THE DEATH KNELL-Chapter 12: THE HEART OF LEVERAGE

The air inside the dimly lit communications room was thick with dust, stirred by recent chaos. Chairs lay overturned, papers fluttered in disarray, and the harsh fluorescent lights cast jagged shadows across the cluttered floor. Floating specks of dust moved like drifting sea creatures in the deep, illuminated only when they passed through the artificial glow.

Slade Wilson stood in the middle of the wreckage, motionless, his imposing figure exuding an air of practiced patience. Across from him, Cindy exhaled sharply, making no effort to hide her frustration. Even through the crimson glow of his mask's single eye, he could feel her glare—sharp, contemptuous, as if she were staring at a soldier who had fumbled an easy mission.

"Unbelievable," she muttered. "You can't even handle a kid?"

Slade's lips curled in mild amusement beneath his mask. He'd endured worse insults.

"Let me guess," he said dryly. "You think I should've tortured her by now? She's just a high school girl, Cindy. What's next? Kicking puppies?"

Cindy rolled her eyes, but before she could snap back, Slade calmly pulled up a chair and lowered himself onto it, facing their captive.

Barbara Gordon sat across from him, hands restrained but posture rigid, her bright eyes filled with sharp calculation. She was young, but there was no mistaking her intelligence. The way she assessed the two mercenaries wasn't that of a scared hostage—it was the measured gaze of someone looking for leverage.

Slade leaned forward slightly. "Phones and internet are open. Call him," he instructed. "Commissioner Gordon. Don't worry—I won't kill him this time."

Barbara's expression barely flickered. "You're not in charge here," she said coolly. "She is. If I'm going to make a deal, I want to hear it from her."

A sharp bark of laughter burst from Cindy. She smirked, shaking her head. "Slade, I think she just demoted you to my sidekick."

Slade sighed, rubbing a gloved hand over his mask. He made a show of brushing dust from his armored shoulder, then gestured broadly to himself. "Do I not look like the one in charge?"

Barbara narrowed her eyes. She took in the matching tactical gear, the same bloodstains darkening their combat suits, the effortless way they moved in sync. Their dynamic was almost unreadable.

She shook her head honestly. "I can't tell."

Slade exhaled a slow breath, then stood, stepping away. He waved Cindy forward. "Fine. You talk to her."

With a satisfied smirk, Cindy took his seat, pulling off her helmet. Shaking out her hair, she lit a cigar, exhaling a thin plume of smoke. The scene would've looked more natural in a shady bar than in the middle of a hostage negotiation.

Something about working alongside Slade made her competitive, like she had to prove she was just as capable.

"Alright, Barbara," Cindy said lazily, tapping ash onto the floor. "I give you my word—no one's paying for Gordon tonight. He gets to live."

Barbara hesitated, then slowly reached into her pocket, retrieving a small red phone. She dialed a number.

The line rang.

Then again.

Then—

She frowned as a cold automated voice cut in: The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.

Barbara's grip tightened. She hit redial. The response was the same.

Cindy watched with a knowing smirk. "Let me guess. No answer?"

Barbara didn't respond. Her jaw clenched, and she tried again.

Still nothing.

Slade leaned against the door, absently twirling his staff, his mind elsewhere. He'd knocked out a few of Gordon's men earlier, and one had gotten sick all over his boots. He really needed to clean them.

"They got to him first," he said without looking up. "Same group that grabbed you. Makes sense. He's more valuable."

Barbara's hands froze over the phone.

"No," she muttered. "His phone is just out of reach, that's all."

Cindy exhaled another cloud of smoke, watching the girl's stubborn denial with mild amusement. "Sure. You can keep hitting redial, or you can do something useful. Every second wasted makes it harder to find him."

Barbara inhaled sharply.

Then she shoved the phone away, pulled her laptop onto her lap, and started typing.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, movements fluid, precise. The rapid keystrokes filled the silence, an intricate rhythm of urgency. Her expression was taut with focus, brows furrowing as she navigated through encrypted networks.

Cindy frowned. "What exactly is she doing?"

Slade didn't look up. "Hacking into Gotham's telecom servers. Using the city's cellular grid to triangulate his location."

Cindy turned, eyeing him. "How do you know that?"

Slade shrugged. "Seen it before."

Cindy scoffed. "What, in between merc jobs, you picked up a tech hobby?"

"More like I watched a lot of shows when I worked security." He smirked faintly. "Never learned how to do it, but I know what it looks like."

Cindy huffed, muttering under her breath. Still, she let it go. "Guess we all have our strengths. I probably know more about mythology than you."

Slade tilted his head. "Probably."

She smirked. "You're surprisingly decent at giving compliments. Kinda cute."

Slade stiffened. Cute.

Not a word he was used to.

For a brief moment, he thought about how different this world was from his own. It wasn't that he had some outdated sense of masculinity—he could handle a woman being in charge. But something about the way things worked here always left him slightly off balance, like the rules of the game had been rewritten.

Barbara, meanwhile, remained entirely focused on her laptop.

Minutes passed. Then—

She hit a final keystroke, and the command executed. The system cracked open before her, giving her access to the private communication network of Wayne Enterprises—the telecom provider linked to her father's phone.

She leaned back slightly, exhaling, but her fingers still fidgeted anxiously. Waiting.

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Cindy raised an eyebrow, lazily gesturing toward the laptop with her cigar. "Welcome to the world of crime. Pretty sure hacking into a private server is considered espionage."

Barbara stiffened.

Her hands clenched, and for the first time, doubt flickered in her expression.

Because Cindy was right.

This wasn't her first time hacking—it had started as an exercise, a way to sharpen her skills. She'd infiltrated school systems, supermarket databases, even Gotham PD once, just to see what her father was working on.

But this?

This was different.

This was real.

And she had crossed a line.

Barbara swallowed hard, struggling for a response, but there was none. Cindy had called it like it was.

And there was no taking it back now.