After the Arkham crisis was resolved and hundreds of civilians were rescued, life for Gotham's Dark Knight had, for once, become almost… pleasant.
Catwoman's jealousy storm—her signature emotional weapon—had finally been neutralized by Bruce Wayne's relentless charm offensive. The two had fallen back into their familiar rhythm, all dangerous grace and teasing affection. With Gotham's streets quieter than usual, Bruce even found time to refocus on his protégés' training.
Once he got serious, though, Barbara quickly realized what "training under Batman" really meant. She had classes in the daytime, patrols at night, and every spare minute in between was consumed by drills so intense she barely had time to breathe—let alone sneak in any romantic mischief with Robin.
Still, whenever she thought about quitting, she'd catch sight of Thea's faintly mocking smile. Pride alone kept her going.
Thea, meanwhile, spent her free hours alternating between perfecting her mechanical arm project and sparring with the group. Even Batman had to admit she could now hold her own against him for quite a while. As for Barbara and Robin—well, let's just say if they ganged up on her, she could still mop the floor with them given a little effort.
But while they trained, Bruce's thoughts were elsewhere—specifically, on Thea's offhand suggestion that he run for Commissioner.
He'd been mulling it over for days, consulting the people closest to him. And, as it turned out, one voice carried more weight than the rest: Alfred Pennyworth.
Alfred's argument was simple and irrefutable—being Commissioner of Police sounded a lot better than being Gotham's "eternal playboy." From the Wayne family's reputation to Bruce's personal safety, the job was an upgrade on all fronts.
The old butler had watched his young master grow up; he didn't want to see him burn out in an endless crusade. The "Broken Back" incident had nearly given the eighty-year-old man a heart attack. Though Alfred had never met Thea, his gratitude toward her was immense. From then on, he practically nagged Bruce daily: "Take the job, Master Wayne."
And when Alfred spoke, Bruce listened.
Commissioner Gordon—graying, weary, and all too aware of his own approaching retirement—also approved. The department wasn't in terrible shape, but it wasn't great either. Handing over the reins to Bruce Wayne, a man both competent and incorruptible, seemed like a final act of redemption for Gotham's oldest cop.
With both his father figure and his mentor backing the idea, Bruce found himself running out of excuses to refuse. Still, his caution wouldn't let him jump straight in. So he tested the waters first—by quietly applying for the Gotham Police Union presidency, a position so ceremonial that no one had cared about it in decades.
It was supposed to be a small, anonymous trial balloon.
Instead, it turned into a hurricane.
By the next morning, headlines were everywhere.
Gordon, who had quietly tipped off a few reporters, and Thea—who had not so quietly pulled the strings of the Court of Owls through Catherine and Luigi—had orchestrated the perfect PR storm.
"Prodigal Son Returns: Bruce Wayne Joins Gotham Law Enforcement!" — Gotham Times
"A Beacon of Hope for the GCPD: The Dark Knight of Industry!" — Gotham Evening Post
"Tomorrow's Commissioner? Bruce Wayne Steps Up!" — Morning News Channel 6
At six a.m., an unsuspecting Lucius Fox was ambushed by reporters on his way to work. He had no idea what they were talking about—but being a diplomat at heart, he smiled, improvised a few glowing compliments about Bruce's "commitment to the city," and suddenly the story caught fire.
In a matter of hours, Bruce Wayne's public image transformed from frivolous billionaire to Gotham's savior-in-waiting.
Watching the broadcasts from the Batcave, Bruce was utterly dumbfounded.
Do I really have that kind of approval rating? Is this some villain's mind game?
But then he saw Lucius's earnest face on-screen and sighed. No, this wasn't a setup.
Seeking reassurance, he turned to Catwoman for an opinion.
"Go for it!" she purred instantly. To her, the idea was deliciously ironic—the same cops who'd chased her for twenty years would now have to salute her as the Commissioner's wife.
Even Robin and Barbara supported the move. Robin had always wanted to become a cop; seeing his mentor lead the department was a dream come true. Barbara's reasons were simpler: If he's busy with paperwork, maybe I can finally rest.
After a full round of consultations, Bruce realized—no one in his entire circle opposed it. Not one. Even his paranoia, sharpened by years of crime-fighting, couldn't find a single red flag.
Fine then. He'd do it.
Once Thea received confirmation that Bruce had officially filed his application for Commissioner, she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.
No matter how secretive the Court of Owls tried to be, there were always threads to pull—and now that she had Gotham's greatest detective preoccupied with bureaucracy, she could redirect resources out of the city far more freely.
She instructed Catherine and Luigi to mobilize their networks in politics, business, and law enforcement. Their mission: keep Bruce busy. Flood him with meetings, press conferences, and charity galas until his focus was completely diverted.
From the moment Bruce appeared in public to the day he finally claimed the Commissioner's chair, Thea estimated she'd have a clean two years of breathing room—plenty of time to funnel technology and capital from both Wayne Enterprises and Gotham's underworld.
Because the truth was, the Court of Owls' sprawling network of families quietly held majority control of Wayne Enterprises. Add in Thea's own hidden shares, and the math became absurd.
Of course, none of it could ever see the light of day. The Court had spent twenty years blocking Bruce from gaining full authority within his own company, and though the conflict stayed within legal limits, the tension was constant.
Thea had no interest in corporate politics anyway. What she wanted wasn't ownership—it was power.
And WayneTech's advanced technology gave her exactly that. Every device, every prototype, every cutting-edge weapon they had access to could now pass through her hands. It was the perfect foundation for her future—her armor project was almost ready.
As she wrapped up her affairs, Thea knew her time in Gotham was ending.
There would be no dramatic farewells. No poetic partings in the rain.
This was the modern age—everyone had phones, video calls, encrypted channels. Goodbyes were a formality.
Still, on the day of her departure, Bruce and his closest allies gathered at the Wayne Enterprises helipad. Gordon, Catwoman, Barbara, and Robin were there to see Thea and Felicity off.
To Thea's amusement, Catwoman and Felicity had become inseparable in just days—whispering and giggling over something on their phones that probably involved hacking, or blackmail, or both.
"Even though I've said it before," Bruce said, offering his hand, "I'll say it again—thank you. Meeting you was an honor."
Thea smiled, shaking his hand firmly. "The honor's mutual, Commissioner-to-be."
She exchanged a few respectful words with Gordon, whose weary eyes still held a spark of admiration. To Barbara and Robin, she simply waved—there'd be time enough to meet again.
"Take care, everyone."
She climbed into the helicopter, gave one last casual salute through the cockpit window, and pulled up on the controls.
As the rotors thundered and the skyline of Gotham fell away beneath them, Thea let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Next stop: Star City.