DC: A Cop in Gotham

Chapter 69: Counting Sins

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"No, Gordon, the weather is too bad. The snipers cannot aim at all, and it's impossible to observe the situation inside the building from the outside." Due to the worsening conditions, Gordon had already gotten off the helicopter and now stood on the ground, looking up at the building. "Pull the snipers back."

The continuous downpour separated the building from the outside world, forming an isolated city in the rain. Strangely, the rainfall was significantly heavier within a hundred meters of the reconstruction site, while the areas beyond this perimeter remained relatively unaffected. This unnatural shift in weather was the result of a move—"Rain"—which altered the climate, turning it into a sustained downpour for an extended period.

Before arriving at the scene, Dean had asked Manaphy to summon the rain. For Manaphy, maintaining it through the night was effortless. Ryan Richards could not be allowed to die; that was the conclusion Dean had reached long before stepping into the building. If Richards died, there would be no tangible evidence to clear Penguin's name, and without proof, the Court of Owls' plan would succeed in framing him.

To prevent this, Dean used the rain to obstruct the snipers' line of sight, ensuring they wouldn't take a fatal shot. However, Richards was now engaging in uncontrollable self-destructive behavior, threatening the hostages in the process, leaving Dean in a difficult position.

The gasoline had completely soaked Richards, and in his current state, firing a single shot could lead to a devastating explosion. The real problem was that Richards' actions weren't entirely his own—his mind was being controlled. Talking him down wouldn't work because he was no longer making decisions for himself. There was no reasoning with him. The only solution was force. Fortunately, Dean had anticipated this possibility and prepared accordingly.

"The way this was set up—deliberately giving Richards time to proclaim his innocence—was meant to put me in a no-win situation. It isn't just about choosing between saving a prisoner or a hostage; it's about whether I protect my reputation or take risks to help Penguin."

Rescuing both the prisoner and the hostages together was extremely dangerous. If Dean failed, both his judgment and his ability to handle the situation would be called into question. No one was perfect, but the Court of Owls had carefully crafted a public image of him as an untouchable figure. They wanted him to be seen as flawless, someone who could do no wrong.

Killing Richards, on the other hand, would be the easier option. A single bullet would eliminate the threat and provide immediate closure to the crisis. But if Dean executed an innocent man, he would be no better than the Court of Owls. That was the real trap—not just forcing him to make a choice, but shaping the public's perception of his morality.

"The classic train problem only presents two choices because the scenario is fixed, but reality isn't bound by those limitations. If I'm strong enough, I can save both." Dean's grip on the Changhong Sword tightened. "And that's exactly what I'm going to do."

Richards couldn't understand what Dean was saying, but his nervousness only increased. His finger on the trigger twitched, pressing harder and harder against the metal. Just as he was about to pull it—

The gun in his hand suddenly snapped in half.

"Huh?"

Richards barely had time to react before something struck the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. His body crumpled to the floor.

The tied-up construction worker stared in shock as a long sword seemingly materialized out of thin air. The blade shimmered, and a soft glow radiated from the tassel tied to its hilt, where the Snake Talisman rested.

The Snake Talisman granted invisibility, while the Chicken Talisman allowed objects to move telekinetically. By combining both, Dean had turned the Changhong Sword into an unseen force, striking with precision while remaining completely undetectable.

"I learned this trick from Zatanna," Dean thought. "Magic is all about misdirection—drawing attention elsewhere while working in secret."

Though he had used enchanted objects, the principle remained the same. Dean smiled slightly, then activated the Chicken Talisman again, untying the hostages' legs with a flick of his mind. He pressed a hand against his earpiece.

"Director, this is Patrolman Dean. The prisoner, Ryan Richards, has been subdued. The two hostages are safe. There are no casualties. Requesting SWAT support to take over and fully clear the building."

Gordon's voice responded almost instantly. "Well done, Dean!"

Dean helped the two construction workers to their feet. "You're safe now. Once you record your statements, you'll be able to go home."

The men, still shaken, continuously thanked him as they were escorted away. However, there was something else in their eyes—an underlying fear. Dean remained silent, watching them go until Gordon's team arrived.

"If the two of them weren't manipulated, then Richards' claims hold weight. According to his testimony, he encountered someone standing in the road while driving. The next thing he knew, he was holding a gas can, standing in front of a burning house. There should be surveillance footage on that street… if we check the timestamps, we might find something."

