Gotham's Protectors

Maro remained crouched behind the bushes, every muscle tense as he strained to hear the muffled sounds coming from the alley.

The fight was over, but there was still tension. 

He cautiously peered through the leaves, straining to see what was happening.

The sounds of punches landing had stopped, replaced by groans of pain and the whimpering of one man—whoever was unlucky enough to still be conscious.

From the darkness, Batman emerged, dragging the bloodied ex-con by the lapels of his collar.

The man's face was a mess of bruises and cuts, his eyes wide with terror as Batman loomed over him.

"Where's Falcone?" Batman's voice was a low, controlled growl.

The criminal sneered and spat a wad of blood and spit onto face, "Go to hell," he rasped, voice shaky but stubborn. "I ain't tellin' you nothin'."

Even to Maro it was clear, his defiance was only a flimsy shield against the fear that gripped him.

Batman's expression didn't change.

Without a word, he pulled his fist back and slammed it into the brick wall next to the man's head. The impact sent a spiderweb of cracks through the brick.

The criminal flinched, his bravado crumbling as he stared at the fractured wall, the realization sinking in.

That punch could have shattered his skull just as easily.

"Alright! Alright!" he stammered, the fear now clear in his voice. "Falcone's havin' dinner tonight! With the others you've been pounding on! They're meeting at the old DeLuca warehouse on the east side, by the docks!"

Batman's eyes narrowed, committing the location to memory.

With a final glare, he delivered a knockout punch, sending the ex-con crumpling to the ground with the rest of his friends.

Before melting back into the shadows, Batman paused, his gaze shifting toward the bushes where Maro was hiding.

For a moment, Maro could have sworn their eyes met—his breath caught in his throat as he remained as still as possible.

He froze, not daring to move, not daring to even blink.

But Batman said nothing, his expression unreadable beneath the cowl.

Then, as quickly as he had appeared, Batman vanished into the night, leaving only the groans of the unconscious men behind.

Maro waited a few minutes, his heart pounding in his chest, before finally emerging from his hiding spot.

He crept toward the alley cautiously, his eyes wide as he took in the sight before him—mobsters sprawled on the ground, utterly defeated, their weapons scattered and useless.

The aftermath left Maro in awe.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the carnage, his mind struggling to comprehend what he'd just witnessed.

Batman wasn't just a man—he couldn't be.

Maro muttered to himself, almost in a trance. "How... how is he that strong? That fast?" His voice was low, filled with a mix of awe and envy. "He's like a... a machine. Or a ninja..."

He glanced down at his own hands, clenching them into fists.

'How many more levels would I need to reach that? How many more stats, how many more techniqes?" Maro's thoughts raced. 'I'm not even close... not yet.'

He dug his hands into his pockets and checked his phone, hoping for some sign of the police, some indication that help was on the way.

But the screen was blank.

No calls, no messages.

Nothing.

A wave of anger surged through him, quickly overshadowing the admiration he felt just moments before.

The pieces began to fit together in his mind—the ex-con getting bailed out so quickly, the cop's reluctance to get involved when Falcone's name was mentioned.

The truth hit him like a punch to the gut: In this city, there was no one coming to help you.

Too many people in power were either too scared or too corrupt to make a difference.

Maro's thoughts shifted back to Batman.

Gotham needed him—there was no doubt about that. But maybe the city needed more than just one man, more than just a dark knight prowling the shadows.

Maybe it needed someone else, someone like Maro.

His resolve hardened as he stared at the fallen mobsters. "I need to get stronger," he muttered, the words almost a promise to himself. "I need to commit more time... more effort. What I'm doing now isn't enough."

He would need to work harder, become faster, smarter—whatever it took to get closer to Batman's level.

He couldn't just sit back and watch. He needed to be a part of the solution.

Gotham needed Batman. But Maro didn't really feel like depending on one guy. That wasn't fair to him, nor his city.

It needed Maro too, maybe not now, but it will. And he wasn't going to let the city down. Not anymore.

He figured that's why it was always raining in Gotham. It was crying for help.

Jamming his hands into his pockets, Maro turned and walked away from the scene, his mind obsessively replaying what he heard and saw in the alley.

High above, on a rooftop shrouded in darkness, Batman was crouched, his cape billowing slightly as he observed Maro, silent and unseen.

He watched the young man for a moment, curious—before blending back into the city's skyline.

As Maro made his way home, he pulled out his phone and dialed the police once more. This time, when the line connected, it was a different voice that answered.

"Gotham City Police Department, Lieutenant Gordon speaking. What's your emergency?"

Maro hesitated for only a second before replying, his voice steady. "Batman just took down a group of mobsters near the movie theater. They're all tied up, waiting to be picked up."

