"Hold on tight. We're taking a shortcut. I'll show you Gotham's nightlife."
What followed became an immersive tour of Gotham that Oliver and his group would never forget for the rest of their lives.
Marco didn't take the main highways. Instead, he turned east onto the Trigate Bridge, a crumbling piece of infrastructure that looked like it hadn't seen maintenance since the Reagan administration. Beneath them, the river flowed black and sluggish, giving off a smell that made Thea gag.
"Is that... normal?" one of the assistants asked weakly from the back.
Marco glanced in the rearview mirror. "Yeah. Don't drink the tap water, by the way."
The bridge deposited them onto the Narrows, and immediately the atmosphere changed. The buildings here were older, more Gothic, with an architectural style that seemed designed to make you uncomfortable. Streetlights were sparse and flickering. The few pedestrians they passed moved quickly, like prey animals trying not to attract attention.
"See that up ahead?" Marco pointed through the windshield.
In the distance, a cluster of Gothic spires rose in the darkness.
Thea pressed her face against the window. "What is that? Some kind of old castle?"
"Maybe it used to be," Marco said, slowing the SUV slightly. "Now it's Arkham Asylum. It's a famous psychiatric hospital. They specialize in treating Gotham's more unusual cases."
"Imagine people who think wearing a costume and killing random strangers is a reasonable career choice." Marco drove past the outer wall, giving them a good look. Moss and ivy covered the stone, growing so thick in places that it looked like the vegetation was trying to pull the building down into the earth. The surrounding woodland was overgrown.
Even through the closed windows of the SUV, they could hear faint sounds.
Thea grabbed Oliver's arm. "Can we go faster? Please?"
Marco hit the gas.
They crossed another bridge heading south, this one in slightly better repair, and entered the Gotham University District. The buildings here were nice.
"This looks okay," John said from the back.
"Looks can be deceiving." Marco gestured at an intersection coming up. "See that corner? Some months ago, I got into a shootout there with Mooney's crew. They had me pinned down with a belt-fed machine gun."
Oliver stared at him. "A belt-fed machine gun? In the middle of a university district?"
"Yeah. Almost turned me into Swiss cheese. The students just kept walking to class like nothing was happening. That's Gotham for you."
"Jesus Christ," one of the assistants whispered.
Oliver's expression darkened. "Is that kind of weaponry standard equipment for gangs here?"
"For gangs?" Marco shrugged. "Not really. But plenty of people who aren't in gangs have them too. Gun control isn't exactly a priority in Gotham."
Silence fell over the vehicle. Everyone was processing that information.
They turned east, entering the Coventry District. This area had clearly seen better days. But the windows had strange symbols painted on them. Candles burned on doorsteps and street corners. Occult graffiti covered the walls.
"What's with all the..." Thea gestured vaguely at the symbols. "Is that gang stuff?"
"Different kind of gang," Marco said. "Coventry's got a cult problem. Nothing major, just your standard devil worship, ritual sacrifice, that sort of thing. We raid a temple every few months, arrest some people, but they're back at it within a week."
They headed south again, passing through a vast stretch of parkland. Under normal circumstances, it might've been beautiful. But at night, it looked like something from a nightmare. The undergrowth was thick. And from somewhere deep in the darkness came sounds.
The SUV emerged from the park and suddenly everything changed. They'd entered the Diamond District, and it was like crossing into a different world. Skyscrapers rose on all sides. Expensive cars filled the streets. Well-dressed people walked the sidewalks, chatting on phones or heading into restaurants. It looked like Manhattan, or downtown Star City.
Marco pulled up in front of a high-rise hotel, with a doorman in a crisp uniform standing beneath the awning. The Gotham Royal Hotel, according to the tasteful sign.
He put the SUV in park.
The doorman approached, then stopped when he saw the police vehicle and the pale, shocked faces of the people inside. His expression remained neutral, but his eyebrows rose slightly.
"We're here, Mr. Queen." Marco pulled the handbrake. "So, how was Gotham's nightlife? Not bad, right?"
Oliver opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat was dry, and his mind was still trying to process everything he had seen and heard. He glanced at Thea, then at John. He looked at the assistants, clutching their briefcases.
Finally, he just nodded.
He understood that the hell he had endured on Lian Yu was only one small corner of a much larger and far darker world. Gotham sat at the center of that darkness like a black hole, dragging everything around it toward destruction.
Marco watched them climb out of the SUV and shuffle toward the hotel entrance. He raised one hand in a small wave.