The hostage rescue operation had gone smoothly, but Dean knew this was just the beginning. The enemy hadn't anticipated him having the Snake and Chicken Talismans. Now that he had exposed these abilities, he wouldn't be able to use them the same way next time.

But that was only if he gave them another chance.

Richards, though unconscious, was physically unharmed. After being changed into dry clothes, he was transported back to the police station for interrogation. The circumstances surrounding the mayor's murder remained wrapped in mystery.

Whatever mental influence Richards had been under, it had dissipated after Dean's "physical therapy." Now conscious, he repeated the exact same testimony as before.

However, a claim of "memory loss" during the crime wouldn't hold up in court. The public wouldn't accept such an explanation, and given Richards' well-documented loyalty to Penguin, his confession alone wouldn't be enough to clear suspicion. Even if they couldn't convict Penguin outright, his run for mayor was effectively over.

Although Gotham had a tough and chaotic reputation, most of its citizens still longed for stability. Electing a known villain as mayor was impossible. The only reason Penguin even had a shot at the position was because he had been working tirelessly to clear his name. If the people truly believed he was contributing to the city's betterment, they would support him, but if they were convinced he had ordered the assassination of a political opponent, no one would ever vote for him.

Dean understood the stakes all too well. If Penguin failed in his mayoral bid, Gotham would inevitably fall back under the control of the Court of Owls. Should that happen, Dean's situation would become significantly more difficult. The Court had been planning in the shadows for years, and they wouldn't let go of their grip so easily.

Gordon sighed heavily, flicking open his lighter. "Every time something like this happens, I want to turn on the Bat-Signal."

Dean quickly reached over and snuffed out the flame. "Barbara asked me to supervise you while you quit smoking, Director," he said, spreading his hands in mock innocence.

Gordon reluctantly closed the lighter and tucked it back into his pocket. "One day, I hope I'll be the one to smash that damn signal with my own hands."

"There will be such a day." Dean's tone was firm. "How's the progress on the case?"

Gordon's expression grew heavier. "Richards' testimony bought us some time, but the pressure from the city council and public opinion is still suffocating. Almost everyone wants you to execute Penguin on the spot."

Dean scoffed. "Don't worry, Director. I'm not some puppet being controlled by public opinion. Sure, I appreciate the recognition, but that's not what drives me."

The two walked into the hospital morgue side by side. The sterile environment was eerily silent, and under the cold fluorescent light, a white cloth stood out against the metal table. Gordon stepped forward and pulled back the sheet, revealing a severely charred corpse.

Dean frowned. "This is Hamilton's body? How did the forensic team confirm the identity? He's practically burned to charcoal."

Gordon nodded. "According to the testimony of Hamilton's servants, at approximately 2:30 PM yesterday, Hamilton kicked everyone out of his residence, including his wife and children. No one went back inside after that. The only exception was Ryan Richards, who was captured on surveillance footage setting the fire."

He gestured to the remains on the table. "Based on this, it was determined that this is Hamilton's body."

Dean's mind raced as he processed the information. Then, his eyes lit up with realization. "So, in other words, there's no actual conclusive evidence proving that Hamilton is dead?"

Gordon's expression stiffened. "Are you suggesting he's still alive?"

---

Meanwhile…

"Find Hamilton! Find him at all costs!"

Penguin had mobilized his entire intelligence network across Gotham, issuing an order to locate Hamilton, no matter what it took. "That old fox wouldn't go down that easily. Even if the Court of Owls asked him to, there's no way he would sacrifice himself—especially not at the hands of one of my bird-feeders!"

Penguin and Hamilton had been allies for a long time, constantly exchanging favors in Gotham's underbelly. He knew firsthand how much Hamilton valued his own life. The security measures at Hamilton's residence were among the most advanced in Gotham, a necessity for someone who had managed to hold onto the mayor's seat for so many years.

"If we find Hamilton alive, this whole situation flips on its head. Dean knows it, and I know it."

For once, Dean and Penguin were completely aligned, both chasing after the same goal—unearthing the truth behind Hamilton's disappearance.

---

Elsewhere, in a dimly lit secret hideout…

Black Mask sat in front of multiple television screens, his expression dark, his patience wearing thin. The reports flashing across the monitors showed Dean's every move.

Mr. Freeze, standing nearby, watched the screens with a blank, frozen expression. His voice, however, was stiff and sharp. "You underestimated Dean's ability, Hamilton. He's not like the government lackeys you're used to dealing with. He operates as a challenger. If you don't start thinking like one yourself, you won't have any chance of winning."

