Disclaimer: As much as I would like to, I don't own Batman nor am I affiliated with Bob Kane, DC Comics, or Christopher Nolan in any way. I do own all original and supplementary characters not featured in canon, as well as the plot. Rated T for language, violence, and thematic elements.
Summary: It's not going to stop 'til you wise up.
After a shocking betrayal from the infamous Batman, Gotham is now attempting to mend its broken bones without much success. The fugitive himself is on the run, Arkham Asylum is undergoing a shady renovation, the mob is struggling to retain power, and the Gotham Police Department is being stretched to its utmost limits. Then, halfway across the world, an international fiasco erupts, and Gotham suffers yet another direct blow to its deteriorating survival. But when the city that turned its back on its mysterious guardian needs him most, the Batman finds himself equally as vulnerable – his masquerade, his only weapon against the enemy, is now being threatened not by a single person, but by the entire Gotham Police force. Perhaps it's time for Gotham and its inhabitants to realize that this battle simply cannot be won.
Author's Note: HELLO! I've been MIA for several years now and feel like there are a few things I need to address.
This is my first reentrance into the world of fan fiction in three years, and as of right now I'm solely focused on Batman Begins and The Dark Knight (Nolanverse). So I apologize in advance for anything unsatisfactory – I may be a bit rusty! I'm incredibly concerned with portraying canon characters as realistically and correctly as possible and will try my best to do so; bear with me.
If anyone is confused and/or annoyed by the many new names and characters introduced, I also apologize – but I'd like to point out that few supplementary character names are given in either Nolan films, specifically in the Gotham Police Department. So in order to maintain the realistic vibe I'm going for, I had to whip out some creativity in that area and consult, you know, and such.
Eventually, an OC will begin to direct much of the focus in this story, but don't judge quite yet – I've done my best characterizing this person and crafting her into a believable character, not some Mary Sue carbon-copy.
Also – I'm a compulsive POV-jumper. So if you're susceptible to headaches from three different characters commanding attention in every chapter, again, I apologize.
And finally – this fic may be a little unconventional for the world of Batman fan fiction, so be warned. This story is extremely grounded in crime and reality to coincide with Christopher Nolan's visions and is also very focused on the Gotham Police Department. I won't be including superheroes or villains with fantastical, unrealistic powers. Instead, I'll be treating Gotham City as a real city with real issues, real crime, real corruption, and real threats.
So if you're still interested after that unnecessarily long introduction, THANK YOU and WELCOME. Read on, enjoy, and as always, feel free to leave your opinions in reviews. :)
ONE.
Doctor Hajdari sunk back into his chair, staring at the open book in front of him, and sighed heavily.
All in all, it had not been a progressive day.
Upon arriving at the lab in Mamurras that morning, he was disheartened to see that their most recent test group had died; the five rats were lying motionless in their cages, looking more like stuffed toys than actual rodents. As the others began trickling in, the disappointment spread rapidly, and Rrustemi had even muttered, "So quickly? Less than a week?"
They set to work immediately, extracting blood samples and analyzing them, predicting the exact times of death and comparing these new results against their latest modifications. Perhaps the dosages had been too extreme this time, too concentrated; but Hajdari had been confident, possibly overconfident. And now that confidence had been replaced by frustration.
After several hours of silent work, they concluded that the losses in brain dopamine and serotonin neurons had been too high; in the end, the neurotoxicity proved lethal to the test subjects, poisoning them to the point of fatality. It was a definite setback in the progress they had been making in recent weeks, there was no denying that.
"If we had continued to administer the scheduled doses, withdrawal would not have set in," Meshkalla had said, voicing what everyone else already knew. "It was withdrawal that killed them, Hajdari. The addictive properties –"
"Yes, Meshkalla, I know," he'd snapped, scowling. "The addictive properties are, as of right now, still irremovable."