"See you tomorrow," he said quietly. "And welcome to Gotham."
---
The next day at noon, the East End precinct.
"Left! No, your other left! Higher! Yes, there, now tape it down before it falls on someone's head! Straighten out that banner! It looks like a drunk tried to hang himself with it!"
Bob stood in the middle of the lobby, directing operations like a general preparing for battle. Officers who normally spent their days writing tickets or responding to domestic calls had temporarily become event staff. They moved equipment, arranged furniture, and set up a makeshift conference room for the donation ceremony.
Several desks had been pushed together and covered with white tablecloths that were only slightly stained. Folding chairs, borrowed from the community center down the street, stood in neat rows. The setup was bare-bones, but at least nothing was falling apart.
"Hey," Bob called out, spotting Marco reviewing a schedule on his clipboard. "You sure we don't need to book a venue? Queen flew all the way from Star City for this. And we're giving him..." He gestured around the room. "This."
Bob sniffed the air. The smell of cooking food drifted in from the precinct's break room, where several chefs borrowed from a nearby diner were working overtime, and he caught the scent of thick-cut bacon sizzling on griddles, eggs fried with crisp edges, stacks of toast, slabs of steak still red in the middle, and bowls of creamy mushroom soup steaming on warming trays.
"Don't you think the quality's a bit... low?"
Marco closed his clipboard and looked at Bob with the expression of someone explaining basic math to a child.
"That's exactly the point. We're showing them the everyday reality of rank-and-file officers. Yeah, it's basic. But that makes us look like practical cops, not bureaucrats living it up on the taxpayers' dime. Besides, for those office types? Getting to eat cop food is an experience. They'll love it."
Bob stared at him for a moment. "I feel like you're making fun of me specifically."
"Would I do that?"
"Yes."
"Then trust your instincts." Marco clapped him on the shoulder. "Either way, if this goes south, it's my problem. You can blame me at the disciplinary hearing."
Bob grunted, unconvinced but apparently willing to go along with it. He wandered off to yell at someone about chair placement, leaving Marco to his preparations.
---
At two o'clock in the afternoon, the donation ceremony began.
The conference room had been transformed as much as possible given the limitations. The banner hung straight across the back wall. Green plants in pots decorated the corners, adding splashes of color. The chairs were full. Every off-duty officer who could be dragged in to fill a seat was present, along with a handful of local reporters who'd been carefully briefed on what they were and were not allowed to write about.
Oliver arrived with Thea and John. He looked like he hadn't slept well, his eyes were bloodshot, and there was a tightness around his mouth. But he'd pulled himself together, dressed in an expensive suit and projecting the polished confidence expected of a billionaire philanthropist.
He stepped up to the small podium they'd set up, adjusted the microphone, and began speaking.
"The Queen Foundation has always been committed to public welfare and community safety. Recently, I had the opportunity to meet an officer from the East End precinct. Through him, I learned about the incredible work the Gotham City Police Department does every day, and the challenges they face that most people can't even imagine."
His gaze swept across the room, taking in the worn uniforms, the patched equipment, and the bare-bones venue.
"The officers here face resource shortages, budget cuts, equipment failures, and threats that would make most people quit on their first day. But they keep showing up. They keep fighting. Because this city needs them. That's why the Queen Foundation has decided to donate three million dollars to the East End precinct of the Gotham City Police Department. This money will be used to improve equipment, enhance training, and provide the resources necessary to better serve the citizens of Gotham."
Officers clapped with enthusiasm, some of them grinning, others looking emotional. Three million dollars was more money than the East End precinct usually saw in five years of regular budget allocations.
But then, almost in unison, they turned to look at Marco.
He felt the weight of dozens of stares land on him. A chill ran down his spine. This felt uncomfortably like being targeted.
He nudged Bob, who was sitting beside him wearing his best suit that didn't reek of cigarette smoke. He was already rising from his seat, preparing to walk up to the podium and accept the oversized ceremonial check from Oliver, then make a speech thanking the Queen Foundation for their generosity and promising that the money would be put to good use protecting Gotham's citizens.
That's when an officer hurried in from the hallway, moving fast but trying to stay quiet. He bent low, hustled over to Bob's side, and leaned in to whisper something.
Bob's expression changed. His eyebrows rose. He glanced at Marco, then back at the officer, then toward the door.
"Chief?" Marco said quietly. "What's going on?"
Bob leaned over. "There's a Wayne Enterprises motorcade outside."