Black Mask's Challenge, the New King's Show of Force!

The air in the underground base felt as oppressive as solidified gasoline.

Boom!

A violent explosion sounded from the television in the corner. Onscreen, a nightclub in the East End was engulfed in flames, thick smoke billowing into the sky.

It was one of the businesses Link had just taken over from Penguin.

In the news footage, a man wearing a hideous black skull mask raised his middle finger at the camera.

Black Mask. Roman Sionis.

"Boss! That bastard's gone too far!"

Iron Spike slammed his fist on the table, his face flushed. "He blew up our club! He's declaring war on us!"

"Kill him!"

"Let's take them on!"

"Show Black Mask's scum what we can do!"

The newly recruited men were furious. They grabbed their weapons, their eyes blazing.

They had barely enjoyed a few good days before someone dared to come after them.

None of them could swallow that insult.

Yet at the center of the uproar, Link remained unusually calm.

He sat on the sofa with a glass of red wine in his hand, barely glancing at the news on the television.

His gaze rested on a huge map of Gotham before him, as though he were admiring a work of art.

Harley Quinn sat beside him, polishing her brand-new Baseball Bat again and again with a small piece of chamois.

She said nothing either, but the tight set of her mouth betrayed her anger.

"Boss, say something!" Iron Spike was sweating with anxiety. "The men are waiting for your orders!"

At last, Link looked up.

Instead of ordering an attack, he asked a seemingly unrelated question.

"How much do you know about Roman Sionis?"

Iron Spike froze. "He... isn't he just a lunatic? He used the fortune his parents left him to build a gang. He's cruel, likes torturing people..."

"Not enough."

Link wagged a finger and drained his glass of wine.

"I want to know everything about him. How he made his fortune, his main businesses, how he gives orders, how many mistresses he has, what time he goes to sleep, even what brand of cigars he smokes."

"Three days."

Link held up three fingers. His gaze swept over everyone present, and the unquestionable authority in it silenced the room.

"Within three days, I want the most detailed report on Black Mask you can put together on my desk."

With that, he rose and walked straight back to his room, leaving his men staring at one another.

To the outside world, Link's refusal to act looked like cowardice.

Black Mask grew even bolder.

He escalated his attacks, steadily encroaching on the edges of Link's territory and harassing his businesses.

The entire Gotham Underworld was laughing at him.

The mysterious newcomer who had toppled Penguin overnight apparently wasn't so formidable after all.

He had blazed across the night sky like a meteor, only to burn out.

Inside the base, the mood grew more oppressive by the day.

The men no longer dared to complain aloud, but they could not hide their disappointment or frustration.

Late on the second night, Harley could no longer stand it. She pushed open the door to Link's room.

"Sweetie, what are we waiting for?"

She looked at Link, who sat resting with his eyes closed, and questioned his decision for the first time.

"Keep this up and our men will lose faith in us! Those bastards only understand force!"

Link opened his eyes, looked at her, and smiled.

"Don't rush, Harley."

His voice was soft, yet it had a calming effect.

"A lion needs patience before it hunts. I don't want a victory that amounts to a street brawl."

"I want... to settle this once and for all."

The third day came.

A thick report arrived on Link's desk right on time.

Iron Spike and the others had barely slept. They had called in every favor they could to put it together.

Link spent an hour reading every page carefully.

His expression remained perfectly calm.

When he reached the last line, he closed the folder and stood.

Every eye in the base turned to him.

Iron Spike swallowed nervously and asked with care, "Boss... what's the plan?"

Everyone expected Link to pull out a map, deploy his forces, and prepare for an all-out battle.

Instead, Link walked up to Harley and gently touched the Baseball Bat she had polished to a shine.

"Let's go, Harley."

"It's party time."

"Huh?" Harley stared at him in confusion. "Where are we going? Just the two of us?"

"To kill someone."

Link said it as casually as if he had suggested a walk.

Without another glance at the others, he headed straight for the base's exit.

Harley stood stunned for two seconds. Then an excited, unhinged smile spread across her face. She slung the Baseball Bat over her shoulder and skipped after him.

The base fell deathly silent.

Everyone stood rooted to the spot, their minds blank.

Two people?

Just the two of them against Black Mask and his hundred-plus thugs?

They were going to storm his most heavily guarded stronghold, Sionis Steel Mill?

That wasn't going to kill someone. That was going to get them killed!

And yet, as Iron Spike watched Link's unhurried figure disappear into the darkness, an inexplicable, trembling excitement rose within him.

Suddenly, he understood.

The boss didn't just want a victory.

He wanted an indisputable, crushing, bloody one-man show to announce something to all of Gotham.

Who made the rules here.