DCU: Split

Chapter 242 242: Change

Far away from the Watchtower, beyond the endless darkness of space and the heroes discussing Gotham's future, the city itself sat beneath a blanket of clouds and neon light. From a distance Gotham looked exactly as it always had. The skyline remained jagged and oppressive, ancient gothic architecture standing shoulder to shoulder with modern skyscrapers while bridges stretched across dark rivers below. Police sirens still echoed through the night. Criminals still prowled the streets. Politicians still lied through perfect smiles. If you asked a visitor what Gotham was like, they would probably tell you it was the same as always.

Terrible.

The people who actually lived there would tell a different story.

Ask someone who had spent their entire life in Gotham. Ask one of the old men sitting outside a corner store who had watched the city change decade after decade. Ask someone who remembered the old gang wars, who remembered when Falcone ruled entire districts and when stepping into the Narrows after sunset was practically a death sentence. They would tell you Gotham had changed. Whether it had changed for the better was a matter of debate, but denying the change altogether would simply be dishonest.

Gotham was still Gotham. Corrupt politicians still occupied city hall. Criminals still filled the streets. Bodies still turned up in rivers and alleyways. Yet something fundamental about the city's ecosystem had shifted. For decades Gotham had operated according to certain rules. The Penguin had his territory. Falcone had his. The Russians, the Triads, the Cartels and countless smaller organizations all occupied their own place in the hierarchy. Every few years some ambitious newcomer would appear claiming they were going to reshape Gotham, and every few years Gotham would respond the same way.

It would kill them.

The old-timers had seen it happen too many times to count. A new gang rises. A charismatic leader gathers followers. They make noise, gain momentum, maybe even seize a few blocks. Then the established powers notice them and the entire city comes crashing down on their heads. Gotham had a way of devouring anyone foolish enough to believe they could conquer it.

That was why the Underpass confused everyone.

At first nobody took them seriously. Why would they? They were homeless people living beneath bridges and inside abandoned tunnels. Most assumed they would disappear within a year, crushed beneath the weight of Gotham's criminal underworld like every other upstart organization before them. Instead they survived. Then they grew. Then they expanded. Then they started winning.

People still argued over exactly when it happened. Some said it was after Black Mask's fall. Others blamed the collapse of the Court of Owls. Whatever the cause, one day Gotham woke up and realized the Underpass was no longer another gang trying to survive.

They were a power.

Not just a power either.

The power.

The Penguin still operated. Falcone still operated. The Cartels still moved their product through the city. Yet everyone understood an uncomfortable truth. None of them sat at the top anymore. Somehow a collection of homeless shelters and forgotten people had managed to accomplish what generations of criminals had failed to do. They had become the controlling hand guiding Gotham's underworld.

Naturally, rumors followed.

The most common rumor claimed Kieran Everleigh secretly controlled the entire operation. Most people ignored that one nowadays. There was always a new theory. Some claimed the Court of Owls had survived and simply rebranded. Others insisted Commissioner Gordon was secretly pulling the strings. One particularly entertaining tabloid article suggested Bruce Wayne himself was the mastermind behind the Underpass. The article had been mocked by nearly everyone who read it. Mostly because Gotham collectively agreed Bruce Wayne wasn't disciplined enough to run an empire.

Another strange change could be seen in the way Gotham treated its homeless population. Visitors often found themselves surprised by how willing people were to donate food, money, clothes, and supplies. Community programs had sprung up across the city and shelters seemed far better organized than they had been only a few years prior. A joke had even emerged among Gotham's working class.

"Being homeless in Gotham pays better than a real job."

Like most jokes in Gotham, there was an uncomfortable amount of truth hidden beneath the humor.

In one of Gotham's wealthiest neighborhoods a massive estate overlooked the city. Calling it a house felt inaccurate. The property was large enough to qualify as its own compound, surrounded by walls, security systems, and enough private land to ensure its owner would never have to see a neighbor unless he wanted to.

Standing on a balcony near the top floor, Nolan rested his forearms against the railing while holding a glass of wine in one hand and a cigar in the other. The city stretched before him, thousands of lights glittering against the darkness. For several moments he simply watched it in silence before releasing a long sigh.

"Haa… I wouldn't enjoy these things nearly as much if it wasn't for your terrible influence, Kieran."

He turned his head slightly toward the empty space beside him. To anyone else there was nobody there. To Nolan, Kieran Everleigh stood casually against the railing with his usual polished appearance and infuriatingly perfect smile.

"Oh, please," Kieran replied. "Don't blame me for everything. Quentin is the one who got you smoking cigars."

"Watch your mouth, pretty boy."

Quentin lounged on Nolan's opposite side, looking considerably less refined. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up, and he carried himself with the confidence of a man who routinely solved problems through organized crime.

"I have refined taste."

Kieran stared at him.

"We are literally the same person."

"No we aren't."

"Yes we are."

Quentin pointed his cigar toward himself.

"It's about the vibe."

"The vibe?"

"The vibe."

Nolan stared at both of them for several seconds before laughter escaped him. Genuine laughter. The kind that arrived unexpectedly and refused to leave. Both personalities immediately looked annoyed, which only made him laugh harder.

"Some things never change"

No matter how much power he accumulated. No matter how many organizations fell beneath him. No matter how many cities his influence spread into.

His own head remained the most ridiculous place in Gotham.

***

Nolan pushed himself away from the balcony railing and wandered back inside, gently swaying with the music drifting through the mansion. The home still felt strange to him sometimes. Not because it was new, but because it existed at all. Three years ago he had been sleeping beneath bridges and in abandoned buildings not to mention running from the cops and even in Arkham! Now he owned enough land to make most Gotham socialites jealous. The transition had been so ridiculous that he occasionally expected someone to tap him on the shoulder and explain the whole thing had been a misunderstanding.

