Reunion with an Old Friend (Please Bookmark)

"Good thing we didn't take the tram." Cindy said this to Su Ming beside her. She brushed back her rain-soaked blond hair that clung to her forehead and looked at the dashboard. "At this speed, we should reach our destination in about half an hour."

Su Ming looked out at the rain. On the elevated track not far away, a tram had stopped in midair because of the city's power outage. He did not know whether there was anyone inside, or whether someone was waiting for them to come home.

If things developed in the worst possible direction, those people would never make it home.

Su Ming had thought about such things before. Other people had homes, while he only had a rented room. It seemed as though he would always be alone.

"If I get the chance, I'll leave after things here are over and find a way to Earth-0. What are your plans?"

He turned and asked Cindy an abrupt question, taking care not to let the nosy reporter hear. He no longer looked at the powerless tram.

Cindy thought for a moment, then shook her head. "This is my world. Is this Earth-0 you mentioned your home?"

"No, it isn't. My home is farther away. That place is simply somewhere I'm more familiar with." He felt around for his cigarette case. There were not many cigars left inside.

"Where is your home?"

Cindy was the same way. Then she stopped the car after spotting a small supermarket by the roadside.

The two got out. With practiced ease, she knocked off the door lock with her long staff. They entered, looting the place as they continued their previous conversation.

"Heh, I don't know. Maybe it has a number. Maybe it doesn't."

She stuffed several brightly colored alcoholic drinks into her backpack, then turned her attention to the puffed snacks. As she rummaged through the packages, she spoke as if casually.

"Then why not stay here? We could be partners for a long time."

"Your world is designated Earth -11 in the Blood Realm, meaning it is the eleventh world of the Dark Multiverse. Barbatos cannot be defeated here. He is the god of the Dark Multiverse. If I want to stop this crisis completely, I not only need to keep them in the dark here, but also must go to Earth-0. It's my only way to save myself."

Su Ming finally voiced the matter. These emotions and thoughts had circled in his mind for too long. He needed someone to share them with, even a little. He did not need any practical help. He only needed someone to hear what he knew.

Cindy's hand paused in midair. Then, as though nothing had happened, she hugged a bag of tomato-flavored puffed snacks to her chest.

"Is that so? Looks like you have a lot to explain to me."

Commissioner Gordon regained consciousness from the darkness. He touched the back of his head, recalling what had happened before.

A group of people had dragged him into a vehicle. Before that, while kneeling in the muddy water, he had scratched the license plate number of a black van onto his glasses.

He had wedged them into a crack in the curb by the roadside. If someone found them, perhaps they could trace his location.

But that hope was very slim. Batman had already left the city. Who else could do something like that?

Though he thought highly of some of the younger officers at the department, that was all it was. He knew that even if they found the glasses, they might not be able to track him here.

After all, even he did not know where he was. The Men in Black had knocked him unconscious after getting into the vehicle.

The place he was in now was a pitch-black room, but it was not the prison cell he had imagined. On the contrary, the bed beneath him was extremely soft. Even by touch alone, he could feel the smooth, slippery texture of silk.

That did not relax him. As an experienced detective, he could sense that the surroundings were very damp and carried an eerie chill. This place should be underground.

He glanced at his watch. He had only been unconscious for a little over an hour. That was not enough time for those vans to leave Gotham, so he was still in the city.

He slowly sat up. Everything on him was intact except for his gun. Even his handcuffs were still hanging from his belt.

It was as though he had really been invited here as a guest, though the invitation had been somewhat forceful.

He felt around in the darkness and turned on the bedside lamp. Its gentle light illuminated the small room.

On the nightstand sat a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. The bottle had a prescription label and medical instructions attached to it, and his name was written in the patient field.

They had taken this from his home! They had broken into his home!

"Barbara!" Gordon remembered what the woman in black had told him. Another team had gone to the GCPD!

He stood up. Rather than taking the medicine, he immediately strode toward the door.

He gripped the handle and twisted. The door opened.

Naturally, and entirely unsurprisingly, several women in black were still standing guard outside.

"Where is my daughter? Let me see her!"

Gordon lunged at the woman nearest the door as if mad, but more hands quickly pulled him away.

"Commissioner Gordon, our boss is waiting for you."

At that moment, the woman who had punched him earlier emerged from around the corner of the hallway. Her steps were nearly identical in length, one after another, as she slowly approached Gordon. With a smile that did not reach her eyes, she spoke.

Only then did Gordon realize he was standing in a cold corridor. Sickly white lights shone overhead, and the surrounding walls were covered in tiles, like some sort of hospital.

"Where is my daughter?"

The woman rubbed her temples as if she had a headache and sighed. "You'll know when you meet our boss."

Gordon shook free from the people holding him, straightened his trench coat, and brushed at nonexistent dust as though these people had dirtied his clothes. "Then what are we waiting for? Lead the way."

The woman did not mind. She turned and headed back the way she had come.

Gordon cautiously studied his surroundings, but learned nothing. Other than making him even more certain that he was somewhere underground, the place revealed nothing at all.

The corridor was very long, its snowy whiteness making it seem endless. Small rooms lined both sides, their doors closed, leaving no way to know what was inside.

After turning several corners down the corridor, just when Gordon felt he had lost all sense of direction, they finally arrived before a larger door.

The door was made of solid wood, decorated with beautiful gold trim and enamel. Reliefs of the Fates were carved into it, their expressions and features lifelike.

The woman knocked on the door, then stepped aside, raised an eyebrow at Gordon, and gestured for him to enter.

Gordon walked in without fear.

Inside, he felt as though he had entered the study at Wayne Manor. Tall bookshelves around the room were filled with all sorts of books, and a fireplace not far away blazed brightly.

Family portraits hung on the walls, soft wool carpets covered the floor, and elegant handmade sofas stood before the fireplace. Even the sculptures placed around the room were masterpieces. From the teapot on the coffee table came the fragrance of the finest Black Tea.

Everything made him begin to doubt his earlier judgment. This was clearly the mansion of some great family, not some underground maze.

Until he saw the huge desk not far from the fireplace, and the person sitting behind it—someone he had never expected to see.

Even alone, that man sat perfectly straight. His hair was meticulously combed back. He wore a finely tailored suit with a rose tucked into his breast pocket. Gently stroking the white cat in his lap, he looked at Gordon with a smile.

He had grown old—far older than when Gordon had last seen him. His once-black hair had turned entirely white at the temples, and wrinkles covered both his face and the backs of his hands.

But one thing had not changed: his eyes. They were still so calm, so full of authority, just as they had been ten years ago.

"Gordon, my old friend. Welcome to my family."

"Falcone."

For a moment, Gordon could only stare at the figure in astonishment and speak that name. Their history ran too deep for him to say anything else.

During the first ten years of his career, Falcone had been the mountain over his head. Everything in Gotham was connected to him—bars, restaurants, gas stations, movie theaters. Even the hot dog carts by the roadside, if one traced the chain of command upward, ultimately answered to him.

He had maintained Gotham's dark order, and everyone lived under the exploitation of the great families.