Chapter 302: Greed

Nolan leaned back in his chair and allowed himself a moment of quiet, his gaze fixed on the ceiling while his fingers drummed idly against the armrest, unease eating at his mind.

Progress had a peculiar way of disguising recklessness. Every successful venture had made the next one seem a little less dangerous, every enemy outmaneuvered had encouraged them to reach a little further, and every new opportunity had become another reason to expand. Nolan had warned his other personalities about this very thing on more than one occasion. They needed patience.

They needed to consolidate what they already controlled instead of reaching for everything within arm’s length. Building an empire attracted attention, and attention brought enemies. There was only so much pressure the Underpass could withstand before the weight of its own success began to crush it.

Somewhere along the way, however, they had stopped listening to their own advice.

It was difficult to blame them entirely. The results had been intoxicating. The Continental was growing, their influence was spreading beyond Gotham, and the Underpass was becoming something far more formidable than the loose network of survivors and street-level operators Nolan had originally imagined. They had secured new allies, established new routes, opened legitimate businesses, and begun laying the foundations for systems that could survive even if their enemies managed to dismantle individual pieces. Each victory had brought the promise of another, and the satisfaction of watching their plans come together had proved almost addictive. Success had a way of making ambition feel like good judgment.

Nolan rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled slowly. They had built something remarkable, but they had also made themselves impossible to ignore. Both the justice league and the light will soon find themselves with idle time and turn their attention away from one another.

And the Underpass had been busy giving both of them reasons to pay attention.

"Well, fuck."

The words escaped into the empty room. Nolan let his head fall back against the chair and closed his eyes, wondering how many more opportunities they could seize before the bill finally came due.

He suspected the answer was going to be unpleasant.

****

Six hours earlier, Nolan had been standing in the middle of a recently renovated boxing gym, admiring the results of his latest investment while trying not to think about the man tied up in the men’s locker room.

The building had belonged to Abel Cortez, an old boxing coach whose establishment had fallen on hard times before Nolan purchased it.

The place had needed considerable work, but the bones were sound, and Nolan had been determined to preserve its original purpose rather than turn it into another sterile fitness center catering to people who considered breaking a sweat an unfortunate side effect of maintaining their appearance.

The renovations were coming along nicely. New weights occupied the racks along one wall, heavy punching bags hung from reinforced supports, and several modern training machines had been installed without stripping away the character of the old gym. The boxing ring had been repaired, its ropes replaced and its canvas cleaned, while the floor around it had been reinforced to withstand the sort of punishment that came with regular use. Fresh paint and better lighting had brightened the place considerably, but the scuffed brickwork and worn wooden benches remained. Nolan wanted people to recognize it as a boxing gym the moment they stepped through the door, not mistake it for an expensive showroom full of equipment nobody knew how to use.

He had plans for the place beyond making it profitable. A gym could provide structure for people who had spent years surviving without any, give young men and women somewhere to direct their anger, and offer a legitimate reason for members of the Underpass to gather without attracting the wrong sort of attention.

With proper trainers and a sensible schedule, it might even become one of the more useful investments he had made in Gotham. He could already imagine Brock complaining about the quality of the weights while quietly spending half his free time there, and Vey would undoubtedly find a dozen faults with the equipment before deciding it was adequate. For the moment, though, the gym had another function.

The prisoner in the men’s locker room was the reason Nolan had come back in person.

Incognito, the shapeshifter who had attempted to assassinate Randall Jeffries Jr., had been a useful source of information. More importantly, he had been useful bait.

The Assassination Bureau had not sent a lone operative to kill a prominent businessman at a crowded gala without arranging contingencies, and Nolan had been unwilling to believe that capturing one of its agents would be enough to make the rest of the organization disappear.

Someone had commissioned the contract, someone had provided the intelligence, and someone had expected Incognito and his partner to complete the job and leave without drawing attention. That someone might have been careful enough to abandon the operation once it failed, but Nolan had been willing to gamble that the Bureau would want to know what had happened to its missing personnel.

