"Shadows in Gotham"
As Owen and Wanda walked toward the bus station, a rumble shook the city. In the distance, a column of smoke and fire rose into the gray sky. Both turned their heads at the same time.
"Ahhh…" Owen sighed with exhaustion, as if merely being in that place was torment.
Wanda glanced at him sideways, serious, as if weighing whether she should say something.
"Yes, yes… let's go," he replied wearily, turning away and leaving the bus terminal behind.
…
In Gotham, there exists a place more feared than any criminal hideout, a site where madness piles up like rusted chains: Arkham Asylum. Here they lock up the most unstable and dangerous villains, psychopaths whose names are whispered with dread in the streets.
It is supposed to be a maximum-security prison, but in practice the inmates manage to escape at least once a week. And among those escapes, one face always reappears: a lunatic clown who treats Arkham as his summer home.
At that very moment, one of the asylum's walls had exploded into pieces. Several inmates ran for freedom, taking advantage of the chaos.
Outside, a violet car with gaudy lights waited idling, its engine calmly growling. In the driver's seat, a blonde woman with pigtails dyed in different colors hummed a tune, bobbing her head to the rhythm of the music. Her lips, painted red, shaped an exaggerated grin as she watched the stampede of prisoners.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha! You arrived at the worst moment, they were just about to serve dessert," came a maniacal, mocking laugh.
From the smoke emerged a familiar figure.
"Honey!" the woman exclaimed with joy, seeing the man everyone feared approach. None other than Harley Quinn and the Joker, in yet another of the mad clown's routine escapes.
"Good thing you made it in time… I couldn't stand the smell of my cellmate any longer," said the Joker with nonchalance, as if he had been on vacation. Then he twisted his mouth in annoyance and barked a sharp order: "Move."
Harley immediately slid into the passenger seat, ignoring the contempt in his gaze, wearing a silly smile that refused to leave her face.
"I have so many plans… I'd love to visit my best friend," Joker muttered with mockery, slamming the accelerator and plowing into several criminals running ahead of the car. Each impact made him laugh harder, the sound sharp and disturbing.
"Ahhh, freedom!" he shouted, euphoric, swerving the wheel on purpose to hit another fugitive. Harley, clutching the handle above her head, tried to smile, but her expression was strained.
"What did you blow up this time for the distraction?" Joker asked between cackles, jerking the wheel from side to side.
"Uh… an empty warehouse. We put some dummies inside and pretended people were trapped. It was faster," Harley answered, looking for his approval.
"Huh?" Joker slammed the brakes right in front of a man who raised his arms to shield himself from the oncoming hit. But the car didn't run him over. Realizing he was still alive, the man bolted in terror. Joker looked at him with disgust. "So… not a single death in my escape?"
"Well… if we'd taken hostages, Batman would have noticed. We had to make it quick," Harley murmured, shrinking in her seat, already fearing his reaction.
"Stupid!" Joker spat, slapping her across the face with fury.
She held her stinging cheek, while he pounded the steering wheel in rage.
"This way it's meaningless! My escape means nothing." A twisted grin spread across his face. "Let's go back. This time… we'll do it right."
He spun the car violently and sped back toward Arkham. Yet soon he noticed something strange: the bodies of the inmates he had run over still lay on the ground… but there were more people fallen, far more than he remembered hitting.
Driving a few meters further, he saw him. A solitary figure standing in the middle of the street. Around him, a group of criminals held pipes and stones, but their expressions weren't of fury—they were of fear.
Joker's deformed smile widened, and he floored the accelerator, aiming straight for the man.
The stranger turned at the sound of the engine. His eyes locked with the clown's in an eternal instant.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!" Joker laughed like a possessed man.
But the man, calm, assumed the stance of a boxer, knees bent. A reddish aura burst from his feet, surged up his body, and concentrated into his arm. The air around him trembled, as if it were about to explode.
When the car was inches away, he threw a punch into the void.
The shockwave was brutal. The vehicle stopped dead, as if it had slammed into an immovable wall. The front crumpled, the hood folded like paper, and the airbags detonated with a thunderous pop.
"Mmm… I think I'm starting to get the hang of this power," murmured Owen with a faintly mocking smile, studying his own fist.
The criminals froze in place. Owen didn't even glance at them; he simply moved like a shadow, knocking them down one by one with such speed that their eyes could barely register black streaks in motion. None dared to move after witnessing such power.
Calmly, he walked up to the wrecked car and ripped off the driver's door. Inside, Joker and Harley were still alive, stunned but conscious.
"Wow, these airbags are amazing," Owen commented approvingly before yanking the clown out and tossing him onto the pavement.
Half-dazed, Joker opened his eyes just in time to see a shoe descending straight toward his face.
But before Owen could finish, a handful of batarangs whistled through the air. Dark blades shaped like bats forced him to step back. The Joker survived once again, protected by the shadow that always arrived at just the right moment.
