Gotham's New King

In the center of the Iceberg Lounge's main hall.

The three pools of charred blood had long since been cleaned up, but a sickening stench still hung in the air.

Dozens of contracts lay on a long marble table nearby.

Each sheet bore a single handwritten line: "Everything I own, including myself, belongs to the king—Chu Men."

A row of jet-black pens lay beside them.

"Sign," Lark said coldly, her gaze sweeping over the mob bosses kneeling across the floor.

A gang boss from the South End looked up at Lark with a broad, ingratiating smile.

"Miss Lark, we go back a ways. Could we perhaps discuss this contract..."

Before he could finish, Lark flicked her wrist.

Her short blade traced a silver line through the air and sliced straight through his throat.

Blood gushed out, splattering the top sheet of white paper.

The boss clutched his neck and collapsed. He twitched a few times, then lay still.

Lark walked over, kicked the corpse aside, pulled out the bloodstained sheet, crumpled it up, and replaced it with a clean one.

"I'll say it again." Lark picked up her blade and wiped the blood on her clothes. "Sign. If you won't, the door's right there. Walk out yourself."

Carmine of the Falcone Family rose calmly and signed his name.

Signing the thing meant nothing anyway. What would happen would happen. At least he could show the right attitude.

With the first signature down, the rest formed a line.

No one dared speak. In the vast ground-floor hall of the Iceberg Lounge, the only sounds were pens scratching across paper and breathing held tight with fear.

A neighborhood boss from the East End signed, then stumbled toward the entrance.

He pushed open the glass door, and cold wind poured down his collar.

He took two steps before his legs gave out, dropping him to his knees in a roadside puddle.

Bracing both hands against the ground, he opened his mouth and vomited up his dinner along with bitter stomach acid. Tears and snot smeared his face.

An arms dealer from the north clung to the wall as he inched toward his sedan.

After opening the car door, he collapsed onto the back seat like a sack of wet clay. For a long time, he made no sound at all.

Fifteen minutes later, the hall was empty.

Lark straightened the thick stack of papers.

She looked at the signatures scrawled across them, each crooked in its own way, and smiled.

She turned to Jay and Raven. The three exchanged a look.

They knew that, from this moment on, Gotham's underworld had a new ruler.

Gotham Police Department, commissioner's office.

Gordon stood by the window, looking toward the distant Iceberg Lounge. The building had become off-limits to all of Gotham.

The office door opened, and Detective Harvey Bullock entered with a report in his hand.

"Commissioner." Harvey's voice was dry. "Our sources confirmed that Falcone, the remnants of Maroni's crew, and bosses big and small from every district all went to the Iceberg Lounge."

Gordon did not turn around. He kept smoking.

"And then?"

"They came out half an hour ago. Every last one looked like he'd seen a ghost." Harvey swallowed. "Our informant says there's nothing left of Penguin, Black Mask, or Two-Face. The whole Gotham underworld belongs to him now."

Gordon took a drag and crushed his cigarette against the windowsill.

"There's nothing we can do," Gordon said hoarsely. "Even Superman lost."

Harvey stared at the commissioner's hunched back, at a loss for words.

"Tell every patrol officer to pull out of the East End." Gordon turned, exhaustion filling his eyes. "From today on, don't provoke anyone from the Iceberg Lounge."

The penthouse suite.

The rain had stopped beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Gray mist shrouded Gotham's skyline, turning the neon lights into blurred patches of color.

Fresh from a shower, Chu Men wore loose gray loungewear and leaned back on the broad sofa.

His legs were crossed, his feet resting casually on the crystal coffee table.

Jay and Raven knelt on either side of the sofa.

Jay held a fruit platter. Raven held a dry towel, ready to move at a moment's notice.

Chu Men picked up the remote and pressed the power button.

The huge LCD screen lit up.

CNN appeared.

The news anchor wore a suit and tie, but his tie was crooked and his face was white as paper.

"This is a global crisis-level event. We've just received confirmation from Metropolis that Superman's fate... remains unknown. The military has sealed off the East End coastline, but we have no effective means of response."

