I was in the mood for some Batman fiction, so during my flextime I decided to jot down these ideas and in the end started writing out this fan story. I guess I've been watching too much Batman lately.

Rated T (for violence, language, drugs and alcohol, and sex. Should be rated M. Oh well. XD)

I do not own Batman, nor do I own the characters from the Batman comics. All of these characters are rightfully owned by DC; they were used as inspiration. The only character I can really claim is David, (and Barbara maybe since I've added more to the original character than seen in the comics. Yet, Barbara is owned by DC, and is truly not an original character made by me.)

Enjoy!

P O L I C Y

O F

T R U T H

Prelude

What if you could change the world? What would you do exactly? Would you work for the service by saving one life at a time? Would you run for governor to set the laws of obedience? Given that moment, how would it affect your life afterward? Would you ever be the same again?

Maybe for some people, a dramatic change would work out for the best, while for others it would ruin their lives forever. I know for a fact such things have happened. They would do anything to be a hero, for a hero can be the postal man that brings your mail on time, or the cop that retrieved your purse from a criminal. A hero is likely the reason why we feel safe. I know I do, especially in the city I live in now. But as I said, being a hero can ruin your life. It means that you can only be dependent on your city than your own life. Recently, our one and only hero could be labeled as our newest criminal. His dependence on his people still lives, although for now it is up for the people of this city to change things around.

When I was young, I always believed in superheroes. They were an icon to kids, and we always believed they would fight for justice. They always got rid of the bad guys by throwing them in iron cells, and there we would give them a standing oblation for their effort. We did so with our city hero. Now these days the thought of superheroes has seemed to have disappeared, maybe because we lost hope. We had a hero, until things changed all of a sudden, and now the city has lost all of its hope for good.

I have a feeling we haven't lost our hero yet, for he overlooks the city every now and then, waiting for the right moment to make his heroic move. I still have hope for him, and I know one day he will be our hero again. I hope to be there to witness this new beginning, and actually see the realistic side of the Batman that everyone seemed to love.

Chapter I

Being away from home for six long years is not a pleasant feeling, especially if you're a homebody type of person. Since I was young, I was raised in a tiny house in the city of Gotham, and for years I've always loved being at home. I can't really explain why — it could be because I was always comfortable at home. I didn't go out that often even when I was in high school. Living in a technical society made me decide to work with electronics. At home, I'd lock myself in my bedroom and work on electronic such as computers and other related stuff; I would take them apart, learn the parts, and reassemble it together. A few years later, I learned more about computers by using a variety of software's, those especially that were meant to be used in the political world.

My father worked for the police department in Gotham. On occasion he would bring me to work and would allow me to work on their computers. By doing so I learned from the tech-cops and all the stuff they did with electronics. They even showed me how hackers would hack a system. I developed this talent within months, and soon my father realized it would be worthwhile to have me work for the police department.

I graduated from one of the top universities in Gotham that had to do with government technical stuff. This mean I would be working with the government by searching through hidden archives on computers to help them with criminal cases. I'd also be able to hack into other hacker's computers to track them down. I seemed to have a liking to my new job, and since then on I was excited to be going home at last.

And let me tell you, I was grateful to be going home because Gotham was being wrecked with a crime rate higher than any other city in this country. Since my departure to college, Gotham was no longer the same as it used to be. This propaganda with Gotham's criminals motivated me to help my father and his department. Recently, he was promoted to commissioner of the Gotham Police Department after the death of former Commissioner Lobe. Hearing the news was appalling. Who would do such a thing? Of course — anyone. Anyone who wanted Gotham to burn.

The recent news of the terror in Gotham made me decide to head home early. Originally I was planning to fly to Maine to see a close guy friend of mine, David Dunn, when my father called me all of a sudden. The last time I saw my father was at the graduation ceremony; for a first I figured he missed me already until he started talking to me on the phone, explaining the whole ordeal with Gotham in wreck. Later on I called David about the situation, and he insisted on coming since he was an investigator. The change in plans had to be quick, which in fact it was. He flew down to Gotham while I waited to pick him up at the airport, and afterward we drove to my house.

