Chapter 36: Emergency Meeting
The warehouse on Pier 19 hadn't seen legitimate business in twenty years. Tonight, it hosted the most important crime family meeting in Gotham's history—and possibly the last.
Carmine Falcone sat at the head of the makeshift conference table, his mature face grim in the harsh fluorescent lighting. Around him, the representatives of Gotham's underworld had gathered: Sal Maroni with his perpetual scowl, Oswald Cobblepot nervously adjusting his tie, Vincent Thorne's nephew speaking for his decimated family, and Roman Sionis's lieutenant representing Black Mask's interests.
"Gentlemen," Falcone began, his voice carrying the authority of decades in the business, "we got a problem that's bigger than any of us can handle alone."
The forty Dollotrons stood motionless around the warehouse perimeter, their porcelain faces reflecting the overhead lights. They'd been positioned at every entrance, every window, every possible point of infiltration. Perfect guards who felt no pain, no fear, and no hesitation.
"The Architect," Maroni spat, ash falling from his trembling cigarette. "Cocksucker's been butchering us like we're nothing. Torrino, cops, judges, even that psycho Zsasz." He took a shaky drag. "And the bullshit stories—shapeshifting, eating memories. What's next, flying around in a cape?"
Cobblepot's laugh was brittle. "Stories don't explain why we're down thirty percent of our muscle in two weeks. Real or not, this freak's cost us millions."
Thorne's nephew, a young man barely out of his twenties, leaned forward. "A guy in my uncle's crew swore that he saw the Architect take three different faces during the hit. Said he moved like he wasn't even human and has 3 pair of arms and an octopus face."
"Guy's been hitting the product too hard," Sionis's lieutenant sneered. "Next you'll tell us he shoots laser beams."
"What about the bodies then?" Cobblepot asked. "The way they were arranged, they looked all dried out and weird. Like something sucked the blood out of them. That's not something a normal person would do."
Falcone nodded grimly. "Which is why we're here. And why we've taken precautions."
He gestured to several crude-looking devices positioned around the warehouse—metal boxes with blinking lights and wire antennas. "Biosensors. Military surplus, rushed job, but they should detect any shapeshifter trying to get close. If this bastard really can change his appearance, these will spot him."
None of them noticed the young man in the corner, dressed in the black suit and tie of a low-level family soldier. He'd been there when they arrived, part of the security detail, unremarkable and easily overlooked.
Alex wasn't just standing there—he was performing. Every breath he took was perfectly timed and every micro-expression carefully calibrated. His heart beat at exactly 72 BPM, his skin temperature maintained at 98.6 degrees, even his cellular electrical activity hummed at the precise frequency of baseline human biology.
Around the room, the primitive detection devices hummed and clicked, their crude sensors sweeping for inhuman signatures. Alex almost laughed. The rushed military surplus couldn't detect sophisticated biological manipulation—they were built for identifying crude alien physiology or basic mutant genetics, not someone who could rewrite his DNA in real-time.
"The point is," Falcone continued, "whether he's a freak or just a very good killer, we need to work together. Pool our resources, share intelligence and hire better security."
"Speaking of security," Maroni gestured at the motionless Dollotrons, "these things give me the creeps. They don't even blink."
"They don't need to," Falcone replied. "They're perfect soldiers. No fear, no pain, no hesitation. Professor Pyg assured me they're completely loyal."
"And what did you have to give that psycho in return?" Cobblepot asked.
"Homeless camps, runaways, crack whores—garbage that was piling up the streets anyway," Falcone said coldly. "Pyg needed test subjects, we needed security. Win-win."
Alex's jaw should have clenched. A normal person's pupils would have dilated with rage. His heart rate should have spiked. Instead, he maintained perfect calmness while his mind noted down the confession. Falcone had just admitted to supplying Pyg with human test subjects—another charge for the growing list.
"The real question," Thorne's nephew said, "is what we do next. Running isn't an option—this bastard's already proven he can track us anywhere. So we fight."
"With what?" Maroni demanded. "He's already taken out our best soldiers. He even killed a secure judge inside his goddamn courthouse. What makes you think we can do better?"
"Because now we know what we're dealing with," Falcone said. "And we're not fighting alone. I've put out feelers to some... specialist contractors. People who deal with unusual problems."
"You mean more freaks like Pyg?" Cobblepot shuddered.
"I mean people who can match fire with fire," Falcone replied. "The Architect wants to play monster? We'll show him what real monsters look like."
Real monsters, Alex thought, allowing himself the faintest internal smile. If only they knew.
"There's something else," Sionis's man said quietly. "Word is, the Architect's been getting inside information. Knowing exactly where to hit, when to strike. Someone's been feeding him intelligence."
The accusation hung in the air like a toxic cloud. Eyes darted around the table, the built-up trust dissolving into suspicion.
"You saying we got a rat?" Maroni's voice was deadly quiet.
"I'm saying someone's been talking," the man replied. "Either that, or this bastard's psychic."
Alex maintained his position, but his enhanced hearing caught something interesting—Cobblepot's heart rate had just spiked, and there was a sudden surge of guilt-specific neurotransmitters in his sweat. The Penguin was hiding something. Not collaboration, but definitely some kind of betrayal.
More intelligence to file away.
"We'll deal with that later," Falcone said firmly. "Right now, we need to focus on survival. The Architect's made his move. Now it's our turn."
He stood up, his presence commanding the room. "From now on, we operate as one unit. Shared resources, shared intelligence, shared protection. Anyone who breaks ranks gets fed to Pyg."
The others nodded, sealing their alliance with mutual fear rather than mutual trust.
"And if we're lucky," Falcone continued, "maybe we'll get to meet this Architect face to face. Show him what happens when you mess with Gotham's real power structure."
In the corner, Alex remained perfectly still, his biosignature reading as completely human while his enhanced senses recorded everything.
The crime families thought they were planning a war. They had no idea they were sitting in the same room as their enemy, listening to them plan his destruction in real-time.
But not for much longer.
The Architect had heard everything he needed to hear. Now it was time to give these men a demonstration of what real monsters looked like—and it wouldn't be the specialists they were planning to hire.
This meeting of desperation was about to become a masterclass in fear, taught by a professor who had designed the curriculum specifically for this moment.
The warehouse's fluorescent lights seemed to flicker, though that might have been imagination. In the corner, a perfectly ordinary security guard stood perfectly still.
And smiled.
Notes :
Please comment any mistakes you find. I kinda had to rush this chapter.
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