Another week's worth of development wasted, Hajdari thought now, glaring at the book as if it had been responsible for the failure. They were no closer to their answer, no closer to discovering a way to effectively remove the dangerous addictive properties of the methamphetamine drug.
The book was staring back, perhaps mocking him, asking him why he couldn't find the answer; why were the rats still dying? He felt like they were so close, like they were simply missing something, something simple. He fixated his gaze upon the page, reading the text, which discussed a newly-discovered receptor system that methamphetamine may bind to, but he wasn't absorbing a word of it.
"TAAR again, Hajdari?" said Rrustemi, appearing at his side.
"Trace amine-associated receptors," murmured Hajdari distantly. "Yes. I do not know of their relevancy, but I feel as though we are at a loss, Rrustemi."
"Do you think if –?"
Suddenly, the young doctor's suggestion was cut off; someone was rapping furiously on the laboratory door, but the intruder did not wait to be permitted an entrance. A mere second later, the door had been forced open, and a dozen officers began filtering into the room, their guns menacingly held aloft.
"Don't move!" shouted an officer in Albanian, pointing his weapon directly at the nearest scientist.
"What – what is this? You are not authorized –!"
"Against the wall, all of you!" the officer commanded, gesturing his gun towards the back of the room, which was fairly devoid of equipment and tables. "Now!"
The shocked scientists glanced at one another, hesitating, and then looked to Hajdari; he nodded calmly, not daring to make eye contact with the officer, and stood, retreating towards the back wall.
"What are you doing?" asked Rrustemi, watching in horror as the officers began ransacking the laboratory, rifling through drawers, examining test tubes, and ripping through notebooks. "That is the property of –"
"Silence!" hissed the officer, a tall, burly, and quite frightening man. He pointed towards the wall and Rrustemi, glowering, joined his fellow scientists.
Hajdari did not dare speak up; he had heard rumors of the Albanian police force and had heard subsequent rumors about those who did dare challenge any officer. They were operating under direct authorization of the Prime Minister, he was sure of that much, but he did not understand the unexpected intrusion.
They were pocketing notebooks and papers which documented classified formulas, their classified formulas. An officer had discovered their storage room now, behind a heavy metal door on the eastern wall, and called over a few others; Hajdari hesitated a moment in alarm, nearly raising his voice, but halted. If they were here for the drug, then he could do nothing to stop them.
"Which of you is Doctor Hajdari?" the first officer demanded, approaching the scientists.
Hajdari took a short step forward, raising his head to mirror the man's intense, determined gaze. He had no fear, and he knew better than to challenge this man; but panic raced through him, the same panic his colleagues were surely experiencing as well.
"You are hereby accused of operating an illicit scientific research program without the knowledge of the Albanian government," the man said matter-of-factly as if he were reading from a document. "Under orders of Prime Minister Demisovski we are authorized to seize all formulas, research, and analyses pertaining to the methamphetamine drug you are testing as well as your entire inventory of completed samples."
"Prime Minister Demisovski has never before implied our activities here were prohibited," said Hajdari in disbelief.
"That is not your concern," said the officer. "I am here to officially declare the confiscation and to notify you that you will not be required to stand trial if you willingly cooperate. Do we have a problem here?"
Hajdari chanced a glanced at his colleagues, only to be met with mixed expressions of shock, outrage, and apprehension; this couldn't be happening. After years of experimentation, research, development, and money spent, the government was finally deciding to look into what had previously not been a problem? They were doing nothing wrong, nothing unlawful; their mission was to further the treatment of attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder. They were helping people. What were Demisovski's true motives?
The officer offered no explanations, and Hajdari knew not to ask; he would not receive any information. They were expected to simply step aside, no questions raised. And Hajdari was no fool; he knew the consequences of refusing.
"No," he said clearly, his face devoid of emotion.
"Good," said the officer. "After a final sweep of the laboratory, we will be on our way. The place is to be completely cleared out within twenty-four hours and anything left inside will be burned. Understood?"
