Who: Batman + the GCPD What: Narrative-ish thing. Where: GCPD headquarters. When: Now-ish, recently, etc. Warnings/Rating: Bats being Bats.
Bruce had been patient, far beyond the limits of what he felt capable, in allowing Luke time to cross into Las Vegas and tie up whatever loose ends he had before Gotham was plunged into chaos. First, there was work. He took a leave of absence. Secondly, there was the academy, which had been much more difficult to explain. In the end, he fell back on Max and her recommendation letter, promising to make up the work, that he wouldn't be needing the time off if it wasn't important. By some miracle, he wasn't kicked out right then and there, and afterward, there was only sleep and dropping Gus off at Evie's to take care of.
Rather than take Selina's advice and tell the boy that he and Wren were going on a 'romantic vacation', Luke told him a watered-down, slightly skewed version of the truth. It did register that Gus was going to start equating his parents' absence with Batman a great deal now, but he wanted his son to know that he wasn't leaving because he wanted to, but because of something bigger than himself, and if he were to die through the door, that he'd died for something. In the end, Gus had cried a little, Luke had cried a little, but with endless hugs and kisses he'd promised to return and left the boy with his suitcase, Finch, and Evie and Will's assurances that they would take care of them.
And then, it was done, and he crossed, not knowing when--or if--the next time he'd be in Las Vegas, or see his son and Wren, would be.
Batman wasted no time. With Jason altering the hospitals, clinics, and medical facilities, the others on high alert, and Oracle handling surveillance, it was time for him to pay a visit to Gotham's finest in light of Gordon's continued absence. Selina was right; guns would not help in this situation, cures and quarantines were, but he had no intention of wasting such a valuable resource. In this, Batman could use all the help he could get.
Getting inside was likely the simplest task he would undertake in this entire mess with Ra's and his sinister plague. His Gotham or not, Batman knew the GCPD, and he knew them well; the hierarchy, how they worked, the name of each and every officer and how trustworthy they were. It was a far less corrupt institution than it had been when he had first donned the cowl, but it still had a long ways to go, much progress to make, and under the circumstances he had no patience whatsoever for dirty or crooked cops. It was quiet, he noticed that first, but that was not necessarily a bad thing; most of the police were out on the street, and they were being stretched to the limit. He understood that, and he appreciated that police were not an unlimited resource, but they had very few choices.
With Gordon gone, Batman set his sights on the next in command. He did not quite have the Commissioner's character, but he was not corrupt, not easily swayed; the only issue was that he had no particular fondness for masked vigilantes.
Which was fine. Batman had no particular fondness for the majority of uniformed officers either.
The man was in his office. In a rare occurrence, Batman came through the door, and he stood there in silence for at least a minute, black cloaked in shadow and more black, before the man even noticed his presence. He made a move for his gun, a slight, near imperceptible movement that only someone who had been shot at as often as he had would notice, but the Bat remained still, and no weapon was withdrawn.
"Contact these men. Tell them to come here immediately," he said, in his trademark guttural half-growl, and slid a small piece of paper across the desk. On it were the names of who, after a great deal of research and background checks, Batman believed were the most trustworthy, the most dedicated, and could be used to corral the others and keep them in line. When the man hesitated, the Bat's expression hardened behind the cowl, his eyes becoming less human and more liquid darkness, and he relented. A few phone calls, all made without tearing his gaze from the vigilante, and then it was the two of them again, and silence.
The Bat could wait. "I am here," he said, "in Gordon's place. He alerted you, I assume, to Ra's Al Ghul's impending plan?"
The man nodded, lips pressed tightly together.
"Time is running out. We cannot hope to stop the virus from being unleashed, not with so little information, but what we can do is contain it, and stem the spread. The instructions Gordon gave you no longer apply," he said, and that appeared to anger the man, who rose from his chair with a frown. Batman listened as he began his tirade about how his men were out there running themselves ragged, and now some asshole in a mask showed up to send them all in circles. His silence and stoicism may have given the illusion of patience, but in truth, the Bat was very tightly wound and in no mood to be spoken to as such.
