From the official police records of James Gordon, Police Commissioner of Gotham City

Case No: HS 06/19/39/5448

Incident: Abduction

Reporting Officer: Lt. James Gordon Date: Jun. 19, 1939

Further to previous reports, we received another call about a possible abduction. As with cases HS 06/16/39/5438 and HS 06/16/39/5444, the case involves another homeless person. This one is a former prostitute, going by the name of Ivy. The anonymous tip we got regarding the matter said she’s been missing for 3 days. These three cases have quite a bit in common, and all seemed to have occurred on the same day.

Gotham has a history of people being snatched off the streets, even going back as far as when I still lived here. In the early to mid 1920s, there were a slew of them that happened over the span of a few weeks. Newspapers called them the doings of a “Streetnapper”. I went back and checked the records, most of the kidnappings happened in back alleys. 17 of the 19 people who had been plucked up were down on their luck destitutes, mostly street kids, while the other two were seemingly just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The first one, a well-to-do University student who got in a fight with her boyfriend and decided to take a long walk home on her own. She was one of the 8 unlucky ones who turned up dead a few days later, toxicology reports pointing to an overdose of a combination of illegal substances. The other one was the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne, he was taken the night of their murder. He managed to survive the night, as he was given a smaller dose of the concoction that killed the others. He wasn’t able to give a lot of details, by the looks of things. I remember it being a big deal at the time, the Waynes being Gotham royalty and all. I never had the pleasure, personally.

There’s nothing to suggest these incidents are in any way related so far, other than the fact that they occurred so close together. I was told by my new partner, Stanley Merkel, street folk tend to disappear around Gotham all the time and that it’s just a coincidence that the reports came in all at once. He might be right. Merkel’s a good guy, I think his heart’s in the right place. He’s a little green when it comes to police investigations, partly because, as far as I can tell, the department is in disarray - but he wouldn’t mislead me on a case just to save himself from having to do the work. Still… I’ll be leading this investigation myself and keeping an eye out for any other similarities. If we end up finding the victims in various states of intoxication, whether dead or alive, I think I’ll have found my link.

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Case No: HS 06/25/39/5461

Incident: Abductions

Reporting Officer: Lt. James Gordon Date: Jun. 25, 1939

Six more missing persons accounts lodged, and we found two of the earlier victims mentioned in HS 06/19/39/5448. New to our missing persons list are Thomas Melvin, 25 years old, of no fixed address; Lenetta Burns, 34 years old, of no fixed address; Scott Ditrude, 21 years old, of no fixed address, Benito Gallo, 63 years old, of no fixed address. Madame Dolcita, 42 years old, a prostitute we’ve had numerous dealings with over the course of the last few years, as I hear it; and lastly, an old homeless man whose friends only know him as ‘Pal’.

Turns out, I was right to suspect a link to the kidnappings from all those years ago. Dumb luck, I know. Pamela Iseley, previously referred to only as “Ivy”, was found near to the hospital late last night, in better than expected condition (thankfully). She was definitely doped up on a combo of heavy drugs, all seemingly plant-based according to the toxicology labs. We didn’t get much info from her, but hope to do another interview after she sobers up. Poor kid was going through heavy withdrawal when I spoke with her. Kept screaming in pain, wanting another hit of whatever the kidnapper was feeding to her. Said it was as euphoric as heaven, but the pain on coming down was horrific as hell. She’s only 16. I have a daughter of my own who’ll be the same age sooner than I care to admit to myself. Shook me to the core.

The other victim is Casey Kopper, age 30, a bouncer at some new dump called The Sirens downtown. He was similarly pumped full of chemicals, but died of multiple gunshot wounds (one to the shoulder, another to the abdomen) and a loss of blood. The guy must have put up a fight when being ‘taken’, the mortician’s report said he’d been suffering from the wounds for over a day without much in the way of medical aid.

We’re waiting to hear more from the labs. The new dosages are different than the concoctions found in the 1920s abductions. I’m not gonna pretend to understand any of the medical terminology mumbo jumbo, all I know is this stuff was strong. And highly hallucinogenic. The strains were different too, so this monster has some sort of sick fascination with experimenting with drugs. Could be that’s his aim, to try and create the next big drug craze on the streets. He’s no amateur, that I can tell you. These narcotics do all kinds of crazy things to one’s mind.

My team is doing everything they can to try and get some leads on this, but so far we aren’t getting a whole lot. I’m going to dig deeper into the 1920s cases. If this is the same evil bastard we’re dealing with, it’s gonna be a rough ride. He never hits the same area twice, and according to the victims who lived, none of the kidnappers could be said to be the same guy. This means he probably hires others to do his bidding for him, so it makes it that much more difficult to track him down.

From the confessions of Bruce Wayne

I was volatilely depressed over the next few days. I hadn’t found the strength of will to face Lucius since our board meeting desecrated our righteous ambitions. I was left with a feeling of numbness both in my body and mind. Begrudgingly, I kept up with my workout regimen, but when I wasn’t doing that I could be found in bed, either reading or sleeping the hours away. Alfred was somewhat of an unwelcome presence, as he continuously attempted to rouse me to life and set me back out into the world. Several of these tries failed miserably, but then he showed up one morning with the daily newspaper and told me I might be keen to look at a particular article on page 2, written by columnist Vicky Vale.

“Normally, I might’ve said to hell with ye and let things be, but if it’ll get ye out of this funk, then here it is. See if it ain’t looking somewhat familiar to ye as well, Master Wayne. It can’t be just me who thinks it.”

“Local Kidnappings Target Gotham’s Most Vulnerable… how many, Alfred?”

“Now listen here, I brought the article so you could read it, not have me narrate the bloody thing to ya, ye lazy dog!’

“Alright, alright.” I can still hear that pestering voice in my thoughts so clearly, and oh how I miss the real thing. We bickered - even more than most odd couples I’ve ever known - but a sense of true closeness will bring that about in the best and the worst of us.

I read the article probably five times over. Nine abductions, most of the victims homeless, and all within a short span of time. It absolutely harkened back to the time of my parents’ murders, and my own kidnapping. Curiously similar, to say the least. Alfred had been right, it seemed, as this was just the thing to pull me out of my self-pitying party. I was instantly obsessed. I needed to know more. I wanted details. Craved to obtain the toxicology reports from the two victims who were found.

“So what’s your take on it all, then?” Alfred reappeared after a brief time away, startling me, as I had been deep in thought.

“It’s him! He’s back, Alfred!”

“I reckon so,” he smiled in self congratulation. “I assume this to mean you’ll be working with the GCPD to remind them of the similarities then?”

“...I can’t trust them, old chap. I’d be better off alerting Miss Vale of the parallels if I was wanting to be taken seriously. I don’t want to do that either.”

“What about that hero bugger from Chicago? Maybe he’s someone worth notifying.”

“Lieutenant Gordon… I really don’t know enough about him,” I had intended to find out more, but the misfortunate events of late had completely pushed the matter out of my mind for a time. “I suppose it might be a good time to try.”

“Right then! Ye go on out to the police headquarters, get some much needed fresh air and ask for that Gordon fellow by name when ye get there.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Now just what do ye mean by that?”

“I mean… I want to get a sense of the man as he is. You can’t just waltz up to a person and ask them. They’ll tell you exactly what you want to hear. I need to know I can trust him.”

“I have no idea what the devil any of that means, but if ye intend to stalk the poor bugger like a nightly news pervert, let me just remind ye that there are lives at stake here, and ye may not have the time to waste.”

The old man was right, of course. Time was of the essence, and I needed to act as quickly as I could. But… I was stubborn as they come in those days, and determined to follow my own procedure.

And so, upon leaving my humble abode’s premises, I instructed my chauffeur (Alfred) to take a brief pit stop along crime alley, the dark underbelly of Gotham, as it were.

Allow me to digress with a brief geographical lesson of Gotham City at the time. The city itself could be described as an island with a number of miniature islands surrounding it. Wayne Manor sat on the Northern outskirts, across the Gotham River, and was connected to Gotham Main via the Old Judge’s Bridge (named so after my great, great, great grandfather Solomon, who was a judge back when Gotham was merely a sproutling of a village). There are many crude myths regarding its construction and those lads involved in its creation, but let me assure you, none of it is true. There were actually three major bridges connecting into Gotham, the other two being the Trigate Bridge and the Brown Cross Bridge. From the Old Judge’s Bridge, you could now head along the upper route to New Town, which came about in the late 1950s, or, take the downward ramp into crime alley. New Town, of course, had not yet been constructed in those times, so it was still covered in forested area. The last route, further South, led along the outer East banks of the city, bypassing the Bowery, the Upper East Side, the Fashion District, and then heading West along the City Hall District, you eventually crossed into what is now known as Old Gotham. It’s here where the GCPD headquarters is located, even to this day. Back then, Old Gotham was simply known as the Two Towers District, due to both the Clocktower and Wayne Tower being stationed within. I cannot for the life of me remember at this moment what it was called before that.

Digressions aside, we briefly landed in Crime Alley first; a smelly, dank place where the most unfortunate dwellers huddled around fire pits to stay warm. Upon passing by one of its inhabitants, I offered to swap my clothes for his, an exchange he gladly accepted. The clothes he’d given me were putrid, the smell of which I cannot begin to describe to you. We also gave him a ride outside of the pit, as I knew fulwell it would only be a matter of minutes before he was assaulted and robbed of his newfound scores. I had chosen this particular fellow because part of his outfit included an ivy cap, which would greatly help with my disguise. The chauffeur, Alfred, then dropped me off inconspicuously on a vacant corner, just a few blocks from the GCPD headquarters. I smeared a streak of dirt from the ground across my face, and went as far as carving a pair of freshly cut scrapes across my cheeks. Though I could only somewhat see the final results of which in the reflection of windows as I passed by, it seemed adequate enough in hiding my true identity.

I stood outside the large building until I saw the man who matched the photo from the newspaper article, James W. Gordon. I then continued to follow him everywhere I could. For two whole days I did this, often losing him in a car chase when I failed to convince cab drivers that I’d had enough money to pay for the ride. I do believe the stench may have played a significant part in their refusals as well.

Though largely uneventful, my findings were satisfactory. Jim Gordon seemed a fairly trustworthy man. He never hesitated to speak out against his coworkers when they were wrong. He gave orders without fear of backlash. He showed compassion towards the less fortunate, even when they were the subject of a petty crime or dispute. And he was a family man, with a wife and a young son and daughter. Of course, upon reflection of that last point, it was also clear he had everything to lose, and I needed to be mindful of that, as it could quickly become his undoing. As such, I did not see fit to confront him as Bruce Wayne, for fear that if he was in fact not one I could trust, it could come back to haunt either Alfred or my own person. In summation, I would attempt to reach out to him in a rather more anonymous manner.

Stolen novel; please report.

I was beginning to believe I was quite the stealthy fellow, until on the second night I was on my way home and ran into a bit of a trifle. In wanting to be as cautious as I could be in protecting my identity, I deemed it necessary to walk the entire way home from Gordon’s abode. I knew this would lead into the wee hours of the morning, but never considered the types of predicaments one could find themselves in when crossing through the Bowery - also known as Gotham’s red light district. To this day, it is still the city’s worst neighborhood, bordering Crime Alley and housing one of the most wicked of places known to man, Crown Point. This district was riddled with the shadiest of operations, from low level crime gangs to prostitution circles and everything else you can imagine. While passing through, a group of 3 thugs (assumed pimps) had ganged up on an older man, beating him half to death. Showing no signs that they were near being finished, I worried for his life, and felt it necessary to step in. After I beseeched them to cease their actions, they immediately turned their attention upon me, and a quarrel ensued. It was won easily enough, as I sidestepped the first attempted strike and caught the first attacker’s arm between my own, the force of which snapped his elbow out of place and sent him rolling to the ground in pain. The second man, wielding a knife, struck forward from the other side, and I performed a spinning roundhouse kick to his head and sent him crashing hard into the third assailant. Their heads connected with such ferocity that it knocked them instantly unconscious.

The raucous had attracted the eyes of a few onlookers, and in my arrogance I had failed to notice a young girl run up from behind me, stabbing me in the thigh with a small jack knife. Upon seeing that it was merely a child, I refused to resort to the same treatment as I had with the others, but needed to disarm her for fear that she would strike again. With careful calculation, I waited until her second attempt and parried, and using a simple lock on her wrist, I was able to easily release the weapon from her grasp. I then nudged her out of my way, which sent her small form spiraling to the ground.

“HOLLY!”

At this point, another young (assumed) prostitute, perhaps 25 or 26 years of age, ran to the girl’s rescue, and I must admit that I was wholly unprepared for the range of fighting capabilities she possessed. She was quick - much quicker than I - and far more agile. Her kicks came high, grazing my outfit and knocking the hat off my head. To that point in my life, I had never hit a woman, but this one gave me no other option. I retaliated fiercely, but alas, she proved much too difficult to hit, as I was slowed by the pain in my leg and was now succumbing to exhaustion from the sheer loss of blood. She landed a kick to my face and I stumbled backward, tripping over the first attacker whose arm I broke, and falling hard to the earth.

“Pathetic AND cowardly! Don’t ever let me catch you around here again or I’ll claw your goddamned eyes out!”

The woman laughed snidely, unleashed another fury of insults upon me, and proceeded to ensure the younger girl’s safety. Embarrassingly, she perceived me to be beaten, and this had been her way of showing mercy. I was free to go.

There was a part of me that wanted to stay. To call it anything other than callous pride would be a lie. I knew I’d had the training to beat her at this game, and was merely at a disadvantage. I wanted her to know this, and I must confess that I almost gave into the trap of my own ego’s making. Instead, I grabbed the poor beaten man round the shoulders and lifted him to walk along with me to safety.

From the personal diaries of Selina Kyle, renowned cat burglar extraordinaire

6-22-39

Dear diary,

Holly got in trouble again. She’s so goddamned impulsive, I feel like I’m just babysitting her all the time. I told Lou that it was a bad idea to take her on from the beginning, but he likes them young. Says he can charge more. It’s disgusting. And here I am making sure things go smoothly as possible, just so he can feel emboldened to keep getting more girls just like her.

I told myself this wasn’t a forever gig. So why am I still in it? Is it because I wanna protect Holly? Or am I just as trapped in this ring as all the other girls I used to look down on? Figured it would never be me. I was just in it to get back on my feet. I knew I could take care of myself, wouldn’t do anything too risky or degrading. They try to fuck with my terms, I beat them to a pulp and collect what’s rightfully mine. None of the other girls could do that. They were stuck and I could get out any time I wanted to. So then why haven’t I? Why am I still cracking the whip and knocking boots with these kinky lowlives? At the very least, I should have broken ties with the pimps, and gone into business for myself. I never needed their protection anyhow.

So maybe that’s the answer. Maybe I take Holly and start my own thing. That way, I could come up with some excuse of a position for her, where she wouldn’t have to be put in harm’s way. Like maybe some sort of consultant position or whatever. I don’t know. I guess it sounds pretty dumb when I write it out like that. If I was willing to take a gamble like that, I may as well go legit. Probably not enough saved up to start my own business, but it probably wouldn’t hurt the kid to get a customer service type job…

On second thought… that probably wouldn’t suit her at all. She’s a sweet kid, but she’s quick to anger and just can’t keep herself in check. That’s what happened last night. Lou and his buddies decided to beat the crap out of some john. He was short like 8 bucks, I think. Pennies for what Holly’s been bringing in. So some homeless guy jumps in to play hero, and next thing I know Holly is stabbing him in the leg. Don’t get me wrong, I was inwardly cheering for the fella at first, but then he starts coming after Holly and, I mean, what am I supposed to do? Let him knock her around? Hell no.

So I beat up on the bum a little. Yeah, I felt bad for it afterward. He was only trying to do some good. Not something you see everyday here. But you don’t lay a finger on Holly in front of me. I can’t help it. I don’t know what that girl was thinking trying to protect Lou and the boys like that, the whole thing just scratched me the wrong way is all. Made me mad to begin with.

This isn’t the last time it’ll happen either. I need to get that girl into something safer. I can’t look out for any kid who gets wrapped up in this dirty business, so I might as well get out while the getting’s good. This seems like the perfect excuse.

She’s gonna fight me on it. I don’t even have a plan. But the more I sit here writing it out, the more I know that I’m done with it all. This is the end of the line for Dominatrix Selina. Time to make good on that promise I made to myself all those months ago. Heh, months… I guess it’s been years now. How’d that happen?

From the confessions of Bruce Wayne

“I fail to see how such an invention would be of much use in a war setting, Mister Wayne,” Lucius scrutinized.

Wanting to escape the wrath of my butler (as he’d discovered the injury I had incurred from the previous night), I sought refuge with Lucius in his lab early the next morning and bombarded him with questions as to whether or not he deemed it realistic to create a grappling harness gun. I had gotten it into my stubborn head that the best place to have a chance to speak with Jim Gordon would be during one of his smoke breaks upon the lower rooftop of the GCPD headquarters. Seemingly, he was the only one I had ever seen go up there throughout the course of the day to escape the hustle and bustle of the office. I believed if I could obtain a device that allowed me to climb the building from the alleyway, I may be able to catch him unawares.

“Nevermind the purpose, Mister Fox. Would it be possible?”

“Nothing’s impossible. However, if you’re wanting to know if we currently have the means to develop something that would carry a man of your weight over a large wall… the answer is, quite simply, no.” We stared at one another for a while longer, as I’d hoped he would suddenly find a crack in his own logic. It seemed quite apparent there was none.

“If one had to scale a tall surface, what would you recommend?”

Annoyed, he responded, “Depends. How high can you throw?”

I knew the man well, of course. Well enough to know that he would be obsessing over finding a reasonable substitute over the next weeks, regardless of how adamant he seemed in his doubts at this present moment. I needed a solution now, however, and could not wait any longer than past that evening.

In the end I was left to practice upon the walls of Wayne Manor with a primitively devised grapple hook on a rope tool. The roof overtop the GCPD’s front entrance in which Gordon took his breaks was only 3 stories, while further back the building reached higher altitudes to yet a second rooftop. I knew I could easily make the required throw after only a couple tries. It wouldn’t be the most elaborate of ventures, me with my sack full of rope slumped over one shoulder as I crossed the streets and into the GCPD alleyway. I should have taken proper precautions, for things would not go as intended from there.

Before I venture further, it occurs to me that a more proper explanation of Gotham’s downtown may be in order. You see, most parts of Gotham consisted of Gothic Revival architecture, and the downtown core was no exception to this. Gothic architecture was developed out of the Romanesque and Islamic stylings, primarily in France, around the time of the 1130s until around the early 1300s, and further declining through to the 1500s. During those years it did eventually spread to Britain, Spain, and Italy. Its main characteristics are long pointed arches and spires, projecting exterior supports or buttresses, high ribbed vaults, elaborately ornate decoration, and in many instances it will feature stained-glass windows as well. Its influence re-emerged in the 1800s and remained relevant until around the 1920s. I mean to point this out because many prefectures within Gotham subscribed to this trend, owing back to the late 1800s when these architectural stylings rebounded worldwide and became popular again. Very different, you must understand, from the Gotham we know now, since its reconstruction.

Upon reaching the darkened alleyway in the later hours of the evening, I donned a black ski mask to veil my identity. No protection, no weapon to threaten him with, and nothing else of a disguise. In fact, I wore all black, which most likely seemed somewhat conspicuous to passersby. Nevertheless, the plan moved forward, and I flung my tool with all my might up onto the roof. The hook wound its way around a small gargoyle statue, of which two were placed on both sides of the front-facing corners, and two more further back (of which, I had chosen one). After testing its clasp, it was then safe enough to begin pulling my way to the top. At that point, things were going swimmingly.

The roof’s surface was quite small, with only one place to hide - a protuberance of a doorway jutting from the ground and housed securely against the walls of the rest of the building (assumedly enclosing the stairwell), for which I am sure it was locked from the inside to prevent prowlers such as myself from obtaining access. I hid to the side of this structure, very close to the side ledge of the roof, and waited. And waited. So long, it seemed, I was beginning to believe the man had gone home early for the night and would not be showing up at all. Thankfully, however, he did eventually come out. Close to midnight, by my calculation.

