Gordon's awareness finally returned to his body. He could sense the warmth from the fireplace and the light in the room, but inside, he was trapped in a wintry void—cold, empty, devoid of hope.
Falcone, ever the manipulator, gently patted Gordon's shoulder, comforting him like a father to a grieving son. "Gordon, my dear boy, it's over now. Everything's going to be alright. You've given so much to this city—lost two wives, your child… you're just tired."
"Tired… yeah, I'm tired," Gordon muttered, his voice shaking as he lowered his head.
"No, Gordon," Falcone's voice hardened. "It's not time to rest. Gotham hasn't been saved yet. The new Gotham hasn't been built. You can't rest now. Only you can fix it. You promised me."
Falcone embraced Gordon tightly, with surprising strength for a man his age, nearly lifting the police commissioner off the couch.
Gordon looked at Falcone, his eyes filled with confusion. His mind was a swirling fog, filled with fragmented thoughts and half-remembered promises.
"I… I promised you?" Gordon stammered, trying to remember what he'd agreed to.
"Yes, you did," Falcone assured him, his voice steady. "You promised a better Gotham, a city where everyone can live in peace. This is our city, Gordon. We both want to see it rise."
"My child... my child!" Gordon suddenly cried, his face twisting in agony as memories of his daughter overwhelmed him.
Falcone soothed him like a child having a nightmare, patting his back gently. "It's all behind you now, Gordon. You'll have another family. When the new Gotham is born, I'll personally preside over your wedding to Sophia. The Falcone family will be yours to control. I'll step aside. You'll have a new wife, new children, and a city that you helped build."
Falcone looked at Sophia, silently asking for her approval. She smiled, that same fake, hollow smile—like a noblewoman playing her role at court.
"Yes, Father," Sophia replied sweetly, her voice dripping with obedience, though the façade never wavered.
"Come now, Gordon," Falcone coaxed, extending his right hand. The golden ring on his finger bore the Falcone family crest—a rose intricately engraved on its surface. "Kiss my ring and accept our bond. From this day forward, we are family, united in building a better Gotham."
Even in his dazed state, Gordon turned his head away, refusing to look at the ring. Just as he had done all those years ago.
Outside Indian Hill, Michael sat with Cindy in the news van. They had been staking out the area for over an hour now, silently watching the darkness. It was past 4 AM, and the only sound was the relentless storm hammering the van and the empty streets beyond.
The wind howled, twisting the rain into wild spirals that snuck through every crevice of the van, draining the warmth from their bones. Inside, Michael and Cindy sat in the dark cabin, each holding a bottle of cheap beer they had grabbed during their earlier raid on a convenience store.
Earlier, while scouring the store, Michael had explained everything to Cindy—the truth about the multiverse, the real mastermind pulling the strings, and some of his darkest theories.
He had chosen to trust Cindy because, in this twisted version of Gotham, she was the only person he could rely on. Before he left this world—if he ever could—Michael wanted to arm her with the knowledge to survive.
Michael wasn't sure if telling her everything was the right decision. He knew that even the smallest actions could cause devastating ripples, possibly accelerating the chaos in this unstable world. But deep down, he believed that Cindy deserved to know the truth. After all, they had become unlikely partners in a battle for survival.
Though they'd only known each other for six hours, their connection had grown fast, forged in the fires of Gotham's chaos. Those six hours had felt like an eternity to Michael, his new life in this world defined by moments of crisis and impossible choices.
Surprisingly, Cindy had taken the news in stride. When Michael laid bare the threats from beyond the multiverse, she had only responded with a simple "Oh," as though it were just another briefing. He wasn't sure if that meant she trusted him, or if she was still processing it all.
Together, they had driven to Indian Hill in silence, and now they waited—watching, listening.
The junkyard lay ahead, filled with flickering fires as homeless people huddled for warmth in the rusting hulks of old cars. Occasionally, the wind would extinguish one of their fires, and faint curses or sobbing would drift through the night.
The weather was too harsh for even rats, but Michael was sure he saw movement between the piles of wreckage—small creatures scurrying to higher ground as if sensing something terrible was coming.
The wind shifted again, blowing the rain sideways through a small crack in the van. The cold water bit into their skin, but their true targets, the League of Shadows, had yet to appear.
"Damn it, where are they? Did the League get swept away by a flood?" Cindy groaned, slumping over the steering wheel in frustration. "We've been sitting here for hours."
"Something's wrong," Michael replied, his gaze fixed on the darkness outside. "Batwoman's surveillance system isn't picking up any ninja activity in Gotham. There's been a misstep somewhere."
Barbara, still remotely connected to Batwoman's network through her laptop, was furiously cycling through surveillance feeds, but nothing had turned up. There was no sign of the League of Shadows anywhere in the city.
"What's the move?" Cindy asked, glancing at him.
Michael thought for a moment. Maybe the League had altered their plans. Cindy had only found the ninja's footprints on the rooftop. It was possible that the League's scouts hadn't even investigated the body.
They might have already written Gotham off as guilty. With Batwoman out of the picture, Ra's al Ghul wouldn't waste time investigating who was responsible for his assassin's death. He would assume Gotham was to blame.
Right now, Ra's might be in Nanda Parbat, mobilizing the full strength of the League for a larger assault. By the time they arrived in Gotham, it wouldn't be to seek justice—it would be for total annihilation.
If Ra's wanted Gotham to fall, he wouldn't care about justice. He would obliterate the entire city.
"We're out of time," Michael decided, locking his helmet into place and preparing his weapons. "We go in now. No more waiting."
"Are you sure?" Cindy asked, cracking her knuckles and gearing up. "We still don't know exactly where Falcone plans to strike."
Michael glanced at her, then at the others in the van. He opened the door and stepped into the storm.
"What I do know," Michael said grimly, "is that the longer we wait, the worse things are going to get."
He wasn't just talking about Falcone. The longer they stayed inactive, the more likely Bryce Wayne would be forced into action, the closer they got to Gotham being plunged into war between the Amazons and Atlantis.
They didn't have time. They had to rescue Gordon. They had to find Bryce. And they had to do it now.
No more waiting. The storm had come, and so had the time for action.