"Try it. See how many of your men I can drop before that coin hits the ground."

"Always so dramatic," Two-Face's unscarred side smiled. "Though I suppose that runs in the family. How is dear old Batman these days?"

"Screw you!" Jason tightened his grip on the pistols. "Answer the question. What are you planning to do with all this acid?"

"Acid? Who said anything about acid?" Two-Face spread his hands. "This is a legitimate chemical processing facility. We have all the permits."

"Forged permits, you mean. And I doubt the EPA approved dumping fluorosilicic acid into Gotham's water supply."

Two-Face's unscarred side twisted into a smile. "So what if it is acid? By the time anyone notices, it'll be too late. The beauty of industrial chemicals - they blend right in with the regular water treatment process."

"What's your angle here?" Jason kept his guns trained steady. "This isn't your usual bank heist. What do you get out of poisoning half of Gotham?"

"Half?" Two-Face barked out a laugh. "Think bigger, Hood. Every reservoir, every treatment plant, every pipeline feeding into the city. The whole system goes down at once. Then we see how many of Gotham's elite survive when their fancy filtered water turns toxic."

"This is about the rich? Seriously?" Jason's finger tightened on the trigger. "You're going to poison kids and families just to stick it to some trust fund people?"

"No, but someone sure as hell paid me big to do it," Two-Face flipped his coin while steam hissed from a nearby pipe.

"What? You're doing this for money?" Jason kept his aim steady.

"What else?" Two-Face paced behind his men.

"What for?"

"I don't need to explain anything to you," Two-Face stopped near a chemical vat, his good eye narrowing. "All you need to know is I'm going to be rich."

"Then, this conversation is over."

"Fate? Screw that, I make my own fate."

Jason kicked his hostage forward, sending the guy sprawling into a stack of crates before he fired two rounds into his back—rubber bullets, sure, but it wasn’t like they came with a cushioning guarantee.

The crack of gunfire was enough to send Two-Face’s crew scrambling and bolted toward their rifles.

Jason ran for cover behind a forklift as Two-Face’s shadow disappeared behind the chemical vats. Didn’t matter where Dent was running—not yet. His men were already fumbling for their weapons, and Jason wasn’t about to let any of them get armed. He shifted around the corner of his cover just in time to catch one thug jamming a fresh magazine into his rifle. No dice.

Jason closed the gap in an instant, yanking the rifle from the guy’s hands before he could finish chambering a round and slammed the butt of it into his jaw hard enough to collapse him against a crate like a sack of bricks. Before the next guy even had time to react, Jason pivoted and drove his elbow into his gut, doubling him over. The rifle fell from his hands with a metallic thunk and Jason ended it with a single shot to his chest—rubber round or not, it sent him flat on his back, groaning but out of commission.

"Anyone else?" he muttered under his breath as he dropped low and moved across the floor like a ghost with murder on his mind.

Another worker was crouched behind a steel drum, shaking as he fiddled with a sidearm that looked older than Bruce’s moral code. Jason didn’t wait for him to get cocky and he grabbed the edge of the drum, rolled it hard into him, and let its weight do most of the work. The poor bastard flailed under the force and crumpled sideways as Jason stepped over him without so much as glancing down.

Two more left near the loading dock were yelling something incoherent to each other about "taking him out." One had managed to get his hands on an old pump-action shotgun and was trying to aim through hands that weren’t steady enough to eat soup, let alone fire accurately.

"Screw this," Jason said and broke into another sprint straight at them.

The shotgun guy fired once—but too high—and blew apart some piping overhead instead of hitting his target. Jason didn’t slow down, and was already sliding under another stack of pallets as boiling steam hissed from ruptured pipes above him. By the time shotgun guy pumped another round in, Jason was already up and on him like gravity didn’t exist.

He grabbed hold of the shotgun barrel before it could line up again and drove his knee straight into the thug’s ribs with enough force to send him flying backward onto a pallet jack. The weapon clattered free, but Jason wasn’t done yet—he spun toward thug number two before shotgun guy had even hit the ground.

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This one had gone for a pistol in some misguided attempt at bravery. He got about halfway there before Jason slammed an open palm against his wrist with bone-snapping thud, forcing him to drop it immediately with an audible yelp.

"Bet that stings," Jason said before planting one more solid strike against the side of his head with his gun barrel as punctuation.

Both men were down—one writhing against wooden slats while clutching shattered ribs; the other unconscious with blood seeping from a busted lip that’d probably swell shut by morning if he lived long enough to see daylight.

Jason raised both pistols again and scanned what was left of Two-Face’s operation from behind cover. Most of Dent's men were either sprawled out cold or smart enough to stay pinned where they’d fallen after seeing their friends get taken out systematically like dominoes in freefall.

Dent hadn’t shown himself yet—coward probably thought he could buy time while everyone else did his dirty work—but Jason wasn’t here for hide-and-seek games. This place would burn by dawn if he had anything to say about it.

Time for Harvey Dent to answer for all this.

Jason tapped his comm while scanning the chemical-filled warehouse. "Oracle, I need eyes on Two-Face. The bastard slipped away during the fight."

