The night everything came crashing down
Your lungs tightened, then your eyes followed. A forming trickle of tears filled you with resentment. It was beyond your understanding why you chose to stay—and why you only cried now.
The salty scent of rain and tears bled together. Your badge wept in disgrace, shimmering gently in the rain as liquid weakness ran over its gold plating.
In the distance, carried by the howling wind, the sirens of your patrol car wailed. Now, it was nothing but scrap and flames, graffiti-painted wreckage.
Patterson…Lost in the suffocating fog, you coughed, mumbling over a mouth full of blood. “Pat—Pat, are you okay?!” you shouted, but your voice barely made it past the smoke clogging your throat. Flames glazed your vision, licking at your skin as you fumbled for the door handle. Finding no grip, you smashed through the window, a blurred light guiding your shaking body onto the road.Your lungs burned with smoke. Gravel crunched under heavy boots—chuckles echoed between the buildings. Around the corner, some thugs smashed at the bumper of the car.
You tucked your body into the corner of an alley, clutching your side as pain flared. Your head thudded against the concrete wall. It was your fault. “Patterson…” you swallowed, breathless, “couldn’t save him.” You couldn’t save anyone tonight. Not even yourself. Years of training in the cave, in the academy, went to waste. You were weak. Powerless. For the first time in years, you prayed.
After Gordon disappeared, the air at HQ turned grim. Everyone was on edge, so they buried themselves in work. You were assigned to arrest and apprehend any militia or rioters after Batman had cleared most of the streets—after the terrifying gas, after the building-sized tanks.An hour in, you and Patterson were chasing a stray vehicle. It tore through tight corners and narrow alleys, reckless, rabid. Suddenly—metal twisted, glass shattered, and metric tons of weight crushed your body against your seat.
Now, propped against an abandoned building, your armored legs lay limp in front of you. Hands clutched the straps of your bulky vest. You exhaled ragged. It was all insanity.
“This city is fucking insane,” you muttered, vocal cords strained. “Cursed, even…”
You’d spent enough time stalking militia radio channels to hear the theories. According to some meathead, Batman was a government-funded CIA operative working outside the law. These idiots always had something stupid to say. You chuckled, dry and humorless.
Your job had become some joke. The government left Gotham to burn itself to the ground—no reinforcements, no air support, nothing. The city was left in the hands of a man in tights and a cape. A crazy bastard, way over his old head. Against an entire army, Gotham burned. Hour by hour, the sky turned to fire. Scarecrow’s voice screeched through the night, or worse—it went completely silent.Neon signs painted the slick pavement in garish colors. The city was black and grey, blanketed in rubble and trash. Dusted orange with whatever toxin Scarecrow had dumped from his big blimp.
You fumbled with your belt, reaching for your radio one last time. The signal crackled in distortion. Your eyes drifted to the crooked antenna, and with a sigh, you let the useless machine clatter to the ground.Above you, a flickering sign read: GOTHAM MALL.Southeast corner of Founder’s Island. Probably. Hard to tell. Chasing a vehicle with no real destination made it easy to get lost. The side of the building was nothing but bare brick. In the distance, you heard militia voices, but they hadn’t spotted you. At least not yet—you hesitated. Looking down at your vest and badge, something weighed in your chest. Sure, it was raining, but the warmth of early autumn clung to you, suffocating in layers.With weak fingers, you unclipped your badge from your left pocket and ripped the GCPD patch from your vest. Your shoulders sagged as you shrugged out of the armor, muscles aching with the effort. Left in your single blue button-up, your chest grasped at a full breath of air—liberated from the heavy weight of your vest. Turning your raincoat inside out to hide any painful markings of your job, you pulled it back on, layering it over your vest.
