A gruff voice echoed from the restaurant entrance, sharp and commanding.
"Ashborn Black. Put the gun down."
All eyes turned to the new figure entering the scene — cloaked in shadows, dark armor gleaming beneath the broken lights.
Batman.
Ashborn turned his head slightly, smile still perfectly in place. "You're far away from your turf, don't you think so?"
From the ground, bloodied but grinning, Joker let out a strained chuckle.
"Batsy couldn't bear staying far from me and came to find me... how touching."
Ashborn hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head.
"Is that so? Are you here for him?"
Batman didn't answer. He stepped forward, silent as ever, his eyes narrowed behind the cowl.
Ashborn's smile only widened as he turned his attention back to the Joker.
"Hearing your news, I always thought there's some kind of twisted bro code between you two... Some warped version of 'bros before hoes,' but the more I look at it… I think it's deeper than that."
Joker blinked. "That's defamation," he huffed, then added, "I'm not into that! The relationship between me and Batsy is pure."
Ashborn gave a solemn nod, as though he were truly touched.
"Ah, a pure love without sexual interest… Rare, but not impossible." He sighed with a mock tear. "Truly touching. You two are a pair made for each other."
Silence followed. Even Superman, still groaning in pain on the floor, seemed caught off guard by the direction of the conversation.
Joker finally broke the silence. "This is not how I want to be remembered with Batsy."
Lois groaned. "Can you take this seriously?!"
Ashborn gave a casual shrug with both hands, then—
BANG.
Another shot rang through the air.
Gasps filled the room as the smoke curled up from the barrel of Ashborn's gun aimed squarely between Batman's legs.
Batman's eyes widened. A guttural grunt escaped him as he collapsed to his knees, arms instinctively curling to shield himself.
Ashborn winced sympathetically. "Oops..." He dropped the gun to the floor with a clatter and held up his hands innocently. "Misfire. Please ignore it."
He glanced at the writhing vigilante. "Luckily, Mr. Batman's ballistic cup is rated for small arms fire. Might still need an ice pack, though."
Lois stared in disbelief at the quickly paling Batman, struggling to breathe through the pain. Even Joker blinked in shock before speaking.
"You really should be more careful with that thing. Could hurt someone."
Ashborn gave him an apologetic nod. "Sorry about that."
He turned his attention to Harley Quinn, still groaning on the floor.
"Ms. Quinn, you have my sympathies." He said in a surprisingly sincere tone. "The man you love has another man in his heart. It's truly tragic, the life you're leading. I sincerely hope you'll find yourself a new boyfriend… or girlfriend."
Harley whimpered something incoherent as Ashborn stepped forward, picked up the Kryptonite dagger from the floor, and admired it with a curious look.
"I'll keep this as a souvenir." He looked around the room once more, carnage and chaos painted in every direction. "And I think I should run before a big angry bat recovers."
With perfect calm, Ashborn Black walked out of the restaurant, leaving behind him a room full of broken heroes, wounded villains, and utter confusion.
___________
The next day, the world awoke in disbelief.
News outlets exploded with headlines, social media flooded with memes, reactions, and furious debates, and the internet groaned under the weight of one video.
Surveillance footage from the restaurant, uncut, unfiltered, and surreal,had leaked to the public. It began with the Joker's goons swarming in, guns drawn, taking hostages with theatrical flair. Then came Superman, arriving like a divine savior. Gasps turned to cheers, until—
He was taken down. A Kryptonite dagger, buried deep in his side, brought the Man of Steel to his knees.
And just as the video seemed to reach peak insanity, in walked Ashborn Black, and everything changed.
The man's casual stance, his casual talk with the Joker, his relaxed and amused stance, and then, the arrival of Batman.
But it was the moment that came after that broke the internet.
Ashborn's gun 'misfiring' a shot fired directly between Batman's legs, the Dark Knight collapsing with a groan that haunted viewers worldwide.
The world collectively gasped, then paused, then rewound the footage.
Then rewound it again.
Then turned it into a meme.
"When the city needs you but your balls say no."
Some called the video fake, a prank, a Joker-inspired hoax. The internet simply couldn't accept it. Superman being stabbed was one thing. But Batman getting shot in the balls? That was too far.
And yet, the footage continued. The Joker, stunned. Harley, down. Ashborn smirking like a man who knew he just became a legend.
Then came the arrival of The Flash, moving like lightning, blurring into the frame to retrieve the fallen Superman and a very delicate-looking Batman, vanishing again in an instant.
