"Every day we slaughter our finest impulses" (Two-Face)

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The man moved silently over the rooftops, older now, quiet, but with a sense of understanding and knowledge of his craft. Standing on the sidewalk outside the building, he lit a cigarette, filterless, hand rolled, considering the men nearby. It was well protected, but only by amateurs. They lacked his training, his understanding. A quiet whisper into his sleeve. "Looks like about five, Mr. Luthor." The voice in his ear spoke calmly. 

"Perhaps a rooftop entry?" The voice was micromanaging a bit. Luthor knew better than to question the work of his men, he hired them for good reason, and frankly Security Team #1 was made up of very high quality indeed. Dangerous men, men with LexCorp Stock. Loyal men. 

"Men up there too. This town has a Bat problem" The man looked through binoculars, counting the heart beats, reading the heat signatures. The passive scan of the building was simple enough to do. "Spot Check, different telemetry"

A voice through the earpiece again "Passive scan shows three on the roof. I've got a clear shot on two, there's one external vent on the roof, leads to the air conditioning unit. One guard nearby. I got a clear shot," 

"Negative, mission parameters are zero casualties, zero detection. Our Fearless Leader is looking to make an impression." And of course it was going to be fun and difficult. 

"I trust you to be discrete." 

"Please, don't insult my professionalism." He mutters to himself "young twat. . .  I'll make it work, Mr Luthor."  The man put out the cigarette in the palm of his hand then swallowed it. A glance above, the power lines overhead, he slipped the bottom part of the balaclava over his face, and then receded into the shadows. "Noisemaker on east wall at my mark."

Fifty seconds later, there was a strange sound from the building to the east, a loud scream, then a shout "What the hell is that?" A guard on the roof, put out his cigarette and dropped it on the ground, holding onto his gun as he walked to the east wall. He returned to find nothing amiss. 

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The lights flickered inside the building for a second, not abnormal in Gotham East where the power supply sometimes had a nasty habit of getting interrupted by rats or weather or just poor maintenance. The flicker didn't seem too odd. The empty office of Two-Face was left clear, but not for long. Passive scan showed people outside. Good, they wouldn't have to wait long. The vent opened quickly into the office, closed just as quickly.  

Lex Luthor sat in a chair near the desk, legs crossed, leaned back casually, holding a drink in one hand, a small device in the other. 

As soon as Two-Face entered, he spoke calmly, matter-of-factly, the smooth deep voice of one of the most powerful men in the world "You made quite the commotion at Giancarlo's the other night. I'm surprised to see you move so quickly, Mr. Dent. But then again, you've always been known for your tenacity." 

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The hot scolding water patted against the scarred back of Harvey Dent. The steam rose into the lightm muffled sound, and relaxed his body. The sweat, steam, and water made a great threesome. Harvey had been in the shower for fifteen minutes. He liked a long shower, calmed him down, helped him plan out things. If only his skin wasn’t so old afterwards. People seem to age in the shower. From a skinny 18 year old boy to a 72 lanky old man, one that seems to still have mahogany hair. He laughed at that insight, not brilliant but true nonetheless.

He was sure that he would age, but he wasn’t thinking about that now. Geriatrics took a back-seat when dealing with the man who has division all over him-literally. The last time he took a fifteen minute shower, he was single and this had been over ten years ago. When he was dating Pamela Isley, single mom of the year to plants, devil spawn to everyone else. Not a day went by when he thought about killing her, but that’s when he entered the shower. Even there he would remember her timing the shower to last at least five, six minutes. Scolding heat became Antarctic winter. A risk that made him hate her and love her.

Harvey’s men had been stationed all around the reconverted FBI building. There had been three floors, half of the third floor was falling a part and Dent didn’t have time for renovations at the moment. People to kill, chance to indulge, and money to be had. He stepped out and dried himself off. At 37 years of age, Harvey looked as if he was an Olympic Athlete ten years his junior. He worked out for at least three hours a day and it showed…it showed. After getting changed in the raggedy room, Harvey (who had his coin polished the other day) walked down the staircase to his desk. This was around 9-9:30 at night and many of his guards were switching shifts. The majority of his men were assisting drug mobs, or taking mercenary contracts, or putting drug lords in line. That was the business at the moment. Less than two months out of Arkham and he was already working his way back into the forefront: a true prosecutor nonetheless.

