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[indent][sub][COLOR=slategray][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [color=lightgray][I]Pauli's Diner[/I] - [I]Grand Avenue, Gotham City, NJ[/I][/color][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=slategray][b]Occupation #1.01:[/b][/COLOR] [I][color=lightgray]Desperate Measures[/color][/I][/right][/sup][/indent][COLOR=dimgray][SUP][sub]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sub][/SUP][/COLOR]


[color=8c8c8c][b][color=slategray]"Sorry I'm late."[/color][/b]

Over twenty years ago, two men would regularly come to the same spot on 40th and Gardner. One was an attorney, a well-learned Princeton graduate with more inherited wealth than he ever knew what to do with. The other was a cop, a veteran who had been sent home after two tours, forced to turn his talents over to the GCPD because he couldn't find better work. Through circumstances beyond their control, they had both found themselves trying to fight against a broken system that had transformed Gotham City into such a breeding ground of suffering and injustice that it made abandoning it a moral impossibility. But Thomas Wayne and James Gordon didn't become friends - after all, society deemed that the heir to a billion-dollar empire and a rookie officer from Chicago struggling to make ends meet could never fraternize. They would describe themselves as [i]brothers[/i], the only two that seemed to share dreams of a better future for a place that was largely considered hopeless. When faced with overt threats from those in power, Wayne would often utilize Gordon to dig up what he could and help to navigate the rough terrain of legal recourse. In exchange, when faced with his fellow officers trying to force him to take a bribe or look the other way, Gordon would call on Wayne to seek prosecution of those who would otherwise be let back loose on the streets. It was a two-person system that secretly rebelled against the tenants set by men like Carmine "The Roman" Falcone, the ones that stated such depravity was just the natural state of things, that none of the victims had the right to speak out.

In hindsight, it was almost inevitable that a random mugger would step out of the shadows and break the system. The city had a way of punishing those who tried to do the most good on its behalf, and both men had been arrogant enough to think they were untouchable - the ultimate sin in a place like Gotham. Detective Gordon had devoted years of his life trying to try and find a potential connection to any of the major families and the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne, but it had all been wasted effort. No leads of a plot on anyone's part to keep Wayne and his wife from interfering any further. Gordon had even heard that when it came to Johnny Vitti, the informant that Thomas had pursued in turning over state's evidence on the entire syndicate, the murder had haunted him for years after - the sleepless nights only ending when one of Maroni's made men finally put a bullet in his skull over a territory dispute. If that hadn't been enough to convince the Detective that he was chasing shadows, the investigation into the death of an ex-con named Joseph "Joe Chill" Chilton had revealed his hand in things: in a suicide note, he revealed that he'd shot the Waynes for no other reason than to pawn Martha's pearls for heroin money.

Gordon had been relieved by the news. After all, the closure that he'd been looking for finally seemed imminent. But a few weeks after Chill's death, Gordon was approached by Thomas' son, a determined young law student-to-be named Bruce. He was about to receive the same inheritance that had left Thomas an unfocused mess in the best of times, and the eighteen-year-old had asked for the Detective's advice when it came to practicing law in Gotham like his father had. In that moment, all that Gordon saw infront of him was another chalk outline. Another body for some loved one to weep over, cast astray by Gotham's tradition of making examples out of anyone who sought to change the very soul of it. So Gordon did the only sensible thing he could think of: he talked Bruce out of it. Told him the truth of how the city worked, about every roadblock put infront of the cops and how its entire infrastructure had been compromised. About The Roman's Holiday Massacre of the 1930s, and how Falcone had risen above the Moxon, Thorne, Grissom, and Cobblepot families to establish himself as head of Gotham's underworld. He could see the fire extinguished in Bruce's eyes the longer that he spoke, but it was slowly replaced by something else - what that was, Gordon had never been able to describe. But it was like something had possessed the young man.

A week later, Wayne had vanished. Gordon went on with his life, hoping that he'd done the right thing in trying to scare him away from suffering in the same ill-fated crusade as Thomas did. A few years passed, and when news hit of Bruce Wayne's grand return, he seemed like an entirely different person. Buying a luxury penthouse in the heart of Gotham, Wayne seemed to find contentment in wild stunts and social media posts about lavish purchases, alcoholic brand deals, drunken selfies from parties aboard his yacht, and evidence of his latest relationships with one of a dozen supermodels and actresses. It was a glimpse into a world that Gordon could never understand, but it was at least as far away from the corruption of Gotham as one could get. For that much, at least, Jim would happily ignore the antics of his young friend's jackassery.

