From Street Thugs to High-Tech Enforcers!

The Underground Base of Chaos Direction.

Link tossed the jet-black metal card between his fingers. It traced a strange arc that reflected no light before landing neatly back in his hand.

Money Power.

The name sounded blunt, even a little ridiculous.

But only someone who possessed it could understand the world-upending power behind those two words.

Bruce Wayne had used money to turn himself into the Dark Knight.

Link could use money to arm an army of dark knights.

"Sweetheart, you look like a mouse that just stole all the cheese in the world."

Harley Quinn lounged against the sofa in a revealing leather outfit, chewing bubblegum with her legs propped on the table as she watched Link with interest.

"No. I'm not a mouse."

Link walked to the enormous floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the men he had recently brought under his command. They were doing basic physical training on the floor below.

Sweat poured off them as they roared through their drills, all the ferocity of street thugs on display.

But to Link, it was nowhere near enough.

"Harley, what's the difference between them and Penguin's men? Or Black Mask's?" Link asked suddenly.

Harley spat out her gum, thought for a moment, and answered with complete sincerity. "Our guys are better-looking?"

Link laughed.

"True, but that's not enough. I don't want a bunch of stronger thugs. I want an army that makes even Wayne Enterprises' Applied Sciences Division tremble."

Harley's eyes lit up. She loved it when Link got like this.

"Sounds expensive. Do we have enough money?"

"Money?"

Link turned and waved the black card at her.

"For us, money isn't a problem anymore."

With that, he returned to his Throne and opened the computer in front of him.

A silent buying spree that would sweep across the globe had begun.

He contacted no arms dealers.

Their ordinary weapons no longer interested him.

His first target was a factory in Stuttgart, Germany, that specialized in five-axis machining centers. He paid three times the going rate to buy out its entire production capacity for the next three months.

The plain black box appeared again on the payment screen. Link clicked confirm.

The transaction went through.

When the factory owner saw the enormous sum that had appeared in his account, he thought he had encountered God.

His second target was a bankrupt chip-design company in Silicon Valley, United States. Link didn't care about its debts or patent disputes. With the black card, he bought every piece of equipment and all its technical records.

His third target was a laboratory in Japan researching Exoskeleton Power Systems.

His fourth was a team in Switzerland that developed encryption algorithms for private banks.

His fifth was a batch of military-grade drones smuggled out of the Middle East.

Link's fingers danced across the keyboard like a king placing frenzied orders from a shopping cart that spanned the world.

He needed no negotiations, no shipping arrangements, and no customs clearance.

He only needed the act of purchasing.

The black card would handle everything. It would call on powers beyond anything ordinary people could imagine to bring those purchases to a location of his choosing in Gotham City, as quickly and discreetly as possible.

With the hardware bought, it was time for the "software."

A list appeared on Link's screen.

Everyone on it was a top genius in their field—and a madman shunned by mainstream society.

A biology professor expelled from MIT for conducting illegal human gene editing.

A neuroscientist wanted by the FBI for trying to merge artificial intelligence with a living brain.

A financial mathematician whose gambling debts had gotten him blacklisted by every firm on Wall Street.

Link studied the list and smiled with satisfaction.

He sent no one to approach them.

The easiest way to deal with obsessive geniuses was to tempt them with something they couldn't refuse.

Link moved his fingers.

The next second, the biology professor, hiding from creditors in Prague, discovered that ten million dollars had appeared in his anonymous account.

A simple message came with it: "I'll give you a laboratory free of all moral constraints and unlimited funding. Come to Gotham and find me."

The neuroscientist, on the run in the South American jungle, received an encrypted package.

Inside was a lost research report on Human Cerebral Cortex Electrical Signal Simulation—the very thing he had dreamed of finding—and a one-way ticket to Gotham.

A few days later.

Deep beneath the East End of Gotham City.

A vast air-raid shelter, abandoned for more than fifty years, blazed with light.

It had been transformed into a secret base straight out of science fiction.

Rows of the world's most advanced servers blinked with dim blue light, supplying the entire base with staggering computing power.

Huge mechanical arms automatically assembled and tested suits of black Exoskeleton Armor.

Wild-eyed researchers in white coats carried out experiments in their laboratories that the outside world would have found horrifying.

The street thugs Link had brought under his command stood in line, dumbfounded, waiting to be "upgraded."

One thug was led into a modification room. An hour later, he walked out.

The contours of his muscles hadn't changed, but a cold electronic gleam had appeared in his eyes. A layer of alloy armor covered his arm, able to extend or retract at will.

Link stood on the base's highest level, looking down over the steel kingdom he had built with his own hands.

Harley Quinn came to his side and handed him a glass of red wine.

"Sweetheart, you've created a monster factory," she said with genuine awe.

"No."

Link took the glass and gently swirled the crimson liquid inside.

"I've only taken the shackles off a pack of caged beasts."

"Bruce Wayne used his wealth to make himself a suit of armor."

"And I'm going to use mine to give all of Gotham a new skeleton."