Night clung low over Gotham's forgotten sector a place where the skyline didn't reach, where the wind dragged trash like whispers down cracked alleys. An encampment huddled between the skeletal remains of two gutted warehouses, tarps stretched between rebar, the smoke of makeshift fires curling into the dark.
Inside the camp, Darius "Dime" Holtz crouched beside a barrel fire, warming his hands. He was lean, his hair coiled tight to his scalp, eyes always moving like he was waiting for the city to spit something out at him.
"You hear about the last hit?" he muttered to the woman beside him, a stocky ex-con named Regina, known as 'Brick' for how she once stopped a mugger cold with a brick to the face.
Brick nodded grimly. "Yeah. Corner of 12th and Grand. Same pattern. Three dead, no warning. Bastards didn't even search them for valuables. Just gunned 'em down."
Across the camp, an older man with a weather-beaten face and a rusted revolver tucked into his coat Eddie "Gums" Ortega adjusted the traps they'd hidden among the junk piles. "Tripwire's live," he rasped, mouth half-toothless but eyes sharp. "You see 'em, you give a shout. I ain't dyin' in my sleep."
There were only six defenders stationed tonight, blending in with the scattered tarps and heaps of junk, while a dozen more men, women, and even a couple kids slept in the makeshift shelter. None of them were fighters but the six were ready.
Or so they hoped.
Meanwhile, two blocks out, a matte-black van rolled slow past the darkened corners. Inside, Ramon Krill better known as "Krillface" for the deep scar that split his jaw sat with four other Black Mask enforcers. His boots were up, and he cleaned his SMG absently, almost like he was humming with each stroke.
"Boss wants it clean," Krillface said, eyes scanning the map on his tablet. "This the spot. Intel says it's an old den, mostly unarmed. Easy message."
Beside him, Tanner "Needles" Moore, pale and twitchy, loaded a syringe with something he didn't plan to use on himself. "I hate when they scatter. Don't wanna chase no rats tonight."
"You won't have to," said Greta, a woman with a mohawk dyed white and a pump-action slung across her chest. She cracked her neck. "We herd 'em in, light the tarps, clean it up. One and done."
The van stopped. Boots hit pavement.
They moved in staggered formation, guns out, quiet except for Needles softly singing a twisted lullaby. Krillface gave a hand signal. They fanned out.
Inside the camp, Dime froze. He heard gravel crunch. Not the wind.
Then came the whisper Brick's low voice through the walkie, "We got movement. West side. Five bodies."
Dime slipped down behind a shopping cart draped with blankets. Beneath it, a girl named Mia barely sixteen clutched a pistol with shaking hands. She looked at Dime. "We doing this?"
He didn't answer.
He just waited.
Then Krillface kicked a barrel.
The metal rang like a gunshot. "Wake up, scum!" he bellowed. "Black Mask says it's eviction time!"
Brick fired first—from behind a caved-in wall of cinderblock. The shot cracked, shattering the silence. A man screamed.
From the pile of blankets nearby, Gums rose with a rifle older than him and squeezed off two rounds. Another Black Mask goon dropped, clutching his thigh.
Chaos erupted.
Mia rolled from under the cart, hands trembling as she tried to aim. Dime reached over her shoulder and steadied her grip. "Breathe," he said, then fired at Greta, whose pump-action barked fire across the alley, sending glass and tarps flying.
Trash heaps exploded in motion Regina "Brick" barreled forward with a metal pipe, striking a thug hard enough to knock teeth loose. She took a shot to the shoulder but didn't stop.
Needles screamed and lunged forward with his syringe, but Eddie Gums tackled him mid-sprint. They rolled, struggling, until Gums shoved his revolver into Needles' gut and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed, muffled by flesh and blood.
Krillface ducked behind a shopping cart full of scrap, reloading. "What the fuck is this!?" he barked into his comms. "They were supposed to be sleeping!"
But they weren't.
