American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 223 Walking with Evil—The Savior Called 'Evil'.

Gotham
Tonight is still... "full of energy".

Especially in Gotham Police Department
Or rather, the Gotham Police Department.

But rather than calling this a police station within a city police station, it's more like a hornet's nest that's just been stirred up, or a never-ending assembly line processing plant.

The air was filled with a pungent smell of cheap coffee, sweat, and disinfectant mixed together.

The fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, casting swaying shadows on the old, stained walls and scratched floors.

The office area was a complete mess.

The ringing of telephones, the static noise of police walkie-talkies, the shouts of officers, and the foul language of suspects intertwined to create a symphony that was enough to drive anyone crazy.

The documents were scattered everywhere.

Several bruised and battered police officers were handcuffing a burly man covered in tattoos who was still shouting, all while cursing and swearing.

In the corner, a scantily clad woman with smudged makeup was crying and pleading with the police officer who was taking notes. Her voice was shrill.

In another cubicle, two men who looked like gang members glared at each other. If they hadn't been handcuffed to the heating pipes, they probably would have started fighting again.

This
This is the Gotham Police Department!

Push open the heavy glass door.

Gordon walked in, bringing with him the chill of the night.

His once crisp trench coat was now crumpled and draped over his arm, his white shirt collar was loose, and his tie was askew.

Behind them were two equally gloomy-looking police officers, and the three of them were escorting a thin man in a flashy suit.

"You can't arrest me! I'm a member of the Maroni family! Let me go!"

The man roared.

"It doesn't matter if Falcone comes here or there! You two lock him in cell number three and wait for his lawyer to bother us." With a wave of his hand, Gordon didn't even have the strength to raise his voice. "Don't let him chatter away next to me."

"Boss, number three is full!"

One officer complained, "Numbers two and five are also repairing leaks!"

Gordon's face darkened, and he felt his blood pressure soaring again.

"Then stuff it into the storage room next to the archives! Just make sure he doesn't escape!"

He spoke through gritted teeth, then walked towards his office without looking back, shutting the chaos outside the door. He slumped into the creaking old chair, too weak to even turn on the light.

And the Gotham night view outside the window
Those flashing neon lights and deep darkness, at this moment, were nothing more than a breeding ground for countless troubles and sins in his eyes.

We're increasingly short-staffed lately...

Several guys were on sick leave, several capable lieutenants were either transferred or injured in previous operations, and the new rookie was either driven crazy by this hellhole or... worse.
He has fewer and fewer people he can trust, but the burden on his shoulders grows heavier every day.

He felt as if he were trying to stop the rising tide of 'evil' with a fragile reed.

He recalled the meaningful smile his former boss, who had "exiled" him from Chicago to Gotham, gave him a few years ago.

At the time, he only thought that the smile meant:

"Kid, go drown in that cesspool."

But now he understood that the real meaning of that smile was: "Kid, I'll let you live, but I'll make you look like a complete piece of trash."

Yes
That guy would rather suffer a fate worse than death than die.

This is the most vicious part of Gotham.
It doesn't just torment you with evil; it's even better at making all your efforts and perseverance appear, in the eyes of others and even yourself, as a slow and public spectacle.
Torture to prove your 'incompetence'.

Why are they incompetent?
Because here, justice is like an old man suffering from severe asthma, unable to outrun any nimble criminal.

Legal provisions are arbitrarily misinterpreted here, like cheap fabric on a prostitute's body.

Every time he exerts all his strength, mobilizes all available manpower, and lays a tight net, he may end up with nothing but a mess.
Or worse.
For example, several subordinates lying in the morgue
Even the Gotham Gazette's front page headline the next day

—"Chief Gordon's operation has failed again, and the city is in panic!"

He could imagine how his colleagues in other cities, sitting in bright, clean offices and drinking hot coffee, would rate him and the Gotham Police Department.

"You're bad! Just practice more."

"If you can't afford to lose, don't play."

"It's the police department's incompetence, not the criminals' cunning."

"What's there to be afraid of in a clown wearing a mask? Does he think he can kill you all with a knife? Ridiculous."

Over time, even he himself was almost convinced by this assessment.

Perhaps he really was just too incompetent?
Perhaps he is simply not suited to be the police chief?
But that's all; the deeper pain lies in...
Deep down he knew the problem wasn't whether he was personally 'capable'.

