"Attention all units — receiving word of a 10-10 at the Gotham City docks..."
There's a buzz of static, punctuated by the sound of a long, drawn-out sigh. Newly-minted GCPD Commissioner Jim Gordon takes a long drag of his cigarette, filling the interior of the car with a thick plume of smoke.
Swiftly approaching fifty, Jim Gordon is a tense, stern, no-nonsense kind of man with hard brown eyes and a dour disposition that only decades of military and law enforcement service can craft. It takes him a moment to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray before he reaches for the radio on the police scanner, his big hand completely covering the small black mouthpiece.
"10-4. Currently enroute via the Gotham Bridge. ETA five to seven minutes barring any obstructions. Over and out."
"Roger that."
With an irritated grunt, Gordon readjusts himself to sit more comfortably in the driver's seat. His fingers twitch like they want to reach for another cigarette, to reach for the one thing that will steady his nerves before he walks into whatever awaits, but he restrains himself. It's his biggest vice, the one his wife constantly asks him to give up, but the constant chaos of watching over Gotham City has him forever reaching for the smokes.
Ahead, on the other side of the bridge, he sees the sun as it begins to rise on the horizon, rich shades of pink and orange bleeding into a fading cobalt sky. The weatherman promises a beautiful week in Gotham, the last gasps of summer before the crisp, cold hands of autumn take hold to choke the city.
Gordon is vexed. Visibly vexed. He should have known better, he supposes, since his night had been an unusually long and quiet affair. It felt too good to be true, and now he knew that it was the case. He'd spent his night looking forward to going home to enjoy a rare Sunday breakfast with his wife and daughter. Barbara Gordon was home for the weekend from college, studying law, hoping to follow in the footsteps of the father she admires so much. Gordon's proud of her, always bragging with pride to anyone that will listen, his bright-eyed legal eagle with the world at her feet.
He'd looked forward to this because it had been such a busy weekend in Gotham, crazy enough that Gordon hadn't gotten the chance to spend as much time as he would have liked with his daughter. Now, in a matter of hours, she'd be back in her little yellow car, headed back to campus at GCU. Visions of coffee, bacon, eggs, and lighthearted Gordon family banter evaporated into thin air, replaced by all-too-familiar images of gang violence and bloodshed as he speeds towards the docks, his sirens shattering the stillness of the morning.
For as long as he can remember, the East End of Gotham City has always been a hotbed of crime. The Falcone crime family has maintained a stronghold on the area for decades, but in recent years, the Maroni family have been making plays to step on their necks and take the turf for themselves. Gordon was sure it was going to slip a year ago, when Carmine Falcone died, but nothing changed. For all the man's abhorrent actions and glaring faults, Gordon had to concede the man ran a tight ship. Power had seamlessly transitioned to his daughter Sofia. Beautiful and educated, Gordon knew she was the most dangerous breed of criminal, a woman who knew how to evade and distract when needed. She liked to hide behind the pledge of taking her father's business legitimate, but Gordon knew better. He'd seen The Godfather, too.
With the Maroni family struggling to bring down the Falcone clan, Gordon made sure he kept ears everywhere. The GCPD spent a lot of time in the East End, breaking up everything from standard confrontations to shootouts, international arms dealing, and drug smuggling. It's an exhausting, never-ending loop, but despite the seemingly never-ending stacked deck of cards against the city, Gordon still believes the place can be more than what it is. One free of parasites and the dregs of society.
Even as the city sinks and swallows the seemingly incorruptible, Gordon still believes.
When he'd accepted the position of Commissioner, following the unceremonious ousting of Commissioner Loeb following the Children of Arkham and Bruce Wayne debacles, Gordon believed his new powers would help him clean up the city. So far, none of what he'd envisioned had come to pass. He still feels trapped in the same old song and dance, dealing with crazed, overpowered criminals, scumbag defendants, sleazy lawyers, and shady back-room political dealings.
Wash, rinse, repeat. Day in, day out.
It's his unwavering belief in what the city can be that keeps him from cracking on the days when the pressure feels a little too tight, when the war feels lost. On those days, he looks at the face of the weathered man in the mirror, at the gray hairs snaking through the sides of his reddish brown hair, and he reminds himself that the insanity of a few don't represent an entire city. He reminds himself in those moments that there are many people who believe in his vision of a better Gotham, and it's that shared hope that keeps him moving forward.
But some days, the mountain feels like a never-ending climb.
Gordon spots the warehouse, eyes narrowing at all the parked cars in the lot. Rolling to a stop beside a little blue Camry, he gets out of the car and reaches for the gun on his hip.
The first thing that strikes him is the silence. It's quiet.
Too quiet.
Closed up, the warehouse looms unassuming, gray skirting and dark windows. As Gordon moves closer, his nose crinkles with the thick stench of copper, and another, more pungent scent that he knows all too well.
The smell of Death.
Taking his place against the corner of the warehouse door, Gordon kicks it open slightly with his foot. "GCPD!" he shouts. "If anyone's in there, drop your weapons!"
"Area's secure, Jim."
Gordon blinks.
He can't remember when the man inside the warehouse began making big moves in the city, striking fear into the heart of Gotham's underworld, but Gordon remembers the first tall tale he'd ever heard from one of Gotham's lowly degenerates.
Batman.
The most controversial figure in Gotham City. To some, he's the symbol of hope and change that the city so desperately craves. To others, he's a vigilante, no better than the criminals he hunts. Gordon isn't wholly sure what side of the fence he sits on, but he is willing to admit that Batman has proven himself to be an invaluable asset to the GCPD. A lot of criminals were sitting in Blackgate Prison and Arkham Asylum, thanks to Batman's rock-solid, unimpeachable work.
Gordon pushes himself off the wall and pushes the door open wider. He winces when he steps over the threshold.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he utters. His stomach clenches and rolls.
Batman stands alone in the middle of the room, surrounded by what Gordon can only describe as a sea of carnage. Gordon steps over what he thinks is a dismembered torso, but he can't tell because of all the blood. It pools on the concrete, spatters the walls. It takes Gordon a few moments of looking around to realize that everyone inside the room is in pieces, like a bomb went off inside the room. Holstering his weapon, he makes his way towards Batman. He doesn't bother watching his step; he can't move without leaving bloody footprints behind him.
"What the hell happened here?" Gordon demands.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he confesses. He points to the back corner of the room. "There's a dead phone hooked up to the stereo system. Between that and all the cups, my guess is this was supposed to be some kind of party."
"You didn't hear anything about this?"
"I was busy with Harley Quinn last night."
"How'd that go?"
"If I timed it right, she should be getting booked right about now."
"Glad to hear that. But shit." Gordon turns. The two of them look at the mountain of unidentifiable human remains. "I've been doing this a long time. Never seen anything like this. The coroner's gonna be piecing these poor folks together until next Christmas." He scans the area. "Weapons?"
"Haven't found anything."
"Christ. I've been in war zones with less carnage than this." Gordon sucks in a breath. "If you hear anything, you'll let me know..."
Turning, Gordon's shoulders sag and he sighs.
Batman's gone.
"I hate it when he does that."