"Good morning, Gotham! You're watching Channel 9, your go-to source for real-time updates on the ongoing neurotoxin investigation!"
The camera zoomed in on a poised, smiling female anchor. Her voice was smooth as silk, but her eyes burned with the excitement of breaking news.
"As the largest economic hub in the American Empire, Gotham doesn't blink without headlines. And today's top story isn't Bruce Wayne's romantic escapades or another high-society gala. No—it's the name on everyone's lips: a young, unknown Chinese detective named Adam."
Behind her, the screen flashed footage of Adam and Chief Gordon leaving Harvey Dent's office, a sealed evidence bag tucked under Adam's arm.
"Sources confirm that Adam and Chief Gordon emerged from Gotham's DA office less than ten minutes after entering," the anchor said with growing glee. "Yes, ten! And look closely—they're carrying a bag. Which means... they got what they came for."
She leaned forward like a gossip sharing a secret. "Harvey Dent—Gotham's golden boy. Clean, incorruptible, impossible to sway. Yet Adam made it happen. No bribes or threats. Could it be... the power of shared justice? A resonance of ideals?"
If Gordon were watching, he'd have spit out his coffee.
"Resonance of ideals"? More like two grown men gambling a legal search warrant on a coin toss.
But whatever the truth, they had it: an emergency warrant, legally signed and sealed.
"And now the question everyone's asking—where is Adam going next?" the anchor said, eyes gleaming. "Every minute that passes brings us closer to the ten-minute deadline he promised to solve the case. Can he really pull it off?"
She shuffled her papers dramatically. "So far, 3,875 viewers believe Adam is bluffing. Only 76 think he'll make it. Pick your side—text in your vote, and if you're right, you could win one of 50 free passes to the Flash Museum in Central City!"
Ah, Gotham. Even life-or-death cases were just another chance to win prizes.
Meanwhile, Adam and his team were already arriving at their next destination: Gotham University.
This threw off more than a few spectators. Betting pools had pegged Gotham General or the ACE Chemical Plant as likely targets—both obvious hotspots for toxic substances. But the university?
Sure, Gotham U had a sterling reputation. It specialized in experimental science and psychiatric research. Many Arkham employees were alumni. But chemistry? Not exactly their strong suit.
Adam stepped out of the cruiser at the front gate but didn't move inside. Instead, he pulled out his phone and made a brief call.
Moments later, a scrawny kid emerged from the campus shadows, ragged clothes flapping in the wind. He looked like a street orphan, but his eyes were sharp—watchful.
The boy handed Adam a crumpled note and bolted.
Adam scanned the paper, then smiled faintly. He passed it to one of the uniformed officers nearby.
"Take your team," he said coolly, "and search every address on this list."
He sounded like a man who already knew how the story ended.
Gordon, leaned in beside him. "Who's the kid? And what exactly did he hand you?"
Adam motioned the boy back over and grinned. "His name's Jason Todd. My... godson."
"Godson?" Gordon raised a brow.
"Well, something like that," Adam admitted. "When we applied for the warrant, I had him start tailing potential targets. Think of it like Sherlock Holmes and his Baker Street Irregulars."
The comparison wasn't far off. The kid had the same wiry intelligence Holmes looked for—sharp instincts and no fear of the underworld. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on ɴovᴇl(ꜰ)ir(e).nᴇt
Adam had wanted to say "apprentice," but the English felt clunky. So he defaulted to "godson"—à la Sirius Black and Harry Potter.
Jason, bold and unfiltered, cut in before Gordon could respond.
"You're James Gordon, right? My godfather talks about you all the time."
Adam's eyes widened. "Jason—"
But Gordon leaned in, intrigued. "Oh? What does he say about me?"
Jason blinked, voice serious. "He said you're an out-of-date, dead-head."
Adam froze. Gordon didn't.
Instead, the old man went quiet. Not angry—just... reflective.
Because Jason wasn't wrong.
For over a decade, Gordon had stood as Gotham's moral compass—unyielding, incorruptible. But nothing had changed. If anything, the city had sunk deeper. Crime was worse. Corruption more brazen. And Gordon had become a relic. A fossil fighting the tide with a badge and ideals.
He sighed. Maybe Adam was right. Maybe it was time to adapt—time to bend the rules just enough to work with people who shared the goal, even if they used different methods.
Even if one of them dressed like a bat and cracked ribs in alleys.
Then Jason spoke again.
"Godfather also said you have a daughter. Barbara, I think? He said she's really pretty. Always cheerful. Doesn't match you at all with that grumpy face of yours..."
Gordon's head snapped around, face slowly darkening into a murderous scowl.
Adam felt the shift in air pressure before he saw it. He turned just in time for Gordon to lunge, grabbing him by the collar like a father about to interrogate a teenage boy at prom.
"You!" Gordon growled, nose inches from his. "Don't even think about Barbara. Do you hear me?!"
Adam could barely breathe, half from the chokehold, half from laughing internally. He'd seen a lot in Batman comics—but nothing level of overprotective dad rage.
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