Chapter 16: Arriving at the Scene

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The journey took longer than expected. Because the underground tunnels had flooded, Cindy had to take a detour via the North Ring Road. By the time they reached the location they had tracked down earlier, it was already past 1 a.m.

Under the pitch-black sky, the lines between the flooded streets and the sky itself were blurred. Yet through the rain, they could make out the familiar sight of Commissioner Gordon's brown sedan, parked at the side of the road, its taillights still glowing.

Michael and Cindy prepared to step out of the van to investigate further. As for the two journalists, well, it didn't matter if Michael told Vicki Vale to leave—there was no way she would. She was waiting for more juicy material, especially the 'action-packed footage' Michael had promised her earlier.

Pete, her cameraman, wasn't much of a consideration either. Michael seriously doubted the guy had the guts to walk through the territory of three different gangs by himself in the dead of night.

"Can I come with you? Maybe film a little behind-the-scenes 'crime-solving' documentary?" Vicki asked eagerly, already halfway into a raincoat as she gave Michael a look of expectation.

Michael thought for a moment and shrugged. "Fine. But no shots with both of us—Cindy and I—together. Don't film Barbara either. And absolutely no live streaming. If you pull any stunts, I'll make sure you regret it."

Cindy didn't object either. Whoever was doing the planning between them didn't really matter, and in a way, working alongside Michael gave her a long-lost sense of comfort, similar to how she felt with old friends like Holly.

Barbara wanted to come along too, but given her situation, it was impossible for her to join the investigation. She stayed back in the van.

The cold, damp chill of Gotham returned to Michael's skin as he approached Gordon's car. Every emotion seemed to drain from him, replaced with sharp, calculated focus. He swung the car door open to inspect the interior.

The strong scent of tobacco and coffee lingered in the air, but thankfully, there was no trace of blood. Gordon's phone sat on the dashboard, displaying several missed calls from Barbara—solid proof that this was indeed the commissioner's vehicle.

The car keys were still in the ignition, the engine idling. It was clear that Gordon had only intended to step away from the car briefly, but something had gone wrong.

The gas tank was half full, the battery was charged, and there were no signs of tampering with the hood or the trunk, ruling out mechanical failure.

So, what had lured him away from the vehicle and into the hands of his captors?

"Michael, over here—there's a body in the water."

Cindy's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She had been inspecting the nearby security cameras and had jumped down from a nearby utility pole, causing water to splash around her boots. A small, portable device—likely used to tamper with the camera feed—hung from the wire. Cindy pocketed it for later analysis, but her focus now was on the white shape she had spotted submerged in the nearby puddle.

Michael understood immediately. This was the reason Gordon had left his car. As a police officer, even in the dead of night, Gordon wouldn't have ignored the sight of a body. He would've stopped to investigate. That was likely when the trap had been sprung.

Cindy dragged the corpse out of the water with her foot. The body was already bloated, the rain accelerating the decomposition process, and the skin was starting to sag, a telltale sign of waterlogged flesh.

Without speaking, Michael and Cindy set about examining the body. They had done this enough times to know how to handle it quickly. As assassins, knowing human anatomy was essential, and occasionally, they'd need to act as makeshift coroners in a pinch. Cindy focused on the internal organs, while Michael inspected the limbs and head.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are currently at the site where Commissioner Gordon went missing. Behind me, you can see the scene of the investigation…"

Vicki's voice rang out from behind them as she narrated to the camera, ensuring she kept her promise not to film both Cindy and Michael together.

The two assassins ignored her and continued working, moving with synchronized efficiency. Thirty seconds later, they finished their inspection.

"You go first," Michael said with a grin. "No more of that simultaneous talking routine."

Cindy stood, glancing around. Aside from the endless rain, there was nothing but the sound of water sloshing around their boots. "Internal injuries suggest the victim was struck before she died. Her heart and lungs are in great condition, which means she was either a laborer or an athlete. Her stomach is empty, though. She hasn't eaten in two or three days, so I'd say she was imprisoned somewhere before being executed."

Michael nodded, standing up and scanning the surroundings before adding his findings.

"I agree. She didn't walk here on her own; her feet are too clean. Anyone barefoot would've been cut up walking through Gotham's streets. This was a dump job."

He paused before continuing, "Her fingers are calloused, especially the first three on each hand. Either she was a martial artist or a swimmer. Her arms and legs show defensive wounds—she fought back before she was killed. Her wrists and ankles show signs of being bound. She was interrogated... and then executed."

They both stood there for a moment, silently processing their findings. The sound of rain filled the air as they contemplated what the evidence pointed to.

"No obvious signs of torture," Cindy muttered, casting a glance toward Vicki, who was still happily narrating her segment as if nothing abnormal had occurred. "Maybe waterboarding? A method where they cover the face with a cloth and pour water over it. It can simulate drowning without leaving marks."

Michael nodded. "I've heard of it."

Cindy raised an eyebrow. "Where'd you pick that up?"

"In ancient civilizations, they had similar techniques. You should read up on it sometime," Michael responded casually, not about to admit he'd picked it up from TV shows during his old life.

Cindy shook her head, exhaling a long breath. "It all adds up. But this complicates things."

"Yeah, no doubt about it," Michael agreed. "Whoever did this isn't just some random group."

"Shadow Organization," they both said in unison, casting a grim look toward the body.

The League of Shadows wasn't the kind of group to take a death lightly. If one of their assassins had been killed here, they would stop at nothing to exact revenge. That was the League's way. If the group that had taken Gordon was responsible for this, they wouldn't bother with details. They'd eliminate everyone involved—and that included Gordon.

"How far is Nanda Parbat from Gotham?" Michael asked, needing a clearer sense of time.

"Don't you know? How long does it take in your world?" Cindy teased, curious to compare.

Nanda Parbat, the mysterious home of the League, wasn't exactly nearby. It was hidden in a remote, snow-covered region, shielded from the world by ancient magic. Whether it was in the Himalayas or Iceland, its exact location was a mystery, but it was far.

"About seven hours by plane, give or take," Michael estimated, thinking of Gotham's location on the map.

"Seven? Hah! Here, it only takes four. By now, the League could already be here," Cindy said smugly.

"Four? That's faster than a plane," Michael muttered, amazed. How in the world did they manage that?

"Not that it matters," Cindy continued, her tone serious again. "We're running out of time. Whoever took Gordon is in for a world of pain if the League gets to him first."

"Then we need to move. Let's check the surrounding buildings for any clues." Michael didn't waste any more time.

Cindy nodded, heading toward the other side of the street. She kicked in a door with barely any effort, clearly looking for something—or someone—to take her frustration out on.

Meanwhile, Vicki and Pete had moved closer to the corpse, taking close-up shots for their story. While filming, Vicki accidentally stepped on something, noticing something odd around the body's waist. She smiled, realizing she'd found something new to report on.