As one of the few honest men left in the Gotham City Police Department, Jim Gordon felt utterly miserable.
Lately, his life had been a non-stop gauntlet of crises. The serial killer known as Calendar Man was on a rampage; Gotham's gangs were growing more restless by the hour; thugs were flooding the precinct with reports of being pulverized by a "giant bat"; and to top it all off, Commissioner Loeb was obstructing him at every turn. Even at home, his daughter was in the height of her rebellious phase.
Gordon didn't think things could get worse—until a call came in about a "mud monster" attacking Panisa Film Studio. It sounded like a fever dream or a bizarre cartoon.
When he arrived at the scene, he found a patch of scorched earth, a terrified young officer, and a woman with striking blue hair and a yellow jacket.
"So... this is the mud monster?" Gordon asked, staring at the burnt residue with a heavy frown.
"Yes, Sergeant... I swear, it's true," the officer stammered, his face pale.
Normally, Gordon would have dismissed this as a hallucination or a movie prop gone wrong. But in a city where a man dressed as a bat roamed the rooftops, he couldn't afford to jump to conclusions.
"And who is this lady?" Gordon turned his gaze toward Valerie.
"Bodyguard," Valerie replied, crossing her arms.
"For the studio?"
"For the crew."
When Gordon learned that the film crew had been allowed to shoot in an active crime scene because his superiors had taken bribes, his face reddened. "Those idiots! They... sigh." His roar of anger died down into a weary, helpless sigh. He looked exhausted.
Valerie felt a flicker of sympathy for the man. Gotham was clearly breaking him.
"Tell me about this monster," Gordon commanded.
"She fired, the man exploded, and then he turned into... mud," the officer explained.
"Look at this, Sergeant." Valerie handed over her laptop, which was still linked to the building's security network.
Gordon watched the playback. His expression shifted from skepticism to grim realization. He initially thought the officer might be on drugs, but the digital evidence suggested that Gordon himself might need a drink.
"This isn't some special effect for the movie?" Gordon asked, his voice low.
"Do I look like I'm in the mood for pranks?" Valerie countered.
Gordon gave a curt nod. "Ma'am, it seems we have a lot to discuss."
He recognized her now—she was the mercenary who had recently made waves by taking out the Penguin's operation. Gordon ordered the studio sealed and, with a final roar, commanded that no one—investors or otherwise—set foot inside.
Valerie and the crew were escorted to the GCPD headquarters. It was 2 PM; instead of a restaurant, Valerie found herself headed to the New District in the south, crossing the Gotham Bridge with a view of the distant Miracle Tower.
Sitting in the back of the transport with the young officer, Donald Rogge, Valerie felt the irony of the situation. Rogge reached out and tried to hand back the notebook filled with bribe money.
"You don't seem to need my help anymore," Rogge whispered awkwardly.
"Keep it. Consider it a downpayment on a friendship," Valerie pushed his hand back. "The name's V."
Rogge... she thought. The name reminded her of Roger, or perhaps the legendary Fixer from the Afterlife, Rogue. She couldn't help but let out a small, beautiful smile.
Upon arrival at the GCPD—a decaying architectural relic that Rogge claimed had been "renovated" many times—Valerie was led straight to an interrogation room.
A chubby man with a crew cut—Harvey Bullock—sat opposite her, while Gordon stood in the shadows behind him.
"Name," Bullock barked.
"V," Valerie replied, crossing her hands on the table.
"I asked for your real name, not a letter of the alphabet!" Bullock slammed his hand on the table.
Valerie leaned back. She had intended to cooperate, but Bullock's attitude rubbed her the wrong way. "Call me V."
Bullock looked ready to retaliate, but Gordon placed a hand on his shoulder. "That's enough, Harvey. She's a witness, not a perp."
Good cop, bad cop, Valerie thought. Classic. > "Miss V," Gordon said, his tone much gentler. "We need a legal name for the record. Not a nickname."
