If the station had been busy before, the level of activity right now was completely unprecedented. Right now, Gordon was not a man to be crossed. He wasn't just a commissioner, or a cop—he was a father and a pissed off one at that.

He didn't care if he ran the whole department into the ground going after the Penguin. He was not going to let this man cross a line that had never been crossed before. Even in their heyday, bosses like Falcone and Maroni hadn't gone after children. If they had a problem with you, you were the one they took it up with. Incredible to think, surely, but that's how it had been.

The Penguin had taken things to a new level. This had to be addressed by the GCPD and it had to be done successfully. If the Penguin was allowed to get away with this, it was not only going to open a flood door with who knows how many copycats, it was going to set a new precedent. Every cop's child would be in danger.

On top of it all, it was his daughter, Barbara. It went deeper than a person he had never met. Much deeper. If anything happened to her, there would be no place this Penguin could hide. Whether he knew it or not, this bastard had made enemies with the wrong man.

The door to his office was open and the din of countless officers flooded in. Whenever someone was unlucky enough to walk by, the commissioner would order them in and demand what the status of their progress was. It was always the same, there wasn't much. Too little progress in too much time, in Gordon's opinion.

Every minute that Barbara was in that lunatic's possession was a minute too long.

It took him a moment, but he realized that his phone was buzzing. Now why was it doing it that? If someone was calling him, it would ring...but it buzzed when it received texts. That's how Barbara had set it up for him. She was always pretty good with these contraptions. So who was texting him?

Well, whoever it was seemed to be pretty close to him since he never gave out his number to random people. Checking the message, he found an address staring back at him: 1527 Fowler Boulevard. Penguin. Gordon froze as he stared at the screen. Was this the Penguin sending him a location? Had to be. Looking up the screen to see the sender, he was surprised to see the word UNKNOWN instead. Either the Penguin didn't want to leave any possibility for anyone to track him, or someone else had sent the message. It was more likely the first one since there wasn't anyone around that would just give away the criminal's location.

Then again, he had seen ransom notes before and every one of them always ordered the receiver to not involve the cops. There was a distinct lack of that here. So was this really the Penguin? Who would want the police commissioner to even know his location? Someone was really earning their good samaritan points with this. In Gotham though, those people were few and far in between, not counting the Bat—

Gordon's eyes widened. Immediately, he accessed his computer, typing the address into the map function Barbara had showed him. The moment the map appeared, a small dot blinked on a place in the Narrows, close to the waterfront.

This was it, this had to be where the Penguin was hiding out. Now was the time to act. He grabbed his trench coat and snatched up his revolver, checking to make sure it was loaded before marching out of his office.

"Listen up!" he roared into the racket beyond his office. "A tip came in! 1527 Fowler Boulevard. I want every available unit from patrol cars, undercover, and SWAT all down there and I want them there now! Get to it!"

The room was o' substandard quality. Really, there were no redeemable features of it other than it served its purpose as an office. Old, rotting furniture covered the creaky, wooden floor. Tonight, the room was crowded with muscled blokes, more than he usually liked in his office, but this night had a special guest.

Tied to a wooden chair that had seen better days last century was the young Barbara Gordon. She was a pretty lil thing, young, vivacious, and a head of long red hair. You didn't see too many girlies pull off that colour. Bit o' shame that it'd be dyed a different red soon enough.

"You got yourself a mighty fine daddy, lil girlie," Oswald Cobblepot spoke, directin' his words at the girl. "I'm gonna have me a merry ol' time breakin' him."

The Gordon girl made a muffled sound, the gag in her mouth makin' it difficult for her to talk. Oswald preferred that in a girl; they were best seen and never allowed to talk. Howe'er, her frightened blue eyes were what drew him in. It was an artform to draw fear out of people and it was always so delicious when a person was terrified out o' their mind.

Leanin' back in his cracked leather chair behind an agin' desk, Oswald continued to gloat to the girl. "Ya know, it's nothin' personal, just business. If your daddy had been a team player to start with, none o' this would have to happen. See, I told him you'd get hurt if he didn't play ball and I don't think he seemed convinced on that. Now if there's one thing Oswald Cobblepot ain't, it's a liar. I got to show your ol' man that I speak the truth."

