It was nearly 7:30 a.m. and a convoy moved through Gotham with the ease of something expected rather than extraordinary.
The streets were spotless, the sidewalks unmarred. Not a single pothole, not even the usual graffiti that cities brought into existence over time. Here, it was different. Metas and humans had worked side by side to scrub Gotham into something almost clinical.
Not by accident. Not by goodwill. But because the cameras had stopped rolling. This wasn't about the show anymore. It was about keeping the illusion permanent. And that took genuine effort.
The vehicles in the convoy were matte-black, Leviathan branded, and designed with understated menace. No flags. No flares. Just presence. The only one that warranted extra security was Terra's—flanked by two SUVs and trailed by a motorcycle that swept ahead, part escort, part message, she was still a Queen after all.
Civilians paused at corners to wave or stare, some holding up phones, others simply observing like seeing the convoy was a reminder that their city now belonged to something greater. Some even cheered.
Why wouldn't they? Rent forgiveness. Free home renovations. Subsidized food programs. Jobs that didn't involve choosing between bills and health care. Gotham wasn't perfect yet, but it wasn't on fire anymore, and that counted for something.
And those who didn't like the way things were going?
Well, they'd stopped complaining in public.
A few still tried—always the same kind. Fragile or furious, sometimes both. Placards with slogans. Shouted warnings about totalitarianism. Then silence. Always silence.
Nobody asked where they went.
No one wanted to be next. Simple.
The convoy rolled smoothly toward its destination: the Ark Academies. The crown jewel of Arias's reconstruction project. An institution that offered the illusion of meritocracy and the machinery to make it real—for those smart or useful enough to pass through its gates.
The parking lot loomed, wide and clean, as the cars pulled in one by one. The tires settled into place over gravel that looked like it had been hand-laid. Arias's car stopped first. The rest formed a quiet procession behind it.
The first time Arias came here as Chancellor, the students had flooded the lot just to glimpse him. He hadn't spoken. He hadn't needed to. Now, days later, the crowd had shrunk. The awe hadn't vanished. It had simply matured. They still looked. Still straightened up. Still whispered his name like it belonged in a headline.
Arias stepped out of the vehicle first.
No guards. No coat. Just the plain black shirt and calm presence. The moment his foot hit the pavement, a few heads in the upper balconies of the central building tilted subtly to watch.
The others began exiting their vehicles in turn.
Diana adjusted the strap of her bag as she stepped out beside Harley, her demeanor unreadable, almost regal in its restraint. Harley immediately stretched both arms upward with a loud, "Oof, these seats are murder on the tailbone y'know?" before stumbling slightly on her boots and recovering with a grin.
Raven emerged next, hoodie still drawn, gaze low, already regretting leaving the confines of the vehicle. Terra followed, checking her phone without looking where she walked. Tala stepped out last, adjusting the crease of her sleeve like the parking lot deserved a better view of her posture.
Nearithea exited a few moments later, her expression the same bored mask she wore everywhere. But her eyes were scanning. Always scanning. And behind her came Dr. Moore—just as stiff as she had been in the elevator. Her hands were now clasped behind her back, her eyes forward, as if locked onto some invisible horizon.
Arias walked ahead, not waiting for anyone.
"I'll stop by to see how you're all doing with your assignments later," he said over his shoulder, voice low but perfectly audible.
No one answered.
They didn't need to.
Only Dr. Moore followed.
The halls of the Ark Academies were never meant to be loud. Even when filled with students, their design swallowed sound instead of amplifying it.
The walls—black with deep green trim—reflected nothing, and the floor tiles beneath Arias's steps didn't echo so much as hum in acknowledgment. The building didn't seem to invite movement. It tolerated it.
Most students were already in their classrooms by now. The occasional murmur could be heard through a door, but the corridors remained undisturbed. It made Dr. June's steps feel louder than they were.
She walked just slightly behind Arias, her hands clasped in front, shoulders drawn inward. Her eyes flicked to the walls, then the ceiling, then forward again—trying not to stare but equally unsure where to look.
