Behind her, the cars zoomed by. The water below her didn’t seem so far.

The Gotham bridge, one of the few ways out of this city. Haruka was ready to jump. She’d lost everything, her lover, her friends in the city. The Wayne relocation program has been thrown into chaos; she had no hope anymore.

“I’m sorry, Kyoko,” Haruka said. “Our dreams are no more.”

She started to climb up the railing when…

“You too, huh?”

There was a man wearing a crumpled-up suit. He looked like a man from those movies where someone was stranded on an island, a wispy beard, bloodshot eyes and long tangled up hair.

“My brother’s dead,” the man said. His voice sounded different from the other Americans. “My right-hand man betrays me. I lost my only family, my money, everything’s down the drain. Cops saw how pathetic I was and didn’t even bother arresting me.”

Haruka looked at him, confused.

The man frowned. “You don’t understand me do you? Where you from? China, Indonesia…?”

“Nihon,” Haruka said.

“You’re Japanese,” the man said. “I learned a bit of Japanese…” He scratched his hair. “Um…”

“My name is Grotto,” Grotto said. “I’m here to kill myself too.”

The bluntness combined with Grotto’s broken Japanese made Haruka giggle.

“I lost my brother, my only family,” Grotto said. “A close friend tried to kill me and now I have no money. Pathetic, right?”

Haruka shook her head. “No, I lost someone I love too. She was… she wasn’t the best but at the end she came through and…”

Haruka sobbed. “She sacrificed her life for me. They were people who were going to help me get out of here but they got killed and now I’m all alone, no money, no hope, no way of getting out of here or going back home.”

“You an illegal immigrant?” Grotto asked.

Haruka nodded. “Yes. I came here from Japan, they smuggled me here promised me a job. What they didn’t say was that I was going to have to sell my body?”

Grotto chuckled. “I used to be in charge of that, smuggling. I… I was a shitty person, did a lot of shitty things. But at that time all I could think about was getting the money or impressing my father. I didn’t know my father would cut me off so easily after one mistake.”

There was a silence between them save for the cars honking and whizzing by them.

“I… I would do anything to change things,” Grotto said. “Get those girls back. Seeing my brother die in front of me, seeing my dad wither away after the drugs got to him. I don’t know, at the back of my mind there was something that told me that this wasn’t worth it, you know?”

Grotto chuckled. “But now look at me. There’s no hope for change. No hope for anything, really.”

And Haruka was inclined to agree with him. But then she remembered the files of lost girls and children in the Wayne Relocation office, children like her who looked to America for hope but found none.

And she looked at Grotto, climbing over the railings.

She pulled him back.

She may have lost all hope but maybe, maybe with Grotto’s help she could give hope to the children who deserved it.

Grotto was scum, yes. The scum that brought vulnerable people like her to big cities like this but if there was hope for Haruka to make a difference, there was hope for him to get redemption.

“What the hell was that for?” Grotto said. “Can’t you just let me die?”

“Hope,” Haruka said. “Hope that we can change.”

Up above the bridge, a bright green sign said Metropolis 6000 KMs.

And hope that we can live out the dreams the ones we loved left behind.

…

He heard the painter scrape out Foggy’s name. On Foggy’s old table in braille were piles of paper informing Matt about rent payments and on his table a pile of cases awaited him.

Matt put out an ad in the newspaper asking for a secretary but he doubted anyone would accept the offer, after all the pay was abysmal. You had to be stupid or desperate to accept the offer.

He heard footsteps, high heels climbing up the stairs and the smell of expired but expensive perfume. Matt ignored the smell and just went through his case pile, running his fingers through them. The painter left, saying he’s going to the truck to get the paint. Matt smiled and bid him farewell.

And then the knock on the door came.

“Is this Nelson and Murdock?”

“Yes, who’s asking?”

She was nervous, there was a guarded edge to her voice. The voice of putting on a formal, professional face.

“Oh uh, my name’s Karen Page,” Karen said taking a few nervous steps into the office. “I saw the ad in the newspaper that you guys were looking for a secretary and…”

Matt got up, holding his walking stick.

Karen gasped. “Oh you’re… I didn’t know…”

Matt offered a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it, Ms…?”

Karen was about to nod but then realised who she was talking to. “Yes, Ms. Page. I’m uh… not married.”

“You seem uncomfortable ma’am,” Matt said. “Is it because of…” Matt said motioning at his glasses.

“Uh no,” Karen let out forced laughter. “It’s just my first time doing something like this.”

“Interviewing for a job?”

“No, no,” Karen said. “For a law firm. I’ve done secretary work before just not for a… for a law firm.”

“I can assure you it’s not that different,” Matt said, sitting down on his seat and beckoning Karen to sit on the chair opposite. “So, what brings you here? Clearly you’ve seen the ad. I don’t think you’re going to be able to afford rent with the pay I’m offering.”

Karen slowly sat on the chair. “Um… I believe I have a unique set of skills I can offer to the firm and I…”

“Cut the bullshit,” Matt said. “I’ve heard that all before and I think we’ve all said it. What really brings you here?”