The gamble had paid off.

After securing Incognito, Nolan’s people had made certain that word of the capture reached the right ears. The information had been handled carefully, with enough truth to establish that the assassin was alive and in their custody, but not enough to reveal where he was being held or how much he had already disclosed.

They had also made it clear that Incognito was available to be recovered, provided the people interested in him were willing to make the attempt themselves. It was an invitation designed to appeal to professional instincts: retrieve a compromised operative, eliminate a potential liability, and prevent an outside organization from extracting the Bureau’s secrets. Nolan had no intention of allowing the response team to walk into the building and take their colleague home, but he wanted to see who they sent, how they approached the problem, and what capabilities they brought with them.

He had expected one or two operatives. Instead, he had received confirmation that two additional metahumans were on their way.

Mindboggler and Stratos.

The names had come from Incognito himself, though he had known little about their immediate plans. Mindboggler was the more troubling of the pair, a mental manipulator whose abilities could compromise a target’s perceptions and potentially turn a carefully arranged security operation into a confused mess. Stratos was less familiar to Nolan, but the Bureau’s decision to deploy a second metahuman suggested that they considered the recovery important enough to justify the additional risk. Nolan had no interest in discovering the full extent of either operative’s abilities by allowing them to dictate the terms of the encounter. He had spent too long dealing with people who possessed powers capable of turning an ordinary mistake into a catastrophe.

So he had prepared accordingly. The gym’s renovation had provided a convenient excuse for a limited number of people to be on-site, and the building’s ordinary appearance made it less conspicuous than one of the Underpass’s established safe houses. His security team had been briefed, the surrounding entrances monitored, and the immediate area cleared of anyone who did not need to be present. The plan was simple in principle, though Nolan knew better than to mistake simplicity for certainty. Incognito would draw the Bureau’s people into the building, the team would allow them to commit to the recovery, and then they would close the exits before the visitors could turn the situation to their advantage. Against metahumans, there were always too many variables to account for everything. The best Nolan could do was control the circumstances in which those variables appeared.

He had also made sure the men and women assigned to the operation understood that capturing their targets alive was preferable. Nolan wanted information, and dead operatives were notoriously poor at answering questions. That did not mean he expected anyone to be gentle if the situation deteriorated. A person capable of bending minds or manipulating the atmosphere around them could be extraordinarily dangerous in close quarters, and he would not sacrifice his people to preserve the comfort of someone who had come prepared to kill them.

The first sign that the trap had been sprung was not an alarm or a shouted warning, but the abrupt silence that settled over the gym’s rear corridor. Nolan had been inspecting a set of newly installed machines when Brock appeared at the doorway and gave him a brief nod.

"They’re here," Brock said.

Good. Nolan blinked and Vey appeared, he wasn’t dressed in a suit this time but instead simple clothes just like his men.

He walked to the side of the gym and concentrated. He heard the wind raging outside likely from stratos the third meta human of the assassination trio. According to incognito he has the ability to manipulate the weather.

Vey glanced toward the front entrance. "Mindboggler first, Stratos outside. They want us looking in two directions."

Brock frowned. "You think she’s going to try to control the men?"

"I think she’s already doing it."

The front door opened.

Mindboggler walked into the gym as casually as a woman arriving for an evening workout. She wore a dark jacket over athletic clothes, her hands empty and her posture relaxed. She didn’t look toward the men stationed beside the entrance, nor did she need to. They stepped aside for her without a word, their faces slack with the quiet obedience of people who believed they were acting of their own free will. One of them even closed the door behind her before returning to his position, leaving Mindboggler free to survey the room.

