Gotham's nights always felt the same—unforgiving, unchanging. In the heart of the city, the towering skyscrapers housed high-end restaurants and nightclubs, always filled with customers. They indulged in their wealth, spending ridiculous amounts of money on vish dinners, meals that would drain the life savings of the average citizen. Or they sought pleasures of another kind—using their money to py with the city's most vulnerable.

  Not far from these gleaming buildings, in the shadowy alleys, the sounds of screams and gunfire were a regur occurrence. The darkness was never empty; it always carried the scent of crime.

  In Gotham, there was no shortage of sin. No matter how twisted the crime, how impossible the criminals seemed, it was all there, lurking in pin sight. Gotham was a living museum of modern crime history.

  Chaos and order were forever entwined, and the once-clear lines between right and wrong had blurred into a world of endless gray.

  Gotham's nights never changed. At least, they never got better.

  James Gordon, who had spent thirty years working in this city, understood that deeply.

  He had risen from a humble homicide detective to the rank of police commissioner, and he knew firsthand that being a man in Gotham was like walking a tightrope, one wrong step away from falling.

  It wasn’t just because the workpce could be harsh on men, but also because everyone knew him as a man of integrity. The truly innocent were few and far between in Gotham. Everyone, whether they admitted it or not, had some connection to the darkness.

  The mayor was a regur at Penguin’s Iceberg Lounge. Senators were caught selling Arkham’s pharmaceuticals to Scarecrow. The Supreme Court Justice had once been Catwoman’s superior. Bck Mask had ties to Gotham University, and openly ran a chemical factory as a front for drug production.

  In a city like this, just surviving as the police commissioner was nothing short of a miracle.

  But his rational mind always reminded him—this wasn’t a miracle. It was because behind him, always, there was a shadow.

  A shadow that came and went in the dark, one that despised evil with every fiber of its being.

  Where the w couldn’t reach, or where the police were powerless, she would step in. There had been many who tried to kill Gordon in the past, but every time, there was a woman in a bat suit who ensured they had second thoughts.

  Fear.

  Yes, anyone with darkness in their hearts feared the bat. She was sharp, swift, and always present, showing no mercy.

  When Gordon was still a captain, that was when Batwoman first appeared. At first, Gordon had been resistant to the idea of a masked viginte.

  "I can’t just let you run around the city wearing a bat suit and punching people because you say you’re a good guy. I need to see results. I need to see that your actions are actually making the city safer, not just making things worse," he had thought.

  At that time, Gotham was far from the chaotic mess it was now. The mafia, led by the notorious Falcone family, had its cws in every corner of the city. Half the cops in the precinct were crooked.

  Drugs, smuggling, arms, and even human trafficking—all of it made money, and the officials had created an umbrel of protection for the criminals.

  Gordon tried to bring them down, but the resistance was always too much. That was when Batwoman stepped in. She used force to obtain evidence, took down corrupt officials working with the mob, and allowed Gordon to bring them to justice.

  And in the end, when Gordon faced Falcone in a final showdown, Batwoman shattered the mob boss's confidence, completely dismantling the crime lord and letting the sunlight shine on Gotham for the first time in years.

  Since that day, Gordon had adopted a more "live and let live" attitude toward Batwoman.

  Her actions did benefit Gotham. They were for the people. As for the whole bat suit thing... well, maybe it was just a personal preference.

  Thinking back to those days, Gordon couldn't help but smile.

  "Captain Gordon, we’ve heard that the criminal who robbed the bank st night was taken down by a strange woman in a bat suit. What does the police department think about this?" Reporters swarmed the entrance of the precinct, hounding Gordon as he escorted a prisoner from a squad car.

  "Ridiculous! Absurd!" Gordon responded with righteous indignation. "Gotham has never had anyone wearing a bat suit running around."

  "But we have footage, we have evidence," the reporters persisted, holding up their proof.

  "Fake. It’s all fake," Gordon snapped. "On behalf of the Gotham City Police Department, I take serious issue with this and strongly condemn it."

  But once the prisoners were locked away, Gordon would sneak up to the storage room on the rooftop, secretly calling Batwoman to compin.

  “Really? You had to make a mess of it again? Couldn’t you at least avoid the cameras next time?"

  ...

  Back then, Batwoman was more reasonable, her actions more restrained. But as time passed, Gotham became home to a new breed of vigintes. The legend of Batwoman spread, attracting more people with masks and capes—but unfortunately, they were all either insane or criminals themselves, making Gotham’s wlessness even worse.