Hamilton, or rather Black Mask, clenched his fists. "Shut up! I haven't lost yet." His gaze flickered toward the screens again. "Did you see the news? In the end, that damn detective still has to arrest Penguin."

Mr. Freeze remained indifferent, his body frozen in every sense of the word. However, his mind was far from sluggish. He calmly pointed out, "Right now, this has turned into a 'ghost-hunting' game. And you, Hamilton, are the ghost. The moment they catch you, everything collapses."

Hamilton's irritation grew, and he slammed his fists on the table. "Don't call me by that name. I am Black Mask now!"

Freeze didn't react to the outburst. His voice remained monotone. "No, you're not. Black Mask would be analyzing his mistakes and adjusting accordingly. Instead, you're lashing out like a desperate politician pretending to be a crime lord."

Hamilton's rage boiled over. "Shut up, Victor! Remember who bought the Northern Pure Land factory and gave you a place to rebuild? It was Hamilton Pharmaceuticals—my company! I didn't invest in you just to listen to your smug critiques!"

His furious shouting drew the attention of Zsasz, who had been guarding the exit. The scar-covered assassin stepped closer, his voice eerily calm. "Something wrong, boss?"

Hamilton took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "It's nothing. Just make sure every single entrance and exit is locked down. I don't want any more surprises."

Mr. Freeze's icy gaze landed on Zsasz's right hand. "Hamilton… If I were you, I wouldn't let him get too close."

Hamilton scoffed, waving him off. "What the hell are you talking abou—"

Pain erupted in his chest. A sharp, stinging sensation. Slowly, he looked down, his vision blurring as blood bloomed across his shirt. The tip of a knife jutted out from his ribs. His hands trembled as he reached for it.

"You… you acted so obedient… You only waited… to gain my trust…" His voice wavered, realization hitting him like a brick wall.

Zsasz twisted the knife, pulling it free before slashing it across Hamilton's throat in one swift motion. The politician-turned-crime-lord barely had time to register the betrayal before his body collapsed onto the floor.

Zsasz, his expression eerily serene, watched the blood pool around Hamilton's corpse. He let out a slow breath before murmuring, "No, no, no… You got it all wrong, boss."

He crouched down beside the body, wiping his blade clean. "If you'd just used mind control, the Mafia would have followed you willingly. But instead, you tried to buy loyalty with a little trust. A boss like you?" He shook his head, almost pitying the dead man before him. "Gotham's Mafia can't survive under someone like that. For the sake of the brothers, you had to go."

Hamilton refused to rest in silence, but Zsasz, in a strangely considerate manner, helped him close his eyes. With the same eerie thoughtfulness, he then pulled out his knife and added a new scar to his own body, carving yet another deep line into his already mutilated skin.

This was Zsasz's rule—his personal ritual. Every life he took was marked on his flesh, a permanent reminder of his growing body count. His entire body was covered in scars, each one representing a different victim, and it was for this reason that he rarely bothered wearing much clothing.

After letting the blood from his fresh wound drip for a moment, Zsasz licked the blade clean, turning toward Mr. Freeze. "Professor, you don't mind that I killed this loser, do you?"

Mr. Freeze had remained perfectly still the entire time, making no attempt to intervene. His posture, his frozen expression, and the mist curling from his armored suit made it clear—he simply didn't care.

"You merely did what he should have done himself but lacked the resolve to carry out. Hamilton's role in this plan was to ensure the death of Gotham's mayor. In the end, you were the one who followed through. You're as sharp as the rumors say, Zsasz. So, tell me… will you be my new partner?"

Zsasz grinned, his teeth flashing like a predator's. "No, no, no. These were the boss's orders. I'm just a guy who does the dirty work—I don't have the brains for all that strategy."

He knelt down beside Hamilton's lifeless body, yanking the black mask from his head and holding it up with a smirk. "The boss told me to get rid of the body. Professor, do whatever you like—I'm gonna handle this."

Mr. Freeze watched in silence as Zsasz and another mafioso dragged Hamilton's corpse out of the secret room. As they disappeared through the door, the realization dawned on Freeze—he had been dealing with the wrong man all along.

The plan to orchestrate Hamilton's demise had, in truth, always been Black Mask's design. Hamilton might have believed he was inheriting the legacy of the original Black Mask, but in reality, he was the first victim of the mask's influence.