At this he reached into an open drawer o' the desk and pulled out a large knife, settin' it down on top o' the desk in plain view o' the captive. "I'm not a ruffian like some o' the people in this town; I can be quite generous once ya get to know me. So here's the deal: I'm gonna let you decide which o' your fingers gets cut off and sent to daddy dearest. I'll give ya a couple minutes to decide, but if you don't, I'll start counting piggies."

Oswald nearly licked his lips in delight as he watched the Gordon girl stare back at him with wide eyes, her body tremblin' in her seat. If there was one thing he learned on the streets o' London, it was to make—

"Eh, boss?" one o' the thugs spoke up, breakin' Oswald's reminincin'. "You might want to come see this."

"What are you blubberin' about?" the squatty man demanded as he straightened up in his seat. He didn't appreciate it when people interrupted his fun.

The thug in question looked over to him, the only one standin' by the window. It was then that Oswald noticed light was flashin' through the window in reds and blues. "There's a whole lot of cops out there."

Oswald pushed himself out o] his chair and onto his stubbly legs. His head barely stood above the desk as he waddled over to the window. Yeah he was short and a lot o' blokes thought that meant he was an easy target back in the day. None o' them were alive right not to tell ya how wrong they were.

As Oswald reached the window, he looked out o' it and paled at the sight he saw. There were cop cars everywhere with blue-dressed pigs runnin' about. Further back were several black SWAT trucks with men pourin' out o' it. Though he couldn't see too well from here, everyone looked as if they were packin' heat.

"What the bloody hell is this?!" the Penguin roared. "Where did those cops come from? How'd they know we was here?"

Many of the thugs were lookin' at the sight as well, some o' them trembling with fear. "I've never seen this many cops before," one o' them said. "It's like they're ready to declare war or something!"

Oswald swung himself around, colour returnin' to his face as he barked out, "I want e'eryone at their battle stations, you hear me? These pigs want a fight, well I'll give 'em a fight! $10,000 for e'ery pig that's killed and $25,000 for any SWAT. If anyone hits the com'ishner, it's $100,000!"

That got e'eryone's attention. Instantly the room was filled with activity as men were hustlin' to their weapons. There, that was more like it. Alright pigs, Oswald Cobblepot was ready for—

A loud groanin' sound was suddenly made, causin' e'eryone to pause. Oswald looked up to the ceilin' with a frown. He ain't ever heard that sound 'fore and he'd been in this buildin' for awhile.

It was then the ceilin' collapsed, panelin', wood, and styrofoam fallin' to the floor. There were panicked shouts in response, and unfortunately for a couple of the blokes, they got caught up in the fallin' debris. Howe'er, there was somethin' else there, somethin' dark that landed on the men. Eyes widenin', Oswald stared at the black mass that stood crouched on the floor, starin' at him with unblinking white eyes.

The Batman gazed at the men in front of him. They were all frozen in place as they stared right back at him in shock. Two were currently lying beneath him, knocked out by the collapsed ceiling. Off to his right was a girl tied to a chair, her back to him—Gordon's daughter. Most of the men were street-level thugs—six in total—and no further interest other than being obstacles. It was the short, round man towards the back that the vigilante focused on. The man's pointed nose twitched nervously the longer the Bat stared at him.

This had to be the Penguin.

"What are you doin', you blokes!" the Penguin suddenly shouted in a heavily accented voice—Cockney from the sound of it—pointing a stubby finger at the Batman. "Get 'em!"

That broke the daze the thugs were in as the began withdrawing their guns. In an instant, the Batman threw open his cape and unleashed a barrage of bat-shaped shuriken. Each shuriken arched through the air at different trajectories, striking the men on their armed hand. Cries of pain erupted from the thugs as they dropped their weapons and grasped at their injured hands.

Taking advantage of this, the vigilante dashed towards the girl, running behind her and at the wall. Leaping, he held a bent leg out in front of him and his foot made contact with the sheetrock. Pushing off with his leg, he launched himself through the air at the closest thug, a hand drawn back in a fist. With a grunt, he threw his metal-reinforced gloved fist and slammed it into the man's face, his opponent crumbling to the floor immediately. That was one down for the count.

