"Admit it. I gave Gotham to you. This fallen battlefield is the home we built together. The only reason Gotham allows you to exist is because it fears me."
At midnight, beneath a streetlamp and before the stairs of a ruined building, two men sat side by side.
They looked like friends who had gotten drunk together, arms slung over each other's shoulders as they told the other to admit defeat.
One of them, the younger, pale-faced friend, smiled at the man beside him as he spoke. There was a smile on his face, but no laughter came from his lips.
"You admit it first. You can't even build a family, because the very thought of one frightens you. You hurt innocent people with your own tragedy." The cleft-chinned friend beside him shot back, as though mocking him for being too afraid to get married.
"You think I didn't dare? You mean what happened in the past? That was a process I had to go through to understand you—to understand everything about you. Even if it meant becoming your enemy, at least it made us inseparable."
The young man vigorously rubbed his hair, as though pressing down an itch on his scalp. He answered seriously, his eyes gleaming beneath the streetlamp.
"Just for that reason? You really are crazy. That's not enough reason to trust you." The middle-aged man shook his head, but did not remove the hand resting on his friend's shoulder.
Silence spread between them.
Speaking of trust, it was probably Gotham's most expensive commodity, because not everyone living here had the right to trust others.
Merely mentioning the word could be considered a luxury.
"I love Gotham. This city deserves someone better than us, better than Joker, better than the Dark Knight. So I will become her