Crane's Wings Main Facility - Underground Base - Thursday Night - 11:34 PM
Suguro descended into the underground network through one of the concealed access points, taking an industrial elevator down into the facility that had become Crane's Wings' true headquarters.
When the doors opened, Ivy was waiting for him.
She stood in the main corridor, arms crossed, her green skin seeming to glow slightly in the artificial lighting.
"How was the family reunion?" she asked, her tone carrying an edge that Suguro had learned to recognize as jealousy.
he sighed, walking past her toward his private office. She fell into step beside him, her bare feet silent on the concrete floor.
"I was listening, you know," Ivy said,
"Through the park trees. I heard everything. Your mother, the Pro Hero from Japan who abandoned you and now wants to make amends. The woman who cried and apologized and promised she'd accept whatever you do no matter what." Her vines coiled tighter around the nearby support beam. "So what do you want with her?"
Suguro met her bright green eyes.
Lying to Ivy was pointless, somehow she could read him better than anyone except Victor.
"I'm dont know yet," he admitted, opening the door and gesturing for her to follow him inside. He moved to his desk, pulling up records and news on his computer, information on Midnight, "she's shown that she's willing to prioritize me over her hero career."
Ivy laid down on his desk,
"So you're going to use her."
Suguro pulled up an image of Midnight her hero costume and persona that had apparently made her famous in Japan's hero rankings. "She's desperate to be part of my life, desperate enough that she came to Gotham"
He looked up from the screen. "You concerned?"
"Uh of course I am," Ivy yelled.
Ivy's expression softened slightly, not quite a smile, but something less hostile. "You actually care a little bit, don't you?"
"I'm… uncertain," Suguro admitted and for one of the first times Ivy saw Crane unsure of what to do,
But before Ivy could respond, his phone buzzed and the large screen behind him lit up, an incoming call from a number he recognized immediately.
Rhea.
Ivy's expression shifted to outright annoyance. "Ugh. She's calling."
Suguro ignored her and answered. "Rhea. Is there a problem?"
"Uncle Victor wanted me to let you know that he's made progress on Nora and he may have a new job we can work on together to procure something he needs. He'd like to discuss it with you when your available."
"I can meet you guys next week," Suguro confirmed. "Is there anything else?"
"Good night, Suguro." She then ended the call before Crane could answer.
Friday Morning - 9:47 AM - Gotham's Corporate District
Nemuri had done her daily check-in with U.A. Today was her last full day in Gotham. Tomorrow morning she'd fly back to Japan, back to her teaching duties, back to a life that felt increasingly foreign.
But before she left, she wanted to observe Gotham better. To see how much had changed and to understand the world her son lived in more.
The taxi ride from her hotel took her through a dramatic transformation of the urban landscape. The buildings grew taller, cleaner, and more modern. Security checkpoints appeared at district boundaries, private military contractors in corporate uniforms, checking IDs and vehicle registrations with the efficiency of a functioning society.
"Corporate sector," the driver announced, Nemuri nodded, paying and stepping out onto streets that looked like they belonged in a completely different city.
The architecture was a striking blend of styles, Gothic revival towers from Gotham's industrial golden age standing alongside futuristic modern skyscrapers. Massive corporate headquarters rose like monuments to capitalism: Wayne Tower, stood the largest building for one of America's largest companies despite its owner Bruce Wayne's absence from business matters to enjoy his own pleasures. LexCorp's gleaming steel and glass monolith, Lex Luthor's Gotham headquarters looking like something from a science fiction film. POLAR Corporation's building, styled to look perpetually frosted over, their logo prominent on the side.
(lex luthor is just a normal business guy here and no superman remember this is mainly batman dc only )
Further down the landscape were Falcone Tower and Maroni Tower, standing like opposing chess pieces on the district's main boulevard.
Falcone Tower was elegant but brutal, black glass and stone, Gothic styling mixed with modern features. The building was old, it represented the family's criminal empire that had lasted for generations.
Half a mile down the road, Maroni Tower matched it in height but not in style. Where Falcone was a subtle menace, Maroni was an aggressive display, bright lights, golden accents, It was as if Salvatore Maroni was flaunting his wealth to the city.
Nemuri walked the streets between these monuments to organized crime and corporate power, and she noticed that in this small pocket of Gotham, the sidewalks were clean, nice cars were parked openly on the street, and people walked without the constant monitoring of their surroundings. She then realized why, armed security was everywhere, not police, these were private military contractors in uniform to whichever Corporation paid them, and the mafia families had their own men across the district.
