Broken(DC)

Lighting a cigarette, I savored a brief respite from the exhausting workload. Sitting in my office, I had just finished reviewing paperwork so many bills, schemes, and transfers that everything needed to be double-checked a hundred times. Life had taken a turn I never expected.

Using my cane for support, I rose and walked over to a small window separating my office from the main room, pulling back the curtain. I watched as an overwhelming amount of cash was being counted by people using machines. The bills were sorted by denomination, packed, and loaded into suitcases. Some of them were artificially aged stained with coffee, slightly crumpled, and dried to make them look well-used. These were usually bank robbery spoils, disguised to erase any trace of their origins.

On the streets, I was known as "Lame" Whenever someone had trouble laundering their income, they came to me. I was respected because I didn't try to steal their money, working strictly for a set percentage. My people were too afraid to skim anything for themselves, knowing full well what would happen if they did. No one could hide or escape retribution. So, they worked without any thought of theft.

Today, my mood was terrible. Green Arrow, the new vigilante in town, had been actively hunting down our crew and successfully putting many behind bars. I hadn't escaped his attention either. His people had traced my online activities and discovered several of my offices. A few accounts were hacked, and I had to admit, the guy was a genius. I never thought those accounts could be tracked or breached.

In a rush, I had to shut down several servers handling transactions to avoid exposing the main office. That's when I decided to relocate my entire computing center to a more secure location, ensuring I wouldn't be there if it were discovered.

Even the police seemed emboldened, acting aggressively for the first time in years. Raids and arrests poured down like rain. All these problems stemmed from one man Green Arrow.

If someone had told me the Mafia would be running from a guy with a bow and a green mask, I'd have laughed. But reality has a way of being cruel. He was a master of his craft stealthy, invisible, and deadly, though he rarely killed anyone. His arrows were aimed at non-lethal points, or he used stun-tipped projectiles. His outfit was made of durable materials, and in the month he'd been active, he'd taken a couple of bullets without much effect he barely slowed down. I managed to get hold of a few videos of these encounters.

This couldn't possibly be an ordinary man his training and skill were extraordinary. He clearly had a support team coordinating his actions and providing him with police intel. That meant a minimum of five people, likely more. It was a coordinated operation against organized crime.

Flicking away the cigarette stub, I began gathering my things when suddenly the lights went out.

"Of course, just perfect timing," I muttered. I was just about to leave.

There was no doubt who had cut the power, and I had a pretty good idea who was behind it Green Arrow.

My men began to scramble, switching on flashlights. In the flickering beams, I could see them assembling weapons, fully aware of their futility. I had already mapped out my escape plan. Approaching the door to my office, I glanced one last time at the familiar surroundings, knowing full well it would all soon be confiscated by the police. They always arrived after him. I couldn't afford to expose my clients.

Walking over to the safe, I pressed a button to activate the emergency protocol. The documents inside burst into flames. Anything left outside the safe wasn't important. All that remained was the computer.

Rat-a-tat-tat!

Gunfire echoed somewhere in my office. Hurrying, I removed the casing and extracted the hard drive. To ensure all data was completely destroyed, I needed to ruin the surface entirely. First, I shattered it into pieces, then submerged the fragments in a pitcher of water. Now it was time to run.

Stepping out of my office, my security team immediately surrounded me. I had a strict rule: no one was allowed inside my office except me and my assistant. He wasn't in the office today.

"Boss, it's Green Arrow," one of them said.

"I figured as much. Lead me to the back exit," I ordered.

The gunshots grew closer, interspersed with explosions. A narrow staircase led from the second floor straight to the street. My men went out first, checking the area. I followed, and we quickly made our way down, heading toward a car parked nearby. But just as we were about to reach it, two precise shots rang out, and two of my guards dropped to the ground. The third managed to pull me behind a nearby column for cover.

My guard tried to peek outside to assess the situation but had no luck. He barely had time to think when an arrow with a blinking red light embedded itself at our feet. I managed to push off just in time, but my guard wasn't as fortunate. The explosion flung him like a rag doll. I didn't escape unscathed either; the shockwave caught me, sending me sprawling.

