Gallavan Bridge — Day Three
The news crew had been positioned on the mainland side of the Gallavan Bridge for over two hours.
The anchor, a seasoned reporter adjusted her microphone while behind her, the bridge stretched across the water like a lifeline under immense strain. Thousands of civilians filled its span, a slow, desperate river of humanity moving away from the burning city. The Gotham skyline in the distance continued to produce thick columns of smoke that rose high into the afternoon sky, visible to everyone on the bridge without them needing to turn around.
"This is day three of what federal officials are describing as a mob war within Gotham city limits," the anchor began, her tone professional but edged with the gravity the moment demanded. "Behind me is the old Gallavan Bridge, the smallest yet oldest bridge connecting to Gotham and one of the three remaining bridges still seeing civilian movement as most still are empty with people either too scared or unable to make it to them. We don't know the situation in the city but on the OWL Bridge and the Madison Bridge to the north, civilians have been stopped at the midpoint by federal military units and instructed to wait until approval is given, a process which, as of this broadcast, has not yet produced any visible results."
She turned slightly toward the camera, the bridge and its human cargo filling the frame behind her.
"We have lost contact with our Gotham affiliate as of yesterday afternoon. We continue to hope they are safe."
The camera panned slowly along the Gallavan bridge. The density of people was staggering as the smaller bridge had become a parking lot of abandoned vehicles days ago, and now it was a moving mass of humanity. People were on the bridge stuck as they weren't allowed onto the mainland and couldn't go back to Gotham.
"After the devastating attack on the Martha Wayne Bridge, federal authorities were explicit that further bridge access would be heavily restricted," the anchor continued. "The Gallavan Bridge, has proportionally fewer military units and a significantly larger hero presence than the larger bridges due to its smaller size."
The camera zoomed in on a group of heroes near the city-side entrance. They were mostly younger members who had recently graduated trying to keep the people feeling safe despite the situation, then they started letting people over the bridge against orders despite the soldiers protests.
"It appears dozens of licensed heroes on scene have begun actively assisting civilian passage against federal orders," the anchor said. "We'll be speaking with some of them shortly."
The camera caught several quick interviews.
One veteran hero, a man in his forties with a stone-hardening Quirk who had arrived from Rhode Island, looked directly into the lens.
"I used to work in Gotham before half these kids were born," he said, his voice rough. "I understand the federal position." He paused, jaw tight. "I don't agree with it, but I understand it."
A group of recent graduates further along the railing were far less restrained.
"This isn't what heroes do," one young woman said passionately. Her fairy-type Quirk was visually apparent with delicate, iridescent wings fluttering at low power as she stood. She gestured toward the endless line of civilians coming toward them. "We train to protect people not abandon them to thugs and monsters!"
Her partner, a medic-themed hero with visible medical loadout, nodded firmly beside her.
They turned and began actively helping people move past the military checkpoint. Hundreds more followed in the next few minutes, streaming across despite the soldiers increasing anger. The military unit however was outnumbered and was unwilling to escalate against heroes in front of cameras and civilians and eventually stood down.
Then the camera caught something else.
A middle-aged man near the railing had been clinging to the side of the bridge, holding himself upright with visible effort. His face had taken on a greyish colour and the crowd moved around him pushing and knocking him over without care as sympathy was low when survival was on your mind.
The young hero with the fairy Quirk noticed him first.
She knelt beside him immediately. He slid down slowly, back against the railing, still conscious but clearly fading.
"My insides hurt," he wheezed. The words came out strained, air going in but not coming back out correctly.
She called for her partner. The medic hero crouched down quickly, running his hands along the man's sides when he reached the stomach he stopped, there was a odd raised shape beneath the clothing and once revealed they saw crude, hasty stitching clearly not done by professionals.
The man's stomach began to ring.
The default ringtone cut through the noise of the crowd. It rang twice went to speakerphone and a voice came through the mans stomach.
