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"What does this mean?"
Bruce set aside the freshly painted armor and walked over.
Alfred was holding a newspaper.
Bruce took it and immediately saw the bold headline.
New Police Officer Raises a Ruckus at Soros' Bar, Leaves After Injuring Dozens!
"Soros' Bar?" Bruce looked up.
"That's Falcone's territory," Alfred said. "The biggest mob boss in Gotham."
He continued calmly.
"According to rumors, the officer is new. After subduing the thugs inside, he demanded that the owner-Hugh Haas, one of Falcone's underbosses-hand over a list of all the cops on the mob's payroll."
"In public?"
"In public."
"He's reckless," Bruce said, frowning.
"Yes," Alfred agreed. "But his ability is exceptional."
He pointed at a photo.
A ring of bodies lay sprawled across the floor.
"One man. Dozens of armed opponents. He was wearing a suit."
Bruce shook his head.
"Sounds like nonsense. I couldn't do that."
"What do you plan to do?" Alfred asked.
"He crossed a line. Too loud. Too obvious."
Bruce paused.
"He'll be targeted. But if even half of this is true, he's worth cooperating with."
He turned.
"Alfred, get everything you can on him. Immediately. After that, I'll find a chance to talk to him."
"I already have," Alfred said, handing over a stack of documents.
"Master Wayne, the strange thing is this-every document is real. Valid. Verified."
Bruce flipped through them.
"And?"
"All the people who verified them are dead."
Bruce stopped.
"...That suggests a legitimate organization."
"That's the problem," Alfred said. "If he really belongs to one of those agencies, your actions-"
"I'll find him tonight," Bruce said decisively. "I'll confirm it myself."
He closed the file.
"If he's official, I'll share intelligence and coordinate. If he's not... with skills like that, I'll make him my partner."
...
Inside the police car, Gordon stared straight ahead.
Morin sat beside him, relaxed.
"What's wrong?" Morin asked knowingly. "I know I'm handsome, but my orientation is completely normal. Don't get any ideas."
Gordon ignored him and raised a newspaper.
"You know what I want to talk about."
"What's this?"
Morin took the paper, glanced at it.
"Oh. This. Well written. Completely accurate."
"I know it's accurate!" Gordon snapped. "That's the problem!"
He took a breath.
"How could you do something like this?"
"Why not?" Morin shrugged. "I wanted a drink. Saw people openly selling and using drugs."
He spoke evenly.
"As a police officer, I tried to arrest them. They resisted. There were a lot of them. I used a bit more force."
He looked at Gordon.
"What's wrong with that?"
"Everything," Gordon said tightly. "Everything is wrong."
"That was Falcone's territory. He owns the mayor, the judges, and the commissioner!"
He clenched his teeth.
"I don't know how you got out clean, but if Loeb hears about this, you're finished."
"You make it sound like Commissioner Loeb would protect a mob boss and punish me," Morin said lightly.
"That's exactly what would happen!" Gordon shouted.
"They've all taken bribes! Everyone knows Falcone runs drugs, and no one touches him!"
His voice dropped.
"He sacrifices scapegoats. The courts look away. The police look away."
Gordon pressed his hands to his head.
"I should've told you all this earlier."
"That's enough," Morin said.
His tone shifted.
"Do you really think I'm some clueless rookie?"
Gordon froze.
"...What?"
"Someone with my skills," Morin said calmly, "wouldn't know how Gotham works?"
He smiled.
"I knew it was Falcone's turf. I knew everything. Long before last night."
"Then why-"
"That's why I came," Morin said.
"My identity must stay secret. All you need to know is this."
He looked straight at Gordon.
"I'm an agent from a national-level organization. I was sent here to investigate Gotham."
"...What?"
Gordon's shock was immediate.
Then memory caught up.
The alley. The shadows. The report.
Only someone like that could do what Morin did.
"I know you," Morin continued. "You're one of the few good cops left."
"You don't want to rot with the rest."
He placed a hand on Gordon's shoulder.
"Join my operation. I'll help you become commissioner."
"Together, we fix Gotham."
Gordon's mouth opened.
No words came out.
His mind stalled.
"...What organization?" he finally asked.
"Confidential," Morin replied easily. "Just know it's powerful."
He smiled.
"So. You joining the gang-"
He paused.
"-I mean, my team?"
...You said gang, didn't you?
He had to have.
"...How many people?" Gordon asked carefully.
"Two," Morin said, holding up two fingers.
"...Three including you?" Gordon stared.
"No. Two including you," Morin said reassuringly.
"An army isn't about numbers. Quality matters."
He leaned back.
"Five people max. More than that is a liability."
Five was intentional.
Morin. Bruce. Gordon.
At most, Fox. Alfred.
Enough.
As for Rachel Dawes-
Morin had never seen her accomplish anything useful. Good heart. No flexibility. Constant trouble.
That wouldn't happen again.
Not here.
Not now.
"Haha..." Gordon laughed awkwardly.
Five people changing Gotham was absurd.
But he didn't say it.
"The offer stays open," Morin said. "You'll ask eventually."
He looked ahead.
"Drive. We're heading to the station."
"I'm sure Commissioner Loeb wants a chat."
...
Loeb arrived unusually early.
He went straight to his office and accessed the internal network.
Morin's file appeared on the screen.
Perfect.
Ordinary.
Flawless.
Every detail checked out.
The only anomaly-
Everyone who could confirm it was dead.
The records remained.
The people did not.
Cold sweat soaked Loeb's back.
He knew enough.
Certain secrets. Certain organizations.
Flass's exaggerated speculation suddenly felt plausible.
A man like this didn't appear by coincidence.
Loeb didn't believe in coincidences.
He was certain.
Morin was an agent. A government one.
Inserted into the GCPD to investigate Gotham.
His file proved it.
His skills confirmed it.
"What am I supposed to do..." Loeb thought.
He didn't want to become a target.
A knock broke his thoughts.
"Come in."
Flass entered.
"Hugh Haas is in interrogation. Here's the indictment."
Loeb took it.
"Morin said this had to be resolved within a week," Flass added. "Have you figured out who he is?"
"There's nothing wrong with his file," Loeb said grimly.
"That's the problem."
He shook his head.
"Everyone connected to it is dead."
"Jesus Christ," Flass muttered.
"At this point," Loeb said, "we can be almost certain."
"No one else could create something this perfect."
He exhaled slowly.
"What worries me now..."
"...is how we deal with him."