Chapter 1

The incessant patter of rain against the window pane provided a fitting soundtrack to the gloomy Gotham evening. Abel Gordon sat hunched over his desk, the harsh glow of his laptop illuminating his features in the otherwise dark room. At seventeen, he was a study in contrasts: brilliant mind trapped in a body thrumming with restless energy, sharp green eyes dulled by the weight of expectations he couldn't—or wouldn't—meet.

A sudden peal of thunder made him flinch, his fingers pausing over the keyboard where he'd been furiously typing. It wasn't homework; Abel had finished that hours ago, despite being in advanced placement for nearly every subject. No, this was something else entirely: a complex algorithm designed to predict crime patterns in Gotham's notorious Narrows district.

From downstairs, the muffled sound of the front door opening and closing signaled his father's return. Abel's jaw clenched involuntarily. Commissioner James Gordon: Gotham's incorruptible knight, protector of the innocent, and perpetual thorn in Abel's side. He loved his father, of course, but the weight of living up to the Gordon name was suffocating.

"Abel?" His father's voice carried up the stairs, tinged with that familiar mix of hope and apprehension. "You home, son?"

Abel considered not responding, as he often did. But something—perhaps the lateness of the hour or the bone-deep weariness in his father's tone—made him call back, "Yeah, Dad. In my room."

Heavy footsteps on the stairs, then a gentle knock. "Can I come in?"

"It's your house," Abel muttered, loud enough to be heard through the door.

Jim Gordon entered, still in his rain-spattered trench coat. His graying hair was disheveled, dark circles under his eyes speaking to another endless day battling Gotham's demons. He took in the dimly lit room, his son's hunched posture, and sighed.

"Working on something?" Jim asked, gesturing to the laptop.

Abel shrugged. "Just a project."

"School related?"

"Not exactly." Jim moved closer, peering at the screen. His eyebrows rose as he took in the complex lines of code. "Abel, this is... impressive. What exactly are you trying to do here?"

For a moment, Abel considered brushing him off with a sarcastic remark. But the genuine interest in his father's voice made him pause. "It's an algorithm," he explained, his voice softening slightly. "To predict crime patterns in the Narrows. Based on historical data, weather patterns, economic indicators... that sort of thing."

Jim's eyes widened. "That's... that could be incredibly useful, son. Have you thought about sharing this with the department?"

And just like that, the walls came back up. "Right, because Gotham PD is so welcoming to outside help. Especially from a kid."

"Abel, that's not fair. You know I'd—"

"Look, Dad," Abel cut him off, shutting the laptop with a decisive click. "It's late. You look beat. Maybe we can do this another time?"

Jim opened his mouth as if to argue, then seemed to think better of it. He nodded, a weary smile tugging at his lips. "Sure, son. Get some rest, okay? And... I'm proud of you. You know that, right?"

Abel managed a non-committal grunt in response. As the door closed behind his father, he let out a long breath, running a hand through his unruly dark hair.

Outside, Gotham City sprawled in all its neon-lit, rain-soaked glory. From his window, Abel could see the looming silhouettes of skyscrapers, their upper floors wreathed in mist. In the distance, the searchlight of Arkham Asylum swept across low-hanging clouds, a constant reminder of the city's barely contained madness.

Somewhere out there, in the labyrinthine streets and shadowy alleys, countless dramas were unfolding. Muggings, deals, desperate acts of survival... and perhaps, swooping between gargoyles and fire escapes, the dark shape of the city's guardian bat.

Abel's fingers itched to return to his keyboard, to dive back into the world of data and patterns where everything made sense. But a restlessness had taken hold of him, an urge to do more than just observe and predict.

With a frustrated growl, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the window. The fire escape would provide a silent exit, as it had countless times before. His father's voice echoed in his head, warnings about the dangers lurking in Gotham's night.

But danger was precisely what Abel craved. The thrill of walking the razor's edge between order and chaos, of testing himself against the city's darkest elements. It was reckless, he knew. Stupid, even. But it was the only time he felt truly alive.