Landing on the floor, Batman turned his head to the next man, who was staring at him with terror-clouded eyes. Leaping at him, the dark-clad vigilante crossed his striking hand across his chest and swung it out, backhanding the thug across his face. The blow caused his opponent to jerk to the side, spit flying from his mouth. Yet, the Bat wasn't done with him as he grabbed his foe by his wrist and yanked it back and out. With his other hand, he shoved it right in the man's armpit while rotating his grip on the wrist. Twisting his body around, he lifted the thug off the floor and threw him through the air and at one of his comrades. The thug slammed into his friend, knocking them both to the floor.

Reaching to this belt, the Batman pulled out a mess of cords, each attached to a metal ball on one end and connected to each other on the other, and immediately began twirling it. Finding his next target, he threw the spinning bola at him, watching in satisfaction as the weapon wrapped around the surprised thug until the balls began slamming into his body, one of them hitting him right in the face and knocking him out.

As the unconscious thug fell to the floor, the Batman turned his sights to the other men, the two on the ground climbing to their feet. However, the dark-clad man felt something hit him in the face, causing his head to jerk to a side. That seemed to cause everyone to stop what they were doing and stare.

Slowly, Batman turned his head back and saw one of the thugs had closed in on him and successfully landed a punch. The man's arm was still extended and he seemed confused as to what to do next. The vigilante just looked at him before he growled.

Emerging from his car, Gordon headed straight for the SWAT vans. He wanted a plan of how they were going to breach the alleged hideout as well as emphasize that there was a non-combatant within needing to be rescued.

Lethal force was going to be authorized.

"Get those lights on!" he hollered towards technicians setting up spotlights, pointing at the building in question as the target. "I want that place so lit up that it you would think it was midday. Move it!"

He hadn't taken his eyes off the SWAT team leader, Branden, he was making his way to. Without waiting for a greeting, he demanded, "What's the plan, Branden?"

"We have snipers on the roofs here, here, and over there," Branden explained, gesturing with an arm to the various locations around them. "We're trying to get some men on the roof of the target itself so we can come in through the windows on upper floor. I have a team moving around back and another preparing to go in through the front."

"When can you have this all ready?" the commissioner demanded.

"Five more minutes, ten tops," the brown-haired man answered.

"Tell your men that lethal force is authorized," Gordon said, ignoring the startled look Branden gave him. The SWAT team leader didn't voice his surprise, if anything the idea was appealing to him with every passing second. The commissioner pretended to ignore the fact that he had just did the equivalent of giving the man an early Christmas present. "Make sure your men know that there is a hostage in there and to do whatever is necessary to make sure she—that they are recovered safely."

"Yes, Sir," Branden nodded, picking up his radio to issue the order.

Turning his eyes back on the Penguin's hideout, his heart pounding in his chest from the violence that was about to occur, Gordon could only wait until—

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

—a man crashed out of a window, arms and legs thrashing about as he fell through the air. The commissioner could only watch as the man landed right on top of police car as shattered glass rained down on him, unable to take his eyes off the sight for a moment.

Despite all the noise out here, you could still hear the cries of men shouting and sounds of violence leaking out from the building.

Both Gordon and Branden glanced at each other, giving identical shocked looks. "What the hell is going on in there?" he wondered.

With another thug down, the Batman launched himself at the two men close to each other. Both of them let out screams as he landed right in front of them. Shooting at his hands, the vigilante grabbed each man by the side of their heads and slammed them into the others, a sickening crack echoing throughout the room. Releasing his hold, he let them drop to the floor in another heap.

As he turned his eyes to the last thug, his eyes widened before he dashed to his left. A gunshot roared a moment later. During all the commotion, the man had managed to get his gun back and was now shooting at him—terrific. But this was only a minor bump in the fight.

Reaching to his belt, he pulled out another bat-shaped shuriken. As he took another step, he flung his arm out and sent the projectile flying through the air as the gun continued to fire. As luck would have it, one end of the shuriken struck the gun in the barrel, embedding it in the hole. The thug didn't seem to realize this as he fired the weapon again. Due to the barreling being plugged up, the gun exploded in his hand, causing him to scream in pain as he held his newly-mangled appendage.

