Steam rose from Gordon's body like he was a walking sauna. Mario watched from across the desk.
"You got anyone in mind for the remaining doses?"
Gordon's frown deepened as he stared at the case containing eleven more vials of serum. "Once I'm sure the serum's safe, I'll handpick a squad."
"And you're certain none of your people are working for the other side?"
The question landed like a bomb in the middle of the office. Gordon's gaze drifted to the IV bag drip-drip-dripping nutrient solution into his veins. He had no answer. Of course there were moles in the GCPD, Gotham PD had been compromised since before he'd even joined the force. But identifying them? That was the problem. Testing people for loyalty would only create paranoia. Everyone would be watching their backs, wondering who the traitor was.
Mario stood and cracked open the window, letting in a sliver of Gotham's polluted night air.
"Those four officers I brought in yesterday, you could run background checks on them. They're not exactly high-ranking, but I'm pretty sure they're clean."
His mini-map showed him who harbored hostile intentions toward him specifically. But if someone wanted Gordon dead? That wouldn't register.
Gordon nodded weakly. The transformation happening inside his body felt bizarre. Like his bones were melting and reforming simultaneously.
"Has your station ever been attacked?"
Gordon blinked. "Twice. Why?"
"Just wondering. Because two cars just pulled up downstairs, and about a dozen armed men look like they're about to storm the building."
Gordon's face went pale. "You're—"
He ripped the IV needle from his hand and grabbed his service weapon, rushing to the window.
Two black cars idled outside the precinct entrance. Masked men poured out like ants from a kicked nest, all carrying identical submachine guns.
"They're here for a jailbreak."
He turned toward the door, but his legs buckled. The transformation wasn't complete, his body felt like it belonged to someone else. He nearly face-planted before catching himself on the desk.
"My body... I can't—"
The burning sensation was fading, replaced by a surge of raw power that made him feel invincible. He knew it was an illusion, but damn if it didn't feel real.
Mario remained by the window, an amused smile playing across his face. He pulled out the Ghost Rider medallion and tossed it to Gordon.
"If you're planning to run down there the normal way, you'll be too late."
BANG.
Gunfire erupted from the ground floor.
"Take this. Think 'Ghost Rider' and you'll understand how to use it. Trust your instincts."
Gordon caught the medallion. More gunshots echoed from below. His people were dying.
He didn't hesitate.
Ghost Rider.
The transformation was instant. Blue flames erupted across his body, consuming flesh and replacing it with burning bone. But there was no pain. Power flooded through him.
"Don't just stand there gawking. Go."
He nodded, walked to the window, and jumped.
---
The concrete entrance tiles exploded into shrapnel when Gordon landed, creating a crater that spiderwebbed outward from the impact point. Every eye in the vicinity snapped toward him.
The GCPD officers' faces lit up.
"You will all face judgment."
He could feel the criminals' fear radiating off them like heat.
"What the fuck is that?"
"Blow it away! OPEN FIRE!"
RATATATATAT...
Bullets tore through the air toward Gordon, but he saw each one with perfect clarity. Time seemed to slow. He ripped the chain from around his torso and whipped it forward in a wide arc.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG.
The Soul Chain moved, deflecting bullets mid-flight and wrapping around anything it touched. It wasn't about technique or training, the chain moved according to his will, as if it were an extension of his body.
BOOM.
The chain grazed a car's fuel tank. The vehicle exploded in a fireball that sent three attackers flying. Burning metal and shattered glass rained down across the street.
Gordon charged into the remaining attackers. The criminals didn't stand a chance. They were chickens waiting for slaughter, and the butcher had just arrived.
"RETREAT! FALL BACK!"
One man turned and ran, abandoning his crew without a second thought. The flaming chain shot out, wrapping around his leg and yanking him backward. Blue flames engulfed his body as he screamed. Within seconds, over a dozen men lay scattered across the precinct entrance, some dead, others wishing they were.
Gordon fought the urge to finish them all. He left one alive for interrogation, then used the chain to swing himself back up to the third floor. He canceled the transformation mid-flight, landed on the roof access, and slipped back down the stairs to blend into the responding officers.
---
From his office window, Mario watched the entire show with the grin of a proud parent.
Gordon's got some serious violence in him.
A Ghost Rider Gordon paired with Batman? Throw in Frank Castle and Gotham might qualify for "safest city" awards.
Gordon himself clearly had no philosophical objections to fighting fire with fire. Otherwise, he never would've partnered with Batman in the first place. Sure, the Dark Knight had a "no killing" rule, but the injuries he left criminals with were often worse than death.
Thirty minutes later, Gordon returned to his office. Seeing Mario still lounging by the window, he said, "Thank you."
