Sorry for such a long wait. I had the worst case of writers block, and now I have come to realize, that writing dailogue is truly one of my worst skills. So as I keep writing, please give your thoughts, and if anyone wants to pick up the idea, they can. I would love to see the different takes and perspective.
Inside a high-security government facility, some of the most dangerous criminals in the world were locked away. Each prisoner housed here had multiple life sentences—none of them would ever walk free again. They would either die behind these bars or be buried beneath them.
The clanging of heels echoed through the cold, sterile halls as a woman strode forward with unshakable confidence. Inmates peered through the bars of their cells, their gazes filled with hatred and disdain. Others barely reacted at all, their eyes hollow, long since stripped of hope. These people were no longer part of society. They belonged to the government now.
But their rage wasn't directed at her. Not today.
Someone else was here. Someone even worse than them.
Amanda Waller walked through the facility, her expression unreadable, her focus locked on her destination. The main office. Her team was already waiting.
She expected the best from them—nothing less would be tolerated. Anything short of excellence was discarded without hesitation.
As she entered the room, she didn't waste time with pleasantries.
"Why am I getting calls in the middle of the night about an incident we know nothing about?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "Who is this boy, and where the hell did he come from?"
Her anger simmered just beneath the surface, but more than that—she was annoyed. The government's intelligence network was vast, and yet somehow, they had missed the emergence of someone this powerful.
A man in a dark suit stepped forward, clearing his throat before speaking.
"His name is Solomon," he began. "He was found in a Cadmus facility alongside Superboy. The Justice League took him in, and he was part of Young Justice for a period before leaving without a trace."
Waller's glare sharpened. "And?"
The man hesitated. Then—
"He also slaughtered an entire island during a covert mission before disappearing."
Silence filled the room.
Waller's face remained impassive, but her voice carried a dangerous edge.
"How did someone like that slip through the cracks?" she asked, her tone eerily calm. "Whose job was it to track people like him?"
No one answered.
Because they all knew—when Waller asked a question like that, it wasn't rhetorical. And the consequences wouldn't just fall on them. Their families would suffer, too.
Just as she was about to press the issue further, her phone buzzed.
A call.
From her superiors.
She answered without hesitation, listening intently.
Her orders were clear: bring Solomon in.
By any means necessary.
If that failed—his DNA would suffice. Someone like him should belong to the government.
The call ended, leaving Waller deep in thought.
Solomon had shaken the world with his arrival. His greatest feat? Defeating Batman.
Waller never liked Batman, but she respected him. And when she first heard he had been beaten, she thought it was a joke. Or a lie.
But it wasn't.
And that meant Solomon was a problem.
Her mind worked quickly, formulating a plan.
"Gather the Suicide Squad," she ordered. "We have a mission."
Her team snapped into motion.
But Waller wasn't a fool. She knew that if Solomon could take down Batman, the Suicide Squad might not be enough.
She needed a backup plan.
—
The night still reigned over Gotham, the sky dark and ominous as always. The city had returned to an eerie normalcy—people had retreated to their homes, and for the most part, life moved on.
But beneath Gotham's surface, in the criminal underworld, chaos was brewing.
The death of Scarecrow and the defeat of Batman had shaken Gotham to its core.
Every criminal had seen the footage. Some were terrified—vanishing into the shadows, waiting to see what would happen next.
Others?
Others saw opportunity.
Batman was gone. His absence left a vacuum—one that criminals were all too eager to fill.
Greed. Malice. Power.
Without Gotham's protector, they were free.
—
Inside a dimly lit hideout, furious shouting echoed through the room.
CRASH.
A crowbar slammed against a crate, splintering it into pieces.
The man wielding it was seething.
"AARGH!"
He swung the crowbar again, sending splinters flying. His henchmen watched from the shadows, too afraid to speak, too afraid to move.
"How could you lose to the little bastard?" he snarled, his voice filled with venom. "I was supposed to be the one to defeat you."
His pale white skin, the eerie green hair, the purple suit—there was no mistaking him.
The Joker.
Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime.
And he had just lost his greatest source of entertainment.
The minion who had dared to deliver the bad news barely had time to react before—
BANG.
A gunshot.
But not just any gun.
Acid sprayed from the barrel, burning through the man's flesh. He screamed, his skin melting, his body convulsing as the smell of scorched meat filled the air.
Joker didn't spare him a second glance.
His rage melted away as quickly as it had come, replaced by… sorrow?
As if he had just lost an old friend.
"S…S-Sir?"
"WHAT?!"
The henchman flinched but swallowed his fear.
"Why don't you, um… deal with the man who beat B-Batman?"
Silence.
Then—
Joker's eyes lit up.
Like a man who had just stumbled upon the greatest joke in the world.
Slowly, his lips stretched into an unnatural grin.
His red, painted smile.
The smile of a true demon.
And then—
Laughter.
Wild, manic, unhinged laughter that sent chills down the spines of everyone in the room.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA—"
It echoed through the night.
—
All across Gotham, criminals were plotting.
Some saw Solomon as an opportunity.
Others saw him as a threat.
A man who needed to be eliminated.
But Solomon didn't care.
He had already left Mount Justice.
And now—he was flying home.
The League's traps and surveillance? They couldn't touch him.
The cold wind rushed past his face as he soared through the sky, his breathing heavy.
This was the most exhausted he had ever been.
Ever.
His landing was sloppy, his body nearly collapsing as he stumbled into his base. With a tired grunt, he stripped off his suit.
His skin was flawless.
No bruises. No scars.
Despite the battle, his body bore no sign of injury.
But mentally?
He felt drained.
He had fought Batman.
And it had taken its toll.
Especially those final moments.
His mind kept replaying it—the way Batman clawed at him, his gauntlets ripping into his flesh.
The pain had been unbearable.
For a split second—Solomon had nearly killed him.
Not out of strategy.
Not out of necessity.
But out of pure, unfiltered rage.
That scared him.
Not the fight. Not the pain.
The loss of control.
Something had influenced him.
Just for a second.
And now, with his powers on the verge of evolving, that influence was growing stronger.
He couldn't pinpoint the source.
Not yet.
But he had suspicions.
His thoughts swirled, bouncing between theories and doubts.
Eventually, he pushed them aside.
Right now, he had one priority.
The sun.
His internal clock told him the first rays of morning would reach this part of the world in 47 minutes and 36 seconds.
That was all that mattered.
Everything else—his fatigue, his questions, his fears—
That was a problem for future Solomon.