Hajdari nodded curtly, feigning agreement while suppressing his boiling indignation.
An hour later, when the officers had left, the shell-shocked scientists stared at their empty laboratory, still half-hoping it was a joke or a mistake. Hajdari personally felt as if he had just lost a child; his life's work, confiscated with no warning and for no legitimate reason. Gone.
"Kopiles," Rrustemi cursed under his breath, his voice shaking in anger. "Classified – classified material, now being sold on the black market for all we know."
"They have no idea," Meshkalla whispered, examining a broken breaker mercilessly discarded on the floor. "It is not yet suitable for medicinal purposes, and it will prove fatal if abused." He looked up to Hajdari, as if hoping the man would have an answer, a plan, a way to rectify the unexpected situation. "What will we do?"
"We cannot let this pass," Hajdari said quietly. "The drug cannot fall into the wrong hands, and I do not doubt such will be the case. We have little chance of negotiating with the government. But mark my words –"
The scientists were nodding in agreement, some still white in the face, others red with rage. Hajdari looked around at the group of men, all dedicated to their purpose, none willing to give it up so easily.
"We will not let this pass."
"Adams, you're LATE!"
Ted Shepherd cast a strong, disapproving look towards the girl as she fled past him toward her desk, looking quite out of sorts. Deputy Commissioner Flanagan was summoning him from across the room, but he still made a point to chastise the girl before trudging over to Flanagan; whatever he wanted, it was inevitably pointless and irrelevant. He knew they were still tying up loose ends from the Langford murders – one look at the bustling room would indicate things were still incredibly hectic – but Flanagan always seemed adamant about making Shepherd's job as difficult as possible.
"I know, I'm sorry, Captain, I really am, but my taxi driver had –"
"Save it," Shepherd snapped. "Just don't make this a pattern, Adams."
"– a heart attack," the detective finished under her breath, slamming her bag down onto her desk.
"There's a file you need to look over before the meeting starts," said Shepherd, blatantly ignoring Flanagan's unnecessary arm gestures across the room. "It's currently crushed under your bag there. Ten minutes. Try not to be late."
He thought he heard Adams mutter something vaguely offensive, but he chose to ignore it for once and made his way across the station, half-hoping Flanagan would have a heart attack himself before he got there. He just didn't have time for this, not now, not today. Major Crimes was completely swamped and Shepherd, being a captain, had an excessive number of tasks to juggle whereas Flanagan obviously had nothing to do at all.
"Yes, sir?"
"Captain Shepherd, would you care to explain what Lisa Shapiro is doing here in our holding cells today?"
"Being held under suspicion of attempted murder, I imagine," replied Shepherd, assuming a mocking expression of innocence.
Flanagan did not look amused. "She was cleared, Captain. According to the Homicide Division's report, she was disassociated from the Langford murders. Our cells are pushed to maximum capacity today as it is and we –"
"That report was filed two hours ago," Shepherd said flatly. This was not something he should've had to explain to the Deputy Commissioner. But then again, Flanagan was only occupying the position temporarily as a result of the Commissioner's ongoing unit makeover. It was a fact the deputy seemed to often forget, and he knew little to nothing about the operations of the Major Crimes Unit. Shepherd had been meaning to raise his concerns with the Commissioner, as Flanagan was now actually hindering their efforts, but then the Langford murder case erupted and the unit's attention had been completely diverted all week.
"Since then new substantive evidence has arisen, and as Shapiro was already in our interrogation room being debriefed, we booked her and are holding her until she can be transported to County. I thought this was documented in the hourlies, sir?"
Flanagan obviously did not read the hourlies; he narrowed his eyes at the captain, who was easily a foot taller than he, as if accusing him of fabricating the entire story. "Yes, of course, I was just – I was verifying, Shepherd. I haven't seen a report filed from this unit yet and as of right now, I'd consider it late."