Owen lifted his gaze with interest as he noticed the newcomers.
"What are you doing here?" he asked calmly, sizing them up.
Standing before him was Batman, accompanied by a Robin who looked barely older than a child, another more adult Robin, Nightwing, and Batgirl.
Owen raised an eyebrow mockingly, pointing at the two young men in red and black.
"I think you've got a copy of one."
The younger one immediately frowned, offended.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha! Batsy was excited to see you," said the Joker, now fully conscious, propping himself up as he looked at Batman with deranged enthusiasm.
"You'd better get back to your cell, Joker," Nightwing warned firmly.
"What for?" Owen cut in, his tone dry. "So he can escape again in a couple of days and keep killing people? How many times has he broken out just this year? How many lives has he taken since?"
The clown replied before anyone else, with a twisted grin.
"Five times. One thousand three hundred and forty-two people. And because I'm charismatic."
Owen's expression, mocking at first, hardened instantly.
Batman, as if he knew what was coming, pressed a button on his belt. Above them, a plane swept into view, its weapons aimed directly at Owen.
"Tell me who you are and why you're here," Batman ordered gravely. "If you're a criminal, you'll end up in the same prison as them."
Owen didn't even look at him. His eyes remained fixed on the Joker.
"You're protecting him? You're really afraid I'll kill him? Why? You're supposed to save lives… but his existence constantly endangers them."
"I won't allow you to kill anyone," Batman replied without hesitation.
Owen smirked coldly.
"You know, that's what always bothered me about your story. You break bones, leave petty criminals crippled… but the real villains, the ones responsible for mass deaths, remain alive. And you—with all your money and technology—you don't even seek a definitive solution. You could send them to the moon, lock them away with barely enough food, build a prison impossible to escape. But no. You prefer to keep playing this endless game. And you call yourself a hero?"
Batman narrowed his eyes. That phrase revealed something important: Owen knew his identity.
"Drop your weapons and surrender," Batman ordered firmly, noticing that Owen was already holding a dagger. The material wasn't ordinary steel; it looked strange, almost unnatural.
The Bat-Family closed ranks, surrounding him.
"Really?" Owen said, shaking his head. "I'm not a villain. I'm a soldier. I fight to protect civilians. You think you're heroes because you don't kill, but in reality you're hypocrites: you keep this man alive, knowing he'll kill again. Just to avoid crossing a line? You've crossed that line many times, Batman. You've made contingency plans to destroy even your own allies. In many worlds, Batmans like you caused more destruction than the villains they fought. Though I'm not sure which one of those you are."
With a black-and-red flash, Owen moved. In a blink, the dagger pierced through the Joker's chest, carving a gaping hole.
The Batwing responded instantly, opening fire on him. But Owen vanished from his spot, leaving a crack in the ground behind. He reappeared directly in front of Batman.
The Dark Knight, prepared as always, activated more devices: electric cables shot out from his belt, wrapping around Owen. Sparks crackled across his chest, but he didn't stop.
A single punch to the face sent Batman flying several meters back.
Then the dance began. Hidden gunfire, traps, projectiles from every angle. Owen moved with inhuman fluidity—ducking, sidestepping with minimal steps, leaping with superhuman speed.
The youngest Robin lunged at him with a sword, but Owen stepped back and drove his knee into the boy's stomach. He collapsed unconscious instantly.
Nightwing charged with his batons, aiming for Owen's head. Owen caught one with his free hand and, without letting go, twisted and delivered a kick straight to Nightwing's abdomen. The blow sent him crashing into a wall, leaving him out cold.
The older Robin tried to pull something from his belt, but Owen spun Nightwing's baton in his hand and hurled it like a projectile. It struck his throat, knocking the air from his lungs before he collapsed unconscious.
Batgirl barely had time to react before a red blur appeared at her side. A sharp strike to her neck with the back of Owen's hand knocked her out before she could counter.
The Bat-Family—the pinnacle of human combat, agility, and strategy—had been taken down in seconds. Not because they were weak, but because Owen was far beyond that limit. Soldier, super soldier… and now something else entirely.
Calmly, he lifted his gaze to where Batman was rising with effort, his cold eyes burning with fury. The Dark Knight quickly activated several more switches on his belt.
From the sky, something massive began descending, assembling in midair.
Owen watched with amusement.
"My work here is done. We'll surely meet again, Bruce Wayne… Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne… and the other one, Tim Drake? Jason Todd? Doesn't matter."
With a mocking grin, Owen bent his knees and leapt. As if propelled by the air itself, he vanished skyward at incredible speed.
As he ascended, he tore off one tracker after another. There were many; even in the middle of the fight, each member of the Bat-Family had tried to tag him.
At last, he landed directly in front of Wanda.
"Well… now let's get out of this place," he said with a smile.
Wanda gave him a wry look.
"So now we're villains?"
"I'd call us… antiheroes," Owen replied, as the two walked away under Gotham's darkness.