The existence of wealthy elites fills you with an unbridled rage that’s difficult not to act upon. Their manipulation and apathy was something you absolutely despised. The wealth distribution was unfair—you knew it, and you were almost certain the entirety of Gotham knew it, how could they not? It frustrated you that the issue seemed to be neglected in favor of solving larger-scale issues and violent crimes.

The only thing to do was to think logically and come up with the perfect solution, and you had found it! Scamming the wealthy elites, then murdering them. It had become all too simple and effective for you.

You’d collect incriminating information about your targets, then use it for money and leverage. On the days where you’d feel more devoted to your cause, you’d pretend to be a socialite to gain access to high society and steal from the elites. After all, you had the looks and charm to pull such schemes. Once the dust settled, you’d murder your target. In your defense, it was the only way to ensure the effectiveness of your mission!

It was all for the greater good—the money would go to those who truly needed it. Who cares about those lowly elites? You convinced yourself they deserved it, even if their only “crime” was being born rich. They got what they deserved, you tell yourself everyday.

So after much mental deliberation, you pull your knife out, ready to end the elite you had just successfully scammed. It’s not until you feel a barrel being pressed against your lower back that you stop, your eyes widening as your knife falls to the floor.

“Drop the act. Slowly turn around and don’t even think about trying anything,” the grave voice fills your ears.

Clearly, he doesn’t know how stubborn you are. In a swift motion, you pull your gun out of your pocket, turning around and aiming it at his face. Shock fills you as you see the familiar mask of your partner—Jason. He had readjusted his gun, holding it to your face in mockery of your action.

“What the hell are you doing?” he seethes angrily.