DC: A Cop in Gotham

Chapter 70: The Best Ending

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Victor Zsasz was a master of both murder and prison escapes. No matter how tight the security or how high the walls, he always found a way out. He never relied on others to break him free—he did it himself. Over the years, he had been in and out of Blackgate Prison seven times, proving time and time again that he was one of Gotham's most difficult criminals to contain.

But this time, Dean didn't give him a chance. He didn't let Zsasz plan another escape, didn't allow him to scheme or manipulate his way out. He ended it right there.

It wasn't a difficult decision—public opinion didn't matter in this case. Unlike other criminals, Zsasz had built his reputation on being a walking death count, openly displaying the scars on his body like trophies, showing off the sheer number of lives he had taken. He wanted people to know his crimes. He wanted to be feared.

So Dean simply gave him the ending he deserved.

He didn't waste time on the moral dilemma, nor did he hesitate with the execution. His focus wasn't on Zsasz—it was on Hamilton's body.

He had to stop that car immediately. If he didn't find the body, he would have to start the investigation all over again, losing precious time that Gotham did not have.

With the Marauder's Map in hand, Dean had one major problem—the map did not display the names of the dead. That meant he couldn't confirm if Hamilton's body was actually inside the vehicle.

There was only one way to find out.

Dean drew his sword and, in a single motion, split the trunk open. The blade cut through metal as if it were paper, the trunk's lid clattering to the ground.

And there it was—Hamilton's corpse.

With the evidence secured, Director Gordon wasted no time. He immediately held a press conference to publicly expose the truth behind the case.

The official story presented to the public was clear and simple—

Victor Zsasz, a known serial killer, had targeted Hamilton and used his death to frame Penguin. However, before his plan could succeed, the heroic "Bright Knight" Dean stopped him.

The media controlled by Penguin took it a step further. They painted the narrative that Zsasz acted out of fear—fear that if Penguin became mayor, the entire underworld of Gotham would be wiped out.

And in this case, that wasn't entirely false.

Penguin was not a hero, but he was a pragmatic survivor. If he won the mayoral seat, he would ruthlessly eliminate his enemies, one by one. Unlike the Court of Owls, who operated from the shadows, Penguin had no intention of staying subtle.

With righteous vengeance as his excuse, he would wipe out the other gangs, removing anyone who had ever opposed him.

And Gotham's citizens?

They didn't care about morality—they just wanted order.

The moment Hamilton's death was announced, any lingering doubts about Penguin vanished. His approval ratings skyrocketed. After all, Hamilton was dead, and the only viable alternative was Cobblepot. People had no other choice.

Time was running out.

The Court of Owls had no replacement candidate prepared. They had intended to use Hamilton to reclaim control over Gotham, but now their strategy had crumbled. Their backup plan, a successor meant to take Hamilton's place, had been arrested before he could even step into power.

That successor was now rotting away in Blackgate Prison, playing poker with Falcone, and whether he survived long enough to escape was another matter entirely.

With no leader left, the Court of Owls had no choice but to retreat into hiding.

In the end, Hamilton was buried, not as a traitor, but as a victim. Dean and Gordon attended his funeral, standing among Gotham's elite. At the front row, two men stood side by side—Bruce Wayne and Oswald Cobblepot. And while Bruce remained silent, mourning in his usual, detached way, Penguin put on a performance.

Tears streamed down his face, his voice choked with grief, as if Hamilton had been his closest friend, his trusted ally, instead of the opportunistic pawn he had maneuvered against.

From the shadows, the remaining Owls watched, their teeth clenched in fury. But there was nothing they could do.

For now, the Court of Owls had lost.

A few hours later, back at the police station, Dean found a handwritten note on his desk.

[For now, we'll leave the city to the bats. Gotham still belong to the Owls, we'll take it back later.]

After leaving this note on Dean's workstation, the Court of Owls vanished from Gotham. Dean didn't hesitate to tear the note into pieces.

"It's pathetic to still be talking big after losing.".

---

With the Court of Owls in retreat, their remaining members in Blackgate were abandoned. No bail requests were made. No rescue attempts were organized. The once-powerful secret society had cut their losses and left their own members to rot.

Falcone, meanwhile, was having the time of his life, reliving old grudges with the Owls in Blackgate's prison yard.

And in the process, he kept his promise to Dean. After weeks of pushing and pressuring, Falcone finally extracted the location of the Horse Talisman from them.

