Chapter 5

The soft glow of Abel's computer screen illuminated his room, casting long shadows across the walls. For weeks, he had been piecing together the puzzle of Douglas Fredericks' late-night activities, creating a web of connections that linked the banker to a complex money laundering scheme. But gathering evidence was only the first step. Now came the harder part: deciding what to do with it.

Abel leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. He couldn't simply hand over his findings to the GCPD – too many questions would be asked about how he obtained the information. No, if he was going to act on this, he needed to become someone else. Someone who could move in the shadows, unencumbered by the constraints that bound his father and the rest of Gotham's law enforcement.

The idea had been percolating in his mind ever since that night on the warehouse roof. Now, it crystallized into something tangible, urgent. He needed a persona, an alter ego that could embody this new purpose.

Abel's eyes fell on an old film noir poster hanging on his wall – a gift from his mother years ago. The silhouette of a detective, collar turned up against the rain, hat pulled low over his eyes. It was an image that spoke of mystery, of justice sought in dark alleys and smoky back rooms.

"Private Eye," Abel murmured, testing the name on his tongue. It felt right – a nod to the classic gumshoe archetype, but with a double meaning. He would be Gotham's unseen watcher, its silent guardian.

With the name decided, Abel turned his attention to the practical aspects of his new identity. He needed a costume, something that would conceal his identity while allowing for the freedom of movement his abilities required.

Over the next few days, Abel threw himself into the design process. He scoured thrift stores and army surplus shops, piecing together elements that would form his noir-inspired outfit. A long, dark trench coat. Sturdy boots. Gloves that would allow him to climb without leaving fingerprints. And most importantly, a mask that would cover the upper half of his face, with lenses that could adjust to enhance his already superior vision.

Late one night, as the rest of the Gordon household slept, Abel stood before his mirror, fully outfitted as Private Eye for the first time. The transformation was striking. Gone was Abel Gordon, the troubled son of the police commissioner. In his place stood a figure of shadow and intrigue, ready to take on Gotham's underworld.

But costume and name were just the beginning. Now came the true test – his first mission as Private Eye.

Abel had spent weeks building a case against Douglas Fredericks, but he knew that simply dumping the evidence on the GCPD's doorstep wouldn't be enough. He needed to catch Fredericks in the act, to create a situation where the banker's crimes couldn't be swept under the rug or explained away by high-priced lawyers.

Through careful observation and his enhanced abilities, Abel had discerned a pattern to Fredericks' illicit activities. Every third Friday, the banker would meet with his co-conspirators in a private room at the Iceberg Lounge, one of Gotham's most exclusive nightclubs. It was there that Private Eye would make his move.

The night of the operation, Abel's heart raced with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as he made his way across Gotham's rooftops. The city looked different from up here – a labyrinth of light and shadow, teeming with secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Perched on a gargoyle overlooking the Iceberg Lounge, Private Eye watched as Fredericks and his associates arrived. With a deep breath, he fired a grappling hook (a device he'd painstakingly constructed over the past weeks) and swung down to a service entrance.

Slipping inside was easier than he'd anticipated, his spider-sense guiding him past security cameras and patrol routes. Soon, he found himself pressed against the wall outside the private room where Fredericks and his cronies were meeting.

Private Eye activated the recording device he'd built into his mask, capturing every incriminating word as the conspirators laid out their scheme. But it wasn't enough. He needed physical evidence.

As the meeting wound down, Private Eye made a split-second decision. He triggered the fire alarm, sending the club into chaos. In the confusion, he slipped into the room, quickly downloading files from Fredericks' laptop and pocketing a USB drive left carelessly on the table.

Heart pounding, Private Eye made his escape, blending into the crowd of evacuating patrons. Once clear, he swung back up to the rooftops, exhilaration coursing through his veins. He'd done it. He had the evidence needed to bring down Fredericks and his entire operation.

But as the adrenaline faded, the weight of what he'd just done settled on Abel's shoulders. He had broken numerous laws tonight – trespassing, theft, invasion of privacy. Even if it was for a good cause, he had crossed a line. The moral complexities of his chosen path suddenly felt very real.

Back in his room, Abel carefully compiled all the evidence he'd gathered. He encrypted it, erasing any trace of how it had been obtained, and prepared an anonymous package for delivery to the GCPD's Financial Crimes Unit.

As he worked, a news alert popped up on his computer. The headline made his blood run cold: "Vigilante Activity Suspected at Iceberg Lounge Break-In."

Abel sat back, running a hand through his hair. There was no going back now. Private Eye was real, and Gotham would never be the same.

The thrill of success warred with the gnawing uncertainty in his gut. He had brought a criminal to justice, yes, but at what cost? And where would this path lead him?

The game was afoot, and Private Eye was ready to play.