━━━ THUMB DRIVE !

The streets of Gotham seethed with their usual turmoil, a cacophony of humanity's worst instincts given free rein. Sirens screamed through the polluted air, their piercing wails ricocheting off graffiti-covered walls that whispered stories of despair. Distant arguments erupted from shadowed alleyways, voices raw with anger or desperation, their words lost amid the metallic clatter of fire escapes. The occasional roar of a motorcycle sliced through the oppressive din, the engine's growl as reckless and untamed as the city itself.

Justice Wilson stood under the sickly yellow glow of a flickering lamppost, its light struggling to penetrate the heavy shroud of smog that clung to the night. She leaned against its cold metal surface, the chill seeping through her coat and into her skin. Behind her, the grimy facade of a diner exhaled a stale cocktail of burnt coffee and overcooked grease through a cracked glass door. The neon sign above the entrance buzzed faintly, its red lettering bleeding into the mist like a warning: ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Her fingers brushed against the worn fabric of her coat pocket, grazing the corner of an envelope nestled within. Its contents—a riddle scrawled in jagged, almost taunting handwriting—pressed against her thoughts like a blade. Though she didn't have all the answers, she felt the heavy inevitability of something much larger closing in, an invisible hand tightening around the city. Her breath plumed in the frigid air as she scanned the restless crowd, faces illuminated by the occasional flash of headlights.

"You're either lost, waiting for someone, or casing the joint," came a voice from her left, smooth and lilting, carrying just enough edge to demand attention.

Justice turned her head, her sharp gaze locking onto the source of the interruption. The woman standing a few paces away seemed to absorb the city's chaos and reflect it back with an unnerving calm. Dressed entirely in black—a leather jacket worn like armor, gloves that whispered of precision, and boots that balanced utility with defiance—she exuded an effortless confidence. A single strand of dark hair had escaped her ponytail, curling rebelliously against the pale curve of her cheek. Her green eyes glimmered with mischief, the kind that made the world seem quieter around her, as though she could pause its relentless grind at will.

"None of the above," Justice replied flatly, her voice steady despite the flicker of curiosity that sparked within her.

The woman's lips curved into a smirk, a small, deliberate motion that hinted at secrets she wasn't ready to share. She took a step closer, leaning casually against the same lamppost, as if claiming the space between them. "That so? Because you've got the look of someone waiting for trouble to find them."

Justice arched an eyebrow, her expression betraying nothing. "And what do you care?"

"Just making conversation," the woman replied with a nonchalant shrug, though her tone carried a weight that belied her casual demeanor. "The city's full of watchers, but not many listeners. You seemed... interesting."

The word hung in the air, its implications prickling at Justice's instinct to keep strangers at arm's length. Something about the way this woman wore her confidence—like a weapon concealed just beneath the surface—made Justice wary.

"And you are?"

"Selina," the woman answered simply, her smirk deepening as though she already knew how this interaction would unfold.

Justice wasn't about to play along. Her gaze dropped briefly to the duffel bag slung over Selina's shoulder. "If you're trying to rob the place, you might want to be a little less obvious about it."

A soft laugh escaped Selina's lips, low and velvety, carrying the faintest trace of weariness. "Robbery's a little crude, don't you think? I prefer to call it redistributing wealth."

"Cute."

Selina tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing as if dissecting Justice's carefully constructed facade. "You're a cop, aren't you?"

Justice let the question linger, the silence between them charged with unspoken tension. "Detective," she finally said, her tone clipped but not hostile.

"Well, Detective, if you're hungry, you should probably go inside before the kitchen closes. Or you could keep standing here trying to figure out if I'm a criminal worth arresting."

Justice's lips twitched—a faint, fleeting motion that barely qualified as a smile. "You wouldn't be standing here if you were."

"Maybe not, honey," Selina replied, her smirk softening into something dangerously close to genuine. "But maybe I'm just good at not getting caught."

Justice didn't respond, her mind whirring as she studied the woman. Before she could decide whether to push further, Selina's gaze swept over her once more, lingering just long enough to unsettle her.

"You're a mess, you know that? A gay mess. Something about you screams 'bad decisions.'"

Justice's breath hitched, her composure cracking like ice under sudden weight. Heat surged to her face, betraying her in a way she found deeply infuriating.

"Excuse me?" she muttered, her voice faltering just enough to make the words feel hollow.

Selina's smirk widened, her amusement practically glowing against the dim backdrop of the city. "Oh yeah. You heard me."

Justice cleared her throat, desperately trying to will away the warmth spreading across her skin. "I'm not a mess," she insisted, though her wavering tone did little to convince either of them.

"Sure you're not," Selina drawled, her voice like silk teasing over barbed wire. She leaned in slightly, her presence filling the narrow space between them. "But you keep standing out here in the cold, all stiff and trying to pretend like I'm not right."

The quiet laugh that followed was sharper than the bitter wind biting at Justice's face.

Justice clenched her hands in her coat pockets, her fingers brushing the riddle again as if to anchor herself. "You're one to talk. What do you know about me, anyway?"

