The In-Betweens
Zero.
The ultimate outcome was that the city would grow into a shining new beacon. It was supposed to be inspired, show greatness, praise the new life it had been given. Ideally, Gotham would soar to new heights where the burden of crime, dirt, and the unrelenting waves of filth could never touch it—something new and unprecedented.
That was how it was supposed to go.
But as any blue uniformed person—arguably any person with a speck of sense—knew, crime didn’t stop because the innocent citizens wanted it to. It was an unspoken rule among the common lowlifes in any city that no burning light of redemption would blind them or drive them into hiding.
The police did their best. They watched the streets and the houses and the children, but there were only so many eyes. And even those eyes were growing weak with age. The young ones stepping up in the empty spots were too eager and too restless to wait around. They wanted action. They wanted to taunt the low crime numbers, bring out the purebred robbers, killers, and rats. They wanted a city flooded with vermin, because what else was there to clean without it?
Gotham’s buildings would once more fall against the lapping tongues of its hungry crime. And with the biggest name and scariest mask gone, there was now nobody holding back the raving mad crowds of insanity.
Until he came.
Nobody was sure when the initial sighting took place. One man said he had seen him on the rooftops last June, another woman claimed he had saved her from a street thug the winter before.
Whenever it was that he first appeared, he was largely ignored by the law enforcement until the public demanded they acknowledge the new shadow. That’s when they made the televised announcement.
“There is nothing to get excited over,” they said with steeled voices. “This newcomer, no matter who he or she is, will be of no permanent problem.”
It was a kinder way of saying the person would soon be behind cold, unbreakable bars.
The only problem plaguing the plan was the rift running through Gotham’s population. Some screamed for justice, for a lock on the cage of this new figure. Others yelled about divine happenings and a grand return on the behalf of their masked hero.
It was true that Gotham’s hero, Batman, was now fully honored by all citizens, that there were only a select few, not counting those in prison, which still disregarded him as a masked menace.
But when something exciting happened, there had to be sides. A war was something to call the neighbors about. And a civil war in the heart of Gotham was exactly what got the young bloods’ hearts pumping.
And so the news reporters trooped about the streets with pen and paper, the photographers battled to get images of the newest Supporters, the next star Resister.
It was a dangerous game of cat and mouse that nobody remembered initiating, and nobody thought to stop. In a sordid turn, the Supporters turned up in gutters, throats cut, silenced even after death. Shamelessly, the crime spiked and avoided the Resisters, those willing to watch the crime rise from their pristine islands, with suspicious ease that was never officially called on.
Some people could do nothing more than refuse interviews, lock their windows, and weep behind closed doors for the shining years of peace they had so eagerly taken for granted.
How could it last? screamed newspapers.
Gotham is a city built on her crime! teenage blogs boasted.
Peace wasn’t meant to touch the towering lives of this city. That was what a common agreement was among every person that breathed her polluted air. Whether they begged for it or paid thugs to shoot at it, the peace was never meant to last.
Why bother? off-duty officers commented through breaths of alcohol.
Gotham was a dying city.
That was how it was supposed to go.
But as any blue uniformed person—arguably any person with a speck of sense—knew, crime didn’t stop because the innocent citizens wanted it to. It was an unspoken rule among the common lowlifes in any city that no burning light of redemption would blind them or drive them into hiding.
The police did their best. They watched the streets and the houses and the children, but there were only so many eyes. And even those eyes were growing weak with age. The young ones stepping up in the empty spots were too eager and too restless to wait around. They wanted action. They wanted to taunt the low crime numbers, bring out the purebred robbers, killers, and rats. They wanted a city flooded with vermin, because what else was there to clean without it?
Gotham’s buildings would once more fall against the lapping tongues of its hungry crime. And with the biggest name and scariest mask gone, there was now nobody holding back the raving mad crowds of insanity.
Until he came.
Nobody was sure when the initial sighting took place. One man said he had seen him on the rooftops last June, another woman claimed he had saved her from a street thug the winter before.
Whenever it was that he first appeared, he was largely ignored by the law enforcement until the public demanded they acknowledge the new shadow. That’s when they made the televised announcement.
“There is nothing to get excited over,” they said with steeled voices. “This newcomer, no matter who he or she is, will be of no permanent problem.”
It was a kinder way of saying the person would soon be behind cold, unbreakable bars.
The only problem plaguing the plan was the rift running through Gotham’s population. Some screamed for justice, for a lock on the cage of this new figure. Others yelled about divine happenings and a grand return on the behalf of their masked hero.
It was true that Gotham’s hero, Batman, was now fully honored by all citizens, that there were only a select few, not counting those in prison, which still disregarded him as a masked menace.
But when something exciting happened, there had to be sides. A war was something to call the neighbors about. And a civil war in the heart of Gotham was exactly what got the young bloods’ hearts pumping.
And so the news reporters trooped about the streets with pen and paper, the photographers battled to get images of the newest Supporters, the next star Resister.
It was a dangerous game of cat and mouse that nobody remembered initiating, and nobody thought to stop. In a sordid turn, the Supporters turned up in gutters, throats cut, silenced even after death. Shamelessly, the crime spiked and avoided the Resisters, those willing to watch the crime rise from their pristine islands, with suspicious ease that was never officially called on.
Some people could do nothing more than refuse interviews, lock their windows, and weep behind closed doors for the shining years of peace they had so eagerly taken for granted.
How could it last? screamed newspapers.
Gotham is a city built on her crime! teenage blogs boasted.
Peace wasn’t meant to touch the towering lives of this city. That was what a common agreement was among every person that breathed her polluted air. Whether they begged for it or paid thugs to shoot at it, the peace was never meant to last.
Why bother? off-duty officers commented through breaths of alcohol.
Gotham was a dying city.
♠ ♠ ♠
Wow, I've been waiting a long time to put this story up. I started it immediately upon return of seeing The Dark Knight Rises in the theatre with my dad. I worked on it all summer and have become fiercely proud of it. It is by far not complete, but I've decided it's time that people get a chance to read it. I can't promise update after endless update, as this is a story I wish to spend a long time on, making sure it is as close to my own version of perfection as it can be, but I can say that a very large part of my heart is dedicated to it.