The moment the sky began to lighten, the granite facade of the police headquarters looked as if it were crawling with swarms of metal beetles.
Now, a dizzying pool of light was created by the intense, crisscrossing beams of countless converging broadcast vans, illuminating every ancient stain on the police station's grey pillars and stone steps with stark clarity.
Countless microphones, cameras, and portable recorders—every piece of equipment that could make sound or capture light—were held high beneath the dull morning sky. Their collective focus was the iron gate behind the fence.
The last time Jay saw so many people surrounding a building was during a Walmart Black Friday rush.
This time, it was the Gotham Police Headquarters.
"Chief! Is the monster real?"
"Chief Loeb! What are the casualty numbers?"
"Are there witnesses? Please confirm the rumors that three mob strongholds were completely cleaned out last night!"
"Is it a secret military weapon or a new urban legend, Chief Loeb?"
"Is he a killer, Chief?"
"Is he a savior, Chief Loeb?"
Waves of sharp questions, heavy with sound, crashed against the doors of the GCPD Headquarters.
The police line outside the fence had already been stretched out of shape. The officers pressed tightly against the cold iron bars, sweat soaking the backs of their uniforms.
"Step back! Step back! Maintain distance!"
They opened their arms futilely, trying to hold back the irresistible human tide.
"One more step and we will use force!"
The orders bellowed from the officers' throats were drowned in the roaring clamor, like pebbles dropped into the deep sea.
The air was thick with the muddy scent of sweat, cheap perfume, and anxious, excited breathing. Everyone was shouting excitedly, trying to make their voice pierce the chaos.
Flashbulbs popped in continuous bursts. Pale light exploded wildly in the sullen morning. The shutters clicked with the dense, continuous patter of torrential rain.
"Honestly, I don't understand why they're so excited right now. The Chief hasn't even come out yet."
As one of the responding officers, Jay had woken up twenty minutes after falling into a daze back at the precinct, jolted awake by the phone call. He was ordered to report to Headquarters immediately to deal with the potential media grilling.
Currently, he was leaning back against a pillar in the lobby, two front legs of his chair off the ground, yawning.
He glanced at James Gordon. Unsurprisingly, this standard upright character had volunteered for Christmas duty without a second thought.
But you're a goddamn father! Are you leaving a five- or six-year-old kid alone at home with the lights off on Christmas?
If Gotham's CPS wasn't so utterly broken, he'd be tempted to call and report Gordon himself.
"Tell me, is Loeb here this early voluntarily, or was he driven here by Falcone?"
Gordon gave him a look, clearly uninterested in talking. He had received Jay's gift from Dr. Thompkins. While he conceded that Jay had a point, he was still psychologically and publicly uncomfortable with the gesture.
"M-maybe," he mumbled vaguely in reply.
Just then, hurried footsteps sounded behind them, and they were both clapped on the shoulder. Gillian Loeb rushed past, muttering, "Come with me."
"Wow, the celebrity treatment."
Jay grumbled, stood up from the chair, and woodenly followed.
But he regretted it instantly.
The moment he stepped outside, it was as if he'd stumbled into a thunderstorm of flashes and lightning. He couldn't keep his eyes open from the glare of the lights.
"Chief Loeb! Look here! Chief Loeb!" The reporters went even more berserk. Countless hands strained over the top of the fence, microphones nearly jabbing Loeb in the face.
"Chief! Describe the scene! Were there any survivors?"
"Chief! Did the 'Shadow' use lethal weapons?"
"Chief! Have you identified any suspects?"
The questions hammered down like dense hail once again.
Loeb stopped halfway up the steps. He raised a hand to push down the crowd, cleared his throat, and said in a low voice:
"Regarding the events that transpired last night, the police are fully engaged in investigation and evidence collection.
We are unable to disclose further details at this time. We urge citizens to remain calm, provide legal leads, and refrain from spreading unverified rumors that cause panic.
Any form of vigilantism and violence is a blatant trampling of the law, and the police will prosecute to the full extent of the law…"
"Prosecute to the full extent of the law?" A sharp female reporter immediately seized on the phrase, her microphone pointing at him like a rapier.
"Chief, are you officially classifying this 'vigilante' as a criminal? Was his action last night a crime? What about the drug deals that were stopped? Are those also a 'trampling of the law'?"
Loeb's jaw muscles tightened. He glanced left and right, immediately changing tactics.
"The officer next to me, Patrolman Jay Li, tracked this 'Shadow' for the entirety of the night. For specific details on the operation, you can get more information from him."
???
How did the conversation turn to me?
Jay was instantly blinded by the continuous flashes. Microphones, like thick corn cobs, were thrust into his face.
"Officer! Witnesses claim they saw a massive, bat-like shadow! Drivers say their car roofs were caved in! And those thugs, they were hung from traffic lights, and many were severely injured. How do you explain this?"
"Uh… cough… Well, right now there's no evidence to prove that this 'Shadow' actually exists—at least, I didn't see it with my own eyes." Jay cleared his throat and tapped the microphone. "Even if he does exist, all I can say is, this guy is a… tsk tsk."
He shook his head.
The entire scene fell silent for a moment. Even Loeb and Gordon turned to look at him.
"Legally speaking, he committed a series of aggravated assault cases and caused great panic in the city." Jay's gaze swept over the sea of people below the steps. "Perhaps some people think that everything he did was fighting crime.
But from a crime-fighting perspective, I can only categorize this as an extremely irresponsible and childish act. To pull this stunt on Christmas Eve and leave a bunch of East Precinct poor working stiffs on $30,000 salaries (Annual salary) to clean up his mess.
He only cares about his own catharsis, scattering people and potential evidence everywhere."
However, the moment he finished speaking, a completely different voice, trembling with a mixture of fear and awe, shouted from the outer perimeter.
"H-he's not human! He… he is the Shadow! A living shadow!"
Everyone's gaze snapped over.
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