Karen’s body temperature increased, she was confused and a bit startled. “I’m sorry, is this a test?”

Matt chuckled. “No, call it a sixth sense but I can tell when someone’s lying. What really brings you here?”

“Well,” Karen said and sighed. She placed a hand over her left arm. “I spent a lot of my life… in… in a dark place. Crime Alley isn’t a great place to live and especially so for a little girl. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of and…”

Karen chuckled. “I don’t know why I’m telling this to you.”

“It’s okay,” Matt said. “I can’t see so I can’t judge.”

Karen chuckled. “Well, call it instinct or whatever but I followed your cases, you know the ones after the League of Assassin’s bombed this place to kingdom come. I saw how you helped people relocate and you know… those children. Those children the league brainwashed? I saw how you fought to get them the best possible help and it made me think… you know? That I can make a difference, that I can do something.”

The temperature around Karen’s cheeks warmed up. She was embarrassed. “I know it sounds stupid but…”

Matt smiled. “No, it isn’t.”

Matt stretched out a hand.

“Welcome to Murdock and associates, Ms. Page,” Matt said. “Hope you don’t mind being paid peanuts.”

Karen shook his hand.

…

Carmine Falcone hated change.

He used to think he liked it, him and his families they ruled the shadows, doing whatever they pleased. Back when the cops were upright and the Waynes were alive, the only place people like him could do whatever he wanted was in the dark corners of the city where the people were just a little bit bent just like him. In the old days you had to go far to find people like you. Then the depression hit Gotham and you didn’t have to go that far. Hell, the depression bent people a little too far, so much so that old Joe Chill killed the two people who kept the city straight and after that, everybody was bent.

They had a fun run, ruling over the city. They ruled the light, hell they were the kings of the light but they left the shadows too wild, too untamed. And out of the shadows a Bat emerged and they were pushed back in the dark. That was when Carmine thought maybe he didn’t like change all that much.

And after the Batman came, more freaks emerged from the shadows. Black Mask, Penguin, Riddler. Slowly but surely his family lost his foothold in the dark and in a desperate attempt to regain it, there was a Long Halloween. Gotham wasn’t a city of good old fashioned crime bosses like him no more, Gotham was a city of freaks. Freaks with funny names. The irony of accepting an invitation from a man who called himself the Kingpin wasn’t lost on Carmine Falcone.

The invitation took him to a place Carmine was very familiar with. Crime Alley. After the League of Assassins tried bombing the place to kingdom come lots of cheap land was available and that was perfect for people like him who preferred the old-fashioned way of doing things. His limousine stopped in the centre of Crime Alley, by a plot of land that was apparently bought by Fisk Industries, a firm with a base of operations in New York. Why some rich New York kid was interested in a shithole like Gotham eluded Carmine’s faculty of reason but if this Fisk guy was related to the Kingpin in some way, it probably wasn’t a good reason.

There was a well-dressed man waiting for him by the construction site. He introduced himself as Wesley, asking Carmine if he held any weapons before he led him to an elevator deep underground to where the dinner was supposedly held.

The elevator stopped deep underground with a ding. The elevator door opened.

“Here we are.”

When he saw who else was invited, Carmine’s mood soured.

Sitting on fancy tables with white sheets were the freaks Carmine despised. Two-Face, Penguin (who broke out of Arkham thanks to the help of his lawyers) and Black Mask all had tables of their own and were dressed in fancy suits that didn’t suit them. They were also unfamiliar faces but faces Carmine had heard about. Hammerhead, Tombstone, The Owl and Silvermane. All of them were here, all of them had tables of their own except Carmine. They were a row of tables filled up with freaks and at the end of the room was a stage. He followed his invitation and unfortunately he had a seat right next to none other than the man he wrestled for the shadows with for too many long years.

“Carmine, it’s been too long,” said Sal Maroni.

He got up and hugged Carmine. A hug Carmine hesitantly returned.

“The irony of this seating placement is not lost on me,” Maroni said. “It’s been a long few years, eh? Too long.”

Carmine smiled. “It has, hasn’t it?”

Carmine took a seat next to him. Call it cowardly but Carmine needed a reminder of something normal when he was surrounded by all these freaks. His father would not be proud of him.

A waitress poured them a glass of wine and they got to talking.

“So, what do you know about this Kingpin?” Carmine said, taking a sip of his champagne.

“All I know is that his real name is Wilson Fisk,” Maroni said. “Not much is known about him, just that he started business in New York and is the owner of Fisk Industries. Details about him are few and far in between.”

Carmine chuckled. “We know about that, don’t we? Keeping details scarce.”

Maroni laughed. “Tell me about it.”

Maroni took a sip of his champagne. “The way I see it, he’s a freak. Just like the rest of the people here. I mean who the hell calls himself the Kingpin? And you should see how he’s built.” Maroni made a deal of spreading his hands wide. “He’s this fat.”

Carmine chuckled.

“Supposedly it’s all muscle,” Maroni said. “But I know a fat tub of lard when I see one.”

Carmine laughed.

“I’m surprised this champagne isn’t poisoned,” Maroni said. “If I was the Kingpin I’d poison all those freaks. I mean look at em. They’re disgusting to look at.”

