Nolan stood.
Little Tao did not.
Blood clung to Nolan's suit in thick, drying patches, darkening the fabric like wilted flowers. Droplets peppered the concrete around him, and a long arc of spatter streaked across the lower half of his theater mask, giving it a painted, ceremonial cruelty.
"I apologize," Nolan said, voice soft—too soft. "It seems I lost my composure there for a minute."
Behind him the Jade Leopards, the Dockyard Dogs, and the Deacons all stood in varying degrees of stunned silence. The battlefield still simmered with the last dying groans of the Steel Sevens. Flames licked the edges of a trashed sedan. Someone's molotov still burned in an oil slick. Smoke trailed from blown-out windows. The whole street felt like it was inhaling.
Nolan brushed a flake of blood from his sleeve.
"Clean up any stragglers," he instructed, tone returning to that unshakable managerial calm. "Unfortunately, this is just a prelude. The real culprit behind the attack on our operations was Falcone."
A murmur rippled through the allied crews.
"Not to worry," he continued. "I feel this war will end soon."
He walked forward, boots crunching broken glass, passing the Jade Leopards, the Dockyard Dogs, and the Deacons one by one—their eyes following him, uncertain whether they had just witnessed justice or madness. Nolan paused long enough to incline his head respectfully.
"I'm glad our friendship has prevailed."
Then he moved on, expression unreadable behind the stained mask.
****
Madam Jiang listened without interruption.
Her subordinate stood stiffly before her, recounting the events with a voice still hoarse from smoke inhalation. The tale had run long—battle aftermath descriptions, the executions, Vey's rampage, and finally Nolan's… moment.
Outside her office balcony, the faintest rim of orange dawn began to push up over the edge of the docks. A gull cried somewhere far off. The world was waking, though the story being told felt like something pulled from a nightmare's belly.
"Boss, I'm telling you… that man isn't normal."
The subordinate swallowed hard, then took a long sip of warm tea to wet their throat again. "We shouldn't be in an alliance with someone that unstable."
Madam Jiang said nothing at first.
The tea kettle clicked softly behind her as it cooled. Steam rose in thin, fading ribbons. She watched her subordinate struggle to regain composure, watched the tremble still lingering in their fingers.
Finally—
"I see," she murmured.
Her tone betrayed nothing—neither agreement nor dismissal. Just that cool, measured cadence she always used when the gears in her mind were spinning rapidly behind her eyes.
"Thank you for the detailed report. You've done well tonight."
Relief softened her subordinate's shoulders.
"Send Mei Lin inside when you leave."
"Yes, ma'am."
The subordinate bowed and backed out of the room, leaving Madam Jiang alone with the lingering scent of gunpowder and fear drifting in through the open window.
She folded her hands, closed her eyes, and exhaled once—long, steady, controlled.
The alliance was holding.
But the fire burning at its center just might consume them all.
***
Nolan sat beside Marcy's bed long before dawn fully broke.
The room was dim—just the steady pulse of the heart monitor and the low hum of filtered air. The doctor had left hours ago, leaving only the soft scent of antiseptic and the lingering echo of urgency behind him. Nolan hadn't moved from his chair since. He kept one gloved hand resting near hers without quite touching it, as if afraid one wrong movement would shatter the fragile line keeping her alive.
Marcy's breathing was thin, uneven… but steady. That was enough.
When she finally stirred—barely more than a flutter of her lashes—Nolan leaned forward immediately.
"Easy," he murmured, the voice of the mask gone now, replaced by something low and controlled. "You're safe."
Her eyes opened a sliver. She didn't speak—she couldn't—but she fixed him with that same sharp, calculating awareness she always had. Even wounded, she registered everything.
Nolan exhaled, slow.
"It's done," he said. "The Steel Sevens paid for what they tried to do to us."
Her brow twitched—an expression halfway to a question.
"Yes," Nolan answered the silent thought. "All of them."
He let a beat pass.
"And Little Tao," he added, tone tightening just a fraction. "He suffered."
Marcy blinked, just once. Satisfaction. Relief. Something in that spectrum flickered faintly across her tired eyes.
Nolan let himself lean back, though the tension didn't leave his body.
"I should have protected you better," he admitted quietly, almost to himself. "I opened those trade routes. I thought cooperation could work. I thought… maybe we were building something."
He shook his head.
"I was wrong."
Marcy shifted weakly, trying to lift her hand—he stopped her gently, placing his fingers lightly atop hers so she wouldn't strain herself.
"Don't," he whispered. "You've done enough. More than enough."
Her breaths steadied. Her gaze didn't.
Nolan nodded once, solemn.
"Falcone orchestrated this," he said. "The Sevens were only the blade. He was the one holding the handle."
Anger flickered briefly behind Marcy's heavy eyelids.
"I promise you," Nolan continued, voice quiet but cold as winter stone, "Falcone will get his next."
Marcy's eyes softened—not with pity, not with fear, but with the same fierce trust she'd always had in him. She let her eyelids drift half-shut again, exhausted but listening.
Nolan reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead with a gentleness that didn't match the monster the others saw tonight.
"Rest. Heal. We'll finish this together."
Her fingers curled weakly—barely there—but enough.
Nolan stayed at her bedside until he was forced to leave to deal with some business.
Arriving back at the penthouse he sighed before flopping onto the chair behind him, "Fucking hell what was that?"
They appeared by his side instantly, "I'm not sure what you mean boss." Kieran said smugly, "We just kicked ass."
Nolan glared at him from the corner of his eye, "Your hardly ever violent but you suddenly jumped on board with torture?"
Kieran grimaced, "He took my people from me what else was a man to do?"
"No he took my people." Quentin interjected his voice still laced with anger, "He took my people and thought he was to get away with it?"
"Both of you are wrong clearly when I'm wearing the mask they are my people I lead into battle. Anyways that's beside the point Nolan we needed to show strength, brutality, and resolve so this situation doesn't happen again."
"We did so."
Nolan stayed silent before letting out another sigh, "Our people, they are OUR people."
***
Batman and the young justice team arrived too late, "It's already over." He said walking along the carnage
"The sevens got dismantled tonight. We are spread too thin Batman." Robin frowned, "We were dealing with the cartel and the triads the whole night."
"They are getting closer to having an all out battle instead of mini skirmishes. We didn't even know about this until it was too late Robin." Aqualad said shaking his head
Kid Flash skidded up beside them, face pale. "Uh—guys? I found… something. Or someone. I think."
Batman didn't move yet. His eyes traced the patterns on the ground—bootprints, drag marks, the unmistakable signs of multiple groups converging. Explosives used with precision. Gunfire from at least three angles. And something else…
Something savage.
He walked forward slowly, following the trail Kid Flash indicated.
Then he stopped.
Little Tao's body lay crumpled against a cracked brick wall. His face was so mangled Robin looked away instinctively. Blood soaked the dirt. One knee was shattered inwards, ribs crushed, throat snapped clean.
Batman crouched.
"He was alive for most of it," he said quietly, analyzing the wounds. "This wasn't a crime of business nor opportunity."
"Anger." Robin said softly looking at the corpse
Batman nodded.