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Gordon and Barbara returned home after a heated argument. Barbara had waited for him until late, sitting alone in the pitch-black room with a cold dinner on the table. It was a meal Barbara had carefully prepared to celebrate their upcoming purchase of their first home. Unfortunately, the most important character was missing from this dinner.

Barbara knew Gordon was busy, but she also knew that his relentless work had nothing to do with his competence. It was because the place he worked in simply didn't need a cop.

Barbara, who had accompanied Gordon all the way, was well aware that with Gordon's abilities, he wouldn't have to toil so hard in any city other than Gotham. More importantly, Barbara knew that even if Gordon worked tirelessly, it would be in vain. He couldn't save this place.

When Gordon returned, Barbara was sitting on the sofa, gently caressing a photograph. It was a picture taken after their internship, where both Gordon and she looked very young, almost like children.

Back then, they were both under 20 years old, and their relationship had just been established for less than two months. They had gotten drunk at a party and talked about their ambitions.

Barbara came from a troubled family and wanted to earn money to improve the lives of her parents and siblings. Gordon, on the other hand, was born into a moderately well-off middle-class family. He had dreamed of becoming a righteous cop from a young age because the police had once saved his family.

Despite their differing aspirations, they fell in love, and even years of a long-distance relationship hadn't dulled their feelings.

But on this particular night, it seemed like a buildup of emotions had erupted all at once. Barbara sat on the sofa, silently shedding tears, while Gordon stood at the doorway in silence.

It wasn't that he didn't want to console Barbara, nor was he indifferent to seeing his beloved fiancée cry alone.

He knew that Barbara was about to ask a question, and he also knew that he couldn't answer that question—why did he insist on staying in Gotham?

Gordon wasn't a native of Gotham; he was born in Chicago. He wasn't from a poor background, quite the opposite, growing up in relative affluence. He wasn't a genius, but most of his achievements came from his hard work.

From his teachers to his classmates, to his fiancée who spent her days and nights with him, none of them understood why Gordon had given up a promising future at the Chicago Police Department to come to this godforsaken place called Gotham, and to stay here for years.

Gordon hadn't achieved anything significant within the Gotham Police Department.

His promotions had been slow, and after several years, he was still just the leader of a small unit. He hadn't cracked any major cases, and even when he had contributed to certain investigations, the credit never landed on his shoulders. Not to mention making a difference or bringing change to Gotham.

But it was as if Gordon had been enchanted by some ghostly spell; he insisted on remaining here. Whenever his former teachers and classmates talked about him, they wore expressions of regret. In their eyes, if only Gordon could be a bit more flexible, his accomplishments would far exceed what they were now.

Gordon approached Barbara and embraced her. She had been crying all along, but she didn't ask anything because she knew that the question she wanted to ask the most was one that Gordon had never answered.

When faced with the choice between his badge and his loved one, Gordon always remained silent.

Gotham's nights were never short of tears, but Barbara's tears were different. Few people here shed tears for their lovers; the heat in their hearts was barely enough to warm themselves, let alone shed tears for something as elusive as love.

Having witnessed countless nights of weeping in Gotham, Barbara's sorrow and tears made Gordon even more uncomfortable. He felt like he had become a worse villain than the criminals themselves.

He thought that when he decided to live in this abyss, he shouldn't expect anyone on the surface to pay much attention to him. Even if there were such people, their ultimate fate would be to shed tears for him, just like the cold rain that fell on him on Gotham's late nights. But these tears were ultimately in vain, and the tears of countless lovers were as numerous as the raindrops, unable to change this stubborn stone.

The next day, Harvey visited Schiller again, which surprised Schiller. Harvey was always very formal and rarely made unannounced visits.

Harvey said, "Gordon came to me yesterday, hoping I could find a legal counsel job for his fiancée, preferably in Metropolis or another southern city."

"I could tell his mental state wasn't right, so I came to you. It's not just a simple argument between him and his fiancée. They had already bought a house and even planned to have children, but now Gordon seems to want to break up with Barbara. Something's not right..."

Schiller trusted Harvey's intuition, but when he called Gordon, there was no answer. When he called Gordon's police station, his colleagues told Schiller that the hardworking detective who had put in extra hours for years had surprisingly not shown up for work that afternoon.

Schiller had a bad feeling and quickly contacted Gordon's partner, Batman.

Last night, Gordon had thought all night, and in the early morning of the next day, he told Barbara they should break up.

To help Barbara leave Gotham as soon as possible, he asked senior lawyer Harvey to find her a new job, preferably as far away from Gotham as possible.

Gordon was just an ordinary person, and the emotional impact of breaking up with his longtime girlfriend nearly pushed him to the brink.

At the police station, he couldn't focus on work all morning, and by lunchtime, when everyone had gone out to eat, the empty office was unbearable for Gordon.

Feeling mentally disoriented, he walked out of the police station, hoping to find a place with more people, so he wouldn't be consumed by the despairing sadness.

But fate had other plans, just as he expected. His troubles were far from over.

He hadn't been out for long when he realized someone was tailing him. Gordon's wits sharpened a bit, and he wanted to get back to the police station where there were guards with heavy weapons, making it difficult for anyone to invade.

