Chapter 303: Money money money

"I gave you this number because I assumed you might want to discuss business again. From your tone, I gather you’re still quite content to let the negotiations over the Continental stagnate."

Ra’s al Ghul sounded distinctly displeased. Kieran could practically picture the man on the other end of the line, sitting in some lavish room surrounded by his devoted followers, listening to a man he considered an inferior negotiate from a position he had no business occupying.

The thought brought a small smile to Kieran’s face. Ra’s was accustomed to people seeking his approval, not people making him wait for it.

"Now, that isn’t fair," Kieran replied, settling comfortably against the boxing ring. "This call is entirely about business. Just not Continental business. I have some information you might find interesting."

The line went quiet. Kieran allowed the silence to linger, resisting the temptation to fill it. Ra’s was a patient man when patience served him, but he disliked being kept in the dark. Eventually, he spoke.

"What is it?"

Kieran’s smile widened. "Information concerning the Justice League. And I’m willing to wager it could be worth quite a lot."

"We know more about the Justice League than you do, Kieran. This is a waste of a telephone call."

Kieran tutted softly. "No, I don’t think so. I know something you don’t. Something pertaining to your little group of friends."

There was another pause, though this one felt different. Ra’s had not dismissed him outright, and Kieran suspected the old assassin was already considering the implications. The League of Assassins had its own intelligence network, and the Light was hardly lacking in resources, but neither guaranteed that Ra’s knew everything happening within his own organization. Information had value precisely because it was unevenly distributed.

"I see," Ra’s said at last. "What do you want for it?"

Kieran leaned back and considered the question. There were several things he could ask for, but most came with strings attached.

Training for the Underpass, for instance, would be useful. The League possessed generations of combat knowledge, and access to its instructors could turn some of his people into considerably more capable operatives. Unfortunately, such an arrangement would give Ra’s exactly what he wanted: an excuse to place his people inside the Continental, establish relationships with its staff, and gradually expand his influence over the organization. The same problem applied to weapons, intelligence, and access to League resources. Every favor would become an opportunity for infiltration.

What could he ask for that Ra’s couldn’t easily turn into leverage?

"Money will always do the trick," Kieran replied.

There was a brief silence before Ra’s chuckled. "How much do you want?"

"Now we’re getting somewhere."

The negotiation that followed was surprisingly civil, considering the personalities involved. Kieran named his price, Ra’s countered, and the two spent several minutes exchanging figures and justifications. Neither man particularly cared about pretending the transaction was anything other than what it was. Ra’s wanted information, and Kieran wanted to be compensated for providing it. There was no need to dress it up as an alliance or pretend either party was doing the other a favor.

Eventually, Kieran’s phone vibrated against his thigh He glanced at the message from Marcy, who confirmed that the agreed funds had arrived and were already being transferred through the appropriate accounts. He waited another moment, making sure the confirmation was complete before returning his attention to the call.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Ra’s. Are you ready for the information?"

"Just get on with it."

Kieran allowed himself a final, satisfied grin. "The Justice League knows you’re using the reach to propel Lex Luthor into government. I thought you might like to know."

Silence.

It was brief, but Kieran appreciated it all the same. He could almost hear the gears turning in Ra’s mind as he considered what the revelation meant, how the League had discovered the arrangement, and whether the information had already reached anyone else. There were undoubtedly questions he wanted answered. Who had told them? How much did they know? Had they identified the other participants? And, perhaps most importantly, what did they intend to do about it?

Kieran wasn’t particularly interested in answering any of those questions.

"I hope we speak again soon," he said pleasantly.

Then he ended the call.

He set the phone on the desk and regarded it for a moment, amused by the thought of Ra’s having to sit with that information. He had sold the old man a single fact, but the consequences of it would likely be considerably more expensive. The Light did not tolerate surprises, and Ra’s was not a man who enjoyed discovering that his plans had become visible to his enemies. Whether he would appreciate Kieran’s warning or resent being the recipient of it remained to be seen.

The smile slowly faded from Kieran’s face.

There was still work to do.

Quentin took control immediately. His posture changed, the easy elegance Kieran had maintained giving way to something more rugged and lethal. He rose from the chair, straightened his sleeves, and walked toward the group of prisoners secured along the far side of the room.

Incognito sat with his hands bound, his eyes turned vaguely in Quentin’s direction. Mindboggler and Stratos were restrained a short distance away, both looking considerably worse for wear after their failed recovery attempt. Their arrival had confirmed what Quentin suspected: the Assassination Bureau was willing to sacrifice operatives to protect its interests, and the three people sitting in front of him were beginning to understand exactly how expendable they might be.

Quentin pulled a chair across the floor and sat down in front of them. He crossed one leg over the other before motioning to Brock.

"Lift her hood."

Brock stepped forward and pulled the dark covering away from Mindboggler’s head. She blinked against the light, her expression immediately hardening when she realized who was sitting across from her. Quentin studied her for a moment, then shifted his attention toward Incognito.

"You’d be dead, you know?"

The assassin remained still.

"Does it look to you like Mindboggler and Stratos came here to take you home?" Quentin continued. "They came to retrieve you, certainly, but I doubt their instructions included bringing you back alive. You failed to complete your assignment, your identity was compromised, and you were captured by people who have already started asking questions. As far as the Bureau is concerned, you’re a liability. They sent your colleagues to recover you or silence you. Perhaps both, depending on how cooperative you turned out to be."

Incognito’s jaw tightened, but he offered no response.

Quentin’s fingers began tapping rhythmically against the armrest. "And the same goes for the two of you. You were sent to retrieve a colleague and managed to get yourselves captured in the process. A rather embarrassing outcome, wouldn’t you agree? Can you honestly imagine walking back into the Bureau after this? You failed to complete a relatively straightforward operation, then failed to recover the operative responsible for it. I can guarantee your superiors aren’t particularly pleased."

