The weight of his sudden fame in this brutal world pressed down on Mr. Brock. He hadn't anticipated this. *This is going to make everything more difficult.* He drained the glass of wine in one gulp, the cheap liquor doing little to soothe his nerves, and forced himself toward the makeshift stage.
   A spotlight hit him as he stepped up. Faces, some scarred, some tattooed, all hard, stared back at him, expectant. He took the microphone, the cheap metal cold against his palm. "Hello, everyone," he said, his voice amplified, echoing through the smoky air. "It's a pleasure to see that my actions are bringing a smile to your faces. I'm gonna keep it rolling!" He raised both hands, a gesture that felt absurdly theatrical. "Enjoy the night!"
   A roar erupted, a cacophony of cheers and whistles that washed over him. It was the kind of adulation usually reserved for rock stars or demagogues. He felt a flicker of unease beneath the thrill. *This is dangerous. Real power resides somewhere else.*
   Leaving the frenzy behind, he made his way toward the boss's office. The air grew noticeably colder as he neared the door, the music a muffled throb in the distance. The doorman, a hulking figure with a perpetually sour expression, barred his way.
   "Where's your pass?" the man grunted, his eyes narrowed.
   "Sorry, I don't have one yet. They... haven't given me one." Mr. Brock tried for a casual tone, but his voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.
   "No one goes in there without a pass. Those are the rules." The doorman was immovable, a granite wall in human form.
   Mr. Brock tilted his head slightly, a spark of defiance igniting within him. "Come on, don't you know who I am?"
   The doorman's lips curled into a mocking smile. "Hahaha Of course, I know. Who doesn't know the famous Batman? You're free to go in there anytime." He stood aside.
   "Okay... that was unexpected," Mr. Brock muttered, pushing open the heavy door. He stepped inside.
   The room was surprisingly mundane. Gone were the expected trappings of criminal excess. Instead, it resembled a cramped, slightly messy office, illuminated by harsh red bulbs that cast long shadows. Behind a cluttered desk sat a man in a black leather coat, fingers flying across a computer keyboard. He was middle-aged, with neatly woven hair and a meticulously trimmed beard, a stark contrast to the brutal aesthetic of the rest of the gang.
   "We finally meet, Night Watcher," the man said, his voice flat, his gaze fixed on the screen.
   Mr. Brock took in the room, the desk, the man himself. "Your office is nothing like I thought it would be."
   The man finally looked up, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I'll take that as a compliment. You thought it'd be something more…badass? Well, sorry to burst your bubble."
   "No girls, I mean, everybody in the gang are with one or more. I would never picture the main boss without one."
   "I don't need them, what I need is to focus on my goal."
   "Pfft, keep acting like this is a company, that aside, what do I call you?" Mr. Brock asked, looking at the man awkwardly.
   "Everyone calls me Boss, but you can call me Twist."
   "Is that your real name?"
   "No one uses their real name in a gang," Twist said, turning his full attention to Mr. Brock. "What brought you up here?"
   "If you move to a higher rank after the last remaining three operations, would you really make me the next boss?"
   Twist leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. "As long as I remain fair, yes… but it would be hell for someone of your status. You'd have to make the other guys trust and have faith in you, but you've never ruled a gang before. How would you manage that?"
   "Though, you might be right, but let's just wait till the time comes. It's only hard and not impossible," Mr. Brock stated before he left the office.
   "Hm, till the time comes then," Twist said to himself. "Just try to survive today first." He turned back to his computer, his expression unreadable.
   Mr. Brock emerged from the office into a tense silence. The three other candidates for boss stood waiting, their faces grim.
   "If you have access to the boss's office, then I guess you're one of us, right?" The largest of the three, a mountain of a man with a serpent tattoo coiling around his bicep, hefted a double-bladed axe. He advanced slowly, deliberately. "We loved your speech. But you need to show us some tricks if you really plan on leading this gang."
   "So, in other words, if you find me worthy of leading the gang through this unexpected duel of yours, you'd let me have the seat, huh?" Mr. Brock guessed.
   "Yeah, but not them." The fat guy gestured at the other two.
   "Don't talk big just because you're doing the gang a little favor. We've been in this gang far longer than you think," one of the others, a wiry man with a chain and cutlass slung around his waist, snarled.
   "Yeah, I know, but it's not how long, it's how well you did," Mr. Brock said, and immediately, the fat one swung his axe toward Mr. Brock's head.
   Mr. Brock dropped to one knee, the whoosh of the axe blades a fraction from his face. He scrambled away from the door, rolling toward the bar.
   Another attack landed beside him, a massive hammer that could crush bone and shatter skulls.
   *This is insane.* He was facing all three candidates at once, a suicidal move. The crowd, a sea of bloodthirsty faces, watched in rapt attention.
   He vaulted over the bar, landing amongst the rows of bottles. He grabbed one, then another, hurling them at his attackers.
   The fat guy ignored the flying glass, roaring as he swung the axe again, smashing the liquor bottles in a shower of shards and spirits.
   "I guess you're not just a weakling." The fat guy grunted.
   Mr. Brock dodged the axe, then, with a desperate lunge, he stabbed the fat guy with a broken bottle on his belly.
   "Argg" The fat one groaned as blood rushed out of the wound. Mr. Brock twisted his hand and collected the axe.
   The other two became more aggressive after seeing Mr. Brock's actions.
   Everybody in the building was praising Mr. Brock as they watched the fight.
   The third guy has been smashing everything in anger; tables, bottles, chairs with his hammer as Mr. Brock just kept dodging all his attacks.
   On the other hand, the second guy has been injured in multiple parts of his body by Mr. Brock.
   The fight was getting out of hand as most of the things in there has been smashed to pieces.
   "That's enough!" Twist, the boss, said, watching them from above. "I'm really surprised at this outcome, who would have thought Mr. Batman, the Night Watcher would be so skilled to take on the three candidates for my seat. Please applaud him."
   Everybody in the building clapped greatly to this unexpected turn of events.
   The two injured guys were taken to one corner for treatment.
   Grandwalker removed the handkerchief on his face and went to meet Mr. Brock.
   "Wow! That was amazing, where did you learn how to fight?" Grandwalker asked in amazement.
   "Let's just say it's the training I did In other to become a night watcher plus my survival instincts." Mr. Brock said, breathing heavily.
   "That was damn amazing, hmmn and you guys messed up the whole place pretty much." Grandwalker commented, looking at all the damages made.
   "Alright can you take me back?"
   Mr. Brock left the party along with his driver, Grandwalker, who drove him back to his guard post.
   "When next are you going to come?" Grandwalker asked.
   "When I become the boss, I'd say." Mr. Brock replied.
   "Now I like the confidence in that, you'll have to teach me how to fight too." Grandwalker said as he drove off.
   "(Sighs) it's been a long time since I last fought like that." Mr. Brock said, entering the office.
   "You did what?" Mrs. Julie asked, sending a shiver down Mr. Brock's body.
   "Sweetheart, what are you doing here? You scared the hell out of me." Mr. Brock asked.
"It's quarter past ten, I thought you'd like to have a share of the stuff I prepared at the restaurant. Now tell me what you said you did." Mrs. Julie said, stressing the last sentence.
   "(Sighs) Sweetheart, it nothing serious. It's just some....."
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