Instantly, the Batman flew at the thug, both hands clasped over his head. With a war cry, he swung the double-fist down, jackhammering the man on his head. His opponent dropped to the floor in a heap.

Silence filled the room then. Carefully searching the room, the Batman couldn't find any other threats. The only person he saw was Barbara Gordon, who was staring at him with wide blue eyes. Posture relaxing, the vigilante turned his body to fully face the bounded girl.

It was then he noticed her eyes dart to a side. That was the only sign he got that something wasn't right and he instinctively dove to his right. A loud roar erupted as pieces of the wall exploded out into the room. Rolling over his back and onto his feet, the Batman kept himself in a crouch, primed for the next threat.

Standing in front of the desk was Cobblepot, a long black umbrella in his hands. A trail of smoke was wafting from the end pointed towards the dark-clad man. "Don't you worry your lil batty head," the short man grunted, "I'll get ya with the next shot." Holding onto the umbrella handle with one hand, he had the other beneath the fabric of the umbrella. In one motion, he opened the umbrella, an audible click reminiscent of a cocking shotgun was made, and then closed the canopy down. So that was the source of the blast.

Hand reaching into his belt, Batman pulled out a bat-shaped shuriken and sent it flying at the Penguin. The projectile arced high into the air, aiming to come down on its target. Tilting up the umbrella, Cobblepot instantly fired his weapon, blowing up the shuriken in one shot. "Like shootin' skeet," he arrogantly remarked, before he re-cocked the umbrella.

By the time the canopy had closed once more, Batman was on him. Using the open umbrella as cover, he had closed the distance between the two men and was at the desk by the time the stretcher was deactivated. With his left forearm, he blocked the shaft of the weapon, pointing it away from him and the Gordon girl; with his right, he slammed his drawn fist into the shorter man's mouth, sending him flying backwards and over the desk with a pained cry. The umbrella came out of the Penguin's grasp the moment he crashed on the floor, both of his hands shooting up to his mouth as he cradled his jaw gingerly.

Jumping upon and off the desk, the Batman came to a stop right in front of the criminal. He could see some blood trickling between the man's fingers. "I...I think you broke some o' my freakin' teeth!" Penguin shouted through his hands.

Reaching down, the vigilante grabbed the crime boss by his collar and hauled him up into the air. A few feet separated the smaller man from the floor and his dangling legs. With a fist drawn back, the Batman growled, "That's not all I'm going to break."

The scene was chaotic. Police and SWAT were moving in and out of some grungy-looking warehouse, every once and awhile bringing out a badly beaten man. Others were setting up the usually barricades to keep people away from the scene.

And it was behind one of those barricades that Vikki Vale stood, the fallen star of Gotham. It had been a long eight months since she was considered the toast of the town and she had been fighting tooth and nail to reach those heights ever since. Unfortunately her credibility had taken a hit when the Ice-Man had gone nuts and attacked the city. Even now her colleagues at the Star were giving her dirty looks, as if she had committed the crime herself.

What she wouldn't give to have things back the way they used to be.

At least on the bright side Lois Lane was out of the picture, high-tailing it to Metropolis the first chance she got. Vikki had a hard time not snarling every time she thought of that woman. At long last she was finally gone. With the sudden rise in juicy stories, she had feared Lane would have never left.

Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to get her hands on one of those juicy stories to restore her status. Harry hadn't seen fit to give her an assignment higher than dog shows, which were a complete waste of her time. How was she supposed to do good journalism if she was regulated to the dredges of reporting?

As of now she was off the clock, so she could be at this crime scene. Somewhere around here was a story to be made and she wanted to be the one that found it. The rest of the media circus was there too and no doubt they were thinking the same as her. That was fine though; if she could beat someone like Lane, she could beat these clowns.

