In Gotham's long history of crime, Falcone's reign stood as a period of brutal dominance. His rule could only be described as a black-and-white dictatorship soaked in violence.
No matter what kind of business you ran in Gotham, it all came down to one simple fact: you paid tribute to Falcone and his criminal families. There was no way around it. If you didn't, you wouldn't last a day in the city.
And this so-called "protection money" was little more than a sophisticated name for extortion—a management fee that symbolized the crime families' total control over Gotham.
But in the wake of that control came an undeniable truth: the rich got richer, and the poor only spiraled further into poverty. Gotham had become a city where survival meant getting trampled on by the system, and where every level of the criminal food chain preyed on those below them.
It was a dark, suffocating chain of command.
And in that chain, most of Gotham's citizens were barely the mud at the bottom of the swamp. For most, life was a constant struggle—scraping by with the little they had left after forking over their earnings to the crime families. Once their so-called protection fee was paid, they could only hope the scraps they had left would be enough to see them through to the next day.
People went about their lives in a haze, their eyes hollow, trudging through their daily routines without hope or ambition. In a city where crime lords ruled with an iron fist, no one dared to defy the system. To do so meant certain death—often in the most brutal of ways.
A careless word, a misstep in judgment, or worse, attracting the eye of a criminal boss could lead to a life-ending consequence. Sometimes, it wasn't just your life that was on the line—your family, your friends, even your pets weren't safe from the wrath of the crime lords.
Your husband? Taken.
Your car? Seized.
Even your couch, if one of Falcone's goons thought it looked too comfortable, was gone in an instant.
While it wasn't always Falcone's direct orders that led to these acts of cruelty, the countless low-level thugs and wannabe crime lords that ran beneath him were emboldened by his authority. They knew they could act with impunity. They could rob, kill, and destroy, and Gotham would turn a blind eye as long as they were loyal to the man at the top.
Back in those days, if you asked the kids of Gotham what they wanted to be when they grew up, the answer was almost always the same. They didn't want to be firefighters, doctors, or police officers. No, they wanted to be crime bosses, just like Falcone. It was the only dream worth having.
After all, becoming a crime lord was the only way to claw your way to the top, the only way to escape being another cog in the crime machine. And as long as you stayed sharp and ruthless, you could rise through the ranks of Gotham's underworld and take what you wanted—no matter the cost to others.
That was the Gotham Falcone ruled with an iron fist—a city where crime was the law, and the law was just another tool for the families to manipulate.
But then, Jim Gordon returned to Gotham.
After serving his time in the military, Gordon came back home to a city that had fallen so far into darkness, it seemed beyond saving. Gotham wasn't just another city. It was a battlefield, and one of the first cases he was handed as a fresh-faced detective was the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne.
Standing in that cold alley, comforting a young, traumatized Bruce Wayne, Gordon had made a silent promise. He would bring justice to Gotham. He would make the city safe again, no matter the cost.
But Gordon quickly learned that Gotham wasn't like the outside world. Here, corruption was woven into the very fabric of the city. As he delved deeper into the murder case, following a trail that led to Gotham's most powerful families, he uncovered a rot so deep it was hard to tell where the city ended and the crime began.
Gordon faced betrayal at every turn—threats, demotions, attempts on his life. The deeper he dug, the more dangerous things became. It was a struggle that nearly cost him everything, including his own life.
For years, he fought what seemed like an unwinnable war. But then, the Batman appeared—a dark figure willing to fight in the shadows alongside him.
Together, Gordon and the Batman chipped away at Gotham's corrupt core. Three long years later, the crime families started to crumble.
The once-mighty Falcone empire was reduced to dust. Gordon personally led the operation that saw the kingpin taken away in handcuffs and thrown into Blackgate Prison. It had felt like a victory—a small one—but a victory nonetheless.
Of course, Falcone had quickly been released on a technicality, fleeing Gotham for Hong Kong before Gordon ever got another shot at him. And for the next decade, Gotham's police commissioner focused his energy on fighting an entirely new breed of criminal—one with painted faces, riddles, and two-headed coins.
Gordon had almost forgotten about Falcone, lost in the madness of Joker, Riddler, and the other supervillains that had made Gotham their playground. But now, as Falcone sat in front of him, it all came rushing back.
"The years have been kinder to you than they have to me, Jim," Falcone said, his voice low and reflective, studying Gordon from behind the glass of whiskey he now held. "Age hasn't done either of us any favors, but you… you've weathered it better than most."
Gordon tensed. He had no idea what Falcone's true game was, but he wasn't about to let his guard down. Not after being kidnapped by his goons.
"And you," Gordon said, biting off each word, "have gotten old."
Falcone smiled. It wasn't a warm smile, but one that barely reached his eyes. He set his glass down and leaned back in his chair, stroking the white cat that had settled on his lap.
"Old indeed. But Gotham… Gotham is older than either of us. And it's sick, Jim. Sicker than when I left it in your hands. You let it rot."
"Rot?!" Gordon stood, the glass of whiskey forgotten. "Gotham is free now! The people don't live under your shadow anymore. They have hope."
Falcone tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Hope, you say? Tell me, Jim… do you really believe that? Look outside. Look at Gotham now. They may not be paying protection money to me anymore, but they live in fear just the same—maybe more so. What kind of freedom is that?"
Gordon gritted his teeth, refusing to be drawn into Falcone's warped logic. He wasn't here to argue Gotham's fate with a crime lord.
"I didn't come here to listen to your lectures, Falcone. I'm here for answers."
Falcone chuckled, a dark, throaty sound. He lifted his glass again and took another slow sip. "I thought as much. But make no mistake, Jim. We both failed Gotham in our own ways. The difference is, I'm ready to correct those mistakes. Are you?"