Chapter 25
> "A man must be big enough to admit his mistakes, smart enough to profit from them, and strong enough to correct them.
John C. Maxwell
The map on the wall looked like a war zone of ink and red.
Scarlet Xs scratched across names—each one another ghost in Matthew's warpath.
Mad Hatter.
Victor Zsasz.
The Riddler.
Two-Face.
The Penguin.
Scarecrow.
Bane
And a dozen more names. Names the world forgot. But Matthew didn't. He remembered every face, every scream, every reason.
Harley stood beside him, the silence between them wrapped in smoke and tension. She wore her red and black outfit again, leaning on her bat like it was a cane. Her blue eyes scanned the map, lips curled in a lazy smirk that tried too hard to be carefree.
"Pudding," she said, cocking her head. "Why do you kill villains?"
Matthew didn't answer at first. He stared at the map, but not at any particular spot. It was like his mind drifted far beyond the paper and the bloodied names.
Then he turned to her, slowly.
And for the first time… Harley didn't see the usual terrifying void in his eyes.
She saw something else.
Not rage. Not madness.
It was sadness.
Raw and human and real.
Matthew's voice was quieter than usual. Like it wasn't meant for the world, only for the ghosts in his head.
"When I was eighteen," he began, "my parents were kidnapped."
Harley blinked. Her bat lowered an inch.
"A criminal got his hands on one of Batman's Robins. Told Bats he could only save one—his sidekick or my parents. Batman… tried. He really tried."
Matthew's jaw clenched.
"But he failed."
He paused, lighting a cigarette with a shaky hand. The flame danced like a memory, flickering before it was devoured by the smoke.
"The criminal shot my parents and ran. Batman caught him and tossed him in prison. Thought that was justice." He looked back at Harley. "But guess what?"
Harley didn't answer. She didn't dare.
"He got out. Slipped through the cracks like all of them do. And went back to killing."
Matthew stepped forward, his shadow crawling across the map.
"I don't blame Batman for not saving them. I get it. His boy was on the line. How do you even make a choice like that?"
He exhaled the smoke like it hurt to hold it in.
"But I blame him for not killing the bastard when he had the chance. I blame him for believing that monsters can change."
He turned his back on her.
"So I'm doing what no one else has the balls to do."
Harley swallowed hard.
The guilt hit her like a bullet to the gut.
Because seven years ago…
She was there.
She knew.
The man who'd taken Matthew's parents and killed them… that wasn't just any criminal.
It was Joker.
And she had been with him that night. She'd laughed. Danced in the blood. She hadn't known who those people were, but she hadn't cared either.
Back then she was ready to do anything just to get the joker to love her
Now she stared at Matthew's back, the air thick with memories and silence.
She opened her mouth to confess—to tell him she was there.
But nothing came out.
Her voice was a hostage to fear.
Not fear of death.
Fear of his pain.
Matthew broke the silence first.
"We hit this building next." He tapped a mark on the map. "Thirty of Joker's dogs. We go in quiet. We kill fast. Then we vanish. No capes, no cops. You understand?"
He looked at her.
She forced her lips into a smile—her signature smirk.
"Yes, pudding."
But she was sweating. Her hands shook behind her back.
And Matthew noticed.
But he said nothing.
---
An Abandoned Building — Midnight
Thirty men inside. Each branded with Joker's madness. Laughing. Drinking. Bragging about women they'd broken and lives they'd ruined.
Matthew and Harley crouched on a rooftop overlooking the scene. His breath was steady. Her heartbeat was not.
He counted them with his eyes. Measured their movements. Calculated the kills.
Harley stood behind him, still distracted. Still staring into the pit of her guilt. Her bat felt heavier than ever.
Matthew spoke low.
"Now."
He leapt down like a beast let loose from Hell.
The first man didn't even scream—just collapsed under the weight of Matthew's boots, ribs turned to powder.
The others barely had time to react before Matthew spun with his black metal pipe. It cracked skulls like glass jars. One hit. One kill.
Chaos erupted.
Screams. Gunfire. Blood.
Matthew became a whirlwind of red and black. Hands soaked. Face unreadable.
Harley joined him—swinging her bat, cracking bones, breaking teeth. She lost herself in the violence. It was all she knew how to do.
Within ten minutes, it was over.
The room was red. The walls painted with death.
Matthew stood still, blood dripping from his pipe. His chest rose and fell like a drum of war.
Harley turned to him.
But he didn't look at her.
He ran at her.
Her heart stopped.
Was this it? Did he know? That she was there?
She didn't move.
For the first time, she wanted him to hurt her.
But instead—
He tackled her to the floor.
A gunshot echoed through the night. A sharp pain sliced through the air.
Matthew grunted. Blood bloomed from his shoulder.
Harley's eyes went wide.
There was one man left—playing dead, now crawling to flee.
Her rage snapped.
She crushed his skull under her bat, one, two, three times. The sickening crunch didn't even register.
When it was done, she turned to Matthew. He was sitting up against the wall, one hand pressed to his wound.
"Goddamn," he hissed through clenched teeth.
"Why… why the hell did you do that?" she gasped, kneeling beside him.
He looked at her. Even in pain, his voice was calm.
"Because I don't let people I trust die."
Harley choked on her breath.
He trusted her?
Even if it was a lie, it felt heavier than truth.
She pressed her hands to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
"You're crazy," she whispered.
He smirked.
"So are you."
They sat in the silence of blood and concrete.
And neither said what they were really thinking.
Because trust was fragile.
And secrets were ticking time bombs.
---
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