  And it wasn’t just bank robberies or petty thefts anymore. Now, every time there was a crime reported, it was something that could potentially drag the entire city into hell.

  There were madmen hiding nuclear warheads in the city center, wanting to challenge Batwoman to a duel. There were kidnappers holding hundreds of hostages, wanting to py mind games with her.

  Thankfully, Batwoman always managed to resolve these situations. But inevitably, there were those who bmed her. They argued that the bat had drawn all the world’s criminals to Gotham.

  Batwoman didn’t bother expining herself. She kept doing things her way, and her methods grew even more brutal.

  By the time Gordon became commissioner, he ordered the Bat-Signal to be set up on top of the precinct. No more hiding. Whenever the Bat-Signal lit up, it meant there was a new problem that only Batwoman could handle. The police would be waiting for Gordon’s orders, and afterward, they'd clean up the mess she left behind.

  By then, the criminals weren’t something the police could deal with. They needed Batwoman. The role of the police was to wait for Gordon's command and clean up the mess. And by then, the criminals were usually either unconscious or incapacitated.

  At least, back then, Gotham was dangerous, but it wasn’t as bad as it had become now. Back then, there was still some hope in the people’s hearts.

  Until Batwoman’s greatest opponent arrived.

  No one knew where she had come from, but she had green hair, a pale face, and an ever-present, exaggerated smile. She loved carving that smile into the faces of others with a knife.

  She made a name for herself, showing Gotham just how crazy she was—and how madness could be a wonderful thing.

  No more fear of death, no more hunger or poverty—just wake up each day, smile, and be happy!

  She pnted the seeds of madness deep in Gotham’s soul, nurturing them with a smile, waiting for them to grow. And sometimes, she’d help them along, just for fun.

  She and Batwoman became tangled in a never-ending dance, caught countless times and breaking out just as many. Gotham became their stage, and all the Joker wanted was Batwoman’s undivided attention.

  Until six months ago, when the Jester came up with a new game and decided to drag Gordon into it. But during the kidnapping, things went wrong, and Gordon’s daughter, Barbara, was shot in the spine, leaving her paralyzed for life.

  In the end, the Jester was caught again, and Gordon, consumed by rage, wanted to kill her for his daughter’s sake. But Batwoman stopped him, telling him not to let the Jester manipute him, not to let madness consume him.

  Gordon finally put down the gun and chose to follow the w. And the w... well, the w didn’t have any real verdict for someone like the Jester. She’d only be locked in Arkham for "treatment"...

  But who could really treat the Jester? The doctor who once treated her had been twisted by her, becoming today’s Harley Quinn—helping the Jester escape and even creating the monster that was Two-Face.

  Since then, Arkham refused to give the Jester any more doctors.

  This time, though, it seemed the Jester had grown bored. She stayed quietly in Arkham, and nothing had happened for a while.

  And based on past experience, every time the Jester was caught, Harley Quinn would fall silent, as if her soul had been stolen. So, neither Batwoman nor Gordon was too concerned about not catching Harley st time. In fact, it was better this way. If both of them were locked up in Arkham, something even worse might happen.

  About half a month before Su Ming’s arrival…

  As usual, Gordon was jolted awake from a nightmare, his head spinning as he fumbled for his gsses. He realized he wasn’t strapped to a roller coaster in the amusement park, facing the chaotic scene crafted by the Clown Prince of Crime. He was in the comfort of his own bed at home.

  Cold sweat drenched the sheets, and the window, left slightly ajar, rattled in the night breeze. The curtains billowed wildly, tossed by the wind.

  The digital clock on his nightstand fshed 4:00 AM. He had barely slept for two hours, yet the nightmares had already taken their toll. Barbara—his daughter—was lying in a pool of blood, while the Joker’s manic ughter echoed in the background.

  His first wife had left him, fleeing Gotham and taking their daughter with her, disappearing without a trace. His second wife, a fellow cop, had died in the line of duty, murdered by the Joker while trying to save babies.

  Aside from the Joker, the faces of the women he had loved and lost often haunted his nightmares. Now, the only person left in his life was his daughter, Barbara—who, after the Joker’s cruelty, was now bound to a wheelchair.

  Gordon had more than enough reasons to lose his mind. But he hadn’t. He clung to justice and the w, because it was all that kept him grounded.

