"Limited to ones' Imagination" - DC Fanfic

A harsh wind cut across the rooftop of the Gotham City Police Department, its chill biting through the night. The city below was restless, neon lights flickering, sirens wailing in the distance—but up here, in the cold, there was only silence.

Until a body hit the rooftop with a heavy THUD.

James Gordon Jr. rolled onto his back, convulsing, his breath ragged and uneven. His eyes were wild, unfocused, as if he were trapped in some invisible nightmare.

A shadow loomed over him.

Commissioner James Gordon took a step forward, his boots grinding against the rooftop gravel. His jaw clenched, his fingers curled into fists as he stared down at the pathetic, broken thing in front of him.

His son.

His own blood.

But he felt no sympathy. No pity. No remorse.

Not after everything James Jr. had done.

Not after the bodies he had left behind, the innocents he had destroyed, the monsters he had created.

Gordon's face twisted in pure rage, and before he could stop himself—

He stomped on James's chest.

Hard.

James gasped, his body spasming under the force of the blow.

"You're repenting now?!" Gordon bellowed, his voice booming across the rooftop. His breath came in short, furious bursts as he stared at the hysterical wreck of a man at his feet.

After everything, after all the horrors he had inflicted—now he felt guilty? Now he wanted to cry?

"AFTER ALL THIS, YOU REPENT?!"

James Jr. let out a shaking sob, his body writhing as if something invisible was clawing at him.

A voice spoke from the side.

"Not by his own volition."

Commissioner Gordon turned to see John Constantine, his trench coat billowing slightly in the wind. He took a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling, the smoke curling into the night air.

"His soul's been touched by a Demon," Constantine continued, looking at James Jr. with a mix of pity and disgust. "Or, well—something close enough."

He knelt slightly, flicking his cigarette onto the rooftop. "He's being forced to relive every single atrocity he's ever committed—over and over and over again."

Gordon frowned. "And?"

Constantine's expression darkened.

"…And if a glimpse of that is enough to turn this piece of shite into a blubbering wreck, then it must've been pretty damn bad."

Silence.

Gordon looked down at his son—his former son.

James Jr. was whimpering, mumbling to himself, his arms wrapped around his chest like he was trying to hold himself together.

Gordon exhaled sharply, then turned to Batman, who had been silent this whole time, standing just a few feet away.

"So," Gordon muttered, his voice quieter now. "Who did this?"

Batman's cape billowed as he turned toward the rooftop exit.

"A very helpful shapeshifter."

And then, he was gone.

The Batcave – Hours Later

The hum of the Batcomputer echoed through the cavern, its glow illuminating Batman's face.

The files on the screen were extensive—hundreds of documents, reports, classified DEO intelligence.

And at the center of it all?

James Gordon Jr.

Batman's fingers moved swiftly, pulling up everything he could.

His arrest records.

His trials.

His disappearances.

His government employment records.

And now?

A DEO badge, marking him as a high-ranking operative.

Batman clenched his fists.

This was worse than he thought.

The DEO had protected him. Given him power. Used his mind—his psychotic, twisted intelligence—to formulate strategies for controlling and eliminating metahumans.

And no one had stopped him.

Batman's jaw tightened.

Then—

His fists slammed down onto the console.

The impact sent a sharp echo through the cave.

Alfred and Red Hood entered at the sound.

"Something troubling you, sir?" Alfred asked, already knowing the answer.

Red Hood—or Jason Todd—walked closer, his arms crossed.

"What happened?"

Batman didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached for something on the desk—a small card.

A DEO identification badge.

Jason's eyes narrowed.

Then, Batman pressed a key, pulling up the government files on James Gordon Jr.

The screen flooded with data—his employment history, his projects, his experiments.

Jason stiffened.

His breath hitched.

Then, with one swift motion, he kicked a metal trash can, sending it clattering across the cave floor.

"Are you telling me that scum is BACK?!" Jason's voice was filled with unfiltered rage.

Batman didn't move. "He's been captured."

Jason's hands clenched into fists. "And?! Did you put him in Arkham? Blackgate? Hell, did you even throw him in a deep, dark hole?"

Batman's eyes flickered with something.

Something grim.

"…A fitting punishment has been given."

Jason turned toward him fully, searching Batman's face for some kind of explanation—but all he found was silence.

A silence thicker than the shadows surrounding them.

And as the Batcomputer hummed softly, casting its glow across the cave, one thing became certain.

James Gordon Jr. had finally faced justice.

And this time?

There was no escape.