The fighter, The Princess, and The Mercenary (DC x MaleReader)

Time to Retire

What was supposed to be a routine job turned into something else entirely: slip in unnoticed, eliminate the target, vanish without a trace, and collect my pay. But fate had different plans, compelling me to follow them, regardless of my own.

I'm a mercenary, a hired operative, resolving problems of the rich and those of the poor, all for a fee, of course. My work has taken me around the world, never staying put for too long, and now I find myself in the gritty, grim streets of Gotham. Skyscrapers loom like ominous guardians, their sharp outlines slicing through the ever-cloudy sky.

The air is thick with the scent of rain and asphalt, and the distant hum of bustling traffic creates a constant, low rumble. The city feels alive yet foreboding, with long, dark shadows hinting at hidden secrets within every alleyway.

Gotham sprawls with an eerie allure, inhabited by killer clowns lurking in the shadows, monstrous alligators prowling the sewers, and a host of peculiar characters that seem to have stepped straight out of a Stephen King novel. Yet, beneath its sinister surface, it is also a realm of boundless opportunity.

Navigating this jungle is like playing a complex game of chess; you must discern the right moments to advance, retreat, or shift sideways, all while an unseen observer, like a grandmaster, oversees the unfolding drama.

They're poised, waiting for the opportune moment when a piece strays from its strategic position, when the players lose themselves in the game, and the real maneuvering begins.

That's when I get called in. Men of my particular talent are called m to ensure that the intricate rules of the game are strictly upheld and meticulously enforced. You see, joining the game, is straightforward and if you play along, you might survive. But for those brave enough to defy the rules and challenge the established order? Well, they find themselves marked, their names etched onto a hit list crafted by the game's architects.

One such architect, possibly the most ruthless of them all, is Carmine Falcone. A man of chilling duality, he is just as likely to share a drink with you, discussing business in a convivial manner, as he is to coldly orchestrate the demise of your family for a single misstep in carrying out his orders.

His cunning is as sharp as a blade, cutting through the city's underworld with an unforgiving edge. As the leader of the Falcone family, one of the city's most prominent criminal organizations, he commands respect and fear in equal measure, his presence looming like a dark shadow over the alleys and corners of the city.

Carmine's reach stretches to the police, the district attorney's office, politicians, judges, and beyond. Essentially, wherever justice is supposed to be upheld and cherished, he pulls the strings, controlling everything with a malevolent grin.

And that's just the court system.

He has a monopoly on weapons, drugs, information, anything and everything that man can get his hands, he will. Nothing happens in this city without him hearing about it, and no one can stop playing this game unless he says so.

So when he reached out and asked me to take if a politician who 'irreparably and inconceivable ruptured the friendship we had brewing,' it wasn't hard to imagine what came next. Plus, the money was good, so who was I to ask questions? Anyway, the job was simple; there was nothing I hadn't done before.

Then again, I suppose everything becomes rather mundane when you're a merc for a long time. No matter how many world leaders you blackmail, politicians you kill, or people you kidnap, it all becomes... monotonous at a point.

But who am I to complain? This kind of business is my bread and is better. Being a mercenary is the only life I've ever known; it's what I'm good at. What I've always been good at. For a long time.