Harvey Dent sank into the leather armchair opposite Nolan, the flicker of the city skyline reflecting in his mismatched eyes. Nolan reached for the decanter, the amber whiskey catching the low light, and poured two heavy glasses.

"Hotel's pretty nice," Harvey said, looking around as if cataloging every detail. He reached into his pocket and produced the gold coin the concierge had handed him, flipping it once in his fingers before setting it down on the table between them. "What's this for?"

Nolan smirked faintly, lifting his own glass. "That little piece of metal will get you into the special rooms. If you're ever in a pinch… use it."

Harvey studied him for a long second, then slid the coin into his coat pocket with a soft clink. "Special rooms, huh." He took a slow sip of the whiskey, his gaze still on Nolan.

For a moment, their conversation was light—small talk about the city, the view, the craftsmanship of the penthouse. But Nolan's tone shifted when he leaned back, letting the whiskey swirl in his glass.

"So… the breakout at Arkham," Nolan said casually, though his eyes stayed sharp. "How long have you been planning that?"

Harvey shook his head. "Not long. I had… some help."

He let that hang for a moment before his expression hardened slightly. "So—these homeless people that you have no contact with at all…" His tone dripped with mockery. "They're poking around in some territories they shouldn't be anywhere near."

Nolan raised a brow. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," Harvey said, leaning forward just enough to make his point. "Friendly advice—don't mess with the Penguin. He's… an annoying individual."

Nolan chuckled, setting his glass down. "I'll take your suggestion under advisement." He paused, then tilted his head. "I'll throw you some information back stay hidden for a little while. Batman's out and about. some of my friends have been saying he's got friends with him, too."

Harvey smirked, finishing the last of his whiskey in one slow drink. "Oh, don't worry about me."

***

The sewer air was damp and heavy, the slow drip of water echoing somewhere deep in the tunnels. Dre stood at the edge of a shadowed corridor, his crew still in sight behind him but keeping their distance.

"You know," Dre began, voice steady but pitched to carry, "things've changed up top since you were last around. The homeless population—it's united now. Common goal. I'm one of the people sitting at the high table."

No answer from the darkness. Just the faint ripple of water.

"My boss—he really wants to meet you," Dre continued. "He's heard about the help you've given us in the past. We remember. We're grateful. If there's anything we can do for you… anything you need… we'd be happy to provide it. We're not looking for problems."

Still, nothing.

Dre cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "We're setting up supply lines down here. Fresh food. Clean water. First aid. Whatever you might need. And if you ever need assistance—we're your people. We just wanted to talk. Let you know my boss wants to make sure everything's good between us."

From the dark, something moved. Slow. Heavy. The faint splash of water underfoot. Dre's eyes stayed locked forward.

"Some of our people will be moving back into these tunnels," he added carefully. "If that's okay with you."

No words came from the shadows—only the towering silhouette of Killer Croc emerging just enough for Dre to see the ridges along his jaw, the scale of his torso. The reptilian gaze was unblinking, unreadable.

And then Croc turned. Without a word, he stepped backward into the black, the sound of his movement swallowed by the tunnels.

Dre exhaled slowly, only now aware of the tightness in his chest. He forced his expression neutral as he walked back toward his crew.

"Everything's good, ladies and gentlemen," he said, his tone brisk. "Let's keep working."

Orders were given. Camps rearranged. But Dre's eyes kept flicking back toward the tunnel Croc had disappeared into, just to make sure he stayed gone.

***

The penthouse was quiet, the city lights spilling through the tall windows like distant, uncaring stars. Nolan sat in one of the deep leather chairs, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand. Across from him—though only in his mind Quentin, Kieran, and Vae occupied the other seats.

He swirled the drink. "We have to somehow build up a reputation for this hotel while simultaneously staying a secret just to have that reputation in the first place. Quite the paradox." Nolan voiced

Kieran leaned forward, a smirk playing at his lips. 'Then maybe we don't build it the normal way. Whispered rumors, not headlines. Make people work to find us makes them want it more'

Vae tapped the arm of his chair and Nolan could swear he heard the sound a it would actually produce. 'All very charming, but irrelevant if we're dead or locked up before the month's out.'

Quentin, adjusted his cufflinks. 'Enough about the hotel talk. We need to discuss the future—the immediate future. Batman and Robin aren't going to just let us walk away. Whoever else is helping them? Same story. In his eyes, we did not win. We are still villains, and he's going to want to make sure we remember it.'

Nolan rubbed at his temple. "So we mitigate the Batman problem first."

'Easier said than done, Quentin replied, 'And we still have no idea who some of those allies are. Too many unknowns.'

Vae leaned in, eyes sharp. 'I'm not worried about Batman right now. I'm worried about the Penguin.'

Kieran frowned. 'You're serious?'

'While we were in Arkham, our people might have gotten… overexcited,' Vae said. 'Taking down Black Mask and absorbing his operations was smart, but it was loud. The Penguin isn't going to take that lightly. The last thing we need right now is another gang war.'

Nolan let out a long sigh, setting the whiskey glass down on the side table. He pressed his palms to his eyes for a moment before looking up at the three of them.

"You know…" he said with a humorless chuckle, "I'm starting to actually miss Arkham at this point."

No one laughed.

***

The alley was damp with last night's rain, neon light from a nearby sign flickering in sickly pulses.

A small group of homeless men and women huddled near an overturned crate, sharing a dented thermos of coffee. Their laughter was low, tired, but real one of those rare moments when the city's cruelty seemed far away.

No one noticed the shadows stretching longer at the far end of the alley.

Footsteps clicked against wet pavement—two, maybe three figures approaching. None of the huddled group moved; they weren't trespassing, weren't causing trouble. This was just one of the few half-safe places to sit.

Then the first muzzle flash tore the night open.

The crack of gunfire echoed off the brick, drowning out the startled shouts. Bullets shattered glass, ripped through cardboard, sent people scrambling for cover that wasn't there.

A coffee thermos clattered to the ground, its contents bleeding into the rainwater.

When the shooting stopped, the only sound was the steady drip of water from a fire escape above.

The alley was empty now, except for the echoes.

**

A/N: okay, I will admit something. I am being extremely ambitious/ greedy with this arc. A lot of things are going to be happening, my hope is to show how large the underpass has grown and Nolan's responsibilities to the cause he created. That being said, my hope is for it to be a lot more exciting and will show more of Gotham as a whole. So even with another 'war' happening we will be seeing a lot of different things besides that.