Chapitre 2: Research
Everything felt like a chess game, every step, every choice, meticulously calculated in the labyrinth of his newly sharpened mind. Mason felt an innate understanding of risks and rewards, an uncanny ability to map out countless moves ahead. Each potential action branched into a dozen outcomes, and he instinctively weighed them all, honing in on the optimal path. It was as if his thoughts were no longer his own but belonged to a being who thrived on strategy, discipline, and control.
Yet, even as this clarity took hold, a tantalizing idea crept into his mind. What if I went further?
The thought gave him pause, a seed of temptation rooted in the depths of his newfound abilities. He had always admired Sosuke Aizen from Bleach, not for his overwhelming power but for his unparalleled mind. Aizen wasn't just intelligent—he was a master manipulator, a strategic genius who played the long game with chilling precision. The thought of combining that level of intellect with Batman's already formidable strategic prowess made Mason's pulse quicken.
With Aizen's mind, it wouldn't just be about survival or protection; it would be about absolute dominance. He could bend enemies and allies alike to his will, orchestrating events on a level even the world's greatest masterminds could only dream of.
But even as the thought electrified him, a sense of caution, perhaps born of Batman's discipline, tempered his excitement. Was it wise to mix such contrasting philosophies? Aizen's mind wasn't just strategic—it was steeped in arrogance, a confidence bordering on hubris. If Mason wasn't careful, it could consume him, overshadowing the core of who he was and the purpose he'd set for himself.
He clenched his fists, feeling the raw power of choice at his fingertips. No, not now. Not yet.
For now, he would rely on the Bat—on the unparalleled detective, the disciplined warrior, and the relentless strategist. Gotham was already teetering on the brink of chaos. To impose the will of Aizen on this fragile ecosystem might break it entirely, leaving only ashes.
But the idea wouldn't leave him. Aizen was a card he could play later, a potential ace in the hole for when the stakes became insurmountable. For now, Mason resolved to play this game with the tools he'd already summoned.
With his mind racing, his lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Chess? No. This is no mere game," he whispered. "This is war. And Gotham's board is mine."
With that in mind, he turned away from the window, giving Gotham one last lingering look—a silent reminder of the monumental task ahead. The city's jagged skyline, cloaked in shadows and chaos, seemed to taunt him. You're not ready. He knew it too, but that only made his resolve burn brighter.
Mason made his way to the small living room of his apartment, a cluttered space that served as his base of operations. He had scoured every corner of the internet for scraps of information about Gotham—its neighborhoods, crime statistics, major players, and urban legends. He'd read through forum posts, news archives, and even conspiracy blogs. But as he sat down at the table and surveyed the scattered papers, his confidence faltered.
The notes were disorganized, half-formed thoughts jotted in haste. There were maps with vague markers, printouts of known crime families, and an incomplete list of notorious rogues. Despite his hours of effort, the gaps in his knowledge loomed like gaping chasms.
This isn't research, he realized with a pang of frustration. This is surface-level trivia. I don't even have the full hierarchy of the Falcone family, let alone the corrupt officials keeping them in power. How can I claim to take on Gotham with this?
He raked his fingers through his hair, the newfound clarity of his mind already chastising him for his lack of preparation. This wasn't just a city riddled with petty crime. This was Gotham, a labyrinth of organized chaos ruled by its own twisted ecosystem. He needed more—more information, more structure, more understanding.
Taking a deep breath, Mason began to prioritize. Batman's mindset wouldn't allow panic or despair to cloud judgment. He needed actionable steps, a system for processing the overwhelming scope of Gotham's darkness.
Sitting down, Mason decided to start with the crime families of Gotham—the behemoths pulling the strings of every illicit activity in the city. Every gang, whether big or small, seemed to orbit these families like planets around a sun, their movements dictated by the gravitational pull of money, fear, and power. Mason knew that if he wanted to understand Gotham, truly understand it, he had to start here.
He reached for a folder containing scraps of information he'd already gathered about the families. Flipping through the disorganized notes, he landed on one name: The Riley Family—the smallest of Gotham's major crime syndicates. Barely clinging to relevance, the Rileys had been eclipsed by the likes of the Falcones and Maronis years ago, but they hadn't been snuffed out entirely.
The Rileys would serve as his testing ground, a way to see whether the abilities of Batman alone would suffice for now or if he'd need to go further and pull more tricks from his arsenal. He needed to tread carefully; one misstep in Gotham could mean a bullet to the head or worse.
Mason pulled his laptop closer, the glow of the screen illuminating his face in the dim room. He typed quickly, searching for any news or rumors tied to the Rileys. There wasn't much—just scattered reports of small-time drug deals and territory disputes in the Bowery. Their sphere of influence was shrinking, their operations fractured. It seemed the Rileys were being squeezed out by larger players, desperate to maintain a foothold in Gotham's cutthroat underworld.
You can tell much about an organization by identifying its leader, and the Rileys were being led by a mountain of muscle with a sense of irony that was almost tragic. Paulie Riley, known as "Little Paulie" despite his towering stature, was a brute with a bruised ego. He stood well over six feet, his thick arms and broad chest giving him the appearance of a walking boulder. His nickname, though, was a constant reminder of the mockery he faced from other crime families. The fact that he clung to it spoke volumes about his insecurity and pride.
Paulie Riley had inherited his position from his father, but unlike his predecessors, he had no real strategic mind. He didn't have the sharpness or charisma of a Carmine Falcone or a Maroni. Instead, his leadership was built on sheer force, and his ruthlessness was well known, though it lacked the calculated elegance that Gotham's top players preferred. Still, he made up for what he lacked in intellect with sheer tenacity, a quality that earned him both fear and mockery from the lower rungs of Gotham's underworld.
Mason scrolled through the reports on Paulie's operation. The Rileys' stronghold had always been in the Bowery—shantytown buildings, rundown warehouses, and shadowy alleyways—but now even that was slipping away. As Gotham's larger families encroached on the territory, Paulie had become more desperate, resorting to escalating violence and chaos, making reckless moves to reclaim lost ground.
There was one thing that stood out though: his unpredictability. He'd made enemies of many of Gotham's more powerful figures—not just criminal leaders but politicians and businessmen, too. If he wasn't careful, his reckless behavior might be his downfall. Or, it could be the perfect opportunity for someone like Mason to take control.
Mason leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk. If there was one thing he'd learned about Gotham from his research, it was that every criminal empire had a breaking point. And the Rileys were teetering on the edge. Little Paulie, for all his bluster and muscle, wasn't prepared for the storm that was coming.
"Time to test if Batman's methods will work," Mason muttered under his breath. He'd bide his time, let the cracks show a little more. And when the moment was right, he'd strike—cut the head off the snake before it even realized it was dying.
Mason's lips curved into a predatory smile as he pulled up more intel on the Rileys' operations. He would start with their weakest link—their lack of discipline—and take advantage of the chaos Little Paulie was so adept at stirring up. This was going to be more of a mental game than anything, and Mason was more than ready to play.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone