"Commissioner, there's a delivery for you."
Hearing these words, Commissioner Gordon's heart skipped a beat. Not an excited skip. The opposite. This was the skip of a man who'd opened too many wrong packages in his career. Who associated the phrase "you've got mail" with trauma.
Gordon had been with the GCPD for over twenty years. Most deliveries were perfectly ordinary. Postcards from old classmates. Coffee mugs. Prank gifts from colleagues to maintain sanity in an insane profession.
But those very few abnormal deliveries? Those were terrifying.
Gordon's mind catalogued the greatest hits. A serial killer had once sent bloody body parts gift-wrapped with ribbons and bows. Gangs regularly sent weapons wiped clean of prints, accompanied by typed notes detailing exactly who should be arrested.
But intelligence didn't cause actual harm. It was the other packages.
The Scarecrow's fear gas, disguised as lilac-scented air fresheners. The Joker's laughing gas, hidden inside musical birthday cards. Two-Face's coin-operated letter bombs. Deathstroke's tear gas grenades delivered by heavily armed mercenary teams.
These weren't pranks; they were terrorist attacks that caused severe casualties and structural damage. Even with Batman developing antidotes, officers still suffered terribly.
So when Officer Martinez walked in carrying two boxes, Gordon's cardiovascular system reacted appropriately: with fear.
"Has the package been scanned?" Gordon's voice was level, though his hand instinctively moved toward his sidearm.
Martinez nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. Scanned clean. One seems to contain a small electronic device, like a cell phone. The other appears to be just paper. A letter."
Gordon finally allowed himself to breathe. A burner phone and a letter sounded almost normal. Probably a confidential informant. "Bring them in. And Joseph—is Officer Jude Sharp back on duty today?"
"Yes, sir. He's outside."
"Perfect. Send him in."
Moments later, Jude knocked and entered. Gordon was already working the tape off the first package.
"Jude, you're a new officer, but you have great potential," Gordon said sincerely, setting the first box aside and starting on the second. "You've accomplished a lot in just a few days. Multiple arrests. Good instincts. I have a very positive attitude toward you."
Jude waited for the "but." There was always a "but" in Gotham.
"But," Gordon chose his words carefully, "your luck has been... unusually poor." He began ticking off incidents on his fingers. "Your first day at the theater? It exploded. When you were assigned to prison duty? The Riddler orchestrated a mass escape. When you were placed on paid administrative leave? The Joker had a car accident and shot the Riddler right in front of you."
Gordon's expression suggested he found this pattern deeply concerning.
"When you took a normal taxi ride, the driver was gassed and nearly crashed into a building," Gordon continued. "And I heard you recently found housing near Lyle's bar in the East District. Excellent establishment. Or it was, until the Joker completely destroyed it with explosives."
Gordon folded his hands on his desk. "It's not that you've done anything wrong. In fact, you've performed admirable service. But myself and several senior officers think you should seriously consider going to a church and having an exorcism performed."
Jude's expression went carefully blank. "An... exorcism. You think I'm cursed."
"I'm saying your proximity to catastrophic events shows a statistically improbable pattern," Gordon said with complete seriousness. "In Gotham, we've learned not to dismiss supernatural explanations. But today is your first day back. Take it easy. Relax."
Gordon extracted a cheap, untraceable flip phone from the first package. He flipped it open. The screen lit up instantly—no password. Just a single audio file, queued and ready to play.
Curiosity—the great killer of cats and cops—made Gordon press play.
A shrill, rhythmic, theatrical voice emerged from the tiny speaker. The Joker.
"Dear Jim." The audio quality was excellent. The Joker took his terrorism seriously. "I hope you can smile when you hear this. After all, dozens of people were arrested last night. That must make you very happy. Just like the little match girl seeing her grandmother in the light of her final match. It gives you false hope, doesn't it?"
Gordon's face went pale. He lunged for the phone to shut it off, but the recording continued.
"Now, count down from three. Because after three, everyone in the police station will see their grandma too!"
"Three..."
Jude's pupils snapped wide.
His brain processed the threat in milliseconds. A bomb. The second package, or multiple devices planted throughout the building. There was no time to evacuate.
