Chapter 4

The next day, I decided to take a walk through the narrows. My body was fully healed at this point and I was eager to train. It would be unbecoming of myself to let my skills slide just because I'd gone a few months without a life or death battle. Finding a secluded area would be difficult, but perhaps not impossible.

The weight of the Narrows bore down on me, each corner echoing tales of despair. I adjusted the unfamiliar attire I had on: a plain black jacket, worn jeans, and worn-out sneakers - modern clothes Fries had procured for me. The only reminders of my past were the Konoha forehead protector, carefully hidden beneath the collar of my shirt, and the unique tattoo on my wrist, which sealed away my kunai and sword.

As I walked, I noticed an elderly woman ahead struggled with her heavy groceries, each step a battle. I could hear the rustle of the plastic bags, smell the fresh produce inside mingling with the odors of the Narrows. Approaching her, I offered, "May I help you with those?"

She hesitated, her gaze shifting from the groceries to my face, then to my single, gloved hand. "You think you can carry these with just one arm?"

I smiled faintly, aware of the oddity of the situation. "I've managed more with less," I replied, using my strength to easily lift the bags.

As we walked, I could hear her shuffling steps, feel the cobblestone streets beneath my feet, and smell the aging brick walls, steeped in years of stories. She studied me for a moment, "Why the glasses? Trying to keep a low profile?"

"Just blending in," I answered. The glasses had become a necessary accessory, shielding my distinct eyes and their tale from the world.

She chuckled, but it was devoid of real humor. "In the Narrows? You stick out even with those glasses."

"I've noticed."

The air was thick with resignation as she sighed. "The Waynes, they saw past the filth, you know? They believed in us. But after they were gone, everyone forgot."

I remained silent for a moment, absorbing her words. Old people were prone to reminiscence. I did not mind. Her story would allow me a deeper understanding of this place I now lived.

I furrowed my brow, puzzled. "The Waynes? Who were they?"

Her eyes widened a bit, as if she was taken aback by my ignorance. "You truly aren't from around here, are you? Thomas and Martha Wayne were philanthropists, two of Gotham's finest. They had dreams of revitalizing this place, giving people hope. But their untimely deaths... the city lost not only its benefactors but its hope."

The weight of such loss resonated with me. "Death often changes the trajectory of many things," I mused, thoughts of my own past resurfacing.

"Maybe," she sighed. "But it shouldn't have been the end of good things for the Narrows. People just... gave up."

A pang of guilt coursed through me. How many times had I been close to giving up? Seeking redemption, seeking atonement - those had been my driving forces after the intense anger and hatred had ebbed.

The idea of one family being the bastion of hope and its subsequent fall leading to despair was eerily reminiscent of my own journey. There was a time I believed I could be the sole catalyst for change in my world. An anchor of hate to steer people towards peace. A naive thought.

"Depending on a single light can lead us astray when it goes out," I mused.

She looked at me, surprise evident. "Philosophical for someone helping an old lady with her groceries."

"Life's circumstances provide the best lessons," I murmured, the weight of my past bearing down on me.

She nodded, sensing there was more beneath the surface. "Well, whoever you are, thank you."

We reached her home, and I placed the groceries at her doorstep. As I turned to leave, I could feel her curious gaze on me.

"Take care," she called out, her voice carrying a mix of gratitude and puzzlement.

The weight of the Narrows and my conversation with the elderly woman rested heavy on my mind. Driven by a need to clear my thoughts, I found my feet instinctively carrying me towards the docks, guided in part by the faint smell of saltwater. The distant cries of seagulls and the occasional blare of a ship's horn served as my compass.

Gotham's docks sprawled out, a mix of bustling activity and desolate stretches. My keen senses picked up on various scents and sounds, letting me weave through the maze without drawing undue attention. At the far end, past rows of containers and stacks of crates, stood an abandoned warehouse. Its worn facade and rusted metal doors hinted at years of neglect.

Pushing the large door open, a spacious, dim interior greeted me. The filtered light from broken windows painted hazy patterns on the dusty floor. This place... It was isolated enough to serve my purposes. I needed a haven to train and contemplate my next moves.

In the midst of this unfamiliar world, one pressing question gnawed at me: should I strive to find a way back home? Or was this uncharted territory the new chapter in my pilgrimage? I'd always sought to understand my place in the world, to atone for my past mistakes. But this Gotham City, with its striking parallels to my own past and its broken souls like the woman from the Narrows, was it fate that I'd landed here?

