Assault on the Steel Mill: A One-Man Army!

Sionis Steel Mill was Gotham's iron heart.

Towering smokestacks belched smoke into the lead-gray sky. It mingled with the cold rain and fell as filthy acid rain upon the city of sin.

The air stank of rust, coal ash, and sulfur.

Inside the mill, harsh searchlights swept across mountains of scrap steel and a maze of pipes, lighting the grounds as bright as day.

More than a hundred armed thugs patrolled the grounds. This was the lair of Black Mask, Roman Sionis—a fortress built to withstand a siege.

Tonight, that fortress would fall.

Atop the tallest water tank outside the mill, two figures stood like statues in the night, looking down over it all.

"Wow, sweetie, this party looks like a blast!"

Harley Quinn swung her Baseball Bat excitedly, a bloodthirsty gleam in her eyes. "Where do we start? The front gate? Or should we blow up their control room?"

Link did not answer.

He merely loosened his suit collar and calmly surveyed every patch of light and shadow below.

A moment later, he turned to Harley with a faint smile.

"Wait here and enjoy the show."

Before the words had left his mouth, Link leaped from the edge of the tank.

Despite the drop of several dozen meters, he fell like a weightless leaf, landing soundlessly in the shadow of a scrap heap below without causing the slightest stir.

Harley leaned over the rim of the tank, eyes wide.

The show had begun.

Link vanished completely into the darkness of the steel mill.

He did not rush to attack. Instead, he wandered his hunting ground like a patient predator.

He glided from one patch of shadow to the next, his footsteps as light as a cat's.

The glaring searchlights and patrolling thugs were nothing more than stage scenery to him.

Soon, he chose his first prey.

Four thugs were smoking in a corner on the east side of the mill.

Between puffs, they laughed openly at the reckless newcomer who had dared challenge Black Mask's authority.

One of them had just tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and was about to crush it underfoot when he felt a chill at his neck.

He reached up instinctively, but his fingers met only warm, sticky blood.

His pupils dilated. He crumpled to the ground, a gash cut to the bone across his throat.

"Who's there?!"

The other three raised their rifles in alarm.

But they saw nothing.

All they saw was their companion's body on the ground, his blood spreading rapidly through the rainwater.

Fear seized their hearts.

One of them reached for his radio to call for backup, but a hand emerged from the darkness behind him and clamped around his neck like a vise.

Crack! His head slumped at an unnatural angle.

The last two broke completely. Standing back to back, they fired wildly into the darkness around them.

"Come out! Get your ass out here!"

The gunfire rang out sharply through the quiet mill.

But the bullets did nothing except throw showers of sparks from the steel shipping containers.

As one thug emptied his magazine and fumbled to reload, a dark figure dropped from above.

Link planted a foot on the man's shoulder, driving him to his knees with crushing force. In the same motion, he brought his elbow down squarely on the back of the other thug's neck.

Neither managed a sound before passing out.

From first strike to last, it took less than thirty seconds.

Four armed thugs had been taken down without a sound.

High above, Harley stared in astonishment.

Her mouth hung open. She could hardly believe her eyes.

That stealth, that efficiency, that perfect use of shadow and timing...

It was too familiar.

He was just like that damned big Bat!

No, he was even more terrifying than Batman.

Because Link killed.

The next twenty minutes became a nightmare for every thug in Sionis Steel Mill.

An unseen grim reaper roamed the grounds.

Patrols went silent one after another.

At first, the radios carried questions and calls for a response. Soon, there were only panicked screams and bursts of static.

Fear spread through the mill like a plague.

In his office, Roman Sionis finally realized something was wrong.

He shoved the dancer off his lap and roared into his radio, "What's going on? Answer me, you useless bastards!"

Only silence answered him.

"Everyone! Everyone, get to the main workshop! Find that damned ghost!"

The dozens of thugs still standing scrambled into the brightly lit main workshop. They huddled together, clutching their weapons for courage.

Just then, lilting classical music began to play through the speakers overhead.

Then Link's voice reached every ear, clear as day.

"Gentlemen, it's time for the second half of the party."

The instant he finished speaking, every light in the workshop went out with a snap.

Only the dull red glow of a distant furnace remained, stretching everyone's shadows into warped, eerie shapes.

"Fire! Just fire!"

Someone shouted, and every thug began shooting into the darkness like a madman.

Link dropped from above into the storm of bullets.

He no longer bothered to hide.

He moved like lightning, leaving afterimages as he wove through the gunfire.

Every bullet aimed at him missed by a hair.

The Chaos Force formed an invisible field around him, subtly throwing off every enemy's aim.

He charged into the crowd like a tiger among sheep.

His body, trained in Batman's fighting techniques, became a killing machine of perfect precision.

A straight punch struck one thug squarely in the temple. Before the man had fallen, Link pivoted with the momentum and snapped a kick into another thug's knee, breaking it.

Not one movement was wasted. Every strike brought an enemy down.

Harley dropped through a skylight, too. With a manic laugh, she swung her Baseball Bat and joined the slaughter.

If Link was a precise surgical scalpel, she was a frenzied bone-crushing hammer.

Attacking from opposite sides, the two tore through the thugs like meat grinders, shattering their fragile nerve.

The thugs were not fighting human beings.

They faced a devil who could dance through a hail of bullets and a madwoman who reveled in killing.

"Monsters! They're monsters!"

At last, one thug could take no more. He threw down his weapon and fled toward the exit, sobbing and screaming.

The others' morale collapsed.

Less than five minutes later, it was over.

In the entire main workshop, only Link and Harley remained standing.

The floor was covered with broken bodies, groaning in pain.

Link flicked nonexistent dust from his hands. Not a single drop of blood had touched his suit.

He raised his head and looked through the lingering gunsmoke toward the lit office on the workshop's second floor.

He straightened his collar and headed for the stairs.

Harley followed close behind, her bloodied Baseball Bat resting on her shoulder.

In the office, Black Mask—Roman Sionis—watched through the one-way glass. At the hellish scene below, at the two figures approaching him step by step, his legs gave out and he collapsed into his chair.

His face was a mask of sheer terror.