DC: I Became A Godfather

"Oops. My bad."

Adam lowered his pistol and stepped forward with a faint grin. "Thought I saw a bat-demon fly across the skyline just now, so I fired a little warning shot." His tone was playful and measured. The barrel of his weapon still smoked as he moved to stand between the fuming police officer and Floyd Lawton.

His next words were spoken firmly.

"This man is my guest. His identity is clear, and he has nothing to do with today's incident. As a detective of the Arkham Division, I vouch for him personally."

The officer stared at him, stunned.

Adam.

The damn Chinese detective. The same one who shot a gangbanger in broad daylight that afternoon. The same one who somehow got tangled up in tonight's gas bombing at Zeus Hotel. Wherever this man went, trouble followed like a shadow—and not the quiet kind.

Was it just an Asian thing?

Did they all bring chaos like this?

Before the officer could react, another detective—rotund, disheveled, and still chewing some hotel canapé—waddled over quickly upon hearing Adam's name. Grease glistened on his fingers as he shook Adam's hand like a long-lost friend.

"Hahaha! Well, if it isn't you, Adam!" the man beamed. "Man, your name's been buzzing in my ears all week. Heard there was a plainclothes officer involved earlier tonight—thought it was some wannabe vigilante. Didn't realize it was one of our own!"

Adam kept his expression pleasant, but inwardly, he sneered.

Of course.

The guy didn't care about the victims, the toxin, or the chaos. He was worried someone might've stolen his thunder. These men didn't serve Gotham—they just served their careers.

Still, Adam smiled, playing along with equal warmth.

"Ah, no no, you flatter me, brother." His voice was smooth. "I was just here for a meal. It was your men who coordinated everything—calmed the crowd, secured the perimeter, flushed out the danger. I just watched in awe."

The other man chuckled, his chest puffing with stolen pride. He didn't even realize he'd just been patronized.

"You've got a sharp tongue, kid. That's gonna take you far," he beamed. "No wonder Chief Loeb's so fond of you."

Adam bowed slightly, then dropped the hook.

"Then I'll be sure to tell Chief Loeb about your leadership tonight. He'll want to know who held it down during a crisis."

He let it hang there a second, then added, casually, "...So, about Mr. Lawton? Can he go?"

"Of course, of course!" the officer waved, suddenly all smiles. "We'll even get you a ride out—hell, take a squad car! You earned it."

Adam's smile didn't fade, but his eyes sharpened. He'd seen Deadshot's daughter pale and fragile earlier. The girl didn't have time to sit around while the police argued about protocols.

He called ahead for an ambulance.

Let the system fail. He wouldn't.

Floyd Lawton sat in the back seat of the emergency van, his daughter cradled carefully beside him. The hardened ex-soldier, the cold-eyed assassin with steel in his bones, looked... small.

He had lived a difficult and lonely life.

In a city like Gotham, you either learned to grovel or you learned to kill. Floyd had chosen the latter. He didn't flatter, didn't beg, didn't pretend to be what he wasn't. And so, no one gave him a damn thing.

Until tonight.

He hadn't asked Adam for help. But the younger man had given it anyway. Without condition. Without judgment.

As the doors closed, Floyd blinked fast.

And for the first time in a long while—

He wasn't sure what to say.

"Gentlemen—please wait!"

The voice was regal, theatrical.

They turned to see a man approaching, crowned with a laurel wreath and cloaked in white robes that billowed like a toga in the breeze.

Only one man in Gotham wore such an outfit without irony—and got away with it.

Maxi Zeus.

The eccentric billionaire and owner of Zeus Hotel strode toward them like an emperor descending from Olympus.

"Thank you!" he declared, voice booming with pompous nobility. "Your actions today are worthy of true Roman citizenship. You have demonstrated honor, courage, and nobility befitting the sons of Mars."

Adam raised an eyebrow.

Maxi always talked like this.

"Please accept this humble token of my appreciation."

He extended three golden cards. VIP Memberships to Zeus Hotel. Worth thousands apiece—exclusive access, top-tier privileges, and all the indulgences a Gotham elite might crave.

To Floyd Lawton, he offered something else: a velvet box of gourmet chocolates—clearly intended for the little girl.

A gesture of class and kindness.

Adam bowed politely as he accepted the gift.

Meanwhile, the police detective—who'd so recently been basking in false praise—watched the exchange from the sidelines, seething. Not a single glance. Not a single card. Nothing.

He gritted his teeth.

Adam just smirked inwardly.

Of course.

Maxi Zeus didn't reward sycophants. He praised only those who played their roles with boldness—those who wore masks not to hide, but to lead. That same theatrical arrogance is what earned him a padded cell in Arkham for half the year.

And freedom for the other half.

Before leaving, Adam turned back to the officers.

"When you sweep this place," he said, tone suddenly sharper, "be thorough. If you find anything suspicious, notify us immediately."

The cop nodded, distracted and disinterested.

Adam frowned. He didn't believe a word of it.

So he repeated it, firmer this time.

Then, without waiting for a real answer, he turned and left with Floyd and Nygma.

As he walked off, the officer sneered behind his back and spat.

"Hah. This foreigner thinks he's calling shots now? Go file your little report, detective. We don't answer to tourists."

Inside the elevator, the ride was quiet at first.

Then, of course, Nygma started complaining.

"I mean, really—they get credit? The officers with their one-hour response time? We cracked the gas trap, subdued the toxin, stopped a riot—and they're going to get the damn commendation?"

Adam stared out at the shimmering cityscape, the night a tapestry of red lights and black promises. He lit a cigarette, exhaled slowly.

"The guy who showed up? Just another pawn. He'd sell his soul for a commendation and curse your name if it meant a promotion."

He took another drag. "Getting angry at someone like that only lowers your value."

Nygma sighed.

"True... but still! Adam, do you have to keep quoting these damn Chinese proverbs? You sound like a walking Confucius calendar."

Adam laughed softly.

"Ahem. Sorry. Just trying to sound wise in a city that eats philosophers for breakfast."

Then his voice turned quieter.

"Truth is… this victory? It doesn't matter. Not in the long run."

He looked down at the city below. The streets. The shadows. The pulse of crime that beat through every alley.

"If I'm right about what we're facing—tonight was just the opening act."

He didn't say the rest aloud.

But it echoed in his mind like thunder:

If what I saw wasn't just another madman…

Then Gotham's real monster has already woken.