"It isn't late, Flanagan," interjected Commissioner Gordon, stepping out of his office behind the deputy. "It's still an active protocol. The evidence hasn't completely been analyzed and documented yet. But I think Captain Shepherd has everything under control here." He calmly looked to Shepherd, who nodded, feeling a small swell of pride in the face of Flanagan's arrogance.
The short, stocky man opened his mouth and closed it several times, but Gordon pretended to take no notice and turned to Shepherd, looking rather weary.
"Five minutes," he said, and Shepherd nodded before promptly turning his back on Flanagan and heading across the room.
"Done?" he barked at Adams, passing by her disorganized workstation.
"Yes, sir, I'm just signing the release papers." Adams scribbled furiously across the document without looking up. "The children are still here, right? So is someone from Social Services coming to pick them up?"
"Yeah," said Shepherd. He paused to wait as Adams stuffed the papers back into the folder. "Within the hour. They've been debriefed already so we're prepared to release them, as you did just sign the papers for the transfer, I assume?"
She pursed her lips and handed the folder to her boss, apparently choosing to hold her tongue, then pushed back her chair and followed Shepherd toward the conference room.
Five minutes later, the other high-ranking officers of Gotham's Major Crimes Unit had filed into the large, circular room, some occupying the hard chairs at the wooden table, others standing against the walls with their arms crossed. Shepherd took a seat alongside Dick Westbrook, who seemed to be nodding off already, and a couple of new sergeants he wasn't completely familiar with yet. Behind him, he could feel Detective Adams fretfully bouncing from foot to foot and, looking around the room, he saw many similar expressions of anxiety, frustration, and weariness. It was clear that lately, Major Crimes was being pushed to its limits.
Ever since Gordon's induction as Commissioner, he frequently convened the officers in order to increase communication and improve collaboration. Shepherd knew Gordon had idealistic hopes of cleansing the department, although it wasn't an easy task by any means, if it were even possible at all. But such meetings did further the productivity of Major Crimes, or so it seemed. Today, Shepherd imagined Gordon would address the current status of the Langford investigation as well as the McClain arrest and trial. He would, as usual, review protocols and tasks for the day. Everyone would expect that.
But Gordon had also granted Shepherd permission to address the officers and present a new theory he had been working up in his own time. Such a plan would either be well-received or easily dismissed, he knew; it was probably a stretch at best, and it was currently in its early stages of development. But Shepherd had enough confidence to bring the issue to light. He was anxious to see the reactions of his colleagues, for he hadn't fully shared his thoughts with anyone – not Adams, not O'Reilly, and not even the Commissioner himself.
The door snapped shut and everyone simultaneously broke off their quiet conversations, watching as Commissioner Gordon hurried into the room and took a seat at the table. "Morning, everyone," he called, taking a swig from his cup of coffee.
The officers muttered their own hellos; Shepherd noted that no one dared use the phrase "good morning," because lately, their mornings had been everything but.
"All right, let's get this started, I know we have a busy day ahead of us," Gordon said, clasping his hands on the table and looking around. "Captain Shepherd, where are we on transferring the Langford children?"
"The transfer papers were just signed, sir," said Shepherd. "Social Services is sending someone over to pick them up in less than an hour. From there, they'll be held at their district office until a foster care agreement is set up."
Gordon nodded, again looking noticeably exhausted, in Shepherd's opinion. He wondered if perhaps Gordon was thinking of the children, wondering what would happen to them, as he knew the Commissioner had children himself. The situation was heartrending, yes, like so many others, but Shepherd had long ago learned not to dwell on such details; it was out of their hands, and the truth of the matter was that it happened every day in Gotham City.
"Has forensics finished the analysis on the murder weapons yet?"
Shepherd shook his head. "No, sir, not yet, last I heard, they were having a tough time deciphering a couple sets of fingerprints."
