Gotham City Police Department

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TESTIMENT AS ACCORDING TO—

Det. James Gordon,

Friday 25th MAY, 2012

1st Precinct

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I came to this town without much expectation of the type of work I'd be doing. Mostly paperwork was what I was told would be in store. You could imagine my shock to see that paperwork was close to never completed in the precincts. Small thing to be worried of, I'm sure, but I'm usually a strong believer of discipline.

My wife and I came to Gotham on a whim. Housing anywhere else was expensive and the only one that offered a school, shops and work in close enough proximity was the grimmest city in the United States. Crime stats were rising and honestly…no one in the GCPD really cared and it was seriously bugging the crap out of me.

I mean, last week while off duty, Bullock and I were witness to an armed robbery at a convenient store. We had the means, the weapons and the position…but when I wanted to make a move, I found myself on the floor with a huge headache, courtesy of Bullock's mean right-hook. 'Lesson four, rookie,' he told me, 'If your name's not on the roster for the day, it aint your business.'

A hard lesson to learn…

One I intended wholeheartedly to ignore.

That just wasn't how I was brought up. I found that same problem in service to America. The United States Marine Corp taught me to ignore the things we did, but the point was that I saw the violence, the treatment of civilians we considered enemies, and I don't want to have to do the same thing to my own people.

Barbara thinks I'm way over my head. That I should just do what they ask me to do, see what they tell me to see and nothing more. Perhaps she was right. Ever since I moved to the city, no good ever came from playing the hero.

Perhaps that was a job reserved for someone else?

But despite all its flaws, despite the rough housing citizens and decrepit skyscrapers, I truly love this city. Maybe love is a too strong a word? I hold Gotham in a special place in my history—I was raised here, in this city. Dad was a cop, grandparents were cops, it's…a family legacy. It was one I tried to deny, that I tried to run away from… I didn't get very far.

Okay, so around May, I was off duty yet again, but this time, I chose to spend the charming night with my wife. It was raining, pouring beyond belief. I made it my responsibility that Barb wouldn't get wet and myself as well of course.

A week before was spent establishing a series of street networks with the lower class citizens, starting with the Narrows around Arkham. Hence why that night with my wife I had gotten a text from a little girl named Kathy. A group of men, drug dealers that she believed were on the Mafia's payroll had gathered at an abandoned warehouse, dragging with them a female hostage with a potato sack over her head.

I apologised to Barb with a promise for a raincheck. I could tell she was hesitant to say yes, nevertheless she knew how important my job was. I went to the location Kathy gave me, armed only with my Glock 22 (.45 calibur, 9mm rounds), a standard police weapon, nothing special. The place was boarded up— quick background check found it was once a LexCorp facility before he lost interest in his Gotham branch…I wouldn't blame him, building anything in the Narrows probably isn't a wise move.

There was a fire-escape to my right leading up to an observation platform where I could sneak in. Two, maybe three dozen armed gangsters I've personally written up profiles on our most wanted list. Salvatore Maroni's men from what I could gather. I texted Bullock the info but knowing him I knew I'd regret it sooner or later.

Next a truck had come in and they opened it revealing more than five hundred Ks worth of what I could gather was cocaine.

They then started talking. I couldn't hear them over the loud patter of rain, banging against the thin metal.

There was too many of them, too much firepower than I could face alone, all the same, I loaded my gun, took the safety off and snuck my way down and behind a stack of crates, around four metres all sides, rust leaking from the bottom corners. I checked the top, recently opened and by the number of scratches, multiple times.

A cache?

I crawled over to the edge, this way I'd get a better look and maybe catch a few words. After a moment to survey the area, I found the hostage. They took the sack off of her head—blonde, late twenties, slender form, a face I recognised…Vicki Vale of the Gotham Gazette. I shouldn't be overly surprised to find a reporter in the midst of danger.

I tried to move to another crate a few feet away when…

'Look at what we have here,' I shot up instinctively and found myself surrounded by at least twenty semi-automatic barrels aimed at me. 'You must be the new guy.'

They beat me up real good and pushed me into the middle of the warehouse where they had the truck parked. On my knees I look to Ms Vale, I smile at her, masking the many fearful thoughts training my head. 'Nice to meet you, Ms Vale,' I huffed. 'The wife's a huge fan.'

One of them laughed. 'He looks so calm, paisan.'

