Starting With Batman

Grace City

A city of contradictions, where dreams either flourish or rot. For some, it's a city of golden opportunity, a place where fortunes are made with a swift hand and a sharp mind. For others, it's a relentless beast, devouring all hope and leaving only fear and despair in its wake. Much like Riverton City, it had its dark underbelly, but Grace City's darkness was deeper, more insidious.

To those living within its boundaries, the city was a mystery—layered with secrets and cloaked in unpredictability. Its streets whispered stories of wealth and tragedy, but only the boldest dared to listen. If you asked a thousand residents to describe their Grace City, you would receive a thousand different answers. Some might speak of glittering high-rises, of sprawling neon signs and bustling night markets. Others might speak of the damp, shadowed alleyways where lives ended as quickly as they began.

Grace City was a quagmire.

A slow, suffocating trap that swallowed its inhabitants. Those who came seeking fortune found themselves slowly sinking, the city's embrace tightening around them with each passing day. Like a frog in boiling water, by the time they realized the danger, it was too late. They were already too deep, unable to escape the curse Grace City had laid upon them.

Grace City was an ogre.

A city that devoured dreams and ambitions, and spit out only the broken remains of once-hopeful lives. Those who toiled away in this city did so not to achieve success, but merely to avoid disaster. Grace City did not discriminate. It crushed the rich and the poor alike, while wearing the guise of a gentleman—handsome, polished, and deceitful.

Yet for some, Grace City was a land of gold and opportunity.

And for people like Frank Whiteman, one of the top operatives in the infamous assassin syndicate Black Sun, it was paradise.

As the helicopter's blades finally began to slow, the gusting wind kicked up by its descent scattered dust and leaves across the empty tarmac. The low hum of the engines gradually faded into silence as the landing gears touched the concrete. The helicopter's door opened with a mechanical hiss, and Frank stepped out. His black leather coat flapped against the wind, billowing behind him like a dark cloak as he descended the steps, his polished shoes clicking with each step.

The city skyline loomed behind him, an expanse of glittering lights and towering structures that stretched towards the night sky, but Frank's attention was focused on something far more immediate. Pulling a sleek black phone from the inside pocket of his coat, he pressed a button to answer an incoming call.

The voice on the other end was curt, impatient.

"It's me, Bee," Frank replied in his usual smooth, detached tone. "Yes, I've landed in Grace City. Just touched down... Everything is proceeding as planned. As per the agreement, I'll collect the remaining 40 million once the job is done."

The response on the other end was quick, and the call ended just as fast. Frank glanced down at his screen to see the confirmation notification for the initial deposit of 20 million. The corner of his mouth curled into a faint, satisfied smile.

Grace City was a city of opportunity, after all—especially for people in his line of work.

For those who made their fortune through blood, Grace City was a haven. Every year, countless jobs rolled in, each more lucrative than the last. The city's wealthy elite were always willing to pay top dollar for someone like Frank, someone who knew how to cleanly and efficiently handle "problems."

Here, murder wasn't shocking. It was routine. And the wealthy were willing to pay handsomely to ensure that routine kept running smoothly.

As Frank put the phone away, the roar of the helicopter's engines was replaced by the sound of heavy footsteps behind him. From the cabin emerged a hulking figure, his presence impossible to ignore.

Haig, Frank's partner and younger brother, stepped out onto the tarmac. The man was massive, with a frame that seemed more at home in a gladiatorial ring than in the world of assassination. His muscles bulged beneath his tailored suit, straining against the fabric, and his expression was one of cold calculation.

"Don't worry, Haig," Frank said, glancing over his shoulder as he walked toward the car that waited for them. "This job will be quick. In and out. Grace City is great for this kind of work—best payout for the least amount of effort."

Haig grunted in response, but said nothing. His eyes scanned their surroundings, ever watchful. He was Frank's muscle, the brute force behind the operation. Where Frank specialized in finesse, Haig was the hammer. Their schedule was tight—land at 5:30, finish the job by 8:00, and leave by 8:30. The efficiency with which they moved was legendary in Black Sun, and Frank took pride in that reputation.

As the brothers approached the car, a sudden flash of black streaked through the air, slicing the atmosphere with a deadly precision. Frank's sharp reflexes kicked in immediately—his body twisted to the side in a near-blur, narrowly avoiding the object that flew past his face.

The sound of the projectile embedding itself into the side of the helicopter echoed across the tarmac.

A bat-shaped dart.

Frank's eyes narrowed, locking onto the source of the attack. There, standing in the dim light of the landing zone, was a figure—clad entirely in black. Her lithe form stood out against the backdrop of the night, a stark silhouette of justice in a city drowning in corruption.

The bat symbol on her chest glinted under the sparse lights of the tarmac. A cape fluttered behind her, and the pointed ears of her cowl completed the unmistakable image.

It was a Batgirl.

Frank's mind immediately connected the dots. He had heard the stories—whispers of a rising vigilante movement. It had started in Riverton City, where a man dressed as a bat had ignited a wave of costumed crime-fighters. Since then, similar vigilantes had been popping up all over, each donning masks and capes, thinking they could bring justice to cities that had long since abandoned it.

But Frank didn't see a hero in front of him.

No, this was just another fool. A pretender. Another idealist playing dress-up, thinking she could stand against the real monsters of the world.

Frank let out a low chuckle, folding his arms across his chest. "A little girl playing bat. Cute."

To Frank, this was nothing but a nuisance. He'd seen enough of these so-called "heroes" to know that most were nothing but amateurs. Sure, some of them had skills, but none were truly a match for the world's top assassins. They were street-level fighters at best, dealing with low-level thugs and petty criminals. Black Sun operated on a whole different level.

With a dismissive wave, Frank gestured toward his brother. "She's yours, Haig."

Haig cracked his neck and stretched his fingers. His movements were slow, deliberate, each joint popping with a dull crack. He took a step forward, towering over the Batgirl.

"You should run," Haig growled, his voice cold and menacing. "I don't like hitting little girls."

The Batgirl didn't flinch. Instead, she extended her hand and curled her fingers, beckoning Haig to come closer.

Frank raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the gesture. This was either arrogance or foolishness, and he wasn't sure which one yet. Either way, Haig was about to put an end to this little game.

With a grunt, Haig lunged forward, his massive fist swinging through the air like a wrecking ball. Despite his size, his movements were deceptively fast and well-practiced. He wasn't just a brute; he was a trained fighter, with years of experience under his belt.

But as his fist neared its target, something unexpected happened.

The Batgirl didn't dodge. She didn't flinch. Instead, she moved with a fluidity that defied her small frame. Her body twisted, sidestepping Haig's punch with barely any effort. In the same motion, her fist shot out like a viper, landing squarely on Haig's jaw with a resounding crack.

Haig staggered back, blood and teeth spraying from his mouth. His massive frame wobbled, and for the first time, his expression faltered.

Frank's eyes widened in shock.

No. What just happened?

Batgirl stood there, unfazed, her arm still extended in the same casual punching stance. Her expression was calm, almost bored, as if Haig's attack had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Frank's mind raced. This wasn't just some girl playing dress-up. The precision of her movements, the strength behind that punch—this was no amateur.

"Haig, get up," Frank barked, his voice suddenly laced with a tension he hadn't felt in years. "Get the hell up!"

But Haig didn't move. He lay there on the ground, blood pooling around his head as his chest rose and fell in ragged gasps.

For the first time in his life, Frank felt a flicker of fear.

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Posted up to chapter 162

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