Until recently. As he makes his way through the entrance of Pauli's Diner out of the pouring rain, Bruce Wayne's expression is serious - though the state of his attire suggests otherwise. Despite it being nearly ten o'clock at night, he's dressed rather leisurely - his suit pressed, his silk shirt tucked, collar wide open. Shoes impeccably shined, a top-of-the-line silver watch glistening in the light above the restaurant's corner booth. And most curiously, his eyes were rendered invisible behind a pair of custom mirrored Bulgari sunglasses. Gordon would describe the look as far too extravagant for a corner diner in the middle of the East End, but he imagines that this was his friend's honest attempt at dressing down. With a slight hesitation, the Detective offers a handshake to the billionaire as he approaches.

[color=slategray][b]"Stockholders' meeting ran late, and then the traffic. Oddly, it hasn't gotten any better since the government erected a big detention center in the middle of town."[/b][/color]

Gordon scoffed, having gotten stuck in a line on his way here himself. 

[b][color=a3647d]"Yeah, who'd have thought?"[/color][/b]

The billionaire throws his drenched overcoat over his left arm and slides into the seat across, wasting no time in accepting a passing waitress' glass of complimentary ice water. Despite being able to afford the restaurant [i]itself[/i] many times over, the Detective has a feeling that Wayne's order total would amount to half of his own. After all, as Bruce had complained many times before, the Diner didn't exactly have a wealth of vegan options. Having to hear about it again almost makes Gordon glad that he finished his BLT and fries before Wayne's arrival.

[b][color=a3647d]"Thanks for coming. I know that your schedule and my schedule don't exactly line up, these days, but I still wasn't [i]entirely[/i] sure you'd show."[/color][/b]

Bruce softly smiles, almost to himself more than to Jim. [color=slategray][b]"What's eight months?"[/b][/color]

[b][color=a3647d]"Has it really been that long? [i]Christ[/i]."[/color][/b]

Gordon folds his hands infront of him. Looking out the adjacent window, he let out an exasperated sigh. While the Detective isn't looking, Wayne quietly notices the bags forming under his friend's eyes, among other minor details. The way his fingers fidget even when resting, the color of his complexion indicates he hasn't seen the sun in about a month. The vaguely unkempt manner of his clothes, not to mention the odor coming off of them that would only indicate recurrent chain-smoking. It's obvious that Gordon had been knee-deep in the thick of it at the precinct for weeks, maybe even months. There was no telling how many hours of sleep he was getting each night, but Bruce knew that the answer lay somewhere between a few stolen minutes and an accidental hour, at best. 

Their reunion had been needed for a long time. Nonchalantly, Bruce clears his throat.

[color=slategray][b]"How's Barbara?"[/b][/color]

[b][color=a3647d]"Fine. She's good. Working alot of late shifts at the Institute these days. Guess she was always bound to take after me in that respect."[/color][/b]

Wayne nods. [color=slategray][b]"She enjoys the work?"[/b][/color]

[b][color=a3647d]"I can imagine. She always took to computers more than anything else, even over her studies. Her mother and I would worry about it, at least until she graduated with honors. But she's turned it into something tangible. That's all I could ask for."[/color][/b]

A beat of silence. Gordon's eyes never leave the window, watching the people as they go by. 

[color=slategray][b]"You said it was important."[/b][/color]

Gordon looks back at Bruce, visibly apologetic in getting lost in thought. 

[b][color=a3647d]"Sorry. It's been a week. Got a heavy caseload, it's kept me preoccupied."[/color][/b]

Bruce clasps his own hands together. [color=slategray][b]"Of course."[/b][/color]

With a pause, the Detective leans forward, the tone of his voice quieting. 

[b][color=a3647d]"Look, I'll cut to the chase. Neither of us [i]wants[/i] to be here. You know it aswell as I do, but I've been running into a real problem. One that I'm being turned away for by the usual channels."[/color][/b]

His expression growing somber, Bruce's own voice softens. [color=slategray][b]"The disappearances."[/b][/color]

[b][color=a3647d]"Yes. Too many to count over the past few weeks. All around the same area, and I'll give you one guess as to where."[/color][/b]

Wayne nods again, able to discern the location before Gordon can even elaborate. It had been all over the news during the first few weeks, then quietly faded into the background. Teenagers and their parents at first, then children, all taken in the night. Bruce had always been too late to catch it, the apparent perpetrators acting with precision. But he'd managed to construct a map of each of their home addresses and triangulate it with where each victim had last been seen. It all followed a straight line toward The Agency's checkpoint site, which had taken over the majority of Robinson Park. Wayne's fists clench, unable to prevent himself from thinking of what's being actively done to innocent people in the pursuit of weeding out potential metahumans. Humanity's war with "The Reach" may have ended, but its effects lingered all too well.

