In the Name of the Father

When Gordon woke up, the hospital room was dimly lit, with only a small bedside lamp on. Schiller had been dozing in the chair next to him, woke up when he heard Gordon move, took off his glasses, and said, "I told you you'd wake up while I was taking care of you..."

Gordon is still unable to speak; he's on a respirator. Schiller said, "You're badly injured, a little too badly. You were in intensive care for over twenty hours, barely surviving, and whether you'll make a full recovery is uncertain."

This Doctor's voice always carries a calming power.

Gordon blinked. There really wasn't much more he could do. Schiller yawned and said, "Thanks to your partner, he arrived just in time to save your life."

"However, I'm a little sorry, the group that was chasing you seemed to have originally come for me."

Gordon shook his head slightly. He knew that these people were just hired Assassin. Even if Maroney didn't hire them, he would hire someone else.

Just as Schiller was about to continue speaking, the door opened, and Harvey walked in and said, "Awake?"

Schiller nodded, stood up from his chair, and Harvey said, "It's my turn, you go and rest."

Before leaving, Schiller glanced at Gordon, who usually seemed full of energy but now looked incredibly haggard. The dual torment of his mind and body had left him somewhat delirious.

The corridor of the Central Hospital was pitch black late at night, with only the clear echo of Schiller's leather shoes.

When they got downstairs, a car was parked in front of the hospital. A tall man in a suit got out and opened the car door for Schiller. After Schiller got in, he said, "Let's have some jazz."

Soon, some upbeat jazz music started playing, adding a bit of fresh air to the dull atmosphere inside the car, while the lights outside continued to twinkle.

Schiller closed his eyes as he grew sleepy. The person in the passenger seat was clearly surprised that Schiller had fallen asleep so easily. "This professor is truly extraordinary," he thought.

When the car arrived at its destination, Schiller was still drowsy; his brief nap had made him even more sleepy.

As Schiller ascended the wooden staircase and entered the room, Falcone, dressed in a suit, was sitting behind the table as usual, while Evans, also in a suit, stood behind his father.

Schiller sat down opposite the Godfather, made the sign of the cross on his chest, and said, "Good evening, Godfather."

Falcone first waved his hand, and a tall Suit Man walked up. Falcone took out a box of cigars from under the table, and his assistant cut the cigars. Schiller was about to refuse when Falcone said, "I heard that you like to smoke cigars, and I happen to like them too, so have one."

Schiller adjusted his posture, leaning back completely against the chair. He made no attempt to hide his weariness, but still took the cigar. Evans came over and bent down to light it for him.

Schiller, holding a cigar, glanced at him and said, "I've never seen you in a suit before. You'll have plenty of girl chasing after you at the ball."

Evans gave a modest smile, said nothing, and stepped back Falcone.

"You've changed a lot, I can see it," Falcone said. The godfather still looked very elegant as he smoked his cigar, taking only a small puff and waiting for the smoke to dissipate before speaking.

"When I first met you, I knew you weren't from Gotham, but things are much better now, which is good."

"When you are wary of this place, you will find that everyone is against you, but when you truly consider this place your home, you will find that anyone can find like-minded people here."

"Perhaps because everyone is a potential criminal," Schiller said.

"What surprises me is that you don't question why I didn't deal with Maroney."

Schiller said in a low voice, "Maroney is not important."

"You always amaze me. I've met too many people in my life, too many geniuses, who are often arrogant. Even if they seem very humble on the surface, I know that their respect is just out of fear that I have a gun."

"But I know precisely that the Godfather commands respect not because of guns."

"You've shown me the allure of psychology; you always seem to be able to give me the answers I need," Falcone said, letting his cigar burn slowly.

"I hope Evans can learn the essence of this subject, but unfortunately, I know he doesn't have the talent."

"His grades are pretty good," Schiller said, flicking his cigarette ash. "He's also very hardworking; he's a good student."

"But that's all there is to it, isn't it?"

Schiller didn't seem to notice Evans's somewhat disappointed expression. He said, "That's a good thing, Godfather. Studying psychology is a dead end."

