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[center][b]Gotham City, New Jersey, United States[/b]
[color=8E6DC7][sub]Approximately 12:11 AM, Gordon Residence
1.1[/sub][/color][/center]
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You can put dad behind a desk and call him commissioner, but you can’t take his instincts away from him.

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[i]Thud![/i] The sound of the old ‘65 revved to life. It was late. Too late for the [i]Commissioner[/i] of the entire Police Department to go on patrol. But it didn't stop him.

It must be genetic. I’m the same way. Not long ago, I started feeling similar. Though, unlike dad my life isn’t falling apart by choice. What tears at the seams of my life is forces I can’t control. Makes me feel like I’m stuck in a trance with no control. I hate that; having no control. I feel like I’m in the backseat of a very old Cadillac as I watch the driver make terrible mistakes.

Not that there’s anything wrong with mistakes. God knows I’ve made plenty. But when I’m not the one behind the wheel I just… I can’t stand it. Makes me feel totally out of it. I guess that’s part of why I’m doing the thing. Other part is to piss my parents off. After Jimmy being thrown in Arkham, I felt it in my bones. I quit gymnastics despite everything. Nearly flunked out of school. I didn’t care that we had ‘finally made it’. Everything made a whole lot more sense when dad was a detective and mom hadn’t gotten her tenure at Kane College yet. Before dad started having the affair and mom started drinking. Way before she packed her bags. 

Everything unraveled in an instant. Like a bad acid trip.

Still trying to make sense of it. How do you make sense of it? Never really occurred to me that you could get divorced. Thought marriage was sacred. Guess not. 

Not like I care. I just want control again. To feel the pulse, the vibrations in the air. Reason number three I decided to do it, I guess. And well, I’ve already come this far. Not like dad’s around to pay attention. Divorce left him pretty ragged. The only thing he pays attention to is his whiskey, his work, and The Batman. It’s something I’m constantly reminded about but can never talk about. Not allowed to mention Vietnam, either. But the ‘B-Word’ feels even more taboo. I think he hates that he relies so much on a vigilante. Reminds him too much of the days when we Gotham was new to us. Back when the lampshade vigilante had a penchant for sand and dreams rather than bats. Not sure why the distinction for good mattered. Whether you wear a badge or a cape, if you cared about Gotham what was the harm? Why couldn’t we talk about it? Is this why he got tense every time the JSA was brought up? 

I sigh, grabbing an empty bottle of Jack Daniels before putting it in the bin.

Doesn’t matter if he approves. Doesn’t matter if anyone does. When I first put on the cowl I felt alive. Like I belonged. Like I could feel that energy in the air again. Like I’m seven feet off the ground and everyone’s watching. But most importantly, I’m in control.

And that’s the important thing.

Nothing is going to take that away from me. Not when I'm doing something important.








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