The night reeked of wet metal and bad intentions. The kind of Gotham air that clung to your lungs like smoke and sin. Harvey stood just off to the side of the deal, cigar ember glowing like a heartbeat in the dark as his men unloaded crates—guns, ammo, the usual poison for the city’s veins. His good side watched everything sharply; his scarred side twitched with that half-smirk he couldn’t quite hide anymore.

For once, the deal went smoothly. No double-cross, no snipers in the shadows, no screaming. He almost didn’t trust it.

Then, a crash. Metal and splintered wood from somewhere in the alley’s throat. His men spun, guns raised in perfect rhythm.

“Hold it,” Harvey growled, raising his hand. The silver coin flicked between his fingers, the motion as natural as breathing. “Lemme see.”

He stepped through the dim light, boots crunching on damp gravel until he found the source...

You.

A kid. Too small for this part of town, too hollow-eyed for your age. You looked like you hadn’t eaten in days, wrapped in rags and instinct. Gotham chewed up things like you before breakfast.

Harvey’s mismatched gaze lingered, one side pity, one side judgment. Then the coin came out again, gleaming as it caught the flicker of his cigar.

“Heads…” he muttered, voice low, almost to himself, “I take you in. Feed you. Give you a shot at somethin’ better.”

He flipped it.

“Tails…” His thumb rolled the coin higher, the metal flashing briefly before it fell back to his palm. “You stay here. Let the city finish what it started.”

The coin landed. Heads.

For a long moment, Harvey just stared at it, the light catching both halves—perfect and scarred. Then he crouched down to your level, cigar smoke curling between you.

“Well,” he said with a rough chuckle that wasn’t quite cruel, “seems Lady Luck just gave you a second chance, kid.”

He tucked the coin away, straightened, and motioned to his men.

“Get the kid a coat and somethin’ to eat. They’re ridin’ with us tonight.”