There was a brief pause on the other end, then Gordon's voice returned, firm and resolute. "Where exactly?"

Maro gave him the location, and without a moment's hesitation, Gordon responded, "Stay safe, kid. We'll take it from here."

As the call ended, Gordon wasted no time in trying to mobilize a unit.

But before he could issue orders, his superior, Captain Barnes, stormed into the room, his face flush with anger.

"Gordon, you need to drop this!" Barnes barked. "Falcone's not gonna like it if you haul in his people! You follow through with this, and you're out of my station for good!"

Gordon didn't flinch. His eyes burned with conviction as he shot back, "This isn't your station, Captain. It's Falcone's. And I'm done pretending otherwise."

Barnes sneered, stepping closer, his voice low and frustrated. "You're a damn fool, Jim. That may have been how things worked in Chicago, but Gotham's a different world. You think you're some kind of hero? You're just naive."

Gordon turned, seeing that a large crowd of officers had stopped to watch the commotion. The senior, more experienced ones shook their heads in disdain.

"You're an idiot, Gordon!" one of them shouted. "You keep this up, you'll be out on your ass."

"Don't be a fool, Jim," another added. "Despite your age, you're still green! You think you can fight this city? It'll chew you up and spit you out!"

Gordon's jaw clenched, anger simmering beneath the surface. "Naive?," he said, his voice cold and controlled. "What, just because I'm not getting paid to look the other way like some of you? I won't waste my badge on this corruption."

The room went silent, the accusation hanging in the air.

Some of the older officers shifted uncomfortably, knowing Gordon's words had hit too close to home. They had pocketed hush money from Gotham's mobsters for years, never mind just Falcone.

Gordon's eyes swept over them, his resolve hardening. "I'm requesting a unit. Anyone who wants to follow me can. If you don't, that's fine with me. But I'll haul those criminals into the precinct, whether you like it or not. And if you've got a problem with that, you can take it up with the Chief."

There was a murmur of discontent among the officers, but none of them dared to challenge him.

They knew the Chief had already left earlier, likely to visit 'ladies of the night' or to go drinking with Falcone's men.

A few younger officers stepped forward, their faces set with determination. "We'll go with you, Lieutenant," one of them said, his voice firm. "We joined the force to make a difference in Gotham. We've seen what the criminals and the corruption can do. We want to help."

Gordon nodded, his expression softening slightly. "You can blame me if this gets you in trouble," he told them, his voice steady. "I'll take the heat. I'll shoulder the filth if it means the streets stay clean."

Gordon and his small group of officers moved out, leaving the rest of the precinct behind.

They arrived at the scene and found the mobsters exactly as Maro had described—bound and helpless on the ground.

One of the younger officers looked down at them and whistled, "That's a lot of bodies... Is the effort even worth it? I mean, we're just going to set them free anyways...."

Gordon stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the tied-up criminals. "No," he said firmly. "But, we're taking them in any way. Falcone's reach ends here."

The officers nodded, their respect for Gordon outweighing their fear of a reprimand.

They had grown up as victims of the city's underworld. It was still fresh for them, the drive, the anger; it was only the senior officers that had forgotten.

Forgotten why they started working that job in the first place.

Forgotten what it meant to be Gotham's protectors.

Gordon's unit worked quickly, loading the unconscious criminals into the back of the holding van, fully aware of the potential consequences.

By the end of the night, every single one of the criminals had been hauled into the precinct, though Gordon knew they would likely walk free in a matter of days.

The system was too corrupt, too compromised to keep them locked up for long.

As Gordon returned to the station, he found a message waiting for him.

The phone on his desk had an indicator flashing, notifying him of a voicemail.

The Chief hadn't even bothered to deliver the news in person.

He pressed the button.

Beep!

"Pack your things, Jim. You're done here."

And that was all.

Gordon's heart sank, but he wasn't surprised. He knew this was coming.

As he began clearing out his office, the young officers who had followed him earlier gathered around.

"Lieutenant," one of them said softly, "we're sorry this happened."

Gordon shook his head, a weary look in his eyes. "Don't be. We did the right thing. And that's what matters."

They helped him pack, their respect for him clear in their actions.

As they finished, Gordon looked around his now-empty office, a bittersweet smile on his lips.

He'd been at the GCPD for nearly three months, he felt like an idiot for staying so long. 

Tonight, for the first time in a long while, he felt optimistic. He knew the fight for Gotham was far from over. 

And as he walked out of the precinct for the last time, he looked up at the darkened sky, knowing that somewhere out there, a man in a black, animal-themed suit was fighting.

He smiled to himself.

Gotham wasn't beyond saving.