[Feat Achieved! Black Mask Foiled]
[+1 Gold Gacha Ticket]
I blinked and slowly lowered the cocktail shaker. After dealing with that weirdo in the bathroom, I'd been hoping I could actually take a break.
I'd taken over one of the bars and was planning to show off some of my old bartending skills to Bruce. I would've loved to just ignore the notification and keep having fun, but… damn it, Bruce. Why did you have to be such a good role model?
Pulling out my phone, I quickly checked several of the security feeds overlooking the party. The main floors looked good, and there didn't seem to be any problems. None of the security alarms had been tripped either.
Hmm…
Anything off? I texted Simmy.
I got three thumbs-up emojis in response.
Well… if she said so, I trusted Simmy to handle things.
I shrugged and ripped the gold ticket in half.
[Rolling Gold Gacha Ticket]
[Ejaculatte]
|Uncommon Item|
A can of otherwise normal-looking, if strangely branded coffee that, when drunk, causes the drinker to orgasm intensely and uncontrollably. Restock Timer: 8 Hours.
That's… dear God.
The sheer number of applications was both horrific and utterly amazing.
Seeing as there wasn't any kind of limit mentioned, I idly wondered if I could use this to take down Superman or something even stronger.
Would it be too weird to ask literal Death to drink one? Half for horny reasons, obviously, but also out of sheer scientific curiosity. Could… the actual concept of death orgasm?
Probably not the most charming thing to ask on the first date.
Maybe on the third.
I snorted. Metaphysical musings about hot goth Death aside, I had some fucking drinks to make.
My phone vibrated again. I picked it up, only to sigh when I saw the message from Red Hood.
...Goddammit.
Well, there went my chance to show off to Bruce.
—
Being a superhero meant your tolerance for weird crap got pretty high. A few years as Robin, followed by his time as Red Hood, meant Jason was pretty used to crazy by now.
Between dealing with batshit Gothamites, hunting magical monsters with Artemis, and just chilling with Bizarro, he'd seen a lot over the years. You'd think he would've gotten numb to it at some point.
But no… apparently the world had decided it just needed to keep getting weirder.
Jason glanced to his side at Harley Quinn. Working with her would've been weird enough, but that barely registered compared to the room Jean had asked them to set up.
Blood had been splattered across the walls and floor of the hundredth-floor suite like someone had gone wild with a paint bucket. Animal guts had been carefully arranged around the room, draped over furniture and piled into corners with an almost disturbing amount of attention to detail from Harley. And, of course, there was the coup de grâce: a blood-soaked table in the center with a plate of animal dicks sitting on top, because why the fuck not.
The entire room looked like a goddamn horror show, even to Jason, and he knew all of it came from animals. To someone who didn't know that little detail, he imagined it looked a whole lot worse.
"Ten out of ten!" Jean grinned like a loon as he looked around. "Truly, I knew there were no two people better for the job."
Harley immediately perked up and grabbed Jean by the arm, dragging him along to show off the rest of the room.
Jason snorted. Well, it wasn't like Jean was wrong.
Idle memories of his first few days as Red Hood came to mind. He'd gotten... creative.
If there was one lesson he wholeheartedly agreed with Bruce on, it was that criminals were a superstitious and cowardly bunch.
So he could understand what Jean was going for here, although...
"You don't think this is a bit overboard?" Jason asked with a snort. "You're gonna have the entire mob pissing their pants the moment they walk through the door."
Jean turned toward him and chuckled darkly. "Good."
"What happened to that whole negotiation-for-the-good-of-Gotham thing I heard so much about?"
"I'm not just killing them all, am I?" Jean shrugged. "If they surrender and agree to send everyone on my list to turn themselves in, I'll take in the rest."
"How long's the list?" Jason asked.
Jean waved his hand, and a stack of papers appeared in his grip. He tossed it over, and Jason caught it before quickly flipping through the pages.
His eyebrow rose higher and higher until he finally laughed.
"Isn't this basically all of their upper brass?"
"Ninety-five percent." Jean nodded. "I'll be surprised if they even consider it."
Jason dropped his head into one hand with a quiet chuckle.
"Should I even ask what happens when they don't?"
Jean simply smirked at him. "Spoilers."
Of course.
"You need me to stick around?"
"Nah, I got this." Jean smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. "Go enjoy the party. I had them make you a new version of a Moscow Mule."
Jason rolled his eyes as he turned to leave. "Figures."
