"Indian Hill..."

  Gordon racked his brain, trying to remember. But despite his position as Commissioner, his knowledge of this pce was limited.

  He knew that no one truly owned it—that it was just a massive junkyard, home to countless vagrants. A pce where even weeds refused to grow, as though the nd itself were cursed.

  Well... there was one thing he did know for sure: it was one of the safest areas in all of Gotham. Hardly any criminals dared to make a living here.

  "Looks like you haven't figured it out yet." Falcone smiled, shaking his head, neither disappointed nor impressed. "Well, maybe a different name will help jog your memory? What about 'Indian Hill Paramilitary Zone'? Or 'Gotham Research Institute'?"

  "!!!"

  Military. Research. Gordon's experience told him exactly what kind of pce this was, and it made his pupils dite with recognition.

  At that moment, his only thought was: after all these years, Falcone had gone mad.

  Even if he hadn't heard those names before, he could already guess what this pce was for. Though Paradise Isnd had little regard for technology, the Amazons had, over the course of their long war with Atntis, inevitably applied science to create weapons. To arm regur people, or to wipe out their enemies in droves.

  Some of those weapons were the kinds of things that would leave someone like Ra's al Ghul silent, or make a man like the Joker weep. But what stunned Gordon the most was the realization that such a pce existed right here in Gotham.

  "Ah, looks like you've figured something out," Falcone said with a gleam of satisfaction. "Good. You're as sharp as ever. As you guessed, this pce was once the site of a biochemical weapons research institute, set up by the Amazonian Council."

  Falcone cpped his hands slowly, signaling for Sofia to take a seat as he continued. "Our city was built in the 1880s, jointly constructed by four major families." He strolled over to the firepce, gss in hand, watching the fmes dance. "They were the pioneers of Gotham. It took nearly ten years, but by 1891, Gotham was completed."

  "The four families were the Wayne family, affiliated with little Bruce's mother, the Kane family, tied to his father, Thomas Elliott's Elliot family—yes, 'Silent' Thomas—and, of course, the Cobblepot family."

  "Technically speaking, we weren't the original ten families. Except for the Cobblepots, we were all tecomers. Before our ancestors arrived in Gotham, we were just a bunch of homeless, pitiful people."

  He paused, as though realizing he’d strayed from the point. "Ah, back to the construction of Gotham. You see, the four families weren’t as wealthy back then as they are today. They had some money, sure, but not enough to build a city. A small town, perhaps. But a city? Tch..."

  "Just when they were running out of funds, a political middleman from the Amazonian Council came knocking with a proposal they couldn’t refuse."

  "The Council offered to fund them, to build a city here—specifically, on the East Coast—as a strategic outpost against Atntis."

  "Once the city was built, the families would manage it. The Council wouldn’t interfere. But the Council would build a research institute, a military base, a prison, and a temple right here. The families, in return, would handle logistics and supplies—right within the city itself."

  "When the four families were faced with this deal, they didn’t see towering skyscrapers. They saw a barren marshnd and a tiny town. They couldn’t refuse this windfall. And so, they struck a deal, becoming the Council's puppets."

  "The city was built, and the Council kept their promise, handing it over. The families, too, kept their side of the bargain, supplying Gotham with goods—fish, steel, manpower."

  "Your police station, Bckgate Prison, Arkham Asylum, and so many other pces... don't they all look like fortresses to you? That's because they are. They’re remnants of that time."

  "Decades passed, and the nature of warfare evolved. Before long, the Council realized they needed a bigger stick, something to intimidate those aquatic creatures. So they bought the ancestral graves of the Native Americans and built the Gotham Research Institute—its purpose? To end Atntis once and for all in any potential war."

  "And what better pce to build a biochemical research institute than in a seaside city, where you can directly dump poison into the sea?"

  "That's where we are now. I have to say, the imagination of those old-timers... even I can’t help but be impressed. You should see the monsters lurking above us," he chuckled. "They’ve certainly brought me some entertainment."

  Gordon, now visibly tense, was fidgeting in his seat. His mind raced, full of anxiety, like a man sitting on a bed of nails. "So, Falcone, what’s your endgame? You’ve taken over this pce—what exactly do you pn to do?"

  The old man took a sip from his gss, turning slowly to face Gordon. "My goal, Gordon, is to give you one st chance. To build the Gotham you've always imagined. Our crime families have always been tied to the underworld, but it's time we cleaned up and did something legitimate."

  "Huh?" Gordon couldn’t fathom Falcone’s thinking. He felt like he had never understood the man at all.

  "Below our feet, we have forty million cubic meters of green liquid—it's a special compound, magically altered. Once dissolved in water, it can easily penetrate the skin of living creatures, turning them into corpses... The manual calls it 'Super Sarin.' Originally, it was meant to be dumped into the ocean during a war to eliminate the Atnteans."

  Falcone sat back down, setting his gss aside, still smiling as he continued. "But then science found out that if the oceans were poisoned, the toxins would spread across the globe with the rain. Even the Amazons would be affected. So, in 1990, this pce was abandoned."

  "Just tell me your pn," Gordon pressed.

  "My pn, Gordon, is to use it to purify Gotham. Just a little bit. To return it to how it was when it was first built—empty. When it was nothing. And once that rain stops, when you walk out of here tomorrow, you’ll see Gotham’s light shining brighter than ever."

  "You’re forgetting about your daughter. Isn't this her city?" Gordon sneered at the idea, already thinking of ways to stop the madness.

  Falcone shook his head seriously, raising his hand to cut Gordon off. "No, Gordon. It’s yours. The new Gotham will be yours, and Sofia will only help you manage the dark. If she’s in charge, it’ll be no different from when the ten families were running things. You promised me you’d make Gotham a city of hope. This is for the future of the city!"

  "Yes, I want Gotham to get better, but not like this!" Gordon’s eyes widened as he shook his head vehemently.

  "Don’t be afraid, Gordon. It’ll all be over soon. Soon, everyone in Gotham will die peacefully in their sleep, unaware. No pain."

  Falcone gently took Gordon's hand, both their skin cracked and shriveled. "The people of Gotham are beyond saving. Their hearts are filled with madness and darkness. Only by wiping them out completely can this city be reborn."

  "You’re insane, Falcone. You’re insane." Gordon jerked his hand away, slouching back into his chair. The flickering fmes illuminated their faces, but only Gordon’s was pale and furious.

  Falcone smiled, returning to his seat. He pulled a cigar from the box on the table and patiently trimmed it. "No, Gordon. This isn’t madness. It’s something I learned in Hong Kong. They have a saying there: 'You learn as long as you live.' It’s served me well... Finally, in the mystical East, I’ve found the cure for Gotham. And it’s what they call ‘cutting off the hand to save the arm.’"