Broken(DC)

Digression

Lost in my memories, I didn't notice when I fell asleep. The sun shining directly on my face woke me up. Opening my eyes, I realized it was already morning. Getting to my feet proved challenging; my whole body ached. Falling asleep in the chair had been a mistake. Struggling to stand, I headed to brew myself a cup of coffee. While the coffee brewed, I opened the fridge and was greeted by emptiness. A trip to the store was inevitable. Quickly gulping down plain coffee, I got dressed and headed out.

As soon as I stepped outside, I caught a glimpse of a car at the edge of my vision. The moment I moved away from the house, the engine started. It seemed the police had put surveillance on me. No matter—they couldn't watch for more than a week. I just needed to endure a little longer. A week off, doing nothing, and binge-watching TV shows didn't sound so bad.

Reaching the supermarket, I went inside and began pushing a cart with one hand, picking up groceries. As I passed one of the shelves, I came face-to-face with men known as cartel executioners. Dressed in sharp suits, one of the twins stood directly in front of me. A slight turn of my head revealed another standing behind me. Why had they come?

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The one in front approached me with a cold expression, his gaze piercing through me. I wasn't afraid. Yes, they were professionals and undeniably dangerous, but they were still mortal, just like anyone else. A bullet could end them, unlike me.

He pulled out a phone, dialed a number, and placed it to his ear. A moment later, he extended the phone toward me. It seemed someone wanted to speak with me.

"I'm listening," I said. That old man didn't have much time left. Soon, he'd wither away completely. I had received information from trusted contacts at the hospital where he was being treated, and the prognosis wasn't promising.

"You've gotten yourself into trouble. You assured us you were a professional, that you knew what you were doing, and yet you got caught," said the old man, who could no longer move on his own. Otherwise, he would've preferred to confront me in person—he loved intimidation face-to-face.

"They were thorough and worked every angle. They only got to me because of your runners," I replied. By a stroke of luck, information about me had fallen into his people's hands.

You're blaming me? Seems like someone's getting too bold. Don't forget who you work for. You're my subordinate, Hector Salamanca's subordinate. If I want, my nephews will put a bullet in your head right now. But luckily for you, you're too useful. So tell me, when will you be able to get back to business?" said Hector.

"And yet, I worked clean. The police took my entire network, and now they know my routes. On top of that, I'm under surveillance and constant observation. I don't know how long it will take to rebuild a completely dismantled system," I replied.

"Don't forget, it's in your best interest to do everything as quickly as possible. Otherwise, my nephews will pay a visit to a house located at—you know the address," Hector said. Yes, that was the main problem: once you're involved with the cartel, you can't just walk away without endangering your loved ones.

"I understand," I said, keeping my emotions in check. Things would change soon—no need to reveal my plans now.

"I'll be waiting. We have big plans for this year, and some clown in a mask won't get in our way," Hector concluded and hung up.

I handed the phone back to the twin who had been guarding the perimeter, ensuring no one came close. Taking the phone, he promptly snapped it in half. As quickly as they had appeared, they disappeared. Not long now.

After grabbing my groceries and paying at the checkout, I headed home. The car continued tailing me, so I strolled leisurely, savoring the walk and the rare moments of freedom without paperwork and responsibilities.

Back at the apartment, I cooked a meal, finally ate, and turned on a show. Trying to recall where I'd left off, I realized it was right around my expulsion from college. They had finally expelled me.

End of Digression

The week had been rough: I was exhausted from endless trips to the police and the courts. Derek's father just wouldn't back off. He was going all out, trying to get me behind bars or squeeze more money out of me. But Goodman, my lawyer, turned all his accusations to dust, flipping every new piece of evidence against him. When I finally got fed up with the whole ordeal, I asked Goodman if there was a way to put an end to it. The answer was simpler than I expected.

Derek's father had been involved in a scheme siphoning money from medical research. All it took was uncovering the smallest piece of evidence, and he'd shut up for good.

"How are we supposed to find what we need? That's nearly impossible," I asked Goodman over the phone.

"Impossible? I'm Saul Goodman—there's no such thing in my world. I'm a magician, kid. I could turn water into wine for a couple hundred bucks if you wanted. By tomorrow, I'll have everything you need," he replied, his tone dripping with confidence.

