St. Patrick's Day - Gotham County Courthouse
The courtroom was packed. The air was stifling, smelling of wet wool and nervous sweat.
Harvey Dent stood at the prosecutor's table. He looked exhausted. He hadn't slept in weeks. He was holding the lucky silver dollar in his hand, rubbing the scarred side with his thumb.
"Your Honor," Harvey's voice rasped. "The People call Salvatore Maroni to the stand."
A murmur went through the gallery. Mob bosses didn't testify. They pleaded the Fifth. But Maroni had cut a deal. Or so he claimed.
Sal Maroni walked to the stand. He was wearing a flashy pinstripe suit. He grinned at Harvey, a predator looking at wounded prey.
I stood at the back of the courtroom, near the heavy oak doors. Bruce Wayne sat in the front row directly behind Harvey, offering silent support.
"Maroni looks too comfortable," I whispered into my comms. "He does not look like a man facing twenty years in Blackgate."
"He's up to something," Bruce whispered back, not moving his lips. "Watch the gallery. If Holiday is here, this is where he strikes."
"I am scanning. No weapons detected. However, Vernon Field—Maroni's assistant—just handed him a bottle of antacid pills for his 'ulcer'. The bailiff didn't check it."
My eyes narrowed. I zoomed in on the small brown bottle in Maroni's hand.
It wasn't pills. The liquid inside was viscous. Heavy.
"Young Master," I said urgently. "The bottle."
The Cross-Examination
Harvey walked up to the witness stand. He was inches away from Maroni.
"Mr. Maroni," Harvey said, slamming his hand on the railing. "Did you or did you not order the hit on Mickey Sullivan on Thanksgiving Day?"
Maroni chuckled. He unscrewed the cap of his medicine bottle.
"You think you're smart, don't you, Dent?" Maroni sneered. "You think you're the hero. But you're just a man with a lucky coin."
"Answer the question!"
"I'll answer," Maroni coughed, bringing the bottle to his lips. "But first... I think you need a drink."
Maroni's arm tensed.
"BRUCE! DOWN!" I screamed.
At the exact same moment, the lights in the courtroom flickered. A bang echoed from the ventilation shaft—a firecracker, a decoy set by someone.
Instinct took over.
I didn't rush to the stand. I rushed to the front row.
I moved faster than the human eye could track. I placed my body between the noise and Bruce Wayne, shielding my Master from a potential explosion or sniper fire.
It was the correct tactical decision. It was the decision my contract demanded.
It was the wrong moral decision.
While I shielded Bruce, Sal Maroni threw the contents of the bottle.
It wasn't water. It was industrial-grade sulfuric acid.
Time seemed to slow down.
Harvey Dent saw it coming. He saw the liquid arcing through the air. He tried to turn. He tried to raise his hand.
He was too slow.
SPLASH.
The acid hit the left side of Harvey's face.
For a second, there was silence. The liquid dripped onto his pristine suit, sizzling.
Then, the screaming started.
It was a sound that didn't belong in a courtroom. It belonged in the deepest pit of Hell.
"MY FACE! OH GOD, MY FACE!"
Harvey fell to the floor, clawing at the melting skin. Smoke rose from his cheek, his eye, his lips. The smell of burning flesh filled the room instantly.
"Gotcha!" Maroni laughed. "Pretty boy! Look at you now!"
The courtroom erupted.
Bruce pushed me aside. He scrambled over the railing.
"Harvey!" Bruce shouted, ripping off his own jacket to smother the acid, trying to wipe it away—but you can't wipe away acid. You only spread it.
"Don't touch it!" I commanded, appearing beside them. "You will lose your hands!"
I looked at Maroni.
The mobster was still in the witness box, laughing. He thought he had won.
A cold, dark fury washed over me. I had failed. I had protected the Master, but I had let the White Knight fall.
I walked toward the witness stand.
The bailiffs tried to stop me. "Sir, stay back!"
I didn't stop. I simply walked through the wooden gate, splintering it with my thighs.
Maroni stopped laughing when he saw my eyes. They weren't glowing red. They were pitch black.
"You," I whispered.
Maroni pulled a gun he had hidden in his sock. He fired.
BANG.
I caught the bullet. I caught it between my thumb and forefinger, inches from my eye.
Maroni's jaw dropped. "What are you?"
I grabbed Maroni by the lapels of his expensive suit. I lifted him out of the box like a child.
"I am the clean-up crew," I hissed.
I threw him.
I didn't throw him at the floor. I threw him at the stone pillar behind the judge's bench.
CRACK.
Maroni hit the stone with bone-shattering force. He slid down, unconscious, bleeding, broken.
"Order in the court," I said to the terrified room.
I turned back to Harvey.
Paramedics were rushing in. Bruce was holding Harvey's head.
Harvey had stopped screaming. He was just whimpering. One side of his face was untouched—handsome, perfect. The other side...
The other side was gone. The eyelid was melted. The lips were burned away, revealing a permanent, skeletal grin.
Harvey reached out blindly. His hand found something on the floor.
The coin.
He clutched it so tight his knuckles turned white.
"Heads..." Harvey gurgled through the blood. "Or... tails?"
Bruce looked up at me. His eyes were filled with tears and horror.
"We lost him," Bruce whispered.
I looked at the ruined man on the floor.
"Yes, Young Master," I agreed solemnly. "We have."
Gotham General Hospital - Midnight
The rain lashed against the hospital windows.
Bruce sat in the waiting room, his shirt covered in his best friend's blood. He stared at the wall.
I stood by the window, watching the lightning.
"The doctors say he will survive," I said quietly. "They managed to save his vision in the left eye. But the disfigurement... is permanent. Skin grafts will not hold."
"I was right there," Bruce said, his voice hollow. "I was right there, Sebastian. Why didn't I stop it?"
"Because you are human, sir."
"You aren't," Bruce snapped. He looked at me, anger flaring. "You're fast enough. You could have caught it."
"I was securing your safety, sir. There was a distraction. A threat."
"I didn't need saving! Harvey did!"
"My contract is with you," I said, my voice hard. "Not with Mr. Dent. If I have to choose between a bottle of acid hitting him or a bullet hitting you, I will let him burn a thousand times."
Bruce stood up. He walked up to me, face to face.
"Get out."
I paused. "Sir?"
"Leave me alone. Go back to the Manor."
"Young Master, it is not safe—"
"I said GO!" Bruce shouted.
I looked at him. I bowed low.
"As you wish."
I turned and walked down the sterile white hallway.
Behind me, the door to Harvey's room opened. A nurse ran out screaming.
"He's gone! The patient is gone!"
Bruce ran into the room.
The bed was empty. The window was open, rain pouring in.
On the pillow, there was no note. Just the coin.
One side clean. One side scratched and burned by the acid.
Harvey Dent was dead.
Two-Face had been born.
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