"Damn it, what the hell are you making such a racket over in the middle of the night?... Ah, Director, you're here."
The stern-faced, towering officer immediately plastered on a smile, but Gordon had no time for his nonsense. As he crossed the police line and headed inside, he asked, "What happened? How did a large-scale shootout break out? What the hell were your people doing?"
The tall officer pulled a miserable face. "Who knows what got into those bastards?! Instead of sleeping at night, they came here to fight."
"What are the casualties?"
"Two dead, more than a dozen injured. Both sides are in a ceasefire right now. Our negotiators are trying to talk them down from both ends, but there hasn't been much progress yet."
Gordon shot him an impatient glance, and the tall subordinate immediately felt a chill run down his spine.
This Sheriff, who had lived through Gotham's darkest years, was no longer a pebble tossed endlessly up and down by the waves. He was a reef that had stood immovable on the shore for millions of years—tall, silent, resolute, impossible to shake, impossible to destroy.
The astonishing aura around him was like the fossilized footprint of some excavated beast, letting people glimpse across the river of history the traces left behind by countless ships racing through that turbulent age.
Gordon stopped, turned, and looked at the subordinates following behind him. "Bring me a local who knows what's going on."
Everyone immediately scattered. They would rather deal with thugs and hooligans than say another word to an enraged Gordon.
Before long, someone was brought over. He looked somewhat nervous, but he still flashed Gordon a bright smile.
Gordon looked him over from head to toe. The tall officer holding him said, "Black Skin Martin. People around