The problem is that Gotham's operating rules are inherently flawed.
Thirty thousand
The total number of active officers across all police departments in Gotham City remains stable at around 30,000, with approximately 8,000 support staff.
but.
Useless
It's completely useless.
Here, law-abiding good people are destined to find it difficult to move an inch, and law enforcement officers who adhere to the bottom line are always one step behind, no matter how many there are.
Slowly.
A cold and despairing realization made him almost afraid to touch it, yet unable to ignore it:

In this cursed city
Only the wicked can truly defeat the wicked.

Only those who also walk the edge of the law, with more ruthless methods, more cunning minds, and are not bound by rules, can fight fire with fire and suppress the endless stream of darkness.

The thought made him feel a wave of self-loathing disgust, yet it also carried a kind of chilling truth.

He was even thinking about himself.
James Gordon, a man who insists on wearing his police uniform and trying to maintain order in the sunlight, takes his first steps into the city.
Did we take the wrong path from the very beginning?
The thought sent chills down his spine.

"clatter!"

The lights came on, interrupting his thoughts.

"Jim!"

A familiar voice sounded at the door, filled with concern.

"Take a break, you look like you've been drained dry by a vampire."

Gordon looked up and saw his trusted lieutenant, Mr. Harvey Block, dragging his increasingly massive body into the room.

He was also holding two steaming cups of coffee in his hands.

This was nothing unusual; what surprised Gordon was that Brock was followed by a young man.

Gordon knew him; he had only been transferred there a short time ago.
He is said to be a sharpshooter in the Marine Corps who served in Panama and Lebanon.

His name seems to be Liam Hawkley.

Rumor has it that he was "exiled" to the quagmire of Gotham because of his "rebellious" personality or because he offended some big shot like I did.

The young man was leaning lazily against the door frame, his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the messy office area. He showed no nervousness or enthusiasm typical of a newcomer, only a numb sense of detachment.

It was as if everything before him had nothing to do with him.

Gordon had heard him mutter, in a low voice, more than once, when faced with heinous crimes—'Sigh, what can we do? We're not superheroes.'

"Have a drink, Jim. To perk you up."

Ignoring Gordon's inner thoughts, Brock shoved one of the coffee cups into Gordon's hand, then followed Gordon's gaze to look at the young man behind him.

He shrugged helplessly and said in a low voice:

"Find an opportunity. This kid is very shrewd. He'll sit if he can, and he'll hide if he can."

"They need to be properly trained."

Gordon shrugged, offering no comment.

He simply took the warm paper cup, intending to say something to Brock, perhaps to ask about his health, or perhaps simply to talk to someone and dispel the dark thoughts in his mind.
but.
"Ring ring ring—!!!"

The internal phone on the table emitted a sharp hissing sound again.

My heart skipped a beat.
Gordon sighed, resignedly grabbed the receiver, and said in a hoarse voice:

"This is Gordon."

"Chief!" The operator's tense voice immediately came through the receiver: "Chief! Dock area! Seventh Dock! Report... reports that there's... there's a huge... thing demolishing a warehouse! We've lost contact with one of our patrol units! Repeat, one patrol unit has lost contact!"

"receive."

After hanging up the phone, Gordon closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Then, mechanically, he picked up the coat draped over the back of the chair, stood up, and prepared to plunge back into the endless darkness of the city.

but.
Just as he turned to leave, he clearly heard two sighs behind him.

A voice came from his old friend Brock, tinged with helplessness.

The other voice came from the young 'king of soldiers' leaning against the door frame.

With an air of indifference, he sneered, "What's the point of us going? Are we just going to be appetizers for that 'giant thing,' throwing our lives away?"

"If you ask me, they're all a bunch of incompetent people. What are they doing standing there stubbornly? They might as well wait for some superhero in a tight suit to descend from the sky and clean up the mess..."

"Or give me a sniper rifle, let me go take a look."

"."

"?!"

Brock's expression changed drastically. He cursed under his breath, and his obese body jerked as he tried to cover Liam's unbridled mouth, but...
It's too late.

Gordon suddenly turned around!

The weariness and numbness on his face were replaced by an intensely suppressed anger.

Those bloodshot eyes were fixed on Liam, and her voice, strained through clenched teeth, carried a chilling edge: "You... what did you say?!"

"I……"

Taken aback by Gordon's sudden imposing manner, Liam involuntarily tensed up, but his long-standing resentment at being sent here made him stubbornly continue to argue:
"Am I wrong?! Chief Gordon! What use are we ordinary people with small pistols against superhumans? We'd just be throwing our lives away! And it's not just superhumans..."