Shrugging off my jacket, I moved to the center of the warehouse. Taking a deep breath, I began my training regimen - a blend of taijutsu drills and chakra control exercises. Each movement was fluid, born of years of disciplined practice.

As I trained, my thoughts drifted to the man I had faced. The one who had inadvertently brought me to this world. Yet, strangely, I wasn't overly concerned about the potential danger he posed back in my world. Naruto would handle it. A wry smile formed on my lips. For all our rivalries and clashes, my unwavering faith in Naruto had cemented over the years. If that man became a menace, Naruto would undoubtedly rise to the challenge.

After what felt like hours, sweat dripping and muscles burning, I halted. The physical exertion felt cathartic, yet my mind remained torn.

Seating myself on the dusty floor, the coolness of the ground seeped through the denim of my jeans. I gazed at the tattoo on my wrist, my concealed weapons a silent reminder of my roots. With a sigh, I leaned against a pillar, my thoughts still a whirlwind.

Should I remain in Gotham, embarking on a new path of redemption? Or should I exhaust every means to return to Konoha, to the bonds I'd fought so hard to understand and protect?

Closing my eyes behind the dark glasses, the gentle lapping of the waves outside the warehouse whispered of endless possibilities. One thing was certain: whatever decision I made, it would be in pursuit of understanding, redemption, and my way of the ninja.

Fuck. That made me sound like Naruto.

The warehouse's ambient silence was disrupted by the soft ringtone of the Nokia phone Dr. Fries had provided me. Its foreign design made it a bit cumbersome for me, but after a few attempts, I managed to access the incoming message.

"Hey, it's Barbara. We met at the library? Friend's having a small thing tonight. U in? Might be fun. - B"

Barbara. I recalled our brief interaction at the library. She had been somewhat annoying, with her exuberance, but was helpful and kind. Not the worst person to get to know. I considered it for a moment. It might be good to get to know what life was like for people in different parts of the city.

After a brief pause, I typed back: "Sure. Where and when?"

Her response was swift: "Nice! 8 pm Jake's place. Brownstone area, 23 Cedar St. Dress casual. See ya!"

I stared at the device for a moment, contemplating this new avenue. It wasn't my first intention to mingle with the locals, but understanding their world, their mindset, would be crucial in determining my next steps.

I glanced at the contemporary clothes Fries had sourced for me. "Dress casual," she had said. I hoped what I wore would be appropriate, and if not... well, it would be another learning experience in Gotham.

An hour later, I found myself outside a multi-story brownstone manor in one of Gotham's upscale neighborhoods. The architecture style of this world was still quite strange to me. As I walked forward, I pushed the heavy oak door open, revealing a bustling scene within. The hum of laughter, chattering voices, and soft music wafted out into the chilly Gotham night. I hesitated for a moment on the threshold, taking in the sight before me.

Modern art hung on the walls, some pieces I recognized as being incredibly beautiful…and likely expensive. Bright, decorative lights adorned the ceilings and walls, casting a soft glow over the gathering. Expensive-looking crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light shimmering over a sea of party-goers. The large living room had been cleared to allow for a makeshift dance floor where couples swayed to a mellow tune.

Wearing the plain, modern clothes Fries had given me—a charcoal grey shirt paired with black jeans and shoes—I couldn't help but feel out of place among the sea of designer outfits. I adjusted my dark glasses, ensuring my Sharingan remained hidden. The last thing I needed was more attention.

Almost immediately, my eyes were drawn to the opulence of the scene. It wasn't just the setting, but the people. Young teens, most probably around Barbara's age, laughed and chatted, holding red plastic filled with what was likely alcohol. A few glanced my way, their expressions ranging from mild curiosity to evident disdain. I was clearly an outsider here.

My entrance didn't go unnoticed for long. "Sasuke!" Barbara's voice called out. She made her way through the crowd, her red hair gleaming under the lights. Dressed in a stylish yet modest blue dress, she looked elegant and composed. "I wasn't sure you'd come," she admitted, her green eyes searching mine for a reaction.

"I wasn't sure either," I replied honestly, my voice barely audible over the party's noise.

Barbara chuckled softly. "I figured. But I thought it might be a good opportunity for you to see a different side of Gotham."

