Umbrellas and Singularities

The air in the Gotham Watchtower’s command center was heavy with tension. Barbara Gordon, her fingers flying across neon holograms, coordinated the flow of data, while Jane Gordon—maintaining the rigid posture of someone who had once commanded armies—studied the city map.

The door slid open with a metallic hiss. Brianna entered first; her Batwoman armor bore a matte sheen, and every step she took echoed like a harbinger of doom. Close behind, Rachael—Nightwing—moved with the fluidity of a shadow, her eyes alert for any sudden movement. Bringing up the rear was Daria—Michael’s daughter with Talia al Ghul—radiating a lethal arrogance. She didn't just walk; she patrolled the room.

"The situation is worse than we imagined," Barbara said, never taking her eyes off the screens. "Poison Ivy has already turned Centennial Park into a botanical war zone. Dr. Fries has frozen three police precincts, and Dr. Horror... well, Dr. Horror is doing things the security cameras refuse to record."

Jane Gordon crossed her arms, looking at Brianna.

"Odette doesn't just want the city; she wants Gotham's commercial and criminal soul. Beneath that facade of high fashion, diamond-studded monocles, and lethal parasols, she is the queen of the underworld. And she’s using these lunatics like sledgehammers to shatter the city's foundations, blackmailing and buying everything up to rebuild it in her own suffocating image."

Brianna let out a dry laugh, her voice charged with a confidence that bordered on dangerous.

"The Crime Dame thinks she’s playing corporate and criminal chess. That feathered aristocrat’s mistake is forgetting that the board belongs to Michael now." "Dad is... impulsive," Daria remarked, her voice cold and cutting as she twirled a combat baton between her fingers. "He doesn't just want to stop the underworld empress. He wants her to feel the insignificance of every atom in her body in the face of his power. It’s poetically cruel. I approve."

Rachael frowned, looking at Michael’s daughter. "Poetically cruel or not, if Odette manages to activate the frequency trigger she stole from Fries's lab, she could destabilize the power grid across half the East Coast and cripple every vault and network in Gotham. We don't have time for 'poetry'."

At that moment, the room's temperature rose ten degrees. Michael materialized in the center of the room—appearing out of thin air, as if reality itself had folded to accommodate him. He was wearing an impeccably tailored suit.

"The plan is simple," Michael said, his voice resonating not in their ears, but directly within the minds of every woman present. "Brianna, you and Rachael will handle the distraction. Make Odette believe Batwoman is desperately trying to save the hostages at her shipping docks. Daria, you and Barbara will neutralize Dr. Horror and Two-Face. Don't kill them... just show them there is something more terrifying than madness."

He walked over to Jane Gordon and kissed her hand, bowing with a touch of irony.

"And I... I will go straight to Odette. I’ll let her see me arriving amidst her army of henchmen. I’ll let her use every weapon."

"And then?" Barbara asked, her technical curiosity overriding her fear.

Michael smiled, and for a split second, the room's lights flickered as the laws of physics wavered around him. — So, I’m going to rewrite the definition of "power" in the dictionary of her life. Let’s see how elegant she remains when her empire of ice and lead begins to crumble.

With a snap of fingers, the group was enveloped by a fold in space. In the blink of an eye, they were no longer at the Tower but hovering over Gotham Harbor, where Odette’s shrill, triumphant laughter echoed from her top-floor office.

He simply wanted to decide just how painful the process of getting there would be.

— Now — Michael whispered to the wind — let’s teach this queen of crime how an empire is extinguished.

(images created by Lawless)