Freeze recalled the sinister legend that surrounded Black Mask's identity. It was said that the mask itself had been carved from the coffin wood of his murdered parents, forever binding their vengeful spirits to it. Now, a new soul had joined them—the soul of Hamilton himself.

Lowering his gaze to his cryogenic armor, Freeze let out a slow, frosted breath. "It's time for me to make my own preparations."

---

Meanwhile, as Dean and Penguin continued their pursuit of Hamilton, it didn't take long for them to stumble upon reports of Black Mask's return. The revival of a gangster kingpin wasn't the kind of news that went unnoticed for long.

Sitting across from Penguin, Dean frowned. "Given what we know about the mental manipulation on Richards, I'd bet my badge that this new Black Mask is behind it."

Penguin's eyes narrowed as he tapped his umbrella against the floor. "Whether the rumors of his resurrection are true or not, we'd be fools not to investigate."

Gordon, rubbing his temples, sighed. "That's all well and good, but there's still a problem. The police station is swarming with reporters right now. We can't move a single squad car without being surrounded."

Dean smirked. "That's fine. I don't need a squad car."

Reaching down, he grabbed the Accel Driver, placing it around his waist before gripping the Acceleration Memory in his hand.

"Very good! OK!"

[Accel!]

Inserting the memory into the driver, Dean turned the handle. A red speedometer symbol appeared behind him, its digital needle swinging to the maximum setting. The roar of a motorcycle engine echoed through the station, and in an instant, red armor materialized over Dean's body.

Kamen Rider Accel had arrived.

Gordon's jaw practically hit the floor. "Dean, what the hell—"

Before he could even finish his sentence, Dean ripped the driver from his waist and swung it forward. The armor shifted and transformed, realigning itself as a tire formed over his back. His entire body stretched forward, seamlessly morphing into the shape of a high-speed motorcycle.

"Director, I'll leave the reporters to you."

Outside, a massive crowd of journalists had gathered at the police station's front entrance, all waiting for a new update on the case. Any officer who stepped outside was immediately swarmed with questions, and the entire station was on edge.

Then, suddenly—

A red motorcycle launched out of the second-floor window, soaring over the entire crowd. The reporters barely had time to react before it hit the ground, tires screeching as it instantly accelerated down the street.

"Who was that?!"

"What was that?!"

"I-It looked like a damn Transformer!"

"Robot Flash?! Coollll~!"

With a single burst of speed, Dean disappeared into the night, leaving nothing but tire smoke in his wake.

920 kilometers per hour.

That was the max speed Dean could reach in his motorcycle form. It was completely ridiculous, utterly beyond the limits of physics—yet it was real. His tires barely touched the ground, making him feel more like a phantom than an actual driver.

Some Gothamites had seen The Flash before, but even they were left speechless as a red streak tore through the streets, weaving between cars and defying every traffic law in existence.

When Dean reached a major traffic jam, he didn't even slow down. Instead, he angled himself toward a nearby skyscraper and drove straight up its glass exterior, his wheels gripping the smooth surface like it was solid ground.

Pedestrians watching from below were left completely dumbfounded.

"Oh my god! Is that a superhero?!"

"The Flash? No, wait—it's something else!"

"Did Gotham get a new speedster?!"

News of the red phantom rider spread across Gotham's streets within minutes. However, Dean wasn't concerned with rumors—his only goal was reaching his destination.

Soon enough, Dean arrived at his target—the Black Mask Club.

Once upon a time, this very building had been a trap set by Falcone to ambush Batman, but after a devastating raid by the Dark Knight and Robin, it had fallen into disrepair. That was, until Black Mask returned. Now, it had been reclaimed by the Mafia.

Dean didn't hesitate. He pulled out the Accel Driver, deactivating his transformation as he landed near the club's entrance. Without missing a beat, he retrieved a small octagonal stone from his pocket.

[Name: Snake Talisman]

[Special Effect: Power of Invisibility]

[Description: An ancient rune stone with the engraving of the "Snake" zodiac. Grants the user complete invisibility, affecting both themselves and any objects they hold.]

[PS: Perfect for cultured people *wink* *wink*]

Dean grinned. "I'm a cop."

His fingers tightened around the talisman.

"Of course, I'm here to conduct a sneak search."

With that, his entire body vanished into thin air.

