While Superman and many other heroes all over the country were trying to return the peace, the Leviathan Tower was silent—at least in the way that power always was.
Not hushed, not gentle, just measured.
It didn't creak or buzz with motion. It watched. From its high windows, the view of Gotham had changed. Not because the skyline had shifted—but because now, the city belonged to one man.
Inside one of the many conference chambers, the lights adjusted automatically as Arias stepped through the double doors, click—the sound of his shoes the only thing announcing his arrival.
Slade was already inside, seated near the display wall, casually tossing a sealed folder onto the polished table in front of him.
"Well," Slade said, his voice half-amused, "you're officially the most celebrated war criminal turned head of state I've ever worked with. Congrats."
Arias didn't answer right away. His gaze scanned the display—a split-screen view of the world's news networks, each spinning different versions of the same truth: Gotham had declared sovereignty. And the world, tail tucked between its legs, had accepted it.
He finally spoke, voice quiet but unmistakable. "They're already calling it a 'transition of necessity.' Clever euphemism. Makes it sound like they had a choice."
Slade leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. "Not that they'd ever admit to rolling over. 'International aid' sounds better than 'bribe.'"
Arias didn't respond. He moved toward the screen, one hand idly brushing across the digital interface to bring up the live registration metrics.
Over seventy-five percent of Gotham's population had already logged into the Leviathan Network. Those who hadn't were trickling into city halls—reluctant in some districts, voluntarily in others. It didn't matter. Consent was a formality.
"Most governments would take years to even propose a system like this," Slade commented, watching the numbers climb. "You did it in a weekend."
Arias tilted his head. "We're not most governments."
He meant it literally. Gotham was no longer a city. It had no mayor. No governor. Just systems. Code, policy, and fear.
Behind him, Mercy entered with no announcement. Her heels barely touched the floor as she moved, but her annoyance was loud enough. "One of the supply ministers is asking whether he needs formal approval for every new trade contract. He's concerned about oversight."
Arias gave her a flat glance. "Remind him he can be replaced."
"Already did. He fainted."
Slade chuckled.
Arias turned back to the wall, switching the feed again. Aid shipments. Cargo planes. Ships. Foreign diplomats shaking hands with temporary Gotham envoys. "They're all very generous," he said. "Trillions in the first forty-eight hours. Trillions more on the way. Resources, weaponry, tech packages, free trade offers. They even sent medical teams. Can you imagine?"
"They're terrified," Mercy muttered. "You'd think they'd fight it."
"They would… if they had leverage. They don't." Arias moved again, walking toward a side wall where a long scroll of alliance proposals had been laid out digitally. He scrolled lazily through it. "Most of them included some demand. I marked the ones we can accept. One-year terms only."
Slade raised a brow. "Keeping them nervous?"
"Keeping them honest."
**Beep**
The central comm lit up. Cheshire's voice filtered in, smooth and bored as always.
"Press just released confirmation that the summit is greenlit. International delegates are already issuing statements. Some are calling it 'historic.' Others are pretending they didn't just recognize a dictatorship overnight."
Arias smirked. "Good. Schedule it for two weeks. Leviathan Tower will host."
"Done."
Slade cracked his neck. "You sure about the summit? Seems like overkill."
"No," Arias answered. "It's an invitation. A reminder. Everyone will show up, shake hands, smile for the cameras… and remember why they haven't sanctioned us."
Mercy raised an eyebrow. "And if someone doesn't?"
Arias turned to face her, finally stepping into the light fully. The silver on his watch caught the overhead reflection like a scalpel.
"Then they're irrelevant."
A long pause followed. Outside the tower, the flags of over a dozen nations were being raised along the new Gotham embassy district. The old Gotham seal was gone. In its place, the Leviathan crest.
Back inside, Slade tapped on a nearby tablet and skimmed the logistics.
"We've got most of the mundane systems live. Budget drafting, taxation frameworks, new public office eligibility rules. I had the judiciary guidelines tweaked to exclude nepotism and corporate lobbying, but still allow for emergency override procedures. Want to guess what that override is?"
Arias didn't have to.
"You," Slade confirmed, grinning. "It's practically ceremonial at this point."
"It won't be," Arias muttered, already moving again. He picked up one of the physical folders on the table and flipped through its contents. Infrastructure. Pipeline regulation. Import permits. None of it exciting—but all of it necessary.
Mercy looked at it like it was poison. "You really want to rule?"
Arias looked up, his expression unreadable.
"I want control. The rest is just scheduling."
———
And Superman was delivering his speech to the masses in a semi-ruined city, the conference chamber of Leviathan Tower was a contradiction.
Grand but sterile.
Every surface polished, every fixture placed with ruthless symmetry. It wasn't designed for comfort—it was designed to remind anyone sitting inside that they weren't equal. Just tolerated.
A long, obsidian-black table dominated the room. Seated around it were the individuals who, for one reason or another, had been pulled into the new order Arias was constructing. Some willingly. Most not.
