He stepped out of the airport, a single bag in hand. Aviators shaded his eyes, a leather jacket hung loose over an untucked shirt and black dress pants, sneakers on his feet. Pale blonde hair caught the sun, bronze skin giving him that careless glow of someone who looked too good for his own safety.
This was Tony. And he was back in Gotham City.
Tony: mimicking in a drawl "Come to Gotham City. We could meet up."
Beside him walked a younger man in his early twenties. Silver hair with a metallic sheen, sharp electric-blue eyes hidden behind glasses, hoodie and jeans keeping him low-key. His skin was a warm brown, his hair short and curly. He looked like Alistair in the face—just younger, calmer. This was Lucius Grimm, Alistair's little brother.
Lucius: You know mimicking him makes you sound like a four-year-old.
Tony: scoffs Shut up, Jimmy Neutron.
Lucius: I'll take that as a compliment.
Tony: What the hell was he thinking, letting himself get caught?
Lucius: Tony, my brother's madness confuses me sometimes.
Tony: He's supposed to be the mature one.
Lucius: When you're around? Yeah. He has to be the mature one.
Tony: …What's that supposed to mean?
Lucius: Have you met yourself?
Tony flipped Lucius off, muttering under his breath. Just then a black Mercedes limo rolled up to the curb. The driver stepped out, bowed slightly, and opened the back door.
Inside, waiting, was a man in a tailored black suit. Sunglasses hid his eyes, a cane rested by his leg, and a heavy ring gleamed on his finger. Asian descent, pale skin, black hair neatly parted. Handsome, dangerous, collected.
Tony's grin broke wide.
Tony: Well, well. Been a while, Kenny.
Kenny: smiles It's good to see you two back.
He turned to Lucius, measuring him up.
Kenny: You've grown a fair bit, Lucius. You were a pipsqueak when we last met.
Lucius: It wasn't that long ago, y'know.
Kenny smirked, then leaned forward, folding his hands over the cane.
Kenny: So. I assume you're here on business rather than pleasure.
Tony: You know us. Alistair's in Arkham, and we wanna break him out.
Kenny raised an eyebrow, more curiosity than concern.
Kenny: Alistair in Arkham… and you're rushing to break him out? Why? He can get himself out. Breaking him out will just piss him off.
Tony: grins Yeah, that's kinda the point. He promised he'd lay low. Normally he's the smart one—why's he pulling this shit now?
Kenny: Your guess is as good as mine.
Tony slouched into the seat, drumming his fingers.
Tony: So what's the news in Gotham?
Kenny: Gang wars. Black Mask's been creeping into Chinatown, trying to carve up my territory. Running the Triad here ain't easy, especially with psychos like him on the move. Heard Alistair shot the bastard.
Tony: Yeah. He's going by "Hyde" nowadays. His codename.
Kenny nodded, thoughtful.
Kenny: I see.
Tony: snorts That's a lie. You're blind as a bat.
Kenny flipped Tony off without missing a beat.
Kenny: Fuck off.
Tony just grinned wider, leaning back in the leather seat.
Pov Switch:
The box finally opened.
Alistair stepped out, stretching as if he hadn't seen daylight in years. The sun brushed against his skin and he closed his eyes, sighing in relief. For a moment it almost felt human again. Almost.
But the illusion broke quick. Everything else was the same washed-out grey — concrete walls, cracked floors, rusted bars. In the corner, the sound of Bane's steady grunts and clanging iron carried through the air like background percussion.
Thugs muttered to each other in low voices, trading smokes and stories.
Alistair ignored them. He sat down at a scarred wooden table, pulling a battered chessboard closer. Black and white pieces scattered across its surface. He set them in place and began to play.
One move. Then another. Then the counter.
His eyes narrowed, lips curling as he whistled a tune under his breath. Every so often, he tilted his head like he'd heard a joke no one else caught.
Piece after piece shifted across the board. He was playing himself. Trying to outwit himself.
A foolish endeavor, most would think.
But Alistair… Alistair enjoyed foolish endeavors.
POV Switch: Harley Quinn
Harley sat cross-legged on the floor of her cell. Her half of the room was… well, "unique" was one way to put it. Posters of Mister J plastered the walls, scraps of old newspaper headlines pinned in messy clusters — "Clown Prince of Crime Strikes Again!" — her face grinning right there beside him. Like a shrine, but with glitter.
Ivy's side was the exact opposite. Spartan. A few stacks of books, one battered potted plant, and a cracked mirror leaning in the corner.
On the chair between them lounged Selina Kyle, orange jumpsuit tailored like she'd made it couture, arms crossed as if the whole prison was her private lounge.
Harley sighed dreamily.
Harley: Doesn't hurt that he's soft on the eyes though.
Ivy's gaze flicked over.
