"Big news! Big news! The Judge has appeared in broad daylight and saved the East District Police!"
"The Chief of the East District Police, who was surrounded by super-criminals, was rescued by the very man he had been pursuing. Let's continue to explore the mystery behind the Judge's identity!"
The headlines spread like wildfire.
In the central district, where crowds flowed endlessly through the streets, black bat masks still hung in storefronts, and children dressed in cheap superhero costumes ran around laughing. But something had changed.
The giant screens that once looped footage of Batman's latest exploits now displayed a different figure.
A new symbol.
Under a dark robe, a black coat hung sharply against his frame. The mask was stained with blood, the only visible feature—his eyes—half-hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. He stood in the wreckage of the police station, surrounded by broken bodies, his gaze sweeping across trembling criminals.
That image.
That moment.
Captured perfectly by reporters who had rushed to the scene.
Inside the Central Police Station, phones rang without pause.
"Hello, ma'am—yes, how can I help you… what? You want the Judge's arrest warrant revoked? You're asking for a pardon? Are you serious?"
"Sir, please remain calm. The Judge's activity is currently limited to the East District. No, he's not targeting civilians. Why are you worried unless you've done something illegal?"
Officers exchanged glances as they answered call after call, their expressions caught somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion.
Inside the director's office, Gordon held a phone to his ear, his brows drawn tight.
"Boss?"
"One Batman was already enough of a headache," the voice on the other end said dryly. "Now there's a Judge too. What exactly is going on in the East District?"
Gordon exhaled slowly, glancing at the reports scattered across his desk. "Heavy casualties. The situation was worse than expected."
"Do you need reinforcements?"
"We're already stretched thin. You planning to send some from above?"
"They've already been deployed."
"…What?"
Gordon frowned deeply.
If not from Central, then where?
He didn't have time to dwell on it.
"What about Batman?" the voice continued, a hint of mockery creeping in. "He killed again, didn't he?"
Gordon's expression hardened instantly. "Batman doesn't kill. Not now, not ever."
The line went dead.
He lowered the phone slowly, his eyes falling onto the photo in his hand.
The Judge.
Back in the East District—
The police station had finally regained some semblance of order. Broken desks had been dragged aside, blood cleaned as best as possible, and the wounded treated.
George stood near a table, staring at a pile of scattered documents.
They had worked for hours to restore even this much.
"I'm here!"
A shout echoed from the entrance.
Every officer turned at once, eyes locking onto the newly repaired doorway.
Two figures stepped inside.
A man and a woman, both in uniform, their expressions cold and unreadable.
Behind them walked a bearded middle-aged man.
He didn't slow down.
Without a word, he grabbed a table, flipped it over, and let it crash to the floor. The sound echoed sharply through the room, making several officers flinch instinctively.
His gaze swept across the hall.
"Public safety?" he said, his voice deep and heavy. "Crime control? What a joke."
Silence.
"A police station—breached by criminals." His tone grew colder. "That's the biggest disgrace I've seen in over thirty years of service."
No one spoke.
Most couldn't even meet his eyes.
He walked straight toward George.
Then he extended his hand.
"Detective George."
George hesitated for a fraction of a second before reaching out and shaking it. "Sir."
From the side, the black officer stared in disbelief.
"Leon…" the man continued, his voice sharpening with anger. "If those criminals hadn't killed him, I would've dragged him to military court myself. Corruption. Bribery. Collusion with gangs."
His jaw tightened.
"He got what he deserved."
The words hung heavily in the air.
Then his tone shifted.
"I've read your file," he said, looking directly at George. "You're the only detective in this place I recognize as competent."
The room stirred.
"You did good," he continued. "I expect we'll work well together. This district needs order again."
"Yes, sir."
The surrounding officers exchanged stunned looks, unable to process how quickly everything had changed.
The man turned and walked toward the office.
Inside, he glanced at the newly installed equipment, a hint of satisfaction crossing his face. Before he could settle in, a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in."
The two officers from earlier entered, standing straight, their expressions unchanged.
"Sir," the woman said, her voice calm. "When do we begin operations?"
The man leaned back slightly, reaching for a file placed neatly beside him.
The Judge's file.
He flipped it open, scanning through the details, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"This one's different," he said quietly. "In some ways… more troublesome than Batman."
His gaze lingered on the photos.
On the corpses.
On the patterns of death.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
Elsewhere—
Inside the Allen Group's executive office, Allen stood in front of a wide desk, a brown file open before him.
The Talon Archives.
Rows of names, redacted sections, classified notes.
His fingers paused on one particular entry.
Alan Grayson.
For the first time in a long while, uncertainty crept into his expression.
The Mask Club's assault had not gone as planned.
Not even close.
They had deployed a super-criminal.
And he had been killed.
Not just defeated—crushed.
The impact of that single event rippled far beyond the surface. The public was shaken, but the underground world was in chaos.
For the first time—
Doubt.
Even the organization backing him had grown cautious. Too many operatives were already tied up elsewhere—assassinations, surveillance, tracking Batman. Resources were stretched thin.
And now—
The Judge.
Allen closed the file slowly.
He walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the East District below. People moved through the streets again, talking, laughing, as if nothing had happened.
His hand lifted.
He made a slow, grasping motion.
His expression darkened.
A phone rang behind him.
He didn't turn.
"Cancel some operations," he said calmly. "Including the one targeting the woman."
At that same moment—
Crowds gathered inside the largest exhibition hall in the East District.
Art displays lined the walls, glass cases showcasing intricate works under soft lighting. Visitors moved through the space in steady streams, murmuring in appreciation.
On the second floor, the bald curator watched with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with the turnout.
Then—
A ripple passed through the crowd.
Heads turned.
A woman entered.
She wore a black trench coat, her presence sharp, striking. Conversations faltered as eyes followed her, admiration and curiosity spreading through the hall.
Even the curator found himself staring.
A man in a tuxedo stepped forward, adjusting his posture, his expression carefully refined.
"My dear lady," he said smoothly, offering a polite bow. "What exhibit would you like to see?"
....
Join my exclusive P@treon community for 60+ thrilling chapters!
Link: pa*treon.com/MidnightWonder (Remove the *)
If you join now you will get 2 Chapters for free as well.
Don't miss out, join now!