Gotham's Lost Soul
"You didn't think I'd risk losing the battle for Gotham's soul in a fist fight with you?"
How long has it been since Gotham had a soul? Now the mob runs the streets, just as it did before the masked vigilante rose to his long ago place of power over them.
Now the screams from Arkham Asylum are louder than ever; the loudest of all the anguished cries coming from Bruce Wayne, previously a billionaire and playboy, now a dangerous criminal, given up by the city he once protected, by the employee he hired, experimented on to find the bitter logic that drove him to don the cape and cowl.
Now, Harvey Dent lies six feet under, shot dead by the cops Jim Gordon once trusted. Jim Gordon, who spends all his time in his office, distrustful of anyone and everyone, his family having been blown away by the mob, who, without the Batman, have power over everyone Jim ever believed in. Every night, Jim Gordon holds his gun to his temple, inches away from pulling the trigger. Who knows how long it will be before someone finds him with a halo of blood around his forehead?
Now, Rachel Dawes spends every waking moment in pure agony, driving her cheap car through the streets of the Narrows, visiting Bruce Wayne's prison and Harvey Dent's grave; still torn between the men she loves even when they are both dead, though one's heart still beats.
And the clown, the self-titled Prince of Crime, the one who started the chain of events that led to the present turmoil, lies in an alley outside Arkham Asylum, broken, beaten every time he hears another scream erupt from Bruce Wayne's hoarse throat; every day he wakes to apply his precious war paint, every day he wakes unafraid of death even when it lurks in every corner, every shadow, following him. It won't be long before the grief of his precious Batman cuts him loose from the threads of sanity he clings to. It won't be long until the mob finally catches up with the Joker, and he will lie dead on the ground, the stale water that covers it tinged red with his blood.
Innocence is now a rare sight, and the people lock their doors at night. When a cry for help echoes in the darkness, no one comes running. Instead, windows are closed and blinds are drawn, and the only one who could make a difference are either part of the mob or simply too frightened to stand up.
Every night, calls flood the police station, begging for help, but the system is so corrupt, none of those pleas are answered.
Without the Dark Knight they so calmly betrayed, Gotham City is crumbling into the ground, and in a few years, any sliver of hope left will be extinguished. Gotham City now truly belongs to the criminals and the corrupt, and there is no sign of better times on the horizon.
Maybe there never was. Maybe Gotham was always destined to fall. Gotham City no longer has a soul there is nothing to fight over or for, no more battles between dark and light. Now, there is nothing left but a city slowly rotting from the inside out.
The End.