The thugs shoved Commissioner Gordon into the room. He was a mess—bruised, battered, and his glasses were gone. He stumbled, his chapped lips and unsteady legs showing just how much he'd been through, but he held his head high.
"Well, hello, James," Killer Whale said with a sickeningly cheerful grin, ignoring Gordon's swollen face. "I hope you've enjoyed your stay and learned a little something about how the poor folks live." He leaned back in his chair. "We think you've learned your lesson. Sign a few agreements for us, and we'll respectfully send you on your way."
Gordon ignored the taunt. He flexed his arms, trying to get the feeling back after being tied up for so long. "Why the sudden change of heart?" he asked, his voice rough. "Did the department send someone?"
Even beaten and cornered, Gordon was still a detective. He could sense when something was off, and he saw right through the gangster's act.
"Haha, you caught me," Killer Whale said with a theatrical sigh. "One of your boys did come by. Unfortunately, he wasn't much of a negotiator, so I had to send him to meet his maker." He gestured dramatically toward the doorway where Adam's body lay. "But even though I had to kill one of your men, I'm still willing to talk. See? I'm being merciful. All you have to do is promise to meet our demands."
Gordon wasn't listening to his rambling. His blood ran cold when he heard that a cop had been killed. Anyone brave enough to walk into this den alone was one of the few good ones left. Their loss would be a blow to whatever justice was left in Gotham.
'Was it Bullock? Keen?' he wondered, his heart sinking.
He leaned forward, dreading what he would see. Lying on the floor, his face covered in blood, was Adam. The young detective, one of the brightest and most promising officers he'd seen in years, was lying there, completely still.
"What have you done?!" Gordon roared, a wave of grief and fury washing over him. It felt like the last flicker of hope for the GCPD had just been extinguished. Forgetting his own situation, he lunged at Killer Whale.
But the gangster was ready. He had learned his tricks from Black Mask, and he was as cunning as he was cruel. He easily sidestepped Gordon's attack, slamming him down onto a table.
"Shhh," Killer Whale sneered, his voice like a twisted lullaby. "Easy now. An old man like you should be at home, not playing hero."
Just as he spoke, several small canisters dropped from the ceiling. Before anyone could react, they burst with a loud hiss, filling the room with thick, choking smoke. In seconds, visibility dropped to zero.
"Batman?" Killer Whale gasped. "Why is he out during the day?" Every criminal in Gotham knew the routine: smoke bombs meant the Dark Knight was about to strike.
But before he could shout a warning, a sharp, brutal kick connected with his groin. The self-proclaimed crime lord collapsed to his knees, howling in agony.
'Wait,' he thought through the searing pain. 'That wasn't Batman. He doesn't fight dirty like that...'
Gordon, one of the few people who knew Batman well, also realized something was off. The smoke didn't burn his lungs; it felt like a cheap imitation. Just as he was trying to make sense of the chaos, a familiar voice whispered urgently in his ear.
"Dad! This is our chance! Let's go!"
Gordon stiffened. He wanted to shout her name but caught himself.
"Barbara?" he hissed back. "Are you crazy? What are you doing here? It's too dangerous!"
In the smoke, Barbara Gordon showed no fear.
"Don't worry, Dad," she whispered with a mischievous glint in her eye. "I followed that big fool from your station. None of these thugs even knew I was here. Now let's move!"
Gordon wanted to argue, but the cheap smoke was already starting to clear. The surrounding thugs were getting their bearings, their eyes locking onto Gordon and his daughter.
"You got lucky," one of them snarled, advancing on them. "Let's see what tricks you have now!"
Killer Whale, still on the floor and clutching himself, gritted his teeth. Seeing Gordon's daughter only fueled his rage.
Barbara and Gordon's faces fell. They were unarmed and surrounded. There was no escape.
Just as Killer Whale was about to give the order to grab them, a sudden burst of gunfire erupted from behind him. Before anyone could process what was happening, his men dropped to the floor one by one, their bodies riddled with bullet holes.
"Who is it now?" Killer Whale choked out, twisting around. "Batman doesn't use guns!"
His eyes widened in disbelief. Standing in the doorway, holding a pistol in each hand, was Adam. His face was grim, and though there was still dried blood at the corner of his mouth, the two bullet impacts on his chest hadn't even broken the skin. He stood there, solid and very much alive.
"What?" Killer Whale stammered, staring at the bulletproof vest under Adam's torn shirt. "You... you were faking?"
He finally understood. Adam had played dead, waiting for the perfect moment to turn the tables.