DC: I Became A Godfather

Adam had no intention of waiting for an answer.

The bullet was going to fly. A repayment for that little 'welcome gift' just moments ago.

But before he could squeeze the trigger—

CRACK.

Something lashed out of the darkness.

A blur. Whip-like. Fast.

It snapped against his wrist with brutal precision.

The revolver flew from his hand, clattering across the floor and disappearing into the shadows. A burning sting slashed across his skin, raw and angry.

"A whip?"

His mind reeled. That was new. And worse—he'd been disarmed in under three seconds.

The one ace he had just got yanked off the table.

His heart sank like a stone.

From the shadows, her voice came again—cool, cruel, and all too amused.

"I told you," she purred, voice circling him like a predator, "you won't be walking away tonight. Every move you've made—I saw it coming."

Adam backed up, his bare heel throbbing, nerves frayed. His eyes still hadn't adjusted. He'd come from the light into this cave-like living room, and she owned the dark.

"Okay..." he muttered to himself, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Woman. Whip. Night predator. Total control of the room..."

A bead of sweat slipped past his temple.

Then it clicked.

"Her?"

His breath hitched.

If he was right—if it really was her—then this wasn't a mugging. This was an execution. And the worst part? He had no idea why.

No debt. No grudge.

Why now?

Footsteps creaked—just a whisper in the dark.

She was coming.

Adam's mind raced.

His pupils still hadn't dilated enough. He couldn't track her movements in this black hellhole. If he stayed, he was dead. Hunted in his own damn apartment.

"Can't keep dodging," he hissed to himself. "Need to flip the game. Force her out. Shock her. Anything."

Desperation flared in his chest.

His eyes scanned the room. The dim moonlight cut a faint line across the floor—coming from the window.

There. That's the play.

He leaned toward it subtly, hoping to mask his shift with his voice.

"You know, I have to hand it to you," Adam called out, sarcastic. "All this whispering and whip-cracking—real Batman villain vibes. But if you're this good at predicting moves, maybe you should apply to a carnival. Read fortunes. Open a little shop."

Silence.

Then—

"Tch."

That same mocking scoff, dripping with scorn.

"You think pressing yourself against a wall helps you? That it gives me fewer angles? Amateur." Her voice was growing closer. "I've hunted men tougher than you by the hundreds. You're just another in a long line of rodents who thought the corner would protect them."

Adam let his lips curl into a grin. A mocking one.

"Then I guess you already know what I'll do next..."

He didn't wait for her answer.

He bolted.

In one fluid motion, Adam lunged toward the window and dived straight through the glass.

CRASH.

Shards exploded around him as his body flew into the cold night air.

"What?!"

She hadn't expected that.

The madman just threw himself off the eighth floor.

Except... he didn't.

Her boots hit the ground by the window as she rushed to the edge. She expected to see a body. Blood. Limbs twisted.

Instead, she saw nothing.

Then her eyes locked onto it—a fire escape, jutting just below the window frame, half-obscured by shadow.

"Coward," she hissed.

Adam wheezed as he slammed the roof door shut behind him.

He was on the roof now. Safe—for a moment.

His heart thundered in his chest like a war drum.

He grabbed nearby crates, garbage cans, anything to wedge the door closed.

"God, that was insane…" he muttered, trying to catch his breath. "Who the hell is this woman?"

He leaned back against the concrete ledge, slowly prying the glass from his foot. The blood was already drying, sticky against his skin.

"All this, and I'm still in slippers," he groaned. "Only in Gotham..."

He cursed his apartment choice—a unit with fire escape access. A red flag for break-ins, sure. But when he moved in, he thought it might make for a fast exit if things ever got dicey.

Tonight, that decision probably saved his life.

BOOM.

The metal door below rattled.

A second slam.

The sound of force—unnatural force—trying to break through.

"Oh, come on," Adam whispered, limping to the edge of the roof.

Then he heard it.

Creeeeaaak...

The door was splitting.

A hand emerged from the growing crack.

Thin. Feminine. Covered in black leather so tight, it almost looked like shadow.

And those fingers?

Razor-sharp nails, carving through the wood like talons.

"There you are," she growled, voice like a serpent. "Thought you could run?"