Different Steven

"It seems they've reached an agreement to negotiate peacefully and will soon finalize who will negotiate with us. For now, everyone should stay focused," Friday reported in her crisp, automated tone. "I'll keep monitoring the situation, sir."

"Very well, let's focus on other tasks in the meantime," Charlie replied, turning his attention back to the screen.

Despite the tension of an impending new phase, Charlie knew better than to abandon the daily grind. Even if you lack the experience, you have to put in the time. Grinding out levels, refining skills, and developing a team of powerful heroes was the foundation of any plan. Whether dealing with small-time criminals or ancient threats, strength remained essential.

Friday, sensing a shift in focus, quickly adapted. "Okay, sir. I have a few new cases here. See which one you'd like to handle first."

She swiped her hand, bringing up a new screen that displayed a list of missions, each marked with a blinking icon.

First up: Grace City.

Mark and Cassandra had been patrolling Grace City for some time. Daredevil, with his relentless focus, had made a name for himself tackling street-level crimes—muggings, break-ins, drug trafficking. Meanwhile, Bat Loli took on the more dangerous assassins and superhuman killers. With their combined efforts, the city's crime rate had dropped significantly, and the name of the Red Walker had become a whisper of fear among criminals.

Ordinary criminals were now too intimidated to act, and after the fall of the Black Sun organization, even hired killers thought twice before setting foot in Grace City. The number of new missions had dropped, and Charlie was considering leaving Kashan to manage things while he took Mark to a new city, a place ripe for new challenges.

Currently, two missions stood out. One involved suspicious activities that Mark had noticed in Grace City—rumors of a hidden operation by a lingering faction. The other involved a potential remnant of the Black Sun. But with their leadership decimated and their ranks shattered, the remnants felt like nothing more than loose ends waiting to be tied up.

"Last time you asked me to monitor the 'Black Sun' headquarters? I've gathered information through the network of surviving killers and marked three possible locations," Friday said, her voice cool and efficient. "Would you like to send Deathstroke to check it out?"

"That sounds like a plan," Charlie responded, nodding to himself.

He felt it was time to close the book on these stragglers. But Charlie wasn't about to charge into their hideouts blindly. Instead, he sent Deathstroke, the calculated and ruthless enforcer, to prepare for a "friendly conversation" that would encourage the killers to share their secrets.

In Charlie's grand vision, the Black Sun was just the first step in his conquest of the shadowy world of assassins. Deathstroke would sweep through their ranks, one legendary killer after another, until no one could challenge his dominance. Eventually, he would control the entire assassin underworld, bringing order to the chaos.

He scrolled through the list of characters on his screen, finally stopping on Deathstroke's icon. Just as he was about to initiate the mission, Friday interrupted him again.

"Oh, wait, sir, a new mission just came in... You might want to see this first." She pulled up the updated mission list with a quick gesture. "It's about the ancients—they've been located."

"Really?" Charlie's interest piqued.

The three remaining ancients were a high-priority target. Unlike the others he had encountered, these three were slippery, each possessing abilities that made them challenging to capture. But they were crucial for understanding the true scope of the ancient's power and unlocking more potential paths for his own goals.

Leila, one of their former allies, had used her spectral abilities to help track their behavior patterns and predict their movements. More importantly, she and Professor Miyazaki had developed a device that could detect the presence of ancients under certain conditions. If they used their powers to manipulate the environment or spread their influence, the device could pick up their location with surprising accuracy.

Charlie had access to this technology through his connections to the Ninth Special Service Division, and when the device triggered an alert, he knew it was time to act.

"The plan has changed," he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

His cursor hovered over the character list before finally settling on Batman. The Dark Knight spun dramatically on screen, his cape swirling around him as he posed with a grim determination.

"Let's see which rat crawled out of hiding," Charlie said with a hint of anticipation.

...

Pine City.

Steven Raimondi was a shadow of his former self, leaning against the stained headboard of his dingy bed. He clutched a nearly empty bottle of cheap whiskey, trying to drain the last few drops. His attempts were in vain. He shook the bottle again, but only a few weak drops fell into his parched mouth. Frustration twisted his features, and he hurled the bottle at the filthy carpet. It joined a mess of crushed cans, empty bottles, and scattered trash that had accumulated over months.

The room reeked of stale alcohol and despair. The curtains, once white, were now a mottled gray, failing to keep out the garish neon light from the street outside. Steven lay back, exhaustion and bitterness weighing heavily on him. Through the dirty window, he could see the apartment across the way, where a family was gathered in their warmly lit living room.