Helicopter footage appeared on the right side of the screen.

It showed a still image of the abandoned dock.

Chu Men's foot was planted on Superman's chest, the outline of the caved-in bones clearly visible.

Superman's suit was in tatters, his face caked with mud and blood. Nothing remained of the godlike presence he had once carried.

Another photograph was a close-up of Chu Men raising his right hand and giving the camera the middle finger.

Chu Men pressed the channel-up button.

Fox News.

A headline took up half the screen: "Superman Dead?"

The host gripped the edge of the desk, his voice shaking. "We don't know who that monster is or where he came from. He destroyed Gotham's East End and defeated the Man of Steel. The military has remained silent. Our line of defense has been torn apart. Viewers, please stay in your homes and lock your doors and windows..."

Chu Men changed the channel again.

BBC, NBC, Al Jazeera... More than thirty channels, and every one was replaying the one-sided beating at the East District Dock.

On the screen, experts argued in studios, trying to gauge Chu Men's power; politicians sweated through press conferences and urged the public not to panic; a pastor on a religious channel knelt before a cross and recited passages about Judgment Day; and in street interviews, some people covered their faces and sobbed while others knelt before the giant screen in Times Square and prayed frantically.

"Boring." Chu Men tossed the remote onto the sofa.

He had thought the media might come up with something new. Instead, it was the same panic and wailing everywhere.

This kind of mindless, fawning reaction was entertaining at first, but it got old fast.

He picked up the remote and flipped through a few more channels. Finally, past the hundredth channel, he found a cooking show that was still airing normally.

On-screen, a fat chef was searing a steak. Butter sizzled in the pan as juices ran from the meat.

Chu Men watched for a while, then turned to Jay.

"Go get me a late-night snack."

Jay lowered her head. "Yes, Master. I'll arrange it right away."

Half an hour later.

Jay wheeled a serving cart into the suite.

On it sat two freshly seared tomahawk steaks with a rich black pepper sauce, along with a bottle of well-aged red wine.

Chu Men sat up and picked up his knife and fork.

The blade sliced through the beef, sending juices across the white porcelain plate.

He speared a piece, put it in his mouth, and chewed slowly.

It was cooked just right, the meat tender and juicy.

Kneeling nearby, Raven poured half a glass of wine and carefully held it out to Chu Men.

Chu Men took a sip, his gaze settling on the night view beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

All of Gotham had knelt at his feet. The world's media were spreading his name, and the seeds of fear had been sown in every corner.

The cooking show ended, and a news bulletin suddenly interrupted the broadcast.

A blue-and-white logo appeared in the center of the screen.

Below it was a single word: LexCorp.

Lex Luthor's face appeared on-screen.

He wore a suit, his bald head gleaming coldly under the studio lights.

His expression was composed, with no fear in his eyes—a stark contrast to the pale-faced anchors who had come before him.

"Good evening, everyone."

"What happened in Gotham tonight was regrettable. We saw destruction. We saw violence. We also saw a so-called 'god' fall from his pedestal."

A cold smile touched Luthor's lips.

"But I want to tell citizens around the world—this is a good thing."

He folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward, staring into the camera as though addressing the entire world.

"Humanity has never needed to depend on an alien Superman. The moment we placed our hopes for survival in an alien wearing a red cape, we lost our dignity as human beings."

"Today, that alien fell. He fell to an even more brutal mutant. This proves my point: entrusting our fate to superhumans is the most foolish choice we can make."

Luthor's gaze sharpened, and his voice rose.

"LexCorp has activated its highest-level defense protocol. We have the technology, the resources, and the ability to protect ourselves. Humanity's fate must remain in human hands."

"That thug strutting through Gotham is merely another cancer that needs to be removed. We will prove that human ingenuity can crush any amount of brute strength."

The image froze on Luthor's confident face.

Chu Men paused with his wineglass halfway to his lips.

He looked at the bald man making grand declarations on the screen and let out a quiet chuckle.

"Oh?"

Chu Men raised an eyebrow and set his glass on the coffee table.

"Interesting."