My father was waiting on the steps of the house when we arrived. He looked like he hadn't slept for days. I really felt bad for the poor guy since my father was indeed a hard worker. In this situation it made it worse for him. He looked older than when I saw him at my graduation. The wrinkles in his face made him look ten years older, his crow's-feet was visible from far away, and his hair was a shade of pepper and salt. His glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and had a crooked look to it when I examined his face more. It was the stress that was making my dad look like this. I'd wish I could do something to help.

I pulled up to the side of the curb and shifted the car into park and turned it off. David and I stepped out to stare at my dad in awe; it felt awful just looking at my father's face for the fact that he couldn't handle the stress anymore. With a hero gone, he had to do everything for himself and for the citizens of Gotham. David popped the back door open and took out our bags with a heave and a pull. He wasn't expecting to stay this long so he had to pack extra, including my stuff made it worse for him to pull out everything. My father stood up all of a sudden to help him out, as I continued to look at him, ashamed for the wreck Gotham had caused him. I shook my head for a moment and walked over to help them out. Once I approached from behind my dad, he spun on the balls of his feet to suddenly heave me into a hug. He did miss me a lot.

"I'm glad you're back." I heard him mumble with his face covered in my auburn hair.

I hugged him even more when I heard him say that. "I can't believe all of this happened."

"It's worse than you can imagine." He said, with his hands in front of his face to push aside my hair. "I know you were planning to go to Maine, but with the chaos already I couldn't do this alone."

David placed the last bag on the ground and patted my dad's back. "I wanted to help as well, which is why I insisted to Barbara I should come."

My father glanced up and smiled at him. He fixed his glasses. "I appreciate it, David." His eyes slowly danced all over the place when he looked at me again. "You've changed, Barbara."

I smiled. "Not by much."

"I think you did." He laughed. "These six years really did make a difference in appearance."

I reached down to pick up my bag and followed David and my father into the house. He opened the door for me and I entered inside the tiny house with a change in atmosphere. It wasn't the same as it used to feel because of the stress in the family. Everyone was on their toes with this whole ordeal. My father obviously was able to prove this just by the looks on his face. David and I followed my father into the living room next door and we placed our stuff down near the coffee table as we waited for his next response. He left the room for a second and when he came back he brought my mother and my brother, James Jr. to greet us. Jr. looked really happy to see me, for he immediately ran into my arms just to hug me. At five foot six and fifteen and a half years of age he was a hell of a strong kid. I gave him a noggin like I used to do back in the days of my teenager years.

My mother approached me with a gentle smile and hugged me as well; I felt warm inside my chest. The warmth came from the love of my family, and how much they meant so much to me.

"Welcome home, sweetheart." My mother said, and released her grasp.

I smiled, and sat down on the couch with the rest of my family. Jr. crashed on the reclining chair and turned on the TV with a remote. With a click sound, the TV turned on and projected a news channel. The news anchor was briefly describing about a bank robbery not far from the police department, and the plausible criminal involved. I didn't bother to pay attention to the television cast and instead listened to my father brag about the people at the department and the criminals at Arkham escaping.

"They seem to know their ways around the system." He sighed. "We've tried everything, and yet they know. It's like they have eyes all over the place."

I cocked my head at the information. "I would suppose it's because of Arkham's employees. Something or someone is leaking out information."

"I actually suggested that before but I wasn't sure. However, your point is true since we've had the same situation at the Gotham Police Department."

"What?"

"It's true." I heard Jr. say. "After you left, dad had problems with the cops."

"Why is that?"

My father's shrugged. "I can't really say why, but it seems you can't trust anyone these days." He stiffened when he mentioned it. "Now, you can only rely on those you really trust, which is why I trust you more than anyone at GPD."

"That's messed up." I said. "Who?"

"Ramierez is one of them."

I couldn't believe it, and I actually liked Ramierez when I used to hang out with my father at the police department. She always had something fun to do when I was round. We would play cops and robbers and pretend to drive cars with cardboard boxes. She was always a blast to hang out with. Now realizing her trust wasn't the same as it was years ago, I didn't think of her the same anymore. Why would Ramierez lie to my father and cause pain in their trust?

I shook my head. "No."