"Definitely different from the Narrows," I murmured, my gaze drifting over the guests once again. Barbara had a strange look on her face as I said this, but shook her head after a moment and let it go.

She followed my gaze, a knowing smile forming on her lips. "Come on," she beckoned, "Let me introduce you to a few people. Just try to enjoy the night."

I nodded, preparing myself for the interactions to come, but deep down, I already felt the weight of the disparities of this world pressing on me. Still, I chose to stay, if only to better understand this facet of Gotham.

The soft hum of chatter enveloped me as Barbara pulled me deeper into the gathering. The plush carpeting underfoot muffled our steps, the scent of expensive perfumes and colognes filling the air.

"Guys, this is Sasuke," Barbara began, motioning to a small group of her friends. Their friendly smiles appeared genuine, but their eyes held a touch of reservation—after all, I was a stranger to them.

"This is Clara," she pointed to a brunette with curls cascading down her back, wearing a diamond necklace that probably cost more than what an entire block in the Narrows would make in a year. "And this is Daniel and Lila."

Pleasantries were exchanged, the familiar cadence of small talk filling the gaps. But while they chatted, I found myself more engrossed in the surrounding conversations.

"...Daddy just bought me the latest Aventador," boasted a young man nearby, showing off a picture on his phone to a couple of awed friends. "Zero to sixty in just 2.9 seconds!"

A group of girls giggled amongst themselves. "Ugh, I had to skip class yesterday. I just couldn't," one sighed dramatically, sipping on her drink. "You know, I just didn't feel like it."

I tuned into another conversation where a young woman was animatedly discussing her recent trip to Europe. "Oh, the South of France is so passé now. Ibiza is where everyone's going," she commented with a dismissive wave.

It wasn't long before I noticed another group lamenting how their favorite high-end restaurant had run out of their preferred vintage wine. "It was an absolute nightmare," one exclaimed.

As the evening wore on, my discomfort grew palpably. The worlds these kids inhabited were galaxies apart from the gritty reality of the Narrows. I couldn't shake off the realization that they lived so close to such poverty and desperation, yet remained blissfully ignorant or, worse, indifferent.

My fingers subconsciously traced the edge of the forehead protector I had tucked away in my pocket. The memories of fights, losses, and sacrifices pressed on my mind. The weight of my past juxtaposed sharply against the lightheartedness around me. The battles I'd endured felt like an alien concept in this bubble of luxury.

I excused myself from Barbara's group, seeking a quiet corner to gather my thoughts. The glaring disparities of Gotham were becoming evident. As I leaned against the walk, deep in thought, I could sense Barbara approaching. She gave me a curious look, "Something the matter?"

"This. All of this. It's just wrong." I offered after a moment. Her head tilted in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

I stared at her silently for several moments before resting my head back again.

"This world. There is so much wealth here and so much poverty elsewhere. The disparity is…jarring."

Barbara's eyes seemed to soften both with empathy, but there was also something else. A hint of guilt.

"It's just the way the world is. We do what we can…but at the end of the day you can't help everyone. Some people are selfish, sure, but just because people have money doesn't mean they haven't suffered."

"It's not about having money," I said, frustration edging my voice. "It's about flaunting it in the face of those who have nothing, when just a few blocks away, people struggle for basic necessities. It's about turning a blind eye and living in a bubble."

Barbara crossed her arms, her gaze challenging. "Look, Sasuke, not everyone here is oblivious. Many of us have foundations, charities, we fund schools and hospitals. Just because people enjoy themselves doesn't mean they're ignorant or heartless."

I clenched my fist, recalling the woman from the Narrows and her stories. "Charities and foundations aren't enough. They're a band-aid solution. People need to be aware, to actually care. Otherwise, it's just... performative."

"I get it," she replied, her voice rising, "But you just can't waltz into a party, into my city, and judge everyone. Everyone has their story, their own battles. You don't know what they've been through. And for the record, it's not performative if it helps even one person. Small changes can lead to big impacts."

"My whole life, I've seen the price of indifference," I murmured, gazing out the window towards the distant lights of the Narrows. "You might think these little soirees and charity events are enough, but there's a whole world out there that needs more than just pity. It needs action. It needs real change."

Barbara sighed deeply, her gaze softening once again. "I'm not saying things are perfect, Sasuke. But you can't paint everyone with the same brush. Change is a slow process, but many here are trying. You just need to look deeper."