And the answer was infuriating.

"You're joking."

Dean stared at Falcone, his expression deadpan.

Falcone chuckled, lighting a cigar. "I wish I was, kid."

The Horse Talisman, an artifact capable of miraculous healing, was hidden in the Gotham Children's Museum. Dean ran both hands through his hair and let out a string of curses.

"The Court of Owls put the Horse Talisman in a public museum?! And not just any museum—a children's museum?!"

Falcone grinned. "Yep."

The reasoning was as ridiculous as the location itself. The Owls hadn't understood the Horse Talisman's true ability. They only knew it was some kind of healing artifact and had no idea what the activation trigger was.

So, instead of keeping it locked away, they donated it as an exhibit, disguising it as a random historical artifact that visitors were allowed to touch. For years, thousands of schoolchildren had unknowingly activated it every time they went on a field trip.

Colds, fevers, small cuts—every minor ailment was instantly cured by the Talisman's touch.

And because the effects seemed insignificant, the Court of Owls never realized its true potential.

Dean sighed and shook his head. "At least it wasn't cursed. Otherwise, every kid in Gotham would've been dead by now."

Since the Horse Talisman was technically the museum's property, retrieving it would require proper authorization. Which meant Batman would have to handle the negotiations.

Still, Dean wasn't going to sit back and wait.

He needed to see it for himself.

---

"Unfortunately, Mr. Police, the exhibit you mentioned was lost two days ago," the museum staff informed Dean, delivering the bad news with an apologetic look.

Dean's expression darkened immediately. "Lost? Two days ago?"

That exact day had been when Hamilton was killed. There was no way that was just a coincidence. If Hamilton hadn't tipped someone off about the talisman's location before his death, then the Court of Owls must have retrieved it themselves. Either way, the timing was too precise to ignore.

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Can you tell me the details? Did anything unusual happen that night? A power outage? Strange laughter? Did the exhibits move on their own?"

The staff member blinked, momentarily caught off guard before letting out a small chuckle. "Mr. Police, you're quite funny. How could the exhibits move on their own? They're all dead objects, only their stories live on. But…"

He trailed off, rubbing his chin as if trying to recall something.

Dean immediately caught onto that hesitation. "But?"

The staff member frowned slightly. "There was something odd. The museum was unnaturally cold that night. It felt like the air conditioning system had malfunctioned. The security guards complained they couldn't stand the temperature, so they stopped patrolling inside and stayed near the heaters instead. That was when the theft happened."

Cold.

Dean narrowed his eyes. That one word told him everything he needed to know. In Gotham, there were only two people associated with extreme cold—one was a certain metahuman criminal, but there was no reason for them to steal from a children's museum.

Which meant it had to be him.

---

This was Dean's second time visiting the Northern Pure Land Factory, but this time, things felt different. The last time, he had given Mr. Freeze a Bane-style surprise attack. This time, he was walking into a trap.

The factory seemed abandoned, yet the air-conditioning was still running at full blast. The machines, supposedly shut down, were still operational. The entire place felt off, as if it was inviting intruders in. Dean knew better than to ignore the warning signs—this was an ambush waiting to be sprung. But it didn't matter. The Horse Talisman was too important to ignore. Whatever was waiting inside, he would deal with it. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.

The moment Dean crossed the entrance, the factory gate slammed shut behind him, sealing him inside. His body instantly tensed, but his expression remained calm. From the center of the factory, a familiar voice echoed, cool and calculated.

"You're here, Dean."

Standing before a towering iceberg, clad in an upgraded cryo-suit, was Mr. Freeze.

Dean rubbed his hands together, feigning casual amusement as he took a few steps forward. The temperature difference between the factory's freezing interior and the outside world had to be at least forty degrees, but he didn't let it show.

"Hello, Professor."

His eyes flicked upward, scanning the iceberg behind Mr. Freeze. And there it was—the Horse Talisman, embedded in the ice like a trophy on display.

Dean's smirk widened slightly. "So, you stole the talisman from the children's museum." His tone was light, but his eyes were calculating. "With your intelligence, you could've done it silently, without leaving a single clue. But instead, you let the museum freeze over, left obvious traces, and made sure I'd come running."

His voice lowered. "Which means… this isn't about the talisman."

His breath curled in the freezing air. "You set this up specifically for me."