"Sadly, it is true." My father said. He shook his head as well. "But I couldn't let her go because I don't think she meant to do it on purpose. Her mother was sick and she needed an alternative to the problem."

"Who else?"

"Other cops. And for their actions they caused havoc on us. We lost so many people. For now I can say things are coming o a standstill now that we've got that psychopath behind bars." He murmured.

My eyebrows arched. "What psychopath?"

On cue, my father raised his eyes and gave me a confused look as though I had missed something important. I had been gone for six years, and yet I still didn't know all of the criminals of Gotham. I knew a few minor criminals from Arkham Asylum, but none of those considered psychopaths. From the sounds of it, it appeared this psychopath my father was referring too was no ordinary psycho.

He turned to face my mother, wondering what to say. She shrugged and turned her attention to the television. My father sighed and said, "I thought you would have known."

"Not really, Dad. I've been away for so long I don't watch the news that often."

He didn't know what to say afterward. He was speechless. Jr. though spoke for him. "Sis, if you're so curious then you should see him in person."

"Who though?"

"Uh, The Joker."

Again, the name didn't ring a bell.

My father finally spoke. "We've caught him recently and he's back in Arkham."

"Who is he?"

"Some crazy bastard, that's for sure." Jr. retorted and surfed through the channels on the television. My mother told him to watch his language as he roughly hit the buttons on the remote. He switched it to an MTV program called Punk'd. The host looked like he was high on sugar, and for some reason it amused my brother. Although I've loved my brother to death since he was born, I still didn't understand him. As a child he always was in for an adventure, and when he turned ten he was more interested in teenage stuff than the superhero hype at the time. Back then he was a superhero freak when he first met the Batman, and it changed his life. Imagine seeing your favorite icon standing right in front of you and the initial reaction you get when he actually acknowledges you. I haven't had that feeling yet, but hopefully in the future.

Our conversation went on mute after my father acknowledged the fact about this psychopath named The Joker. If I had been in Gotham long enough, I would have known who this man was. The name was even intriguing — maybe it was a cover-up to hide his identity. Who knows what this man was all about. Already, the thought of this man being considered the craziest 'bastard' in Gotham (or so my brother claims) had me on my heels. For whatever reason, I really wanted to know who this man was, in fact, I felt as though I should insist my father to tell me more. Nevertheless, the sound in my father's voice made me think it would be best to keep things at mute.

By evening, I still couldn't get the thought of The Joker out of my head. Through the night that was the one thing stuck inside me thoughts and the questions that came with it. I lay in bed pondering them through until at the point I couldn't resist to ask my father. I threw the sheets off my bed, walked to the door, and opened it and from behind my father was standing there in full uniform, including his name tag. He also was wearing a jacket, which made me wonder why he was in fall attire in the middle of the night.

I leaned against the doorframe and glanced at my father's clothing for a second time.

"I see that you're up." He said; his voice was a bit hoarse as though he were nervous about something.

I bit on the lower half of my lip. "I couldn't sleep."

"Is it because of what I told you in the living room?"

"Maybe." I mumbled. "My mind couldn't stop thinking of…this guy you mentioned. The Joker."

"Oh," he said. He fixed his glasses and looked back at me. "Well, since you are up, do you want to come down to the station?"

"Okay." I shrugged. I spun on the balls of my feet and grabbed whatever clothing was already out, thus meaning sweatpants and a navy hoodie which read GPD on the front. After, I fixed my hair by putting a hairclip in the back, and once I was done I followed my father down the stairs, through the living room and out the door we went. His cruiser was parked out back, so we walked around the tiny building and into a dark alley where it leads to his garage. With the flip of a switch the garage door opened and soon we were inside the car driving away from the security of my home towards the hell pit of Gotham. The streets we drove by were dark and gloomy. It was easy to tell hell had hit Gotham within the past six years I was gone. They were lifeless, only a few people were scattered here and there — thugs that lived off the streets, sitting by a fire pit with only the clothes on their back. I knew any city looked exactly like Gotham, but what was so different was the fear in the streets. Everyone was afraid of something: mobsters, thugs, psychopaths, and Gotham's well known criminals.