Vey watched her take in the boxing ring, the weights, and the heavy bags suspended from their reinforced beams. Her gaze passed over the Underpass men without hesitation, and a faint smile touched her lips when none of them challenged her. They had their orders, their training, and enough experience to recognize a threat, yet every one of them remained still. Their minds had been nudged aside, their judgment smothered beneath whatever influence she was exerting. To them, she was someone who belonged there, someone who had every right to walk through the gym unchallenged.

Mindboggler’s eyes settled on Vey.

He was the only man in the room who hadn’t reacted to her arrival, and that seemed to interest her. She tilted her head slightly, examining him with the measured curiosity of a professional encountering an unexpected complication. "You must be the one in charge," she said. "I’m here for our colleague. I’m sure we can make this simple."

Vey didn’t answer immediately. He watched the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her attention shifted between him and the men standing along the walls, and the confidence with which she had walked into an unfamiliar building. She hadn’t come expecting a fight. She’d come expecting the fight to have been removed from the equation before she ever reached the prisoner. That was the trouble with abilities like hers. The more often they worked, the easier it became to mistake a lack of resistance for a lack of opposition.

"Incognito’s not going anywhere," Vey said. "You can leave."

Mindboggler smiled. "I don’t think you understand your position."

"No," he replied. "I think you don’t understand yours."

She tightened her focus.

The change was subtle but immediate. One of the men near the ring shifted his weight, his hand moving toward the weapon at his belt. Another turned toward Vey with a hardening expression, as though some quiet offense had suddenly become intolerable. Mindboggler was trying to turn the room against him, redirecting the Underpass men’s loyalty and judgment until Vey stood alone among people who had been his allies moments earlier. She was confident enough to do it in front of him, perhaps assuming that he would be too occupied defending himself to interfere with her hold over the others.

Vey moved before she could finish.

He crossed the distance between them in two quick strides and struck her across the jaw with the heel of his palm. The blow snapped her head sideways and shattered her concentration. Her control over the room vanished in an instant, releasing the men from the invisible pressure that had clouded their minds. Several staggered as their awareness returned; one swore, looking around in confusion, while another immediately reached for his weapon before recognizing the woman standing in front of Vey.

Mindboggler stumbled into the edge of a weight bench, one hand flying to her jaw. Surprise replaced her composure. She had expected resistance, perhaps, but not someone willing to close the distance before she could finish taking control.

Vey caught her wrist when she tried to recover and twisted her arm behind her back. She drove an elbow toward his ribs, but he turned with the movement, used her momentum to take her off balance, and forced her down onto the padded floor. A knee between her shoulder blades and a firm grip on her arm were enough to keep her there. He didn’t strike her again. There was no reason to. Her ability depended on concentration, and he’d already learned what happened when that concentration broke.

"Restrain her," he ordered.

Two of his men moved in. Mindboggler struggled once, sharply, but Vey tightened his hold until she stopped. The restraints went on quickly, securing her wrists behind her back before she could attempt another trick. Vey rose and stepped away, keeping his attention on the windows rather than the woman now cursing at his men.

The wind outside howled louder.

"Down!" Vey shouted.

The windows exploded inward.

Glass burst across the gym as a violent gust tore through the building, sending loose equipment rattling and punching a heavy bag sideways on its chains. The men nearest the windows threw themselves to the floor. A metal stool skidded across the concrete, and a shower of glass scattered over the boxing ring. Through the broken frames, Vey caught sight of Stratos standing outside in the storm, his arms raised as the air twisted around him. The man had chosen spectacle over subtlety, perhaps believing that a sufficiently violent entrance would give him the advantage.

It would have been more impressive if he hadn’t announced himself with a storm.

Stratos thrust both hands forward. The wind surged through the shattered windows, sweeping loose debris across the room and driving several of the Underpass men back behind the weight racks. He stepped toward the opening, apparently preparing to ride the turbulence into the gym, confident that Mindboggler had already neutralized any organized resistance inside.