"Any crime in this city—drug trafficking, gang warfare, corruption, even the damn East Side prostitutes…do we really have a way to deal with it?"

"We're like trying to fight a forest fire with a toy water gun! We're utterly powerless in the face of this city! Admit it!"

"."

Gordon's anger dissipated.

Instead, there was a chilling calm.

He didn't look at Liam again, but turned to the anxious-looking Brock, and skillfully pulled the baton from his old partner's side holster.

"I heard you're a retired 'king of soldiers,' incredibly skilled, and that you were sent to Gotham because you offended someone."

Gordon spoke calmly, weighed the baton in his hand, and casually tossed it to Liam.

"boom--!"

The baton traced a short arc in the air before landing on the floor in front of Liam's feet.

Gordon stood with his hands empty, feet slightly apart, in the limited space in the center of the office, his gaze fixed on Liam.

“Come, young man.”

He spoke, his tone devoid of any emotion, "Use your baton to subdue me."

In an instant
The office seemed to quiet down, and even the distant noise seemed to be shut out.

Brock stared wide-eyed at Gordon, then at the baton on the ground, completely bewildered.

Liam was completely stunned. He looked down at the baton at his feet, then looked up at Chief Gordon, who was in a defensive stance, his face filled with disbelief.

Brock's expression changed drastically. His obese body nimbly slipped between the two men, his hands waving anxiously like a penguin trying to calm a storm.

"Jim! Are you fucking insane?!"

He growled at Gordon, then abruptly turned to glare at Liam, "And you, kid! Pick up the stick and give it back to me, then get out of here and calm down!"

But Gordon's gaze went past Brock's shoulder.

His gaze was fixed firmly on Liam's face.

The calm in his eyes was more chilling than his previous anger.

Brock was silent for a moment, then suddenly took two steps back without saying anything.

Liam stood still.
What the hell.
I should have gone to be a mercenary with Rabbit; otherwise, why would I have to put up with this awful treatment here?!

He felt a burning sensation on his face, and his blood rushed to his head with a sense of humiliation.

After all, he's just an old guy who sits in an office.
How dare they challenge him, a 'king of soldiers' who crawled out of a hail of bullets?
But at the same time.
A long-suppressed competitive spirit was also ignited.

He was looked down upon and provoked!

In this suffocating, damn city!
"YES, Sir!"

Liam bent down to pick up the baton, the feel of the rubber handle triggering his muscle memory.

He swung the stick, creating a whooshing sound, and his eyes turned fierce, like an enraged eagle:
"Chief, then don't blame me for being disrespectful!"

With a low growl, Liam moved swiftly, his baton slashing down diagonally at Gordon's shoulder!

If this hits hard, it would be enough to instantly incapacitate an ordinary person.

However.
Gordon did not back down.

Just as the staff was about to strike, he dodged the attack with a seemingly clumsy side slide, and his left hand suddenly blocked upwards, accurately catching Liam's wrist holding the staff!
The immense force caused Liam's arm to go numb, and his offensive was thwarted.

He was terrified and tried to change his move, but Gordon's right hand emerged like a venomous snake, his five fingers together, and delivered a short, powerful chop to the inside of his joint!
"Ugh!"

Liam groaned, his entire right arm aching and numb, almost losing all feeling.

The baton slipped from his hand and fell to the ground again. Before he could react, Gordon's knee slammed into his abdomen, while the edge of his other hand pressed lightly against his Adam's apple.

The entire action happened in the blink of an eye, in no more than five seconds.

Clean, neat, and without any unnecessary frills.

There was dead silence in the office.

Only Liam's heavy breathing and the lingering sound of the baton swaying slightly on the floor could be heard.

Gordon withdrew his hand and took a step back.

I straightened my shirt collar, which had become messy from all the movement.

He looked down at Liam, whose face was deathly pale with humiliation:
"We may be powerless against superhumans."

"Faced with the darkness of this city, we may find it difficult to move forward."

"But if you can't even subdue an old man like me..."

Gordon's gaze was sharp as a knife, each word piercing into Liam's heart:

“You’re the incompetent one, Officer Liam.”

"Stop your self-righteous complaining and escapism! In Gotham, you either pick up a weapon and fight to the last moment, or you take off this uniform! There's no place for cowards who just hide in a corner and lament their unfair fate!"

