Outside the Dior boutique, reporters from the Daily Planet of Metropolis jostled for position amid a restless crowd.
Photographer Jimmy Olsen clutched his camera and video recorder protectively as he called out to his team leader,
"Lois, watch out—that Gotham reporter just tried to trip you!"
"I'll give her a piece of my mind after we secure a good spot, Jimmy!" Lois Lane shot back, shoving past two overzealous onlookers to squeeze through the throng and reach the front.
Once clear, she turned and began clearing a path for Jimmy, who was still tangled in the mob behind her.
He finally emerged, panting. "Thanks, Lois."
Nearby, a reporter from the Gotham Gazette glared daggers at them—annoyed that the Metropolis duo had just claimed the prime vantage point.
After a quick glance at the Daily Planet badge clipped to Lois's blazer, the Gotham reporter gritted her teeth.
"Metropolis press? Figures. I'll remember you. From now on, stay out of Gotham stories—you've got no business here!"
Lois tossed her hair with a scoff. "News doesn't grow legs and run away. It's out in the open—and if you can't get to it before I do, that's on you, not me."
She turned to Jimmy. "Ignore them. Set up the camera. The Deputy Secretary of Defense's daughter was just rescued from a hostage situation inside this store—a high-profile kidnapping that's already sparked national outrage. If Gotham PD missed this, and City Hall stayed silent, that's not just a local scandal. It's a federal one."
"Got it, Lois!" Jimmy gave her a quick thumbs-up and hurried to mount his equipment—though not before sidling up to the scowling Gotham Gazette reporter.
"Hey," Jimmy said with a knowing grin. "If I were you, I'd back off. My boss? Her dad's not just a decorated general—he's a U.S. Senator."
The reporter's face paled. "...Shit."
He flipped them both off. "Damn nepotism. Damn bloodlines."
Then, muttering curses under his breath, he melted into the crowd.
The female reporter who'd tried to trip Lois vanished just as quietly.
Jimmy smirked. "Funny how they all rail against privilege… but still flinch when they meet it."
"Knock it off, Jimmy," Lois snapped, giving him a light shove. "My reporting stands on its own. My dad's name has nothing to do with this."
She pointed toward the boutique's back exit. "Now focus—Downton's been in there with the hostage for nearly half an hour. They're due out any second. The moment they step outside, the GCPD will move in. We need to be closer than anyone else for that first reaction shot."
"Don't worry—I've still got those track-team reflexes!" Jimmy grinned.
"No swearing on your college grades," Lois warned—just as her eyes locked on the door.
"There! They're coming out—move!"
Jimmy swung his camera up just in time to catch Downton—polished in a tailored overcoat that probably cost more than Jimmy's monthly rent—shoving open the locker room door and giving his assistant a nudge.
"Don't just stand there, Haino—go fetch some water."
"On it!" Haino replied, patting down her hair as she headed toward the lounge, clearly exhilarated but drained.
A frequent fixture in high-end boutiques, she navigated the store's layout effortlessly—even without staff, she knew exactly where each brand kept its VIP amenities.
Watching Haino's retreating figure, Downton offered a faint, almost rueful smile—then shrugged lazily at the line of officers already forming a perimeter outside the shop.
Bang!
The shop's glass door exploded inward as a breaching round tore through it. Commissioner Gordon surged forward, flanked by over twenty GCPD officers.
"Put the weapon down—now!"
"Hands where we can see 'em!"
"You're surrounded, Downton! Drop it and get on your knees!"
Gordon stepped forward, his service revolver locked on Downton's temple. "I don't know what this is about," he said, voice low but firm, "but it ends here. You're not walking away."
At the sound of Gordon's voice, Haino—only a few paces down the street—whirled around. Her face went pale, eyes wide with panic.
"Downton!" she cried, lunging back toward him.
But she never made it two steps. Two officers intercepted her, gripping her arms with practiced efficiency.
"You're safe now, Miss Lawrence," one murmured, holding her gently but firmly.
Haino froze. "…Safe?"
She stared past the officers—at Downton, standing calm amid a ring of drawn guns. Her breath hitched.
Then, suddenly, her expression twisted—not with fear, but fury.
"I'm not safe!" she shouted, voice cracking. "I'm ruined! Do you have any idea what I just lost?"
Tears spilled over, but her voice sharpened like a blade. "Compared to him, every other man I've ever met is a stuffed doll with a sunflower shoved up his ass!"
She yanked against their hold. "Let me go! This was all a misunderstanding! Downton didn't hurt anyone—he broke one guy's leg, for God's sake! He didn't even run a red light! And he let me go an hour ago! That's not attempted murder—that's a misdemeanor with flair!"
"Haino, enough!"
Mayor Don Mitchell pushed through the line, seizing her wrist with a politician's practiced urgency. "Your father just called me. He's on his way. You need to come with us—now."
"I don't care!" she spat. "I see my parents twice a year—why should today be special? And if any of you so much as bruises Downton, you'll answer to them! My father's a Gotham congressman, and my mother sits on the Pentagon's Joint Staff! You think this ends with an arrest report? Think again!"
But her threats only steeled the officers' resolve. They dragged her away, her shrieks echoing off the wet pavement like a wounded animal's.
Still, her words had done their work. A few uniforms exchanged uneasy glances. The cordon around Downton loosened—just slightly.
Outside the chaos, reporters jostled for position, cameras flashing. But the mayor's security detail formed a wall, shoving them back with cold efficiency.
All except one.
Lois—sharp-eyed, relentless—had read the situation faster than anyone. The moment Downton shoved Haino away, she knew: he's surrendering. And Haino? She's just noise.
While others chased the heiress, Lois charged straight for the real story.
"This is gold, Jimmy—move it!" she hissed, weaving through the thinning police line, mic extended. "Downton's going down live. We get his first words, we own the narrative."
"I'm trying!" Jimmy wheezed, wrestling with a wobbling tripod behind her. "But this damn thing's possessed!"