There were days in which Bruce Wayne sat amidst the wealthy, the powerful, and the assured. And others where Batman stood back; watching them circle like hawks and teeter on illegality.
This, was one of the latter.
Hamilton Hill: Mayor of Gotham City. Easily corrupted. Cowardice and greed mixed into a sickening cocktail of which he drank happily.
Victor Zehrhard: Warden of Blackgate Penitentiary. Cruel and authoritative, with a history of posturing and verbal violence.
James Gordon: Commissioner of the GCPD. Straight as an arrow, family oriented. Someone who could be called an ally, if not a friend.
Jeremiah Arkham: Director of Arkham Asylum. Serene, yet fiercely defensive with a history of violence. Corruption seeps from the pores of a seemingly well adjusted man.
“Corruption lies on the shoulders of the unruly. To call us here, on the basis of prisoners, of which I manage to contain.” Zehrhard gestured angrily. “I do not know what kind of security Doctor Arkham keeps, but, it is my time you are wasting——”
“Do not call into question my security, Warden, as you would be starting a spat you wouldn’t wish to continue.” Jeremiah sat tall, his legs crossed at the ankle. He did not spare Zehrhard more than a glance. “As I have stated many, many times before; the safety of my patients, the assurance of safety for this city, it is dependent on the rehabilitation fund. Without it, you are asking me to provide state of the art healthcare without as much as a penny toward research and development.”
“Development? Put them in cells and let it be over with! You’re coddling terrorists.” The Warden balled his fists, glaring at Arkham from across the table.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Hill cut in lazily. “Let us be honest with ourselves, this city needs a ceasefire, not political warfare.”
“Mayor, are you suggesting we make a treaty with cartels?” Gordon’s arms were crossed, his frown deepening.
“We aren’t going to be rewarding this behavior. The problem doesn’t stop because you paid it to. We need to address it at its source.”
“Batman is right. This is our city, we are in control of it.” Gordon flicked his cigarette, ash falling onto the polished wooden table.
“With due respect, Commissioner. Batman. I do not believe they know that to be true. Our… government has been rewarding negativity for longer than I believe any of us have been born.” Jeremiah looked at the pair over his glasses with a stern expression. “It will take much more than a declaration to begin to unwind the association that these — lord be with us — troubled souls have built in their mind between power and attention.”
“Please, don’t sugarcoat it. You let felons run this town,” Zehrhard scoffed, looking pointedly at Gordon, and then promptly Batman and the mayor. “And you——” He turned to Jeremiah. “You are constantly letting yourself be walked over by men who can’t tell reality from their twisted fantasy!”
“Felon?” Hamilton set down his glass with a look of offense and contemptuous humor. “Who funds your little— little— barnyard of criminals?”
“Barnyard?” Victor began to rise from his seat.
“Gentlemen, enough.” The Commissioner stood, pressing what was left of his cigarette out against the table’s underside.
“We aren’t here to place blame. We are piecing what is left of our city back together, and in order to do so, we must all play our parts.
“Commissioner, pull up the map…”
Gordon inclined his head, pulling down a projector and flicking it on.
