"Faster… come on, faster…"
Gordon's whisper was almost unconscious. His eyes pierced through the windshield, seemingly trying to leap over the city skyline to see the precinct building he feared was burning and bleeding.
He had the gas pedal buried in the floorboards. Beside him, Jay gripped his stomach, wincing; every jolt of the car sent a sharp, stabbing pain through his side, but he kept his teeth clenched, refusing to add to the tension fraying Gordon's nerves.
The convoy tore into Old Town, swerving onto the main artery toward the GCPD. Several blocks away, a faint, flickering orange glow pulsed against the dark sky. By the time the assault vehicle screeched into the precinct parking lot, the flames were already dying down.
A few ashen-faced officers were frantically dragging a fire hose, spraying water at a few smoking windows on one side of the building.
The walls were scarred with black soot and cracks from an explosion, and shattered glass lay scattered like diamonds across the asphalt.
Ironically, the Evidence Locker adjacent to the main building appeared mostly intact—aside from the fact that the heavy doors were wide open.
Two officers in uniform lay in pools of blood near the entrance. An ambulance had already arrived, and paramedics were working on them, but it was clear their efforts were in vain.
"What happened?! Someone tell me what the hell happened here!"
Gordon lunged forward and grabbed a sergeant who was trying to hurry past. "Dominic! How long since they left? Which way did they go?"
"I don't know…"
The sergeant's face was coated in soot, and his voice shook so hard he could barely speak. "You know… William and Matthew managed the locker. They were the only ones there tonight; they'd sent everyone else back to hold the main building."
"Then, just a little while ago, shots rang out. Brian and Nelson rushed out to check, and they were gunned down the second they stepped out the door. After that…"
He lowered his head, his face a mask of shame. "After that, no one dared to go out… We cut the power. There were maybe a dozen of them, but muzzle flashes were coming from everywhere…"
"Ha! Hahaha!"
Beside them, Jay couldn't hold back a laugh. "Fifty… no, forty-eight cops pinned inside their own station by a dozen guys, watching their colleagues bleed out in the street?"
"Bravo. Simply stunning."
Sergeant Dominic snapped his head up, glaring at Jay with a face flushed red from fury and humiliation. But Gordon stepped between them, blocking his view, and repeated the question.
"How long ago? Where did they go?"
"About… fifteen minutes ago. Before they left, they put a 40mm grenade through the window. Conn is dead, two others are critical. They had three vehicles—looked like they headed West."
"I'll notify West Precinct to intercept immediately!"
"Don't bother. Arthur's boys probably haven't even started their patrol," Jay said, shaking his head as he watched Gordon scramble to make the call. He turned to the sergeant. "Were they wearing masks?"
Dominic didn't want to give this obnoxious outsider the time of day, but under Jay's cold, predatory stare, he eventually nodded.
"Yeah. All of them. Couldn't see a single face."
"Unbelievable. Central's finest really are something else…"
Jay scoffed and turned back to Gordon. "I've got a question. I'm sure your Evidence Locker holds a lot of junk, but what was in there that was worth this much trouble?"
"I couldn't say for sure."
Gordon sighed, hanging up the phone and waving Dominic away.
"West Precinct says they'll 'do their best.' And William and Matthew, the guys running the locker? They're Loeb's hand-picked men.
I don't have the full inventory, but the amount of seized firearms, jewelry, and dirty cash piled up over the last few years is massive. Though God knows how much of that 'gold' Loeb has already swapped for paper."
He began directing the returning, shell-shocked officers to set up a perimeter and ordered Forensics to process the wreckage. He gestured to Jay. "Speculating won't get us anywhere. Let's go. The answers are inside."
…
The GCPD Evidence Locker was divided into three sections. The outermost area was a bulletproof counter for check-ins and paperwork.
Through a heavy steel security door was the high-density shelving unit where most common evidence was stored.
Further back sat a massive vault door—steel-reinforced concrete and thick plating—protecting the high-value storage: heavy weaponry, large sums of cash, narcotics, and explosives.
But the locker was now nearly hollow. The air was thick with dust and the distinct, ozone-like smell of cooled metal.
Shelves that should have been meticulously organized held only scraps: clothing, baseball bats, kitchen knives, contracts. The massive vault door was wide open, completely undamaged.
Near the threshold lay two officers—shot in the legs, their heads bludgeoned into unrecognizable shapes. They looked like crushed tin cans.
Where the two had fallen, a thick, viscous pool of blood had gathered. Tossing quite deliberately into the center of the mess was a card.
Behind them, on the concrete wall splattered with red and white, someone had spray-painted two jagged, mocking words in bright crimson:
THANK YOU!
Gordon fought back a wave of nausea and fury. He pulled on gloves and carefully knelt to pick up the card. On it, words clipped from newspapers and magazines had been pasted together to form a sentence:
"I'm finished with these. You can have them back. —B.M."
"He didn't just find a newspaper and scissors at the scene," Gordon said, holding the note up to Jay. "This was prepped in advance. He never intended to leave those two alive."
"So why did they flip?" Jay glanced at the note, then back at the bodies. "Money? Or were they squeezed?"
"Probably both." Gordon grunted, surveying the stripped vault. His voice was laced with exhaustion and irony.
"As far as I know, there was over four million in cash in here. Enough firearms to equip a company, including a shipment of military-grade grenade launchers and high explosives seized from the Maroni family.