He leaned forward slightly.

"Of course, perhaps they’ll take you back. You’re metahumans, after all. That makes you valuable. The Bureau has invested time and resources into people with your abilities, and I imagine they won’t be eager to throw that investment away. But the leash will get tighter. Fewer freedoms, more supervision, and considerably less trust. You’ll spend the rest of your careers proving that you can still be useful to people who have already decided you’re expendable."

Stratos shifted against his restraints. "You don’t know anything about the Bureau."

"Perhaps not," Quentin conceded. "But I know organizations. I know what happens when someone becomes more trouble than they’re worth, and I know how quickly loyalty becomes a convenient excuse for exploitation."

He let his gaze move between the three prisoners. "You have two choices. You can return to the people who sent you here and hope they haven’t already decided to dispose of you, or you can consider that there might be other arrangements available."

Mindboggler’s expression remained guarded, but Quentin noticed the slight change in her breathing. Her attention had shifted. She was studying him, searching for some weakness, some opening through which she could reach into his mind and turn the situation around. He recognized the concentration almost immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on him, and the muscles in her face tightened as she tried to establish a connection.

Quentin stopped tapping his fingers.

His head snapped toward her.

"Keep trying," he spat.

He reached into her emotions.

It began with fear, a small, creeping sensation that settled in her stomach before spreading through her chest. He intensified it, steadily increasing the pressure until her breathing quickened and her pulse hammered against her restraints. Then he layered rage over it, not allowing the fear to disappear but forcing the two emotions to coexist. Her body reacted before her mind could make sense of what was happening. She strained against the chair, her jaw clenched, and her breath came in short, uneven bursts. She was frightened, furious, and unable to understand why she couldn’t regain control of herself.

Quentin pushed harder.

For a moment, he let her experience the full weight of it. The fear became overwhelming, the rage almost unbearable, each emotion feeding the other until she could barely distinguish one from the next. Then, just as abruptly, he released her.

The change was horrifying.

Mindboggler’s body went slack. Her breathing, which had been frantic only an instant earlier, slowed almost immediately. The anger vanished, the fear receded, and the emotional turmoil that had consumed her was simply gone. Yet her body hadn’t caught up with the sudden absence of those feelings. She sat rigid in the chair, trembling, her chest still rising and falling rapidly while her mind struggled to understand what had happened. It was like being thrown into freezing water and pulled out again before she could take a breath, only to discover that the sensation had been manufactured entirely by someone else’s will.

Quentin watched her carefully. He hadn’t simply frightened her. He had taken control of the emotional experience itself, forcing her to endure feelings she hadn’t chosen and then ripping them away before she could process them. The abrupt return to normality was almost as disturbing as the fear. She couldn’t trust what she felt, couldn’t trust the next emotion that might surface, and couldn’t even be certain that the terror she had just experienced had been her own.

She was finally realizing what her own powers felt like to others. That was torture in itself.

Mindboggler was pale. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. She looked at Quentin with a fear that was no longer being imposed upon her.

"That’s better," he said, settling back into his chair. "Now we can have a conversation."

Stratos had gone very still. Incognito’s head was angled toward Quentin, his expression unreadable, but neither man seemed particularly eager to test the limits of his patience.

Quentin glanced down at the three prisoners.

"The Underpass is willing to offer you a place. All three of you. You have skills, and I have work that could use people with those skills. You would be given room to operate, coin in your pockets, and a degree of independence you are unlikely to find working for the Bureau. You wouldn’t be disposable assets sent out whenever someone higher up decides they need a problem solved."

He paused, allowing the offer to settle.

"You just have to say the word."

Stratos gave a low grunt. "And how are we supposed to trust you? You want us to trade one leash for another. What makes yours any different from the Bureau’s?"

"An excellent question."

Quentin leaned back, considering him. He appreciated the man’s caution. It was a far more sensible response than blindly accepting an offer from the people who had just beaten and imprisoned him.

"We can work something out," he said. "But let’s be clear about something. I’m not asking you to trust me. Not yet. Trust is earned, and I have no particular expectation that you’ll develop it overnight. What I’m offering is an alternative. You can go back to an organization that has already demonstrated how it treats compromised assets, or you can negotiate terms with someone who would rather make use of your abilities than waste them."

His eyes moved to Mindboggler.

"And before you ask, no, I don’t intend to let you wander around freely while you decide. You’re prisoners, not guests. But that can change."

****

Nolan stared at the almost finished. Contential only minor work needed to be completed, which was good it finally took some stress from his shoulders.

It’s been another week and his prisoners were still mulling over their limited options. Though if Nolan made a guess he would say all three will take the offer. Not out of fear of their old boss but because of the opportunity the underpass provides.

The money from Ra’s helped tremendously in finishing projects that needed to be done. Gotham was well underway, the tunnel networks have been well worth the investment. With ratking at the helm information has never been easier to get, a money easier to manage.

Yes worries still dragged in Nolan’s heart but they were quieter now. He truthfully had no clue what was to come next, he could make an informed assessment.

The light and justice league will clash, they will soon both turn on the underpass. Deals will have to be made, lives will be lost.

But he truly had no idea what lay before him. It was exciting in a way, for a man that so desperately wanted to hide from the world to now embrace the chaos it now brings.

He just hoped at the end of it all.... Well Nolan didn’t have time to dwell on that desire yet.

—

A/N: an interesting thought, if I chose any other buisness for Nolan to go into at the start of this story and gave up on hotels. I wouldn’t have to factor in so much construction time...