He held out the Ghost Rider medallion. Mario took it and tossed it back into his inventory.
Gordon's eyes lingered on where the medallion had been, a flash of reluctance crossing his face. Mario caught it and chuckled.
"I've got one more gift for you."
He pulled out several vials of glowing red liquid.
"Your officers should've already mentioned these in their reports. I won't waste time with demonstrations."
He headed for the door, paused, and glanced back.
"I'm looking forward to your show, Commissioner."
---
Two weeks later.
The underground bar was packed wall-to-wall with Gotham's criminal elite. Gang leaders with prison tattoos, money launderers in expensive suits, enforcers built like brick shithouses. They'd gathered to discuss a problem that was rapidly becoming existential.
The Ghost Rider.
BANG.
A heavily muscled man slammed his whiskey glass down hard enough to crack the bar top. "Where the fuck did that thing even come from? Two nights ago, it hit the docks and killed twenty of my guys. One survivor."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. Almost everyone in the bar had lost people to the Ghost Rider. The unlucky ones had encountered it personally and weren't around to attend meetings anymore.
"Jack, bullets don't do shit to that thing," a bookish-looking man said, adjusting wire-frame glasses that seemed out of place in this crowd. But everyone knew he was a viper in accountant's clothing. "We need something that can hurt it."
He pulled a small vial from his pocket and set it on the bar. Clear liquid sloshed inside. "Holy water. Imported from the Vatican. Plus silver crosses."
The bar erupted in excitement.
"Musk, you brilliant bastard!"
"That demon's going back to Hell where it belongs!"
Vrrrmmmmm...
The growl of a motorcycle engine cut through the celebration. Everyone froze.
"You hear that?"
The bar went silent. The engine sound grew louder. Color drained from faces. Hands went to weapons. The engine cut out, replaced by the heavy thud-thud-thud of boots on pavement.
The footsteps stopped directly outside the bar's reinforced steel door.
Nobody breathed.
CRASH.
A blue-flaming battle axe punched through the steel. The blade carved a ragged hole, then disappeared as someone pulled it back out. Through the gap, a burning skull peered inside.
"Knock knock, motherfuckers!"
The bar exploded into chaos.
"AAAHHH—"
"IT'S DAYTIME! WHY IS IT OUT IN THE DAY?"
"KILL IT!"
RATATATATAT...
The steel door disintegrated under concentrated fire, shredding into a Swiss cheese pattern before... BOOM.
A boot kick sent the remains flying inward. Several criminals took the full force of a several hundred-pound door to the face.
"Form a line," Mario said. "It makes my job easier."
The bullets passing through his skeletal form had zero effect. Some went clean through, others sparked off bone. Only direct headshots caused even momentary disorientation.
CRACK.
The Soul Chain whipped through the bar, wrapping around targets, smashing through tables, igniting everything it touched with hellfire.
WEE-OOO... WEE-OOO...
Police sirens wailed outside. He glanced at the carnage. Someone called the cops the second they heard my engine. That's what you call survival instinct.
The chain snapped back to his body. A moment later, a tactical team rushed through the door, completely ignoring Mario's flaming skeleton and focusing on body retrieval.
They worked quickly, bagging corpses and hauling away survivors. Within five minutes, the only person left besides Mario was Alex.
The officer had transformed dramatically in two weeks. Taller, broader, radiating strength. The serum had done its work.
"How's it going?"
Alex's grin was slightly unhinged. "Prison's getting crowded. We're releasing a batch tomorrow morning. Some of them lied about their crimes."
"Good. I'll be there to judge them."
To maintain the illusion of GCPD integrity, Mario never publicly confronted police. In front of civilians, he'd immediately leave if officers showed up. But privately, Gordon and Mario had an arrangement. In three months, the Ghost Rider would "die" attacking Arkham Asylum.
Though at the current pace, three months seemed excessive.
"Keep tabs on the big players. Let me know if anyone interesting surfaces."
Mario was specifically thinking about the villains. Penguin, Scarecrow, Riddler. And his personal favorites, Harley Quinn and the Joker.
Alex nodded and left. As he walked away, a shiver ran down his spine. The serum had taught him what real power felt like. If Mario ever turned evil, even a dozen enhanced officers wouldn't be enough to stop him. They'd just pray for quick deaths.
Once alone, Mario walked to the bar and grabbed an intact bottle. He found two glasses that hadn't been shattered and poured drinks.
"Come out, Batman."
A shadow dropped from the ceiling.
Mario sighed. "Can't you use doors? Always with the dramatic entrances. What, you got a spawn point in every dark corner in Gotham?"
Batman ignored the sarcasm. He picked up a fallen stool, sat down, and fixed Mario with that unsettling blank stare.
"We should talk, Mr. Argento."