The hustle and bustle of the Gotham City police department was a constant. Especially during late night hours, when crime runs rampant. But for James Gordon, GCPD was a reminder of how different Gotham City is from anywhere else he's worked.
Gordon sipped coffee from his mug as he shifted through paperwork. His desk was covered in files, and his badge rested next to a picture of his daughter. Gordon felt a hand on his shoulder, one with a firm grip. Gordon turns around to see Commissioner O'Hara with a grave look on his face.
"Gordon, can I see you in my office? I have something to discuss with you." O'Hara asked.
"Sure, Chief. Give me five minutes." Gordon responded.
"No, this is urgent I need you now."
Gordon rose up from the chair and sighed, rubbing his temple and adjusting his glasses. He grabbed his badge and strapped his gun into his holster. He followed O'Hara into his office and sat down in front of the desk.
O'Hara's office was one to desire. Covered in awards and accolades, O'Hara was a cop who any police force would love to have. O'Hara's perfect gray hair and his goatee mirrored Gordon's disheveled graying red hair and pale skin. O'Hara removed his suit jacket and sat down in his large black leather chair. He folded his hands and looked Gordon directly in the eye.
"Gordon, I'm gonna be straight with you. I need you to call off the Falcone investigation." O'Hara said. Gordon immediately shot O'Hara a face of disdain.
"Drop the case? I don't know if you've noticed, since you're always in your little golden perch, but we've lost THREE officers connected to this case!" Gordon yelled.
O'Hara slams his fist on the desk, revealing his true anger. He removes his spectacles and tucks then in his shirt pocket.
"Goddammit, Gordon! Listen to me!! This case is no good! Do you wanna end up like Frank Klein? Anna Brooks? Randy Isabella?" O'Hara questioned. "This case is a dead end, for everyone involved."
Gordon wanted to fight O'Hara. His fists were clenched and his face matched his hair color. He couldn't stand O'Hara's dismissive tone towards the case he's worked so hard on. Countless nights spent, ignoring his daughter, just to bust Falcone and end his reign over Gotham. But now, all that seemed like a fever dream.
Gordon got up from his seat and walked towards the office door. He glanced back at O'Hara and looked into his eyes. He couldn't read him. Despite all his efforts, Gordon couldn't read O'Hara. He opened the door and re-entered the precinct with the previous argument lingering on his mind.
Bruce Wayne jolted up from his bed, covered in sweat. He reached for his nightstand and grabbed a glass of water. The cold glass made his warm fingertips tingle as he gulped down the water. He wiped his mouth with a towel and rose out of bed.
Bruce stepped in the shower, washing away the nightmares. Another dream about his parents crept its way into his head, waking Bruce from his sleep. Bruce hated dreaming about his parents, especially on the eve of their death anniversary.
Alfred entered Bruce's room, placing a tray of medication on his night stand. He lifted Bruce's sheets and began to change them. Alfred's hands worked fast, like a medic on a battlefield, as he placed the new spread on Bruce's double-king sized bed. Bruce turned off the shower and dried himself off, staring at the scars of his past.
Manila, Nanda Parbat, France, Japan, and Hong Kong. All the scars had history behind them. Meaning. Bruce walked towards his nightstand and consumed his medicine. The pills sliding to the back of his throat reminded him of all the other sleepless nights.
Bruce walked towards the fireplace in the library. He watched as the fire smoldered, and thought about his life leading up to this point. For too long, Gotham had been consumed by corruption. Bruce knew it was his calling to eradicate the scum of the city. Soon, Gotham would be cleansed...