"The show is just beginning," I whispered in an amused tone, slipping toward the house with the stealth of a shadow cast by chaos.

  However, halfway there, my radar detected people with bad intentions approaching Harleen's position. I stopped dead, hidden behind a tree. My mind, trained in absolute efficiency since I arrived in this hostile world, formulated a cold plan instantly:

  'If I save her now, I'll just be another ally, forgettable in her story. But if I wait... if I let despair consume her, the psychological impact of her savior will be indelible. Absolute loyalty born of trauma.'

  I decided to wait. I watched her through the window like someone looking at a comic book panel, calculating the timing. It was an equation: risk versus reward.

  Harleen defended herself well, better than I expected for a civilian, but reality has no script or narrative conveniences. The hammer of her weapon clicked. She was out of bullets. The group of criminals, opportunistic animals amidst the chaos I myself had orchestrated, lunged at her, neutralizing her with brute force.

  Then, a sound broke the silence of the night and, with it, my composure: the sharp sound of fabric tearing.

  I saw Harleen's face through the glass. It wasn't the crazy, charismatic grin of Harley Quinn. It was the terrified, pale, sweaty face of a young woman about to be raped in her own living room. In that instant, the "fictional character" barrier shattered.

  The gamer's cold efficiency vanished. An acidic, hot guilt rose up my throat, burning me. This wasn't a game, nor a story I read in bed before sleeping. It was real. She breathed, she felt fear, and she was suffering because of me.

  "Shit," I hissed, feeling genuine disgust for my own previous calculation.

  I appeared in the living room like a specter. This time there was no calculation of staging, only lethal execution. My gun spat fire.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  I killed every criminal with precise shots to the head before they could lay a hand on her. The bodies fell like puppets with their strings cut.

  Harleen was shaking violently from adrenaline and trauma; my mask certainly didn't help to calm her. She crawled backward and instinctively grabbed the weapon of one of the dead men. She pointed it at me. Her hands were shaking so much that the barrel danced wildly; she could hardly hit an elephant, much less me.

  I closed the distance in the blink of an eye, disarming her with insulting ease. I noticed her complete lack of dexterity in the stiffness of her fingers. She recoiled, covering her face with her hands, waiting for the final blow.

  I looked down at her. I made the weapon disappear into my Inventory and raised my open hands, showing empty palms as a sign of peace.

  "I'm not here to hurt you," I said, modulating my distorted voice to sound soft but firm, intentionally averting my gaze toward the body of the first intruder she had killed before I arrived.

  "He... he was the one who started it," she stammered, her voice broken and eyes wide. "He broke into my house. I only acted in self-defense. He wanted to hurt me, he wanted to..." She brought a trembling hand to her torn blouse, trying to cover her exposed skin. "He wanted to touch me, just like the others. It was an accident!"

  That feeling of guilt hit me again, harder and heavier than before. I hated this. I hated feeling responsible for breaking an innocent person. I sought order and efficiency, not unnecessary suffering. I crouched down to be at her eye level, although given my child stature, the difference wasn't much.

  "Don't worry. The idiot deserved to die," I sentenced with conviction, validating her action to prevent her from breaking. "Besides, remember: I just killed five men to get you out of here. I'm not going to judge you for surviving. I'm here to help you."

  I approached and, without giving her time to protest, I scooped her up in my arms. The scene must have looked strange from the outside: a child carrying a young adult woman with her feet grazing the floor.

  But my enhanced strength made it seem as easy as lifting a rag doll. We left the house, leaving behind the smell of blood and gunpowder, heading into the cold night air.

  "It's chaos out there," Harleen whispered, regaining a bit of composure upon feeling the fresh air, but clinging tightly to my body. "Deaths, robberies... it's better if we stay hidden here."

  Then, she did something that baffled me. She reached out a hand in front of me, as if she wanted to protect me from the darkness outside. Her protective instinct activated, seeing a child in danger in me instead of the killer who had just saved her.

  I stopped, gently releasing myself from her protective grip. I stared at her.

  I couldn't let Gotham keep burning. Not if I wanted to sleep peacefully tonight without the ghosts of my conscience tormenting me. I needed an efficient solution. A masterstroke that would soothe my guilt but, in the eyes of the world, keep my facade of a ruthless businessman intact.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  My survival instinct was still screaming at me to flee this cursed city before the Bat recovered and came hunting for me with some master plan. Every second in Gotham was Russian roulette.

  But then, I paused and looked at the smoke covering the horizon. A calculating smile formed beneath my mask.

  'Wait... Batman is paranoid, but he isn't stupid,' I analyzed coldly. 'He prioritizes the mission above all else. Right now, Bane is the plague killing his city. If I become the cure... Batman won't touch me.

  He knows basic math: attacking me now would mean transforming an unexpected aid into a second battlefront. If he strikes me without having defeated Bane first, he'll only succeed in creating another villain of equal or greater danger.'

  It was a risky bet, but a logical one. As long as Bane remained an Omega-level threat, I enjoyed a kind of tacit diplomatic immunity. To Batman, I would be the temporary "lesser evil," a necessary tool. I could stay a few more days. I could use his own city to clean up my image and fill my pockets.

  With that new resolution, I turned my attention back to Harleen. "Don't let my height fool you, darling," I assured her, a half-smile wrinkling my mask. "I am much more capable than you imagine."