After saying that, Gordon turned away, no longer looking at the distraught young man.

He simply stepped towards the door, preparing to face the unknown monster in the dock area.

But, just as his hand touched the doorknob...
Liam's voice, filled with resentment and struggle, rang out again from behind him. It wasn't loud, but it sounded like the wail of a dying beast:
"Gordon! We freaking... there's absolutely no need to face an enemy we can't defeat! It's pointless!"

Gordon paused again.

He didn't turn around, but calmly said:
“I know this better than you do.”

"People like us, wearing this uniform and earning this little salary, are destined to lose to Gotham's 'evil'! I know that better than anyone else in this city!"

"I have seen too many colleagues fall, too many criminals go unpunished, and the law be trampled on at will!"

"but"

Gordon's voice suddenly rose, carrying a heart-wrenching realism, exploding throughout the noisy office area and drowning out all the other sounds.

He jabbed his finger into his chest, almost roaring!

"If even we choose to run away because we're afraid of failure! If even we hide in safe corners and do nothing while this city is dragged into the abyss! Then who will stand up and fight?!"

"Those innocent citizens?! Those ordinary people who were hoping we could bring them a glimmer of light?!"

"If you can't win, does that mean you shouldn't fight?!"

"This isn't even a question of winning or losing, Liam!"

"We're standing here because we're police officers! If even we run away, who the hell is going to fight!"

After he finished speaking, the office fell into absolute silence.

You can hear the needle drop.

Gordon was panting heavily, feeling as if he had squeezed out the last bit of air from his lungs.

He sighed, turned around wearily again, and prepared to leave.

But when he looked up at the doorway, he froze.

Before I knew it, the office doorway and even the corridor outside were packed with people.

All the officers who were still able to move, whether they were clerical or field officers, whether they were seasoned veterans or newcomers, stood there quietly.

No one spoke, but their eyes were no longer numb or confused; they burned with the flames ignited by their own words.

Then, I don't know who started it first.

"Crack...crack...crack..."

Scattered applause rang out, then quickly spread!
The applause grew louder and more frequent, eventually merging into a warm and enduring torrent!

Many veteran police officers had red eyes and tears welling up in their eyes.

They clapped loudly, as if to release all the humiliation and resentment that had been building up for years.

"Director!"

Someone shouted, choking back tears.

"Boss!"

"We'll go with you!"

Looking at these faces, now brimming with renewed fighting spirit, Gordon smiled.

He chuckled softly.

"Then let's go, everyone."

Gordon didn't offer any further encouragement; he simply pushed through the crowd and walked at the front.

in situ
Only Liam remained, collapsing to the ground with a thud.

Bro's obese body turned around.

Looking at the distraught Liam, his face no longer showed his usual rudeness and impatience, but only a hint of pity.

“Fun fact, Officer Liam.” Brock pointed with his thumb in the direction Gordon had left. “Jim’s skills, in our department’s prime, were really… just average.”

"Moreover, he's been busy running around the streets every day lately and hasn't had a proper training session in a long time."

After saying that, he bent down, picked up the baton from the ground, and skillfully put it back into the leather sheath at his waist.

“Gotham…is a place that deals with all kinds of defiance, especially with brats like you who think they know everything.” Brock gave Liam one last look, shook his head, and said nothing more.

Dragging his heavy steps, he quickly caught up with Gordon and the others.

The office fell completely silent, with only the hum of the fluorescent lights remaining.

"..."

Liam remained in that position, motionless.

His gaze fell unfocused on the ceiling, where there was only a patch of mottled stains.

It's a lie...

Brock's words echoed in his mind.

Average level...

It's been a long time since I practiced...

So what does it mean that this so-called sharpshooter king of the Marine Corps was disarmed and subdued by a middle-aged man sitting in an office in a few seconds?
Super useless?
He always believed that the Gotham Police Department's failure was due to a group of incompetent good-for-nothings from top to bottom, and that the corruption of the system and individual laziness had jointly created this quagmire.

But now... what's going on?

If even Gordon, whom he considers to be long overdue for the times, possesses the combat ability to take him down instantly…

If this ability was once just 'average' in the police department...

Then isn't the belief he's always held a complete joke?

Liam lowered his head, looking at his slightly trembling hands.

He still felt that going to the dock area to face that 'giant monster' was suicide.

He still thinks Gotham is rotten.

嗏

He still lifted his foot.

