Escorted by a sergeant from the East District Police Station, Allen stepped out into the cold morning air with a faint, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. The tension from inside the station seemed to evaporate the moment he crossed the threshold, as if the world itself bent subtly in his favor.
A long, black luxury sedan pulled up smoothly to the curb, its polished surface reflecting the pale light of the overcast sky. The rear door opened almost immediately, and a sharply dressed man and woman stepped out in perfect sync. Without wasting a second, they guided Allen into the back seat with quiet efficiency, their movements practiced and respectful, before the car pulled away from the station and melted into traffic.
"Thank you, Laura, for your help," Allen said as he settled into the leather seat, his voice relaxed and confident. His gaze shifted toward the driver, though his attention seemed to linger somewhere deeper, as if calculating invisible variables.
The man behind the wheel kept his eyes forward, his tone neutral and professional. "Ms. Laura hopes that Sir Allen can keep things calm for a while. There's… an unsettling presence growing in the East District."
Allen let out a soft chuckle, leaning back as the city blurred past the window beside him. "The Judge, huh? That guy's not ordinary. Dealing with him won't be easy, but nothing worth doing ever is." His eyes flicked toward the woman seated beside him, her expression unreadable, her posture rigid.
Even without looking directly at her, he could feel it—the faint, suffocating chill radiating from her presence. It wasn't just cold; it was pressure, the kind that pressed against the instincts of ordinary people and made their nerves scream. It was the unmistakable aura of someone… more than human.
Allen's smile deepened slightly. "Looks like luck's finally on my side."
The city outside rushed by in streaks of gray and neon, but his thoughts were elsewhere, calculating, anticipating, savoring what was to come.
Not long after, the sedan veered off the main road and came to a slow stop in front of an abandoned church. The building loomed in silence, its cracked windows and weathered stone giving it the appearance of something long forgotten by both time and people.
Allen stepped out first, adjusting his coat as he glanced up at the empty structure. A faint curl lifted at the corner of his mouth, as if he found something amusing in its decay.
Without warning, shadows dropped from the beams overhead.
One after another, figures clad in black landed silently on the ground, their movements fluid and controlled. Their presence filled the church in an instant, five men and women emerging from the darkness and assembling in front of Allen like specters answering a summons.
They bowed in unison, their heads lowered, their voices absent. The silence between them carried weight, the kind that spoke of discipline and absolute obedience.
Allen's expression turned sharp, all traces of casual ease gone. "Primary target is the woman," he said calmly, his voice echoing faintly through the hollow space. "After she's dealt with, eliminate the Judge if the opportunity presents itself. He's been stepping out of line for too long."
"Yes, sir."
Their response came in perfect synchronization, crisp and unquestioning. In the next moment, they vanished just as quickly as they had appeared, slipping through the church doors like shadows dissolving into the night.
The woman from the car followed closely behind them, her eyes glinting faintly as she disappeared into the darkness.
Allen remained behind, ascending to the second floor of the church with measured steps. From there, he looked out over the East District, the sprawling urban maze stretching endlessly beneath the dim sky. His eyes burned with ambition, a quiet fire that refused to be extinguished.
Every inch of this territory would belong to him. Anyone who stood in his way would be erased without hesitation.
…
"The Judge struck again. Heard he wiped out a group of kidnappers this time."
"Thirty-four dead, all criminals. That's what the paper says. Honestly? I kind of like it. Makes people think twice before doing anything stupid."
On a busy street filled with pedestrians and passing cars, conversations buzzed with excitement and unease. The latest issue of the Gotham East Daily had hit hard, splashing headlines about the Judge's latest actions across the city. Thirty-four deaths in a single night—enough to overshadow even Batman's recent activity in the district.
The bakery door swung open, and George stepped out with a piece of caterpillar bread in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other. He walked quickly, his pace steady, his expression unreadable as he listened to the chatter around him.
He didn't react. Not outwardly, at least.
Within minutes, he reached the police station and pushed through the doors without hesitation.
"Detective George, the captain wants to see you in his office."
"Got it."
His reply was short, his tone flat as he made his way down the hall. The sound of loud rock music spilled out from behind the office door, an odd contrast to the tension hanging in the air.
"Captain."
