Wilson shook his head, sighed, and walked over, tossing two bills into the right paper bag.
"I'll bet a hundred, too. You won't die. Anyone else?"
A skinny figure walked up and placed a hundred dollars into the right bag.
"Although from a medical standpoin—Mmmph…"
Nygma's words were cut off as Jay clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him aside. Then came Allen, Anna, and Otis, who also stood up with some apprehension.
"I… I only have fifteen dollars. You'll be fine."
More and more officers came forward, dropping money into the right bag one after another. Albert watched the gradually overflowing stack of bills and quietly turned his back.
After a moment, he turned back, sniffed, and laughed. "Ha, well… ha, I'm rich now."
"Not necessarily, Sergeant. But would you be willing to ride in the first car with me?"
"Yes, Captain!" He snapped a crisp salute to Jay. "I'll show them what East Precinct police are made of!"
"Nice!"
Jay patted Albert again and told him to sit down, then asked the others: "Anyone else want to go?"
Arms shot up like mushrooms after rain; eventually, almost everyone had their hand raised.
"Okay, thank you, everyone. We're sending out five cars, three people per car. I need five temporary commanders." His gaze swept across the crowd. "Wilson!"
"Here!"
"Jacob! Marcus! Daniel! Christopher!"
"Here, Captain!"
"All five of you have fired shots, seen blood, and killed men. Each of you will lead one police cruiser." Jay took a slight breath, his expression serious. "But the mission I'm giving you is not to chase bandits and earn distinction. It's to avoid bullets and stay alive."
"This is a joint operation with Central Precinct. My car will always be in front of yours, but the rest of you try not to overtake Central Precinct's cars.
Unauthorized retreat is not allowed in this operation, but… I permit you to choose between holding position and waiting for support or tactical maneuver and flanking, depending on the situation."
"Teams select your own members. Everyone, including the officers staying behind at the precinct, organize your gear and check your weapons."
He frowned, as if he'd forgotten something.
"Anna!"
"Here, Captain!"
"You ride in the same car as Wilson. Strictly forbid him from using any weapon other than a Glock 17. Dar…"
He looked at Wilson and said solemnly, "Don't be foolish or overconfident while you're still recovering from your injuries. Don't let anyone be put in danger to save you."
"Understood, sir!" Wilson also nodded seriously. "From now on, I'm a coward."
"And…"
Jay extended his hand toward Otis. "You're riding in the first car with me. Are you scared?"
"No… not scared, Captain." Otis stood up, his face slightly pale, but he nodded firmly. "I'm ready."
…
The conference room was hazy with smoke, the air mixed with the bitterness of cheap coffee and the sour smell of sleeplessness.
Dozens of Central Precinct officers sat slumped, some yawning, others fiddling with pens, their eyes full of fatigue and indifferent detachment.
When James Gordon strode to the front, scattered eyes fell on him, but most were still ignoring him.
His back was as straight as the collar of his trench coat. He didn't pound the table or raise his voice, but simply let his sharp, piercing blue eyes slowly sweep over the room.
A chill of silence quietly descended, overriding the murmurs.
"I know what time it is," Gordon's voice struck the eardrums of everyone like a hammer.
"I also know what many of you are thinking. Just another piece of gang nonsense, another lunatic trying to climb the ladder. What does it have to do with us? Get through this night shift, then go home and sleep."
He paused, letting his gaze linger on the faces of those who looked down.
"But if that were the case, I wouldn't be standing here, calling you away from your posts."
He pulled a photograph from his pocket and held it up—a close-up of the wooden box Cobblepot received. The twisted, pale severed hand was particularly jarring under the dim light.
A wave of uncontrollable gasps and low curses swept through the room.
"This man calls himself 'Black Mask.' He doesn't follow rules, and he doesn't want territory. He wants to spread fear like a plague to every corner of Gotham. He uses torture to send messages and the limbs of innocents to issue a challenge."
He squeezed the photo with his white knuckles. "He is no longer just threatening a crime boss; he is threatening the foundation of this city.
If we back down tonight, if tomorrow morning, the citizens of Gotham know that a group of police officers allowed a torturer to roam free because they 'didn't want trouble'—tell me—"
His voice rose for the first time, his eyes burning into every person: "Who else can they trust? What meaning does the badge we wear on our chests have left!"
The room was utterly silent. The previous indifference gave way to an uneasy stillness. A few hardened veterans instinctively straightened their backs.
"I've heard many complaints," Gordon continued, his tone softening slightly. "Complaints about the pay, about the bosses, complaints that this uniform brings only trouble and danger. I know all of this."
He pointed to himself. "I face the same things you do, every single day."
"But I also know that the day we all chose to put on this uniform, we swore an oath to the Constitution. We promised to protect and serve, to be impartial, and to uphold the law."
"That oath wasn't spoken to the Chief, or to the Mayor, or even to each other. It was a promise we made to every man, woman, and child in Gotham City!"
"Tonight is the time to honor that promise."
"I won't lie to you and say this is safe. On the contrary, I know exactly what we are facing. Cruelty, madness, and unprecedented violence." His gaze swept over the tense faces of a few young officers. "It's normal to be scared. I'm scared too."
"But we cannot turn our backs just because we are afraid! It is precisely because there is darkness that we are needed to stand against it!"
He stood up sharply, speaking with absolute determination: "Our mission is to fortify Arkham Asylum and Blackgate Penitentiary. We must establish a defensive line there and absolutely prevent the danger inside from spilling out and harming this city.
This is not for Falcone, not for Cobblepot—this is for Gotham! This is for every ordinary person who deserves to sleep soundly!"
"Those willing to come with me, go now to the armory and collect rifles and body armor. After the mission, I will personally ensure every one of you is commended. Those who are unwilling can stay. I won't force you, and there will be no record of your decision."
With that, he looked at no one, the hem of his trench coat cutting an arc as he turned and walked toward the door, as if making a final resolution.
A profound silence lasted for several seconds in the conference room.
Then, the screech of chair legs scraping the floor broke the stillness.
One, two, five, ten…
The silent officers rose. The fatigue and cynicism had vanished from most of their faces, replaced by a mobilized gravity and determination.
They didn't speak, but marched in silent rows behind the figure heading into the dark depths of the hallway. Only the sound of their footsteps echoed in the empty corridor.
——————
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