And true to his word, he delivered. He got hold of all the documents and financial records. Turned out a portion of the funds went to legitimate research, but the bulk of it lined Derek's father's pockets. With this, he was looking at serious jail time.

At one of our meetings, we showed him the evidence. His face went pale, and all his bravado evaporated. He stopped bothering me after that. I don't regret a single dollar spent on Goodman—he really was a magician, just as he claimed.

Finally, with all the court cases and legal troubles behind me, I was free to start my own business. But navigating the maze of laws and red tape in the medical industry was a nightmare. So many restrictions, so many regulations, and watchdog agencies everywhere. Once again, Goodman came to my rescue. He had an answer for every legal question I threw at him.

That's when he suggested starting with something less regulated—dietary supplements. Sports nutrition was poorly monitored, with plenty of loopholes and leniencies since it wasn't classified as medicine or pharmaceuticals.

I came up with a simple name: SportMedic, and began the process of registering my company and filing all the paperwork. I'd never run around so much in my life—getting everything in order was tougher than I'd imagined.

Once the formalities were out of the way, I started looking for a location for the production site. The rental and equipment costs were staggering. It was clear I needed more funds.

That's when I ramped up my underground business. More and more transactions flowed through me, and clients, drawn by my low fees, began transferring amounts far larger than a few thousand dollars.

Month by month, my capital grew. With it, I managed to purchase a small facility where I gradually set up equipment for production. In my spare time, I worked on branding, marketing strategies, and product development.

Everything was going better than I'd ever hoped. I couldn't believe how well things were falling into place. Was this what a lucky streak felt like? Despite countless sleepless nights, stress, and the hurdles of growing a business, things were looking up.

My production line was set to launch in a few months. The legitimate side of my business was thriving. But in the shadows of my underground operations, complications began to emerge.

Requests started coming in with sums that were far too large. I began refusing them, unwilling to take such big risks. Hiding millions of dollars through transfers broken into smaller amounts was challenging but manageable. A request for fifty million dollars in one go, however, was a different story. I avoided taking unnecessary risks, but the requests became more persistent, openly suggesting that working together would be in my best interest. I wasn't overly worried, focusing on my safety and covering my tracks. I started using public internet connections more frequently, masking my location with numerous proxy addresses and region changes.

************

At the time, I thought I was clever and brilliant, but I was sorely mistaken. When it came to money, the government's systems were exceptionally well-oiled. My covers were nearly flawless, but a few rookie mistakes exposed me.

************

Sitting in the library as usual, I worked on my laptop. I'd chosen a spot in the farthest corner, away from people, frequently glancing around to ensure no one could see what I was doing. As I processed another transfer, a sudden wave of anxiety hit me. My heart raced, and my pulse quickened. I immediately stopped what I was doing, closed my laptop, and cleaned up any trace of my activity.

Trying to pinpoint the source of the threat, I noticed a man in his thirties wandering between the shelves. He didn't look like a student—this library's typical crowd was either students or retirees. He picked up a book, flipped through it, and put it back, moving from shelf to shelf. It seemed like he was pretending to look for something to read, but this was the biology section. No one casually flips through biology books—they usually search by title and take several at once for study. This guy was acting more like someone browsing fiction.

Deciding it was better to leave, I packed my laptop into my bag and stood up. As I headed for the exit, the uneasy feeling intensified. The man among the shelves suddenly followed me, and two others who had been sitting nearby also got up, gathering their things. Who were they, and why were they following me? Could I have been exposed?

Pushing the thoughts aside, I focused on avoiding any potential accusations. Even if they detained me, my laptop was the key piece of evidence—they couldn't get their hands on it. As I descended the stairs, I pressed hard on my bag, snapping the laptop in half. Ducking into the restroom, I quickly opened my bag, removed the hard drive from the broken laptop, and ran it under water for good measure. I then smashed it against the tiles several times.

Placing everything back into the bag, I exited the restroom and almost immediately ran into the biology enthusiast.

"Excuse me," I said, narrowly avoiding a collision.

"No problem," he replied, slipping into the restroom.

Coincidence? Maybe, but I wasn't taking any chances. Once outside, I headed straight for a nearby alley, where I tossed the hard drive into a trash bin. I looked around a few times to make sure no one was watching.