He raised a fist, and Jean bumped it with his own.
"Break a leg."
"Oh, I will."
—
Carmine scowled as he stared through the glass walls of the elevator. The beautiful view of Gotham's skyline only served as another reminder of what that fucking upstart had stolen from him.
"Your pills ready?" Carmine asked, glaring at the four men standing with him. They were some of his best enforcers, blind fools who would follow his orders to the letter. He would've brought more, but the number of men he could still trust was getting thin, especially with whatever voodoo shit this brat had been using.
"Yes, Don Falcone."
All four nodded.
Carmine gave a terse nod of his own before glancing down at the small green pill resting in his palm. The Venom pills he'd gotten from the Court of Owls would have to do.
He had no idea what kind of weird shit this Jean Valjean bastard might pull during these "talks," but he wasn't about to let himself be taken by surprise. He already had men planted inside the building and entire crews waiting outside, ready to move the moment things went bad.
One way or another, this punk was going to learn to respect his elders.
The slight weight of the note tucked inside his coat pocket offered some reassurance. The Court of Owls was making moves of its own, and once tonight was over, Carmine would finally be welcomed among them as a member in good standing.
A soft ding rang out as the elevator slowed to a halt on the hundredth floor.
Carmine adjusted his cuffs and looked toward his men.
"It's time we show this brat what the Falcone family is made of, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir!"
Carmine gave them a small smile as the elevator doors slid open.
Let's see what this brat could—
Blood coated nearly every visible surface beyond the elevator, smeared across the walls and pooled across the floor while chunks of gore and mangled organs lay scattered throughout the suite like the aftermath of a slaughterhouse massacre. The lights overhead flickered unevenly, casting shifting shadows across the carnage and making the whole scene seem almost alive.
Carmine could hear the sharp gasps of terror from the men beside him.
A figure sat waiting at the table in the center of the room.
Carmine had spent decades around powerful people. He'd stood in the same room as the Joker, dealt with some of Gotham's worst killers, and had even seen the Bat up close more than once.
None of them compared to the sheer terror radiating from the man in front of him.
A cold sweat spread across Carmine Falcone's back.
He needed to get the fuck out—
"What's wrong? You're not gonna sit?" The monster wearing a man's face smiled at him. "I even made dinner for you guys."
A silver platter sat on the table in front of him, covered by a metal lid.
Jean slowly lifted it.
Carmine stared.
Were those... dicks?
No. No fucking way.
Dear God, this psycho had actually cut off the dicks of every mob boss he'd gotten his hands on and put them on a serving platter.
What kind of sick fuck was he dealing with?
"It's rude to just stand there, you know."
The threat behind the words was obvious.
Carmine took a shallow breath and forced himself to shuffle out of the elevator. The four idiots he'd brought with him, however, didn't move.
For one brief moment, sheer irritation overrode his fear.
"Get the fuck out here!" Carmine roared.
The four enforcers finally stumbled out after him, each one looking just as pale and terrified as the last.
"Something wrong?"
The words felt like knives against Carmine's throat.
"You look pale."
Jean Valjean slowly rose from his chair.
Carmine's heart hammered against his ribs as that thing started walking toward him.
"STAY BACK!" Carmine snapped, stumbling half a step away. "If you try any voodoo or metahuman shit, my men will tear this place apart!"
"Oh?"
Jean tilted his head.
And kept fucking walking.
"I can negotiate!" Carmine blurted out. "We can work something out. Cut us into the potion trade and—"
A sharp pain exploded across his cheek.
Slowly, Carmine raised a hand to his face.
Had he just... slapped him?
Jean Valjean simply stared at him with an unnerving smile.
"What the FUCK are you doing?!" Carmine roared before whipping around toward his men.
They stood there sweating, pale-faced, and completely useless.
One of them swallowed.
"Uh... that was just a normal slap, right, boss? So we don't have to do anything?"
Carmine stared at him.
These fucking fools.
He opened his mouth—
"You're absolutely right!"
Carmine's head snapped back toward Jean.
Jean smiled at them.
"That was completely normal." His grin widened. "So is this."
"Wait—"
Carmine screamed as Jean's foot slammed between his legs.
"Completely normal, right?" Jean Valjean asked, turning toward his henchmen with a smile.
The four idiots just nodded.
Fuck...
***
Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices.
I have advanced chapters on Pa tre on/daisyberry if you wanna read ahead.