Mr. Freeze didn't deny it. "Yes," he admitted, his tone as cold as the ice surrounding them. "This trap was supposed to be activated two days ago, but Black Mask insisted on playing his mind games, delaying the execution."

He gestured toward the iceberg, his mechanical suit whirring as he moved. "But his plan wasn't entirely without merit. Thanks to him, I learned about your three abilities—invisibility, telekinesis, and that mysterious transformation."

His red lenses glowed slightly, analyzing Dean's stance. "So I adjusted my strategy accordingly."

Dean's eyes flickered to the talisman again. Freeze noticed. "You value this strange stone quite a bit," he mused, voice devoid of emotion. "That confirms it—using it as bait was the correct move."

Dean let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "I do value it," he admitted. "At least, more than the lover you keep talking about."

As the temperature continued to plummet, Dean felt his limbs start to go numb. He knew he had mere moments before the cold began affecting his reaction time. He had no choice. His hand shot forward, slamming onto the Omnitrix, triggering a burst of green light.

When the glow faded, Dean's form had changed—he now stood as Dimension Demon. Towering over Freeze, his entire body radiated an intense green hellfire, casting an eerie glow over the ice-covered factory. His eyes narrowed as his voice rumbled through the room.

"I don't have time for games, Professor." Flames crackled around his clawed hands. "Didn't the lesson I taught you last time sink in?"

For the first time, a flicker of something resembling emotion crossed Freeze's face. Perhaps it was anger, or pain, or even resentment—but it was gone as quickly as it came. Still, the way he tightened his stance was enough to confirm one thing—he hadn't forgotten what happened last time.

His voice remained cold. "Then come," he challenged, taking a step forward. "Let's see which one of us prevails this time."

A deep hum filled the air as the cannons on his cryogenic armor extended, six barrels locking into place. "This time, it won't be the same."

"You're right." Dimension Demon raised his arms, his green hellfire intensifying. "Because this time, I'm not holding back."

The flames roared, condensing into a massive fireball before being hurled directly at Mr. Freeze. But Freeze didn't flinch. With deadly precision, his cannons fired, unleashing a stream of blue energy, colliding head-on with the fireball.

The result was instantaneous chaos. Ice and fire met in the center, not overpowering each other, but exploding outward in a blinding white mist, shards of ice raining down like glass.

Mr. Freeze stood firm, his suit glowing with new energy, his voice carrying cold confidence. "I told you, Dean." His red lenses gleamed through the frost. "I've adapted."

Dean was genuinely troubled upon realizing that the Dimension Demon's flames had no effect. He narrowed his six eyes at Mr. Freeze and muttered, "Professor, are you wearing the Pegasus Holy Cloth or something? How the hell is your suit adapting like this?"

Mr. Freeze couldn't understand what Dean was saying and assumed he was just talking nonsense. He kept increasing the power output to block the Dimension Demon's approach.

"According to the data I collected, you won't be able to maintain this form for too long. Your limit seems to be around seven minutes," Mr. Freeze analyzed calmly. "Two minutes have already passed. I don't need to defeat you. As long as I stall you and prevent your escape, you'll be dead in five minutes."

"Professor, you really are smart! Thank you for the reminder!" Realizing that Hellfire was no longer invincible against the frost, the Dimension Demon didn't push forward anymore but instead suddenly charged toward the entrance door. His massive body slammed against the reinforced metal, but it only caused a slight dent.

"This is a frost tomb specially designed for you, Dean. Don't think brute force alone will help you escape," Mr. Freeze stated coldly as he used his pulse beam to carve a tombstone out of ice. The words he etched on it made his intentions chillingly clear:

｜R.I.P｜

｜Hayes, Dean｜

"Professor, you do have a bit of artistic flair," the Dimension Demon commented with a thumbs-up, unfazed.

Mr. Freeze couldn't understand how Dean could remain so calm when he was mere minutes away from being frozen solid. "Are you surprised? I should be the one surprised. Professor, you actually thought such an obvious trap would work?"

With less than three minutes left in his transformation, Dean wasn't panicked at all. He used his Hellfire to warm himself up, maintaining his core temperature. "The last time I fought you, Professor, I was caught off guard and could only rely on brute force. But this time, I came prepared."

If someone is trapped in a refrigerator and the door won't open, what's the best way to prevent them from freezing? A normal person wouldn't try to smash the fridge—they'd simply unplug it.

Pop.