He took out his cell phone and texted a few of his top lieutenants to get to his Mansion in West Gotham and collect their dues. Keeping his tools happy was a good thing, long enough to dispose of them in a few weeks. The cream of the crop would always rise to the top, only to be taken out either by stupidity, error in calculation, or bullets from Harvey’s twin .22’s.

Harvey in a new black charcoal suit walked down the hallway to his office, he was polished, poise, and ready to finish his paperwork, make some calls to get rid of twenty leeches in his organization, and then have a few scotch’s, maybe even call a prostitute. He hadn’t gotten laid in a day or two. He flipped his coin as he walked near the door, landing on tails. That’s right, always keep the manhood happy. His eyes read the room but then widened. Alexander Luthor!? Who let him in? Was it Jimmy the fat man who had an affinity for letting in strangers, especially girls scouts. Lex Luthor was a girl scout of high degree, one who sold weapons, contracts, information, people, items of value… anything tangible and intangible.

He was the penguin only handsomer, puffier, filled with hubris and a need to be the absolute best at everything. Harvey knew that wasn’t him, he pulled off the handsome look in a more tragic way. Like Phantom of the opera but with guns, fire, and no singing from that shit of a musical. This was a breath of annoyance and fresh air, Dent had made the first moves because Luck had commanded him to. Now was his chance to sparry with the man who believed his own bullshit more so than Carmine. He was the Metropolis bald-version of Bruce Wayne (another sycophant, marked on Dent’s kill list). Giving money to the poor without giving a shit about them: Dent appreciated that. He appreciated the asshole and wise-sage business guru that was and still remains to be Alexander Luthor.

“Well, well if it isn’t Lex Luthor, a man of esteemed presence!” remarked Dent as he mockingly bowed. The mention of Giancarlo’s and his work there tickled him. Word travels fast and a man of Lex’s “range” knowing about it proved the point. But Dent was no idiot, he flipped the coin two times. Anyone who wants to deal with someone immerses themselves in the business of the one they want to screw (mentally, physically, socially). Dent favored small talk and then a fistfight or a knife to the head or a rape and pillage viking tirade. No, not here.

Luthor had done his work and he was damn well right about Dent’s tenacity, his passion, his rage. He was the justice of the highest order, willing to go any range to sentence the guilty. Dent stood to the side, taking out a cigar, he initially took out another one and was about to give it to Lex, when he then flipped is coin. Tails: No cigar for Luthor. He retracted the cigar and put it in his tuxedo pocket. “Alexander, what can I do for you, better yet, what motion do you need to sustain your stay at Gotham. I’ve heard all about your dick comparing, ass-kissing Metropham. Sure to excite the ladies and bore the men to death. I was planning to arrive and kill half the party. They don’t deserve to be there when the world is burning. But fate had me stay. I must say that was a good plan, because if I had gone…” He moved closer to Luthor crreeplily lowering his voice to his husky and raspy tone that made cats run, and dogs quiver. “I’d have sent my regards to you personally” he licked his lips as he scuffed laughing.

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He seemed quite casual, sipping his drink, letting it swirl in the glass as he leaned back, arms spread over the chair, legs crossed again. If he seemed concerned at the mad dog voice he didn't make much reaction to it. Indeed, he narrowed his eyes and smirked faintly as if savoring a particularly fine game, his tie dark today, along with the suit. "Mr. Dent. . . or since we're being informal should I call you Harvey? Or perhaps you like that other thing they're calling you now. . . Two-Face, is it? To the point, I suppose, and evocative in certain ways, although it lacks the classic elan of perhaps "Janus" or "Usmu" or perhaps "Belinus" for a Chaldean aire, or perhaps "rebus" if you wish to get in touch with your feminine side" He smiled at that, letting the ice melt in the Collins glass, it clinked once. " . . . well, I suppose we don't pick our names. Although one hopes not to be defined by them, it would be a shame for any individual to remain with only one characteristic that defines everything else. In my opinion, specialization is for insects, Mr. Dent. But I digress."