'Now…I'm going to have to ask you guys bluntly, but before I do…in case I don't make it…' I struggled to pick myself up. 'You guys have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law…'

I stopped short when I saw their smiles fading. The lights began to flicker above and then…the bulbs started to explode. A shower of glass coated us and I ran to shield Ms Vale from them.

All of this was soon accompanied by wailing from one of the Italians, 'Merda!' It was hard to see in the dark but that man now had…some sort of knife sticking out of his shoulder.

'Cazo, is it Nightwing?'

Another of the Mafia gangsters began to shoot blindly at the ceiling. 'Show yourself!'

'Shut up, Max!' grumbled the one who got stabbed. 'And put that freaking thing away!'

Safe to say none of them listened, they took out their guns and unleashed an array of bullets at a small shadow on the back wall above some more crates.

They shot for a few minutes until their clips had completely diminished. The shadow was gone. As I recall it looked like some sort of cat, a fox maybe…well something with pointy ears. Did they kill it…no. The shadow…it rose up…much larger, and it kept getting bigger and more menacing, all the while I saw the Italians shriek down. 'That's not Nightwing,' I heard one of them say.

Then as I held the reporter close, I saw the shadow pounce away from the wall and like a bolt of lightning, sprung on Maroni's men, knocking one out, then another, and another. I could hear the sound of bones cracking, yelps interrupted, I saw them drop like flies until there was one left.

The man named Marcus started to back away, trying to get to the car while simultaneously trying to reload his UZI. It sort of made me laugh, the barrage of Italian slurs spewing out of this guy…was comical…in a dark way.

And then it appeared—descending from the ceiling. A physical form of dark emptiness, a leathery creature with ears like it came straight from hell itself.

Marcus aimed the gun and started shooting but the creature was suddenly at his side, hand on the Italian's wrist, holding the gun up. I remember that look on Marcus' face. Sheer terror was oozing out of him in spades. 'What do you want?!'

The dark creature took his gun and threw the man onto the ground. He released the clip and the singular bullet.

'What do you want?!'

He took a few steps back and Marcus matched his steps backwards. Then…it stopped. 'I want you to tell Maroni about me. So he better behave or I'm coming for him, and all of you guys,' he started talking, more like grunted loudly as if his voice was modified.

Marcus nodded frantically. 'What are you?!'

The creature clenched his fists and in one swift move, knocked the gangster out cold. It turned around, looked at straight at me. I felt my heart beating, thumping like drums in a chaotic rhythm. We held our gazes for a moment and then suddenly there was a flash of light and next I saw…it was gone again, retreated into the shadows.

I can't tell what that was, nobody surely believed me. Wasn't really expecting them to. I saw a demon of myth and legend with my waking eyes. I saw it crack down on Maroni's drug-dealing commanders and make the cry for their mothers. Sal Maroni, a ruthless man…no a monster who held half this city's balls in his grip…was this creature planning on starting a war?

I told the precinct what I saw, they told me to just take the credit for the bust and leave it at that. There was no creature of the night, no vanishing demon that helped us gather hard evidence on Sal's crime family…not enough to incarcerate him, but enough to keep the son-of-a-bitch chained up for a while. Clean streets for a month, maybe five.

But whatever that thing was, it was going to change things in this city.

But Sal wasn't taking it. Bullock says there acting like this bat creature doesn't exist. In fact, crime had spiked, and spiked and spiked…then… for a few days…it stopped.

Why? Bullock and I led a team of officers to storm one of Sal's caches. Captain said it was because we got a tip of illegal smuggling in that part of town. I knew they were just checking up on one of Sal's shops and why they were radio silent for two weeks.

Inside seemed like what was left of a battlefield. Everyone was knocked out, tied up with fifty grams of coke. I saw some dangling in a hole in the walls. One even had his head stuck in the floorboards…it was brutal. In the master bedroom I caught up with Marcus once again…he was crucified to the green patterned wall, nailed down by the hands and feet in a cross with some sort of symbol seared on his chest in the shape of a stylised bat. He was alive, but only barely, all bloodied up from head to toe, his curly hair was red and wet.

I tried to make sure he was alright while Joe called up an ambulance. But I barely touched him when we heard a rumble beneath us. Then…from a large crack on the wall, millions of black bats stormed through. They'll tell you different, but I'll say it straight…we pissed ourselves screaming.

That was when we started to give him a name…

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-Legend Of The-

—BATMAN—

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DISCLAIMER: All characters included here are trademarked by DC Comics and reserved ownership of them to the Publication (DC Comics).