"Ha"
"Ha"
"Ha"
The veteran stone hero three meters away turned sharply as his eyes widened in recognition.
"Everyone! Get—" he started.
The man on the ground looked up at the young fairy hero kneeling beside him. There was something in his smile that was no longer the expression of a man in pain.
"It was and honour to be his joke," the man whispered.
The explosion was cataclysmic.
The blast engulfed the heroes and hundreds of civilians in an instant. The news crew, positioned at the bridge approach, was vaporized in the front of the fireball. The last frame of their live feed showed the bright wall of the explosion rushing toward the camera.
The Gallavan Bridge crumbled into the Gotham Bay in massive sections. The mushroom cloud rose high into the sky, visible from the mainland shore, from the other bridges, and from the upper floors of surviving buildings along the waterfront.
The crowds on the OWL Bridge and the Madison Bridge watched in stunned horror as the Gallavan collapsed. The sound rolled across the water like thunder as the military began to beat them back as the tried to cross more desperately now until shot were fired as a warning and the quiet anxiousness returned with fear they could be next.
Washington D.C. — Secure Facility — Underground
President Ashford sat at the head of the long table, flanked by the same core group that had been managing the Gotham situation since the war began. The screens on the walls displayed the latest footage and data feeds.
The Gallavan Bridge destruction was played on repeat from multiple angles, the mainstream news feed capturing the final seconds before their crew was consumed, military bodycam recordings from further away showing the blast from different vantage points.
"Public sympathy for the situation in Gotham has dropped another six points in the last eighteen hours," Vice President Booker reported, pulling up fresh polling data. "Favorable views of our federal containment policy have risen seven points in the same period."
Senator Hayes from Pennsylvania nodded. "My office is flooded with calls, people want the borders held. They don't want anything coming out of that city into the state."
"The mob war itself has reinforced this," Director Halden added. "Three days of open urban warfare at this scale, the public is terrified."
General Kowalski leaned forward. "Our current containment is working and the city is essentially isolated until this conflict ends."
"The mayor and city council," Treasury Secretary Pierce said. "Most of them made it out in the first hour days ago and fled as soon as they could. They're in Washington now, should we contact them."
"Leave them waiting," the Secretary of Defense replied flatly.
"Agreed," President Ashford said.
Senator Washington, one of the newer additions to this closed circle, studied the screens showing the smoking ruins of the Gallavan Bridge.
"The Joker is doing our work for us," she observed quietly.
The room fell into a brief, heavy silence.
"And the Arkham situation remains stable," Director Halden interjected. "Most of the island is contained. Firefly is the only confirmed escape; there was also no Blackgate breaches, and the most dangerous resident Bane remains secured."
Ashford nodded slowly.
"The mob conflict between Falcone and Maroni is destructive," Vice President Booker said, "but it's temporary. Once one side wins the level of open warfare will drop. Gotham returns to a city that is not in chaos but just barely having stability though much is destroyed. I assume whichever mob family wins will quickly capitalize on the opportunity to make billions rebuilding the city if they can."
"The city will still have enough stability that expelling it wont be universally supported," Ashford said. "This mob war is a massive step closer but what we need is an event that will lead to mass panic and chaos. If Arkham and Blackgate had collapsed and its entire population got loose we would have had our chance."
Senator Washington looked at the footage again then looked at the president.
"This war has significantly weakened the GCPD and the cities ability to prevent such an event I wouldn't be surprised it happens eventually"
"What about Stars and Stripes?" Hayes asked.
CIA Director Reeves spoke from the far end of the table. "She's currently deep in the Alaskan north. A terrorist villain group we have manipulated has been attacking communities and retreating into the tundra. We crafted a dangerous situation, genuinely worth her attention as people there have no way to defend themselves and finding the group will take time. She is with a small team and are in an area so remote that they have no way of getting knowledge of the current situation."
"Keep it that way," FBI Director Mercer said firmly.
