Falcone's reign over Gotham was marked by a kind of blackened dictatorship, a violent order shrouded in fear. No matter what business you ran in Gotham, you paid protection fees to Falcone and his crime family. Otherwise, survival in the city became impossible.
This "protection fee" could easily have been labeled a "management fee," as Gotham had long become a city run by the crime families. But this system of control came with a brutal cost—while the rich got richer, the poor sank deeper into poverty, with the lower classes bearing the brunt of extortion.
It was a hierarchy of predation: the big fish devoured the small fish, the small fish preyed on the shrimp, and the shrimp fed off the dregs. In Gotham, 90% of the population barely even qualified as shrimp, struggling in menial jobs to scrape by, their meager earnings barely enough to survive after paying the crime families. They existed in a perpetual state of desperation, trapped in the cycle of handing over their livelihoods to enrich the families that ruled the city.
People moved through life in a haze, beaten down and afraid. In Gotham, one wrong move could mean a beating, or worse. The more terrifying punishments included having your home torched, being gunned down in the streets, or being thrown into the river with concrete blocks tied to your feet. The entire city was suffocating under a blanket of black terror.
Nothing was safe. If the crime families wanted something, they took it.
If your husband was handsome? They'd take him.
If your bike was in good condition? They'd take it.
If your couch was soft and luxurious? It was gone.
While most of these actions were carried out by lower-tier thugs, all these smaller gangs operated under the umbrella of larger powers, and those powers ultimately bowed to the ten ruling families of Gotham.
Elsewhere in the world, if you asked a child what they wanted to be when they grew up, you'd hear answers like scientist, priest, or firefighter. But in Gotham during Falcone's reign, there was only one dream—become the boss.
To rise above in Gotham meant embracing the darkness, aligning yourself with the right crime lord, and becoming the kind of person you once hated. This was the only way to climb the city's twisted ladder of success.
Half the city's politicians were in the pockets of the crime families, and the other half lived in constant fear of them. Gotham had become a city with no hope.
It was into this world that a retired soldier named James Gordon returned, becoming a detective in the Gotham City Police Department. His first case? The murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne, shot dead in a back alley.
He had comforted young Bruce Wayne that night, promising to uncover the truth and bring his parents' killers to justice.
But as Gordon dug deeper, every lead pointed to the crime families. His investigation brought him face to face with the horrifying forces controlling Gotham from the shadows.
As a homicide detective, Gordon's life wasn't too difficult—he didn't have to pay protection fees, and thugs rarely targeted the police. After all, in Falcone's Gotham, the police maintained order for the crime families. They were effectively employees of the system, and employees didn't pay protection fees.
Though born in Gotham, Gordon had seen the world beyond its dark borders, a world filled with light and hope. He couldn't accept that his home city had fallen into such darkness.
So, he made it his mission to take down every criminal, every gangster, and restore the city to what it once was.
It wasn't for his own gain. Gordon fought for the city's poor, the people who had no one to protect them. And in doing so, he endured incredible hardships. He was demoted, threatened, framed, and even targeted for assassination.
The deeper he dug, the more brutal the retaliation became. Time and time again, Gordon narrowly escaped with his life. But after three grueling years of working alongside Batgirl, they finally won. The ten families crumbled, leaving only the Cobblepot family—led by Penguin, who controlled a fraction of the power they once had.
Gordon himself had led Falcone, the once-untouchable king of Gotham, into Blackgate Prison. Though Falcone had soon been released, he left for Hong Kong, and Gordon hadn't seen him since.
After that, Gordon spent his years battling the endless parade of masked villains that rose to fill the vacuum left by the families. He rarely had time to reflect on the past—except in quiet moments, perhaps with a glass of whiskey in hand, when he allowed himself to recall those dangerous early days.
Now, standing before him was the man from those memories.
"Gordon, you were a fine young man once... but now, you're old, too," Falcone said, his voice tinged with a strange mix of nostalgia and pity. His eyes held no malice, only the calm of an elder watching a wayward child.
Falcone was as elegant as ever, dressed immaculately, the picture of calm refinement. The room they stood in felt like a relic from a bygone era, a snapshot of Gotham's dark glory days when Falcone ruled the city. It was as though time had turned back, and they were once again sitting across from each other—Gordon, the eager detective, and Falcone, the city's emperor.
But Gordon wasn't the man he had been thirty years ago, and he wasn't fooled by Falcone's genteel demeanor. He remembered all too well how Falcone's men had "invited" him here.
Falcone had returned—and he wasn't alone.
"You've aged faster than me, Falcone," Gordon shot back, his tone defiant despite the circumstances.
Falcone chuckled, stroking the sleepy white cat in his lap, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his face. "Yes, we've both grown old. The world belongs to the young now. That's why I came back to see what's become of this city."
"Nothing here worth seeing," Gordon replied coldly, "You should have stayed away."
Falcone paused for a moment, glancing down at the rose pinned to his suit before looking back at Gordon. "I gave you a thriving city, and you've let it turn into this?"
"At least the people are free," Gordon countered, closing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, trying to keep his emotions in check.
"Free?" Falcone laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "They're too scared to leave their homes after dark. Some freedom."
Shaking his head, Falcone smiled wryly, as though amused by a tragic joke. "You and that Batgirl... you deceived me. But I don't hold it against you. I know you were trying to build a better city."
He sighed, setting his cat down on the plush carpet where it curled up contentedly. Reaching across the desk, he poured two glasses of golden liquid, the firelight making the liquor shimmer.
"I know there were those in my family who betrayed me, who were involved in the deaths of the Waynes. The Court of Owls infiltrated my organization, and I got what I deserved."
Gordon stayed silent.
"Remember when I asked you what you wanted? You told me you wanted a city where people could live in peace, where children could grow up safe. So I let go. I let you lock me up in Blackgate. I let you be Gotham's hope. And I left. But this—" Falcone gestured around, his expression calm but sharp. "This is what you've given me in return?"
Falcone stood, a bit unsteady with age, and handed one of the glasses to Gordon before clinking his own gently against it.
"You are the one I trusted with Gotham, James. You were my ideal successor—not that crippled little Penguin," Falcone said softly.
Gordon stared at the glass in his hand, his grip tightening as Falcone's words sank in.