"Partly why we're still holding Lisa Shapiro, sir," said Jason Bard, on liaison from the Homicide Division. "We found a set of her prints on one of the weapons, and we have reason to believe she's withholding information that could assist the investigation."
"Haul her back into interrogation," said Gordon. He glanced down, shuffling through a stack of papers, evidently searching for something. "See if she'll cooperate. No deals, Detective," he added, peering at Bard over the top rim of his glasses. "If she refuses, we'll transfer her to County early."
"Yes, sir," said Bard.
"And what's the status on Judge McClain?" asked Gordon, and Shepherd visibly noticed several officers shuffling their feet or glancing towards the floor. He scowled, narrowing his eyes at each of them in turn, knowing their individual names, positions, and histories as he did nearly everyone in the unit (which was a skill he took a bit of pride in); they had literally been seconds away from their own arrests in conjunction with McClain. Shepherd knew, of course, because he had done the arresting, and he undoubtedly knew of their involvement, even if the majority of the unit was oblivious. Like so many times before in the history of the department, they got off due to a convenient lack of substantial evidence. Shepherd, however, would know better than to turn a blind eye in the future.
"He's at County," said the short, scrawny lieutenant that had been responsible for bringing McClain in; he was evidently quite pleased with his first major success since his arrival at MCU.
"Yes, I know where he is, Lieutenant, but I'm asking about the status of the trial."
The man, who Shepherd did not know well, looked slightly flustered, and Shepherd could hear Detective Adams stifle a snorting laugh behind him. "He entered a not guilty plea at the arraignment, and the preliminary hearing is tomorrow, sir, so he's being detained without bail until then."
"All right. Leave any new developments on my desk, Lieutenant, and I'll need a full account of the preliminary hearing tomorrow."
He nodded, his satisfaction once more manifesting itself in his expression. Gordon rustled through his papers again for a moment and cleared his throat, about to continue, but was swiftly interrupted by a man two seats down from Shepherd.
"Commissioner, I was overlooking the suspect list for the Langford murders," Miles O'Reilly suddenly said, his smooth voice resonating around the room. Shepherd frowned; the Langford murder case was finally coming to a close, they had just finished that discussion, and MCU didn't need uninformed detectives bringing up irrelevant points. Shepherd knew O'Reilly was still sore over the fact that Adams, his own partner, had arrived on the scene first and made the arrests herself; O'Reilly, as efficient as he was, notoriously suffered from an inflated ego. He hadn't appreciated Adams stealing a bit of the spotlight for herself, and ever since, he'd been in an especially foul mood, which everyone in the department had had the pleasure of experiencing. Shepherd suspected the detective had an ulterior motive here; he crossed his arms, waiting.
"Yes, Detective?" Gordon prompted, looking fatigued.
"Well, I must admit I was a little confused, sir," said O'Reilly. "The list was unsorted and compiled rather haphazardly, if I may say so, with a shocking lack of detail. Whoever put it together wasn't very clear."
Adams shifted behind Shepherd.
"What confuses you, O'Reilly?" asked Gordon, exasperation now noticeably seeping into his tone.
"Unless I'm mistaken, the report didn't precisely indicate the top suspect, sir," said O'Reilly, "as is procedure. I was under the impression that somebody specific had organized the conspiracy. Most of the names on the list are either currently in custody or being brought in, but –"
"As most of you know from reading the Langford report filed by Captain Shepherd," said Gordon, clearly drowning out the rest of O'Reilly's sentence, "we have reason to believe that the – the Batman is responsible for organizing the murders. Anonymous tip," he added as O'Reilly opened his mouth again.
Shepherd scowled at the detective. O'Reilly had read the report, Shepherd clearly remembered placing the folder on his desk that morning, but the detective seemed to enjoy making a public spectacle out of disorganization. From the smug look on O'Reilly's face, it was obvious he liked watching Gordon squirm; he was among the few that still candidly accused the Commissioner of aiding the fugitive. Shepherd made a mental note to reprimand O'Reilly after the meeting, as he was responsible for the detective and would not have him disrespecting the Commissioner in front of the entire unit.