As he lit up a cigarette and stared out into the emptying streets, I crept forward, staying low to the ground. He had dark reddish brown hair, worn short but somewhat poofy, with an equally red mustache grown above his lips. He adorned his face with a pair of thick glasses which gave him a distinguished, bookish type of appearance. About his person he wore a heavy trench coat, pale brown in color.

Now, I daresay my attempt to disguise my voice must have come across as a bit comical in that first instance, but it was quite necessary, nonetheless. I knew if he discovered who I was, the repercussions of such an event could be severe. As well, I did not want him to know of my personal relation to the case, lest my vendetta be revealed in full.

“The Streetnapper from 16 years ago is back.”

Gordon casually checked behind himself with a raised brow for a moment, and upon seeing my attire he jumped in fright. Immediately, he produced his gun and aimed it at my head.

“Who is that!? Flass, if this is another one of your games, so help me…!”

“It’s not a game, Lieutenant. 16 years ago, a criminal the newspapers hailed as the Streetnapper haunted Gotham. The recent kidnappings are the same.”

“I know about those cases. Who are you!? How’d you get up here and what’s your connection to all this?” I noticed then his finger locking into position around the trigger.

“Someone who wants to help. If I could get my hands on the toxicology reports from the…”

“We don’t need your help! If you wanted to give us a tip all you had to do was slip us a note or walk right in the front door! This is trespassing and I’m going to have to arrest you for it.”

“You’re in over your head, Gordon. You have no idea of the sheer magnitude of incompetence and corruption entrenched in your office. I can help.”

“Like hell I don’t. And like hell I can’t!” He moved forward then, grabbing with one hand a pair of handcuffs from his jacket. I took the opportunity and advanced upon the gun, twisting his wrist and relinquishing it from his grasp. I kicked it aside before it could reach the ground, and pushed him forcibly out of my path towards the grappled statue a few feet behind him. I lept off the building, somewhat prematurely, tripping on the ledge as I grabbed feebly for the rope. Falling in an upside down fashion, I somehow managed to cling to it, and as I righted myself the tendons in my shoulder tore, and the burn on my palms was excruciating. “Freeze! Freeze or I’ll shoot!” Gordon hollered from above. I grabbed with my other arm and slid the rest of the way down, ignoring his empty threats. I knew the man well enough to know he wouldn’t shoot an unarmed citizen, especially one with good intentions (naive as he may have deemed them to be).

I had gotten away, and to my good fortune, with very minimal injuries. I had also learned a very important lesson. While I may not have misjudged the man, I had overlooked one important factor in relationship building (which was something I sorely struggled with). I failed to consider that although I had relented enough to place my trust in the man, I had offered nothing to show in return that he could do the same. In order to gain his trust, I would have to prove myself in some way. And yet I had no idea how I would accomplish such a task.

From the official police records of James Gordon, Police Commissioner of Gotham City

Case No: HS 06/23/39/5452

Incident: Possible Vigilantism

Reporting Officer: Lt. James Gordon Date: Jun 23, 1939

Had a bit of a run-in with a wacko tonight. I almost feel silly lodging a report about it, but I have my suspicions we haven’t heard the last from him. Some loon in a ski mask - used a rope to climb the roof of our headquarters.

He mentioned the Streetnapper cases I’ve been investigating. I tried to get him to spill who he was and how he was connected to it, but he dove off the side of the ledge and almost killed himself in the process. Probably tore a few muscles on his way down. I thought I’d be cleaning his entrails off the sides of the pavement, the way he recklessly hurled himself over it.

I doubt he has any connection to the killer. I think maybe he’s just some do-gooder who couldn’t make it as a real cop. Still, I gotta wonder how he was able to make the Streetnapper connection. Maybe he knows something about how he operates. Maybe there’s some kind of ring of hired help the Napper dips into. If I can find that, it may be easier to track him down.

I’ve lodged a formal complaint with Commissioner Loeb. A bunch of the other officers haven’t taken kindly to some of the new policies I’ve implemented, and have taken to stalking me. I got run off the road the other night on my way home, I was almost positive it was one of our guys behind the wheel. This vigilante though… now I have to wonder if some of the incidents were him, and not our group of disgruntled employees. I may have to rescind my complaint. Now I feel stupid.