  I pulled out my encrypted communicator and opened a direct line, making sure the signal indicator was at maximum. My eyes scanned the environment with the Augmented Reality Map. There it was: a hidden security camera a few houses away from my location.

  Miraculously, it had survived Bane's systematic destruction. Batman—or whoever was left in the Batcave—would be watching this. The stage was set.

  "This is the Ghost," I said in a cold, professional voice, projecting authority. "I am calling Atlas Corporation's central channel to offer you an immediate business deal."

  On the other side of the line, there was a second of silence. Marcus, my loyal subordinate, must have been perplexed. Why was his boss talking to him like a stranger? However, his professional training took over. He understood it was a performance.

  "We have heard of your... peculiar feats in transport logistics, Ghost," Marcus replied, adopting a cautious corporate tone. "I'm listening. What do you want to offer a private security company like ours?"

  I mentally thanked Marcus's quick thinking. I looked at Harleen, who was absorbing every word, trying to decipher who I really was.

  "The proposal is simple: I offer you the ultimate marketing campaign," I said, walking with confidence. "If Atlas saves Gotham's workforce right now, you will stand as the city's saviors when the chaos dissipates. And if you make your moves right, the city will owe you a fortune in political favors, tax exemptions, and privileged government contracts for the next decade. It's a long-term investment."

  "That sounds very lucrative... and too good to be easy," Marcus replied, playing along perfectly. "How are you so sure Gotham will be saved? And more importantly, since when did a mercenary like 'The Ghost' become altruistic?"

  "Gotham will be saved, I assure you. And about my altruism..." I paused dramatically, looking at Harleen, who returned my gaze with that mix of confusion and fascination. "Let's just say I got up on the right side of the bed today."

  I turned toward the deserted street, looking toward the invisible blockade Bane had imposed on the city. "This is where I come in. You lose nothing by trusting me. If the operation fails, I simply return your resources to your warehouses. But if you accept, my Transport Logistics can put your elite troops and medical supplies in the heart of the residential zones right now. I can bypass every barricade, every blockade, and every sniper of Bane's without your men being slaughtered en route."

  "That sounds... impossible for any conventional means of transport," Marcus said, injecting feigned doubt into his voice. "But the rumors about your transport capacity are solid. If you can fulfill that promise of instant deployment... Atlas is interested. Though I suppose it won't be cheap."

  I let out a short, arrogant laugh. "Quality never is. My standard rate for mass transport in an active war zone is one million dollars per platoon, plus 15% of the insured cargo value. It's an exclusive service for premium clients."

  Harleen's eyes widened, her mouth dry upon hearing the figures. For a girl living in a modest apartment, talking about millions with such ease was something from another planet.

  "However," I continued, looking at the chaos of fire and smoke rising in the distance, "I hate seeing a brute like Bane ruin the market for sophisticated people. I'll make you a one-time offer: 5 million dollars, flat rate, for the entire initial deployment operation."

  Marcus fell silent, simulating quick calculations. "It's expensive. Very expensive."

  "It's the price of immediacy," I interrupted sharply. "I guarantee the delivery of your troops in seconds, not hours. Take it or leave it."

  "...Five million for instant and strategic deployment," Marcus finally conceded. "Agreed, Ghost. If your logistics are as real as they say, Atlas will pay. We are preparing the response teams right now."

  "Excellent corporate choice. My people will handle the transit as soon as I see the money. I await confirmation."

  I cut the call with a sharp motion. The act was over. In the eyes of Harleen, third parties, and any detective watching that camera, I wasn't the company owner nor a hero; I was an external contractor, expensive and efficient.

  Harleen watched me with wide eyes and her mouth slightly open, unable to process what she had just heard.

  "Five million...?" she whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you really worth that much?"

  "Efficiency comes at a price, darling," I replied, sketching a smile that slightly wrinkled the fabric of my mask. "We have to wait a few minutes for the payment to process and the cargo to be ready for shipment."

  I took her by the hand and guided her to the kitchen. As we walked, with mere thoughts, I made the corpses and blood-stained furniture disappear into the void of my Inventory. I even lit a couple of scented candles as we passed, erasing the smell of death.

  I glanced at her sideways. Harleen’s eyes went wide as she saw the objects vanish into thin air. She opened her mouth to ask, the question dancing on the tip of her tongue, but closed it instantly.

  Smelling the scent of the candles and seeing the supernatural cleanliness of the place, she decided not to question the miracle. I saw her shoulders relax for the first time in hours; she was simply happy to have a moment of peace, regardless of how strange its origin was.

  The contrast was absurd: outside, Gotham burned; inside, under the soft candlelight, I took high-quality ingredients out of my Inventory—a couple of steaks, fresh vegetables, and spices—and began to cook something simple but delicious.

  Harleen watched me in silence from the table, trying to fit the pieces of the impossible puzzle before her: child's stature, magician, adult's mind, a killer, a millionaire, a chef.

  NEW COMMUNITY HUB LAUNCH!

  I have officially launched the Patreon Community Chat for ALL FOLLOWERS. You do NOT need to donate to join the conversation, share memes, or discuss theories. Just hit the "Follow" button on my Patreon, and you are in!

  ??? BILINGUAL CHATS: As you know, I write in two languages. I have created separate spaces in "The Iceberg" so everyone feels comfortable:

  The Iceberg - EN: For English readers. ?? El Iceberg - ES: For Spanish readers. (Both are open to discuss the plot, spoilers, and talk with me directly!)

  ?? JOIN THE GATHERING: The link is in my Bio.