When I was young, I knew of these criminals. I heard of them every day on the news, my father mentioned them as well; they ended up in jail cells and never were heard of again. Life was secure back then, but now it appeared things had changed because of the high crime rate. The same criminals caught years ago are now back on the streets. It's terrible to know history was repeating again, we would be seeing the same trouble I saw years ago. However, Gotham's most terrifying criminals are what we're mostly afraid of. With them on the loose I bet it was hard for my father to catch them, and yet we're afraid of catching them. We don't know what'd up their sleeve, so how can we not be afraid?

In today's news, everyone's eyes were on The Joker. Whoever he was, he certainly made the citizens of Gotham frightened, in hopes that someone doesn't make the mistake of letting him off the chain again. Purposively the nonsense was new since my father told me they had just caught him.

It took us about half an hour to get to the Gotham Police Department. When we arrived the place was alive with people running about inside, trying to fix problems or making appointments, all of those things I was taught when I was a young kid. My father parked the cruiser in the parking lot reserved to employees only, and when we pulled up and got out of the car the atmosphere was loud and noisy. We walked up to the entrance and entered inside where it was all about to begin. The nonsense I was introduced to revolved around the criminals and The Joker. I glanced around in awe that so much stress was overwhelming the place.

My father walked away to greet a person nearby, which turned out to be the Mayor of Gotham.

"Evening, Comissioner Gordon." He greeted him with a hand shake.

I walked up to my father and stood beside him as the mayor introduced himself to me.

"Mayor, you remember my daughter, Barbara?"

"I do!" He said with a tone of delight. "I heard you graduated from Gotham University. Congratulations!"

"Thank you." I smiled. "It's good to be back."

"It is. I know for certain we will need your service."

"You know I'm good with that stuff." I joked, and shook his hand. "I'm more than happy to help out. My friend, David, is visiting and wishes to help as well."

The mayor shook his head and smiled at my father. "Gordon, your daughter is such a cupcake."

I blushed, and I had a feeling everyone noticed.

"You know, she isn't a kid anymore." My dad said, and wrapped his arm around my shoulder giving me a big hug.

"It is amazing how fast she grows."

"Yes." My father let go of me and cleared his throat, sounding more serious this time. "I came to do his interrogation."

"I had a feeling you were going to. He just arrived from Arkham."

"Well then, let's get this show on the road." My dad said, and walked away.

I stood there uncertain what to do, especially when everyone was so busy not to direct me to help them with anything. All they were concerned about was The Joker arriving for interrogation. I supposed it would be best not to bother them, and to mind my own business; I walked to the other end of the room where my father's office was and opened the door. His room was clean, yet his desk was disheveled with paper and files concerning The Joker. My fingers glided across his desk as I skimmed my eyes across the pages of his files, each one of them labeled with information about recent events with The Joker's crimes and his recent capture. I was too curious as to wonder how this man was able to accomplish all of his tasks with limited associations with other criminals and supplies. Usually, Gotham's criminals would gang up together and destroy the town. In this case, The Joker worked alone.

I picked up a manila folder and flipped it open to read the rest of the articles. They were clipping from newspapers on The Joker, and a clipped group of papers on The Joker's information. My father had always clipped articles out of newspapers. I remember he had a huge library of scrapbooks in his office with news articles that dated to the time when the Batman first appeared. He seemed to have a liking to scrapbooks and newspapers. I chuckled a little and read the clipped papers. It briefly described The Joker, but nothing on his birthday, hometown, and family — not even his name. In each line it would read 'Unknown' or a question mark…or nothing at all.

My mind raced with thoughts. Who is he?

I placed the folder down and stood there thinking about my father's ordeal with The Joker, in which a light bulb then glowed over my head. I made my way out of the office and looked around to find the interrogation room. In second I spotted the door, and opened it, and all I saw was a black room with a tinted glass plane in front of my face. I noticed my reflection right away, but within the reflection I saw an image of a table with two men seated at it. And certainly that image was nothing but reality. My father was in that room, sitting right across from the craziest man in Gotham. The Joker. I inclined closer to see the interrogation begin, although I couldn't hear what they were saying. I felt a button underneath my fingers, looked down to see it labeled as speaker. I lightly pushed it, and the room beamed with sound. My father's voice was calm as he talked.