Suddenly, all the lights in the factory went out. The room was plunged into darkness, with only the eerie green glow of the Dimension Demon's flames flickering and the faint blue fluorescence from the energy veins in Mr. Freeze's armor.

"Pulling the power switch isn't just a tactic for supervillains," Dean said smugly. He had anticipated this.

He didn't come to the Northern Pure Land factory alone—he brought a full team of police officers. While he was inside, his colleagues had located the factory's power source and successfully cut it off.

It was only now that Mr. Freeze realized he had made a critical mistake. Dean wasn't like Batman or Robin, who worked alone in the shadows. Dean had the full backing of law enforcement. Unlike Batman, who had to disappear whenever the police arrived, Dean could call for official support at any time.

He wasn't fighting alone.

"You see, Professor, if you want to take me on, you have to be ready to face an army."

With the power supply gone, the refrigeration systems stopped running. The temperature inside the factory finally stopped dropping and was beginning to rise—very slowly. But Dean could already tell it wouldn't rise above freezing before his transformation time ran out. He needed another plan.

His eyes locked onto the Horse Talisman at the top of the iceberg. There it is!

"Without the environmental advantage, you can't stop me now," the Dimension Demon declared, charging toward the iceberg.

Mr. Freeze hesitated for a moment before shooting a blue energy beam at his feet, forming a massive ice pillar that lifted him to the top of the iceberg. "Even if cooling stops, you only have two minutes left. You won't be able to defeat me in time. I can take the stone and leave whenever I want, leaving you to freeze into an ice sculpture."

Reaching out to grab the Horse Talisman, Mr. Freeze suddenly heard the Dimension Demon's voice. "Professor, friendly reminder—you'd better not touch the Horse Talisman."

Mr. Freeze paused. "Why?"

"Because, Professor, you're sick," the Dimension Demon emphasized, raising a finger. "And I mean really sick."

Not understanding the warning, Mr. Freeze grabbed the Horse Talisman, preparing to make his escape through a concealed passage.

"You left me no choice, Professor," the Dimension Demon muttered, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding.

"Achoo!"

Dean sneezed—a massive, monstrous sneeze. A burst of his Hellfire-infused saliva shot out, and the moment it hit the freezing air, it turned into sharp ice fragments, scattering wildly and pelting Mr. Freeze from every direction.

Mr. Freeze was confused. The demon… could still catch a cold? Had the temperature finally reached the critical point that even a demon couldn't endure? But the temperature hadn't dropped any further. When a small piece of frozen spit landed on the Horse Talisman, the engraved horse symbol began to glow. Mr. Freeze noticed this and immediately tried to get rid of it, but it was too late. The talisman's divine power had already enveloped his entire body.

"Neighh!"

The sound of a horse's neigh echoed in his ears, and his body, which had long been transformed into low-temperature energy, suddenly reverted to flesh and blood. Not only that, but the cold-blooded nature of his cells was reversed. Mr. Freeze had been cured, and in the next second, he felt something he hadn't experienced in ten years—cold. Bone-deep, merciless cold.

Almost instantly, his own cryogenic armor became his prison, freezing him into a human popsicle. White frost quickly covered his face, blurring his features until they could no longer be seen.

Dean took out the Marauder's Map and saw that Victor Fries's name still remained on it, meaning he was alive but, much like the "Nora" he had obsessed over, was now trapped in an endless slumber of ice.

"It's really a fitting destination for a cryogenic enthusiast, Professor Victor," Dean muttered, plucking the Horse Talisman from his frozen hand. If this were the pre-Flashpoint Mr. Freeze, Dean might have considered curing him and reuniting him with his terminally ill wife.

But this version of Freeze was different. He never had a wife—only a delusion, a woman from Wayne's laboratory who had volunteered for a cryogenic experiment, whom Freeze had unilaterally claimed as his lover. The former was a tragic love story that moved heaven and earth; the latter, nothing more than the fantasy of a deranged stalker. There was no room for sympathy here.

A flash of green light signaled the end of his transformation. Dean was back in his original form, but the temperature in the room was still below -30 degrees.

"Achoo! Oh my God, Professor, you really went all out with the air conditioning. I'm going to freeze to death at this rate!" He shivered, quickly pulling out the Accel Driver.

"Very good! OK!"

The red armor of Kamen Rider Accel wrapped around him, instantly providing much-needed warmth. Now, with the talisman in hand and Freeze neutralized, it was time to get out of here.

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