“May I have your attention please,” said a voice through a mic.

Wesley stood on stage. “All the guests that have been invited are here. The Kingpin would like to address all of you sitting here tonight.”

Maroni elbowed Carmine. “This is going to be good.”

From behind the stage appeared a man about 7 foot tall. He was big and round, built like a truck. The light of the room shined over his bald head and the black suit he wore was tailor made for a man of his huge size.

“Good evening, people of Gotham,” he took pauses in between each word, as if deliberating each word, giving them the weight he though they deserved. “As people of your expertise might know, this isn’t just a simple, fancy dinner but rather a proposal. A business proposal.”

The freaks of Gotham murmured amongst themselves; the freaks of New York were silent. Eerily silent.

“As you all know,” Kingpin said. “Gotham is torn, petty dogfights span between different families. Dogfights that result in carnage and messes, messes that those men like the Batman easily clean up. Organised crime in Gotham is anything but organised.”

Uneasy murmuring.

“What the hell are you trying to say?” Two Face hissed.

“Look at this bloke,” Penguin chuckled.

“What the hell are you proposing?” Maroni said. “If Gotham ain’t as organised as you say it is.”

“A unified front,” Kingpin said. “You all have stakes, shares in businesses that can’t reach their full potential because your competitors owe a supply route. I propose a trade agreement whereby we all work together, combine all our resources and allow each other to trade in the territories we own. Together, our businesses can reach their full potential rather than staying locked behind the locked doors we arbitrarily put on ourselves.”

“What’s in it for you?” Penguin asked.

“30% percent of your total profit.”

At that the hallway erupted into laughter. Even Maroni and Carmine couldn’t help but laugh. Fat kid like him, telling all of them what to do? Get out of here. This boy was too naïve, too stupid to understand how Gotham works.

“Get out of here,” Maroni said, getting out of his seat. “You think you can just walk here from your mansion in New York and tell us what to do? A unified front? The hell’s that supposed to mean. Get out of here kid, you don’t belong here. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Elektra.”

The waitress appeared behind Maroni and before he had anytime to react his throat was sliced open. Blood spurted out of his throat, staining the white sheets and Carmine’s suit. Maroni collapsed on the table, his hands spread out, choking on his own blood.

“Elektra here is a trained member of the League of Assassins,” Kingpin said. “I suggest you don’t provoke me otherwise the fate that befalls you could be very… unfortunate.”

Kingpin clasped his hands together. “Now do you accept my proposal or not?”

Uneasy mumbling. Carmine looked to his right; at the man he spent many long years in a headlock with. A man who owned almost as much turf as Carmine himself, a man who had an empire rivalling kings reduced to nothing more than a bleeding corpse with glassy eyes.

And he looked at the Kingpin, at his stone-cold eyes as he analysed the room around him. His body was unmoving like a mountain. A man like him, who had the balls to kill Sal Maroni in front of freaks and remained this unfazed was a man not to be messed with.

Carmine made up his mind.

“I accept your proposal.”

.

.

.

The cold wind dug into the folds of his black suit, high above the city with it’s blinking lights and gothic architecture, Wilson Fisk felt peace.

The construction of the new building was going well. It was unfortunate, the circumstances he got such a fine piece of land but such was life. Constructions beams pierced the sky and the strong smell of cement and dust invaded his nostrils.

He heard silent footsteps behind him.

“Ms. Natchios.”

“Fisk,” Elektra said, her voice as cold as the wind. “I want my answers.”

“You’ll get your answers, patience…”

The blade was by his throat before he could blink.

“I’ve done enough waiting,” Elektra said. “I want my answers, now.”

“Elektra…”

“Wilson,” Elektra growled. “I betrayed my family. The League will never accept me into their fold again. I have no home to go back to. Tell me who killed my father or I swear to God I will…”

“Dear Elektra,” Wilson said.

“Wilson I swear to God…”

Wilson gently pushed the Sais down.

“I will give you your answers soon enough,” Wilson said. “You just need to…”

“I’ve been doing this job for far too long,” Elektra said. “Far, far too long.”

“Just one more job,” Wilson said. “And you’ll get your answers.”

Elektra sagged. “Okay, Wilson.”

With a smooth movement she returned her Sais back in their holster and walked to the edge of the building. “But you better think twice before you hire people that can kill you with ease.”

She leapt off the building. As soon as she did, Wesley turned the corner holding a pistol in his hand.

“Are you alright, sir?” Wesley asked.

“Yes,” Wilson said. “I am fine, thank you for asking. I had the situation under control.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Wesley said. “But you can’t be too careful.”

Wilson smiled and place a calm hand on Wesley’s shoulder.

“How does it feel, sir?” Wesley asked.

“Excuse me?”

“How does it feel to be back in Gotham after so long?”

Wilson looked out at the city, at the gothic architecture that defined the buildings. At the overhead train rumbling in the distance and the bright lights that dotted the city and at the centre of all the hubbub, Wayne Tower towering over all of Gotham like a watchful sentinel.

Wilson Fisk smiled. “It’s good to be home, Wesley.”

To be continued…