Struggling to get up, I looked ahead and saw two figures approaching me. One wore a black metal mask, making it clear he was African-American even without seeing his face. Next to him, Green Arrow landed from somewhere above, clad in his signature outfit and armed with his bow.

Though, if you ask me, the design left much to be desired.

[image]

"Brian Forman, also known as Lame," said his slightly altered voice.

"No, you've got the wrong guy," I smirked.

"There's no point in games. We know exactly who you are. You're responsible for laundering money for countless criminals. Because of you, their dirty cash turns clean. Catching you and putting you behind bars will severely weaken their financial power," Green Arrow declared.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I just work at a law firm we deal strictly with documents," I replied. My front company, where this office was located, was exactly that on paper. Legally, there was no reason to scrutinize us. We did operate legitimately, at least nominally.

"I know all your schemes, and believe me, you're going to prison for a long time," he said. Stepping closer, he pulled a pair of handcuffs from behind his back and secured them around my wrists, pulling my hands behind me. I didn't resist; there was no point I couldn't fight back.

"I doubt it. The law's on my side," I said calmly.

"Oh, yeah? How do you explain the $1.5 million found in your office?" he asked.

"In my office? I'm just an employee; I don't know anything about any money," I retorted. Even if they found the cash, I was just listed as a worker, while the real frontman was living it up somewhere in the Maldives.

"I'm tired of your games. I know it all belongs to you. You're known in the criminal world as Lame, the one responsible for laundering mafia money across several American cities," he said angrily, grabbing me by the front of my shirt.

"Calm down, Green Arrow. The police will be here soon, and he'll talk when he realizes he'll spend the rest of his life behind bars if he doesn't cooperate," said the man in the black mask.

"You're right, Freelancer," Green Arrow agreed.

They moved me away from the building and tied me to a pole near the road. I wasn't worried, knowing they had no grounds to imprison me. Their so-called "evidence" wouldn't hold up. Just picture it: two vigilantes breaking into an office without a warrant, killing a couple of people, fleeing, then tying up an ordinary office worker to a pole, claiming he's Lame, the head of a criminal syndicate? It's a joke better than any comedy show.

In the distance, I could hear sirens. My would-be accusers had to retreat since their actions weren't exactly lawful. Two police cars pulled up nearby, and four officers stepped out, weapons drawn. The first thing they saw was me.

"Good evening, officers. Two maniacs attacked us and killed several people," I said, my voice trembling slightly. My attempt at acting didn't seem to impress them much.

"Brian Forman?" one of the officers asked. I recognized his face: Quentin Lance, a legend among crimefighters. Known for his rapid career progression and impressive case closures, he was a seasoned officer still relentless in his pursuit of justice despite his age.

[image]

"That's right, it's me," I replied, though unease gripped me inside. Something felt off. Their stares were too peculiar, as if they knew something I didn't.

"We have received information implicating you in numerous crimes. We're obligated to detain you until all circumstances are clarified," Lance said.

"You should be detaining those two lunatics who caused the massacre and destroyed my workplace, not me," I countered.

"We'll deal with that later," he replied curtly, pushing me away from the pole and escorting me into the police car, shoving me into the back seat.

It seemed my adversaries had prepared far better than I anticipated. They had gathered some evidence and passed it to the police. Yet, it was likely inconclusive references to third parties hold no weight in court, though they might sway a jury. The case couldn't even reach trial unless they produced concrete accusations with solid evidence.

I watched as officers entered the building, examining the fallen guards and summoning various services. Soon, ambulances and other vehicles swarmed the scene. It was clear that the situation was serious.

Eventually, I was taken to the police station, locked in a cell, and later brought into an interrogation room. I stayed silent, waiting for my lawyer.

"Brian Forman, a native of Gotham. Figures most of your kind end up as criminals," the detective said, attempting to provoke me. I remained silent.

"So, are you just going to sit there in silence? We've got a stack of documents from your office, and they're enough to put you away for life. Do you understand the gravity of your crimes?" he pressed. Even if they found documents in the office, they'd be meaningless nothing pointed directly to me.

"Cooperate, and your sentence could be significantly reduced," he continued. His speech was interrupted by a knock and the sound of the door opening. My lawyer entered, gesturing for the officer to leave.