Steven watched through slitted eyes as the man across the street hoisted his little daughter into the air, spinning her around before planting a kiss on her forehead. The girl squealed with joy, and her mother looked on, a fond smile on her face. They proudly placed a new award on their wall, celebrating their daughter's achievement with a lavish meal.

Steven, on the other hand, had nothing. No family, no job, and now, not even a drop of whiskey. He reached for his phone with a trembling hand, thumbing through old voicemails until he found one he had replayed too many times.

"Steven? It's me, Lana... I wish things were different, but they're not. We can't keep doing this. I know you're struggling, but I am too. This is too much for both of us. We need to move on.

So, this is it, Steven. It's over."

The message ended with a cold beep, leaving an empty silence that seemed to press in on him from all sides.

He threw the phone with all the strength he had left. It clattered against the closet and fell to the floor, adding to the disarray.

Steven lay in the darkness, his mind swirling with resentment. His eyes drifted back to the window across the street. The family continued their meal, basking in the glow of their small happiness. The father served food to his wife and daughter, their faces illuminated with the soft light of love and contentment.

A voice, smooth and chilling, broke through the silence.

"You've been watching them for years, haven't you?" The words slipped through the air like a serpent.

Steven stared, transfixed by the scene outside, saying nothing.

"You've watched them marry, have children, and build a life. You saw their promotions, their paychecks grow fatter, their circle of friends expanding, while you had nothing. Not even the woman who once loved you."

Ophelia materialized beside him, her form shifting like a shadow. Her long, ethereal hair floated around her, giving her an otherworldly presence.

"Why should they get to be happy while you suffer? Why do they have everything while you have nothing?"

Steven's jaw clenched, his breath catching in his chest.

"Yes... why?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

"If I can't be happy, at least I can make them feel my pain," he muttered, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous gleam.

Ophelia's lips curled into a sly smile. "That's the spirit. I can give you the power you need. Destroy what you want, take what you deserve. All those things that seem so unfair..."

But her expression suddenly twisted in alarm. Her head snapped toward the window, sensing something approaching.

"Wait... that's a bat... how did he find us!?"

Steven blinked in confusion, looking from the shadowy figure to the window.

"What? What about the power you promised?" He demanded, desperation creeping into his voice.

But Ophelia melted into the shadows, her form vanishing into the floor.

Steven barely had time to process her disappearance before the apartment window shattered inward with a deafening crash. Glass flew everywhere as Batman stormed through, his cape billowing like the wings of a demon. He landed gracefully amidst the debris, a dark silhouette framed by the moonlight.

"Friday, where is she?" Charlie's voice crackled through the communicator.

"She was here just a moment ago, but now she's hidden her presence. Without using her powers, she'll be nearly impossible to track." Friday's tone was cool, though with a hint of frustration.

"Of course... she's running scared already," Charlie muttered.

He scanned the room, and his eyes fell on Steven, who cowered under his fierce gaze. Batman's detective mode identified Steven as a threat, a red enemy marker glowing over his head.

"Infected?" Charlie asked, frowning.

"No signs of infection," Friday replied, "But he's showing severe mental instability. No criminal record, but his financial situation is dire, and he shows signs of being a danger to himself and others."

"Hmm... let's make sure that danger doesn't go any further," Charlie decided, though his primary interest lay in the experience points a marked enemy could provide.

Steven trembled, staring wide-eyed at the figure that had shattered into his world. He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a desperate whimper.

"Wait... I haven't done anything... you can't... you can't..."

But Batman's response was swift and brutal. Steven's cries echoed through the apartment, mingling with the sound of breaking furniture and the dull thuds of a lesson being taught.

After a few agonizing minutes, Batman's boots crunched over the broken glass. He paused at the shattered window, turning back toward the battered man lying on the floor.

"If you even think about causing trouble... remember, I'll be back," he growled, his voice a low rasp that sent chills down Steven's spine.

With that, he leaped out of the window, disappearing into the night, his cape trailing behind him like the shadow of a vengeful specter.

Steven lay on the cold, hard floor, his body aching and his pride shattered. He stared up at the stained ceiling, trying to gather his scattered thoughts.

After a long silence, a new, desperate thought crept into his mind.

Maybe... I should just find a new job.

(End of chapter)

[TL Note - This is a different Steven]

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