He looks over his shoulder and around the building "You've re-purposed this building well, old FBI front, I read the files from that unfortunate incident with agent.  . oh what was the name again? Well, no matter. I suppose Metropham's a little project of mine, a little gift to another city. The neighborly thing to do. To offer a helping hand to those in need. To help bring stability to a city wracked by chaos, you understand the importance of keeping a city well managed. Or you used to."

He smiles faintly at the threat and then leans forward, staring straight into Dent's eyes for a moment, an intensity there that has shaped the destiny of nations. He had intense green eyes that have stared down creatures that Gods would quaver from. "I'm certain that you're happier with that twist of fate, Harvey, however . . . Will should always trump fate, we are men after all. Not subject to the whims of circumstance and the vagaries of an unfeeling universe. A man shapes his destiny, after all. . . "

He leans back and cocks his head slightly saying "As for my plans in Gotham. I see no reason to leave anytime soon. . . but I do prefer business in more stable environments, and I know that a quick action with a strong center provides stability. You're a man of tenacity, strong will. And you're  man with needs. . . and as I said, I'm nothing if not a good neighbor, come to help those in need."  

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The elegance and flair at which Alexander Luthor spoke truth be told - bored Two-Face. Always the billionaires and millionaire playboys who develop a brain that spitfires references and subtle hints to their tongue. The people demanded that billionaires pair their dues in time spent harboring over the ground and doing “community work” or awaiting sentencing, not blabbing on about their “intentions”. His casual sloppy manner betrayed the usual put-together Luthor that was always in the paper. This wasn’t a tirade but a rather poor speech designed to give insight into the self-righteous “god” and inspire clueless trade from potential buyers.

Dent never played the way Luthor did. He was fast on the facts and less on the small-talk. A scotch or two before the guns came out to settle contracts, that was the way fate had deemed his operations: insofar that had worked. Harvey didn’t roll his eyes but his focus on the manner came in and out. He was more concerned with the chair that Luthor’s ass rented in than the actual words coming to play tag. The mention of the FBI building does bring up an eyebrow but nothing more than a mere reference. He had done his research and like all men willing to bargain with Justice Two-Face, they all made sure they had decent lawyers. The game was different but the laws still applied. Dealing with the devil only meant that one’s soul was to be compacted, compounded, and scorched to be damned in the future. The people would not rest until those charged were found guilty. Luthor was not a guiltless man and Dent waited for the day in which Luthor came to him on honest intentions to plead for his absolution.

The building had been repurposed, reused and reformatted for the needs of Dent’s operational base. His men would train here and set up business deals. The warehouse garage that was used for storage became a small laboratory for heroin and cocaine. He was running a drug operation as a key to get back into the business. He had a small drug market that, prior to his untimely incarceration, was amassing profits of up to 300 million dollars. Of course collateral damage and a few FBI investigations followed. He had that agent taken care of, and as he recalled that agent never saw his family again.

Harvey inhaled the nicotine in his Cuban cigar, a peppery spicy lemonade for the throat and lungs. Luthor had a knack for finding out the troubles and woes of others (something that Luck had often bestowed on Dent). Business deals with thorns and tight-suits were scams though. The mere short-term profit ran out, then the firefights began. The payments would reverse and the client became the prey. Dent would do no such thing, which is why his arms cross and he leans against one of the metal pillars in the low-lighting room. He is silent but takes out the cigar, puffing in Luthor’s direction pondering, “ Taking a risk on me is not an idle choice nor is it one that is exempted from Fate. “ Harvey flipped his coin (heads move on), “Tell me your classified plans that you have for Gotham”.

