Broken(DC)

POV Oswald Cobblepot

Damn Court of Owls! I thought they'd keep quiet and stay out of my business. Tch! Distant aristocrats with not a shred of honor they couldn't even keep their word. We had a deal: I stay out of their affairs, and they stop meddling in mine. But it seems they've hatched some scheme to get rid of me after all. Not that I had any doubts. I may not have direct evidence against them, but I can feel their influence, their manipulations. Some escaped experiment managed to pull off such a mess? Nonsense. It's clear they brainwashed him and set him on his path. If there's one thing those bastards love, it's experimenting on people.

They want a new war with the Penguin? They'll get it. I had planned to step back quietly, to hand over control but they've insulted me unforgivably. It's time to put an end to this.

My car crawled toward Arkham, where the old chain-link fence was long gone, replaced by towering concrete walls an impenetrable barrier. Patrols scoured the perimeter, monitoring every potential escape point.

A man opened the car door and unfolded an umbrella to shield me from the pouring rain. Stepping inside the building, now transformed, I took in the changes. The place resembled a true fortress. I couldn't afford to repeat past mistakes, so I had invested heavily in modernization. This was no longer just a prison it was a bastion. Not only did I intend for this place to contain inmates, but it also served another, more unique purpose.

I descended into the basement levels, where armed guards stood watch. They recognized me immediately, entered a code on the door, and allowed me through to the laboratory. Standing by a console of screens, hands clasped behind his back, was Hugo Strange the chief psychopath. Still, he was useful to me, which is why he was here and not locked away like the others. As they say, madness and genius are two sides of the same coin.

"How's our plan progressing?" I asked coldly as I approached.

"Mr. Cobblepot, what an honor to have you here. I'm flattered," Strange replied, turning toward me and adjusting his glasses, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "The project is excellent, and I believe it holds immense promise."

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"Venom is a remarkable thing. They have their immortal creatures, but we have our own super-strong monsters," Strange said with pride. He knew about the Court of Owls and, like the madman he was, wanted to prove whose experiments would triumph.

"I don't need an army of mindless brutes," I interrupted, quelling his frenzied enthusiasm. "I need only Bane and his loyalty."

My gaze shifted to the screen displaying Bane's body, connected to an array of tubes and wires.

"Of course, of course, everything will be in perfect order. But don't forget your promise to fund my experiments," Strange added with a sly smile, clearly reminding me of our agreement.

"Are you doubting my word? The word of the Penguin?" I snapped, raising my voice as I pointed my cane at him. No one in this world dared question my word those who did met a swift end.

"Don't forget, I support your madness for one reason only," a voice echoed from the far side of the room, and Victor Fries stepped into view. I had recruited him when he sought to destroy the corporation manufacturing cryo-chambers. In exchange for funding his pursuits, he served me.

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"Tsk, don't forget what I've done for you," I reminded him, my gaze sharp. Weakness in front of subordinates was unacceptable. They understood only the language of strength.

"I understand," Victor replied. "We've managed to enhance Bane's regeneration exponentially. Once the Venom enters his bloodstream, he'll be practically immortal."

"How long until he's under my control?" I asked Strange. Victor was a genius when it came to the body, but Strange specialized in the mind.

"A week. I'll need just one week," Strange answered, his confidence unshaken.

"Good. I'll check in on your progress and prepare everything for the decisive moment," I said, satisfied, as I made my way toward the exit.

Soon, everything would change. Very soon. I would no longer glance over my shoulder, fearing betrayal. No now I would become the apex predator in this ocean.

******************

Charles McNider

Turning off the television, I let out a heavy sigh. Rising from the couch, I slipped on my slippers with difficulty and slowly, step by step, made my way to the kitchen. My hands trembled slightly as I brought the cup to the coffee maker. Old age was making itself known. Perhaps of all my former comrades, only Walter is still running around in his cape and ridiculous mask, saving people.

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The world has forgotten the old heroes, and yet we achieved so much in those days. Time slips away, and fewer and fewer people remember the years gone by. Nowadays, heroes like Superman are famous worldwide, their exploits broadcast on countless videos across the internet. As for us, we're seen as fictional characters from old comic books once popular, now forgotten.

Sitting at the table with difficulty, I took a slow sip of coffee. It's a shame I can no longer pursue my favorite work saving lives as a surgeon. My hands began to shake, and one day I made a mistake during surgery that cost a patient their life. After that, I retired. Fifty years I practiced surgery, and now I'm old. Time flies. Now I spend my final days in this old apartment, alone.

