Twelve minutes later, right outside the city square in Gotham's Diamond District.
Traffic was completely jammed.
Bartel slammed on the brakes and cursed under his breath as the car came to a stop behind a massive crowd of onlookers. People were packed together, blocking the road entirely.
Seeing no other option, Bartel grabbed his pistol, shoved open the door, and stepped out.
"Boss," he muttered loudly, slipping back into the attitude he used when he worked for the Falcone Family, "you really are exactly like Chief Gordon said. You can't stay still for even a damn minute without something blowing up."
He raised the gun and fired three shots into the air.
The sharp cracks echoed through the square. Civilians screamed and dropped to the ground, hands over their heads.
"Falcone Family business," Bartel shouted out of habit. "Everyone get the hell out of the way…"
He froze halfway through the sentence.
Right. He wasn't Falcone anymore.
And his new boss did not even have a proper gang name yet.
Bartel swallowed hard. This was awkward as hell.
Not far away, Axel had one hand wrapped around a man's throat. The guy wore a designer jacket, clearly limited edition. Axel casually flipped open the man's wallet with his free hand and started counting the cash inside.
At Bartel's shouting, Axel frowned and glanced over, clearly irritated.
"So you're with Falcone?" Axel sneered. "Fuck Falcone."
He tightened his grip slightly.
"That old bastard's finished. Gotham's my era now. I'll see who the hell you think you are…"
Axel's eyes narrowed.
"…Bartel?"
Bartel's face drained of color. His eyes went wide, his legs shaking as if they might give out.
"I, I, I didn't mean it like that," Bartel stammered, waving his gun nervously. "I just misspoke, boss, I swear, I didn't mean—"
"Yeah, yeah, shut up. I get it."
Axel cut him off and tossed the now empty wallet onto the pavement.
Axel had always been good at picking targets. Limited releases, first editions, high-end brands. One glance was enough. This guy alone had been carrying over two thousand dollars in cash.
Easy money.
He shoved the bills into his pocket, released the choking man, and walked toward Bartel.
As he moved, Axel raised his gun and shouted loudly enough for the entire square to hear.
"The Dead Souls Gang is doing business. Everyone else, get the fuck out of my way."
Three more shots rang out into the sky.
The crowd erupted into screaming panic.
Axel stopped beside Bartel and kicked him in the shin.
"They already call me the Wraith of Gotham," Axel said with a grin. "I like it. From now on, we're the Dead Souls Gang. I'm not dying anytime soon, so this gang won't be switching bosses either."
He laughed and tucked the gun back into his waistband, then pointed at the car.
"Let's move. I need clean clothes. I've got a meeting later, and I'm not showing up looking like this mess."
"Yes, boss, yes," Bartel said quickly, rushing to open the door.
Just as Axel stepped one foot inside, a voice cut through the noise behind them.
"Damn freak. Falcone really fell off if trash like you can walk around Gotham."
Axel paused.
Slowly, he pulled his foot back out of the car.
"Oh?" he said softly. "Now that's interesting."
He turned toward the crowd.
People shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting around until they landed on the source of the voice.
A family of three.
A man and woman in their thirties, holding a young girl between them.
The wife clutched the child tightly, fear obvious on her face. She tugged on her husband's sleeve, begging him silently to stop.
Axel stared at them for a moment, then sighed.
"Tch. Bad timing."
He walked toward them, gun hanging loosely at his side.
The woman backed away step by step, trembling, trying to shield her child.
The man swallowed hard but forced himself to speak.
"I'm a police officer," he said, voice shaking. "You lay a hand on me and it's assault on an officer. I've never heard of your gang, and you're insulting Falcone. You think he won't come after you?"
Axel stopped right in front of him.
"A cop?" Axel said flatly. "That's cute."
He placed a hand on the man's shoulder.
"Quick question. Do bullets give a shit about badges?"
The man froze.
Axel stepped past him, stopping directly in front of the woman and child.
The woman looked like she was on the verge of collapsing.
Axel crouched slightly and patted the child's head once, almost gently.
Then he straightened.
"Take the kid and walk," Axel said coldly. "Don't look back."
The woman hesitated.
"Now," Axel snapped.
She didn't argue again. Hugging her daughter, she turned and fled toward the park behind the square.
The crowd stayed silent.
Axel turned back to the man.
"Kneel."
The pressure in Axel's voice was overwhelming.
The man dropped to his knees instantly.
"Good," Axel said. "At least you're learning."
He raised his Desert Eagle and aimed it calmly.
"You don't need to beg. You don't need to apologize. I just need you to remember this."
The gun fired.
Once.
Then again.
The man collapsed backward, lifeless.
Before anyone could react, Axel turned and fired again toward the woman's retreating figure.
She fell.
The square erupted into horrified screams.
Axel lowered the gun and exhaled slowly.
"Racism costs extra," he muttered. "Life's a bitch like that."
Bartel approached cautiously and handed him a silk handkerchief.
Axel wiped the blood from his face and hair, grimacing.
"Think I overdid it?" Axel asked casually.
Bartel shook his head. "No, boss."
"Good," Axel said. "Because my mood was already shit."
He tossed the handkerchief aside, glanced around at the frozen crowd, then walked back to the car.
Bartel hurried after him.
"Where to next, boss?"
Axel leaned back in the seat.
"Metropolis," he said. "Start driving. I'll make a call for the exact spot."
The car pulled away, leaving Gotham's Diamond District drowning in silence and fear.