Jude spun and sprinted out of Gordon's office. As he hit the bullpen, he instantly activated his "I Didn't Kill Anyone" skill twice, stacking the slots to extend the radius.
"Two..."
Jude ran toward the exact geometric center of the precinct's main floor, shouting at the top of his lungs. "GET DOWN! BOMB! EVERYONE DOWN!"
Some hit the floor immediately; others froze. Jude reached the center of the room and dropped to one knee, bracing himself. The twenty-eight-meter invisible sphere now covered almost the entire hall. Death was officially off the table.
"One..."
"BOOM!"
Coordinated, professional detonations ripped through the building. Fire bloomed orange and black. Shockwaves shattered windows, desks flew apart, and light fixtures dropped from the ceiling like meteors.
Throughout it all, Jude knelt at the center, eyes closed, feeling the skill working. Officers within his radius were thrown by blast waves, hit by debris, and burned by flash fires. But nothing hit vitally. Shrapnel missed arteries by millimeters. Falling concrete stopped just short of crushing skulls. Injuries remained survivable.
The explosions continued for fifteen agonizing seconds.
Then, silence. Ringing ears. Alarms screaming as the sprinkler systems rained water onto the burning debris.
Jude opened his eyes. The GCPD was absolutely devastated. The structural integrity was compromised; the building would need to be condemned. But people were groaning, bleeding, and breathing.
Nobody in the main hall was dead. The skill had worked.
Several hours later, the news coverage began.
"A special report from Gotham City News," Frank stared into the camera, looking genuinely shaken. "The GCPD was bombed this morning at approximately 10:15 AM. Multiple explosive devices caused catastrophic structural damage."
The screen showed footage of the smoking ruins, firefighters spraying water, and EMTs loading stretchers.
"In what can only be described as a miracle, no one appears to have died," Frank's voice carried genuine disbelief. "Most of the injured suffered only broken bones and lacerations. No fatalities reported."
The camera cut to Commissioner Gordon outside the hospital. His uniform was torn, his face covered in soot, and a bandage wrapped around his forehead. But he was standing.
"The Joker and the Riddler have gone completely insane," Gordon's recorded voice rang out. "Unable to locate Batman or the vigilante known as The Bike Stripper, they have turned their attention to the police department in retaliation for our recent mass arrests."
Gordon's jaw tightened, looking directly into the camera. "It will not work. The GCPD will not surrender to terrorism. We will rebuild. We will continue our work."
In a temporary field office set up in a parking lot near the ruined precinct, Jude sat on a folding chair drinking terrible coffee.
He pulled out a cigarette and offered it to Commissioner Gordon sitting nearby. "The second letter was found in the rubble," Jude said tiredly. "It contained the Riddler's bomb warning in classic riddle format. Could have been defused if we'd read it first. But his fear gas canisters were detonated by the Joker's bombs. Collaborative terrorism." Jude held out the cigarette. "Want one? Might help with the stress."
Gordon looked at the cigarette, then at Jude, then back to the cigarette. "No," his voice was firm. "I don't dare take anything from you now. Given your track record."
The implication was clear: the cigarette would probably explode.
Jude put it away, spreading his hands helplessly. "I can't help it. I just happened to be here."
"You happened to save everyone's life." Gordon's voice softened, looking at Jude with something approaching awe. "I don't know what you did, but witnesses say you positioned yourself in the exact center of the blast. You should be dead. Everyone in that building should be dead. But you're not."
Gordon rubbed his exhausted eyes. "You'd better go to church as soon as possible. I'm serious about the exorcism. Go home. The department is putting you on paid leave again. I approve it. We can't operate out of a parking lot anyway."
Jude was speechless. Back on paid leave. Again.
After a moment of silence, Gordon's tactical mind returned. "The arrested gang members from last night. Have the Joker or Riddler made any moves to rescue them?"
Jude shook his head. "No. I've been monitoring the hospitals. No rescue operations. I think they ran a cost-benefit analysis. Members with broken limbs are just dead weight eating hospital food right now. They've been abandoned. Tell your ambushing officers to stand down from the hospitals and conserve their strength."
Jude stood to leave, but paused and turned back.
"Commissioner? One more question."
"What?"
"If I find a part-time job during my paid leave..." Jude's voice was carefully casual. "Will the police department still pay me normally?"
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