Multiverse: Deathstroke

"Good thing we didn't take the train," Cindy said to Su Ming beside her as she brushed her wet blonde hair, slicked against her forehead, and glanced at the dashboard. "At this speed, we should reach the destination in about half an hour."

Su Ming looked out at the rain. On the elevated tracks nearby, a train had stalled mid-air due to the city's power issues. He wondered if there were people inside, waiting to get home.

If things turned out for the worst, those people might never make it back.

Su Ming had often thought about such things before. Other people had homes, while he only had a rented apartment. It seemed like he was always alone.

"If there's a chance, after things are settled here, I'm going to leave. I need to find a way to reach Earth-0. What are your plans?" He turned and asked Cindy a rather abrupt question, making sure the nosy reporter couldn't hear him, while diverting his gaze from the stalled train.

Cindy thought for a moment before shaking her head. "This world is my home. Is Earth-0 yours?"

"No, it's not. My home is even farther away... That place is just a location I'm more familiar with." He rummaged through his cigar box, finding there were only a few left.

"Where is your home?"

Cindy asked as she stopped the car, spotting a small convenience store by the roadside.

The two got out of the car, and she expertly broke the lock with her staff. As they entered to loot supplies, they continued their conversation.

"Heh, I don't know. Maybe it has a number, maybe it doesn't."

She stuffed several colorful alcoholic drinks into her backpack and then turned her attention to the snacks, casually inspecting the packaging as she spoke nonchalantly.

"Then why don't you stay here? We could be long-term partners."

"Your world is coded as Earth -11 in the Bloodlands, representing the eleventh world of the Dark Multiverse. Barbatos cannot be defeated here; he's the god of the Dark Multiverse. To completely stop this crisis, I not only have to keep things hidden from them here, but I must also go to Earth-0. It's my only way to save myself."

Su Ming finally voiced the issue that had been weighing on his mind for so long. These thoughts had been circling in his head for too long, and he needed someone to share them with, not for any substantial help, just someone to listen.

Cindy paused in her actions, then casually hugged a bag of tomato-flavored chips to her chest.

"Is that so? Seems like you have a lot to explain to me."

Commissioner Gordon slowly regained consciousness in the darkness. He touched the back of his head, recalling the events before.

He had been dragged into a van by a group of people. But before that, when he was kneeling in the muddy water, he'd carved the license plate number of a black van onto his glasses.

He had hidden it in a crack in the curb. If someone found it, they might trace his location.

But that hope was slim. After all, Batman had left the city. Who else could achieve such a feat?

Although he was optimistic about some of the young people in the department, that was just hope. He knew even if they found the glasses, they might not be able to trace him here.

After all, he didn't even know where he was. He'd been knocked out as soon as he was put in the van.

His current surroundings were a dark room, but not the cell he had imagined. Instead, the bed beneath him was very soft. Just by touching it, he could feel the smoothness of silk.

This didn't make him feel any more relaxed. As an experienced detective, he could tell the environment around him was very damp and had a creepy, chilly atmosphere. This place was likely underground.

Glancing at his watch, he saw he had only been unconscious for just over an hour. That wasn't enough time for the van to leave Gotham, so he was still in the city.

He slowly got up, finding everything intact except for his missing gun. Even his handcuffs were still at his waist.

It was as if he had truly been invited as a guest, although the invitation was a bit forceful.

He groped around in the dark and turned on the bedside lamp, the soft light illuminating the small room.

On the bedside table, there was a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers—aspirin. The prescription label and medical advice were attached, and the patient's name read his own.

They took this from his home! They broke into his house!

"Barbara!" Gordon remembered what the woman in black had told him. They had another team heading to GCPD!

He stood up, ignoring the medicine, and quickly walked to the door.

He grabbed the handle, twisted it, and the door opened.

Unsurprisingly, several women in black were still standing guard outside.

"Where's my daughter? Let me see her!"

Gordon, like a madman, grabbed one of the women by the door but was quickly pulled away by several more hands.

"Commissioner Gordon, our boss is waiting for you."

The woman who had punched him earlier walked around the corner, her steps measured and steady as she approached Gordon. Her expression was almost a mockery of a smile as she spoke.

Gordon now realized he was in a cold corridor, the pale lights above casting a harsh glare on the white tile walls, like he was in some sort of hospital.

"Where is my daughter?"

The woman rubbed her temples as if she had a headache and sighed. "Once you meet our boss, you'll know."

Gordon shook off the hands holding him and straightened his trench coat, brushing away nonexistent dirt as if these people had soiled his clothes. "Then what are we waiting for? Lead the way."

The woman didn't seem to mind, turning around and walking back the way she had come.

Gordon carefully observed his surroundings but gleaned no information other than confirming he was underground. There was nothing else to see here.

The corridor was long, a blinding white stretch that seemed endless. On either side were small rooms, but the doors were closed, hiding whatever lay inside.

After several turns down the corridor, by which point Gordon had completely lost his sense of direction, they finally arrived at a larger door.

The door was made of solid wood, adorned with beautiful golden edges and enamel, featuring a carved relief of the Three Fates, their expressions and postures vivid and lifelike.

The woman knocked on the door and then stepped aside, raising an eyebrow at Gordon, gesturing for him to enter.

Gordon stepped in fearlessly.

Inside the room, he felt as if he'd entered the library of Wayne Manor. The tall bookshelves around him were filled with various books, and a fireplace not far away was blazing warmly.

Family portraits adorned the walls, and the floor was covered with a soft wool carpet. Meticulous hand-crafted sofas were arranged before the fireplace, and even the sculptures decorating the room were masterworks. The scent of the finest tea wafted from a teapot on the coffee table.

Everything made him question his earlier judgment. This clearly seemed like some wealthy family's mansion, not an underground labyrinth.

Until he saw the huge desk near the fireplace, and the person sitting behind it, someone he never expected.

Even when alone, the man sat upright, his hair meticulously combed back. He wore a finely tailored suit with a rose pinned to his breast pocket. He gently stroked the white cat in his lap, smiling as he looked at Gordon.

He was old now, much older than when Gordon had last seen him. His once jet-black hair had turned completely white at the temples, and his face and hands were covered with wrinkles.

But one thing hadn't changed: his eyes, still as calm and authoritative as they had been ten years ago.

"Gordon, my old friend, welcome to my home."

"Falcone."

For a moment, Gordon could only stare in shock, barely managing to utter the name. The history between them ran deep, so deep that words failed him.

In the first decade of his career, Falcone had been the mountain looming over him. Everything in Gotham was connected to him: bars, restaurants, gas stations, theaters, even hot dog stands on the street—if you traced them up the chain, the boss at the top was always him.

He had run the dark order of Gotham, and everyone lived under the yoke of his few powerful families.