Ivy: You're not falling for him, are you?
Harley: No way. [swooning] My puddin's enough for me. [sighs, pulling a wilted flower from her pocket] He gave me this when we first met.
Ivy's eyebrow arched.
Ivy: That's one of those knockout-gas flowers.
Harley: [dreamy sigh] So romantic.
She twirled the flower, then shot Ivy a sly look.
Harley: Besides, I left the hunk for my bestie. Don't think I didn't see the way you were looking at him.
Selina's lips curved into a teasing grin.
Catwoman: Ivy. Interested in a man? Oh, this I have to see.
Ivy: [scoffs, burying her face in her book] He's just… interesting. Nothing more.
Harley and Selina, perfectly in sync:
Both: Bullshit.
Selina leaned forward, eyes glittering with mischief.
Catwoman: So? What does he look like?
Harley perked up instantly, giddy.
Harley: Long white hair he ties back real nice. Those pretty red eyes. Skin smooth as marble, not a blemish in sight. And the muscles, oooh, you can tell he's the kinda guy who—
Ivy: [snaps, slamming her book shut] Enough already!
Harley: [grinning] He's a bar of chocolate you'd love to take a bite outta.
The pillow Ivy hurled hit Harley square in the face. Harley just dissolved into laughter, flower still in hand.
Ivy: You're infuriating.
Harley: That's why you love me.
Ivy: [scoffs]
Harley stuck her tongue out.
Selina chuckled, lounging back.
Harley: So, girls — how we breakin' outta here?
Selina: I thought you had the plan.
Harley: [dramatic sigh] Unfortunately, I don't. Puddin's a little sore about the whole "Alistair stunt." Says he's givin' Bats the silent treatment. His words, not mine.
Selina arched an eyebrow.
Selina: Silent treatment? Joker?
Harley: I know, right? But that's what he said.
Ivy: I just need one plant seed and I can get us out of here.
Harley: …Will a potato work?
Ivy: [deadpan] Maybe.
---
POV Switch: Alistair
He sat outside at the bench, chessboard in front of him, casually moving pieces against himself. Every so often, he whistled, as if the entire prison were just background noise.
That's when eight men in orange sauntered over, shadows falling across the board.
Prisoner 1: Look at the new guy. He really is pretty.
Prisoner 2: Man, I'd like a taste of that, you feel me?
Prisoner 3: Oh, absolutely.
Alistair sighed, finally glancing up at them with glowing red eyes just faintly peeking through.
Alistair: Gentlemen… I prefer women. So, if you would kindly — I don't know — fuck off.
The lead thug sneered, glancing at his buddy.
Prisoner 1: Strip, pretty boy.
Alistair set his chess piece down with a soft click. Then, without warning, he grabbed Prisoner 1 by the collar and launched him across the yard. The man hit the concrete wall with a bone-jarring thud and slid down like a ragdoll.
Every head in the yard turned. The thugs froze.
Alistair dusted off his hands, voice calm, almost bored:
Alistair: A pretty face often hides a lot. Appearances and preconceptions are… deceiving.
He tilted his head, flashing the faintest smirk as the remaining seven slowly reconsidered their odds.
The yard went silent.
Seven thugs remained. They circled like vultures, each one trying to muster the courage to move.
Prisoner 2: Get him!
They rushed.
Alistair didn't move at first. He let them come. At the last second, he side-stepped, grabbed Prisoner 2 by the jaw, and slammed his head into the table, scattering chess pieces everywhere.
Alistair: Checkmate.
Prisoner 3 swung a shiv at him. Alistair caught the man's wrist mid-swing, stared at him with glowing red eyes, then slowly twisted until the shiv clattered to the ground and the wrist bent at an angle wrists shouldn't bend.
Alistair: Tsk, tsk. Improper form. No grace. No discipline. You insult me.
He drove his knee into Prisoner 3's gut, folding him in half before tossing him onto the chessboard like another captured piece.
Two more came at him together. Alistair laughed, actually laughed, then ducked low and swept both their legs in one fluid motion. They collapsed in a heap, and he crouched over them, his voice low and mocking.
Alistair: Tell me, boys… was the plan really "jump the albino with red eyes and hope for the best?"
One tried to rise. Alistair backhanded him so hard he spun and hit the dirt again.
The last two hesitated. Fear was setting in.
Alistair spread his arms, inviting them forward.
Alistair: Come now, don't be shy. You wanted to play with me, didn't you?
They exchanged a look — and ran. Straight across the yard, bolting for safety.
Alistair chuckled, brushing dust from his jacket, then casually sat back down at his bench. He picked up a fallen pawn, twirled it between his fingers, and reset the board as if nothing had happened.
Alistair: [to himself] Knights, pawns, rooks… all predictable pieces.