A ringing in your ears pulsed against your skull, the dull throb of a concussion settling in. Apart from that, the world was silent.Looking around, among the grassy land behind the mall was a rip in the metal fence. Your instincts screamed at you to run, but your body stood still. As the adrenaline faded, pain and exhaustion took its place. Your eyes drifted skyward.The clouds swirled in shifting shades of grey, drifting like fish in a pond. The stillness made you uneasy. Waves crashed against the docks. If you were right about where you were, there was no way in hell you’d make it back to GCPD on foot. Thugs littered the streets like trash. Tanks still prowled the roads.Unless he showed up, you were screwed. A bitter laugh bubbled up from your throat. Regret settled in.
You were so stupid.
When the evacuations started this morning, leaving never crossed your mind. You said your goodbyes in passing, ushering familiar faces onto school buses. Because in the end, it was your job to stay behind. To help. That’s why, when Bruce overwhelmed your phone with texts and calls, you ignored them.If anything, he was the one who worried you. It’s been years since you set a foot in the manor. You’ve tried avoiding his very name, but you still stupidly kept him around. It killed you to admit it—the lonely life you lived made him all you had.Yet he was out there killing himself. Why should you care?Better to focus on your attempt to survive the night.
A far clattering burst through a back door. You hid behind a nearby bush, realizing the sound was closer than expected. An armored figure came stumbling out. Militia? Your hands steadied on your holsters.He fell to his knees, throwing a glowing red helmet. It made horrible sounds against the mix of pavement and grass.His voice tore through the silence and broken sobs harmonized with far thunder. The rain weighed him down pathetically. He screamed, cursing incoherently. His armor shook violently as his body began to give in. Heavy panting and crying left him a mess on the ground. It was depressing. You felt at a loss for what to do, listening to his sobs rip through his throat.He rolled over and city lights danced on his shining armor.Then the cogs in your brain turned.Among the mounds of metal that embraced his large body, his chest plates were gone, replaced with a blood-smeared bat symbol.His sharp silhouette began to spark memories of the GCPD most wanted logs you had seen no less than two hours ago. The Arkham Knight?
No... but he was different—he was reduced to a pathetic mess, alone, defenseless. Lacking his army, the shiny red emblem, and pointed ears.His voice missed its usual distorted sound. Instead, it was broken, and as he yelled and cursed, something felt deeply wrong.Helicopters shone down upon the courtyard, paying no mind. His figure bathed in the bright light.Blemished in tears and swollen in bruises, his pale skin. His silhouette. His face—it contorted in wrinkles, familiar and deeper.
Your blood ran cold.
Tears streamed down his armor, glinting. He writhed, swearing and mumbling.When a small light shone on his face, you felt dizzy.It was the Arkham Knight.Not only was he standing right in front of you but… he’d shot a bullet into the past. His nose was sharp, eyebrows thick and furrowed, and his eyes—his eyes held a world of pain that seared along the raised J printed onto his cheek. God… maybe some of the fear toxin had failed to clear. You rubbed your eyes.He was still there. You rubbed them again. And he failed to disappear. “Fuck,” you muttered, “no… no.” The screaming stopped. You stilled. Slight shuffling among the grass.
Heavy steps trampled over to your spot.He smashed the junk you were hiding behind to the other side of the yard. "What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh?!” Rough gloves grabbed at your collar. Finally, his glazed blue eyes met yours.
Any part of you that doubted it was him ceased to exist. “God…” you began to cry in silent terror. His eyes widened, staring back at you with unadulterated fear. As if you were the undead ghost that stood in front of him after three years.
There was a moment of silence.An exchange of pure understanding and fear.He looked at your poorly hidden badge, destroyed hair bun, grime and blood-filled face. His lips pursed. Brows furrowed, as tears streamed. “No…” he muttered, panting, letting his grip tighten as rain soaked into his hair. “NO!” A small sob cracked him.His body went rigid. Dropping you from his grasp.
He stumbled onto the ground, kicking his feet in the slippery mud, ready to run. “No!” You pulled at his metal boot. Sharp corners dug into your skin.“Please don’t leave—not again…” His red and puffy face eased. He was terrified, shaking. You pulled yourself above him, tackling his hard armor.
"Jason… please.”