Late at night in the hospital room, a pale, gaunt man leaned against the headboard. Listening to the steady beeping of the heart monitor, he drifted into a deep sleep, only to be jolted awake soon afterward.
He picked up his vibrating phone, walked out of the room, and answered the call. Pale Rider's low voice echoed through the corridor.
"I know the situation is terrible. The public desperately needs reassurance right now. I'll hold a press conference at six tomorrow morning. I'll find a way to restore their confidence and resolve this crisis."
"Thank you, Ms. Weiss. Thank you for still being willing to help me."
Pale Rider hung up and looked through the faint light spilling from the hospital room door at the figure lying on the bed.
"Harley..." Pale Rider had lost count of how many times he had spoken that name. But unfortunately, she could not answer him now. She had remained unconscious.
Pale Rider walked to the end of the hospital corridor and pushed open a window. Unsurprisingly, Gotham was once again sleepless tonight. Explosions flashed everywhere, and screams rang out without end.
It took Pale Rider several hours to suppress the wavering and grief on his face and become resolute once more.
As he headed toward the hospital entrance, a familiar figure approached him.
"Good morning, Mayor. We're here to pick you up," Nightwing said.
Pale Rider nodded at him, then got into the car and headed for the press conference.
When he stepped onto the podium, countless eyes were fixed on him besides those of the reporters. Despair and hope both filled the public's eyes.
In the past, Gotham had only one light: James Gordon. But now, he had fallen. Pale Rider was the only one the people could rely on.
They desperately