergency blockade on the far end anyway. We'll be gone before that happens."
Roman leaned back against the edge of his desk, arms folding as he listened. It was strange—unnerving, given how attentive he was being. Usually, he left the details to others. Whatever painkillers his doctors had him on lately were clearly doing something right. Li silently hoped he'd keep taking them.
"And don't worry," she finished, her eyes flicking up to meet his, "if everything goes according to plan, it won't be traced back to us."
"Hm."
Roman rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then lifted his glass and took a long gulp, the alcohol burning its way down. He stared at the city beyond the window again.
"It's a solid plan," he said at last, setting the glass down with a dull clink. A slow grin tugged at his skulled mouth.
"Let's go get that clown."
- - -
Meanwhile…
At the other end of the line, Jason listened in silence, sprawled comfortably in his hideout as the conversation filtered through the tiny receiver in his ear. When Roman finally finished talking, Jason cracked a slow, knowing smirk.
"Good thing I planted a fresh bug in Black Mask's office a while ago," he muttered under his breath. "Nice to see you've got it all under control."
The room around him was dim, lit only by a flickering TV screen he wasn't really watching and the faint glow of Gotham's skyline bleeding in through a narrow window.
Jason tilted his head slightly, listening to the last scraps of audio before the feed went quiet.
"Li's a bit too capable for her own good," he said to himself, amusement laced with caution. "But she's seriously underestimating the Joker."
He scoffed, reaching up to adjust the earpiece. "That crazy son of a bitch would never agree to work under someone and keep his end of the bargain."
Jason's gaze drifted to the ceiling as he imagined it all unfolding—the escape, the sirens, the chaos, the laughter.
"Joker's definitely going to turn his little rescue and deal with Black Mask into some kind of twisted show," he continued. "A grand announcement to let Gotham know he's back."
With a flick of his fingers, he removed the earpiece and set it aside, then reached into a nearby cooler and pulled out a cold drink. The can hissed softly as he cracked it open. He leaned back against the couch, feet planted on the edge of a table as he took a long sip.
"Either way," Jason muttered, exhaling slowly, "let the final act begin."
The smirk faded just a little as his thoughts shifted.
"I just hope I can spare Li from Joker's psychopathic tendencies," he added quietly, almost to himself.
He set the drink down and reached for his phone, thumb hovering over the screen as he prepared to place a call. The name Mayor Stuart glowed faintly, waiting.
Jason already had his own modifications in mind.
Black Mask's escape route was about to change. He'd make sure the mayor shut down the initial path, forcing them onto the highway—straight toward the bridge. And when they got there, the GCPD would be waiting.
A cage, closing in.
One way or another, Jason was going to secure the Joker for himself.
- - -
Damian spent the rest of the day exploring the Tower, moving through its halls with a guarded curiosity. Even with his naturally sour attitude and sharp tongue, the members of the team still made genuine efforts to engage him in conversation.
He responded as best as he could—with short, clipped answers, careful enough not to ruffle feathers, even when his patience wore thin. It was exhausting in a way he wasn't used to, constantly restraining himself.
Eventually, even Jaime approached him.
Jaime apologized for letting Damian's rage-baiting get to him and for pulling a weapon during their earlier confrontation—though the apology came stiff and reluctant. He made it clear, without saying it outright, that Kori had practically forced him to apologize.
Jaime didn't like Damian, and he wasn't truly sorry for trying to teach him a lesson. What caught him off guard was Damian's refusal to back down—standing his ground with a sword while two hyper-powered blasters were trained on him at point-blank range. That part, at least, earned a sliver of reluctant respect. He also wondered if that was Damian being brave or if he really does have a few screws loose.
Damian, whose arm had been metaphorically twisted behind his back by Dick, also offered an apology of his own. The two were essentially forced to make up, even though neither of them liked the other very much. Still, Dick could see it already—clear as day. Given enough time, those two could end up becoming good pals, whether they liked it or not.
Gar and Victor, on the other hand, were… Gar and Victor.
Rachel mostly kept to herself throughout the day, lingering at the edges of the common areas. She spoke little, though she let small, fleeting smiles slip every now and then—subtle and unreadable.
When night finally fell, the atmosphere shifted. Pizza boxes were stacked high on the counters, drinks were passed around freely, and music filled the Tower. Gar, alongside Victor, quickly became the life of the party, their energy infectious enough to pull almost everyone into the mood.
That was when Rachel finally decided to say something to Damian.
"You don't have to be a jerk, you know," she said casually as he walked past her, a beverage in hand.
Damian stopped mid-step. He turned slowly, one brow arching as he studied her. "When have I been a jerk?"
Rachel raised an eyebrow in return, genuinely unsure whether he was messing with her or truly oblivious to his own attitude earlier. "You're kidding, right?" she asked after a moment.
"If you're referring to the incident from earlier," Damian replied evenly, "you should remember that I wasn't the first one to draw a weapon." His gaze sharpened slightly. "Perhaps you should tell the bug boy to watch his temper—and to thicken his skin so he can handle blunt facts when faced with them."
"Unbelievable," Rachel muttered.
"What?"
She shook her head, half amused, half exasperated. "I should be the last person to judge someone," she said, "but I'll say this anyway—your attitude could use some serious work. I wouldn't even be surprised if you had no friends."
Her tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it as she turned away, watching Gar dance wildly in the center of the room while Victor acted as DJ for the night. Dick and Kori were nearby, laughing and dancing together—among the few, along with Victor, who were actually allowed to drink alcohol.
"Actually," Damian said calmly, seemingly unfazed by the goth girl, "I have two. And that's more than enough for me."
He took a sip from his drink and leaned his shoulder against the wall, his eyes drifting toward the makeshift dance floor. He spotted Jaime nearby, bobbing his head to the beat, dancing on his own without joining the others in the center.
"Really?" Rachel asked, skeptical as she glanced back at him. "Apart from Dick, how many people can you really call your friend?"
"You don't need to know that," Damian replied curtly.
With that, he pushed himself off the wall and walked away.
As he did, something nagged at him.
Before she spoke, he hadn't sensed her presence at all.
That alone bothered him.
Most of what Damian knew about the team came from superficial files—information he'd skimmed through in his father's database while researching Nightwing and his girlfriend's group ahead of the trip. Everyone else had profiles, patterns, something concrete.
Rachel, however, was different.
There was barely anything on her.
That absence made him curious—about her powers, about how she could move unnoticed, and about the strange gem embedded in her forehead that seemed far more significant than it appeared.