It was safer than most of Gotham by far and it was also completely dystopian. She passed a Wayne Industries security patrol, six armed guards in tactical gear, escorting an executive from one building to another an old african american man and she thought she heard the name Mr Fox.
In the street ahead, a black limousine with the Falcone family crest, recognizable to anyone who knew Gotham's underworld, pulled up to the entrance of Falcone Tower. The doors opened, and several large men in suits emerged, dragging someone between them.
The man was middle-aged, disheveled, his face showing bruises and terror. He was pleading, his voice carrying across the otherwise quiet street:
"Please! I swear I don't know where Sionis is! I haven't seen him in weeks! Please, you have to believe me—"
One of the suited men grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close enough to speak directly into his face. The words carried clearly in the morning air:
"The Hangman will know the truth. She always does."
The Hangman, Nemuri had heard that name during her research—Sofia Falcone, Carmine's daughter.
They dragged the man into the building despite his increasingly desperate pleas, and the limousine pulled away smoothly, the driver completely unbothered by what had just transpired.
Nemuri looked around, her hero instincts screaming at her to intervene, to stop this obvious kidnapping and torture scenario, but what she saw made her blood run cold:
Nothing, nobody reacted, nobody cared.
Business men walked past, averting their eyes. A woman with a coffee cup stepped around where the man had been dragged, not even breaking stride. Security guards stood at their posts, clearly having witnessed everything, making no move to intervene.
And down the street, maybe fifty feet away, a GCPD patrol car sat with two officers leaning on their car. They'd definitely seen the abduction, they were talking and drinking coffee but neither made any move to respond.
Nemuri felt sick, this was the world her son had grown up in, a world that had taught him that morality was meaningless and power was everything.
She forced herself to keep walking, needing to put distance between herself and what she'd just witnessed, and nearly collided with someone coming the other direction.
"sorry," a male voice said, hands reaching out to steady her before she stumbled.
Nemuri looked up into the face of a tall Italian American man, probably around her age, dressed in an expensive black suit with a crisp red shirt underneath. He was handsome in a dangerous way—hair slicked back, sharp features, though he had some facial scars from what? Who could guess.
"No, I'm sorry," Nemuri said, steadying herself and stepping back. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
The man's expression shifted to something more openly appreciative as he took in her appearance. "A foreign beauty," he said, his accent confirming Italian heritage, his tone carrying the confidence of someone used to getting what he wanted. "What brings someone like you to our modest city?"
"Just… visiting," Nemuri managed, off-balance from both the near collision and his direct attention. "I'm leaving tomorrow."
"Shame," the man said, his smile widening. "I was going to offer to show you around." He extended his hand. "Rossi. Vincent Rossi."
Nemuri shook his hand automatically, her mind not quite processing the name yet. " Nemuri." She made sure not to reveal her full name.
"Japanese," Rossi observed, still holding her hand slightly longer than strictly professional.
"I appreciate the concern," Nemuri said, gently extracting her hand from his grip, "but I really am just here for business."
Rossi's expression showed disappointment, but it was shallow
"A shame, well, if you change your mind before you leave…" He gestured toward the building ahead, Maroni Tower, "I work there, stop by if you'd like a tour."
"Thank you, but I don't think so," Nemuri said, already starting to step around him.
"Safe travels then,"
He continued past her, entering toward Maroni Tower as Nemuri kept walking once she was a few streets away, her mind finally realized something.
Vincent Rossi, her son mentioned that name last night albeit briefly she almost forgot as she focused on Salvatore Maroni.
That man had known her son, he worked with him, he would have had information about what her son did or had done.
She stood there for a moment, part of her wanting to go back after him, to ask questions and learn anything she could about her son's past.
But she knew that it might end whatever minimal amount of trust she had with Suguru and decided to just let it go…
She rode a ferry across to another island, and throughout the afternoon, as she travelled through different districts and islands, Nemuri began to notice something unsettling…
She was being watched.
She wasn't being followed or stalked, but there were figures she kept seeing who appeared too frequently to be coincidence. There were people who just… stared.
Blank faces, empty expressions, standing motionless on street corners, doorways or ferry decks. They looked like people, but there was something wrong with them...
By late afternoon, Nemuri's paranoia had built to the point where she couldn't ignore it anymore. She decided to confront one of them, one of the blank-faced watchers who'd been standing across the street from a coffee shop she'd entered for the past twenty minutes, just… staring in her direction.
Nemuri exited the coffee shop and began walking directly toward the man, preparing to demand answers.
Then a hand grabbed her arm from behind