Disturbia
We're in the city of wonder
Ain't gonna play nice
Watch out you might just go under
Better think twice
Your train of thought will be altered
So if you must falter be wise
Your mind is in disturbia
It's like the darkness is the light
Disturbia
Rihanna
The elevator doors opened, revealing the familiar dull hallway of the 17th floor of the police precinct station. The only sounds as I walked down the corridor were the muffled rumbling of traffic outside and my own footsteps. It was a Thursday night and no surprise- I was at the office, the Major Crimes Unit.
As I approached the plain door at the end of the hall, I hardly noticed the hastily put up sign that read "Commissioner Gordon" covering the former title. I shifted the small briefcase I was carrying to my left arm, my right hand automatically reaching for the keys in my pocket. Just another night. With a twist and a click, the door swung open to the deep shadows on the other side. Quickly, I pulled out the keys and grabbed the briefcase with the same hand. My left arm throbbed, reminding me of my encounter with one of the mob's gang earlier that morning. A few choice words had led to a scuffle, which resulted in a cold cell for him and a sore arm for me. When he tried to shake me loose with a hard drive into a brick wall, that arm had taken the brunt of it. Now, it ached as I closed the door behind me. A flick of the switch and the lights came on, shining on the cheerless room. I dropped the case on the desk, pushing several motley stacks of folders aside to make room. Pulling out some papers and a sandwich from my wife, I sat down in the chair.
I had left the house in such a blank state of mind. If not for Sherry's wrapped sandwich, I would have been not only bored to tears by reports but starving as well. How I would get along without her, I will never know. I hadn't told her about this morning. It would only make her worry more. Pushing aside thoughts of giving up and going home that moment, I pulled the nearest folder towards me and flipped it open. A car-jacking case. One of a thousand just like it. I got to work, trying to forget about what time was displayed on the clock. 8:34.
Hours must have passed, hours that were bound hand and foot by forms and gagged with red tape. With an effort, I pushed myself out of the chair and picked up some files to be tucked away somewhere on a dusty shelf. It struck me as I walked to the other side of the room how I had been looking forward to being able to sit in my office for once. In a city like Gotham, it takes every last ounce of strength and every minute of the day to keep any kind of order. The past two weeks had been a blur of events whirling by and leaving little time to take care of the paperwork. Even as the civilized of Gotham mourned Harvey Dent and recoiled from the destruction of the Joker, crime lived on. Robberies and muggings continued as if nothing had happened, as if the recent catastrophe that had wrecked havoc was merely a rain shower and not a devastating earthquake that had rocked the city's foundations. Petty crime was the business at hand tonight. It all seemed so insignificant compared to the tragedies of two weeks prior. With a resolute shove, I pushed the files onto the shelf. In the next minute, I was out the door and heading for the elevator.
At the top of the station, the doors opened, unveiling the myriad lights glowing in the city. I walked out, breathing in the air. It wasn't particularly refreshing to breathe the city air deeply, but somehow the atmosphere seemed lighter farther away from the streets. Hands in pockets, I wandered over to the edge and looked out over the city. Somewhere in the midst of the industrial sector a police car's siren wailed. Cars rolled by in an ever-flowing river of tail-lights. At night, the city was a place of fear and danger. The darkness provided a home for those that did not want the world to see them or what they were doing.
It had only been two weeks. Why had it felt like two years? Gotham had lost a brilliant young man, its white knight in pursuit of absolute justice. Gotham had also lost the white knight's shadow, the dark knight in pursuit of the same goal. In a flash of uncontainable fury, the people had lashed out at their unknown protector. Harvey Dent had symbolized the coming of hope for the city, a future that was wished and prayed for by all. We had all taken hope in his words when he had assured us that "the night is always darkest before the dawn." Instead of the dawn, we approached an ever-darkening midnight. Those words came back to me bitterly as I pleaded helplessly for the life of my son from Dent himself. Without that hidden protector, I would have lost my family and perhaps my own life that night. Holding my son close and watching the police chase Batman into the night, I realized that the city was not ready for the dawn. Until that day comes, Gotham, like every man, still needs a savior.
Pulling away from the edge, I turned away. Underneath my foot, something gave way with an unsettling crunch. Looking down and stepping back a little, I saw shards of glass scattered in the grime on the ground. It was still there. Only vaguely aware of myself, I made my way over to the shattered remains of the signal light, the pieces of glass reflecting a little of the city lights. Inside, the bat-shaped emblem lay cracked with one wing bent. Appropriate, I thought, considering what this city had done to their hero. By shouldering undue blame, scorn, hatred, risking his own life for others, and taking repeated injuries for his trouble, he had become their villain. Whoever, or whatever, this man was, he was driven by some insane force to uphold justice and fight evil.