This wasn't just an encampment.
This was a trap.
The gunfire rippled through the air, a staccato rhythm in the night, as the encampment erupted into chaos. Krillface's crew scrambled to get their bearings, but the homeless defenders half of them untrained, all of them desperate fought like ghosts from the shadows.
Dime fired again, his shot tearing through the night and clipping the arm of a Black Mask enforcer. The man howled, but Dime didn't pause, shifting positions as fast as his feet could carry him. The cold grip of survival tightened around his chest, the crackle of gunfire louder with each second.
Greta advanced, sending more shots into the tarps, trying to flush out any movement, but Dime was already past her, sliding into cover behind an overturned shopping cart, using it as a shield while he surveyed the camp. They were outgunned, but they knew these streets. They knew where to disappear. They just needed to hold the line.
Regina swung her pipe, crushing the side of a Black Mask thug's skull, knocking him to the ground with a sickening thud. Blood pooled, staining the dirt beneath her feet. She grunted, pulling the pipe free from the man's crumpled body, and went for another. But a bullet grazed her side, and she staggered back, pain shooting through her like a fire.
"Regina!" Dime shouted, but she waved him off, gritting her teeth. She wasn't done yet.
"Keep fighting!" Brick yelled, her voice raw, but the weight of the fight pressed down. She was wounded, but like the others, she refused to back down. If Black Mask wanted them, they'd make him work for it.
Gums was still on the ground, struggling with Needles. The syringe slipped from Needles' hand, clattering to the floor as Gums fought to pin the man. With a low growl, Gums shoved his revolver under Needles' chin and pulled the trigger.
The camp was chaos, a cacophony of shouting, gunfire, and the scuff of boots on wet asphalt. The air stank of gunpowder and burning plastic as the fire spread in the center of the encampment, feeding off the wreckage, becoming a beacon in the madness.
Krillface cursed, wiping blood from his nose as he came up from behind a stack of old crates. He scanned the area, his breath coming in harsh bursts. He knew they were in deep. They had to move now. But as he signaled his men to push forward, a figure emerged from the darkness.
It was Dime.
With a steady hand, Dime dropped one of Black Mask's men at the edge of the firelight, the thump of the body hitting the ground barely audible over the chaos. He moved fluidly, like a shadow in the smoke, taking cover behind another pile of garbage.
"Regina, Brick, fall back!" Dime ordered, his voice tight. "We need to give ground, let 'em come to us."
But Brick was already charging forward, her pipe raised above her head like a battering ram. She swung wildly, knocking another thug off balance and onto the ground. A bullet tore through her coat, but she barely flinched.
Dime's stomach twisted. They were bleeding too much, but he couldn't let them go. He couldn't leave them.
He took out another thug, a clean shot that dropped the man to the ground before he could get off another round. The camp was turning into a furnace of noise, with shouts and flashes of light as shots were exchanged from every angle.
Greta had her back pressed against a wall of rusted steel. Her breathing was shallow, but she wasn't out yet. She squeezed off three shots in rapid succession, taking out the last two enforcers who had flanked her. There was no mercy in her eyes, only the harsh light of survival.
"Regina!" Dime called again, his eyes scanning the smoke for his friend. But there was no answer. He turned his head just in time to see her take a bullet to the chest.
She stumbled, then collapsed, falling forward into the dirt. Blood pooled around her, the life draining from her body. Dime's heart stopped, but he forced himself to move.
He sprinted toward her, diving into the dirt beside her and dragging her limp form to him. She was still breathing, faintly, but it wouldn't last.
"Stay with me, Brick. Stay with me," he muttered, shaking her as he applied pressure to the wound. But there was no time to mourn.
Krillface was coming.
And there wasn't much left to do now but fight.
The rest of Black Mask's men were already on the move. They were starting to regroup, but it was too late to salvage the chaos. They hadn't expected this kind of resistance hadn't expected the homeless to fight back this hard.
