The Hero They Deserve [UNDER REVISION] (RWBY x Batman Male Reader)

Protect and Self-serve

A brown haired man walks down the sunlit streets of Gotham. He tugs the lapel of his tan suit and readjusts his aviators. He comes by a set of stairs leading down in from the sidewalk. The small brick enclosure it leads into only has one door, the man gives it three rhythmic knocks.

The door soon opens. Behind it stands a muscular man. He stands tall, his blonde hair in a crew cut.

"You Flass?" The brown haired man asks with what sounded to be a Boston accent.

"You blue?" Flass asks back.

"I look like I'd be a cop to you?"

Flass merely grunts before further opening the door. As the brown haired man enters he looks around the dark room. Many objects lined the wall. The objects ranged from guns and knives, to even pipes. Some of the blunt or bladed weapons were bloodstained. There were even glass display counters with a wide variety of drugs.

"Alright. What are you looking for?" Flass asks with folded arms.

"Wayne gun. You got it?" Came the simple response.

Flass squares off for a moment before turning around to grab a small security box. Undoing the clasps on its sides, he open it to reveal a steel grey glock 18.

"You sure you got enough? This is what whacked the Waynes after all."

"How much ya chargin' ?"

"Hundred k." Flass says confidently.

The other man simply reaches into his inner breast pocket and pulls out two stacks of lien. Flass's eyes widen in shock.

"Pleasure doin' business witcha." He turns to walk away.

"Hold up!"

The man's hand had only just begun to pull on the door handle.

"Who the hell just walks around with that much cash on 'em?!"

The brown haired man looks back to the blonde.

"Mitch, Malone. Friends call me Matches."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Victor takes a few steps back. He had rolled the sleeves of his track jacket to his elbows. His arms were covered in blood from his fingers to his forearms. He stood in an old refrigeration room, the capability to maintain cold temperatures long gone.

His face takes a quizzical expression. He tilts his head to the side and rubs his chin absent-mindedly.

"Hey boss?"

"Yeah?" Black mask stands at Victor's side with his hands behind his back. He wore a cream colored suit with a brown turtleneck.

"Which number is this?"

Victor points to the motionless bound  body in front of him, slumped in the chair with its face missing.

"This iissss.....number eight? I think so anyway."

"Hmm." Victor doesn't remove his eyes from the body. "Are we ready to move? We haven't done a job in a while."

"I'd say so. We just gotta bag it up."

Neo walks into the rear room. Her eyes go wide and her mouth goes dry.

Black mask turns to the girl with a hint of surprise. "Oh, Neo, hey."

Heterochromatic eyes dart to the well dressed man. Her brow furrows and relaxes rapidly in disbelief. Her hands move in a flurry throwing out multiple signs.