Recruiting an Army: Gotham Needs a New King!

Inside the underground brewery, glaring incandescent lights drove away every trace of darkness.

The air smelled of gun oil and disinfectant, replacing the old stench of mildew.

Link stood before a table made from a massive oak barrel. A detailed map of Gotham City lay spread across it.

Harley, like a child with a new toy, eagerly took apart an M4A1 Carbine, humming a tune that wandered all over the place.

"We have weapons, and we have money." Link circled their current location on the map with a marker. "But neither of those can fight on its own."

Harley stopped what she was doing and looked up, excitement flashing in her bright blue eyes.

"You mean... it's time to recruit?"

"Not recruit," Link corrected her. "Build an army. One that answers only to us."

A huge grin spread across Harley's face. She knew this man would never be content to hide in this underground rat hole.

"You came to the right girl for that, sweetie!" She hopped off the workbench and walked over to the map, running a finger across it. "Gotham's one big dump. Where there are hyenas with empty bellies, there are bound to be wolves on the verge of starvation."

Her finger came to rest on a chaotic stretch of streets in the East End.

"The Viper Gang. A bunch of desperadoes holed up in the Bowery District. Their boss is Spike. He's tough, but he's not too bright. Penguin has him under his thumb. His territory's been taken, his profits skimmed, and his people can barely survive."

"Then they're the ones." Link did not hesitate.

"Right now?" Harley asked, surprised.

"Give a dying man a glass of water, and he'll think you're God." Link picked up a coat. "Wait until he finds another well, and all you're offering is an ordinary glass of water."

Harley watched him walk away and let out a whistle.

She liked this man's style more and more.

In the Bowery District stood an underground bar called the Dirty Bucket.

It was the Viper Gang's den, and the air reeked of cheap booze, sweat, and despair.

When Link and Harley pushed through the door, the loud music and chatter stopped at once.

Dozens of hostile eyes fixed on the two uninvited guests.

A burly bald man with a viper tattooed across his chest blocked their path.

"Outsiders aren't welcome. Get lost."

Link said nothing. He merely looked at the man calmly.

Harley stepped forward with a grin and traced circles on the bald man's chest with a red-and-black painted fingernail.

"We're here to see Spike about a deal that'll make him rich."

The bald man snorted. He was about to throw the reckless woman out when he met Link's dark eyes.

For an instant, he felt as if some prehistoric beast had locked onto him. An icy chill raced from his tailbone to the top of his head, freezing every muscle in his body.

"Let them through."

A thickset man with a chain around his neck spoke from a booth at the back of the bar.

He was Spike.

Link and Harley walked straight over and sat across from him.

"I've heard of you two." Spike studied Link, his gaze full of suspicion. "Robbed Penguin's warehouse and got away from the cops. You've got guts."

"And?" Link asked.

"And don't think one big score gives you the right to come onto my turf and tell me what to do." Spike leaned back with a sneer. "Lunatics like you show up in Gotham every day. Every day, someone sinks into Gotham Bay to feed the fish."

"We're not here for a handout." Link tapped the table. "I'm here to give you a chance to stop being Penguin's dog."

Spike's face darkened at once.

The tension in the bar spiked. Viper Gang members slowly closed in, gripping the weapons hidden beneath their clothes.

Spike slammed a hand on the table and stood. Half a head taller than Link, he glared down at him.

"You've got a big mouth, kid. In Gotham, you need muscle to back it up."

He signaled to his three biggest men.

"Take them out back. Let's see if you've got what it takes."

The alley behind the bar was dark and damp.

Spike and all his men surrounded Link and Harley.

"Break their legs and toss them in the dumpster," Spike ordered coldly.

The three brutes cracked their knuckles with vicious grins and advanced on Link from three directions.

Harley reached nervously for the new pistol at her waist, but a look from Link stopped her.

Link did not even stand. He remained seated on a battered beer crate.

He crooked a finger at the three men.

"All at once. I'm in a hurry."

"You're dead!"

The three roared and charged together.

The man on the right swung a heavy hook straight at Link's face.

Link tilted his head. The punch swept past, brushing his hair.

His hand shot out like lightning. He caught the man's arm and yanked him forward, driving an elbow upward.

Crack!

Bone snapped sharply. The brute's jaw shattered, and he collapsed like a heap of rags.

The man on the left pulled a dagger from his belt and stabbed viciously at Link's back.

As though he had eyes behind him, Link sprang up and turned smoothly, dodging the blade while driving a kick into the man's knee.

The joint gave a sickening crunch. The man screamed and dropped to his knees.

The last brute charged from the front. He was the largest of the three, and he spread his arms to trap Link in a bear hug.

Link moved toward him instead of retreating.

The instant they met, Link ducked and slammed his shoulder into the man's chest.

Bajiquan, Mountain-Leaning Strike.

Bang!

The brute, who weighed over two hundred pounds, flew seven or eight meters as if struck by a speeding truck. He hit the alley wall, slid down, and lay still.

The whole thing took less than five seconds.

The back alley fell deathly silent.

Everyone stared, frozen and openmouthed, at Link standing in the center without even breathing hard.

Fine beads of cold sweat formed on Spike's forehead.

He had spent over a decade on the streets and had seen men who could fight, but never anyone like this.

That had not been a fight. It had been a slaughter.

Link brushed the dust off his clothes and walked up to Spike.

"Do I have enough muscle now?"

Spike swallowed with difficulty and nodded.

"Yeah... What do you want to discuss?"

"I'm not here to discuss anything. I'm here to tell you how it's going to be." Link did not raise his voice, yet everyone heard him clearly.

"Last month, four of your men died fighting Black Mask over a lousy bar. Penguin gave you five hundred dollars apiece for their families."

"This month, you have to hand over half your income, but your weapons are still ten-year-old junk."

"Three days ago, your sister nearly died at home because she couldn't afford treatment at a hospital Penguin owns."

With every sentence, Spike grew paler.

These were his deepest wounds, secrets he had never shared with outsiders.

Yet this mysterious man had laid them bare without missing a detail.

Being seen through so completely frightened him more than the one-sided fight had.

"Stay with Penguin, and you'll always be cannon fodder. Trash he can throw away whenever he wants."

Link raised one finger.

"Work for me, and I'll take only thirty percent of your profits. I'll give you the best weapons and help you take back every piece of territory you've lost."

He looked at Spike, then at the men behind him. Their eyes shifted from numbness to shock, then slowly filled with fire.

"What I'm offering you isn't money or territory."

"It's dignity."

Spike looked at the man before him. Link's eyes were calm, but a storm seemed to lie beneath them.

Then Spike looked at his brothers. A fire called hope burned in their eyes again.

Suddenly, he understood.

Perhaps Gotham really was about to change.

Spike took a deep breath. Before everyone's stunned eyes, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head, something he had never done for anyone.

"Boss!"

Behind him, dozens of Viper Gang members dropped to one knee in unison. Their voices rose together like a flood.

"Boss!"

Harley stood to the side, watching with shining eyes.

There, in that filthy back alley, a new power announced its birth in the most direct, brutal way possible.