Rain battered the grimy rooftops as Commissioner Jim Gordon lit up another cigarette. His first year with the Bat had been tumultuous to say the least. What started as a hunt gradually grew into an uneasy partnership, one Jim couldn't say he was entirely happy with, but he'd come to the conclusion a long time ago it was much better to have the Dark Knight on his side rather than against him.
Still, Harvey Dent stirred something in Jim he hadn't felt since moving to Gotham all those years ago. Hope. For once someone wanted to make a change for the better in Gotham who wouldn't be corrupted by bribery - at least, not yet.
"Jim."
The hairs on the back of the Commissioner's neck stood on end as he whipped around to face the figure that had seemed to emerge as if from thin air from the shadows. Batman always made his entrances this way, impossibly quiet and sudden. Jim still hadn't got used to it, he wasn't sure he ever would.
He let out a sigh, breathing smoke into the air, removing the cigarette from his mouth between two fingers and scratching his forehead.
"You ever think about knocking, Batman? Maybe calling ahead?"
"You called me."
"Fair enough." Gordon tucked the cigarette back between his lips, the ember glowing faint in the rain. He spoke around it. "Things are shifting. Dent's making waves. The names he dropped today? Falcone, Cobblepot, Sionis? You could feel the ground shake in City Hall."
Batman stepped closer, the signal's light haloing the edges of his cowl. "You think he painted a target on himself."
"I think he just about painted the whole damn city red." Gordon muttered. He took a long drag, then flicked the butt off the ledge. "Word is, some of my cases are getting pulled. Detectives reassigned. Files vanishing. Not random stuff either - anything touching the construction yards, the unions, offshore money. Funny enough everything relating to Falcone."
Batman didn't laugh, his eyes narrowed. "Someone's shielding him. Who?"
"That's the problem." Gordon said, frustration evident in his voice. "It's not one name. It's like shadows shifting on a wall. Judges, aldermen, cops - it's coming from everywhere at once."
Batman's cape rippled as he leaned just a fraction forward. "Falcone hasn't had that kind of pull in years"
Gordon nodded. "Maybe he's found it again. Or maybe someone want's us to think he has."
Batman said nothing, but his silence was sharp enough to cut through the rain. A thousand names were going through his head, a thousand people to start interrogating to get his source.
"Either way," Gordon went on, "Dent's poked the hornet's nest. If Falcone really is building back his kingdom, then Dent just put himself at the top of the hit list. And if it's not Falcone..." He let the thought trail off.
Batman's cape rippled as he stepped back into the shadows. "Then whoever it is wants Dent out of the way just the same."
The Commissioner pulled in a slow breath, steadying himself. "So what's our play?"
"You keep Dent alive." Batman's voice was already fading into the night. "I'll find out who's really moving the pieces."
And just like that, he was gone. Only the signal's beam remained, stretching into stormclouds that smothered the sky. Gordon lit another cigarette with unsteady hands. For the first time in years, Gotham had a man willing to fight for it in the light of day. Which meant the city's shadows would fight all the harder to swallow him whole.
Eugene Carbone shook off the deluge of rain as he stepped into his small, messy flat. If his now ex-wife was still there to smell him she'd definitely have shouted at him to take a shower, and stop stinking the place up with the all encompassing smell of booze and cigarettes that surrounded him. He allowed himself a long drawn out sigh, he missed her nagging.
Opting to toss his still soaking coat onto his table, almost entirely covered in opened bill letters and various takeaway menu's that had been pushed through his letterbox, he then took a seat in his usual spot, on the stained armchair he had claimed as his throne, a beer in his hand as his sceptre and a tv for his jester.
He was flicking through channels mindlessly when a dark shadow cast over his space. Instinctively he began to glance around, looking everywhere until finally his searching landed on the window. A ghastly visage peered in toward him. Like a silhouette come to life with eyes that seemed to pierce through him.
He felt all the air escape his lungs as fight or flight took over - this time opting for the more sensible 'flight' option. Eugene fell sideways over his armchair, scrambling across the floor backwards until he felt his back clunk against the short partition between his living room and kitchen.
The figure was moving slowly and deliberatley, one long hooked finger sliding itself underneath his window and agonizingly pulling it up. It's darkness was filling the room as it glided in, it felt like everything around him was losing all its light. Gene had to move quickly, there was no way he could run from something like this.
He crawled to his feet as fast as he could, turning the corner of the partition and yanking open a kitchen drawer so fast it almost flew out from its housing. He rooted around inside for his pistol, and after finally gripping it in shaky hands he decided to grab a kitchen knife to be doubly safe.
Gene raised the pistol, and without warning began firing off round after round into the invader. It raised a jagged wing across its eyeline and the bullets seemed to crumple and fall to the floor as they collided with its form.
Soon he was out of ammo, and in a fit of hysteria opted to toss the pistol itself at the creature. It finally felt like his luck was turning, the metal collided against its wing and seemed to stagger it slightly, now was his chance - his chance to kill this demon and finally get some recognition in this town.
He charged at it with the kitchen knife like a knight charging a dragon. He mustered up what little courage he had left as he approached and raised the blade, before chopping it down toward it.
His luck was short lived. A hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, twisting it at the joint and forcing him to drop the knife, before another gripped him by the throat and pinned him against the wall.
"P-please, I don't know what you are or what you want, but it can't be me! I'm a loser, I'm a nobody!"
Its eyes narrowed, for a moment there was just silence, then its grip tightened around his throat.
"A nobody with Falcone's name on his pay slips."
Gene's eyes went wide, confusion bleeding into terror. He wheezed through the vice-like grip. "T-the union-contracts-dockside deals! I don't ask questions, I just sign what they tell me! It's not me, I swear, it's not me!"
Batman leaned closer, his presence suffocating, his eyes burning holes through Gene's excuses. The stench of stale beer and sweat clung to the man's clothes.
"Who is it then?"
"I-I don't-"
The grip tightened. Gene clawed at Batman’s gauntlet, coughing and sputtering.
"Name."
Finally, the dam burst. "Ralph Maroni! He runs the books for Dockworkers Local 27! He's the one! I just look the other way when the shipments come through! Please, that's all I know!" Batman's hand loosened just enough for Gene to suck in a ragged breath. His eyes brimmed with tears. "They said if I didn't keep quiet, I'd end up in the Gotham River. I swear, I don't want any part of it. I just...I just needed the paycheck. Please you gotta understand!"
The Dark Knight released him. Gene collapsed to the floor, clutching his throat, sobbing like a child. Batman stood over him, an obsidian monolith against the flickering glow of the TV.
"Stay quiet." Batman growled. "If I go to visit our mutual friend and find out you'd warned him before I get to him." He leaned close to Eugene. "You won't need to worry about Falcone, you'll answer to me." And just like that, he was gone. Back into the storm, leaving Gene trembling in his own filth.
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