[b][color=a3647d]"None of the missing were over the age of sixty. Which should tell you something, considering that the new administration doesn't seem to think that damn bomb affected anyone older than sixty-five."[/color][/b]

Bruce looks back, scanning the room to ensure that no one's paying attention to their conversation. When he's sure that they're in the clear, he continues. [color=slategray][b]"There hasn't been any evidence it has. Lines up with geneticist's theories on mutation."[/b][/color]

[b][color=a3647d]"We actually got documentation sent to us a few months ago, right after the election. Asking for cooperation in the detainment of suspected individuals. Offer spelled out individual pay, a benefits package. The works."[/color][/b]

[color=slategray][b]"And your department took it?"[/b][/color]

[b][color=a3647d]"No, though not for lack of trying. Seems the dollar amount wasn't high enough for the Commissioner to spare anyone for what seemed like a losing prospect."[/color][/b]

Gordon removes his glasses and begins to massage the bridge of his nose, flustered.

[b][color=a3647d]"They wanted us marching into The Narrows looking for kids who could bend spoons with their thoughts. How much do you think that's worth when overseeing a cocaine shipment could net someone a couple grand a night?"[/color][/b]

Wayne tries not to immediately tense at the severity of that statement. Gordon had been a staunch opponent of the GCPD's flagrant ethics violations, but he was certainly as knowledgeable about what his fellow officers were really doing with their shifts as everyone else - Gotham's police had developed a hell of a reputation for the lengths they'd go to in lining their own pockets at the expense of justice. Wayne still isn't sure which are on the take and which Gordon has quietly managed to convert, but he's been building a file. And so far, it isn't very long.

[color=slategray][b]"Jim... why are you coming to me with this?"[/b][/color]

Gordon pauses. At first, he isn't sure of how to approach the subject. So he leans on the idea that came to him all of those years ago, when both of them were sitting at this same booth: complete and sobering honesty.

[b][color=a3647d]"Look, Bruce. I know the last time that we met, things went... the way they went. Words were exchanged. I'd understand if you kept your distance for a reason. I sure as hell wasn't about to reach out on my own accord."[/color][/b]

Bruce looks away at that. Hearing the truth hurts to some degree, but it isn't entirely out of line. 

[b][color=a3647d]"But I'm desperate. I've turned to every avenue I can to look further into it. There's just no one willing or able to go against that bastard Lord's executive orders. Dent's been trying to find a loophole and acquire a search and seizure warrant, but the courts have him gridlocked. And..."[/color][/b]

[color=slategray][b]"And at the end of the day, Harvey's still a politician."[/b][/color]

[b][color=a3647d]"Yes. One whose career could easily be dismantled by asking the wrong questions."[/color][/b]

Wayne folds his arms, leaning back in his seat. [color=slategray][b]"I'm still not sure what you're..."[/b][/color]

[b][color=a3647d]"Just this once. I'm asking you just this once as a favor for whatever I mean to you, or used to mean to you. I don't know. But I need you to do something about it."[/color][/b]

With a sigh, Bruce looks down at the glass. Contemplative, if not a bit annoyed. 

[color=slategray][b]"Jim, it isn't as if I can just write a check and start making inquiries. I've been given a degree of influence, but even I'm not that well-connected. Lord's people aren't going to open their doors to me just because I belong to a different tax bracket."[/b][/color]

Gordon's eyes narrow. [b][color=a3647d]"You're not [i]serious[/i]."[/color][/b]

[color=slategray][b]"I'm just telling you the way it is. Believe me or don't, it doesn't change..."[/b][/color]

[b][color=a3647d]"No, not that. You know [i]damn[/i] well that's not what I'm talking about."[/color][/b]

Bruce tries to break eye contact with the Detective, taking another drink of water, but Gordon leans even further ahead. The moment that both of them have dreaded for months finally rears its ugly head, and neither man is particularly eager to spell it out for eachother. But desperate times call for measures that no one in this city would prefer to entertain, much less a cop who has run out of options and an orphaned billionaire who spends his nights operating as a masked vigilante.

[b][color=a3647d]"Fine. Let me put it another way."[/color][/b]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/s7cIw4G.png[/img]

[b][color=a3647d]"I'm [i]not[/i] asking Bruce Wayne."[/color][/b][/color]