I looked away, the weight of our worlds pressing down on the conversation. "Maybe I expect too much," I admitted quietly. "But I've seen what happens when we don't act. I can't be silent about it."

"And neither can we," Barbara responded firmly. "But remember, change doesn't happen overnight. And judging people won't speed up the process."

There was a heavy silence between us. Both of us caught in our convictions, the gap seemingly unbridgeable. The sounds of the party continued in the background, but in that moment, the chasm between our worlds felt wider than ever.

"...And just because people have money doesn't mean they haven't suffered," Barbara argued. "Take me, for example. I lost my mother. The pain of that loss isn't lessened by the comforts money can buy."

For a fleeting moment, a surge of anger welled up in me. I thought of the Uchiha compound, silent and empty. The memories of that night, my family's lifeless eyes, Itachi's cold gaze. Her singular loss against my entire clan's annihilation felt incomparable. But as quickly as the anger rose, it dissipated. It wasn't a contest of pain or suffering. However, I understood that no matter what I said, she couldn't fathom the depth of my losses.

I exhaled, shaking my head slowly. "You wouldn't understand," I murmured, not as an accusation but as a simple fact.

Barbara looked taken aback, her eyes searching mine for a moment before she responded, "Maybe I won't understand everything you've been through, but that doesn't mean my pain is any less valid."

I sighed, realizing this was a battle neither of us could win. "I think I should leave," I said, my tone quiet but final.

Barbara watched me for a moment, her expression a mix of frustration and regret. "I wish you'd stay, try to understand a bit more. But if you think leaving is best..."

I gave her a brief nod, acknowledging her sentiment, and without another word, I left the party, feeling the weight of two contrasting worlds pressing down on me.

As I left the ornate gates of the house, the noise and opulence of the party behind me began to fade, replaced by the eerie stillness of the Gotham night. The sharp contrast of the city's disparities pressed heavily on my mind.

I could feel the gaze of a few curious onlookers as I walked, the modern attire feeling foreign on my skin. I reached up, adjusting the dark glasses that shielded my eyes. The world around me seemed tinted, yet the shadows and the underbelly of the city felt more pronounced than ever.

A breeze rustled through the trees, bringing with it a mix of city smells: gasoline, food, and something more pungent - fear, perhaps? As the noises from the party faded into the distance, the internal cacophony grew louder.

Why was I here? What purpose did it serve? The agony of my past, the weight of my sins, the path of atonement I had chosen - how did it all fit into this unfamiliar landscape?

I stopped, leaning against a lamp post, memories of the battles, betrayals, and losses flooding back. My entire clan, gone. The echo of Itachi's words, the weight of Naruto's trust - it all bore down on me.

Suddenly, I felt a surge of determination. This city, this world, may be beyond saving in its entirety, but that didn't mean I was powerless. If I couldn't address every issue, I could at least address some. I may not be able to eliminate all suffering, but I could remove some threats. The very threats I had been reading about: the Viper and his drug syndicate.

Drawing a deep breath, I felt a sense of purpose guiding my steps. There was work to be done, and while the entirety of Gotham's problems might be too vast for one man, some problems could be tackled head-on. I needed to punch someone.

A shortwhile later, I found myself watching silhouettes from the rafters of a dark warehouse. I watched the members of the Viper's gang move about, their silhouettes under the dim, flickering lights. The scent of drugs hung heavily in the air, a sharp contrast to the cold sterile smell I had grown used to from Fries's home.

I observed their movements, analyzing each member's approach. They were sloppy, their actions devoid of any refined training. Their guards were down, their postures lax, and they seemed more like unruly children playing at being gangsters than real threats. Even the most basic student from the academy moved with more purpose and precision.

I felt a twinge of frustration, missing the intricate genjutsu techniques I could have employed to incapacitate them all without a fuss. But with their lack of chakra, such a tactic was unavailable to me.

Instead, I opted for the direct approach.

In one swift movement, I descended from my perch, utilizing the shadows and the element of surprise. Before the first of them could even register my presence, he was on the ground, knocked out cold.

With each engagement, I was reminded of their glaring inadequacies. Their attempts to attack were hasty, their movements predictable. It was like fighting training dummies – they moved slower than genin and with none of the sharp instincts of a shinobi.

In a flurry of swift kicks, precise punches, and the occasional kunai throw, the room was quickly filled with unconscious bodies. They lay strewn across the floor, testament to their lack of skill and my own efficiency.

