When Jim Gordon finally came home, it was already ten o'clock at night. He quietly slipped into the living room, opened the window, and smoked one cigarette after another, looking heavily preoccupied.
"Dad, you're finally back."
The sudden voice startled Jim. He glared at his daughter and snapped, "Why aren't you in bed this late?"
"What were you doing with that woman?"
"That's grown-up business. Mind your own and go to sleep."
"Don't think I don't know what you were talking about. That girl is an FBI agent, and you're planning to take on the Falcone crime family to turn Gotham's awful situation around."
Jim looked furious. "You followed me!"
Barbara turned her head away. "My little brother is due in a month. I can't have you starting an affair right now."
"..."
Jim's face was beet red. He seriously wanted to spank her.
Barbara quickly poured him a glass of juice and placed it next to him, her face full of placating smiles. Jim couldn't stay angry at his daughter, so he said sternly,
"Don't ever get involved in my work again, understood?"
Barbara nodded repeatedly. Her eyes shifted, and she cautiously asked,
"Did you agree to help her?"
Jim took a puff of smoke and said heavily, "Her rank is too low, and her metahuman status makes her too sensitive."
"I don't think any of that is a problem."
Jim scoffed, "What do you know?"
Barbara said seriously, "Dad, even though you always refuse to admit it, the fact is my IQ is 154, and yours is only 121. When facing difficulties, I consider things more comprehensively than you do."
"Now, answer me one question seriously: do you really want to get your job back?"
Jim frowned, remaining silent.
Most of the time, silence is consent.
"I knew it."
Barbara shrugged. "Since you want your job back, then say yes to her!"
Jim replied helplessly, "That FBI agent is barely older than you; she's clearly an inexperienced rookie. If she had authorization from a superior, I might consider it. Unfortunately, besides the drug trafficking intelligence map, all she has is a low-level agent badge."
"You're wrong. You should agree because her rank is low! Think about it: if an FBI Senior Director came, how would you divide power? Would you listen to him? Or would he listen to you?"
Jim paused, deep in thought.
Barbara continued, "A Senior FBI Director won't take orders from a local police captain. But a low-level rookie is different. Technically, you'll be cooperating as equals, with no difference in rank. But in a critical moment, because of your age and experience, she'll have to defer to your arrangements."
"This ensures the entire operation is controllable and prevents unexpected problems. Even more importantly, they are metahumans, and there's more than one."
Barbara grew more animated. "Metahuman status is sensitive, but that's a problem for the higher-ups, not the police. All we need is the intelligence they hold and their incredible superpowers. With them assisting, the action will be more effective and swifter, and police casualties will be greatly reduced. As for their real motives? What does that matter to us? As long as the target is the same, we can work together."
Her speech struck a chord with Jim, and his thoughts began to clear.
He had to admit, his daughter made a strong point. No matter the other party's motives, if they could take down the Falcone family, it was a worthwhile endeavor.
After taking several deep drags, Jim stubbed out his cigarette and turned back.
"Barbara, it's time for you to go to bed."
"Oh!"
The girl obediently nodded and quietly slipped back to her bedroom.
A few minutes later, the sound of the front door opening was heard downstairs. Barbara sighed helplessly, got out of bed, turned on her computer, and used her excellent hacking skills to quickly locate Emily Song's personal file in the FBI database.
After reviewing the file and finding no issues, she finally relaxed, collapsed onto her bed, and fell into a deep sleep.
The Military Operation
After just one day of rioting, Gotham City had become unrecognizable.
Walking down the familiar streets, all Jim saw was desolation. Shops were smashed, stores were looted, and glass shards covered the ground. It was past six in the morning, yet there were no pedestrians, and even the sandwich vendors had vanished.
Bank doors were sealed shut, and the faint sound of vicious dogs barking could be heard from inside.
Jim sighed softly and quickened his pace.
When he arrived at the precinct, Ramirez, Hank, and others had already arrived.
No one spoke. They stood in front of the burned-out police station, as if performing a religious ceremony.
As time passed, more people gathered. Every few minutes, a batch of plainclothes officers appeared. The numbers grew, but the atmosphere remained silent, broken only by the crackling sounds of the burning debris.
Unconsciously, the crowd exceeded three hundred, and the street became packed.
Jim took off his police cap and said gravely,
"You all know why I called you here, so I won't waste time explaining. I have only one thing to say: The police in Gotham City are not all bad people. Good cops will always outnumber the bad!"
Just those words brought some officers to tears. Heaven knows what they had endured this past day.
Ramirez stepped forward and shouted,
"Captain, what should we do?"
"We will eliminate the Falcone family at all costs! We will use this to show the citizens that the Gotham police are not parasites!"
For Gotham City, this day was destined to go down in history. Under the full cooperation of the future Police Commissioner, Jim Gordon, and the future FBI Director, Emily Song, the cleanup operation officially began.
The group was divided into seven teams. Each team had an FBI metahuman escort as they launched targeted strikes on key locations: Central Bank, the arms warehouse at the docks, the drug processing plant, black market workshops, nightclub chains, the underground currency exchange, and other strongholds.
The action was swift and decisive, with no prior leaks.
The gang members guarding the strongholds didn't have time to react before plainclothes detectives had guns pressed against their heads.
In cases of fierce resistance, the metahumans stepped in. The seven metahumans had different abilities, but to ordinary people, they were all terrifyingly effective.
With the metahumans' help, the three most vital locations—Central Bank, the arms warehouse, and the underground currency exchange—quickly fell into police hands.
The arms warehouse was stacked high with modern weaponry, including heavy equipment like rocket launchers and mortars.
Compared to these cannons, a standard 9mm pistol looked pitifully inadequate.
A fervent excitement began to show in the officers' eyes. Jim Gordon had no way to stop them and simply closed his eyes. With that, a massive equipment upgrade commenced.
The police officers discarded their batons and pistols, picking up hand grenades, strapping on helmets, donning military-grade body armor, and swapping their service weapons for modern military rifles like the M16 and Tavor TAR-21. Some even shouldered rocket launchers.
Even the metahumans joined in.
With their equipment dramatically upgraded, the police's confidence soared. They immediately escalated the cleanup operation into a military operation.
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