Naruto:Suna Shinobi

Gotham's Eternal Darkness

In this twisted city called Gotham, light has never truly existed.

Even Harvey Dent, who once aspired to be Gotham's "White Knight," ultimately succumbed and became Two-Face.

Even Batman—the supposed protector—had to embrace the darkness just to fight it.

And as for the Gotham Police Department?

It had long since fallen to corruption, becoming not just protectors of crime, but collaborators.

"So," Hiriito mused, chin resting on his hand, "with Chidi Cole dead, we've lost our "protection," and now we might have to deal with both the Two-Face Gang and Gotham PD coming after us?"

The thugs before him shifted uncomfortably.

"Uh… well…"

"Forget it." Hiriito waved a hand. "I'll handle it. Just tell me our current resources."

A middle-aged man with glasses stepped forward, flipping open a notebook.

"Boss Walter, I'm Dura Bent. I handled Chidi's accounts. Here's what we got:

Our gang controls Hog Street and this abandoned factory.

We collect $300 per household in protection fees every month.

We own six shops, including a department store and a second-hand motorcycle shop.

We earn around $50,000 per month.

But…

50% of that goes to the Two-Face Gang.

Chidi Cole took half of what remained.

What's left? Barely enough for the guys to survive.

That's why most of the crew does side hustles—manual labor, watching over places, even petty crime."

Hiriito's eyebrow twitched.

Pathetic.

Even with a steady cash flow, the Cole Gang lived like rats.

Now he understood why this gang "survived"—they were under Two-Face's protection.

But the real kicker?

After Chidi Cole and his brother took their cut, the remaining 30+ gang members barely got $300–$400 each.

That was barely survival money in Gotham.

Which meant these guys weren't just gangsters—they were desperate slaves.

Hiriito smirked.

A proper gang should be thriving, not scrounging for scraps.

"Alright," he said, rising to his feet. "Chidi Cole must've stashed his wealth somewhere. Take me to it."

Dura swallowed nervously.

"Uh… Boss Walter, I… I only managed Chidi's accounts, but I never saw where he hid his stash…"

Hiriito's gaze sharpened.

"You really expect me to believe that?"

The accountant flinched.

"I swear! But… Chidi had a room here that no one was allowed to enter. He and his brother were the only ones with the key."

The gang glanced at the pile of pulpy remains that had once been Chidi Cole.

The key was useless now.

"Lead the way."

As Hiriito followed Dura, other thugs rushed to introduce themselves.

"Boss Walter, my name's Ange! I run the motorcycle shop and can fix any vehicle!"

"Boss, I'm Frank—I handle supply runs!"

"Boss, I—"

Hiriito sighed.

Desperation.

They knew that their new leader wasn't just some thug—he was something greater.

And if they could impress him, they might rise above the filth of the slums.

Fools.

A heavy wooden door stood before them.

Hiriito smirked.

"Kurokin."

CRASH!

The Black Gold puppet smashed through the door, reducing it to splinters.

"Search," Hiriito commanded.

"Yes, Boss!"

"On it!"

"Right away!"

The gang rushed inside, overturning furniture and tearing through shelves.

One thug dragged a chair over.

"Boss Walter, take a seat!"

Another jumped forward.

"Boss, let me massage your shoulders!"

"Boss, how about a leg massage?!"

Hiriito rolled his eyes.

"Enough."

He kicked the chair aside.

"Stop kissing up and follow my orders."

Discipline.

If he was going to turn this gang into something useful, he had to train them like soldiers, not street rats.

Hours passed.

They searched every inch of the room.

Nothing.

Frustration was creeping in.

"Turn on the light," Hiriito ordered.

Dura flipped the switch—but the bulb didn't turn on.

"Boss, I can fix that!" A gangster with dyed yellow hair waved his hand.

"Go," Hiriito said.

The thug climbed a ladder, reaching for the light bulb base.

But as soon as he twisted it, something shifted.

A small crack appeared in the ceiling panel.

Hiriito's eyes narrowed.

"Stop."

The thug froze mid-motion.

Then, with unnatural ease, Hiriito walked up the wall—his feet sticking perfectly to the surface.

The room fell silent.

Every gangster's jaw dropped.

"W-what the hell…?"

Even Dura, the once-calculating accountant, was stunned.

This man… isn't human.

Hiriito smirked.

"Gotham's full of freaks," he mused. "Time to show them one more."

(End of Chapter)

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