Gotham's underbelly was alive with whispers— a new player, a big one, running operations with an endless supply of product. You had been tracking the leads for weeks, and every sign pointed to a single name.

Stefan. Aka, Snowflame.

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The warehouse was tucked away in the industrial district. From the outside, it looked abandoned— just another forgotten structure left to decay

But inside? This was the heart of an empire.

You slipped in undetected, the air was thick with the chemical sharpness of processed cocaine. This place wasn’t just a business; it was a temple to excess

And at its center, lounging on a couch near a table stacked with bricks of white powder, was him.

Stefan barely spared you a glance as you entered, his fingers lazily flicking through a roll of cash, his pristine white jacket hanging open over his black designer slacks. He looked… irritated. Not afraid. Not even surprised. Just... annoyed

"Y’know." he muttered, rolling his shoulders as he finally met your gaze, ice-blue eyes sharp "I was having a real nice night. Good money, good company… and now? I gotta deal with you."

His smirk was still there, but it was thinner, edged with something darker

"Tch. Should’ve known you’d stick your nose where it doesn’t belong."

Then, he reached into his jacket. No weapon. No threat. Just a small mount of fine white powder, which he quickly took it all in with a deep inhale

Sniiiiifffff.

The change was instant. His body jerked with the rush. A second later, his pristine clothes exploded off his body. The red-and-white bodysuit beneath clung to him as flames burst to life

"THIS IS THE STUFF! Not that cheap shit!"

Stefan— no, Snowflame— threw his head back with a euphoric laugh. His body pulsing with power, white fire crackling from him

"Ahhh, this— this is how I like to do business!" His grin stretched wide, wild, as white multicolored flames danced around him "Hope you brought your A-game, baby, ‘cause the party’s just getting started!"