Crime Alley (Earth Prime)

It was a dark, cold, rainy night in Gotham; nothing out of the ordinary. Regardless, nothing ever justified getting out of bed at such ungodly hours. Well, almost nothing. There had been reports of a murder on Park Row, a street that is more commonly known as Crime Alley, and with good reason: This was the very locale in which the Waynes were slain in cold blood, among many other horrendous crimes that are carried out on a daily basis. The scent of coffee filled the old Chevrolet, two fresh cups sitting in the holders in front of the console.

Driving along the street, Gordon saw several junkies along the sidewalks, curled up against the walls of second-rate apartment buildings not even they could afford to live in, cuddling under newspapers to try and keep warm. He saw at least three dealers hanging out in the shadows as he drove passed the alleys; as careful as they tried to appear, a sharp cop could always spot a dealer.

Riding in the car next to him was his partner, Arnold Flass. Jim hated Flass. He was crude, crooked, and altogether just unpleasant to be around. His jokes were always demeaning, being either racist, sexist (or both), or simply in bad taste. Altogether, Flass was just a walking, talking, oxygen-stealing sack of shit. "Hey Jimmy," he started, causing Jim to roll his eyes, "How many blacks' it take to change a tire?" Gordon wasn't going to dignify that with a response, and even if he were, he didn't have time to do so, having driven to the crime scene. He pressed the brakes just hard enough to send Flass jolting forward. Had he not caught himself with his hands, he would've hit his head on the dashboard, as he always neglected to wear his seatbelt. The thought alone made Jim smile.

"We're here," he said dryly.

Exiting the vehicle, the two detectives donned their parkas before stepping out into the dark alley of the crime scene. It was cold, and the pitter-patter of rainfall upon the plastic shielding drummed above their heads and on their persons. Standing next to the yellow crime scene tape barring the area from unauthorized personnel was one of the department's many beat cops; a younger man, probably in his late twenties. Poor guy had been standing here in the rain for a while, without a parka. The department-issued jackets were warm, but they still got soaked if one spent too much time in the rain. Jim walked up to the officer with a stern look across his jaded face.

"What do you have for me, son?" he asked. The officer turned to look into the dark alleyway behind him. "I found this guy while on patrol. Wouldn't have known he was here if I hadn't caught a bum takin' his shoes from 'im. Haven't even been able to take a good look at 'im myself, what with having to stave off the scavs." He spoke with a very particular Boston accent, one Flass would undoubtedly pick at later. Brushing the beat cop aside, Flass stepped under the yellow tape. "Let's have a look-see, Jimmy. Probably just some wino caught a bad break."

Gordon let out a sigh of exhaustion, following behind Flass as he entered the crime scene. The detectives' flashlights beamed toward the body in unison, illuminating the blood-and-rain-soaked ground. The victim was lying on his stomach, his hands outstretched as if trying to crawl away before he could bleed to death. Unfortunately, death won him over. He was wearing a brown tweed suit, a matching briefcase laying on the ground a few feet behind him. His blond hair was drenched, his own blood having been run through it as well.

"Well, he don't look like no wino, at least," Flass remarked with a chuckle. Gordon cast a sideways glance, his patience with Flass wearing thin. Gordon knelt down, producing a pair of latex gloves from his pockets and quickly pulling them on, snapping them onto his wrist to ensure they fit snugly. With his hands protected, he was able to flip the body and examine the man. His chest was riddled with stab wounds to the point of evisceration. His chest cavity was open, turned to mush by the multitude of inflictions. It was a gruesome sight indeed, and Gordon wouldn't wish it on anyone. Not even on-

"Oh my God..." he trailed off, a mixture of shock and a tiny hint of guilty relief lining his voice. "What is it Jimmy? What's goin'-" Flass stopped short too, his words failing him. He was unable to speak for a good few moments, which honestly satisfied Gordon. However, it was never easy to see the dead body of a fellow officer; Jacob Jules, one of Flass' friends. He, along with Flass and the rest of his cronies, were on Commissioner Loeb's special payroll. They were all crooked, doing deals with the mob on the regular, turning a blind eye to their efforts for a cut of the cash.

"Flass?" Jim said. It took a minute, but finally, Flass was able to vocalize his feelings. "We need to find out who did this, Jimmy! We need to find out who did it, and put a bullet in 'em!"
"We'll figure it out Flass. But we can't go out on a rampage and-"
"The shit we can't! We're the goddamn police, and no one does this to one of our own!"

Gordon dismissed Flass' outburst. He was well aware of what he could, possibly would, do. Loeb would definitely want answers, or at least a scapegoat. But all they could do now is give the department an update on the case. "Call it in, Flass. I'll look around some more." With that, Flass walked away, radioing the station about the new turn of events as he did so.



Across the street, on the rooftop of one of the derelict buildings, he remained crouched, blending in to the early morning darkness that enveloped him. He caught everything through his long-range microphone, his night-vision lenses granting him a clear picture of the scene below. One of Loeb's crooked cops, dead in the alley. He had made his way here after picking up the reports on the police scanner.

The Batman; an urban legend to most. However, a good number of criminals had felt his wrath in the two years he'd been active, and although some of the police would hate to admit it, he's helped put away a fair share of Gotham's scum. He'd fought drug dealers, rapists, murderers, robbers and mobsters. This would be another case, and he needed to be careful.

And whether they liked it or not, the Gotham City Police Department was going to be a big help to him in this investigation.