Once they were incapacitated, I dragged them together, tying them up securely. Pulling one of the slightly more conscious members close, I demanded, "Where's the Viper?"

Fear evident in his eyes, he stammered, "I don't know! But... But there's another place, on Marconi Street. They might know more there."

Nodding in acknowledgment, I stepped back and felt blood beginning to drip from my right eye, summoning the consuming black flames of Amaterasu. The drugs, crates, and equipment ignited instantly, the dark flames ensuring there would be no remnants.

The blaze's reflection danced in my eyes for a brief moment before I turned away, setting my sights on Marconi Street.

I hit several more warehouses over the next hour. None of them knew where the Viper made his home. It was not lost on me that the first enemy I sought to take down in this world bore a namesake akin to a snake. I was hawk hunting and soaring above while a snake slithered on the ground…

I thought back to that line with Orochimaru…and cringed. I was an emo wasn't I?

The warehouses lay in various states of destruction, the dark flames of Amaterasu having consumed each of them. With every confrontation, I made sure to question at least one member of the Viper's gang. Their answers became increasingly agitated, a clear indication of the spreading panic.

The irony of facing another 'snake' in this world was not lost on me. Had I been chasing these figures in the shadows my entire life? "Maybe Orochimaru was right about some things," I muttered to myself, then immediately scolded, "What am I even saying?" I couldn't help but smirk. There was a period in my past where my every word had been laden with melodrama, and the realization was strangely liberating.

My wandering thoughts were broken by a tip-off. "The Viper… he's at a base on Falconer's Lane," a goon whispered, trembling with fear. The name made me think of birds of prey, fitting for a hunt.

The location was not far. As I approached, the ambient noise changed. Instead of the quiet of the warehouses, I could hear the murmurs of men, the cocking of guns, and the unmistakable tension of an organization on high alert. The building was more fortified than the other warehouses, guarded on all sides.

I took a moment to observe. Guns. I had looked up weapons early on in my stay at the library. Nuclear weapons and air warfare had certainly given me pause; I had also been initially worried about guns during my reading, but as I became intimately more familiar with them this evening, I found their threat vastly overrated. Certainly, their effects could be devastating if they connected, but they were nothing compared to a seasoned ninja's ninjutsu and with the Sharingan's precognitive abilities, I could anticipate their trajectories quite easily.

The tension in the air was palpable as I approached the Viper's hideout. I could feel the shift in atmosphere, a mix of nervous anticipation and frenzied chaos. Their defenses were up, but I had no intention of slipping in unnoticed.

I paused momentarily, taking a moment to assess the situation. From my vantage point, I could see that they were numerous, their forms sprawled across the perimeters, guns at the ready, fingers twitching. I flexed my fingers, gripping the hilt of my blade; the weight felt reassuring. I had avoided killing my opponents thus far this evening, but here, in the din of the cold warehouse, I could see the look in the eyes of these men. Each one was a killer and beyond redemption. It wasn't madness that drove them. It wasn't deeper pain. As I observed them from above I could see the glint in their eyes. Greed. They exploited others for their own gain. Maybe it was hypocritical of me, to deny these men a chance at redemption when I sought my won, but redemption is bought with blood. Perhaps this would be mine.

I dropped to the floor from the ceiling. I wanted them to see me. To fear me. They had destroyed so many lives and taken so much from the people of this city. I was determined that they would know what it mean to feel fear. This would be the first real fight I'd had since I'd arrived in this world. There were plenty of them. Perhaps it might actually be a real challenge. They moved and I felt myself grow disappointed.

Certainly, they had a sense of cohesion, a rhythm that they moved to. Even as I began my advance, I could see they had trained together, had formed a bond. They had brute strength and the tenacity of street fighters, but they were far too weak, their bodies unaugmented by chakra made this child's play.

The opening move was mine. I surged forward, Sharingan spinning, immediately mapping out my opponents' anticipated movements. The first thug lunged at me with an overhead swing, his motion slow and exaggerated, much like a novice genin during taijutsu practice. I easily sidestepped, redirecting his momentum and sending him crashing into another.

A hail of bullets followed. To them, their firearms were the pinnacle of technology, a force to be reckoned with. But to my enhanced reflexes, every bullet was like a kunai thrown in slow motion. I danced around them, each step calculated, each movement a counter to their attack. The distant sound of gunfire was but a drumbeat to which I moved.

