Back away

You remember what happened with Black Bat—the snap of your jaw, the hospital bed—and hesitate. "Fuck vigilantes," you whispered under your breath, "Easy, I'm walking away." You started backing up, palms raised, feeling the cold sweat on your neck. The two cultists nodded, blades still lowered but coiled like vipers waiting to strike. Spoiler spat blood onto the pavement. "Coward," she hissed, her voice strained but sharp as glass.

The cultist then turn their attention back to Spoiler, as you watched on from a distance. You saw her trying to fight off the remaining cultists. Her movements were slower, more sluggish than before. Every swing of her escrima sticks seemed to require immense effort. One cultist managed to grab her arm, twisting it painfully behind her back causing her to drop one of her sticks. She cried out, struggling fiercely as another cultist pressed a blade against her throat.

"Don't worry we ain't gonna kill you, are boss wants to meet you in person." The cultist whispered in Spoiler's ear as she struggled against the blade at her throat. Her mask hid her expression, but her body went rigid as stone. You then saw one of the cultist hit her, knocking her out instantly. They then dragged her **** form towards an unmarked van parked nearby. Your feet felt glued to the pavement as you watched them bundle her inside like discarded laundry.

The group celebrated, before all getting into the van together. A Kobra lieutenant scanned the alley—his gaze swept past dumpsters, discarded needles, and finally fixed on me. His head tilted, serpent tattoo rippling across his neck. He didn’t speak. Just raised a finger, pointing directly at my chest. Then he slid into the van’s passenger seat, slamming the door. Tires screeched, spraying gravel against brickwork.

"Holy shit." You said, watching as one of Gotham's vigilantes fall to the Kobra Cultists. Your gut churned, bile rising in your throat as their van peeled out onto the main street. Spoiler was gone—kidnapped by those snake-worshipping freaks. And that lieutenant had pointed at you. Personally. Recognition was a cold blade sliding between your ribs. They knew you'd witnessed it all. Worse, they might know where you lived, who you worked for. Kobra didn't tolerate loose ends.