Falcone looked at him, Schiller took another puff of his cigar, and then said, "This is not some far-fetched analogy. When you study this subject to the end, there are only two outcomes: either you go mad or you die."

"So it seems you didn't choose either one."

"Perhaps I chose both?"

Schiller began to feel increasingly sleepy. The sweet aroma of tobacco brought waves of drowsiness. He squinted his eyes, and the light of the whole world seemed to blur into a white haze.

"I know Evans is still far from it. He's like his mother; he's neither an absolutely good person nor an absolutely bad one, and that's the scariest thing."

What kind of person do you hope he will become?

Before Falcone could answer, Schiller said, "Or rather, do you want him to become the Godfather?"

Falcone remained silent.

He clearly had the answer in his heart, but he was unwilling to admit it.

Is becoming a godfather a good thing?

Even Falcone couldn't give an answer.

"How is the policeman?" he asked.

Schiller shook his head and said, "He's badly injured, and it may take him a long time to recover."

"You can easily sway him to Maroney, I won't blame him," Falcone said. "I know these people have no choice but to cooperate or die. In fact, the fact that they've held on this long is already impressive."

"This may be offensive, but his insistence was not because of his godfather."

"Then why? If he wasn't afraid of me, why would he resist Maroney's request for cooperation?"

"Because Maroney prevented him from going out to fight crime."

"So what?"

"He's a policeman, and he thinks it's a matter of course for police to arrest criminals."

"A very naive idea, isn't it? It even seems absurd in this city."

"Good people don't live long, especially in Gotham," Falcone said with a sigh.

"That's why I was your longest-serving tutor."

Falcone closed his eyes, and after a while, he said, "Evans, go and kill Maroney, kill him with your own hands."

Evans pursed his lips, then said in a low voice, "Yes, Father."

"As for those from the Metropolis, I will deal with them."

"There's no need for you to do it."

What are your plans?

"I've made a lot of money recently, and a super mercenary who demands a lot of money happens to be very interested in the price I'm offering."

"I will pay for it," Falcone said.

"In your name, God bless Gotham."

It seems that the Godfather is indeed getting old, and he truly loves his son. He believes that in the first few decades of his life, the Godfather had never shown such kindness to anyone.

Indeed, in the Godfather's glorious past, he didn't need to make such a statement to anyone, nor would anyone dare to ask him to do so. But today, the fact that he could invite Schiller here and show him goodwill in this way shows that he is truly getting old.

As Schiller pondered this, his drowsiness deepened. Falcone looked at the person opposite him and gradually closed his eyes. The Godfather sighed and said to Evans, "Send your teacher back to rest."

Evans must be right. The Godfather stood up and looked out the window. Outside was the quiet night of Gotham. From Falcone Estate, only the lighthouse on the coast was flickering faintly.

Forty years have passed, and he thinks that the Godfather's friends and enemies have all Oblivion with time, and his life and years have come to an end along with the previous era of Gotham. Only this lighthouse still shines brightly all night long, witnessing with him the city's trials and tribulations, its rise and fall.

Evans watched his father from behind. Falcone showed no signs of aging and remained very upright. His suit always looked so proper on him.

Finally, the Godfather extinguished his cigar and said, "I only wish that he really would be your longest-serving governess."

On the docks of Gotham's East Side, the lighthouse's beams reflected on the sea, and the waves surged like a school of golden fish as a cargo ship sailed away from the port under the cover of darkness.

The stench of blood on the deck hadn't yet dissipated. The crew members' bodies were thrown into the cold sea. A burly man standing at the bow spat on the ground and said, "This time we've suffered a huge loss. We lost several men and didn't make any money."

"Don't worry about it, at least we escaped," another person next to him chimed in.

Suddenly, before they had gone far from the port, a deep, resonant bell rang out from Gotham City. The bell, which trembled noticeably, struck seven times. The captain at the bow asked in bewilderment, "Why are they ringing the bell in the middle of the night?"

"Who knows? Maybe it's a farewell party," the man next to him said with a shrug.

A soft sound came from above, and then a Black and yellow figure appeared on the mast.

"Indeed, it is Deathstroke to bid you farewell..."

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