"Yes, life can be unpredictable," I said aloud.

"I quite agree, Mr. McNider," came a voice from the living room. I recognized it instantly. It was Alfred Pennyworth. It had been a long time since I'd seen him.

"An unexpected guest. It's been a while. I take it a locked door didn't stop you?" I smirked.

"No, but unfortunately, this isn't just a friendly visit. The matter is serious," Alfred said, stepping closer.

"I've long since stepped away from practice," I replied, fully understanding why he was here.

"I know. But I have no one else to turn to. This is a matter of life and death. I'll pay handsomely," Alfred said, hopeful.

"It's not about money, Alfred. I can't operate anymore," I said, extending my hand to show the faint tremor. "I'm too old."

"I understand. Forgive me for troubling you," Alfred replied, turning away in disappointment and heading for the door.

"Maybe you could tell me more? I can recommend a few doctors who might help," I offered, trying to assist in some way.

"That would be helpful," Alfred said, returning to sit across from me. "It's a spinal fracture. An experimental procedure was performed for temporary recovery. But now paralysis is threatening to return. Everything must be done to restore him fully otherwise, it will be the end," Alfred explained.

I froze. Spinal surgery one of the most complex and dangerous procedures. Very few surgeons can handle such a task. Judging by Alfred's words, the situation was nearly impossible. I knew that specialists like me were incredibly rare, if any still existed at all. But the problem was, I couldn't do it anymore.

"I'm afraid my prognosis is grim," I said.

"Please, just take a look," Alfred pleaded. It wouldn't hurt to at least make a diagnosis.

Several hours later…

"I've never seen anything like this," I said, examining the back with its metallic implant. The tissues had grown around the broken bones in an astonishing way. The nerve endings were beginning to regenerate, trying to reconnect with the legs, but the implant was blocking the process. I had only seen something similar once, with a boy named Brian but his abilities had vanished. "It's not as bad as it could have been, but there are new complications. I'll need to remove this implant, break the newly-formed cartilage, and piece together what's left of the spine to attempt a full restoration. It'll be incredibly difficult, but it's possible. I have to admit, I've lost my old skills. I won't be able to perform the surgery myself," I added.

"Thank you for the hope, but I cannot disclose any information about my injury. It must remain a secret," Mr. Wayne said. Such misfortune to break his back at such a young age. Hmm. Strange. His body was clearly conditioned for combat; he'd fought often. His physique, his posture these were rare qualities. And something told me he was Batman. It seemed the rumors that Bane had broken Batman's back were at least partially true. Even the implant bore a resemblance to the components of Batman's suit.

"I'll try to perform the surgery, but I can't promise anything," I said, fully aware of the gravity of the task.

"That's all we're asking for," Alfred replied gratefully.

*******************

POV Brian Forman

For the past two days, I hadn't slept a wink, running all over the city, constantly saving lives and preventing countless crimes. All of this was a result of someone almost blowing up Penguin. If he had actually died, I dread to imagine the chaos that would have followed. History has taught us through the mistakes of past generations.

The government decided to launch an operation while I was caught in the flow of time. They resolved to cut off drug supplies at the source Mexico. The operation was supposed to dismantle the entire cartel power structure, and at first, it seemed to be working. The leaders were taken out, which could have been considered a massive victory, but the situation spiraled out of control. With no central leadership, a mass power struggle broke out, and the murder rate skyrocketed. Not a minute passed without someone's death. The horrors unfolding on the streets were indescribable, as if hell had descended upon earth.

Gotham now reminds me of that situation high crime rates but one ruling king. And many are eager for his death. If I had just shot Penguin in the head, it would have unleashed a full-blown war.

My plan had drastically changed since arriving in the city. I needed to find common ground with the current mayor and figure out who was behind Bane and the attempt on Penguin's life. I think I've found a lead. I was flipping through the pages of an old book on Gotham's history it was filled with many legends. Some shrouded in mysticism and secrets, others rooted in reality.

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Beware the Court of Owls, that watches Gotham from the shadows, behind layers of stone and lime.

They watch you always, at work or in love, whisper not of them, or lose your head.

In some paintings and rhymes, their secrets are hidden still.

"A nursery rhyme," I muttered aloud, staring at the pages of the book. At first glance, just a scary story, but it seemed like there was something more to it. Setting the book aside, I turned to a collection of newspaper clippings about mysterious incidents in Gotham.