It was a dance, indeed, but not one of joy. It was a dance of death and precision. Every thug I faced was like a pawn on a shobu board, and I anticipated their moves three steps in advance. My blade sang as it moved, its sharp edge reflecting the dim lights, leaving a trail of shadows, fears and blood.

One tried to flank me, but with a simple twist and turn, I had him pinned under my heel, his skull was crushed less than a second later. Another came charging, shouting wildly. A single well-placed kick sent him flying backward. Every movement was an art, every strike a lesson. And with each opponent I took down, my path grew clearer.

But I was always aware of the larger game at play: finding the Viper. I needed to end this dance quickly. The urgency in my steps grew, my strikes became more potent, and within minutes, the floor was littered with the fallen.

Standing amidst the downed thugs, I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of what I had just done. But there was no time to rest; the Viper was close, and the night was far from over.

I heard footsteps and turned. And I saw him.

His posture wasn't that of the confident crime lord I'd expected. Instead, the swagger that one would associate with a man of his reputation was absent, replaced by an evident unease. The cigar that once rested comfortably between his lips now dangled, forgotten, on the edge of falling.

The room was heavy with tension and the metallic tang of blood. Strewn about were the bodies of the Viper's henchmen, taken down with precision and efficiency. The dim light from an overhead bulb illuminated the Viper, casting dark, eerie shadows on the walls.

When our eyes met, I could see genuine fear. "You... you're the one causing all this chaos?" His voice, though raspy, trembled slightly.

I nodded.

Swallowing hard, the Viper glanced rapidly around the room, calculating his odds. His eyes darted toward an exit, his intentions clear. "You have no idea what you've just started," he muttered, taking a shaky step back.

I took a step forward, closing the distance, and tightening my grip on my blade. "Your reign of poisoning this city ends now."

Panicking, the Viper made a sudden dash for the exit. He was quick, fueled by sheer adrenaline and fear, but I was quicker. With Sharingan-enhanced reflexes, I appeared in front of him, blocking his escape route.

The realization that there was no escape was evident in his widened eyes. The feared crime lord of Gotham was now cornered, vulnerable, and he knew he was at the mercy of someone far more formidable.

The atmosphere was thick, heavy with anticipation. Every breath, every shuffle echoed in the dimly lit space. The Viper, despite his name, looked more like a cornered animal than a predatory snake in this moment.

He tried to rally, raising his arms defensively. "You think killing me will change anything? There'll be another to take my place!"

My eyes narrowed. "Perhaps, but you won't be around to see it."

With a swift movement, too quick for the untrained eye to follow, I lunged forward, driving the chokuto swiftly through his chest. The Viper's eyes widened in shock, his mouth agape, trying and failing to draw breath. His life, filled with choices and consequences, ended in an instant.

Gently, I withdrew the blade, the pristine steel now tainted. The Viper crumpled, lifeless, to the ground. This was no revenge, no satisfaction. It was a necessary step to cleanse the rot from the city.

A silent, solemn promise floated in the air - for the lost souls of the Narrows, for a city held hostage, and for a chance at a better future.

xxxxxx

The air was thick with tension as Commissioner Gordon surveyed the scene. A lit cigarette rested in one hand while the other cradled his chin, fingers lightly touching his lips. The warehouse's overhead lights buzzed, creating an ambient hum that added to the eeriness of the scene. Men in blue uniformed jackets moved about carefully, collecting evidence, whispering to one another. The gruesome sight was unfamiliar even to the most seasoned officers, their faces pale under the weight of the carnage.

"I've never seen anything like this, Jim," remarked Detective Bullock, his normally rough voice now subdued. "This ain't the work of your average thug or gang member."

Gordon took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "You're right, Harvey. This is methodical, precise... almost surgical." He paused, his eyes scanning the room, stopping at the fallen figure of The Viper. "Whoever did this, wanted to send a message. The question is, to whom?"

As they continued their discussion, a gust of wind caught the loose hanging entrance, the shadowy silhouette of Batman now evident against the dim light of the evening. He approached the scene with his usual silent demeanor. Gordon turned, acknowledging his presence. "Batman."

Batman's eyes surveyed the area, his voice deep and raspy. "The Viper." Gordon nodded, "One of Gotham's rising criminals, though I never imagined it would end like this for him. He had many enemies, but this..." He gestured around, "This isn't just vengeance. It's a statement."