The police issued an official statement soon after:
"The video is authentic. Mr. Ashborn Black's actions fall under justified self-defense. The injury sustained by Batman was the result of an unfortunate accident. No permanent damage was reported, probably."
The world was still reeling when a reporter finally caught up with Ashborn, asking the question on everyone's mind:
"Why were you carrying a gun at a gala?"
Ashborn, with his signature smile and a nonchalant shrug, answered:
"A rich businessman from Gotham attending a high-profile gala with other rich and influential people… isn't that exactly the kind of place Gotham criminals attack?"
It sounded ridiculous. And yet… the logic was bulletproof.
Of course criminals would show up. Of course he was armed.
The people loved it. Commentators and influencers dubbed him "Bat's Bane" "Ballbreaker Black," and "The Rich Nutter Who Saved the Day."
Joker and his gang were sent back to prison bruised, broken, and injured.
Ashborn Black, meanwhile, was celebrated. Awards were whispered. Invitations to talk shows poured in. He was hailed as the fearless, eccentric businessman who stared death in the face, mocked it, and walked away with a souvenir dagger and the internet's eternal respect.
But the truth?
Ashborn hadn't gone there to be a hero.
He'd gone for the fun.
And he got it with a side of Kryptonite blade, international fame, and the priceless memory of making Batman drop like a sack of potatoes.
___________
In the towering, pristine halls of LexCorp, the air practically crackled with rage. Lex Luthor stood by the panoramic glass window of his office, jaw tight, hand clenched around the edge of a data tablet. His usually composed demeanor was beginning to crack.
The footage had looped in his head endlessly — Superman bleeding, brought to his knees. It should have been his moment, the final move in a carefully orchestrated play. A successful Kryptonite strike was a one-in-a-million opportunity, and now… it was gone. Wasted.
"He'll be on guard now," Lex muttered to himself. "He'll scan everything. He'll expect traps. And Kryptonite isn't exactly growing on trees."
He turned away from the window and eyed the sleek display monitor on his desk. A single message blinked on the screen, one he'd read multiple times that morning, each word grinding further into his nerves.
From: Ashborn Black
I traced the source of Lois Lane's invitation. It seems she got in through one of your business associates. Fascinating, isn't it?
Last night was fun. Thank you.
Lex exhaled sharply, the tension in his chest flaring into fire.
Ashborn hadn't made a direct accusation.
He didn't have to.
The tone was smug. That irritating blend of sarcastic civility and undeniable sharpness. Lex could feel the implication beneath the words, a veiled acknowledgment, a smirk hidden.
"Damn him," Lex muttered, fingers drumming on the desk. "He played me."
For a moment, he seriously considered calling in one of his less savory contacts. An assassin. A warning. A silencing.
But the thought dissolved as quickly as it came.
Ashborn was not an enemy. Not yet. He was unpredictable, yes. Dangerously intelligent, even more so. But he had shown no interest in virtue. The man had interfered for self amusement, not justice. He was not even aware of the situation ahead of time.
And that was useful. Still… Lex added a mental note: Never underestimate him again.
___________
Back in Gotham, in a darkened cave of Wayne Manor, the bat cave, the atmosphere was no less grim.
Bruce Wayne sat slouched in his chair, a rare look of emotional defeat etched on his face. His phone buzzed again, another concerned text from a colleague. The previous one had been from Oliver Queen, asking if he should send an "emergency ice pack."
But the one that stung the most? Was Alfred's question "Do you still possess the necessary equipment to ensure a Wayne heir, Master Bruce? The family tree is concerned."
Bruce growled and tossed the phone on the ground.
He had watched the video multiple times. He had seen the shot — the flash, the angle, the stupid "oops" face Ashborn made — and he had seen his own knees hit the floor in what would soon become the most replayed fall in superhero history.
Humiliation wasn't unfamiliar to Bruce.
But this? This was different.
He tapped into the Batcomputer, pulling up Ashborn Black's records. Everything looked... normal. Too normal.
No criminal history. No under-the-table dealings. No dark files. Just eccentric habits, absurd investments, and a reputation for being both brilliant and unmanageable.
"Too much money and too much brain," Bruce muttered. "A dangerous combination."
He leaned back, piecing together a profile.
Ashborn Black is confident, fearless and deeply intelligent. He follows rules, but is not strictly adhered to the normal moral codes. A chaos element. A wild card.
Not a villain.But not a hero either.
"You're not a threat," Bruce said "Not yet."
But evaluation would continue. Because a man who could shoot Batman in the groin, on accident or not, and walk away grinning?
He couldn't be ignored.