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He smiled faintly at the request, another self styled symbol in a world filled with men of limited vision mistaking singular purpose and ruthlessness with power. Lex was a man who didn't need symbols, who didn't need to embrace or hover near the power of an element. "Is this where I monologue, tell you my master plans and let my ego get the better of me? Perhaps I should bring charts and diagrams." 

He puts his glass down with an audible clink, then leans forward putting his fingertips together. "My plan is hardly complicated, Mr. Dent, my desires are clear and coherent, rather obvious I'd think. To meet my goals, however, I have needs, I have groundwork to lay. My interest is business, and for business to boom, I'd like to have a stable Gotham City. One in which there aren't rogue elements vying for small pieces of land, killing for scraps and snarling for pittances like animals. You move quickly, you move decisively, and your actions are fair. Fifty fifty . . . if you were a Casino game, you'd have the best odds of the house."

He smirked sardonically. "You want Gotham, I need someone to stabilize it. Gang wars are bad for business, bad for expansion, bad for profit. You've got the will for it, you've got the gift, and you've got a mind for profit, you're not like the others in this city, Dent. You're not interested in destruction for the sake of destruction, self aggrandizement, no . . . you're uniquely placed and suited for a very quick, and a very solid expansion into a very chaotic ecosystem . . . I can live with a single random element, if it means getting rid of fifty. I know which direction the wind is blowing in, Mr. Dent. . . and I'm nothing if not adaptable to the realities on the ground. You have manpower, you have contacts, you have a network and you have will. You lack materiel, something I have in abundance. . . I believe there's a deal to be made here, am I wrong?" He raises an eyebrow, smirking.  

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If Luthor believes his speech has garnered Dent’s interest, he’d better move to rectify the situation. He has been out a mere six weeks and things have gone perfectly well in such a short amount of time. Between securing his old contracts and buffing up his rates Dent has begun to polish a new name for himself: The lord of Gotham. He’s not someone interested in being king or having an expensive diamond baton to throw or caress others. Dent’s interested in one thing: action. He’s the fiercest killer that has the tools to accomplish really anything. He’s the officer to fate and the executioner of punishment. So while Luthor’s words are laced with honesty and a genuine interest in securing Dent’s - Two- Face’s hands in his business, he’ll have to be more authentic and original in his offer.

That’s the beauty of the man in front of him. Cobbling his wealth and putting it to practices used to strengthen oneself. He flipped the coin four times. Two heads and two tails. His good luck would keep going but he would encounter a radical shift. Harvey grumbled and took out his cigar blowing a potent smoke into Luthor’s direction, “Harvey would like to say that he appreciates your weighted and objective words, but if you have to ask me - well I’ll be the honest Harvey here, you’ve clearly misinterpreted my intentions.” Harvey leans on the empty brown leather chair in front of Luthor, “Flattery is simply small talk policy. But yet I’m the Judge. You’re argument isn’t convincing because everything you’ve said is simply dreams crammed into policy phrases.” Dent was a damned smart man. But smart men often make the mistake of being “too smart”. They think they can disarm a man by saying an ancient greek proverb or save someone’s marriage by spouting off statistics. He was smart but he was unstable. Well, half the time.

Two-face stood up and continued chomping on his cigar, his tongue to the side of the expensive cuban. He flipped his coin. Tails. Change the subject, if you’re going to talk with him you’ve got to probe deeper. Something that a pig wouldn’t find interesting. That is the key to forging a partnership that you can occasionally shoot over and over again.

“Alexander Joseph Luthor.” The name was pompous and entitled. Every name had a ring to it. A sound that echoed status and power. His was one of old values, conservative natures tied to a mind used for gaining knowledge and money. A new purely held on status symbols and back-board deals. Harvey Richard Dent was a name of simple stature. Harvey was slick and fast-forwarding. He lived the life zooming past others. Richard brought a sex appeal a certain energy and Dent… Dent was both good and bad. Designed to make a mark on the world. An entire person’s life was “dented” on their name. “ Share with me knowledge about yourself that you’ve never told anyone before. Knowledge that makes you who you are.” He then thought, he’ll flip the coin after that. Heads: Luthor reveals his hand. Tails: Dent probes further.

