"Indian Hill."
Gordon wracked his brain, trying to recall anything substantial about the place. But even as Gotham's Police Commissioner, his knowledge of the area was frustratingly limited.
He knew that no one owned it—it was just a large junkyard, a graveyard for old cars and a haven for drifters. The land itself seemed cursed, barren to the point where even weeds refused to grow.
What else? Well, despite its dismal appearance, Indian Hill boasted one of the lowest crime rates in Gotham. No criminals wanted to make their living there.
"It seems you haven't quite figured it out," Falcone said with a small, almost pitying smile as he watched Gordon's bewildered expression. He shook his head slowly, as if disappointed. "Maybe a different name will jog your memory—what if I called it the Indian Hill Quasi-Military Zone? Or perhaps... The Gotham Research Facility?"
"!!!"
The mention of both military and research immediately set off alarm bells in Gordon's mind. His experience as a detective filled in the gaps quickly, and his eyes widened with realization.
Has Falcone finally lost it? Gordon thought, as his pulse quickened with unease.
Even though he hadn't heard those names before, it wasn't hard to deduce what kind of place this was. Though the Amazons of Themyscira had a disdain for technology, during their long-standing war with Atlantis, they certainly didn't shy away from using science to develop weapons—especially if it meant arming their soldiers or wiping out entire enemy forces.
Some of the things created in such labs could probably make Ra's al Ghul go silent in reflection, and might even bring a tear to the eye of someone like the Joker. Gordon hadn't imagined that Gotham had one of these places right under its feet.
Falcone smiled approvingly, noticing the flicker of recognition in Gordon's eyes. "Ah, I see the lightbulb has gone off. You're still as sharp as ever, Commissioner, and I'm pleased. As you've no doubt figured out, this was once a research facility established by the Amazonian Council, specifically to study biochemical warfare."
Falcone's slow, deliberate clap echoed in the room as he gestured for Sofia to sit beside him. She settled down, looking all too eager to hear her father recount the tale of Gotham's creation.
"Our beloved city, Gotham, was founded in the 1880s. Four families came together to bring it to life," Falcone began, stepping toward the fireplace, swirling his glass of whiskey as he spoke. The flames illuminated the deep lines on his face. "Those four families were the true pioneers. It took nearly ten years to finish construction, but by 1891, Gotham was born."
"The families included the Waynes—Bruce's mother's side—the Kanes, who Bruce's father hailed from, the Elliots, whom you may recognize today in Thomas 'Hush' Elliot, and lastly, the Cobblepots."
He took a sip of his drink, eyes glinting in the firelight. "Of course, the rest of us—the so-called 'Ten Families'—we came later. Our ancestors were little more than refugees, displaced people with no home. The true architects of Gotham were those four families."
"I'm getting off-topic," Falcone said with a wave of his hand. "Let's go back to the city's founding. The four families weren't as wealthy then as they are today. They could afford to build a small town, sure—but a city? That was out of their league."
"Then, just as they were running out of resources, an opportunity fell into their laps—one they couldn't refuse. A political broker from the Amazonian Council approached them with an offer. The Amazons would fund the construction of the city, but it wouldn't just be any city—it would serve as a foothold on the East Coast, a military outpost to resist the forces of Atlantis."
Falcone's eyes gleamed as he spoke. "Once the city was built, the families were promised full control over it. The Council wouldn't interfere in its day-to-day governance. In exchange, the Amazons would build research facilities, military bases, prisons, and temples within the city, and the families would be responsible for supplying these outposts—everything from food to manpower."
"Back then, the families weren't looking at skyscrapers or a thriving metropolis. Gotham was little more than a desolate stretch of marshland. They couldn't say no to an offer like that. They shook hands with the broker and became the Amazonian Council's pawns, whether they realized it or not."
He chuckled to himself. "The city grew, the Council kept their promise, and Gotham thrived under the families' rule. But in return, Gotham's resources flowed to the Council—everything from fish to steel to manpower."
"Ever wonder why your police stations, Blackgate Penitentiary, and Arkham Asylum look more like fortresses than civic buildings? Those places were built during that era, designed for wartime defense."
Falcone paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room.
"As decades passed, warfare evolved. The Amazons soon realized they needed a bigger stick—something that could definitively end the war with Atlantis. So, they bought the land from the Native American tribes that lived here and built the Gotham Research Facility at Indian Hill. They planned to develop weapons—biochemical agents that could wipe out Atlantis once and for all."
Falcone's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "And what better place to house a biochemical lab than in a coastal city where it could dump toxins directly into the ocean?"
Gordon shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his mind racing. He had heard rumors about Gotham's dark history, but this? This was on a whole other level.
Falcone continued, his tone almost amused. "That's where we are now, Jim. The facility beneath our feet was designed to concoct all kinds of nasty things—things that make even me shudder. You should see the horrors stored above our heads. It's kept me entertained for years."
Gordon, now visibly agitated, sat forward, trying to grasp the full scope of what Falcone was telling him. "So what's your endgame here, Falcone? You've taken control of this place. What are you planning?"
The old man turned to face Gordon, a soft smile playing on his lips. "My endgame is simple, Jim. I want to give you a second chance—a chance to build the Gotham you've always dreamed of. The families are tired. We're ready to wash our hands clean and start legitimate businesses."
Gordon blinked, struggling to process Falcone's words. "What... what are you talking about?"
Falcone sighed and sat back down, placing his whiskey on the table. "Beneath us, Jim, there are 40 million cubic meters of a green liquid. It's a special formula, enhanced with magic. Once released into the water, it can penetrate the skin and organs of any living thing, turning them into nothing more than corpses."
He chuckled darkly. "The Amazons named it 'Super Sarin.' The idea was to dump it into the ocean and rid the world of the Atlanteans once and for all."
Gordon stared at him, horrified. "And what? You're planning to use it?"
"Only a little," Falcone replied nonchalantly. "Just enough to cleanse Gotham. It'll return to the way it was when it was first built—empty and peaceful. Then, Jim, you can build your ideal city. Once this storm passes and you step outside, you'll see Gotham's future is bright."
Gordon felt his skin crawl. "What about your daughter? Isn't this supposed to be her city?"
Falcone shook his head firmly, cutting Gordon off. "No, Jim. Gotham's future rests with you. Sofia will help you manage the shadows, but this city isn't hers to control. You promised me you'd build a Gotham filled with hope, and that's why I'm offering you this chance—for the city's future."
"I do want Gotham to change, but not like this!" Gordon said, his voice rising in panic.
Falcone smiled, almost pityingly. "Don't be afraid, Jim. It'll be over quickly. Everyone in Gotham will die in their sleep, without even realizing it. It's the only way, Jim. The people of Gotham are too far gone—consumed by madness and darkness. Only by cleansing them can the city be reborn."
Gordon pulled his hand away, recoiling in disgust. "You're insane, Falcone. This is madness."
Falcone lit a cigar, his expression calm as he leaned back. "No, Jim. This isn't madness. This is something I learned in Hong Kong. They have a saying there—'cut off a limb to save the body.' That's all I'm doing. I'm saving Gotham."