Leo.
The tallic rattle of the roller shutter echoed from the clinic entrance, followed by a strained, uneven voice:
"Damn lunatics… the whole street's gone mad… that laughing freak… whatever that was—blew up half the block…"
His breathing was unstable.
He hadn't co back for Lynn.
He had run—from the chaos outside. From The Joker.
Footsteps staggered down the corridor.
The operating room door stood open.
Leo reached the threshold—
And froze.
On the operating table lay a black-armored figure.
Cape in tatters.
Chest rising steadily beneath the bat insignia.
The ECG monitor emitted a stable, rhythmic tone.
Batman.
Alive.
On his table.
The pistol slipped from Leo's hand, clattering against the floor.
That mont of shock—
Was enough.
Lynn moved.
He stepped out from behind the door, his motion controlled and efficient. His foot snapped forward, sending the pistol skidding across the corridor, out of reach.
Leo's pupils contracted.
Instinct kicked in.
He turned—
Too late.
Lynn seized his collar, pivoted, and applied rotational leverage to destabilize his center of gravity.
A simplified joint-control technique—derived from what he had just acquired.
Within three seconds, Leo's body was pinned hard against the wall.
"Don't move."
Lynn's tone was quiet.
Flat.
But the grip on Leo's wrist was absolute.
Leo looked up.
And froze again.
The eyes behind those blood-stained glasses—
Were not the sa.
Clear.
Focused.
Cold.
"Now," Lynn adjusted his glasses slightly, voice steady, "you're going to answer a few questions."
Leo's lips trembled.
His mind stalled.
…
Pinned against the wall, his face pressed into damp, peeling wallpaper, Leo groaned weakly.
"I'll talk… I'll talk… just loosen your grip…"
Lynn didn't move.
Joint locks weren't about strength.
They were about angles.
Leverage.
Control.
"What did you say?"
"I said I was wrong!" Leo choked out. "Kid, I ssed up, I shouldn't have locked you in—"
No response.
Lynn wasn't listening to the words.
He was analyzing the body.
Respiration: 26 per minute—elevated beyond normal panic thresholds.
Facial micro-expression: right orbicularis oculi twitching rhythmically.
Deliberate.
Controlled.
Conclusion—
Fear: genuine.
Submission: fabricated.
His gaze shifted downward.
Leo's right hand.
Sliding.
Slowly.
Toward the cabinet behind him.
The door was slightly open.
Inside—
A tallic glint.
Another weapon.
Lynn processed variables instantly.
Weight difference: significant.
If Leo committed fully to resistance, brute force could break the hold.
Ti to end this.
"Leo," Lynn said calmly, "you forged Snake Eyes' surgical record a week before the operation."
Leo's body stiffened.
"The surgeon's na—mine. The date—last Wednesday. But you only got assigned the case on Friday."
Silence.
"You decided to kill him before you ever touched a scalpel."
Leo stopped pretending.
"Kingpin's enforcer," Lynn continued, "and you still went through with it. That ans one thing—you're either suicidal…"
A pause.
"…or protected."
Three seconds.
Leo let out a dry, hollow laugh.
"When did you get so smart?"
Then—
He moved.
No warning.
His full weight slamd backward.
Mass over technique.
The joint lock broke.
Lynn staggered, forced back into the edge of the operating table.
Leo pivoted—
Reached—
Grabbed the spare pistol.
Raised it.
"Don't move!"
He retreated two steps, creating space, breath uneven but stabilizing.
His eyes flicked toward the operating table—
To Batman.
Then to the utility belt.
Greed surfaced instantly.
"Kid," Leo said, voice shifting, almost conversational, "you did sothing incredible. You saved him."
He licked his lips.
"Do you have any idea what that gear is worth? One piece—millions. We split it. Fifty-fifty."
Lynn didn't answer imdiately.
He steadied himself against the table.
asured distance.
Four steps.
Leo's grip: tight, but not practiced.
Gun angle: slightly left.
On the table—
Hemostats.
Needles.
Improvised tools.
Enough.
"Leo," Lynn said, interrupting, "Snake Eyes died in your hands. And the entire procedure is recorded."
Leo's expression shifted.
"I already—"
"Deleted it?" Lynn cut in. "The system auto-uploads to cloud storage. Local deletion doesn't matter."
Leo hesitated.
He didn't know.
That uncertainty was enough.
"Second," Lynn raised two fingers, "that armor has tracking protocols. If Batman is here, soone will co."
Leo glanced back instinctively.
Even damaged—
The presence of Batman carried weight.
Psychological pressure alone was enough to destabilize him.
"Third," Lynn said evenly, "the safety on your gun is still on."
Leo looked down.
Reflex.
Half a second.
That was all.
Lynn moved.
Right hand—surgical needle.
Step forward.
Precision strike.
The needle drove into the inner wrist—
At the convergence of nerve and tendon.
Exact depth.
Exact angle.
Guided by system mapping.
Leo scread.
His hand spasd violently.
The pistol dropped.
Lynn followed imdiately—
Left hand seized the arm.
Rotation.
Elbow joint forced beyond safe angle.
Body collapsed under torque.
Pinned to the ground.
Knee pressed into his back.
Arms locked behind him at maximum extension.
Control reestablished.
Three seconds.
"Weren't you a dropout?!" Leo gasped, sweating, voice breaking. "How do you know this?!"
Lynn adjusted his glasses.
"Guess."
Leo tried to resist.
His joints shifted—
One inch.
Five degrees.
Pain response escalated instantly.
"Don't—don't bend it!"
"Who hired you?"
Leo broke.
"Falcone! The Falcone family!" he cried. "They paid —three hundred thousand! Said it was a warning to Kingpin—I was just following the money—I swear—!"
User Comments
0 comments from readers