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"Mmm, an interesting offer. Something about myself that I've never told anyone. Something that will help you to understand who and what I am." He smiled for a moment, and then carefully put his glass down next to him with a satisfying but hard clink noise as he stared at the man across from him. 

"You pride yourself a man of action, Mr. Dent. You see weakness in politeness, a sense of uncertainty with couched terms. A foolish philosophy for a man who made his living from his voice. Words are important, Mr. Dent. A weapon can inspire terror in a few, but the right word can change the shape of history. I think you'd prefer me talking . . . I assure you." He stares at Dent, a little more serious now, a firmness in his voice. "You won't like it when I decide to stop talking." 

He leans back as he says "Since you're so insistent, however, on a piece of knowledge and for straightforward dealings, let me get to the point, and explain myself and who I am. You're a man who lets fate choose for him. I'm a man who chooses fate. You know this, though, so let's tell you what no one else knows. I want a stable Gotham to work in, a place where the future can grow. If you are not part of that solution, you are part of the unstable element that temporarily hinders my goal." 

He stands up slowly, reaching to his full height. Luthor could be physically imposing when he wanted to be, a body trained to peak physicality through hard work and honest effort, and it wasn't that Luthor was smart. That was a given. He was smart enough that scales had to be invented just to contextualize the man's intellect. Wealth? Only an idiot looked at wealth as a goal. Power? Power was simply ability and the will to use it, secondary to the important issue. 


"Knowledge that makes me who I am. . . How's this?  I'm prepared to make this offer to one of four other people, if you decide to turn it down. That's something that I haven't told anyone before. If you don't understand the implications of that, or the implications that I'm having this conversation with you in your office, right now, then I was wrong about your potential to be anything other than a waste of time. You're ruthless, you're strong willed, you've a rather blase approach towards destroying those that stand in your way, you've made an impact on the city very quickly after being released onto the street. . . that's barely enough to merit my personal attention. There's many people in this city who loved you for what you once were, I've no such attachment. . . no desire to stay my hand in the hopes you'll return to some sense of who you were. In addition, I've no hatred for you, no desire to make things personal so that you suffer. I have a need, you . . . potentially. . . have the capacity to meet this need.  So let's move past pretty words, since you're such a man of action. " He's lost the pleasant demeanor, he's got his eyes narrowed now, this was business. 

"Flip your coin, make your decision whether or not you want to make a deal. Understand though, heads or tails. . . I get what I want either way."

[Deleted]

Luthor’s methodical way of attacking was impressive. Impressive for a man that should be doing soap-operas. With a name like Lex Luthor, you’ve almost guaranteed a spot for him. But the money, the class, the hubris, the clinking noises as his hands left his drink. Lex ‘s stammering physicality made Dent grin. The idea of Luthor having a stutter makes him laugh. The little thoughts and nuances in his humor have impressed him, personally speaking. While he is a psychopath, he enjoys a range of comedy stretching from black to dry.

There’s nothing like it. Luthor was a man who didn’t laugh, maybe it was the swell in the throat that he wanted to avoid; business who laugh are seen as less than “real”. It’s a mockery that Luthor likely wanted to distance himself. But Harvey doesn’t mind laughter. It doesn’t matter when you can wield it while burning a building down. Laughter is the best medicine, only taken after extreme action.

He flips his coin four times. Two for fun, and the other two to see what he gets. The last two both go up on heads. Go for the deal. While he follows chance’s orders, he wants to milk this to get something more than money. “You have a deal Luthor." Said Harvey with a slight puff of smoke in his face. Yes, breathe it in, let it consume you and your wall street outfit. He finished his cigar and threw it out the window. Some homeless person would find it and probably try to barter with it. As his mind wondered he did think of something else. Luthor is here right now, what if he plays the mindgames that Luthor so often plays with others. Two minds are better than one, Luthor is outnumbered… He goes for something more personal, perhaps the lungs in his his next question, “Even though I’ve just momentarily accepted your deal, the prize you wish to give me needs to be questioned.”