Reeves scoffed a little offended that his abilities needed reminders.
President Ashford leaned back in his chair, looking at the screens showing the burning city, then looked around the table at the most powerful politicians in the country and thought that his dream to rid the nation of Gotham was close to coming true.
Falcone Tower — Morning - Day 4
The east and south captains had gone silent over the past few days.
The communications officer delivered the report to Carmine at seven in the morning with the careful, measured tone of a man expecting a strong reaction. Carmine absorbed the information without visible change in expression. He stood at the window, as he so often did, looking out over the Financial District and what the night had left behind.
The street between Falcone Tower and where Maroni Tower had once stood was a landscape of accumulated wreckage, hundreds of burned vehicles stacked upon one another, thousands of bodies scattered among the debris, and the collapsed remnants of Lexcorp and now POLARs towers.
The Maroni forces had secretly pulled back during the night.
That much had been visible from the upper floors since around two in the morning. The Maroni positions on the south end of the Financial District were empty, seemingly abandoned and many thought the Maroni had fled not knowing anything going on outside of this district. The Falcone forces on the ground had interpreted it as the chance for victory.
Zsasz had read it differently.
He had radioed his concern, the withdrawal was too sudden, and the battle was in a stalemate there was no need to immediately retreat with such finality like this.
He was three blocks back toward Falcone Tower when the ground shook.
Maroni Tower had exploded, it was a trap!.
The debris field from a forty-story building collapsing in a wild pattern had a massive radius. The Falcone forces that had advanced to it were caught in the chaos and thousands died at the base of the tower while those further out were trapped as the existing wreckage from three days of heavy combat was like a maze and debris rained down pulverizing them and in a few minutes Carmine's main force had disappeared.
Falcone Tower itself shook violently. Several floors on the south face took direct impacts — glass shattering, and debris crashing into it killing some inside but the building held. Carmine's father had designed it to withstand anything short of a direct hit from a nuclear weapon.
The dust settled over several long minutes.
Carmine looked at what the Financial District had become while men scrambled trying to get an account of the damage taken.
Over the next twenty minutes. They learned that the entire force that had advanced into the district were either buried in the debris field or corpses scattered when the explosion hit.
Then everyone's devices started going off, all of them activated simultaneously with a mass notification from a source that had somehow accessed every Falcone member at once.
A woman's face appeared on every screen.
"This organization has been held back long enough, and now you have just seen the consequences" Sophia said. Her voice was level, composed, and carried the weight of a prepared statement. "My father's refusal to evolve, to adapt, to recognize what this city requires of its leadership has cost us three days of war and thousands of men and territory we will spend years recovering."
She looked directly into the camera.
"I am asking every captain, lieutenant, soldier, associate, even civilian employee who has watched this unfold recognize that the organization's future requires different leadership as of now I am taking control."
The broadcast ended.
The devices were still displaying her face when the reports started flooding in.
The eastern captains had broken away and joined her, the southern captains pledged loyalty and across the city many began to revoke their loyalty to Carmine. Once the count of what remained under Carmine's direct command was said aloud.
It was far smaller than Carmine had believed it would be. He was now outnumbered and Carmine looked around the room.
He looked at Butch, who had remained at his post through everything.
"Find the source," Carmine ordered his tech specialist.
The specialist's Quirk allowed him to directly plug himself into the tower's network interface and his mind connected to the internet and tracked all possible messages flowing through the tens of thousands of falcone devices on the Falcone network looking for anywhere they all received messages from.
Fifteen seconds passed.
"Her penthouse," the specialist said. "The transmission originated from inside the building."
Carmine was already moving toward the door.
He took the stairs to the roof at a pace that forced Butch to move quickly to keep up. The helicopter was waiting on the pad, rotors already spinning.
"Her building," Carmine told the pilot. "Now!"
"Yes, sir!"
The helicopter lifted into the smoke-filled morning sky.