The Snake Talisman was an excellent tool for stealth, allowing Dean to become completely invisible by eliminating his light and shadow. However, it had its limitations. It didn't erase sound, scent, or temperature, meaning that if he wasn't careful, trained opponents could still detect him through his presence alone.

Still, the fact that it removed shadows was already a game-changer. Without a shadow to betray his movements, Dean could move undetected as long as he remained silent.

With his stealth artifact activated, Dean no longer had to worry about his lackluster tracking skills. As long as he avoided making noise or attracting attention, no one would be able to see him.

"I just hope the Black Mask Club doesn't have infrared cameras," he muttered to himself, carefully slipping inside the club's entrance.

Once inside, Dean immediately retrieved the Marauder's Map, his go-to tracking tool.

"Alright, let's see what we've got…" His eyes scanned the 4K display in front of him.

However, something strange caught his attention.

"…Hamilton is not here?"

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion. He had been expecting to see the mayor's name pop up somewhere, but no matter how much he searched, it was nowhere to be found.

Even stranger, there wasn't a single entry under the name "Black Mask."

"…Could it be that someone new has taken the title?"

That thought sent a chill down his spine. If the Black Mask identity had transferred to someone else, it meant he was dealing with an unknown variable.

He continued scanning until he saw a familiar name—Victor Zsasz.

"Huh. The exhibitionist serial killer is here…" Dean muttered. "Right. He was one of Black Mask's lackeys before."

If Zsasz was here, that meant Black Mask wasn't far behind.

Dean silently navigated the club's corridors until he reached an area where Zsasz and two of his men were loading a large black bag into the trunk of a car.

"Send it to the incinerator. Expedited." Zsasz rapped his knuckles against the car's window before turning around to head back inside.

However, before he could take another step, he froze.

A sharp glint appeared in his eyes as he sniffed the air.

Then, without warning, he whipped out a blade and hurled it in Dean's direction.

"Who's there?!"

Dean didn't even flinch. With a flick of his wrist, the incoming knife suddenly froze in mid-air—stopped by an invisible force.

[Name: Chicken Talisman]

[Special Effect: Newton's Nightmare]

[Description: An octagonal rune stone engraved with the zodiac sign "Rooster." Grants the user the ability to manipulate objects telekinetically.]

[PS: Use telekinesis to nail the coffin shut!]

Dean sighed. "And this is why I hate infiltration. No matter what I do, you freaks always manage to find me anyway."

He let go of the invisibility, allowing himself to materialize in front of Zsasz. With a casual flick of his hand, the floating knife spun around and embedded itself into the ground.

Zsasz's eyes widened.

"Demon cop?!" he spat in disbelief. "You got here fast. Too fast."

His breathing quickened, his grip tightening on the two blades in his hands.

"This ain't right," he muttered. "You were on live TV at the police station ten minutes ago. How the hell are you standing here?!"

His pulse pounded as he quickly pieced together what was happening.

Dean was supposed to be stuck at the precinct, hounded by reporters and public pressure. The Black Mask plan was to dispose of Hamilton's body before the cop of the hour could make a move.

And yet—here he was.

Dean ignored his confusion and tilted his head toward the car. "Look, Zsasz, let's not waste each other's time. You've got two options.

One: You hand over Hamilton's body, and I let you go.

Two: I go get it myself."

Zsasz's lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes gleamed with malice.

"…I like option three," he whispered.

With a flash of steel, he raised his knives, gripping them between his fingers.

"Let's see which is faster—your sword, or mine!"

Before Zsasz could even blink, Dean's body vanished.

A sudden gust of wind brushed past him, and before he even realized what had happened—

A burning pain erupted across his entire body.

His blades slipped from his fingers as his muscles froze up. He staggered, his body convulsing as blood poured from seemingly nowhere.

Dean reappeared behind him, slowly sheathing the Changhong Sword with a deliberate click.

"Sorry, but I'm in a hurry," Dean muttered. "I don't have time for your games."

Zsasz didn't move. His body was shaking, his mind reeling as he looked down at himself.

Every scar on his body—every wound he had ever self-inflicted to count his victims—was now split wide open.

As if every single soul he had ever killed had returned the favor.

"Ah…" Zsasz gasped. "I… I keep count…"

His knees buckled, and his body collapsed into a pool of blood.

Dean exhaled and turned back toward the car, his expression unreadable.

Zsasz was the second villain to die at his hands.

And Gotham still had plenty more to go.

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