American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 277 Gordon's heart skipped a beat.

GCPD.

James Gordon's office.

This place has long lost its sense of order as a law enforcement hub and is more like a besieged frontline command post.

The files were piled up haphazardly everywhere, mostly on-site reports and death notices that were barely read. The Gotham map on the wall was scribbled over with markers of various colors, each mark representing a firefight point, a street out of control, or a new no man's land.

"...In addition, someone attempted to contact Harvey, who was still recuperating in the hospital, through encrypted channels."

The man on the other end of the phone paused for a moment, then replied:

"Okay. I'll go this afternoon."

Gordon did not object, but simply circled the time on the schedule.

have to say
The feeling of coordinating a schedule with a gang leader still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Gordon slammed the receiver back onto the landline, wearily rubbed his bloodshot eyes, and sighed.

Leaning back in his creaking chair, he looked around at the messy lobby outside his office.

A sense of powerlessness almost overwhelmed him.

In the past few months, Gotham has been sliding into the abyss at a visible speed, and he and his officers, like fools trying to scoop up a burst dam with a teacup, have been completely submerged, and even struggling seems futile.

Numbers are cold and cruel.

They now deal with homicides, violent attacks, arson cases, and more every day...

Its quantity easily exceeded the total amount collected in a month during the previous peaceful period.

The morgue is already operating beyond capacity, with reports piling up. Many cases don't even have time to be formally investigated; they can only be simply recorded, archived, and then left to wait for the next emergency call.

Police force?

The word sounds like a joke nowadays.

Injuries, resignations, feigning illness to take leave due to fear...

The number of frontline police officers that can be mobilized has been reduced to less than one-third.

The remaining people were also exhausted and their morale had plummeted. Everyone's eyes were numb.

This forced him to make the most painful and realistic choice.
Concentrate all available resources to prioritize the protection of a few key facilities such as the city hall, central hospital, and power plant, ensuring that the city's most basic structure is not completely paralyzed.

And the gang wars that have taken over most of Gotham's city center.
them…

Powerless.

There was truly nothing we could do.

Listening to the intense gunfire coming from the radio and watching the flames soaring into the sky in the distance, they could only hold onto a few limited strongholds, like isolated islands in a storm.

This feeling of knowing that evil is happening but being unable to stop it is more frustrating than facing any supervillain.

It was precisely under these dire circumstances that his contact with Dio became more frequent than ever before.

He became increasingly reliant on the Iceberg's reports for early warnings of major gang movements and large-scale conflicts.
Even information about the locations of key figures.

This intelligence is often faster and more accurate than the police's own channels, allowing him to at least act like a firefighter, arriving at the most critical moment and location to barely extinguish the sparks that could lead to a greater disaster, or...

At least some civilians can be evacuated in advance.

He was making a deal with the devil, trading his principles and a part of his soul for a tiny chance to keep the situation from collapsing completely.

He knew that Dio's intelligence came at a price, and that this dependence was like an addiction, extremely dangerous.

But he had no choice.

Faced with the choice between witnessing the city's complete collapse and engaging in limited cooperation with an 'orderly evil', he was forced to choose the latter.

And
Gordon's weary gaze fell on another report on the table, compiled by the data analysis department, comparing the recent conditions of various areas of the city.

This report clearly shows that the entire city was engulfed in a frenzy of burning, killing, and looting.
Only one area, like the eye of a storm, maintained an eerie calm.

The area radiating outwards from the Iceberg Club is orderly and, one could even say, absolutely safe, encompassing more than a dozen blocks.

It became the only refuge that Gotham's anxious businessmen, politicians, and celebrities dared to set foot in, and even flocked to.

They pay astronomical membership fees, like wealthy peasants in the Middle Ages who paid protection money to their lords, humbly huddled in the shadow of the iceberg.

On the streets under Dior's explicit control, the crime rate, especially random violent crimes against ordinary residents and businesses, showed a remarkably significant and visible decline.

Gordon put down the report, walked to the window, and looked at the black smoke rising from different directions in the distance. Comparing it to the relatively 'clean' sky in the direction of the Iceberg Club, an extremely complex emotion surged in his chest, making him feel nauseous.

Is it ironic?
It's incredibly ironic.

A gang leader, someone he should be relentlessly pursuing, has instead established a distorted order in a place beyond the reach of the police chief.

Dior's prestige and influence reached unprecedented heights in both the legitimate and underworld circles of Gotham during this nationwide catastrophe.