While I never thought that I could save the city, I did my best to combat corruption and protect the innocent. It was my job, something I believed in. Fighting crime on the dirty streets and dealing with the nutcases of this town was never a glorious profession. It was a day after day trudge, a slap in the face every time the bad guys were one step ahead. When I met Batman, I thought he was just another amateur out to make a name for himself. I didn't think there was anything anyone could do. Gotham was growing worse, if that was possible. I was confined by legal boundaries to watch criminals seal their escapes with crooked lawyers, bribes, loopholes, and even corrupt policemen. I learned the hard way that the bad guys don't follow the rules. Years at the MCU have shown me the ugliest side of human nature. But he kept showing up, despite all efforts. Not only did he appear time after time, he actually made a difference. Criminals we had searched days and days for would arrive on the doorstep of the station, tied up like a present on Christmas morning from Batman. Mysterious leads would guide us to the stashed loot from a robbery. Somehow, he always knew what we needed. Over time, I found my hardened attitude was softening. This man, or whatever he was, was exactly what we needed. I must admit, it was not easy to call on his help at first. Others called me a fool for trusting him. But I saw that he had hope for Gotham. That was enough.
Time after time, he proved himself worthy as Gotham's sentinel, the watchful protector. Sometimes I forget that he is a human after all, not a being in any way different than the average person. The only thing that sets him apart is his selflessness and unstoppable sense of justice. For once, there was hope.
The Joker brought terror to the city overnight. A man, driven insane, is capable of such evil things. His objective was to tear down the good and upstanding in Gotham, to prove that all people were as much an animal as himself. His law was fear. His poison reached Dent, making him into a beast with a hunger for revenge. The Joker reduced the best of us all to a wild man crazed by his loss. He turned Batman into a fugitive from the people, trying to force him to reveal his identity by killing more innocents. He killed many of the city's important law enforcers with cold precision. In the midst of it all, I realized that my connection to Batman and my position would put my family at risk from the Joker. I would not let this monster hurt them. So I disappeared from his vision, knowing that death would be the best way to convince him that I was no longer a threat. It was not easy to leave that day, knowing that the next policeman my wife would see would be someone at her door, telling her that I was dead. The day of the commissioner's funeral, my wife straightened my tie and we said goodbye, wishing that I could tell her everything would be all right. But I didn't know that. I wasn't even sure that my "demise" would keep them safe. What insane times we lived in where such a deception had to be used.
After my murder, I discovered that being "dead" had certain advantages. No one on the force knew what had been planned. I could move around easily without having to clear my actions with forms in triplicate. I knew my family would be safer. It was time for action. It was hard knowing the torture that I had put my family through, but it was necessary.
When Dent revealed himself to be the Batman at a press conference, I was shocked. There was no way that he was the caped crusader. I knew that Batman could not turn himself in- that would only be giving in to the Joker, an unacceptable surrender. Of course, I couldn't do anything to prevent the district attorney from claiming that he was Batman. I could, however, arrange to drive the armored car that he was being transported in. I watched him calmly accept his arrest and cheerfully say goodbye to Rachel Dawes. She looked as confused as I felt as she watched him leave. Something about the way she protested to him told me that she, too, thought something was not right about his claim to be Batman.
In moments, all my thoughts were replaced by survival instincts. I had counted on the Joker wanting to attend the procession, but I did not know what to expect. Forced onto an underground route, we were trapped. With the officer on the passenger side constantly yakking, it was hard to concentrate. Pounded with gunfire and missiles, we raced through the crowded street. I don't know what I was hoping for, but when I saw that dark vehicle whiz by, I felt a huge rush of relief. If Batman was here, there was a chance that this nightmare chase would soon be over. At the other officer's urging, we turned onto an exit heading for the surface. I couldn't see what was going on around us. I only caught snatches of what the other cop was saying, felt the ground shudder with the impact of the falling helicopter, and cringed against the roar of flame as we drove on. Where was Batman? One minute, he was there, the next he was gone.
Then, he appeared on a motorcycle, speeding after the truck. Pushing the accelerator to the floor, I tried to get us away. Seconds later, we heard a huge crash. I brought the vehicle to a screeching halt, skidding to the side. The other cop was shocked. I don't remember leaving the van or even why I found myself going back. Before I could stop myself, I was nearing the semi-truck, flipped on its back, tires spinning. Part of my brain told me that no one could have survived that. Gunshots brought me back to some sense of awareness. I dropped to the ground automatically, feeling the rough asphalt grind into my hands. Then I looked up and saw him. For the first time, I saw the Joker in the flesh, a nightmarish figure under the streetlights. He stood defiantly in the middle of the street facing Batman, firing a Tommy gun. A chill crawled down my spine as I watched, frozen. Batman was coming towards him fast- too fast. In a split second, the bike was spinning out and grating on the pavement. By avoiding the Joker, he had sacrificed himself. I couldn't believe it.
