THE DEATH KNELL

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Indian Hill

Commissioner Gordon stood in the dimly lit room, his silence stretching as thick as the Gotham smog outside. He was at a loss for words, unsure if there was even a point in speaking. The weight of what he had just heard sat heavy on his chest.

He had known for years that Gotham was a city of masks—both literal and figurative—but this? This was something else entirely.

Batwoman and Briss. Two identities, split like two sides of a coin. And yet, it wasn't just a disguise, not like a simple costume a vigilante donned for the night. There was something deeply unsettling about the separation, as if they were two completely different people housed in the same body.

And every time one of Gotham's mad jesters was taken down, it was always the same.

The laughter. The taunts. The mocking words that echoed long after the criminals were hauled away.

"Dear Bat, you and me are the same!"

"I know you! We are the same kind of people!"

"You made me! Hahaha!"

Each time, Batgirl stood there in silence, her expression unreadable beneath the shadows of her cowl. She would watch as the bloodied, broken criminals were loaded into the heavily armored transport vehicles bound for Arkham Asylum. Not once did she respond to their words. Not once did she offer any form of denial or acceptance.

Then, with a dramatic sweep of her cape, she would vanish into the Gotham night, leaving behind only unanswered questions.

No one knew what was going through her mind.

No one ever did.

But Gordon wasn't blind. Even the lunatics of this city could see the truth that so many ignored—Gotham's madness wasn't random. It was drawn here, pulled in like moths to a flame.

And that flame burned in the shape of a bat.

He had watched Briss grow up, had seen her transform into something he both feared and relied upon. He had always believed she would make the right choices. That Gotham needed a force in the dark, something to hold back the spread of evil.

But tonight, Falcone had shattered that belief with a simple sentence.

"I know everything."

Gordon swallowed hard. He had spent his entire career walking the tightrope between order and chaos. But the path he had chosen—his alliances, his decisions—had all been foreseen.

And Falcone had been planning for it.

The old crime lord had even arranged a backup.

The woman before him—the heir of the Cobblepot family, now known only as Penguin—should have been the one to deal with these matters from the shadows. By all logic, she should have been the one in Batgirl's position.

Falcone leaned forward, his voice smooth and casual, as if they were discussing the weather.

"Look, Gordon, you're an honest man. You can't even lie to me properly. We all know Briss is crazy, and her mind is fractured. Two people, one body."

There was no triumph in his voice. No smugness. Only the tired sigh of a man who had seen too much and understood the nature of Gotham all too well.

Gordon had chosen Batgirl as the city's deterrent against the dark underworld.

But what was Batgirl compared to Penguin?

Batgirl could strike fear into criminals, sure. But Penguin? Penguin had the full weight of Gotham's ancient crime families behind her. If she chose to, she could bring a thousand times the terror of the Bat.

Every old-timer in Gotham knew what the name Falcone meant.

Knew what the Ten Families meant.

They ruled this city long before masked vigilantes and theatrical criminals appeared. Their power was real, tangible—terrifying. A horror as vast and consuming as the endless Gotham night.

Penguin knew all of it.

She had been waiting, watching, silently gathering strength. The moment Gordon gave up on the Bat, she would step forward, ready to take Gotham into the future that Falcone had envisioned.

A future where black and white weren't at odds—but working together.

Reshaping Gotham into something new.

Gordon felt his stomach turn at the thought.

If Falcone's plan succeeded, then Gotham wouldn't be a battlefield anymore. The chessboard would have only two pieces—white for law and black for crime. And it would all move according to their rules.

It sounded idealistic, even tempting. A Gotham with structure. A Gotham where criminals didn't run rampant, because crime had been organized. Maybe, in that version of Gotham, people would feel safe again.

But Gordon wasn't a fool. He had seen this kind of power before, in history books and dictatorships.

Rome.

It would be no different from Rome.

And just like in Rome, power would corrupt.

"No," Gordon said, shaking his head. His voice was firm, unwavering. "That's your Gotham, not mine. A city run by criminals is doomed to fall."

Falcone swirled the liquor in his glass, studying him.

"I understand your stance. I always have. You've worked hard, Gordon, harder than anyone. And sure, Gotham is getting worse. But under your watch, the government is less corrupt. The streets are safer—at least during the day."

He took a slow sip of his drink before continuing.

"But the night? The night belongs to them. To Batgirl. And to Penguin."

There was a flicker of something in his tone—disappointment, perhaps.

"She failed me, Gordon. Penguin failed me."

Gordon tensed. Falcone was not a man known for his patience. When someone disappointed him, they never met a pleasant end.

Before he could respond, Falcone set his glass down and clapped his hands twice.

"Sophia, you can come in."

The heavy wooden doors creaked open, revealing a figure standing in the hallway.

She stepped forward, removing her felt hat with a slow, deliberate motion. Long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face both striking and dangerous.

Her gaze locked onto Gordon's, assessing, calculating.

She moved with quiet grace, coming to stand beside Falcone.

"Let me introduce my daughter, Sofia Falcone. You've never met because she's been studying abroad in Europe."

Falcone's pride was evident. He rested a hand on hers and continued with a knowing smirk.

"It makes others uncomfortable when I say this, but Sofia is the most talented of my children."

Gordon studied her. He had assumed she was just another of Falcone's enforcers. Gotham was filled with such people—ruthless, willing to kill for their boss.

But under the warm light of the fire, he saw her for what she truly was.

A femme fatale.

Not just another soldier.

A predator.

Her lips curled into a slow smile—thin, sharp, almost playful. Unlike her father, she lacked the illusion of control over the city.

But she had something else.

That unsettling, unhinged madness.

Gordon sighed and turned back to Falcone, shaking his head.

"No need to introduce her. We've met before. She's... very enthusiastic."

Falcone raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Oh? Is that so?"

He glanced at his daughter.

"Sofia, have you and Commissioner Gordon been getting along?"

She smiled, the kind of smile that sent chills down a man's spine.

"Oh, Father, Commissioner Gordon is such a good man."

Her voice was syrupy sweet, yet her eyes told a different story.

"She will help you build a new Gotham," Falcone continued. "Not Penguin anymore. From now on, my family will be your backing."

Something in those words made Gordon's stomach drop.

"Wait," he interrupted. "What do you mean after everything? What new Gotham?"

Falcone exhaled and leaned back in his chair, as if savoring the warmth of the fire.

"Oh, didn't I mention it? Must be my old age..."

He chuckled softly before fixing Gordon with a knowing gaze.

"Tell me, my dear Gordon. Do you even know where we are right now?"

Gordon's eyes narrowed.

"Where? The Gotham sewers? Some abandoned asylum?"

Falcone raised his fingers, gesturing just a fraction.

"Close. But not quite."

His voice was almost gentle as he whispered:

"Indian Hill, Gordon. We're in Indian Hill."