He placed the pawn back in its square and leaned back, whistling again.
Across the yard, Bane put down his weights to watch. Even he raised an eyebrow.
POV: Lucius
Rows of monitors bathed the dark room in pale light. Lines of code scrolled down one screen while another showed the prison yard. On it, Alistair sat at a bench, calmly rearranging his chess pieces as if he hadn't just turned half a dozen inmates into fertilizer.
Lucius smirked, shaking his head.
Lucius: Big brother, you really do love putting on a show.
The door creaked open. Tony swaggered in, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, the picture of confidence and bad decisions.
Tony: Is it ready?
Lucius: (typing a final command) Yeah. Cameras looped, locks prepped, grid's ours. We break him out tonight. Pack a duffle with his suit—you know how he gets.
Tony: Already done.
He tossed the bag onto the table with a thud.
Lucius swiveled back to his main monitor… only to click away from the prison feed and open Geometry Dash. His fingers tapped quickly, eyes narrowing.
Tony: (frowning) Seriously? Right now?
Lucius: (deadpan) Yes, right now. I've done my part. Let me have this.
Tony: You're coming with me.
Lucius: (snorts) No, I'm not. I stay indoors, thank you very much. I'm support. You're chaos. It's a perfect system—don't mess with it.
Tony didn't argue. He just lifted his hand, fingers curling. Air rippled. Lucius's chair scraped against the ground as he floated upward, legs kicking, the faint twist of wind visible if you looked close enough.
On the monitor, Game Over flashed. Lucius groaned.
Lucius: For fuck's sake, Tony! That was my best run!
Tony: (grinning) Let's go.
Lucius: You never let me do anything fun.
Tony: (mocking) Fun? You sit in the dark and play Tetris with epilepsy.
Lucius: It's Geometry Dash. Respect the art form.
Tony chuckled and slung the bag over his shoulder again, dragging his little brother toward the door.
POV: Alistair
Night fell fast, smothering Arkham in its usual cold silence.
Alistair lay sprawled across the stiff mattress, tossing a rubber ball against the wall. Thud. Bounce. Catch. Over and over again, the rhythm was steady, hypnotic. His red eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight bleeding through the barred window.
The peace shattered in an instant.
Sirens screamed to life, harsh red lights flashing across concrete walls. Alistair sat up, rolling his eyes. Only one person would pull something this loud. He'd been hoping for subtlety, maybe even a clever quiet exit… but no. A dramatic escape was apparently the flavor of the night.
With a sigh, he rose.
Cell doors clanged open across every floor. Inmates poured out like a flood, howling with glee, swarming guards with fists, shanks, and stolen batons. Chaos spread fast—screams, laughter, gunshots.
Alistair didn't rush. He dropped from the second tier, landing lightly on the main floor. As a brawl raged around him, he walked calmly through the madness. A shove here, a sidestep there—his voice low, polite, casual.
Alistair: "Excuse me… pardon me… not to be a bother…"
Like he wasn't a convicted murderer, just a man navigating a crowded street.
Finally, he reached it—the holding cells. The lockers where Arkham kept its trophies: stripped gear, confiscated toys, broken reminders of men and women far too dangerous.
He found his case. The weight alone felt like home.
Click.
The lid opened. And there they were.
His babies.
Muramasa and Masamune, gleaming with that hungry edge only he could tame. His pistols, twin devils he affectionately called Fuck Around and Find Out.
Alistair's lips curled into a grin. He strapped the swords to his waist, spun the pistols once before holstering them, then slung the case across his back.
The alarms wailed louder. Screams grew closer. Blood already smeared the walls.
Alistair: (under his breath) "Well then… curtain's up."
He stepped back into the storm, armed and smiling.
He slung the case higher on his back and stepped out into the madness. Prisoners tore into guards, blood slicking the floor, batons cracking bone. A man lunged at him with a shiv—Alistair barely glanced before sliding past, twisting the man's arm and driving his face into the wall with a crunch.
Another thug came from behind. Alistair pivoted, drew Fuck Around, and fired once. The bullet tore through the man's shoulder—he dropped screaming.
Alistair: "Told you. Don't sneak up on me."
Two more came at him with pipes. He ducked the first swing, caught the second pipe mid-swing, yanked it free, and cracked the man across the temple. With the same motion, he hurled the pipe like a spear, pinning the other to the wall by his jumpsuit.
A guard, bleeding, stumbled forward with his rifle raised. The poor bastard never even aimed—Alistair swept the legs out from under him, caught the rifle mid-fall, and in one smooth motion, spun and fired a burst into a cluster of charging inmates. They dropped like dominoes.
He tossed the rifle aside, shaking his head.
Alistair: "Sloppy. Very sloppy."
Another gang rushed—five at once. He drew both swords, the steel singing in the red siren light.