With a camera strap rubbing against the back of her neck, Vikki began walking away along the barricade. Perhaps finding another spot would get her something. The amount of squad cars and vans hid quite a bit from sight. The clacking of her high-heeled shoes echoed to her ears as she moved around. There had to be something around her she could use, something that could—

Well, hello…

As she approached the corner of the building, she caught sight of a man walking towards a nearby alley. If she wasn't mistaken, that looked like Commissioner Gordon. Now why would he be going there of all places? Her nose twitching, Vale glanced around herself, seeing that she was alone where she stood. Ducking underneath the police barricade, she made her way towards the alley.

This might just be her story.

As much as he wanted to remain by his daughter side, Gordon still had a job to do. The scene needed to be cordoned off, the perpetrators needed to be placed in custody—not that they would be able to resist at the moment—evidence gathered, and generally have order maintained.

That was the price of being so high up the ladder.

To be on the safe side, Barbara would be transported to Gotham General to be checked out. Who knew what might have happened to her tonight in that toilet of a building? He didn't trust Cobblepot one bit, not after this stunt.

For the moment, outside of the hustle and bustle of activity, it was calm. Red and blue lights lit up the area and for once it seemed like his men were keeping the press away. If there was one job the Gotham City Police Department was able to do, even during the age of corruption that he was fighting against, it was managing the press. The more things change the more they...you know what, forget that.

Nevertheless, right now he wasn't issuing orders or overseeing the arrest of Cobblepot and his men. He was in the background until he was needed and what he felt he needed to do right now was take a step away and clear his head a bit. He had to remain calm and cool-headed when he wanted to be anything but. If he wasn't able to do his job properly, mistake he could potentially make could be used against him. He would be damned if the so-called Penguin got off because of some technicality he accidentally caused.

As he moved to an area of little activity, a hand jammed in a coat pocket and fiddling with the pack of cigarettes within it, something caught his eye. It was an alley, close to the crime scene yet far enough that the GCPD wasn't swarming around it. He couldn't say for sure, but he could have sworn he saw movement in there.

Taking a quick glance around, he headed towards the alley, making sure he had one hand on his firearm just in case.

As it turned out, he wouldn't need it.

"You all right?" he spoke to the dark figure of their city's resident vigilante.

"I should be asking you that," came the dark-clad man's reply.

"I believe I will be," he answered, slight resignation in his voice. "Thank you for what you did tonight."

"You don't have to thank me."

"As a father, I do," Gordon stated sharply. "Barbara's the only thing I have in this life that means anything to me. She's my daughter. I have to thank you if only for the fact that she seems to have come out of this unharmed. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to her." He held out his hand and waited for how the vigilante would react.

"I know you're not much for praise, but for everything you've done tonight, at least accept my gratitude," he almost ordered.

Silence fell down between the two until Gordon heard movement. From the darkness, the Batman emerged, seemingly larger than life. In fact, this was probably the first time the older man had actually seen him like this. All their other meetings had been at a distance, or on top of an A/C unit. With a sure hand, the vigilante accepted the commissioner's hand and gave it a shake, to which he reciprocated.

In an instant, the moment was shattered as a blinding light flashed. Whipping around, Gordon searched for the source of the light, finding nothing. His heart was pounding in his chest, feeling as if it was working its way up his throat and choking him. "What was that?" he demanded to know.

He searched for a moment, but was unable to find anything. It wasn't his imagination, he knew he had seen something, but what it could be…

Shaking his head, he turned back to the vigilante or would have if he was still there.

"You have got to stop doing that," he muttered accusingly to empty space as he adjusted his coat.

To anon: You're an Anarchy fan, aren't you? I kid, I kid, lol. I must say, you are very knowledgeable and passionate about the subject matter. You line under the Gotham City Impostors of how villains are in awe of Lex Luthor caught my attention. I don't know about awe, but I would say there is respect for him and what he's capable of doing. Someone like Darksaid or Megadon probably don't care who Luthor is, in fact the latter actually took over Luthor's mind at one point. To go into the Gotham rouge gallery, while that respect is there, I don't think any of them really care about Luthor, so long as they stay out of each other's way. I think the feeling is mutual in that regard. This isn't to belittle Luthor as he's proven to be able to take on Superman on multiple occasions and usually slip through Superman's grasp just when he thinks Luthor's cornered. You don't become Superman's top rival by being lucky or stupid. Anyways, I hope you keep reading and enjoying the story and thanks for reviewing.