To the underworld, he was the king of the night, the one who controlled the situation and set the rules.

But to those well-dressed, respectable people, he became the King of Day, offering refuge in apocalyptic scenes.

Gordon felt nauseous.

But what followed was admiration for the facts.

An emperor who follows the rules is far better than a group of out-of-control and insane warlords.

He still abhorred Dio's methods and the darkness he represented, but he couldn't deny the value of the order the man brought. His duty was to protect Gotham, or at least to protect as many of Gotham's citizens as possible.

If the dignity of the law and the justice of procedure have failed in the face of absolute disorder...

So, we can use a 'controllable evil' to curb 'utter evil'.

It has become the only remaining option.
He would still keep an eye on Dio, watching his every move.

But at least to some extent, they still need to cooperate until the fire in Gotham is extinguished.

"Sheriff!"

A young detective burst into the office, his face filled with anxiety. "A large-scale firefight has broken out at the intersection of Seventh Street! Civilians are trapped in an apartment building!"

Gordon gulped down the already cold coffee in his cup.

Let that bitter taste permeate his internal organs.

"Notify SWAT! Prepare armored vehicles! Clear a path!"

He grabbed his wrinkled coat from the back of the chair and strode out.

"The priority is to evacuate civilians! I repeat, evacuate civilians at all costs!"

The afternoon sun struggled to penetrate the thick smog over Gotham and shone into Gotham Hospital and the VIP ward on the top floor.

The soundproofing here is significantly better than in the regular wards downstairs.

Gordon dragged his exhausted body up the stairs.

From dawn till now, he has been dealing with one mess after another like a firefighter, without even having time to change out of his uniform still covered in gunpowder.

And now they also have to face Harvey.
Gordon's heart sank.

"...I say, does this make any sense to have a patient who just had their stitches removed peeling apples for guests?!"

Before he even entered Harvey's special care ward, the conversation coming from inside made him stop in his tracks. His lips twitched involuntarily. The voice belonged to Harvey, still weak from his long illness, but now carrying more of a disgruntled complaint:
"Are your hands just decorations?!"

Another voice, still calm, even tinged with mockery.

"Patients need appropriate activity, which helps with recovery."

"Besides, your apple-peeling skills look much better than your gun-handling skills now, don't they?"

Gordon took a deep breath, suppressed the complex emotions in his heart, and pushed open the ward door.

The scene that came into view made him feel somewhat dazed.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the blinds.

Harvey leaned against the raised hospital bed.

His face, half handsome and half grotesque like molten wax, was exposed to the light. He held a half-peeled apple in his hand, the peel hanging down in a continuous spiral.

Dio, the king who stirred up trouble in Gotham, sat leisurely in a chair by the bed, dressed in casual clothes, holding an apple that had already been bitten a few times, slowly chewing it.

Both men showed a tacit disregard for Gordon's intrusion.

Harvey continued to struggle with the apple peel in his hand, muttering, "Damn rehabilitation training..."

Dior didn't even lift an eyelid, as if Gordon were just an insignificant nurse.

"Cough cough."

Gordon cleared his throat, trying to get attention.

Hearing the cough, Harvey stopped what he was doing, slowly turned his head, and looked at Gordon with his intact eyes.

He didn't speak, but his gaze contained so much.

This time, however, Gordon did not look away out of reluctance or embarrassment as he usually did.

He straightened his chest, his gaze meeting hers firmly, their eyes meeting in mid-air.

He wanted to use this method to tell him that he was not running away, neither from the city nor from himself.

A few seconds of silence hung in the air.

Harvey's half-distorted mouth twitched nervously, then widened into a ferocious smile.

The smile was particularly jarring on his disfigured face, but Gordon felt a sense of relief when he saw it.

"Here, let's eat."

Harvey casually tossed the slightly dented apple in his hand to Gordon.

The veteran detective instinctively caught it, a smile involuntarily spreading across his face.

"Thank you, Harvey."

Without any hesitation, he pulled over another spare chair and sat down, taking a large, decisive bite into the apple.

The sweet juice spread in my mouth, temporarily easing the lingering bitterness in my throat.

that's all.
In the hospital ward, the Gotham City Police Commissioner, the once upright District Attorney, and the city's new underground monarch—three men whose fates are inextricably linked to Gotham—shared a room in this peculiar way.

Outside the window, the ruins of the city are still burning.

Inside the window, there was a fragile, precarious calm.
And that conversation about the road ahead, which was destined to be anything but easy.

(End of this chapter)