"Anything else?" said Gordon, but O'Reilly shook his head, smirking.
The Commissioner sighed heavily, looking like he'd aged ten years in the past week. "Well, good work anyway, people. All we can do is hope the bastards responsible will get what they deserve, but that's out of our hands now. Bard, keep us up to date on Shapiro's status and notify me when you plan on transferring her to County."
"Yes, sir," said Bard.
"Now, Captain Shepherd, I believe you had a point to bring up."
Shepherd cleared his throat and nodded, excitement gripping him. MCU had barely ever touched upon the subject before, and no one had ever truly thought it through – until now. To Shepherd, it made perfect sense. And it was something. Their noticeable lack of concrete leads was beginning to look rather embarrassing, and he wasn't willing to let such a perception persist.
"Yes, sir, I do," said Shepherd, addressing the table at large. "As you all know, it has been MCU's priority and responsibility to run point on the manhunt for the fugitive known as the Batman, and so far, we've got nothing."
There was a rumbling of agreement around the room.
"We're well aware of that, Shepherd," someone muttered.
"But think about it. The guy has to be getting his funding from somewhere, right?" continued Shepherd. "Look at his equipment, his suit, his weapons –"
"His weapons are his fists," said O'Reilly.
"– his transportation, his, uh – his motorcycle. I can guarantee you he didn't manufacture all of that on his own, even if he knew how. This guy obviously has access to state-of-the-art technology, maybe even military technology, maybe shit that isn't even available to the military yet."
"We've never seen anything like his equipment before," said a detective sitting near Gordon. "There're no records, no blueprints, nothing – it's like he just pulled it all out of thin air. None of it is supposed to exist."
"What are you getting at, Shepherd?" asked the Deputy Commissioner.
"He has to be receiving funding from someone somewhere," repeated Shepherd. "That's a fact. So we track the funding, we track him, and we bring him down."
"I don't think it's that simple," someone commented, and half the room murmured their agreement.
Shepherd frowned. He hadn't been expecting anyone to jump onto their seat, applauding in agreement, but he'd hoped for positive initial reactions, at least. "Yeah, I realize it isn't simple, if it was then we'd have captured the son of a bitch weeks ago. But I think there's a good chance he's getting his funding from a location or a person within Gotham City. Why?" he interrupted himself as Detective O'Reilly began to raise his hand in objection. "We can track these kinds of imports – the equipment, the sensitive technology, his vehicles. If someone was importing anything like that into the city every week, we'd notice. It's not exactly easy to keep under the radar."
His colleagues glanced between one another, some slightly convinced and impressed, others clearly doubtful.
"It's a start, all right?" Shepherd didn't mean to snap, but he was growing impatient. The plan made sense to him; of course it had its flaws, of course it wasn't simple, but as they currently had nothing to go on, it was the best they could do for now. The Batman had baffled all of them, and as adept as they all were in their positions (or most of them), this man was one that they just couldn't figure out. So they had to perceive him as just that – a man, not a creature or an icon, because otherwise, their efforts would surely be ineffective. And no man could carry on such an operation unaided – not even someone this mysterious, this evasive.
"Anyone got any better ideas?"
He was met with silence; several officers shrugged at one another, shaking their heads.
"It's worth looking into," said Gordon quietly. "Shepherd, work on a plan of action and present it to me when you've finished; then we'll go from there."
The rest of the meeting wasn't as eventful or argumentative; Gordon listed off their tasks for the day, reviewed active protocols, and then sent everyone on their way. As Shepherd stood to exit the room, he nodded to Gordon, but behind Gordon's glasses his eyes looked vacant and remote. Shepherd wondered if the Commissioner was coming down with an illness, but he said nothing and followed Adams out the door.
And so another day at Major Crimes began to unfold.