CHAPTER 1: "Who Are You?"

"Wait, wait, wait... we can talk about this can't we?"

A young man held his hands out in a peaceful manner with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.

The punch right to his face ended the twinkle and landed him on his rear.

'Well that could have gone better' James thought as he sat nursing his bruised face.

He had been assigned a task by the boss to talk with the local Blackwater gang about renegotiating the territory fees. The boss controlled most of the docks in Gotham but in order to move its various illicit goods to its consumers they had to cross into various gang territories. Blackwater was one of them and their recent decision to raise the tax on goods had seemingly come from nowhere.

The new tax was large enough to be considered an act of war! Considering relations had been good between the Boss and them till now, the Boss had sent James to go and talk with their representatives and figure out what was going on.

Things had started out well with James meeting their reps at their local bar, a seedy joint called the Drunken Shipman. A strange name considering how far they were from the docks. It truly looked like something from a stereotypical crime drama. Rundown signs, various drunks, and homeless littering the outside, with a distinct smell of open sewer. The inside was a little better, though James had learned quickly in his career to avoid drinking the tap water... and beer... and vodka... and basically anything the place served. Wouldn't want to have to get a tetanus shot after drinking something here.

The Blackwater gang rep was dressed as most of their members were. White tank top, with ragged jeans, a pair of overpriced basketball shoes, and enough necklace bling to make a pharaoh blush with embarrassment.

The bar had about a dozen or more of its members milling about which probably should have rang warning bells to James. He figured it was just because he was in their territory and that's how it usually was.

As he rubbed his bruising jaw he thought 'Well that seemed to of been a stupid mistake.'

Surrounding him was the gang rep, with 4 other gang members. Two had pipes, one a crowbar, and the other a switchblade. The rest of the gang members were still milling around the bar, drinking and smoking. Probably thinking the others had it handled.

In fairness, it looked like they did. At 16 years old, James was 6ft, with a body that was fit but not super buff. He was wearing a simple black suit as expected from the organization, though he forgo the tie since he did not like the feeling of a noose around his neck. He sported black hair cut short on the sides with it long on the top, with a face that most would say was handsome but no supermodel. His skin hinted at his Latino roots but also his Scandinavian heritage, the Boss had said his father was down south somewhere, maybe Venezuela, while his mother had hailed from Northern Europe.

He was in truth nice looking but average. Perfect for blending in as his other coworkers had said. The thing that stood out however was his eyes. They were a soft brown like many with Latin American blood but it was something in them that was not quite right. The Boss had once remarked while looking in them "If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you." Then proceeded to laugh and offered an 8-year-old James some whiskey before taking it back because why would you give an 8-year-old whiskey!?!

The gang rep with a jeer said, "You can't listen good can ya? Blackwater got a new and better chief. He decided we deserve a little better than what your boss is offering. Now you can tell that bird creep to go to hell!"

The rep then started to crack his knuckles, "But before we send you back, will make sure to treat you to our hospitality so bird shit brain knows how serious we are."

The gang member with the crowbar took a swing at James' shoulder, smashing it, and causing a little yelp to form from him.

'The boss was right, the negotiations were short.' James thought comically while in pain. Humor had always been a source of comfort to him since he was young. Though there was time and place for it and now was neither.

A punch from the gang rep broke him from his movie quote thoughts back to the situation at hand. It was not looking great. 5 gang members were already starting to curb-stomp him, with another dozen or 2 ready to jump in at a moment's notice.

The situation really did not look good... for them.

One of the gangsters raised his pipe and swung it only for it to stop a few inches dead from James' head.

The gangster paused, confused if he had hit something stopping him what carrying out his fun. The pipe was soon ripped out of his hands and hovered at his face level. The 3 others and the rep stopped their attacks to stare at this floating object with one common thought in all of their heads...

'What the fu...' before the pipe flew straight at its owner bending and wrapping around his throat before slamming itself against the bar's wall locking the individual in place. The gangster desperately gripped the bar around his neck that had embedded itself against the wall, trying to pry himself free.

At this point, the rest of the bar had noticed this change in dynamics and stared in shock at the young man who had stood up at this point.

The seemingly normal young man now seemed anything but. Around him, the air began to spin, beer mugs and other smaller utensils began to hover shakily around him, the doors to the establishment slammed shut almost splintering from the force of doing so.

His eyes had taken a turn as well. They were still the same color and everything, but it seemed to be looking into a dark abyss, a place where no amount of pleading, no amount of begging would bring mercy.