Vey seized a loose training towel from the nearest bench and hurled it toward Stratos’s face. It was a small gesture, almost absurd against the force of the wind, but the sudden movement drew the metahuman’s attention for the fraction of a second Vey needed. He grabbed the nearest heavy bag and swung it hard toward the broken window. The bag slammed against the frame, forcing Stratos to recoil as the chain scraped violently overhead.

"Now!"

Brock and another Underpass man rushed the opening from either side. Stratos tried to pull the wind inward again, but his footing slipped on the wet concrete beneath the window. Brock caught him around the torso while the second man seized his arm, and together they dragged him off balance and hauled him through the broken frame. Stratos hit the floor hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He tried to rise, but Vey was already there, planting a boot beside his shoulder and forcing him back down while Brock wrenched his arms behind him.

The storm faltered.

Outside, the wind continued to howl through the street, but its violence no longer seemed directed at the gym. Loose paper fluttered across the floor, and the heavy bags gradually settled into stillness. Stratos fought against the restraints for several seconds before realizing he had no leverage. Vey crouched beside him, caught his wrist, and secured the final restraint himself.

"That’s enough," Vey said quietly. "You lost."

Stratos glared up at him, breathing hard. "You have no idea who you’re interfering with."

"I’ve heard that before."

Vey stood and looked around the gym. One of the windows was ruined, glass covered the floor near the entrance, and a few pieces of equipment had been knocked out of place. It was an irritating amount of damage, but nothing they couldn’t repair. More importantly, the encounter had lasted less than a minute once the fighting began. Mindboggler had been neutralized before she could turn his people against one another, and Stratos had been brought inside before he could use the storm to do anything worse than break a few windows.

Brock hauled Stratos upright while two men helped Mindboggler to her feet. Both metahumans were restrained, conscious, and thoroughly displeased with their circumstances. Vey studied them briefly, looking for any sign that either intended to make another attempt, then turned toward the corridor leading to the locker room.

"Take them to the others," he ordered. "Keep them apart, search them properly, and don’t let either of them speak to Incognito. I want everyone accounted for before we start asking questions."

One of his men glanced at the broken windows. "What about the damage?"

Vey looked at the scattered glass, then back at the three captured operatives. "I have insurance."

He left the men to secure the prisoners and walked toward the office as his phone rang, "Speak."

"It’s Amanda." The voice on the other end of the line said

"I know I have called ID what is it?" Vey replied watching as the prisoners where tied securely

"The arrow is here, he has agreed to your deal." She said he could hear the faint tremor of nervousness in her tone

"Don’t mind him it’s a power play and scare tactic. We need to switch to a secure line if he doesn’t want to come here in person." He motioned to Brock to bag Mindboggler in case he’d abilities were ocular focused

"Yes sir, I’ll call you back." She said and hung up

Vey waited as he switched his phone, "Arrow." He said picking up the phone on the first ring

Veys smile softened into a sly smirk, "So you agreed to my terms?" Kieran asked laughing lightly

"We have, one meeting is all you get." The arrow replied gruffly

"Okay okay, then this is all you get. The light doesn’t care about the reach’s invasion it was never meant to succeed. The whole thing from the trial off planet to the invasion is a smoke screen for the members to further their goals."

"And what are there goals?" Arrow asked interest clearly piqued

"Hmm." Kieran smirked, "For one meeting, how about one goal. Lex Luthor will use the invasion to launch his political career and become Secretary-General." Of course he had no idea about any other agenda because...

He truly had no fucking clue.

"Well that’s all from me hold your end of the bargain and don’t touch Amanda." His voice dropped to a dangerously cold level as he hung up

The only way the arrow could have gotten to Amanda and she still be in her office was if she allowed it.

Clever she even added fear into her voice, his pick was becoming better by the minute. Quickly Kieran let greed seize his soul and dial another number.

"Ra’s! How about cutting a deal my friend." He beamed

Greed was such a silly little thing.

—

A/N: I think I need to rewatch young justice I keep forgetting things.