"Businessman Sullivan Grad was found dead in his office. His throat was torn as if a beast had clawed into him," I read from one article. Interestingly, Sullivan had been a successful entrepreneur who owned a factory. I quickly found information online: his enterprise now belonged to the Westler family, one of Gotham's wealthiest, owning numerous industrial properties.

Looking through more newspaper clippings, I noticed several other deaths of influential factory owners whose businesses now belonged to this same family. "This is no coincidence," I said aloud, studying the headlines closely. "They've been killing to seize control of these enterprises, growing richer in the process."

"Researching conspiracy theories?" a woman's voice said behind me. I turned to see Barbara standing there, smiling slightly.

"Conspiracy theories?" I repeated, not fully understanding.

"Yes, about a secret society that rules Gotham from the shadows and eliminates anyone who gets in their way," she replied, with a slightly mocking tone, as if telling a spooky story for fun. Perhaps someone uncovered the truth, but no one believed them.

"Do you think it's just a myth?" I asked, trying to gauge how much she believed in it.

"People love coming up with different theories,"Barbara said with a shrug.

"Maybe. But every legend has a kernel of truth; they don't appear out of nowhere," I responded thoughtfully.

"Agreed, but not to this extent. It all sounds too absurd," Barbara said, though I started to think that this "absurd" theory might actually be close to the truth.

"I see you know Gotham's legends well. Care to share more?" I asked, deciding to dive deeper into the topic.

"Sure, I enjoy reading in my free time; I can tell you about it," Barbara said with a smile, slightly adjusting her hair. It all began with the founding of Gotham. People hungry for power decided to control the city by creating a secret society that became known as the Court of Owls. Their influence gradually spread to every corner of the city, and their power grew stronger. Those who opposed them were quickly eliminated.

Barbara told me about many myths and legends tied to the Court of Owls. I just watched her eyes with fascination, a warm feeling in my chest.

"Quite the legend," Barbara concluded.

"Very interesting," I said, hanging on her every word. "I never suspected such a thing, even though I was born in Gotham."

"Most people don't know, considering it all a fabrication or the ravings of lunatics. And Gotham has no shortage of psychopaths," Barbara replied with a slight smile.

"May I call you by your first name?" I asked.

"Of course," she nodded affirmatively.

"Barbara, why did you decide to approach and start a conversation? We barely know each other and have only met once."

She blushed slightly before replying.

"Well, at first, I thought you were following me. When you entered the library, I even considered using my taser on you," she admitted, smiling slightly. "But then I noticed how engrossed you were in that book, and I got curious about what you were doing."

"Cautiousness is commendable," I remarked. "Your father must have taught you how to fight."

"Yes, he was a great dad. But he had less time for the family when he became commissioner," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"He's doing important work. I believe your father is a true hero," I said. Growing up, I had heard many stories about James Gordon and his deeds. He was a hero without a mask or costume.

"I'm proud of him, but I wish he didn't put himself at such risk and spent more time at home. Still, I know how important he is to the city," Barbara admitted.

"Things will change soon," I said quietly, as if sensing something.

"How do you know?" she asked, looking me straight in the eyes. Her gaze was so piercing that I couldn't look away. I stared back, wondering if I had really fallen for her this much.

"Let's just say I'm a prophet," I replied with a slight smirk.

"I hope you're right. Well, I have to go. Bye!" Barbara said, waving as she left. I watched her until she disappeared through the door.

"Ah, youth. A time for love and feelings. You missed your moment. You should've asked her out," came a voice from behind me. I recognized it instantly it was Probability.

He was sitting at the table, flipping through the book I had been reading just moments ago.

"What are you doing here?" I asked irritably.

"Can't I visit my friend?" he replied with a smirk.

"Friend? Hardly. You're a dubious character. Anything can be expected from you," I said, narrowing my eyes.

"That could be said about you, not me," he responded calmly." I simply live by the lines of fate, unlike you. You are instability, unpredictability, chaos."

"Enough riddles," I said, clenching my fists.

"You've noticed, haven't you? How you're always a few minutes late?" he continued. "You're no longer synchronized with fate or its streams. You've become something separate, something that doesn't follow the natural course of events but can easily alter history."

"So what? Why are you telling me this? What do you want?" I asked, growing angrier.

"Nothing. Just wanted to warn you," he said, snapping his fingers before his silhouette dissolved into thin air.

Walking over to the window, I looked down at the city streets. Things are becoming far more complicated than they seemed before.