Tens of kilos of high-purity product, jewelry, gold… and plenty of secrets I probably don't even know about. Maybe these two thought they could get a cut of the chaos, only to play with fire and get burned."
"You said… these two were Loeb's guys. So, about that…" Jay's eyes flickered, and he lowered his voice. "Is it possible Loeb was in on it?"
"Impossible!" Gordon instinctively shook his head. "A disaster this big? He's in more trouble than anyone! He might be greedy, but he's not stupid enough to do it this way. This is digging his own grave."
"It's not up to him, Gordon. It's up to the evidence. Is tonight's shame really just because of Black Mask?" Jay thought to himself: Bob, we've got work to do.
He let out a cold laugh. "Detective, you wouldn't want the GCPD to have a repeat performance of this, would you?"
Gordon spun around to check the entrance before turning back to stare intensely at Jay. His face shifted in the dim light—anger, hesitation, a thirst for justice, and a loathing for power politics. After a long silence, he finally gave a heavy nod.
"Jay," his voice was raspy with fatigue. "We're doing this for… justice. We follow the trail to the end. For justice. Right?"
"Of course," Jay shrugged, his voice smooth. "It's all for justice."
After a brief silence, both men spoke almost at once:
"I have another ques—"
They both stopped. Gordon gestured for him to continue. Jay asked with a smirk, "With all this noise tonight… why hasn't that guy who likes to play dress-up as a bat shown up?"
"I… I don't know. Maybe he has his reasons." A look of confusion crossed Gordon's face. "He should have…" He paused and corrected himself. "Well, I don't know. I suppose he has to follow the law, doesn't he?"
"Ha!"
Jay burst out laughing, but quickly turned serious. "Right, sure. Maybe he's tangled up with a bigger fish. What did you want to ask?"
"I wanted to know… if all of this had happened at the East Precinct…" There was pain in Gordon's expression, but also a sliver of hope. "Would your people have acted differently than these… these cowards at Central?"
"Of course they would. They aren't as stupid as this lot."
Jay shook his head with a grin.
"Not a single one of them would have stepped outside. Not even the first two. They would've barricaded every door and window with heavy furniture; a grenade wouldn't have even made it through. So, if you ask me? Those guys wouldn't have even made it inside."
"…"
Gordon remained silent, his face darkening as he walked out of the vault. Jay followed, watching him busily coordinate the scene and scurry to the curb to take a call. Just as Jay was about to board his car to head back to the East Precinct, he heard Gordon shout:
"What?!"
He turned around. Gordon had already hung up and was sprinting toward him.
"Jay, Loeb just called. One of Falcone's vaults was just hit. The robbers… they were wearing the same masks as before."
"What? Black Mask hit Falcone?" Jay blinked, stunned. "Then who the hell… was here at the GCPD?"
…
On the back of a stone gargoyle, two shadows entangled, collided, and separated in the pale moonlight like a lethal melody.
Batman threw a powerful hook toward his opponent's head, but she moved like a true cat—her spine arching back at an impossible angle as she dodged, her toes grazing the stone.
She didn't match Batman's strength; instead, every contact was as light as a dragonfly touching water. She used his momentum to retreat when he attacked and clung to him like a shadow when he tried to disengage, flicking her whip at his ankles or his cape.
"All you do is hide."
His voice through the cowl was strained with suppressed anger and impatience. In the distance, a faint explosion rumbled, and unnatural firelight began to flicker over the GCPD.
"Oh, naturally. I'm just a young lady, after all." His opponent landed gracefully on a ventilation duct a few paces away, elegantly adjusting her gloves. Her tone was playful. "The moon is far too beautiful tonight. I thought I'd treat you to a longer look."
Batman glanced at the moon as it began to vanish behind dark clouds. Without another word, he lunged again like a cannonball.
His combat skill was undeniably superior, but his opponent was as slippery as a fish.
Using her extraordinary agility and familiarity with the terrain, she maneuvered around him in the cramped, complex rooftop space—constantly harassing, blocking, and disrupting his rhythm, keeping him pinned to this "dance floor."
"Don't be so grumpy."
Her voice was full of amusement, drifting on the night wind. "I'd hate to leave a scratch on that handsome chin of yours."
She dodged his cape as it unfurled like giant wings and pulled away with a nimble backflip.
He halted his assault, his cold lenses locking onto her. "Who sent you? What is the goal?"
"Trade secret, darling. But since it's you asking…"
The girl sashayed along the narrow edge of the roof. "…Someone paid two hundred thousand just to have me keep you company on this lovely night."
Batman didn't hesitate for a second. He made the correct tactical response immediately.
"I'll double it. Move aside, and your name."
"Double?"
She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then vaulted onto a billboard frame, looking down at him. Her eyes shifted behind her mask. Hearing the faint sound of sirens in the wind, she chuckled softly and blew Batman a kiss.
"Deal. I'll put it on your tab. I'll come find you later… to collect."
Before the words had fully landed, she leaped backward into the air, falling straight off the ledge. A second later, her long whip coiled around the corner of a gargoyle, swinging her silhouette toward the opposite roof.
With a few bounds, she vanished into the Gotham night, leaving behind only a fading, mischievous laugh.
"Batman? Interesting. Then my name is… Catwoman."
——————
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