Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who kill their fathers!

"Mr. Podrick!"

Bruce, still reeling from the fall, looked up in shock at Peter, who had suddenly appeared and caught him mid-air.

"Nice jump, Bruce, but your landing could use some work!" Peter smirked, releasing Bruce from his grasp. "Still, not bad. You took the first step toward confronting your fear."

Bruce's heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline making everything feel surreal.

"Sir... why are you here?" Bruce asked, still unable to process what had just happened.

"If something happened to you, Bruce, I wouldn't just lose a friend; I'd also lose my $20,000 and that bar we talked about." Peter tousled Bruce's hair playfully. "Don't forget, our deal isn't over yet."

Bruce chuckled despite himself, touched by Peter's humor. "Thank you, sir. I promise, no matter what happens, I'll uphold our deal."

"I believe you. Now come on, this place isn't safe." Peter motioned for Bruce to follow.

"Sir, what's the plan? Are you heading back to Metropolis?" Bruce asked, torn between hope and anxiety.

"If I insist on going back to Metropolis, you'll stay here anyway, right?" Peter said knowingly as he walked to a parked Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Without waiting for an answer, he added, "I'll head back to Metropolis by sunrise. It's 10:02 p.m. now, which gives us less than eight hours. That's more than enough."

"Enough for what, sir?"

Peter turned to face Bruce. "To find the Court of Owls."

"That's impossible! Sir, the Court has been hiding in Gotham for centuries. We can't possibly find them," Bruce stammered, his voice trembling.

"There's always a trail, Bruce," Peter replied, handing him a helmet. "And tonight, they've already exposed themselves."

Bruce donned the helmet and climbed onto the back of the bike, holding tightly to Peter's waist. With a roar, the motorcycle tore through Gotham's darkened streets.

As they rode, Peter called Martian Manhunter. "J'onn, did you find James Gordon's contact info?"

He knew that Gotham's salvation might depend on this honest cop—though Gordon wasn't yet the seasoned detective of legend, he was their best bet.

Moments later, J'onn sent Gordon's number. Peter wasted no time dialing.

At the Gotham Police Department, James Gordon, overwhelmed by the city's chaos, answered his phone.

"This is James Gordon. Who's calling?"

"Detective Gordon, I want to discuss the Court of Owls."

Hearing the name, Gordon froze. "Who are you? How do you know about them?"

"Who I am doesn't matter. Meet me on the rooftop of the police station if you want to talk."

After a moment of hesitation, Gordon hung up and headed for the roof.

On the rooftop, Gordon scanned the shadows, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun.

"Detective Gordon."

The voice startled him. Spinning around, he saw a figure cloaked in darkness, his features obscured.

"Who are you?" Gordon demanded, his tone cautious.

"That's not important. What matters is that you've been investigating the Court of Owls, haven't you?"

Gordon took a step back, his suspicion growing. "How do you know that? What do you want?"

Peter observed the young, handsome detective and couldn't help but compare him to the older, grizzled Gordon of his memories. Shaking off the dissonance, he said, "Relax. I'm not your enemy. I'm here to offer Gotham a glimmer of hope."

"The Court of Owls is running a laboratory in Indian Hill, where they're developing a serum. Send your men there, and you'll find something valuable."

Peter paused, his piercing gaze cutting through the night. "Now, it's your turn. What do you know about the Court?"

After a moment's hesitation, Gordon sighed and spoke. "I haven't pinpointed their base, but I've uncovered a connection between the Court and former Mayor Wally Krohn. He knows their secrets."

"Former Mayor?" Peter mused, nodding in satisfaction.

Suddenly, a gunshot echoed nearby. Gordon instinctively turned toward the sound. When he looked back, the shadowy figure had vanished.

An hour later, Peter held the former mayor, Wally Krohn, by his collar, dangling him over the edge of a rooftop.

"My time is valuable, Mr. Krohn. Let's not waste it. Where is the Court of Owls' headquarters?"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" Krohn stammered, his face pale with terror.

"Wrong answer," Peter said, shoving him forward just enough to let him feel the pull of gravity.

Krohn screamed as he fell—only to be caught by the tie around his neck. Peter's firm grip saved him from certain death, but he dangled precariously.

"I'm not sure your tie will hold, Mr. Krohn," Peter remarked, his tone calm but menacing. "Start talking."

"I'll talk! I'll talk!" Krohn cried, tears streaming down his face.

Before he could spill the secrets, a sharp whistle cut through the air. A projectile struck Krohn in the head, killing him instantly. Blood splattered as his body went limp.

Bruce, watching from a distance, was frozen in shock. "What... just happened?"

...

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