Matriarch

If Metropolis was a man, he'd be some tall, blond guy with a perfect smile and a show-off watch. Maybe his shoes would be muddy but his suit would be otherwise pristine, and he'd have impeccable middle-class manners.

If Gotham was a woman, she'd be an old whore, once beautiful, but whose make-up wouldn't hide the signs of age and tiredness anymore. Perhaps she'd have some bruises around her wrists, though her earrings might be plated with real gold.

That's what Jason likes about Gotham. When you look at the city, from the streets or from the roofs, you see directly how deeply rotten it is. The old buildings crumbling with age, the streets stinking, the loveliest neighbourhood stained by industrial buildings and gang tags.

If Gotham was a woman, he might kiss her.

(Better not to mention what he'd do to Metropolis.)

Jason jumps from the roof where he's been standing to another, then walks quietly on a pipe. On to the other side of the street, on the wall right above the pipe, there is still a long cut from when some crazy kid jumped from the roof above and used his knife to soften the fall.

Jason smiles under his mask. It's been a while. He doesn't need knives anymore.

Gotham didn't change at all, as expected. He still knows her by heart, like the palm of his hand. He could run over those roofs with his eyes closed.

He climbs the wall to the roof and continues his round over the city. Some shops closed, a few less opened. The old of the old are still there, of course. And even if the gangs ain't entirely identical, the city still gives the same feeling.

Some would despise Gotham for what she is. Jason doesn't. She nurtured him, she made him the man he is now. Without her, he wouldn't have been able to make the right choices, to walk down the right path.

His hand brushes the bricks, like a caress. She stinks, she rots, but she's his, his city. And he missed her. Now, he's finally back. And it's time for some change.

He jumps down, careful not to let the lights reflect the red of his helmet.