THE DEATH KNELL

In the annals of Gotham's history, Falcone's reign is remembered not as governance, but as a dictatorship built on crime and blood. It was an era where justice was an illusion, where law was a whisper drowned out by gunfire and backroom deals.

It didn't matter what kind of business you ran in Gotham—whether you were a butcher, a tailor, or an executive sitting in a high-rise office. If you didn't pay the "management fee" to the Falcone crime syndicate, you wouldn't last a week. Those who tried to resist found their stores burned to ash, their families threatened, or worse—made an example of in the most brutal ways imaginable.

To the outside world, it was extortion. But in Gotham, it was just the way things worked.

The city itself operated on an unspoken rule, a hierarchy of exploitation that kept the powerful on top and crushed the weak beneath them. It mirrored the food chain of the natural world—big fish devoured small fish, small fish preyed on shrimp, and shrimp scavenged what little remained.

And in Gotham?

Most people didn't even count as shrimp.

For the average citizen, life was a daily grind of survival. They worked mindless jobs, enduring long hours only to see their wages drained away by the endless cycle of gang "taxes." Each month, after handing over their dues, they were left with just enough to scrape by until the next round of payments. The idea of saving money, of building a better future, was laughable.

Disobedience was met with swift and merciless retribution. Businesses that refused to pay up were burned to the ground. A single missed payment could mean drive-by shootings in broad daylight. Whole families disappeared overnight, their bodies later found floating in Gotham Bay—if they were found at all.

In this city, nothing truly belonged to you.

If you had a beautiful wife or husband, the wrong person might take an interest—and then they'd be gone.

If you owned a brand-new car, you'd be lucky to drive it a week before someone else claimed it as theirs.

If your home was well-furnished, it was only a matter of time before someone decided they deserved it more.

Carmine Falcone himself rarely engaged in petty theft, but his empire thrived on the underlings who did. The smaller gangs paid tribute to the larger syndicates, which in turn answered to the ruling crime families. It was a system built on loyalty and fear, an iron-fisted hierarchy where betrayals were settled with bullets and cement shoes.

Even Gotham's government was no different. More than half of the city's officials were on the payroll of crime families, and the other half lived in constant fear of them. There were no true lawmakers—only enforcers of the status quo.

And the children?

In any other city, you'd ask a child what they wanted to be when they grew up, and they'd dream of becoming astronauts, doctors, or firefighters.

In Gotham, there was only one answer.

"I want to be the boss."

For the kids growing up in Gotham's streets, the only way to survive was to become the very thing they feared.

---

A Detective's War

James Gordon had once been an idealist.

Fresh from military service, he had returned to Gotham believing he could make a difference. He was young, determined, and still naïve enough to believe that justice was possible. His first major case?

The murder of a wealthy couple in an alleyway, leaving behind their only son—a grieving child named Bruce Wayne.

Gordon had stood in that alley, kneeling beside the boy as rain slicked the pavement. He had whispered reassurances, promised that justice would be served. But as he dug deeper into the case, he found himself staring into the abyss of Gotham's underworld.

And Gotham stared back.

The case led him straight to the doorstep of the Falcone family. The deeper he investigated, the more resistance he faced—not just from criminals, but from his own department. Evidence disappeared, witnesses recanted, and superiors ordered him to back off.

At the time, Gordon held a privileged position. As a police officer, he didn't have to pay protection fees. The gangs left him alone—not because they respected him, but because they saw the police as another layer of control, another tool in their game.

But Gordon had seen the world outside Gotham. He knew that cities could be different—brighter, safer, places where people didn't live in constant fear. He refused to accept Gotham's reality.

So he fought back.

And for that, he paid the price.

He was demoted, threatened, framed for crimes he didn't commit. His home was nearly firebombed. He lost partners, friends—some to death, others to corruption. The deeper he pushed, the harder Gotham pushed back.

Then, everything changed.

Batgirl appeared.

For three years, she and Gordon waged a war against Gotham's crime lords, chipping away at their power. One by one, they dismantled the ruling families, weakening their grip on the city.

Until, at last, they shattered Falcone's empire.

The once-mighty crime syndicate fractured. The last remnants of the old order—the Cobblepot family—were reduced to nothing more than ghosts of their former selves.

And Gordon?

He had personally escorted Carmine Falcone to Blackgate Prison.

But Falcone's imprisonment was brief. He disappeared, retreating overseas. For years, Gordon had turned his attention to new threats—masked criminals, rising lunatics, the chaos that had replaced the old system.

Yet on certain nights, when the city was quiet, he still thought of those early days. The war. The struggle. The moment Gotham changed.

And now, as he sat in an unfamiliar room, he realized—

The past had returned.

---

The Return of the Roman

"Gordon. The good little soldier from back then… you're old now."

Falcone's voice was smooth, rich with nostalgia. There was no anger, no malice—just the quiet amusement of a man who had already won, even in defeat.

Dressed in a crisp suit, a single red rose pinned to his lapel, Falcone carried himself with the ease of a king reclaiming his throne. His every movement was precise, deliberate. Even after years away, he exuded power.

The room around them was timeless, unchanged from decades past. It was the same place where a younger Gordon had once sat, seeking answers.

And now?

Now, the Roman had returned.

Gordon met his gaze without flinching. "You're older than me, Falcone."

The crime lord chuckled, running his fingers through the white cat curled in his lap. The firelight flickered against his sharp features, casting deep shadows across his face.

"Yes, we are both old. The world belongs to the young now." He paused, lifting the rose from his chest to inhale its scent. "But before I die, I wanted to see what you've done with the city I built."

Gordon sighed, leaning back. "Gotham's not worth seeing. You should've stayed in Hong Kong."

For the first time, Falcone hesitated. His fingers traced the edge of the glass in front of him.

"I gave you a magnificent city," he murmured. "And this… is what you did with it?"

Gordon's jaw tightened. "At least people are free."

Falcone laughed, shaking his head. "Free? They don't even dare walk the streets at night." He leaned forward. "You lied to me, Gordon. I let you take me down because I thought you wanted a better Gotham."

A pause.

"I don't blame you. Or Batgirl. After all… someone in my family ordered the hit on Bruce Wayne's parents. Even though I never approved it, that was my failure."

Gordon said nothing.

Falcone raised his glass, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"And that's why, out of all the men in this city… you, not Oswald Cobblepot, should have been my successor."