Barbara clearly didn't like Thea's "think about the retreat before we even start fighting" attitude, but for a number of reasons, she kept her mouth shut.
Gordon and Lyla, both with military backgrounds, didn't think there was anything wrong with such caution. They went off briskly to assign tasks.
Whether by luck or because the Arkham crowd was preparing for an indoor battle, their massive convoy encountered no ambush on the way. Thea, who had hoped to score a few kills with the gunships, was slightly disappointed.
When they reached the gate, Lyla was about to order the helicopters to return, but Thea thought it'd be a shame to waste all that heavy firepower.
"Why don't we give that gate a little present before they go?" Thea pointed toward Arkham's rust-eaten, ancient iron doors. If not for the situation, she would've gone up there and taken a photo — "Thea Queen was here." This place was too famous to visit without leaving a mark.
Lyla found her a bit childish — it didn't match her usual composure — but she realized blowing up the door would make a retreat easier anyway. She lifted her communicator and gave the order to the chopper crew.
"Whoosh, whoosh—" Two anti-tank missiles hit dead center on the gate.
The corroded doors, which could've been hacked open with an axe, stood no chance against such firepower.
With a deafening boom, the gate blew apart. When the smoke cleared, the convoy didn't even bother stopping — they drove straight into Gotham's most notorious landmark.
"Go! Go! Go!" officers shouted as they jumped from their vehicles, fanning out in the pre-arranged formation and pouring into Arkham.
The formation was divided into three groups.
At the front were Commissioner Gordon and two hundred officers, with Barbara and Robin volunteering themselves as his personal guard.
The middle force was led by Lyla and Catwoman — alongside her agents and more than a hundred battle-hardened veterans. Firefly originally wanted to stick with Selina, but Thea wasn't comfortable with that. What if this woman was a mole sent by the enemy? And besides — she was walking around with a massive tank of fuel strapped to her back, glowing bright against the darkness. If Thea were the enemy, she'd aim for that thing first — one well-placed arrow and half their force would go up in flames.
So Thea volunteered to take the rearguard, saying she needed to provide long-range cover and secure their retreat — and took Firefly with her, along with the remaining police.
She was on edge. If she were the enemy, this would be the perfect moment to pull a classic ambush: drop a gate, roll some boulders, split the force in half, and crush them one group at a time. So she kept her eyes everywhere — especially above — half expecting a whistle and a rain of arrows to come down any second.
But nothing happened. Everyone made it through safely.
That somehow made her uneasy.
Am I just too paranoid… or are they actually too dumb?
Apparently, the Arkham side truly hadn't planned an ambush.
Moments later, Thea sensed the front line had stopped moving. She hopped onto a broken table for a better view — and saw the scene ahead.
They were now inside a large indoor gymnasium, supposedly built with "health funds" allocated by Arkham's Health Committee. The space was vast, though most of the seating and facilities were long ruined.
Thea pushed through the ranks to the very front — and finally saw the enemy.
They stood divided into two groups.
On the left were the familiar faces of Scarecrow's elite squad — decked out in full military gear, weapons gleaming. There weren't many of them, less than thirty, but their equipment was top-notch. Behind them stood a motley collection of armed thugs in mismatched clothes and gear.
On the right stood a short, round man in a tailored suit, holding a black umbrella. His appearance was so distinctive that Thea recognized him instantly.
The Penguin.
She'd heard that his umbrella was packed with lethal weapons, but looking at him — limping, overweight — she wasn't impressed. In a face-to-face shootout like this, there was only so much he could do.
Behind him stood at least two hundred black-suited gangsters, most armed with pistols, a few with automatic weapons.
Next came the ancient tradition — parley between commanders.
Naturally, Gordon took the lead for the "heroes." Thea had no interest in making herself a target by stepping up; she valued her life far too much for that.
Opposite him, Penguin took the stage — apparently because Scarecrow's forces had been decimated by Thea's team earlier, leaving him the dominant voice. The ex-professor didn't look happy, but he accepted the arrangement.
"Hey, Jim — old friend," Penguin called out with that oily grin of his.
"Oswald. It's been a long time," Gordon replied, his tone stiff and formal.
They exchanged pleasantries — then got down to the usual nonsense.
"You will release the captives immediately, disarm, and surrender," Gordon declared.
"Arkham's been our turf since the beginning," Penguin retorted. "You have no authority here."
Both sides knew no one was backing down, but they went through the motions anyway.
Thea tuned out the speechifying. Over the comms, she whispered, "Stay alert. The real heavy-hitters aren't here yet. Watch for a flank or surprise attack."
Everyone understood. Scarecrow, despite his academic titles, wasn't exactly a fighter — the guy looked like a stick figure in a gas mask. Without his toxins, his combat ability was basically zero.
And Penguin? People claimed he could fight, but judging by his size and limp… Thea wasn't buying it.
So where were the real threats? They were hiding, of course. And with Mr. Freeze somewhere in the mix, even Thea felt uneasy. Her gaze swept around, waiting for the trap to spring.
Soon the "commanders" finished posturing, returned to their lines — and then, almost simultaneously, both sides roared:
"OPEN FIRE!"
The sound of gunfire filled the hall, echoing like rain hammering on metal.
Thea already had her cover chosen and began scanning the battlefield, occasionally returning fire herself. Her aim was good — years of archery had honed her precision. Maybe not perfect, but definitely elite-level.
She turned to call for her teammates — and nearly popped a vein.
Catwoman and Robin were crouching there with batons, looking around nervously.
…Seriously? You people have no idea how to fight in formation, do you?
At least grab a gun — even for the noise!
Barbara, at least, had the right idea. She was firing nonstop — not hitting much, but still shooting.
"Should I use the magnetic arrows?" Felicity's voice came through the comms from the rear base, where she was monitoring the live feed.
Thea studied the field and shook her head. "Not yet. We've got the upper hand for now. Those veterans are tearing through them — those gangsters can't keep up."
Just as she was about to order her team to push forward and expand their advantage—
"I am Azrael, the Angel of Death!"
A tall, lean figure in red and black armor, hooded and caped, burst into the police ranks, swinging a gleaming longsword. Each sweep cut a man down — three officers fell before anyone could even react.