"I don't know what to say." He sighed. "I've tried everything I could to make Gotham better. But because of you, Gotham is not the same again."

The Joker sat in his seat silently, smacking his lips. The fake grin on his face didn't move.

"We've negotiated many times and yet nothing is happening." He inclined closer with his elbows leaning off the table. "I must ask — how can you effortlessly make Gotham burn?"

I swallowed hard when I finally heard The Joker speak. "Maybe it wasn't me the whole time…maybe it was you people." His cuffed hands moved underneath the table. "People can be inflicted on crime very easily. It's not like…I can make them do the things that's wrong, or brainwash them — it's how they perceive it, how they react to it. For instance, when I made Harvey go mad, it wasn't just because of me, but how you reacted to Rachel's death. The lack of communication — well, maybe not communication, but planning was the downfall. To see how your planning was so disorganized, your lack of planning was the cause to Rachel's death. If only you had done better then things wouldn't have looked like this. Harvey wouldn't have gone mad. But because of that, Harvey corrupted, causing his own pain to turn towards crime than reason."

"You're telling me it's the people of Gotham causing this havoc?"

"Indeed. I mean — I'm just a maniac who likes blowing things up." The Joker laughed. "But it's what happens afterward that makes you people cringe. Like I said, it's the reaction people get which makes them plan the wrong decision. They think to stop this they must kill. But in reality, it's reason. There's always a reason to everything."

"Including your actions?"

"Maybe." The Joker shrugged.

"How so?"

"Maybe there's a story behind everything. Maybe that story has a direct point towards reason."

My father cracked his knuckles with his fingers as he listened to The Joker's spiel. "It's hard to believe you have reasons why you cause havoc."

"Well, I do. Everyone does."

I heard my father sigh deeply, as he lunged back in his chair. "We're getting nowhere with this." He pushed himself up from his seat and started to walk away when then The Joker had more to say. When he heard his voice, he slowly turned to face him.

"It's such a shame, isn't it?"

My father's eyebrows arched. "What is?"

"That this whole ordeal was technically your fault."

My mouth dropped open. How could he say such a thing at my father's face?

"It's your fault that these people are dead!" My father exclaimed. "Because of you, we're now nowhere in this case. We have no choice what to do to make Gotham better. I've brought in my best people to do the job, and yet you're actions killed them!" Roughly he started to walk towards him with his index finger pointing at him. "I've tried everything and yet you won't admit it's your entire fault."

The Joker let out a soft chuckle. "Wasn't the point of my speech all about how people like you can be easily inflicted on crime?" He revealed his cuffed hands, gesturing as though he didn't know the answer. "I think you took this all too seriously in your head. Maybe you were too easily inflicted on these crimes — look what it's done to you."

My father's face went blank and pale.

"You don't trust anyone anymore because of your 'best people.' You saw what they really were and how such crimes affected their lives. Now, you're on the end of the rope trying to get Gotham back to normal, when for a fact Gotham will never be normal. The role these people play is due to our reason as I said before."

"Like you? And how you became this?"

"I suppose, although I hate just speaking of myself."

"Cut the crap, Joker." My father said sternly. "You know this is your fault."

"If it is, well…I don't know what to do for you, Commissioner. The damage done is done. It can't be reversed."

"Exactly. Particularly your court case. Once you're found guilty, your mess won't be reversed either." He grumbled. "You'll be shipped back to Arkham, confined to life in prison, and who knows if you'll be going to the big house where anything you do is never forgiven."

The Joker again hinted a smile on his grin plastered face. "Oh, dear, I'm so scared." He joked.

My father glared at him. "You should be." He said.

"Oh geez. I'm so terrified I could just kill for mercy."

"This isn't funny, Joker."

"It's not? Well then, I must ask. What would make it funny? Having it involve you family? Your wife maybe?"

"Joker…"

"Or your son — God forbids he's a clone of you."

"Joker…"

"Of your daughter?"

