Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 32: Ch.31 Poor Gordon

"Gotham itself isn't sick. The ones who are sick are its residents. So, if we just change the residents, it'll be fine. Even though killing so many people pains me, cutting off a limb to save a life always comes with pain."

Falcone was about to pour himself some more wine, but Sofia took the bottle, pouring not only for him but also refilling Gordon's glass.

"So many? That's 8 million! 8 million people!"

Gordon slammed his glass on the table in anger, spilling the golden liquid inside.

"Father, it seems Commissioner Gordon isn't feeling well. Should I take him to rest?"

Sofia smiled as she asked Falcone, but the cracking sound of her bones echoed like popping corn, and the room's temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. The cat on the carpet immediately woke from its sleep, alert and searching for the source of its unease.

Falcone calmed her down, smiling and saying there was no need. He personally took out a few tissues to wipe the table.

"It's okay. Gordon's always been like this since the day I met him... After all this is over, when he sees the new Gotham, he'll understand. Also, Sofia, even though you're a girl, you shouldn't threaten people so easily. Our Falcone family values honor and rules, and we reason with people. Your behavior is unbecoming."

"Yes, Father. I'll be more mindful."

Sofia softened, picking up the cat from the carpet and playing with its ears.

Falcone looked at her kindly, nodded, and then turned his face to Gordon.

"Forgive her, Commissioner. My daughter learned some skills in the Far East, and she's still young, so she's full of energy. Sometimes she's a bit rude. I hope you can forgive her."

Gordon felt he couldn't communicate with these two lunatics, but Falcone's words reminded him of something.

"Barbara! Where's my daughter Barbara?"

He sat up straight, staring intently at Falcone.

The smile on the Roman's face finally froze for a moment. He hesitated before quietly instructing Sofia.

"Turn on the TV and let Gordon see for himself." He then looked at Gordon apologetically. "I'm sorry, Gordon. I know you love her very much, but our invitation had a little hiccup..."

Gordon stood up in agitation, but as Sofia passed by him to turn on the TV, she casually waved her hand, and he felt his legs go numb, causing him to fall back onto the sofa with a thud.

"What did you do to her? What happened to her?" Gordon struggled, still glaring at Falcone.

"It's not what we did to her; it's because you've pissed off some people before. Someone wants to get back at you." He gestured for Gordon to watch the TV.

The news broadcast had just started again, and before Gordon could turn his head, he heard a raspy, devilish voice from the screen.

"Good evening, anchor. Good evening, Gotham!"

As Gordon came to his senses, he felt utterly desolate. Tears streamed down his face as he replayed the scene in his mind—an assassin in a black and yellow mask shooting Barbara, her frail body collapsing in the rain.

He hated himself. Why, whenever he offended someone, did his family always end up hurt? Barbara was only 17. Why did it have to be like this?

Falcone, on the side, also took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes, looking genuinely sorrowful. Sofia, on the other hand, was absorbed in cuddling the cat, her mind entirely focused on the creature in her lap.

"My condolences, Gordon. I'm deeply sorry for your loss. That wasn't the plan at all—you and your daughter were supposed to be here with us, enjoying a family gathering safely underground. But I didn't know someone had brought Deathstroke into town. I apologize; my control over the city isn't what it used to be. I didn't get any information at all."

As Falcone spoke, he pulled out a fresh handkerchief and handed it to Gordon, speaking earnestly. He had never intended to harm Gordon or his daughter.

"What did I do? Who did I offend? It should've been me, damn it!" Gordon grabbed his own hair and started banging his head against the armrest of the sofa in frustration.

Falcone gave Sofia a look, and she immediately raised her hand and pressed it against Gordon's chest. Gordon found that apart from his head, he couldn't move any part of his body, and tears just streamed down uncontrollably.

"Gordon, my good man, don't be so hard on yourself. It's not your fault. You were just trying to make the city a better place. You and I are the same; we're good people." Falcone came over and helped Gordon sit upright, letting him lean back more comfortably in the chair. He pressed his hand to his chest, speaking to Gordon, "The fault lies with the people in this city. They've gone mad. We need to treat them, and we can avenge Barbara. We have the opportunity right now."

Gordon didn't respond, just silently weeping, muttering to himself.

"Barbara... Barbara..."

He severed all connection with reality, fully engulfed in his own grief. Nothing anyone said would reach him now.

Falcone turned to look at Sofia. This wasn't the Gordon he wanted. Before Gotham could be reborn, they needed to kill Deathstroke and get Gordon back on his feet.

"Sofia, do you think you can defeat her?"

Sofia knew exactly who he was referring to. Several emotions crossed her face—disappointment, anger, resentment—all flickered through, but none were what Falcone wanted to see.

She slumped back on the sofa, gently shaking her head. "Sorry, Father. I'm no match for her."

"How is that possible? Your teacher said you were a once-in-a-century prodigy. After you finished your training, the world was supposed to be yours." Falcone frowned, the air thick with his overpowering presence. He suspected his daughter was just being lazy and didn't want to get involved.

Sofia sighed deeply, not lying at all. "She must've only told you half the story because while I might go anywhere in this world, there are some people best avoided. Deathstroke is one of them."

"Is she really that strong? I've never seen her in Gotham before." Falcone sat back in his seat, now convinced by Sofia.

"She's ridiculously strong. She's very young, maybe even younger than me. If you asked me to deal with Bruce, I could probably capture her with just my legs alone, because Bats don't kill."

Sofia gave a bitter smile, shaking her head. She knew her own limits all too well. "But not with Deathstroke. She's not just a master of unarmed combat; she's a master of all weapons. 'All weapons' means anything used to kill, from swords and spears to assault rifles, grenades, and even tanks. She's mastered them all to perfection."

"Did your teacher say that?" Falcone calmed down, lowering his head to gently caress the petals of the rose.

Sofia nodded, absentmindedly stroking the white cat's head, which was smudged with her lipstick. "Yes. Since we're about the same age, my teacher would use her as an example to teach me. Even after I completed my training, Deathstroke was still one of the few people she told me to avoid."

"Hmm..." Falcone pondered.

"My teacher said if I fought Deathstroke barehanded, I'd have a 60% chance of surviving. If she used blades, it'd drop to 30%. If she added firearms, I'd be dead for sure." Sofia finished and then fell silent.

The room fell quiet again, leaving only Gordon's desperate murmurs.

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