Selina tilted her head, a glint of challenge in her eyes. "Enough to know that you're freezing."

Without another word, she turned on her heel, her boots clicking against the pavement like a metronome marking time. Justice stayed rooted to the spot, watching as Selina's silhouette dissolved into the haze of Gotham's night, her heart pounding harder than she cared to admit.

The phone buzzed sharply, cutting through the dull monotony of Justice's morning. She groaned, setting her coffee mug down with a deliberate clink and fishing the phone out of her coat pocket. Gordon's name flashed on the screen.

"Someone better be dead." she muttered after answering.

"Wilson," Gordon's voice came through brisk and urgent. "Vengeance deciphered the word 'DRIVE.' He thinks it points to the mayor's garage. Get down here."

Justice pinched the bridge of her nose, her caffeine-deprived brain working to process his words. "What if I 'drive' into a thick wall, does that count?"

"Just get here," Gordon snapped, not in the mood for her quips.

The line went dead before she could argue further. Justice sighed heavily, taking one last sip of her coffee before grabbing her coat and heading out.

By the time she arrived at the mayor's sprawling garage, the stark chill of Gotham's air had seeped into her very bones. Rows of luxury cars gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, their sleek surfaces reflecting the cold, empty sterility of the room.

"You're late," Gordon barked the moment she stepped inside.

Justice raised her cup, the remaining dregs of her coffee sloshing around. "Coffee first, Gordon. Priorities." she retorted with a casual shrug.

Gordon shook his head, muttering under his breath, and turned back toward the rows of cars.

As they walked deeper into the garage, the soft hum of overhead lights created an eerie backdrop. Justice let her gaze wander over the polished vehicles, her brows arching slightly. "Seriously, how many cars does one guy need? What was he overcompensating for?"

"Ask him," Gordon quipped, his tone flat.

"He's dead, man. That's kinda insensitive. Are you saying I should kill myself?" Justice furrowed her eyebrows.

"'Drive' could mean anything," Gordon said, plainly ignoring her. "We're stumbling around a car graveyard on a hunch. What's the plan here? Are we just hoping something jumps out at us?"

Batman, silent until now, glanced at Gordon with a subtle shift of his head. "You don't trust me?"

Gordon sighed, rubbing his temple. "Like you trust me? It's been 2 years and I don't even know who you are."

Before the conversation could escalate further, Batman stopped abruptly. His gaze locked onto something—a glint of metal embedded in the rubber of a tire.

"There," he said, gesturing with a slight tilt of his head.

Justice and Gordon followed his gaze to a pair of scissors stabbed into the tire. Blood smeared the silver blades, dark and dried, but unmistakably ominous.

Batman crouched, pulling the scissors free with a smooth motion, his gloved hand steady as he examined the bloodied surface. He turned the object in his hand, his expression unreadable.

Justice stepped past him, her curiosity piqued. She tugged open the car door, finding it unlocked. The interior smelled faintly metallic, a reminder of the violence that had unfolded.

Batman leaned in beside her, illuminating the interior with the eerie glow of a UV light. Blue smudges materialized on the dashboard, faint handprints and streaks scattered like forgotten whispers.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Justice asked, her tone sharp with impatience.

"USB port," Batman replied, his focus unwavering.

She blinked, incredulous. "Sorry, are you wasting my time here?"

Batman's gloved hand disappeared beneath the dashboard. When he pulled back, he held a small flash drive dangling from a keychain. Her breath caught as the keychain's charm came into view.

It wasn't a charm. It was a thumb.

Severed and grotesque, the pale digit swung gently as Batman turned the drive in his hand.

Justice stared, her stomach tightening as a horrified laugh escaped her lips. "Jesus," she muttered, her voice edged with disbelief.

"'Thumb' drive," Batman said, his tone as calm and detached as ever.

Gordon groaned audibly, his hand running down his face. "This guy's seriously twisted."

Batman moved toward the trunk, opening it with practiced ease. The flat surface of the car served as an impromptu desk for his laptop. The flash drive slid into the port with a faint click, the laptop screen flaring to life.

Gordon leaned in, his brow furrowing. "And now what?"

The screen displayed a password prompt. The three of them stared at it for a beat before Justice lifted the severed thumb from the keychain, holding it aloft with a grimace.

"Try this," Vengeance and Justice said, simultaneously.

"You are not being serious," Gordon glanced between them, his face contorted with a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "You two need help," he muttered, taking the thumb from Justice with a sigh. He pressed it against the fingerprint scanner on the flash drive, and the screen flickered as the encryption unlocked.

A series of images filled the screen, one after another. The same woman appeared in each photo, her expression blank. Most importantly, she was accompanied by the mayor.

"Holy shit," Gordon murmured.

"Who is she?" Batman asked, his voice low.

"Hot," Justice leaned in further, squinting at the screen earning a visible grimace from Gordon.

IRIS' TRUTH !

YAYAYA okay so new chap out finally!!!!! you're going to love the way I wrote Justice and Bruce