He staggered and took a step toward the direction from which the sirens were coming.

The rain began to fall in a light drizzle.

Tiny water droplets splashed on the asphalt road.

Pedestrians hurriedly dodged, staring in astonishment at the police cars flashing red and blue lights, which, like an enraged herd of beasts, tore through the rain and sped past the roadside at an almost insane speed.

The tires rolled over the puddles, creating a curtain of murky water.

This even affected the usually arrogant and domineering gangsters who lurked on street corners.
He instinctively shrank back, pressed himself against the wall in fear, and watched the unusual convoy speed away.

"Damn it...who stirred up a hornet's nest? What provoked the cops like this?"

One of the thugs muttered under his breath, his face full of confusion.

This is unlike the Gotham police they are used to, who are always slow to react and seem powerless.

"boom--!"

Meanwhile, the atmosphere was equally somber in the old police car leading the way, accompanied by the roar of its engine.

Brock sat in the passenger seat, his obese body almost filling the entire seat. The rain outside the window blurred his vision, as if extinguishing the passion Gordon had ignited in him at the police station.

He sighed, his voice barely audible amidst the roar of the engine:
"Jim... although what you just said did ignite a fire in this old man's heart..."

"But... but now, looking at the rain outside the window, my heart sinks again... I..." He rubbed his hands together, his face full of worry and lingering fear, "I don't even know if our firepower is enough."

Brock's voice stopped abruptly when Gordon suddenly gestured for him to be quiet.

With one hand firmly gripping the steering wheel, he maneuvered the vehicle at high speed on the slippery road, while with the other hand he quickly pulled out his personal cell phone and skillfully dialed a number that did not have a name saved in his contacts.

The call connected, and Gordon, without any pleasantries, went straight into the receiver and whispered:
“I need your help. East Wing, Pier Seven. His Majesty the King.”

"..."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone.

A few seconds later, a young, calm voice with a slightly strange magnetism came through the receiver, echoing clearly in the police car:
"You still haven't given me a satisfactory answer about what happened last time."

"Have you thought about the price you'll pay for doing this, Mr. James Gordon?"

No further questions asked, no surprises.
The man seemed to have anticipated this moment.

Gordon's face reflected the same.

Without any expression, he hung up the phone decisively and casually tossed it onto the control panel.

“It’s him?” Brock’s brows furrowed, and he turned sharply to stare at Gordon in disbelief, his voice rising in shock: “It’s him!”

"Jim! Do you fucking know what you're doing?! You're making a deal with that guy! With that 'King' who controls the Iceberg Club!"

“I know… Brock…”

Gordon's gaze remained fixed on the rain-shrouded road ahead, a calm born of desperation. "I've always known... but only today, only at this moment... have I truly confirmed this idea, and... decided to do it."

The rain intensified.

Water droplets slapped against the windshield, causing the wipers to swing futilely from side to side in an attempt to clear the view.

"In this city, Brock..."

“Simply having ‘justice’ is not enough; it’s too fragile and too slow… You see, even with all our might, we might not be able to handle a monster that suddenly appears.”

"And 'evil'... must exist in this city; it's like a shadow, impossible to eradicate... since it cannot be eliminated..."

Gordon took a deep breath, a cold glint in his eyes.

"Then why... can't we personally nurture an 'evil'?"

“A necessary evil… an evil that can at least sometimes help us get rid of those problems we can’t solve ourselves?”

"A savior... named 'evil'..."

"..."

Brock opened his mouth, wanting to refute, but found that all his words were pale and powerless in the face of Gordon's cruel and realistic 'Gotham's underlying logic'.

He finally slumped back into his seat, letting out a heavy sigh:

“You’re… trying to get something out of a tiger, Jim.”

"That's all he can do to help us solve problems, Brock."

Without looking at his partner, Gordon just floored the gas pedal.

The police cars roared, cutting through the rain, and the convoy headed headlong towards the dock area.

after all
From the moment that call was made
He had already embarked on a path of no return.

But for even the slightest glimmer of order in Gotham
He was willing to risk everything, even...
—To walk with evil.
-
PS:

Liam Hawkley: Gunhawk.

The U.S. Marine Corps sharpshooter served in Panama and Lebanon.

He later joined a mercenary organization and embarked on a criminal path in Gotham.

He is obsessed with money, guns, and his partner, Gun Rabbit.

His first appearance after his rebirth was on the cover of Bane: Conquest Issue 9.

(End of this chapter)