Chapter 2 : I Hate This F*cking Town
The kettle sat on its heating element, steam curling lazily from its spout. His hand reached for the pistol beside it, checking the chamber with the ease of old habit. Tea steeped in the cup, the bag bleeding its color into the water.
On the wall hung a framed photograph—two faces smiling. A man and a young girl. Both captured in a moment that had long since passed him by.
Alfred held his phone, his thumb hesitating above the call icon.
"Julia, leave a message."
The beep sounded.
"..."
"Julia... Hi. I know it's been a long time, but I'm in Gotham, at least for a short while. I don't know if you even still live here anymore, but if you do, I'd be grateful for the chance to see you."
He paused, the weight of unsaid things pressing down.
"This is your father, by the way."
A long breath escaped him.
Well done, old boy. Bloody brilliant..
She knows you too well for that.
Alfred set the phone down and turned to his laptop. The soft blue glow filled the room as he entered his credentials.
"Pennyworth signing in. Connection secure."
The screen flickered, and a face appeared—grainy, anonymous, more static than skin. The features were obscured and distorted deliberately. Only the faint outline of a man was visible, like a ghost caught in transmission.
"Ah, tea as good as you remember?" A voice crackled through his secure connection.
"Delightful. What's the assignment?"
Alfred replied, his tone a little dry.
"I read the docket, but can I ask why you pulled me out of Singapore? I was this close to the target. I'd been chasing him for the last five—"
"In the past three months, a gang known as The Party Animals has been sowing chaos," the voice interrupted. "Butchering citizens at random. They've raised Gotham's murder rate by seven hundred percent almost single-handedly. A day care was torched yesterday. They danced outside while thirty-two burned."
The screen split to show security footage—figures silhouetted against roaring fire, some singing while others danced around in joy. Heat map overlays pulsed in the corner, red blotches spreading like infection. A surveillance photo labeled PARTY ANIMALS showed a figure wearing an Ape skull mask in partial profile.
"You're needed here."
Alfred's jaw tightened as he watched the footage.
"Your assignment is strictly surveillance. Gather information on these 'Party Animals,' but do not engage."
"One note—there might be another player in town."
The screen shifted, showing a dark silhouette against blue—a figure with pointed ears, unmistakable even in shadow.
"We've only caught glimpses, but he seems to be circling the gang as well. If he gets too close, you do have authorization to engage him."
Alfred stared at the image, his expression unreadable in the laptop's glow.
"Lovely."
The heat map continued to pulse—red zones blooming like blood in water.
"We're sending coordinates to the bike as we speak. Places to scope out. Possible targets."
"Savor the tea, Pennyworth. Signing off."
The connection went dark.
Alfred sat in silence, the weight of the assignment settling over him.
Another player. Of course there was.
He reached for his cup and took a slow sip. The tea was still warm.
He exhaled through his nose, placed the cup down, and shut the laptop with a muted click.
Then he moved.
He holstered his pistol, checked the slide once more, and slipped it beneath his coat. He scanned the window, drew the curtains shut, and moved to the door. His eyes drifted briefly to the photograph on the wall.
He sighed softly.
"What's gotten into you, old man? Questioning orders."
"You're a servant."
He twisted the lock, metal sliding into place with a heavy clack. The sound echoed in the quiet flat. Alfred adjusted the collar of his coat and reached for the light switch.
"They ring, you serve. Whether it's in Saigon, Khartoum, or..."
He paused in the doorway, looking back at the dim room one last time.
"...Gotham."
The hallway was empty when he stepped out. He locked the door behind him, giving it a small tug to be sure, then descended the narrow staircase. Outside, the air carried the faint tang of rain and exhaust.
The street was empty when he emerged. Brick walls rose on both sides of the alley, plastered with old posters and layers of graffiti.
Alfred walked to where his motorcycle should have been.
The space was empty. Just pavement and his shadow stretching across it.
He stopped, staring at the vacant spot. His jaw tightened.
"I hate this f*cking town."