Tuesday, July 3rd, 2012, 6:30 AM
Reagan National Airport
Washington, D.C.
The email had come through one of Malik's throwaway accounts at three in the morning. Sender: S.Steel@dma.gov. Subject line: "Meeting Confirmation."
Department of Metahuman Affairs. Seven AM sharp. Come alone.
Malik stared at his phone screen in the back of the government sedan, wondering if he'd finally overplayed his hand. The DOJ research position was supposed to be routine academic work. This felt like something else entirely.
"Nervous?"
The woman sitting across from him had introduced herself as Amanda Waller when the driver had picked him up from the airport. Mid-thirties, short natural hair, the kind of direct gaze that suggested she could see through bullshit from orbit. Everything about her screamed federal authority.
"Curious," Malik replied. "This isn't exactly what I expected from an academic internship."
"Academic." Waller's smile had no warmth in it. "Right. Tell me about your paper on metahuman criminal psychology."
"Which part?"
"The part where you analyzed Poison Ivy's recruitment patterns without ever having met her."
Malik kept his expression neutral, but internally alarms were going off. His paper had included observations about Ivy's methods that he'd gained through personal contact. Apparently, that hadn't gone unnoticed.
"I'm good at reading people."
"You're good at something. Question is what." Waller leaned forward slightly. "Seventeen years old, perfect academic record, insights that make seasoned investigators look like amateurs. Either you're the most naturally gifted criminal psychologist in a generation, or you've got sources most people don't."
"Can't it be both?"
"Ah, a smart ass. I like that." Waller's smile became slightly more genuine. "Sarge is going to love you."
The Department of Metahuman Affairs occupied a building that looked like it had been designed by someone who thought intimidation was an architectural style. All angles and reinforced concrete, the kind of place where important people made decisions about other people's lives.
Waller led him through security checkpoints that scanned everything short of his DNA, then up elevators that required three different keycards to operate. The tour was brief but comprehensive: laboratories where they studied superhuman abilities, holding cells designed to contain metahuman prisoners, conference rooms where policy was made about people who could fly.
"Impressive setup," Malik observed.
"Necessary setup. Metahumans aren't going away, so we need to understand them. How they think, what motivates them, how to predict their behavior." Waller stopped outside an office door marked with a nameplate reading "S. Steel - Secretary." "That's where you come in."
The man behind the desk looked like he'd been carved from granite and then taught to wear suits. Sarge Steel was probably fifty, built like someone who'd spent years doing jobs that required physical courage, with eyes that had seen too much and processed all of it.
"Mr. Robinson," Steel said without looking up from a file. "Or should I say, Mr. Anderson?"
Malik felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, but kept his expression neutral. "I'm not sure what you mean."
"Sure you do." Steel finally looked up, and his gaze was like being examined by a machine designed to find weaknesses. "Malik Anderson, age seventeen, parents dead, living with Selina Kyle under an assumed identity created by some very expensive forgers."
"That's an interesting theory."
"It's not a theory. It's intelligence gathered by people who are very good at their jobs." Steel gestured for Malik to sit down. "The question is what we do with that intelligence."
Malik considered his options. Deny everything, which wouldn't work against someone who clearly had solid evidence. Try to leave, which definitely wouldn't work in a federal building surrounded by armed guards. Or play the only card he had left.
"What do you want?" Malik asked.
"Better. Direct questions get direct answers." Steel leaned back in his chair. "I want to understand how a seventeen-year-old kid from Gotham's East End developed insights into criminal psychology that my people with decades of experience can't match."
"Maybe I'm just naturally gifted."
"Maybe. Or maybe you've been getting a very practical education in how criminals actually think." Steel's expression didn't change. "Tell me about Selina Kyle."
"What about her?"
"What she's taught you. How long you've been working with her. What kind of operations you've been involved in."
Malik studied Steel's face, looking for angles and motivations. This felt like an interrogation, but not the kind that ended with handcuffs. More like a job interview conducted by someone who didn't believe in conventional hiring practices.
"Why does it matter?"
"Because I think you understand something that most people in this business never figure out. That criminals and heroes aren't different species. They're just people who've made different choices about how to use their capabilities."
The observation hit closer to home than Malik wanted to admit. Steel was reading him better than most people managed to.
"You want to know about metahuman criminals," Malik said. "Why they do what they do, how to predict their behavior, how to stop them before they cause damage."
"Among other things."
"Then you already know that traditional law enforcement doesn't work against people who can fly or control minds or create earthquakes. You need different approaches. More flexible thinking."
"Go on."
Malik took a breath and decided to gamble everything on honesty.
"Selina Kyle found me after my parents were murdered. Took me in, taught me ways to survive that silver spoonfed kids don't learn. How to read people, how to think strategically, how to operate in this cruel world." Malik's voice carried conviction he hadn't known he possessed. "I've seen how Gotham really works. The corruption, the violence, the way power protects itself. And I've learned that sometimes the only way to fight monsters is to become something just as dangerous."
