Milk_Is_My_Drug
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Chapter 7: The Casual Hostage
🕑 Added 2025-05-14 20:38:22 +0000 UTCThe sunlight seeped gently through the tall windows of the manor. The living room bore the signs of a small, unplanned sleepover—pillows scattered, blankets half-draped over furniture, and four unconscious figures sprawled across the couches and floor.
Ashborn walked in, crisp and sharp in his dark suit. His gaze swept over the chaotic scene with amusement before settling on the only sign of movement—Jinx, mop in hand, wiping away a particularly sticky spot on the floor.
“Good morning,” he said, voice smooth and unhurried. “Didn’t expect to see you up so early.”
Jinx glanced up and gave him a faint, tired smile. “It’s my job,” she said softly. “And… kind of my fault the place got trashed.”
Ashborn walked a few steps closer, casting a glance at the still-snoring heap that was Mammoth and Billy entangled in a blanket on the floor. “It’s fine,” he replied with a casual shrug. “They’re the ones who came here, after all. Besides…” he turned to her with a small smile, “it would be bad for my reputation if you turned visitors away, right?”
Jinx let out a small laugh and nodded.
Ashborn adjusted the cuff of his shirt. “I’m heading to Shadow Corp. Don’t forget to wake the four up. If they overstay, the manor might collapse under their collective snoring.”
Jinx nodded again, more easily this time. “Got it.”
He turned toward the door, steps light but firm. As he reached for the handle, Jinx hesitated, then called out, “Boss.”
Ashborn paused.
“Thanks… for giving us a chance,” she said, her voice uncertain at first, then stronger. “And for being so… accommodating.”
For a moment, Ashborn didn’t move.
Then, without turning back, he simply replied, “You’re welcome.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and Jinx stood quietly in the silence that followed, mop still in hand. Despite the mess, despite the doubts, a small warmth settled in her chest.
___________
Lex Luthor sat behind his sleek desk, his fingers tapped rhythmically on a data pad as he reviewed reports—financial projections, infrastructure progress, and recent defense systems upgrades. All standard, all efficient. Just the way he liked it.
A soft knock preceded the quiet whoosh of the door sliding open. His trusted assistant, Mercy Graves, stepped in, her tone sharp and respectful.
“Lex, your visitor is here.”
Lex didn’t look up immediately. Only after finishing the last line of a report did he glance at her and nod. “Let him in.”
The door opened wider, and in stepped a man dressed far too flamboyantly for the environment. A deep purple coat, a matching hat, and a face painted in an all-too-familiar grinning clown makeup.
The Joker.
“Lexxy! You’re almost out of smiles today,” Joker cackled as he removed his hat with a theatrical bow. “You know, sneaking into Metropolis unnoticed is so unfriendly to folks like me.”
Lex leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. “You're almost late.”
Joker strolled into the room, spinning his hat on one finger before plopping it onto a nearby table. “Traffic was murder. Literally.” His grin widened as he placed a sleek, black briefcase on Lex’s desk and opened it with a satisfying click.
Inside was a single object nestled in a custom-molded case—glowing faintly.
Lex’s eyes narrowed. “You brought it.”
“Oh, I always keep my promises,” Joker said with a low giggle. “Besides…” He tapped the edge of the case. “This little beauty is going to make things so much fun.”
Lex allowed himself a rare, thin smile—cold, calculating. “Good. Everything is falling into place.”
The two men stared at the briefcase for a moment longer. Unbeknownst to them both, in the far corner of the room, where the soft lighting met the deepest shadows, something shifted—subtle, almost imperceptible.
A flicker in the darkness. A whisper of movement.
The shadows settled once more. Watching. Listening. Waiting.
___________
In one of Metropolis’ most luxurious restaurants, the glittering lights and soft symphony music set the perfect backdrop for a gathering that was equal parts power and politics. The room was filled with influential business magnates, well-dressed executives, and reporters from the biggest papers in the world. Among them stood Lois Lane, clipboard in hand, ever the professional.
Near the heart of the gathering, Lex Luthor stood in a dark charcoal suit, engaged in a casual yet calculated conversation with none other than Ashborn Black, the enigmatic CEO of Shadow Corp. The two stood shoulder to shoulder like twin pillars of wealth and power.