The volume dropped abruptly as the overweight middle-aged man behind the desk turned it down and stood up, a forced smile spreading across his face. He walked over, placing a hand on George's shoulder with a familiarity that felt almost rehearsed.
"George," he began, his voice lowering slightly, "orders just came down from above. The Central Precinct is taking over anything related to Allen Group. You're not to interfere anymore. No more digging, no more trouble. Understood?"
George held his gaze for a moment before giving a small nod. "Understood."
"Good. You can go."
Leon watched him leave, the smile fading from his face as the door closed behind him. There was something uneasy about the whole situation, something he couldn't quite put into words.
Back at his desk, George sat down slowly, staring at the files he had spent days piecing together. Every detail, every connection—it was all there, neatly organized on the screen in front of him.
Without hesitation, he selected everything.
Then he dragged it into the recycle bin.
A second later, he emptied it.
"Ouch—Detective George, what are you doing?" The officer beside him stared in disbelief, unable to process what he had just seen. "That's everything you've been working on!"
George's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile as he kept his tone steady. "Maybe… the East District needs a Judge."
Boom!
The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the moment. A bullet tore straight through the computer screen, sparks bursting from the impact as George reacted instantly. He grabbed the officer beside him and dragged him down behind the desk just as a storm of bullets erupted from outside.
Gunfire roared through the station, glass exploding inward as windows shattered under the assault. Officers barely had time to react before bodies began dropping, blood pooling across the floor in chaotic streaks.
"Fuck!"
George didn't hesitate. He drew his pistol, steadying himself behind cover as he peered out toward the street. A group of figures wearing various masks advanced slowly, their movements deliberate, their weapons spitting fire.
"These bastards…"
The submachine guns lit up the room with flashes of orange, bullets ripping through desks and walls alike. Surviving officers scrambled for cover, ducking behind anything they could find as the deafening exchange of gunfire escalated.
Then a rocket slammed into the office door.
The explosion tore it apart in an instant, flames bursting inward and filling the space with heat and smoke. The shockwave rattled everything, leaving ears ringing and vision blurred.
George clenched his jaw and leaned out from behind cover, firing with precision. Each shot was controlled, deliberate, cutting through the chaos as he began organizing a counterattack.
"Return fire! Keep them pinned!"
Under his command, the remaining officers rallied, pushing back despite the overwhelming assault. Bullets tore through the air in both directions, the police station turning into a battlefield within seconds.
Outside, civilians scattered in panic, screaming as they fled the area. No one dared to get close.
"They're from the Mask Club!" one officer shouted, his voice trembling with recognition.
"The Mask Club? They weren't even on Batman's radar recently—why are they here?" another officer yelled, his voice breaking under pressure.
George didn't answer. His focus remained sharp, his eyes scanning for openings as bullets whizzed past him. He leaned out again, firing once.
A clean shot.
The man in the cat mask dropped instantly.
Even with casualties mounting, the attackers showed no fear. They pressed forward relentlessly, as if death meant nothing to them. One officer after another fell, their numbers dwindling with every passing second.
George's gaze flicked toward the destroyed office. Smoke still poured out from the wreckage, but something stood out to him.
Only one rocket.
At least that was something.
"Who gave you the guts to provoke our Mask Club?!"
A figure wearing a golden monkey mask leapt forward, his voice cutting through the chaos with sharp authority. The sheer force behind his words made George's heart tighten slightly, a faint instinctual warning stirring deep within him.
George reacted instantly.
He leaned out and fired.
The bullet cut through the air in a perfect arc, aimed straight at the man's head.
But in the next moment, the impossible happened.
The man moved.
With a sudden burst of power, he leapt more than ten feet into the air, clearing the shot entirely and landing behind cover in a single fluid motion.
George's eyes narrowed.
That wasn't normal.
"That guy's a super-criminal!" the officer beside him shouted, his face pale with shock.
Panic spread quickly. The same officer fumbled for the landline phone nearby, dialing frantically with shaking hands. But as the call connected, his expression froze.
He was calling himself.
The realization hit too late.
Screams erupted across the station as something shifted in the atmosphere. George exchanged a quick glance with the black officer and the older detective nearby, all three of them understanding the same thing at once.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room, followed by a strange, unsettling laughter.
Aside from George, the other two men's faces drained of all color, their expressions collapsing into pure despair.
....
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