Steel clashed. Blood sprayed. He weaved between them like a dancer, every movement efficient and brutal. One arm came off at the elbow, another man split across the chest. He stabbed one through the knee, pivoted, and used the body as a shield as bullets tore through it from a panicked guard.
When the body fell, Alistair was already on the guard—disarming him, flipping the gun, and pistol-whipping him unconscious in the same breath.
The yard grew quiet around him. Prisoners and guards alike gave him space now.
He sheathed his blades, exhaled, and kept walking—calm, casual, as if he hadn't just carved through half the floor.
Alistair: (to himself) "Always gotta make a mess before the main act, don't I?"
The night air hit his skin like a blessing when the wall crashed down, dust cloud rolling out into the yard. Alistair stepped through first, case slung, smirk fixed, swords humming faintly at his sides. Behind him trailed Harley twirling, Ivy with her arms crossed, and Selina prowling like a shadow.
Alistair: "Well, well, well… if it ain't Cruella, Mother Nature, and the Cheshire Cat. What do I owe the pleasure?"
The three turned. Selina's sharp eyes widened a fraction before narrowing again.
Selina: [whispering] "Damn. You weren't lying—he is easy on the eyes."
Harley: [whispering back, smug] "Told ya so."
Then brightly: "We came to see who was throwin' a party! Turns out it was you, handsome."
Alistair gave a theatrical bow.
Alistair: "Guilty as charged."
He dropped the case, strolled over to the concrete wall, and pressed a hand against it. His grin grew wider.
Alistair: "Not sturdy at all."
He unsheathed Muramasa. The blade glowed faint red in the moonlight, practically hungry. With one precise slash, the wall gave a long groan before collapsing outward in a thunderous crash. Alistair slid the sword back into its sheath with a satisfied hum, dusting off his hands.
Alistair: "Voilà. Emergency exit."
They walked out together into the open night. Parked just beyond the rubble sat a roaring Ford Torino Cobra, black and red, engine idling like a beast waiting to be unleashed. On the trunk were two familiar figures—Tony and Lucius—arguing mid-bicker, voices loud enough to cut through the chaos.
Tony spotted them first, hopping down from the trunk with a shit-eating grin.
Tony: "I know you missed me and all, but getting caught and thrown in prison ain't exactly the best way to get my attention."
Alistair: [deadpan] "You know I could've broken out whenever I wanted, right? Hell, I got myself thrown in on purpose."
Tony: "Right, right. Always with the theatrics. Good to see you, pretty boy."
Alistair flipped him off casually, turning to Lucius.
Alistair: "And you—Freddie Mercury."
Before Lucius could protest, Alistair swooped him up like a newborn, holding him up for everyone to see.
Alistair: "Look at you, Lucius! You've grown. Taller. Stronger. Practically a man now. I'm so proud."
Lucius: [mortified] "Quit embarrassing me. You saw me four months ago!"
Alistair dropped him back on his feet without ceremony, dusting his hands like the matter was settled.
Harley snickered into her hand. Ivy rolled her eyes. Selina smirked like a cat that had just found a new toy. Tony just laughed.
Tony: "Yep. Feels like old times already."
He turned to the ladies before elbowing Alistair.
Tony: Alistair, why didn't you let me know we'd be having guests over? And beauties at that.
Alistair: sigh Ladies, this is Tony, my best friend and brother-in-arms.
He then pointed at Lucius.
Alistair: And the little gremlin over there is Lucius, my younger brother.
Tony: Nice to meet you.
Selina: smirking Oh, so this is the family I keep hearing about?
Lucius: rolling his eyes Please, I'm not that little.
Tony: grinning at Lucius You're fine, kid… I mean, not literally, but you know what I mean.
Lucius: deadpan I know exactly what you mean.
Alistair left them to talk and opened his trunk, finding a duffle bag with fresh clothes.
Tony: Aw, Lucius, you didn't have to do all this.
Lucius: shrugs Someone had to make sure Hyde looked presentable.
Alistair returned, dressed in a black dress shirt, red vest, black dress pants, black shoes, and black gloves with red palms. He tossed the case into the car.
Alistair: So, ladies… wanna lift?
Harley: grinning Yep!
Alistair opened the car door.
Alistair: After you.
Selina: teasing Oh, look at you, Hyde… showing off for the ladies already.
Harley: Don't flatter him too much, Selina… he's already full of himself.
Tony: chuckling Believe me, that's an understatement.
Lucius: to Harley and Selina Don't let him fool you—he'll act charming, but he's still Hyde. And chaos follows him everywhere.
Harley: pouting Hey, he's mine to adore!
Selina: rolling her eyes Adore chaos, maybe. But fine, I'll play along… for now.
Alistair: leaning back with a smirk Now that we're all civilized… let's move.