Then, the crowd subtly shifted as Bruce Wayne made his entrance, radiating charm and confidence in equal measure. His name needed no announcement; the entire room noticed when he walked in.
Lex turned and greeted Bruce with a familiar nod. “Mr. Wayne.”
Bruce smiled. “Lex.”
But his attention turned curiously to the man beside him. “And you must be Ashborn Black,” he said, offering a hand. “Been meaning to meet you. Your name travels faster than your reputation.”
Ashborn took his hand with a warm, polite smile. “A pleasure. I’ve heard quite a bit about you as well.”
Bruce chuckled. “I have to ask—Ashborn. That’s… unique. Real name?”
Ashborn nodded lightly, his tone casual. “Yes. My parents gave me that name. The hospital I was born in had a massive fire that night. Oddly enough, only our section of the building was untouched by the flames.”
Bruce raised his eyebrows. “That’s… poetic.”
“Or dramatic,” Lex added dryly.
The three continued their exchange, a mixture of subtle probing and polite jabs, when Lois Lane approached them with her usual confidence.
“Well, well,” she said with a grin. “Three of the richest men on the planet in one room. That’s not a board meeting—that’s a headline.”
Ashborn offered a gentleman’s bow of his head. “I’m not sure we’re that interesting. Just three men in suits with too much money and not enough taste.”
Lois laughed. “You’d be surprised what interests people, Mr. Black.” Her eyes briefly lingered on Bruce—sharp, knowing. She knew who he really was. Meanwhile, Lex smiled faintly, pleased. After all, he had ensured Lois received an invitation.
The conversation continued pleasantly, until the calm was shattered.
A gunshot rang out. The music died. Screams erupted. Chaos bled into elegance.
Men in clown masks burst in, weapons raised. The restaurant froze. Standing tall among them, dressed to kill in bright chaos, were Joker and Harley Quinn.
The air thickened with tension. Guests trembled. A waiter dropped his tray. But three individuals didn’t flinch.
Bruce Wayne’s eyes narrowed—cool and calculating.
Lex Luthor’s expression remained calm, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
And Ashborn Black just kept smiling.
In a voice just loud enough for Lex, Bruce, and Lois to hear, Ashborn muttered, “I’m betting they will take Ms. Lane as a hostage. Any takers?”
The three stared at him, stunned by the casual remark.
Lois whispered, “Shouldn’t you be… worried?”
Ashborn sipped from his wine glass. “Not really. They’re probably here for you.”
Lex stiffened ever so slightly. How did he know that?
Right on cue, the Joker strolled through the room with his signature bounce, scanning faces until his eyes landed on Lois.
“Lois Lane!” he beamed. “There you are. For a second, I thought I crashed the wrong gala.”
Lois didn't reply. Instead, she glanced sideways at Ashborn.
Ashborn merely shrugged. “Called it.”
Joker tilted his head. “You two are in on a joke, and I’m not part of it? Rude.”
Ashborn met his eyes calmly. “I bet you would go after Ms. Lane. Beauty, brains, beloved by the public, it’s classic. Damsel in distress, hero shows up—let me guess… Superman, right?”
He took another sip of wine, unbothered.
Joker laughed. “You are funny.” Then, with a sudden flare of movement, he pointed his gun at Ashborn. “What if I shot you now, hmm?”
Ashborn didn’t even blink. “That would ruin the show. Violence before the guest of honor arrives? No taste.”
The Joker tilted his head, considering. “You get it.”
Then he lowered the gun as an idea struck him, and his grin widened.
“What if I take you as a hostage instead?”
Ashborn looked genuinely thoughtful. “Not bad. But not as dramatic. You need two hostages. Force the hero to choose. High drama, tension, emotional damage.”
The Joker gasped in glee. “Yes! I like you already!” He clapped his hands. “You two—it’s settled! You’re my main hostages!”
“Sounds fun” Ashborn chuckled then casually walked past him, as he said. “Where do you want me to stand?”
The Joker stared, wide-eyed. “I didn’t expect to find a crazy person here. This is better than I imagined!”
With a giggle, he yanked Lois toward the center of the restaurant as Harley held the crowd back.
Lex and Bruce exchanged glances. They were calculating scenarios and backup plans, but one thing neither could shake was the thought:
Ashborn didn’t just go off-script. There was no script for whatever he was doing.