Steel listened without interruption, his expression unreadable.
"You're telling me you're a criminal."
"The term criminal has various defintions in Gotham, Mr. Steel." Malik said, his convinction still unwaevring. "Once you understand that, the holier than thou act looks weak and pathetic."
"And you think that gives you insight into metahuman psychology?"
"I think it gives me insight into how people justify their actions when normal rules don't apply for everyone equally . Whether they're criminals with superpowers or heroes who operate outside the law." Malik leaned forward. "The only difference between Batman and the Joker is which victims they choose. They are both out of their minds."
"Interesting perspective. Dangerous, but interesting." Steel pulled out a tablet and slid it across the desk. "Let's see if your insights are worth the risk of working with someone who just admitted to criminal activity."
The tablet contained access to databases that shouldn't have existed. Criminal profiles, metahuman activity reports, psychological assessments of every major player in the superhero and supervillain communities. Intelligence that could reshape how law enforcement approached the entire concept of powered individuals.
Malik scrolled through files on Superman, Wonder Woman, The Flash. Detailed analyses of their behavioral patterns, psychological profiles, tactical assessments. But also files on Lex Luthor, Brainiac, other metahuman criminals whose methods and motivations were laid bare.
"This is comprehensive," Malik said, absorbing information as quickly as he could read it.
"That's the idea. Complete understanding leads to better strategies."
While Steel watched, Malik opened a backend access portal that would let him retrieve information remotely. His fingers moved across the tablet's interface with practiced efficiency, installing pathways that would be invisible to normal security scans.
"Your report is due at five PM," Steel said. "Analysis of metahuman recruitment patterns, focusing on how criminal organizations utilize powered individuals."
"Understood."
The next eight hours passed in a blur of data analysis and strategic thinking. Malik built profiles of metahuman criminal organizations, identified recruitment patterns, mapped power structures that connected street-level crime to cosmic-level threats.
But more importantly, he gathered intelligence on every major player in Gotham's criminal ecosystem. Financial records, operational details, psychological assessments. Everything he needed to finally move against the Penguin and his associates.
By five PM, Malik had produced a fifty-page analysis that Steel read with growing approval.
"Exceptional work. You've identified patterns that our best analysts missed." Steel looked up from the report. "How would you like a permanent position?"
"I'm seventeen."
"Age is just a number. Capability is what matters."
"I'll consider it, but not now."
But as Malik left the building with a government sedan waiting to take him back to the airport, he was already thinking about how the intelligence he'd gathered would accelerate everything he'd been planning.
Same Day, 8:15 PM
Gotham City
Selina's Apartment
"You look pleased with yourself," Selina observed as Malik walked through the door.
"Productive day."
They sat down to a late dinner of Thai takeout, and Malik recounted his meeting with Steel and Waller. He described the databases, the intelligence he'd accessed, the backend portal he'd established.
"I'm not surprised they knew about me, not like it matters anyway. But still... Malik." Selina set down her chopsticks. "Do you understand what you've done? You've hacked federal intelligence databases. That's not petty crime anymore. That's the kind of thing that gets you killed."
"Only if they catch me. And they won't."
"You're seventeen years old and you think you're smarter than the entire federal intelligence apparatus?"
"You know what...yes, I do. That paper I wrote was a joke, yet they acted as if I discovered the holy grail to what they see as a problem."
Selina studied his face, seeing something there that made her expression shift from concern to recognition.
"You're ready," she said finally.
"Ready for what?"
Instead of answering, Selina got up and retrieved a manila folder from her desk. She placed it on the table between them with the careful attention usually reserved for live explosives. The smirk on her face growing.
"Open it."
Inside were surveillance photographs of a restaurant in Little Italy. Men in expensive suits, careful body language, the kind of formal meeting that suggested serious business being conducted.
"Maroni family," Selina said. "They're meeting tomorrow night to discuss territorial disputes with the Bertinellis. High-level strategy session, all the major players in one room."
Malik looked up from the photographs. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because you're going to infiltrate it."
"What?"
"Solo operation. Your planning, your execution, your intelligence gathering." Selina's voice carried finality. "You've proven you can at least handle federal agencies. Time to see if you can handle the real thing."
Malik stared at the photographs, processing what she was offering him. His first major solo operation against one of Gotham's most dangerous crime families. The kind of job that could establish his reputation or get him killed.
"Why now?"
"Because you're not my student anymore. You're my partner. And partners take on jobs that matter."
He stood up, and walked around the table, before leaning forward and giving her a tight hug.
Selina's eyes went wide, before a knowing smile appeared on her face and hugged back.
"You won't regert this," Malik said over her shoulder.
After having sat back down, Malik looked at the photographs again, already beginning to formulate plans.
Looks like it was time to plan for a job.