Multiverse: Deathstroke

Gordon was speechless, not even sure if he should say anything.

Anyone with even a little understanding could tell that she wasn't normal at all. Batwoman and Bryce's identities were completely split, like two entirely different people.

Every time the Jester got caught, he would always laugh and shout at Batwoman:

"My dear Bat, you and I are the same!"

"I understand you! We are the same kind of people!"

"You made me! Hahaha!"

And each time, Batwoman would just stand silently, watching as the severely injured Jester was loaded onto the Arkham Asylum transport, saying nothing before disappearing into the darkness with a swish of her cape.

No one knew what she was thinking or what she would do next.

If even a lunatic like the Jester could see this, how could Gordon not? The reason so many crazed villains appeared in Gotham today was because there was a "kindred spirit" among them, drawing them in.

But on the other hand, Bryce was someone he watched grow up. He believed she would do the right thing. Gotham needed a force in the shadows to curb the spread of evil.

But today, Falcone told him that he knew everything.

The path Gordon had chosen was one Falcone had foreseen long ago. He even arranged for assistance.

Miss Cobblepot, today's Penguin, was supposed to handle these matters in the shadows, playing the role that Batwoman does now.

"See, Gordon, you're an honest man. You can't even lie to me anymore. We both know Bryce has lost her mind, her personality split in two." Falcone said calmly to Gordon, his tone devoid of satisfaction at getting an answer, filled only with endless regret.

Back then, Gordon had chosen Batwoman, using her to intimidate Gotham's underworld.

Compared to Penguin's influence, the help Batwoman could provide was minimal, offering nothing beyond that bat-like fear.

Now Gordon realized that if Penguin had wanted to, as the descendant of one of the ten families, the fear she could instill would be a thousand times greater than Batwoman's!

Any older Gothamite would shiver at the mention of Falcone and the ten families. That dark terror was like true night.

Penguin had known everything long ago. Falcone had instructed her well. She was waiting in the shadows, gathering strength, waiting for the day Gordon gave up on his partnership with Batwoman, ready to step forward and push things in the direction Falcone wanted.

She cultivated relationships with officials, built networks, and stockpiled weapons, all in preparation for that day.

To reshape Gotham into a new, beautiful city, jointly ruled by both the light and the dark.

If everything had gone according to Falcone's plan, with Gordon managing the light and Penguin the dark, then there would be no other colors on Gotham's chessboard. Everything could develop according to Gordon's vision, perhaps even becoming the ideal, happy city he dreamed of.

Commissioner Gordon wasn't a child. He knew that where there is light, there must be darkness. If darkness must exist, why not make it subject to his command?

But even so, Gotham would only be a chaotic blend of black and white, transforming from a Caesar's dictatorship under the Roman to a Republic under the Senate, with no real difference.

Rome would still be Rome.

"No, that would still be your Gotham, not the one I want. A city with gangsters involved in its management is destined to fall!" Gordon shook his head, casting aside all these thoughts. He had his principles and didn't want any association with the underworld.

"Yes, I understand your sentiments. I've been watching you all these years. You've worked very hard, even though Gotham keeps getting worse." Falcone comforted him, pouring himself more wine. "Under your watch, daytime security has noticeably improved, and government integrity has risen. The only problem lies in the nighttime. Cobblepot has disappointed me."

Gordon furrowed his brow. Those who disappointed Falcone rarely met good ends. History had proven this time and again.

But Falcone didn't continue this topic. He just put down his glass and lightly clapped his hands, calling out to the door: "Sophia, you can come in now."

The familiar woman from outside entered the room. She took off her hat, letting her long black hair cascade down like a waterfall. She glanced at Commissioner Gordon sitting on the sofa, then quietly walked to Falcone's side.

"Let me introduce her. This is Sofia Falcone, my youngest daughter. You haven't met her before because she's been studying in Europe." Falcone smiled and patted her hand, proudly saying, "Though it may make the others uncomfortable, Sofia is indeed the most talented of my children."

Gordon looked at her face. He hadn't noticed earlier, as she'd been referring to "the boss" and "our boss" so often that he'd thought she was just another high-level enforcer. There were tens of thousands of such enforcers in Gotham.

But under the light now, only one word could describe her: femme fatale.

She still wore that insincere smile. Unlike her father, she didn't have that world-dominating presence but carried a hint of manic madness.

Gordon shifted his gaze back to Falcone and said mockingly, "No need for introductions. We're already acquainted. She's been very... enthusiastic."

"Oh, really?" Falcone raised an eyebrow, smiling as he asked his daughter, "Have you been getting along well with Commissioner Gordon?"

"Of course, Father. Commissioner Gordon is a very good man." Sofia replied sweetly, like a dutiful daughter, but her gaze at Gordon was filled with meaning.

"After all this is over, she will help you establish a new Gotham. It's no longer Cobblepot. From now on, the Falcone family will be your backing."

"Wait, what do you mean 'after all this is over'? What new Gotham?" Gordon asked, sensing something wrong in Falcone's words. He couldn't understand what Falcone meant.

Falcone closed his eyes, tilting his head as if trying to recall something. He soon smiled apologetically:

"Oh, did I not mention it? Ah, getting old really does make one forgetful. So, my dear Gordon, do you know where we are right now?"

"Where? Gotham's sewers? Or an abandoned asylum?" Gordon looked at the fireplace, then up at the ceiling.

Falcone raised his right hand, forming a small gap between his thumb and index finger, shaking his head regretfully at Gordon.

"Such a pity, you're just a bit off. You don't really understand Gotham. What you see as darkness is just a shallow layer of seaweed floating on the night sea. But that's okay. You were never meant to understand. This is something the families should handle."

"Where are we?!"

Gordon stared at him intently. He was tired of these riddles, of being manipulated and controlled.

Falcone leaned back in his chair as if basking in the warmth of a winter afternoon, smiling contentedly by the fire.

"Indian Hill, Gordon. We're at Indian Hill."