Valerie remained firm. Even though her name was Valerie, giving it up now felt like losing face after Bullock's outburst. Besides, it wouldn't matter. Three months ago, she didn't exist. There were no birth certificates, no tax records, and no digital footprint for her in this universe. In the eyes of Gotham's databases, she was a ghost.
Seeing Valerie's stubbornness, Gordon's blood pressure spiked, but he managed to keep his temper in check. It doesn't matter, he thought. Facial recognition will find her eventually. There are bigger problems to deal with than a mercenary's ego.
"How did you identify Clayface?" Gordon asked.
"Clayface?" Valerie leaned back, testing the name.
"That's the code name the department gave that monster," Gordon replied.
Valerie nodded. "My eyes have a built-in scanner. It identifies biometrics for everyone I see. But when I looked at him, the system only detected inorganic matter. No heartbeat, no heat signature."
Gordon wanted to call it impossible, but the footage of the blue-glowing blades snapping out of her arms was still fresh in his mind. She had been searched before entering the precinct, yet she looked completely relaxed.
"Where are your weapons?" Gordon asked directly.
"The Mantis Blades are my arms—integrated cyberware. As for the guns... I keep them in my pocket," Valerie answered truthfully.
Gordon frowned at her visibly empty pockets.
"Are you trying to be funny?!" Harvey Bullock barked, losing his patience.
Despite the absurdity, Gordon felt she was telling the truth. He ended the questioning, and as he stood up, Valerie surprised him.
"Can I see the case files?"
"You want to join the investigation?" Gordon shook his head. "That's police work. Stay put."
Valerie didn't argue. She was just being polite. Now that she was inside the GCPD, no locked door could stop her from finding what she wanted.
She was taken to a waiting room guarded by two officers. She knew a sudden disappearance would be too suspicious right now, so she decided to gather intel from the crew instead.
"Ollie," she whispered, leaning toward the producer. "Does the name Clayface mean anything to you? Why would he hate this crew?"
"I have no idea," Ollie replied, dabbing sweat from his forehead. "We're just making a movie."
"Is it an ex-employee? Someone you fired?"
"A production team isn't a corporation, V. We don't just swap people out once filming starts. Unless it's a stagehand or a temp, everyone stays."
Valerie persisted, asking about competitors or family feuds, but found nothing. She sat back, watching the crew. She saw Johnny Charisma being led away for questioning. She remembered he was a replacement—a singer forced into the role.
"Was the cast always the same?" she asked Ollie again.
"Actually, no," Ollie whispered. "The original male lead was supposed to be a different actor. He was hospitalized with severe burns right before we started. We heard he died a few days ago..."
Valerie's eyes narrowed. A dead man couldn't commit a crime, but Clayface didn't exactly look "alive" either. A ghost coming for revenge? she mused.
Night fell. Gordon wanted to keep the crew at the station for their safety, but a wealthy investor called Commissioner Loeb. After a "generous donation," Loeb bypassed Gordon and ordered the crew released.
Valerie, however, was detained. The police weren't ready to let a high-profile mercenary walk. This suited her perfectly.
At 8:00 PM, Jim Gordon was in his office, his head buried in his hands. Calendar Man was still at large, and a tip about his next move had just come in. Meanwhile, a report from ACE Chemicals claimed a gang led by a "Red Hood" had been intercepted by a "Batman monster," but the leader had vanished into the vats.
Gordon's biggest headache was still "V." Facial recognition had come up empty. Fingerprints? Non-existent. She was a ghost who had appeared three months ago with an obsession for fame.
Suddenly, the phone rang. The ambush for Calendar Man had failed.
"Keep the scene secure. I'm on my way," Gordon growled, slamming the phone down. He grabbed his coat and rushed out, leaving the office empty.
Seconds later, the air rippled. Valerie deactivated her Optical Camo, materializing in the center of the room. She looked at the mountain of files on Gordon's desk, then at the door through which he had vanished.
"You must be exhausted," Valerie whispered with genuine sympathy.