The office occupied nearly an entire floor of the mansion. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Gotham while expensive furniture and state-of-the-art technology filled the room. Reports, financial projections, and maps were spread across several monitors, all of them converging toward a single desk where Marcy Liu sat reviewing paperwork.

Marcy looked exhausted.

Nolan wasn't blind enough to miss the irony. Years ago she had been another forgotten face in Gotham's homeless population. Now she was effectively helping manage one of the most influential organizations in the city. The expensive clothing and private office couldn't completely erase the signs of her old life, but they certainly helped. Even tired, she carried herself with a confidence that made politicians and businessmen think twice before speaking.

"Sir," she said as he entered, not even bothering to look up from her tablet, "we should really focus on your network."

Nolan immediately recognized the tone. Something had gone wrong.

Crossing the room, he dropped into the chair opposite her desk and offered an apologetic smile. "I've really put you through the wringer, haven't I? Honestly, I don't know what I would do without you."

Marcy snorted and finally looked up from her work. "Just fine probably. In a chaotic, disorganized way that would give everyone around you migraines, but you'd survive."

"That's harsh."

"It's accurate."

Nolan laughed before leaning back in his chair. "You're still not giving yourself enough credit. Half this organization would collapse if you disappeared tomorrow."

"Only half?"

"Three quarters."

"Better."

The corner of her mouth twitched upward for the briefest moment before returning to its usual neutral position. Nolan considered that a victory.

"So," he said, folding his hands behind his head, "what has you stressed?"

"Star City."

The answer immediately wiped the smile from his face.

"Star City?" he repeated. "Not Metropolis?"

Marcy slid her tablet across the desk. "No. Metropolis is progressing exactly as expected. Star City is proving difficult."

Nolan accepted the device and quickly skimmed the reports. The deeper he read, the more confused he became. Recruitment numbers were significantly below projections. Community outreach programs were underperforming. Shelter participation remained low despite available resources.

"I don't understand," he admitted. "We specifically agreed Star City would be easier. The Glades alone should have given us plenty of room to grow. Large homeless population, poor infrastructure, neglected communities. On paper it was practically ideal."

"That's what we thought."

"And?"

Marcy stared at him for a long moment.

"The homeless population is less interested in joining a criminal organization than we anticipated."

Nolan opened his mouth before immediately closing it again.

"I thought we agreed to call it a community."

Marcy's expression became wonderfully flat.

"Well, they aren't stupid."

For several seconds Nolan simply stared at her before laughter escaped him. The sound filled the office while Marcy looked increasingly annoyed.

To his right, Kieran appeared and rubbed his forehead. "She's making a valid point."

To his left, Quentin looked equally offended. "Technically she's insulting all of us."

"Mostly you," Kieran corrected.

"All of us."

"Mostly you."

Nolan ignored them both and returned his attention to the reports. The humor gradually faded as he studied the numbers more carefully.

"Actually, I think I see the problem." He tapped the screen thoughtfully. "We've been assuming Gotham's homeless population is normal."

Marcy blinked.

Nolan continued. "Think about it. Most of the people we recruited in Gotham grew up surrounded by gangs, corruption, supervillains, and enough violence to make military veterans uncomfortable. Half the people living on Gotham's streets already had some connection to organized crime before they became homeless."

Understanding slowly dawned on her face.

"They aren't comparable populations."

"No." Nolan shook his head. "A homeless person in Gotham is very different from a homeless person almost anywhere else. The people in Star City haven't spent decades adapting to Gotham's particular brand of insanity."

Marcy leaned back in her chair. "That would explain why our recruitment methods aren't working."

"It explains most of it."

The room fell quiet for a few moments as Nolan considered the situation. Outside the windows, Gotham's skyline glittered against the darkness.

Eventually Marcy broke the silence.

"What about Metropolis?"

Nolan's expression grew more serious.

"Metropolis worries me more."

That answer surprised her.

"Because of Superman?"

"Partly."

Nolan stood and slowly wandered toward the windows. His reflection stared back at him from the glass while Gotham sprawled below.

"Superman is a threat," Marcy pressed. "Expanding into his city is risky."

"Anything worth doing carries risk."

Nolan took a sip of wine before continuing.

"Besides, Superman isn't who concerns me most."

That caught her attention.

"Then who does?"

Nolan remained silent for several moments. Truthfully, he wasn't entirely certain himself. Superman was powerful, but power was easy to understand. What worried Nolan were the unknowns. The variables he couldn't account for yet.

Finally he turned away from the window.

"I'll visit Star City personally. I needed to anyway. Construction is nearly complete and I'd rather inspect everything myself than rely solely on reports."

Marcy nodded. "Taking anyone with you?"

"Dre."

"A good choice."

"Dre understands expansion better than anyone else."

Marcy made a note before glancing at another report. "Do you want us moving shipments yet?"

Nolan immediately shook his head.

"No."

"Why?"

A smile slowly spread across his face.

"Because if I know my friend as well as I think I do, Bruce has already informed his superhero friends about every habit, tactic, and pattern we've ever used."

Marcy sighed.

"Probably."

"Definitely."

The smile widened.

"Which means the smartest thing I can do is break every expectation they have."

Outside the window Gotham continued to shine beneath the night sky while somewhere far above the planet, the Justice League discussed how to stop him.

Nolan found the thought oddly amusing.

Let them prepare for the man they thought they understood.

He had never been particularly good at being predictable.