As Dime checked Brick's pulse his hand trembling he realized something.
They weren't just defending themselves anymore. This wasn't about surviving the night.
This was war.
Krillface barked an order and rushed forward, but Dime was already up, his eyes burning with a cold intensity. He raised his weapon, taking aim at Krillface's head.
He fired.
The shot rang out, and Krillface dropped, his body crumpling to the ground in a heap.
"Move, now!" Dime shouted, his voice hoarse, his pulse pounding in his ears. He turned, grabbing the nearest gun from the fallen enemy and aiming it at the approaching enforcers.
The battle dragged on, the chaos of gunfire and shouts filling the air. Dime's hands shook from adrenaline, his chest heaving with each breath. Despite the blood and bodies littering the ground, despite the heavy fire from Black Mask's men, the homeless defenders weren't backing down. They had nothing left to lose.
Krillface's men, though stronger and more organized, were getting worn down, their numbers thinning with every shot that rang out. They'd underestimated the homeless, thinking they could simply sweep them away like trash. But now, the encampment was a stronghold, and every last person fighting in it had the same resolve: to survive, to fight back, and to make Black Mask regret ever stepping foot in their territory.
Dime's eyes flicked over the scene, catching sight of a few more of Black Mask's men retreating, their movements desperate, uncoordinated. Some were trying to drag their fallen comrades to safety, but it was clear: they were losing.
"Regina's not dead!" Greta shouted, her voice cutting through the smoke. "She's breathing, Dime, but we need to get her out of here!"
Dime's pulse raced as he looked at the fallen woman in his arms. She was still alive, but barely. He quickly pressed his hand harder against her wound, trying to staunch the blood flow, but the fire in his chest wasn't from the desperation of saving her it was the sight of the remaining Black Mask crew retreating.
He gritted his teeth, standing up, the gun still hot in his hand. The moment of reckoning was near.
"Get her out, now!" he shouted at Greta, who nodded and grabbed Regina's arm, pulling her toward the rear of the encampment where the escape route had been prepared.
He turned to the remaining homeless fighters who were still holding the front line. They weren't many, maybe a dozen but, they had their backs to the wall, and they were all fighting with the fury of people who had nothing left but this fight.
The gunfire had slowed, and Dime's ears rang in the temporary silence that followed. Krillface's men were scattered. Some were huddled behind cover, some stumbling in retreat. Dime took a step forward, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins.
"We got 'em, but not yet," Dime said, scanning the battlefield. The Black Mask men weren't completely gone some of them still had fight left in them, but they were rattled. They knew the odds were turning.
Greta emerged from behind cover, Regina still limp in her arms. The woman was bleeding badly, but Greta was holding her steady. "We can't stay here, Dime. They'll come back with reinforcements."
Dime nodded, his eyes locked on the retreating thugs. "Let them. They've had enough of this shit. We've won tonight."
The Black Mask men, their morale shattered, were pulling back further now, abandoning their dead and wounded, looking over their shoulders as they stumbled into the dark streets. Some of them fired off desperate rounds into the shadows, but the homeless had already disappeared into the maze of alleyways, hidden in the labyrinth of the city.
And that's when it became clear: Black Mask had lost. The homeless had fought back with everything they had, and they had won.
As Dime turned, he gave one last glance at the retreating Black Mask crew, the adrenaline still rushing through him, but a small, satisfied smile crept onto his face. They were leaving. And they wouldn't be back anytime soon.
"We need to move," Dime said quietly, looking at the others who were still alive, still standing. "This territory's ours."
And as the homeless fighters began to gather, pulling their fallen comrades into cover, helping the wounded, and securing the perimeter, it became evident: the battle had been won, but the war was just beginning. They would keep fighting, keep defending, and keep pushing back the people who thought they could crush them.
Tonight, the streets belonged to them.
—
A/N: why did I give silly nicknames to everyone? Because I wanted to krillface really for the bad draw on nicknames