Axel looked at Gordon, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Do you really think you see things most clearly?"
Gordon's Adam's apple bobbed nervously as he swallowed. Raising his gun, he shot back, "Yesterday, I spent the entire day at the station, sifting through every case that could be tied to you. You broke a passerby's leg, robbed a clothing store, hit an Atlanta bank, then attacked the Iceberg Lounge, causing chaos for hundreds. You broke two more legs, kidnapped a councilman and the Deputy Secretary of Defense's daughter, threatened General Lane's daughter, assaulted a taxi driver, kidnapped a guest at the Kane Hotel—all in a single day. The next day, you caused another stampede at the Kane Hotel, stole a Porsche Panamera, crashed into a dealership, robbed the Little Italy arms store, and then ran to Dimitrov's territory to kill. It's nine-thirty in the morning, Axel! In less than two days, you've pushed Gotham's crime rate up three percent. And you still dare say you see clearly?"
Axel froze in mock horror, then threw Gordon a thumbs-up.
"Three percent? Just three percent, for a dozen cases? Gotham, you're so underwhelming!" He laughed, patting Gordon's back.
"Look, good people like you, working as Gotham's Deputy Chief, really confirm one thing—good people can't save this city. Your biggest role? Showing me that."
He straightened Gordon's collar, his smile teasing.
"Hurry along, find your colleagues, eat fried chicken, drink beer, and watch me dismantle Yuri Dimitrov. You're soft-hearted, and yet you think words can make a difference. In history, bleeding hearts always burn. Rule, enforce awe, not just respect, Gordon. That's the reality."
Gordon's eyes widened, stunned. Axel continued, pressing his point.
"If your father hadn't been Falcone's friend, or your uncle Gotham's prosecutor, you wouldn't be standing here. In Gotham, only the powerful's descendants can choose kindness. Ordinary citizens? They get devoured. You view the city your way, but do you know what Gotham looks like from mine?"
Axel nudged Gordon, guiding his gaze toward Gotham's skyline. He pointed to Wayne Tower.
"I see lions patrolling indifferently, hyenas circling to devour every sheep in sight. The cattle and sheep remain only because lions like you set examples. As a lion's son, you live well, thinking your sacrifices noble. But truth, goodness, beauty—they never lead the world. They're ideals every era worships, but the strong always decide the rules. Coincidence? No. Tradition of lions across ages."
Axel released Gordon, then waved at the officers in the distance, demanding cigarettes. A few rushed forward, eager to comply. Axel patted Gordon's arm, smoke curling around them.
"You can't change this world, Gordon. Lions won't fear cattle. But watch. I'll make the lions retract their claws, the hyenas abandon their devouring. Maybe then the sheep will live a little better."
Suddenly, the distant laundromat erupted in chaos—explosions and gunfire. Through the smoke, Zas appeared, a thick layer of black ash on his bald head, dragging a burly man behind him.
"See?" Zas mocked, loud enough for Axel and the officers to hear. "Even after all your chaos, the cops still swarm the so-called dangerous people. You kicked me twice to save Gordon, yet these Blue Smurfs still circle you. Aren't you ashamed, Axel?"
Though taunting, Zas waved his gun to signal the police to scatter. The officers panicked and fled. Axel's eyes scanned the scene, finally locking on the disheveled figure on the ground.
"Is this Yuri Dimitrov?" he asked.
"Yeah," Zas replied, grinning. "I didn't expect him to still lead from the front. The moment I charged the underground passage, he came running, roaring." He mimed a shooting motion at the distant officers, who, seeing no reaction, made him laugh in satisfaction.
Axel finally patted Gordon's shoulder before stepping forward. Grabbing Dimitrov by the collar with his left hand, he unleashed a series of brutal punches.
Thump! Thump!
His fists battered Dimitrov relentlessly, until his knuckles ached. Then, Axel drew his pistol.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three rhythmic shots rang out. Two to the chest, one to the head. Dimitrov lay still.
_____
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