When Link set foot in Gotham, the city welcomed him in its own way—with a cold, drizzling rain that smelled of rust.
The sky was perpetually gray. Towering Gothic buildings loomed like silent monsters, casting immense shadows. The damp air carried a tangled scent of crime and dreams.
Everything here seemed unchanged, yet somehow everything had changed.
The streets were cleaner than he remembered. The shootouts and gang graffiti that had once been everywhere had grown scarce. Police cars no longer patrolled alone, and now and then, a nimble black figure flashed between the buildings, drawing hushed gasps from passersby.
Batman, the Dark Knight, had rebuilt a human order upon the ruins of the "peace" he and Link had forged together.
Link tugged up the collar of his cheap coat, hiding half his face in shadow, and melted into Gotham's streets like a ghost.
He had no particular destination. Guided by memory and a vague instinct, he wandered through the city. He passed the site of the clothing store Harley had blown to rubble after their first meeting; it was now a twenty-four-hour donut shop. He passed the street where they had once battled Penguin, now bustling with traffic beneath flashing neon lights.
The places were the same. The people were not.
At last, he stopped in a neighborhood that was neither prosperous nor run-down. Old and new stood side by side: ivy-covered apartments on one end, modern glass-fronted offices on the other.
On the corner, he spotted what he had been looking for.
It was a three-story redbrick building. It looked old, but well cared for. The ground-floor window gleamed, with a line written across it in elegant yet playful lettering: "Quinn Mental Health Counseling Center."
In one corner of the sign was a small, colorful drawing of a