At the head of the table, the chair remained empty. Arias stood in front of it with his hands clasped behind his back, posture straight and still as a statue. The only part of him that moved was his mouth.
"Not too long from now," he began, tone clinical, "Gotham will resemble something akin to a utopia. Or, at the very least, a city that makes the rest of the world look broken by comparison."
No one clapped. No one smiled.
Slade slouched back in his chair, tie undone, his fingers idly twirling a pen that he clearly had no intention of using. Rose puffed her cigarette like it owed her money, one leg kicked over the other.
The smoke drifted toward Tala, who didn't react. She just sat straight, arms folded neatly across her lap, legs crossed, eyes sharp. Her dress shimmered slightly under the overhead lights, but it was the only thing about her that looked soft.
Poison Ivy adjusted her collar for the fourth time, visibly uncomfortable in her fitted suit. She looked like she'd rather be wrestling a bulldozer.
Beside her, Cheshire yawned—slow, exaggerated, and without the courtesy of covering her mouth. The green kimono she wore fluttered slightly as the air conditioner kicked in with a whirr.
Across from them, Raven kept her head down. Her cloak was draped across her shoulders like a comfort blanket, and she sat tucked close to the table, saying nothing, shifting occasionally in her seat.
Terra, meanwhile, pretended to listen, but her eyes kept drifting toward Slade. Each time they did, her brows twitched.
Mercy looked like she was one word away from assault. Her posture was rigid, her arms crossed, and her nails tapped against her arm in impatient rhythms.
Dr. October sat beside her in a lab coat, eyes distant as if she were still chewing on the ethical implications of her last experiment.
Harley, wearing clown-print pajamas, was face-down on the table, drooling slightly. Diana was the only one sitting upright, arms folded and chin up, her expression stern—like a disappointed queen watching a court of clowns.
"And yet," Arias continued, ignoring them all, "getting there will require effort. From all of us."
Harley jolted upright as Diana discreetly nudged her with a boot. **Thump**. Her eyes blinked rapidly before she plastered on a vacant smile. "Mhm, yes, I agree completely," she mumbled.
Arias didn't break stride. "You're all here because, in one way or another, you've decided to support this organization."
Mercy rolled her eyes so hard it was audible. Ivy and Tala both visibly swallowed the urge to scoff. Harley nodded again, still smiling like a child trying to convince a teacher she'd been awake the whole time.
"I won't go into details," Arias said, walking slowly around the side of the table. "Most of your assignments will differ. They'll be sent to your private domains. If you encounter complications, you may reach out to me directly."
There was a pause. Glances exchanged. Some subtle. Others not.
Then Arias turned toward the double doors.
"With this covered," he said, tone unchanged, "I'd like to introduce another member joining us."
He didn't wait for questions. His voice lowered a fraction as he called out toward the entrance.
"Come in, dear."
It was the word "dear" that did it. Mercy's brow lifted. Cheshire tilted her head with interest. Diana's eyes narrowed. Ivy sighed, already regretting not leaving when she had the chance.
The doors opened with a smooth shhk and in stepped the anomaly.
Tall. Proud. Almost radiant.
She looked like Supergirl—only not. The suit she wore bore the familiar "S," but in Leviathan black and green, with an armor finish that caught the light in precise streaks.
Her hair was short, swept behind her ears, and her eyes—golden and glowing faintly—scanned the room like she was trying to decide whether to be impressed or disappointed.
She walked with confidence, though her movements had an odd youthfulness to them. Stopping beside Arias, she folded her hands behind her back and asked, in a curious but rehearsed voice—
"Father… who are these people?"
Her tone was polite. Too polite. The kind you use when you've been told not to call someone a dog to their face.
And just like that, all hell broke loose.
"Father?!" Mercy exclaimed, shooting upright.
Slade nearly choked on his pen. Rose sat forward, cigarette forgotten, jaw slightly ajar. Ivy blinked twice, then blinked again just to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. Harley let out a low whistle. Cheshire didn't speak, but her smile went from bored to...intrigued.
Arias, as always, didn't react. "This is Nearithea, my… daughter. She'll be assisting in upcoming operations. Consider this… her debut."
"Assisting?" Diana asked, her tone flat. "And how exactly did you 'father' this secret child?"
"That," Arias replied, "is a story for another time."
Nearithea turned to him with a quiet look of admiration, her golden eyes softening slightly. She then looked back to the table and tilted her head. "Do I need to remember their names?"
"No," Arias said, already walking to take his seat. "They'll remember yours."
END OF VOLUME
Author's Note:
Apologies for the delay—been wrestling with how best to close this volume in a way that sets the tone for what comes next. As I mentioned before, the next volume will lean more into the characters themselves—less explosions, more implications. Not that the chaos is going anywhere… it's just getting more personal. As always, thanks for the support, and let me know what you think.