**January 28, 1989. Approximately 3-4 AM. The Gotham City Police Department Building. Office of Gotham Police Commissioner Gillian B. Loeb.**
Commissioner Loeb: "Well, I trust we've dotted all the i's and crossed all the t's, Lieutenant. If you have any further questions, now's the time to ask them."
James Gordon, with a very slight note of uncertainty: "No. No, sir. I heard you, and… I'm glad to be part of the Gotham City Police. It's my duty. To give myself fully to this place."
Commissioner Loeb, with a benevolent smile, shaking Gordon's hand: "I'm pleased to hear it, Lieutenant. Men like you are a rarity these days, such… dedicated individuals are precisely what the GCPD needs. For all of us, your arrival is another ray of light toward this city's bright future."
James Gordon, with slight relief: "Thank you for your faith in me, sir. I've never been more ready to give myself fully to the job."
Commissioner Loeb, with a knowing smile, his tone utterly calm with a note of quiet condescension: "Don't flatter yourself, Lieutenant. You know, your best course now is to go and settle in a bit. Get to know your new colleagues, look around the precinct, all the things people usually do at a new post. I can only wish you the best of luck."
James Gordon: "Yes. Of course, no problem, Commissioner. Thank you again for your understanding," he says, still slightly nervous, rising from the chair and preparing to leave the Commissioner's office.
Commissioner Loeb: "One more thing, Lieutenant," he says before Gordon can leave the office. "In this place, you don't work for me, you work for the city. And by working for the city, you work for all its citizens. The working men, yourself, and, of course, myself included. Consider that the hierarchy of this place," he says in a slightly serious tone, then shifts to a lighter one to ease the tension. "Alright, sorry to burden you further. Go on, and good luck," he says, tipping his cap slightly in a gesture of respect.
With a slightly uncertain nod, Gordon leaves Loeb's office. The commissioner sits back down at his desk, and immediately there's a knock at the door. Loeb seems to have already known who was on the other side, only briefly looking up.
Commissioner Loeb: "Yes, yes. Come in," he says in his usual calm, smug, deliberate tone.
Flass barges into the office, slightly out of breath after a long walk through the police building.
Arnold Flass: "Hey there. What'd you need, Commissioner?"
Commissioner Loeb: "Just a couple of questions. Regarding the new man."
Arnold Flass: "Why am I the one who got dragged in?"
Commissioner Loeb, with mild irritation: "Arnold, you've spent more time with him than any of my men. I want your honest opinion of him. And please, be straight."
Arnold Flass, thinking for a moment: "Straight… *pause* Straight… y'know, this Gordon, he's a good guy. Passionate about the work… got that. But… how to put it… he can do the job alright, but he doesn't quite get the *nature* of the work here. How to say… you know, something smart-like… well, he's a real righteous moralist, makes you wanna puke."
Commissioner Loeb: "I see," he says, standing up and looking out the window. "The shine of his heart will blind his eyes."
Arnold Flass: "Yeah. Yeah, something like that. Y'know, the guy might be good, but… like you said… that 'shine of his heart' is gonna be a pain in the ass… a big pain in the ass for every one of us, especially yours. A guy like that will get in the way of how we do business. I spent just a couple hours with him and already know he's a headache."
Commissioner Loeb: "I hear you. I understand what you want. To handle him."
Arnold Flass: "Nah, well… not 'handle' handle. Just, you know, teach him a lesson. So he understands how we do things here."
Commissioner Loeb, after a second of thought: "Alright. You have my… informal approval. But mind you. I know nothing about this. If you make a mess, you'll be the one cleaning it up."
Arnold Flass, with a note of forced acquiescence: "Alright, as you say. Oh, and here," he says, pulling the baggie of meth from his coat pocket and placing it on the Commissioner's desk.
Commissioner Loeb, with little interest: "Hm. Take it to the lab. Let them figure out the recipe. We have enough problems as it is."
Arnold Flass: "Yeah, as you say," he says, picking up the baggie of meth. "Listen… you don't mind if I…?"
Commissioner Loeb, with little interest: "Hm. Go ahead. Makes no difference with or without it for someone like you."
Arnold Flass: "A'right, much obliged," he says, before snorting a small bump of the meth.
Later that evening. Parking lot adjacent to the Gotham City Police Department building.
It was around 10 PM. Most working folks are already home at that hour, spending a quiet evening with family or on their own business. Gordon's shift had only just ended.
James Gordon, speaking into a payphone in the parking lot, his tone slightly weary but positive: "Yes, I know, honey. Got held up a bit today. You know how it is, all the new guy paperwork. … Yes, I know the route. Consider me halfway there already. … Yes, I can't wait to see him either. … Okay, I gotta go. It's freezing out, the car'll take forever to warm up. … Okay, love you."
Gordon hangs up and heads toward his Daewoo Nexia.
James Gordon, with a darker expression: "Barbara had contractions this morning. The neighbors took her to the hospital. Got lucky with them. … Why now? It's only the eighth month? The doctors already said the birth could be any day now. … We waited too long. Don't know if it would've been better sooner or later now. … What a day this has been."
He was about to get into his car when a shout from behind caught his attention.
???: "Hey, you! We got business. Just a second, won't take long."
It was three men. They were dressed in heavy clothes, but their builds were clearly substantial. They wore ski masks and held baseball bats. Gordon obviously thought they were typical street muggers. He wasn't particularly scared or surprised—after all, this was his job.
James Gordon, trying to defuse the situation: "Listen, guys, I don't have time. My wife's in the hospital, she's about to give birth." The three men didn't inspire that much fear in a fight; he was a police Lieutenant, and a Green Beret to boot.
Gordon's attempt at resolving the situation was futile, which became especially obvious as the three men began marching toward him. Realizing a fight was unavoidable, Gordon simply stood his ground, waiting for the first swing. First bat swing—Gordon dodges, immediately countering with a punch to one attacker's jaw. Second swing—another counterpunch from Gordon to the attacker's jaw. Third swing—a direct hit to the back of the head. Gordon immediately dropped to the ground from the blow, clutching his head, groaning softly in pain. Then came another blow, and another, and another—the direction no longer mattered—it was a simple beating of a downed Lieutenant. The two remaining attackers shook off the meeting of their jaws with Gordon's fists and joined in the beating, laughing mockingly all the while. Gordon was on the verge of blacking out, but he could still make out the laughter. He'd heard that same disgusting laugh earlier that day—Flass.