The gang rep who had up to this point looked so smug had a look of dread, "Holy shit! It's a f*&king meta!"

James was feeling up the shoulder that got hit by a crowbar, and after judging it as nothing more than sore and probably bruised looked at the rep with a smile and said, "Tuck yourself in, otherwise it will hurt a lot more."

The gang rep gave a look of confusion, "What the..." before being lifted up and thrown out the front bar window by an invisible force. The shattering of glass and the wood frame seemed to of shaken the rest of the dozen of gang members out of their stupors. They all focused in on James and charged.

The gangster armed with a knife near James after recovering from his shock at watching his superior thrown out a window took a swipe at James.

James though was prepared and managed to swing away from the swipe before throwing his fist out to the sternum of his attacker. Before his fist made contact with the gangster a concussive blast flew out of it punching the gangster breaking bones and sending him flying to his compatriots armed with a pipe and crowbar. Which sent them all flying back into some tables and chairs, breaking them in the process.

But he didn't stop there. Swinging to look at the dozen or so other remaining gang members charging in at him the same invisible force began to have all the glass beer mugs, bottles, and other small items of similar size fly at speeds equivalent to a professional baseball player throwing a ball.

Needless to say, it is amazing no one was killed in the hail of flying glass, wood, and whatever else was small and not bolted down.

Gang member after gang member went down with some getting a glass smashed directly into their face, bottles snapping on one member only to stab another with its broken shards, and even one getting bar peanuts directly into his throat and eyes at 90 miles per hour.

After a few minutes, there was silence, broken only by groans from the still-conscious gangsters. One lucky member had hidden behind an upturned table, when he saw the chaos stop he made a beeline to the front door. He even made it to it before he felt a blast of concussive air propel him crashing into the doors breaking through them and flying out into the street where he rolled and scrapped onto the asphalt until coming to a stop in the middle of the road.

James walked out following the man's trajectory, stopping to kneel down and check his pulse.

"Seems to still be alive." he mused, "Probably will be in and out of hospitals for the next few years." With a shrug, he made his way to where the Blackwater gang rep was.

The rep who was thrown out the window at the start of the fight found a cushion with a car window right outside of the bar. Partially in the car he felt himself get pulled out roughly and tossed onto the sidewalk. An unamused face greeted him, and kneeling down the face took a different look with a smile.

"Well your message has been sent, my Boss will not be too happy to hear about this change in leadership with Blackwater. Tell your chief if it's a war he wants it's a war he will get." James then dusted his suit pants stood up and began to walk away.

He stopped for a moment and looked back at the bar he had just destroyed. A brief moment of pity flittered through him.

With a sigh he called back to the gang rep who was still laying on the sidewalk, "Hey, tell the bartender.... or tell the EMT's since you can't walk, to tell the bartender to send me the bill for damages."

With that, he continued on his way. His only thought was what he would eat for dinner tonight.

'Maybe pizza...' he mused.

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A few hours later paramedics, cops, and other Blackwater gang members crowd the outside of Drunken Shipman. It looked as though a hurricane had devastated the inside, and that somehow the 26 gang members had survived it.

A tall grey-haired man with horned-rimmed glasses stood reading the medical reports of the 'victims.' It was rather grisly, half of the gangsters would need MRIs and eye surgeries for the damage done on them. The other half would be lucky to walk without a limp, most likely needing a cane or crutches for a long time if not forever. The gang rep seemed to have the worst, he would probably be drinking and eating out of a straw for the next few years just to recover.

Police Commissioner James Gordon had lived in Gotham his whole life and had been a cop for the vast majority of it. Gang fights as such were not exactly new, neither was it strange for the gangs to merely maim not kill. No sense in escalating things, especially since it could put you on a certain someone's radar.

No, what stood out was how brutal it was. Even the vigilantes, minus the ones that killed, never injured Perps to this extent. From the paramedic's report, it was a slight miracle some of them didn't die.

While he would never feel too much pity for the gangs of Gotham, especially Blackwater, he did have a sense of unease. A similar incident had occurred a few months ago with Riddler's gang, Black Mask, and even the Blackgate gang which the Blackwater gang had broken away from a few years ago.

This seemed to be an ongoing trend this past year, and if there is something Gordon hated it was a new trend he knew nothing about. Someone had gotten new muscle in the criminal underworld.

"Who are you?" the Commissioner wondered.