The next instant, the Joker was on him, bashing him with the gun and talking wildly. I couldn't move. My heart raced like I had run a hundred miles. Batman helpless? It couldn't be. The Joker started to try and pull off his mask. Something in me snapped and I pulled out the pistol at my side. The next moment, I had put the barrel to his neck. All fear of this man disappeared the instant I realized that for once it was my turn to help Batman.
That night I returned to my wife and family. I couldn't think of anything else besides the Joker was behind bars and I could go home. I didn't know how to come back from the dead. It's not something that I've had any experience with. I wasn't sure if I should ask for forgiveness or if I should just hug her. When I knocked on the door, she took the initiative, saving me the trouble of first words. It hurt, but I knew I deserved that slap. But then we hugged, so thankful to see each other again. Then I was truly home. The world seemed right again in a small way. As I said goodnight to my son, he asked if Batman had saved me. Indeed, he did. But this time, he gave me the chance to repay part of the debt. How many people could say that they had saved Batman? As Sherry and I talked about what had happened over a small dinner, a part of the light in this world was restored. Apparently, there was still some of it left out there in the darkness.
I didn't know it at the time, but things were far from over. Shortly afterwards, I was made the new commissioner. We had the Joker locked away, but I was still uneasy. His confidence was unnerving. I was determined to put him down no matter what. My own confidence was restored by Batman's presence. I knew that he would make a much more effective interrogator than myself, so I excused myself for a cup of coffee. The others were not so sure of his methods, but he did succeed in getting the information we needed. Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes had been kidnapped that night and placed in death traps in different parts of the city. We could only save one.
I was too late to reach Ms. Dawes. The building erupted into an explosion of flame before us. Dejected, I returned to the squad car. I had been so sure that things were going to improve. I hadn't known her well, but she was another crusader against the darkness. Her loss would be felt by many. Minutes later, a radio report told us that Dent had been severely burned during his rescue. What was becoming of Gotham? The only ones who fought for good were dying out.
Dent was inconsolable from the loss of Ms. Dawes. I went to visit him at the hospital, unsure of what I would find and what I would say. I was sorry, for him, for a lot of things. He remembered an old nickname that Internal Affairs had given him. "Two-Face." He clung to that name as if it was the only part of his being that was still true. Even if his face didn't reflect it, it was obvious to see that his soul had crumbled into despair. I didn't stay too long there. I couldn't stand to see him like that, bitter and broken. I also couldn't stand the hatred that radiated from him.
The rest is a blur. Evacuations, explosions, the Joker's escape, gunfire, corrupt policemen, hostage situation, and bomb threats. It was an eternity that lasted for a moment. The Joker had turned the streets into disturbia.
I stood up, still holding the twisted bat-shaped metal in my hand. That night remained as clear as if it had been yesterday. I felt the same cold chill grip me as I remembered Dent's voice on the phone. He had taken my family. The hostage situation I was detailed on was shoved out of my mind. I couldn't leave, but had to stay there, driven half mad by the thought of what Dent would do to them. I don't know what I would have done if Batman hadn't appeared. Again, he knew exactly what had to be done. In a disturbingly precise way, he got it under control, preventing so many casualties. I learned some days later that the Joker had put the hostages in position to appear as the kidnappers. Somehow, Batman knew who he was after, despite the Joker's efforts.
Shaking my head, I moved absentmindedly to the other side of the roof.
Once I arrived at the site of the explosion that killed Ms. Dawes, I instantly ran inside. Not once did I consider what I was going to do. I had to find them. Some heat still rose from the charred wreckage. Ashes crunched under my feet as I dashed up a flight of stairs. My heart thudded hard in my chest. It was so dark. There was a moment of deafening silence and then I fell to the ground, my head spinning. Dazed, I looked up to find Harvey Dent standing there. Then I saw Sherry and the kids nearby, huddled together and terrified. As I watched Dent take my son and hold a gun to his head, I felt every ounce of my remaining strength vanish. I had never felt so alone, so defeated. I was powerless to stop him and not even my pleas made him pause. Tears of anger and sorrow threatened to run over. Gotham's rescuer of a few days prior was going to shoot my son in front of me. A million thoughts raced through my mind, all disappearing in a fog of hopelessness. This was the end. Devotion to justice had only given me this final act- watching a madman destroy what I loved most. How could I tell my son that it would be all right? It was the blackest lie I ever told.