Batman moved closer to The Viper's body, examining it. "It's not the Joker's style, nor any of the others. This is someone new. Someone we don't know.""

Bullock adjusted his hat, shading his eyes as he pulled out a notepad. "There were witnesses at some of the other locations. All of them mentioned a young guy, one with distinct red and purple eyes and only one arm. Doesn't seem to match any of the usual suspects or profiles we have."

Batman's posture stiffened ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Gordon noticed. A silent communication passed between the two. The Dark Knight's mind flashed back to an earlier crime scene, where District Attorney Harvey Dent had been killed. The weapon? An unfamiliar kunai, a relic from another world.

"It's him," Batman finally murmured.

Gordon's eyebrows knitted in confusion, "Who?"

"The same one who killed Dent," Batman replied, his voice holding a trace of concern that was rare for the ever-composed vigilante. "I found a similar weapon there, a kunai. It's not native to Gotham or any place nearby. It's a weapon of precision, just like these kills."

Bullock whistled, "So, we're saying the same guy who took down Dent, wiped out Viper and his gang? And he's not even from around here?"

Batman nodded. "He's not just skilled; he's dangerous. If he's on a mission or has a vendetta against the criminal underworld of Gotham, there's no telling who's next."

Gordon took another drag from his cigarette, looking thoughtful. "We need to find him, understand what he wants."

Batman agreed, "Before he strikes again. If he's taken down Dent and The Viper in such a short span, he's not going to stop now. He's making his mark on Gotham."

"And how do we find someone who's seemingly a ghost? No known address, no known associates. Hell, we don't even have a name," Bullock grumbled, frustration evident in his tone.

Gordon looked to Batman, knowing that if anyone could track this stranger down, it would be the Dark Knight. "Any leads from your end?"

Batman moved over to another part of the scene, observing a kunai left behind. "The method and the weapon. These are my leads for now. I've been studying them, trying to understand their origin. The kunai... it's a traditional ninja weapon, but its design... it's unique, but…as evidenced by the kid leaving a kunai behind, he's sloppy. He leaves clues. I can use that to find him."

"And when you find him?" Gordon inquired, watching Batman's retreating figure.

"I'll do what's necessary," Batman replied, his voice fading as he blended into the shadows.

Gordon took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the night's events. He turned to Bullock, "Get everyone on this. I want daily reports. If this stranger thinks he can come into our city and wage his own war, he's got another thing coming."

Bullock nodded, determination in his eyes. "We'll get him, Commissioner. No one gets to play judge, jury, and executioner in Gotham. Not on our watch."

The door creaked softly as Commissioner Gordon entered his home. The scent of leftover dinner hung in the air, but the usual warmth he associated with coming home was missing tonight. The lights were dim, and the house was eerily quiet. Tired lines etched his face, the events of the night still heavy on his mind.

From the living room, he could hear a soft sniffle. Barbara sat on the couch, a tissue clutched in her hand and her eyes red-rimmed. Her gaze met his, and for a moment, neither said a word.

"Hey, kiddo," he murmured, slowly making his way over to sit next to her.

Barbara tried to force a smile, but it faltered. "Hey, Dad."

Gordon gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Tough night?"

She nodded, wiping her eyes. "It's just... I had a fight with a friend."

The weight of his own burdens momentarily forgotten, Gordon turned his full attention to his daughter. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Barbara hesitated, then exhaled deeply. "His name's Sasuke. Met him at the library. He's... different, Dad. But tonight, we got into an argument at a party. He just doesn't understand, and I tried to explain, but..."

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"

She hesitated, searching for the right words. "He's foreign. And he has this... intensity about him. But he was so judgmental about everyone tonight. It was frustrating."

Gordon's eyes softened. "Everyone's got their battles, Barbara. Maybe he's going through something. I've seen a lot of young folks who act tough but are fighting internal wars."

Barbara leaned her head on his shoulder. "Maybe. But he just seemed so... distant. Disconnected. And he has this air of sadness about him."

Gordon wrapped an arm around her. "You're a good judge of character, Barb. Trust your instincts. Though…not everyone is a therapy case. Not everyone needs a helping hand. Some people need to solve things on their own."

Barbara seemed to find that immensely amusing and gave a small laugh. "Well…I mean he is missing an arm…"

Gordon felt his blood run cold.