"Give me a second," Barbara worked her magic. "Pulling up thermal imaging from the Wayne Industries satellite."

"Make it quick. He's probably halfway to Bludhaven by now."

"Actually..." A pause. "Got him. He just hijacked a black sedan heading east on Morrison Avenue. Looks like he's making a break for the industrial district."

"Of course he is. Probably has another lab set up." Jason moved toward the exit, stepping over groaning bodies. "Send me the route."

"Already done. But Jason, that terrorist threat—"

"I know, I know. Let me finish this first. Two-Face just admitted someone paid him to poison Gotham's water supply. This is bigger than we thought."

Barbara sighed through the comm. "Fine. But make it fast."

"Ten minutes. That's all I need," Jason ran towards his motorcycle. "Keep tracking him."

"He's turning onto Kane Street now. Moving fast."

"Not fast enough," Jason started the engine and shot his way out the compound. "Time to show Harvey why they call me the Red Hood. And Barb, send word to the GCPD and direct them to the warehouse."

"Got it."

Two-Face wasn't getting away - not with plans to poison millions. This ended tonight, one way or another.

Jason gunned the motorcycle's engine and shot onto the main road, moving between cars as horns blared around him. The night air whipped past his helmet as he leaned into each turn.

"Where is he now?" he asked through his comm, dodging past a delivery truck.

"Three blocks ahead, just passed Robinson Park," Oracle replied. "He's headed for the bridge."

"Got it," Jason twisted the throttle and threaded between two sedans, the engine roaring as he gained speed.

When Harvey's black car came into view, Jason pulled his pistol and lined up the shot. But before he could fire, one of Dent's men emerged from the passenger window wielding a grenade launcher. The thug squeezed the trigger.

Jason jerked his bike hard to the right as the grenade sailed past. The explosion behind him sent cars flying, metal screaming as vehicles collided in chain reactions. A semi-truck jackknifed across three lanes as its trailer tipped over with a thunderous crash while other drivers swerved to avoid the crash.

Through his helmet's enhanced audio, he could hear the screech of brakes and crunch of metal continuing behind him as the pileup grew. But he kept his focus forward, accelerating to close the gap with Two-Face's car.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Jason careened through traffic as another car swerved to avoid debris. "Oracle, I need some help here. Any tips on this one?"

"One—Don't get killed," her voice crackled through static.

"What? That's it?" Jason ducked as a side mirror whizzed past his head.

"What do you want me to say?"

The thug hanging out the passenger window steadied his aim again before belching another explosive round.

Jason yanked his bike sideways as the grenade sailed overhead. The blast rocked nearby vehicles, sending a taxi spinning into the guardrail.

"Can't do this forever," he shouted over engine noise. "Need to end this quick!"

"Can you shoot out their tires?" Oracle's voice competed with wind rush.

"Too dark—can barely see them," Jason swerved around a truck.

"What about hitting the side of the car?"

"No good—too much civilian traffic," Jason gestured at the stream of vehicles boxing him in. "One stray bullet hits the wrong target, we'll have more casualties than that pileup back there."

"Use your grappling hook," Barbara replied through the comm. "Hook onto their car and reel yourself in. Get close enough to take out that grenade launcher before they level half of Gotham."

"Now that's more like it," Jason pulled the grapple gun from his belt with his free hand, keeping the bike steady with the other. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you were too busy playing chicken with explosives?"

"Funny," Jason aimed the grapple at Two-Face's speeding car. "Here goes nothing."

The hook shot out with a whir and latched onto the sedan's trunk. Jason hit the retract button and let the cable pull him forward as his bike fell away behind him. He sailed through the air, jacket whipping in the wind, and landed hard on the car's roof.

The thug with the grenade launcher aimed up at him, but Jason was faster. He grabbed the weapon's barrel and yanked it away, sending the next grenade careening into the night sky before he the shot the thug with his rubber bullet.

Jason crawled forward along the sedan's roof, inching toward Harvey's position. The car suddenly swerved violently, forcing him to grip the edges as his pistol clattered away onto the road.

"I'm not going back to jail!" Harvey shouted through the window, jerking the wheel again.

"Should've thought about that before trying to poison the whole damn city!" Jason yelled back, fighting to maintain his grip as the car went through the traffic.

The sedan continued its wild path, making Jason slide dangerously close to the edge. He dug his fingers into a gap near the sunroof, barely hanging on as Harvey zigzagged between lanes.

"Face it, Hood - you'll never catch me," Harvey taunted. "Batman would've had me in cuffs by now. You're just a cheap knockoff."

That hit a nerve. Jason's jaw clenched beneath his helmet. "That's where you're wrong, Harvey. I'm not Batman." He pulled a mini-grenade from his belt with his free hand. "I'm much worse."

He slammed the device through the driver's side window and kicked away from the car.

"What the—" Harvey's curse was cut short as the grenade detonated.

BOOM!

The explosion sent the sedan flipping as it rolled across the asphalt in a shower of sparks. Jason landed in a crouch, watching flames lick the wreckage. Harvey would survive as the charge was non-lethal, but he wouldn't be poisoning anyone's water supply tonight.