The farther I got from the library, the weaker the sense of unease became. Now I could think about who they were. It was unlikely they were private detectives—they usually worked alone and had a different approach. These people had a cover story, blending in as ordinary library visitors. The biology enthusiast had followed me almost immediately and likely checked the restroom to see if I'd discarded anything there. It seemed they had placed surveillance on the locations where I accessed the network. But how had they tracked me? Maybe I wasn't as skilled at staying anonymous online as I thought. I'd have to reach out to hackers on the dark web for advice on improving my anonymity. It would be expensive, but it was better than getting caught again.

Throwing the laptop into one of the dumpsters, I was left without a device to access the dark web. I'd need to buy a new one.

Reaching home, I still hadn't moved out of Elizabeth's place, continuing to live with her. It was more comforting for me to stay here than to live alone elsewhere. Besides, Alice had started spending more time with me, talking and hanging out together.

As I turned on the home computer and began browsing for new laptops, there was a knock at the door. Rising to my feet, I slowly walked toward it. A familiar sense of dread flared up inside me, stopping me halfway.

— "This is the FBI. Open the door, we know you're in there, Brian Forman," a voice called from the other side.

Running was pointless; there was no way I could escape. Gripping the doorknob, I opened the door. Standing there were two men in FBI tactical gear. One held a bag containing the remains of the broken laptop, and the other held the hard drive.

— "Brian Forman, you'll need to come with us," one of them said.

******************

In a dimly lit room, flames flickered. A hooded figure skillfully worked with welding tools and metal, constructing a device. His hands, covered in horrific burns, showed no hesitation in handling the scorching hot material. Schematics were scattered across the table, alongside disassembled parts of his project. Together, they formed the blueprint of a finished product: a suit with fireproof protection, reinforced for durability, equipped with a jet engine on the back, wings for maneuverability and stability in flight, and most importantly, his weapon a flamethrower.

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During his time in Arkham Asylum, he had not wasted a single moment. He had devised a new weapon to avoid repeating his past mistakes. By studying engineering, physics, and mechanics, he created something capable of turning him into a weapon. The armor could withstand gunfire, offer agility, and the flamethrower could incinerate even metal. All that remained was to bring it to life.

Madness and genius are two sides of the same coin. Undeniably so, for madness alone is insufficient to craft something so intricate. Only when the mind sees no boundaries can it create the unimaginable.

Taking a break from his exhausting work, Garfield Lynns would glance at the photographs hanging on the wall. Renewed by a surge of determination, he continued his task. He understood that, as a child, that boy had displayed strength comparable to an adult. His knife-throwing skills? Remarkable for someone his age. But now, he was an adult, far stronger than before.

Thus, Garfield dared not approach him until his creation was complete. What he didn't realize, however, was that even now, a single punch from Brian would be enough to defeat him.

***************

Gotham City

In the tallest building of the city stood a man. Broad-shouldered and muscular, his imposing figure was evident even in a tailored business suit. He gazed out at his hometown. Nostalgia washed over him as memories of his childhood surfaced. He hadn't been home for eight years, wandering in search of knowledge and strength. Now he had returned, stronger than ever, though not for long. The chains of the organization he had joined still bound him. Leaving it wasn't an option—not easily. Yet he knew one thing: he wanted to return to his city and use everything he had gained for Gotham's benefit.

"Mr. Wayne, I can begin working on these devices, but may I ask why you need them?" a dark-skinned man asked after finishing his review of the documents handed to him. The pages detailed a highly durable suit capable of withstanding gunfire, cloaking devices, vehicles, flying apparatuses, and much more.

"They will change Gotham's future. I hope you can help me with this, Lucius," Bruce said, his gaze fixed on the window.

"Of course, Mr. Wayne. I won't let you down, especially if it helps our city," Lucius replied.

"I'm counting on it. I'll be leaving soon—start as soon as you can," Bruce instructed.

"I'll dedicate all my available time to this," Lucius assured him.

"Did you find the information I asked for?" Bruce inquired.

"Yes, here it is. This is everything I managed to uncover. It seems your friend has followed in your footsteps, starting his own campaign," Lucius said with a smile.

"Perhaps. Thank you for everything," Bruce said, taking the flash drive.

Looking out at Gotham's glowing city lights, he made a solemn promise to himself: he would fight for this city as long as he lived. He would not allow its ordinary citizens to suffer. But for now, he remained powerless.