Bruce hung up. The light of his phone screen quickly faded in the rainy night.
"Master Bruce, the security deployment map for Processing Plant Thirteen has been sent to your tactical terminal."
In his earpiece, Alfred's voice had returned to its usual steady cadence. The old butler did not ask how he intended to handle Jack's situation. He knew Bruce too well. If Bruce had decided to rescue Gordon, he must already have arranged a backup plan.
"Keep the channel open."
The Batcycle shot out of the shadows of the back alley, its tires cutting through standing water as its roaring engine tore through the rain. Bruce crouched low, letting the wind drive raindrops against his goggles.
Bringing in Yang Ming introduced an unknown variable, but Gotham's mess had long since exceeded what he could handle alone. Gordon was a blade within the system, and he could not be allowed to break here. As for Jack, the Asian doctor owed him a favor and worked far more efficiently than the Gotham Police Department.
The abandoned Meat Processing Plant Thirteen, East End.
Rusty wire fencing rattled in the night wind. Gordon pushed open the door of his Ford sedan and stepped into the mud in his leather shoes. He carried no umbrella. His khaki trench coat was already soaked through, clinging heavily to his body. The Remington shotgun in his inner pocket pressed against his ribs.
He glanced at his watch. Five minutes remained on the countdown.
The processing plant's main doors stood half open, dim yellow light spilling from within. Gordon took a deep breath, held the Cipher Ledger in his hand, and strode inside.
Atop the factory, beside a concealed ventilation opening, Batman hung upside down from a steel beam, his tactical cape blending perfectly into the night. Through