My lawyer didn't disappoint. He informed me that they had nothing substantial. Any evidence was circumstantial at best, with no direct ties to me.

"Well, that's it, Mr. Forman. I trust you're satisfied with my services?" the lawyer said, sitting across from me.

"Yes, quite satisfied. Did you bring my cane?" I asked, referring to the cane I'd left behind near the office.

"Of course, here it is," he said, handing it over.

After he left, it didn't take long. Within minutes, I was released from the cell, as I was clearly just another victim of the chaos caused by others.

The look on the detective's face amused me his lips pressed tightly together as he watched me calmly walk away. Many people suspected I was Lame, but they could do nothing about it.

That's the power of the law: the right connections, money, and the ability to erase evidence can transform a criminal into a law-abiding citizen.

The system is utterly flawed, and I knew how to exploit it for my purposes. It might seem that I'm content with this arrangement, but that's far from the truth. For a long time, I've been laying the groundwork to fix this entire situation. I was dragged into this dark world against my will, and I feel no affection for it either. But I have to appear as if I'm dutifully doing my job no one can suspect that I'm setting a trap for all of them.

The law won't help here. Far more reliable means are necessary. Green Arrow will be my key advantage. I deliberately leaked information about my firm to finally rid myself of this tiresome work for the mafia bosses. I can simply claim that I'm being watched and can no longer handle their operations everything is falling into place perfectly.

I had countless projects I couldn't make time for, but now I'm finally free from the chains that were placed on me long ago.

What was I saying? Ah, yes, Green Arrow. I left a small opening for his hacker, and if I've assessed his skills correctly, he likely managed to access my computer remotely. A stack of files would have fallen into their hands specifically, financial transactions related to weapons purchases, complete with addresses, names, and all the details. If they handle it properly, the mafia will lose an entire arm of its operations and be significantly weakened.

Stepping out of the police station, I was finally able to breathe freely. The weight of the past few years bore down on me the shattered dreams, the unfulfilled desires. All of it had turned me into someone I never wanted to become. I once believed in human kindness and the drive to make the world a better place, but one mistake had erased it all.

Hailing a passing taxi with a wave, I climbed inside and gave the driver my home address. It was a modest apartment that any average middle-class worker could afford, perfectly aligned with my persona as an ordinary hardworking man.

Of course, I had a secret stash that no one knew about. It housed clean money, weapons, documents, and more. But for now, I couldn't even think about approaching it; I'd be under close surveillance for at least a week. After that, they'd have so much on their plates that I'd fade into the background. Then I'd make my move.

At last, the cab brought me home. Climbing the stairs, I finally sank into the couch and allowed myself a moment to relax. Naturally, I noticed the open window and knew I wasn't alone.

"You think you can escape the law, but you're wrong. I'll hunt you down for the rest of your days until you're behind bars," said Green Arrow, stepping out from the shadows. He was trying to intimidate me I knew it perfectly well. The voice, the dramatic emergence from the darkness, the calculated manner it was all part of his act.

"I'm clean before the law and before myself, and your actions look like sheer recklessness. You break into people's homes, violating multiple laws you claim to uphold. You're nothing but a hypocrite, imagining yourself a hero," I replied. I didn't particularly like him, but he was serving his purpose.

"Remember, you won't escape. Soon all your friends will be behind bars, and you'll follow right after them," he said before disappearing into the darkness again.

It seems my house is now bugged. Let them listen all they want; I have nothing to hide. Getting up from the couch, I headed to the kitchen since I hadn't eaten in quite some time. All those shootouts and time spent in underground stations had drained my energy.

Taking some ready-made meals out of the fridge, I started preparing a small dinner. It's a good thing my cooking has improved enough to be edible. Back in college dorms, I often suffered through the awful food that came from my own hands.

Yes, everything began back in college. How my life has changed... Looking at myself now, I realize I took the wrong turn somewhere. My hands are stained with blood. I really am not a good person I've committed many crimes. And no matter how much I justify my actions by saying I had no choice, the fact remains: I did those things.

Once I finished cooking, I sat down to devour my meal. How did it all come to this? I glanced out at the nighttime Star City, memories of everything that had happened flooding my mind.