However, his pursuers were cunning. When Gordon noticed several unfriendly faces watching him from ahead on the road, he knew continuing forward would lead to no good results.

He only had a handgun with him, and while the magazine was full, the handgun's stopping power was limited. Relying on his familiarity with the terrain, Gordon turned right into an alley and hid in a blind spot behind a corner.

This tactic proved ineffective as his pursuers were evidently familiar with the area too. When they saw Gordon turn right, they immediately followed.

The footsteps outside the alley grew closer, and as the sky gradually darkened, Gordon calculated the time. When the footsteps reached the alley entrance, in a moment when their visibility was at its worst due to the fading light, Gordon fired a shot at the alley's entrance.

Upon realizing that his bullets had missed their mark, Gordon immediately abandoned his initial plan. He knew that his pursuers across the way were undoubtedly well-trained assassins who would not be swayed by changes in their line of sight.

In swift response, he holstered his gun and sprinted backward. Two gunshots echoed from behind, and what struck Gordon as peculiar was the muffled sound of those shots—indicative of suppressors. Gordon promptly understood that this group was not composed of locals from Gotham.

Gotham's assassins did not use suppressors on their guns; it held no purpose. In Gotham, nobody would react differently to gunshots; it was akin to putting earmuffs on a deaf person.

With this realization, Gordon formulated a new plan in his mind.

His pursuers were closing in on him, evidently possessing superior stamina and speed. Gordon reached the end of a narrow alley and swiftly climbed a nearby wall. As he reached the top of the perimeter wall, his pursuers arrived. In that frozen moment, a gunshot rang out, striking Gordon. He tumbled over the wall and fell into a courtyard.

The bullet hit his arm, causing injury but not fatal harm. Gordon clutched his wounded arm and continued running forward, shouting, "The Black Tower Gang is attacking! They're shooting! They're shooting!"

The courtyard belonged to a nightclub, and upon hearing Gordon's words, people immediately rushed out, surrounding the person who had been chasing Gordon.

At this moment, Gordon had just climbed over the wall and was temporarily immobilized. He was immediately hit by three or four bullets.

Gotham's rule of engagement was straightforward: shoot first, ask questions later, regardless of visibility or the identity of the target. Once the target was down, then they would talk.

However, Gordon's crisis was far from over. It was evident that the ones pursuing him were a group, and the first person he had shaken off was just an appetizer. Shortly after, he ran into the street and saw a car speeding towards him.

It seemed they had multiple plans, or perhaps their intention all along was to drive Gordon onto the road and then use the car to finish him off.

Gordon rolled to the right, and the car missed him. However, a gun emerged from the car like a black hole, and Gordon was shot again, this time in the back, eliciting a scream.

Despite the excruciating pain, Gordon's mind remained clear. He knew that if he continued running, he'd be caught within minutes. He gritted his teeth, holding his chest with one arm due to the intense pain. His other arm was bleeding from the gunshot wound.

Following his memory, Gordon reached the back door of an apartment building. The door's lock was broken and seldom closed properly. He tugged at it with his one functional arm, but the pain in his chest made every movement agonizing. Gordon's breathing grew heavier.

Finally, the door cracked open slightly. Gordon wasn't particularly tall or muscular, but he managed to squeeze through the gap.

Inside, he didn't stop. He climbed a short section of stairs, ripped open a nearby corridor window, and climbed onto the roof with all his might. He shut the window behind him and hid on the roof's ledge on the second floor.

As he heard the pounding on the door below, Gordon bit his lip. He slid down the ledge, landing on a canopy below without leaving a trace of blood, despite the bullet wound on his forehead.

After dropping onto the canopy, Gordon used his last ounce of strength to roll onto the ground, concealing himself among garbage bags. After a while, he heard the footsteps inside the building fading away. His pursuers hadn't found him; it seemed they had left.

Gordon lay in a pile of trash, each breath carrying a heavy metallic scent. The gunshot had pierced his lung. His arm was numb from blood loss, but he could still feel the engagement ring on his ring finger, slowly blending with the cold metal.

He recalled the look of disbelief and heartbreak on Barbara's face when they had parted ways. He thought, Barbara was right. He was a fool, an irredeemable one, incapable of change, destined to die alone.

A wave of coldness he couldn't resist swept over him, followed by a warm surge from within his body. Fresh blood from the wound on his forehead flowed into his eyes, staining his vision red and shrouding it in darkness.

Soon, Gotham began to rain again. Today's rain was no different from any other night's rain in Gotham: fine and chilling.

Gordon's consciousness began to blur, like a trapped beast in the abyss. The lover's tears falling from above couldn't save his fading life. But they reminded him of the tears of his loved ones, and a resolute emotion surged within him. He thought, if he was destined to be an inflexible fool, he'd rather exhaust his life in this mire, with a heart as unyielding as a stone.

He would die here, alone, with decayed winds sweeping over his bones, erasing all traces of his existence. And when facing this endless darkness, his last bit of soul would still resist, refusing to kneel.

Gordon thought— Let him stay here, against all odds, until dawn.