Arias, as usual, moved like someone who had never once doubted he belonged.
When they reached his office, the door slid open with a quiet chhk, revealing the interior.
The space was consistent with the rest of the building—minimalist, methodical. Black walls, soft green lighting from hidden panels above, and a desk that looked like it had been carved from something heavier than oak but without any attempt to show it off.
The only adornment came from the stacks of documents spread across the desk—unceremonious but perfectly arranged. No personal photos Arias. No trophies.
Arias walked in without pause and took his seat, leaning back slightly as he picked up one of the folders from the closest pile. He opened it without ceremony and began skimming.
Dr. June remained standing in front of the desk.
She glanced at the chair across from him, then looked away from it. Her hands fidgeted together slightly, fingers twining and untwining. After a long pause, she cleared her throat quietly and asked, "Uhm, do you need coffee or something?"
Arias didn't look up. The document in his hands detailed a student—Billy Batson. He read the name like he already knew it, eyes sweeping down the page with the efficiency of someone trained to absorb everything and remember only what mattered.
"You're only my secretary in name, Dr. June," he replied. "At least while Ms. Graves handles Leviathan's corporate affairs."
Her mouth opened as if to respond, then closed again. She wasn't normally this timid. But Arias wasn't normal. Being in a room with him felt like standing next to a reactor—no visible heat, but too much energy to ignore.
Still, something in her finally pressed forward.
"There has to be something I can do," she said quietly. "Besides just… standing around."
Arias flipped the document closed and set it onto a second pile. Without missing a beat, he picked up the next.
"Of course there is," he said. "Your assignment is to remain nearby. I'll be requiring Enchantress for a few things, and Dr. June draws less attention."
He said it plainly, without insult. Like it was just logistics.
"You're free to explore the grounds if you want," he added, eyes scanning the new document. "I'm sure you'd appreciate the scientific wing. It might inspire you for a life after this comes to pass."
Dr. June blinked, caught by the phrasing. "After?"
Arias finally looked up. Just slightly. Enough for his gaze to meet hers without force.
"Yes," he said with a faint smile. "After. Surely when I find a way to rid you of Enchantress, you'll want something resembling a normal life again."
He paused, then gestured loosely toward the room. "I can't imagine pretending to be my secretary is very exciting."
Her lips parted slightly, the surprise slipping through before she could reel it in.
She hadn't expected that. The thought that this—this role, this identity—wasn't permanent. It had started to feel that way. She hadn't even realized it. Because it felt just like before with Waller. Different leash, different collar.
But this?
Hearing that he still intended to help her?
It pulled something to the surface. Not joy. But a kind of small, cautious hope.
"It's not that bad," she said finally, the words slipping out with a faint, sheepish shrug. "It was much worse when I worked for the government… well, the US government."
Arias returned his attention to the document in his hands but didn't flip the page.
"You don't speak much about your time there," he said. "How was it—if you don't mind me asking?"
His voice wasn't probing. It wasn't even kind. It was… available.
Dr. June didn't answer right away. Her hands stopped fidgeting.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Sure. Here's a note that fits your tone—casual but reflective, with a touch of that "writer talking to fellow writers" vibe:
Author's Note:
Sorry for the delay, guys. Because of the shift in focus this volume, I had tochange how I'm presenting things. Hopefully, those of you who write will understand what I mean— foundations had to be laid properly before anything big could take off.
To explore the characters the way I want, I've been building structural groundwork— setting up the arcs and internal conflicts that will eventually lead into the next major event. That means more time skips, more scenes framed through narration rather than full exposition. It's intentional. I'm aiming for every moment to either move the plot forward or deepen the characters we've already spent time with.
Let me know what you think so far. Which characters do you want to see more of this volume? Just a heads-up—new characters introduced here won't be taking the spotlight. This volume's about developing the ones you already know.
Thanks for reading and supporting me, it means everything.