There was a knock on the door behind him just as Batman took a step forward, only one, but it was enough to startle the man into silence. "Ra's Al Ghul does not lay out his plans," he told him, icy cold and flat. "He gives hints. Information is learned slowly. Now, we have enough to prepare, but not to prevent. You are wasting time with your complaints. Adapt, or get out, and I will fill your position. Do you understand?"
Another knock, but it was ignored, as the man's eyes narrowed. "You don't have the authority."
The Bat drew himself up, almost unnaturally so, somehow becoming larger, bulkier, more threatening, a mass of shadow and gleaming eyes and raw anger gathered beneath a cape and a cowl; there was a reason, after all, why criminals feared him, why fear was a weapon he could wield and wield well. The man stepped back and collided with his chair, the sound loud in the silence, as he stared at the masked being on the other side of his desk.
"Don't I?" A challenge, one the man, after a heartbeat of consideration, chose not to meet.
Only then did the Bat step to the side, a small allowance, and open the door. Five police officers, all in some position of authority in their respective hierarchies, entered, and while their gazes were drawn to Batman in surprise, none drew their weapons, or said a word. He found himself grateful that, in this Gotham, his murder of Harvey Dent and the others seemed to have been forgotten, or never existed at all, and while there was a healthy amount of distrust, even disdain, there was no hatred.
"You all made an oath," the Bat began. "An oath to protect this city, and its citizens. In Gordon's absence, I am here to ensure that is exactly what you do. Your jobs. Nothing more, nothing less. In the next seventy-two hours, Ra's Al Ghul will unleash a plague upon this city. We have a dispersal map, but it is, I suspect, incomplete, and not entirely trustworthy. We have a time period, forty-eight hours. We know that it will not be spread through the water supply, or through chemical means." From his glove he withdrew a small USB, containing every bit of information they had; the dispersal map, details on the Clench and his previous attempt at infecting Gotham, as well as maps the Bat had created himself, highlighting medical facilities, quarantine zones, and strategic points where he needed the GCPD to be.
He set it on the desk. "This contains everything you need to know. First and foremost, containment. Airports will need to be closed. No flights in or out. The same for bridges, tunnels, any other way out of Gotham. It will be far easier to deal with the virus here, in the city, rather than a worldwide epidemic."
One of the officers cleared his throat then, and the Bat, along with everyone else in the room, turned to look.
"Don't people have the right to know what's going to happen? And if we cut off all the exits, they'll notice, won't they? They'll panic, and it'll be chaos." A few of the others murmured their agreement, but not all. Behind the desk, the man said nothing.
The Bat shook his head. "Not if they remain unaware that the city is being locked down. Structural issues on the bridges, in tunnels, bomb threats on aircraft. Simple reasons for such closures that will anger the people, yes, but will not cause panic. If we tell them the truth," he said, "it will put them in more danger. Yes, panic will come eventually, but by then we will be prepared, and we can control it. Containment, and control. The opposite of what Ra's wants." He paused, then continued. "There should be a police presence on the streets. Nothing out of the ordinary, that will cause alarm. Plain-clothed officers, perhaps. As well, as time passes, hospitals and other medical facilities will need help. They may become overwhelmed. Quarantine zones will need to be maintained, and aside from other key points, I want the sewers patrolled. Do not focus your efforts there," he added sharply, "but simply be aware. Keep alert. Use that," he gestured to the USB, "to brief your men."
A silence followed, during which it seemed the officers were considering where to place their loyalty. In the end, however, none protested, and while the man behind the desk was certainly not pleased, he was pale, as though just realizing the full extent of what was to come. No one was safe, and that was a jarring realization.
When he turned towards the door, the officers stepped aside, a little too quickly, but the Bat made no comment. In the doorway he paused, fixing each man in the room with a stare, one they all met, with varying levels of success.
"If any officer should turn their back on their duty and refuse, then consider it their resignation. Dead weight is not needed. But," he added, eyes narrowing dangerously, "inform them that when this is done, they will have to answer to me."
With his message received, there was nothing more for the Bat to do here. And so he was gone, out into the night, to continue his search for a cure, for answers to limit the unknown as time ticked down second by second and nudged them all one step closer to disaster.