The coin flashed into the air and my heart stopped. There was a rush of motion and then three people toppled off the jagged ledge of what was left of the second story. Breath caught in my throat, I hurried to the edge. Hanging by a hand, Batman gripped the splintered concrete and my son clung to him for dear life. In seconds, I had pulled the boy up and away from the edge, doing a quick check to see if he was okay. Immensely relieved to find that he was unharmed, I turned back to Batman. Again, the breath was knocked from me when I saw his black form crumpled in the dirt below.
It took moments to dash down the stairs to where Batman lay. Thankfully, he was already moving when I reached him. I couldn't believe it. Words can't even begin to explain how I felt at that moment. I tried to thank him, to thank him for saving my life, for saving my family. He shook off pain like he shook off my words. Dent's body lay nearby. Batman turned his disfigured face to the other side. Seeing him like that reminded me of the hope that Gotham had held for a few fleeting moments. He was no longer the monster, but a victim of the evil he tried to fight. I was lost in my thoughts and exhaustion when Batman spoke again. He said that no one should know what had happened. If that hadn't been enough, he said that he would take the blame for Dent's actions. I was speechless. Stuttering out a weak protest, I tried to get him to change his mind. For the countless time, he had saved Gotham. He couldn't take the blame for a murderer- he was the people's hero, not their scapegoat.
The sound of sirens and cars pulling up interrupted. I vaguely remembered telling someone where I was heading after Batman had shown up at the building where the hostages were being kept. They had to be back-up. Batman suddenly looked like he had to leave. He told me again that he would take the blame and then disappeared into the darkness as I have seen him do so many times.
My son stood there, watching him go. He asked me one thing: "Why is he running?" I could only answer, "Because we have to chase him." He was our protector, Gotham's protector. The city didn't deserve him, but needed him. He would remain unnamed, unthanked, and unknown, the dark knight.
Because of that man, I returned home with my family. I will be eternally grateful to that masked crusader for all that he did. It will take time for Gotham to realize the value of its mysterious sentinel, and it will take time for the dawn to break.
Who is he? We may never know, and I may never see him again. But I know, as long as he's alive, he'll be out there, protecting this city, despite all. He stands for justice and good, for light in the world. Because of him, I am reminded that there really is still light in the darkness to be found, even in the darkest city on Earth.
The night wind blew colder and I retreated from the roof and my reverie. The clock read 11:39 in my office. I decided to call it a night and abandoned the paperwork on my desk. Tomorrow was another day. With the door locked behind me, I began walking out to my car, carrying my briefcase and other miscellaneous items. I had just about reached it when a voice startled me.
"'Evening, Commissioner."
I turned to find Bruce Wayne standing there, in the flesh. Judging by his evening wear and immaculate grooming, he was not out for a casual walk to the park. Needless to say, I was taken aback.
"It's a little late to be at the office, isn't it?" He continued, looking up at the sky.
I nodded.
"It's just been difficult to adjust after the past couple weeks. Lots of catching up to do." I felt strange talking to him, a man who seemed so disconnected from it all. It was said that he knew Batman well, but he had been relatively untouched by the past few weeks. The Joker had broken into his apartment during a fundraiser for Dent, but that had been all.
"It's been hard for everyone," he agreed. He seemed like he was going to say more, but held his tongue.
"It's a little late to be out walking at night, don't you think?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I suppose so. I was just at a party of a friend who lives nearby. I just decided to take a walk to get some fresh air for a bit." Mr. Wayne straightened his dinner jacket with a nonchalant tug.
"I, uh, want to thank you for all of Wayne Industries' support with the reconstruction of Gotham General Hospital. Your generosity goes a long way in the community."
Mr. Wayne shrugged and smiled easily.
"I'm happy to do it. Someone's got to step up and get this city back on its feet." He turned to me and extended his hand. "Thanks for all of your efforts as well."
Shaking his hand, I said, "It's not much. I just do what I can." When he winced, I released his hand. "I'm sorry. Are you all right?" His hand was bruised at the knuckles and cut in some places.
"Oh no, it's all right," he assured me. "I just a rough time doing a tune-up on my Lamborghini. Nothing to be worried about. Alfred always tells me to be more careful." He chuckled softly. "Well, I best be getting back before they send out a search party for me. Good night, Commissioner."
I watched him stroll away, a little stiffly, I thought, and then disappear around a corner. As I got into my car and keyed the ignition, I couldn't help but think what a better place Gotham would be if it had more good citizens like Mr. Wayne.
A short drive later, I was home.