  He reached under his pillow for his gun, carefully closed the window, and then began his routine check of the house. No strangers, no intruders. Finally, he stood outside Barbara’s door.

  He pushed it open gently. Moonlight streamed through the room, and there, in her wheelchair, Barbara slept soundly. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. He holstered his gun, then went to the kitchen for a drink.

  The fridge was sparse—back when Barbara had been healthy, she’d been the one to handle the housework. Gordon, always too busy, never had time for grocery runs.

  He rummaged through the fridge and found half a carton of milk, still good. Just enough to soothe his dry throat. But as he closed the door, a figure suddenly appeared behind it, startling him so badly that he nearly dropped the milk.

  “Next time you go to sleep, maybe close the window first,” a voice said from the shadows.

  “Damn it! Batgirl, could you make some noise when you show up? You’re gonna give me a heart attack!” Gordon spat out the milk, but Batgirl had already gracefully dodged it, her cape never even brushing the floor.

  “Because… I’m Batgirl,” she replied ftly, her voice distorted by a voice modutor.

  “I know who you are, and I know who you really are. I just don’t say it out loud,” Gordon muttered, searching for a rag to clean up the mess. “It’s four in the morning. All the crazies are locked up. Can’t I get some sleep? You don’t have anything better to do tonight?”

  Batgirl ignored his grumbling, as she always did. Everyone in Gotham believed Brisley Wayne to be just another rich, useless socialite. They thought she lived a life of luxury and excess, partying every night. In reality, it was all a performance—actors she hired to keep up the fa?ade.

  She cut straight to the point. “I need to leave Gotham for a while. If I stay, I’ll put everyone at risk.”

  “Oh? Another nutcase on the loose?” Gordon exhaled, tossing the rag aside and reaching for his phone. “I’ll make a call to the station.”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m still looking for clues.”

  Batgirl shook her head, blending into the shadows like she always did, her cape making her nearly invisible. But Gordon, having known her for years, could guess what she looked like.

  “Then how do you know it’s dangerous?” Gordon asked, puzzled.

  “Someone told me. In some ways, he’s extremely trustworthy.” Batgirl seemed to be feeling around in her pocket, but she didn’t take anything out to show him. “You and Barbara need to come with me. If you stay, those lunatics will use you to force me out.”

  Gordon fell silent, his thoughts racing. After a long pause, he shook his head. “No. I’m the police commissioner of Gotham. I’m not leaving. Anyone who thinks they can tear this city apart will have to go through me. Unless I’m dead.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t know the details, but everything I’ve gathered so far says this is more dangerous than anything before,” Brisley urged. “Maybe you could take a month off? We could take Barbara to find a doctor overseas.”

  “No. I’m not leaving. You take Barbara and go if you have to, but I’ll stay here.” Gordon’s tone hardened. If Batgirl left and he followed her, Gotham would fall apart. All his years of work, everything he’d built, would be lost in one night. “Even if they kill me, you must not come back.”

  “I’m not going anywhere either. My father stayed, so I’m not leaving, especially as a woman.”

  The voice came from behind Batgirl. It was Barbara, who, despite being paralyzed from the Joker’s attack, had long since come to terms with her condition. But the constant pain in her back kept her awake at night, and any slight sound would make her alert. She had overheard their conversation and rolled her wheelchair to the kitchen.

  “Barbara,” Brisley said, her voice softening. “Maybe you should think about it—”

  “No,” Barbara interrupted. “If the Joker couldn’t kill me, no one else will. I’ll stay here. With Dad. I think the communications room at the precinct is safer, and I can still use my computer skills there.”

  Barbara refused Brisley’s suggestion, determined to stand with Gotham.

  Brisley hesitated, but seeing the resolve in their eyes, she too felt the pull to stay. Yet the mysterious voice in her head urged her to leave—to save not just Gotham, but the world itself.

  With a final flick of her cape, Brisley left, heading to meet Alfred and the others.

  Gordon held Barbara close, crying silently for a moment. Then, with renewed determination, he turned to the dark room.

  “We’re not leaving, Batgirl. Go do what you need to. I… wait, she left again? Why can’t she just let me finish my sentence?!”

  Gordon sighed in frustration. This was just like every other time. Batgirl would show up out of nowhere and disappear just as suddenly. He’d never once heard a proper goodbye.

  “Because that’s what Batgirl does. Can you take me back to my room, Dad?” Barbara yawned, covering her mouth as she asked.