From the corner of his eye, I could see him glancing at me as though he knew all this time I was the one standing behind the mirror tinted glass. My mouth went dry as he continued to peel his eyes away from my father and draw his attention towards me instead, which sent signals flying through my head. Did he know this whole time I was watching them? Was he some kind of psychic? Of course, he would have known my family by now. He knew all of us, although I doubt he knows the little facts about me. This guy dealt with my father once, so he would know about the rest of our family. But me, though, would he know enough about me? Whatever the reason, it made my father question him. He glanced over as well towards my direction, although he didn't understand what The Joker was trying to tell him. He asked him weakly before being cut off by The Joker, "How did you know-"

"Barbara? You mean the girl sitting behind that glass wall—" The Joker pointed towards my direction "—listening to every word we say?" He leaned back in his chair. "What a small world after all. I could hardly recognize that she was your daughter from the photograph you have on your desk."

My father's face went blank. "When was this?"

"Uh…the day when I ruined Dent's reputation-"

"What is it, then? What are you trying to say?"

"I'm just saying, she's quite beautiful for a young woman of her age. The resemblance she has – it's very difficult to tell she's a Gordon. I mean, she definitely has your eyes, but overall I couldn't even see the similarities with you Gordon's and her."

"Well, she is my daughter if that's what you're wondering. She is a Gordon."

"Of course! What I mean is…I can't see the Gordon personality in her. I see more of a softer Gordon than a rough one like you." A chuckle slipped loose from his mouth.

"For your information, my daughter does have a rough side to her like all of us do."

"Really. Well then, she's my kind of girl-"

Suddenly, a white hand flashes out, and within seconds the hand strikes across The Joker's face, making the man fall to the ground. My father restrained himself from hitting him again, and backs away to observe the damage. As I watched my father's face react in such an absurd way, The Joker rises a little when then I could hear his laughter vibrate against the brick walls of the room.

His hand reaches out to grab onto the table, and he pushes himself up to get his balance stable. "You think attacking me is your way of protecting your family?"

"I would do anything to protect them from your sick mind!"

"See, this is exactly what I meant the whole time. Gotham is being easily influenced on violence, crime…look at you, Commissioner? Do you want your family to see the monster coming out of you?"

Suddenly, my father charged at The Joker again. With his hands reaching out he grabbed onto The Joker's head and harshly smacked it against the steel table. A trail of blood seeps through a freshly new cut on The Joker's skull. Although the fighting continued, The Joker seemed to be enjoying every part of it. He continued to laugh as I watched my father in horror attack the man with all his might. It persisted with punches and blows against The Joker's chest; yet, The Joker didn't give a damn about it at all. He wanted the Commissioner to strangle him. He wanted to release the demon within him. He wanted my father to go…crazy…

I knew right away the violence was getting out of hand.

This isn't right, my mind told me. Your father would never do such a thing.

Even I agreed.

Probably this was part of The Joker's plan — to make my father go mad. I knew I had to do something, or else The Joker would get away with a proven point.

I darted towards the door which lead to the interrogation room where the fighting continued, and as I swung it open with both my hands, a rush a wind gushes by, a wind consisting of only the laughter of a maniac and the moans of a desperate man in need. The door slams against the brick wall as I rush in to stop my father from being violent. I placed both my hands on his jacket and yanked at it to catch his attention.

I heaved in a big gulp of air and yelled at my father to get his attention, "Dad! Stop it!"

Nothing was working to get this man out of his current state of mind. He was stuck deep into this situation whereas fighting this madman was his only way to protect himself and his family. I continued to tug at his shirt, and still nothing was helping. Quickly, I thought of another option, whereas it meant me getting into the middle of it. A bit dumb, but it would be worth it. I brushed by and pushed myself in between the two men as they strangled at each other. I wrapped my arms around him and pushed him away from The Joker.

"Dad! STOP!"

This time, my dad did listen, and he knew what he did was wrong. I made eye contact with him as he helped himself calm down.

And then The Joker had his last say.

"So…this is the Barbara Gordon you mentioned to me?"

And thus ends the first chapter to Policy of Truth. :)

I would really appreciate some feedback on the story, words of advice, encouragement, anything that would help me for future references. Thank you for reading, and I hope you continue onto the second chapter.