DC: A Cop in Gotham

Chapter 57: Buried Deeply Underground

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Robin had disappeared. Along with Mr. Freeze, he had vanished without a trace, and despite Bruce mobilizing every resource of the Wayne Group, their search yielded nothing. Every clue, every lead, every possible trail had been erased overnight, as if neither of them had ever existed in Gotham.

But while traces could be erased, memories remained. Batman was relentless, tracking every possible lead, while Oracle monitored the entire city. The shrill sound of sirens echoed through Gotham's streets, a constant reminder that the hunt hadn't stopped.

Yet despite the chaos that brewed in the shadows, Gotham remained eerily quiet during the day. The criminals who once ran rampant through the streets now moved cautiously, their reckless behavior curbed as if they knew something was coming—a storm looming on the horizon.

Whispers filled the city, carried through forgotten songs echoing in alleys and street corners. "Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham…"

The night sky split open with the bright beam of the Bat-Signal, its glow piercing through the darkness as it projected the emblem high above Gotham. Batman descended swiftly, his cape billowing as he landed beside the illuminated Bat-Symbol, eyes locking onto the weary figure standing next to it.

"I didn't expect you to call me like this." His voice was calm, unreadable.

Dean turned to face him, dark circles visible under his swollen eyes, the exhaustion of sleepless nights weighing heavily on him. "I didn't expect it either," he admitted, exhaling slowly. "Never thought I'd be the one using the Bat-Signal to ask for help. But I suppose… it's a skill the next Jim Gordon should master."

Batman studied him for a moment before speaking. "If you're looking for comfort, I can tell you this—Robin's disappearance isn't your fault. They took him because of me, because of Wayne, because of Batman."

Without a word, Dean pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat and threw it toward Batman. The Dark Knight caught it midair, unfolding it to reveal a list of names scrawled across the page.

"This is the list of Court of Owls members in Gotham," Dean stated, his tone grim. "I don't know how many more are out there, but they're everywhere—like colonists, spreading across the world."

Batman's sharp eyes skimmed the list, recognizing far too many names. Almost every influential family in Gotham was there, including the city's current mayor and council members. A weight settled in his chest.

Robin had disappeared during a mission with Dean. And now, Dean had handed him a list that implicated nearly every powerful family in Gotham, excluding Penguin and Black Mask.

The timing was too convenient. The intent was too clear.

"Dean," Batman said slowly, his tone laced with suspicion. "If you do this, it's hard for me not to think that you're using me—to help Penguin eliminate his enemies."

The words carried weight. After the Waynes had been murdered in Crime Alley, whispers had always surrounded their name, linking them to the legendary Court of Owls. Bruce had spent years searching for any proof of their existence, chasing rumors in the hopes of uncovering the truth and satisfying his thirst for vengeance.

But his search had led him to nothing. No evidence. No proof. Only a dusty, empty room.

A memory surfaced—one he never spoke about. As a child, Bruce had been trapped in that very room for a week. No food. No water. If Alfred hadn't found him in time, there would be no Batman.

That experience had carved a rule deep into his mind, one he had lived by ever since.

Never let emotions cloud your judgment.

"Self-blame won't change anything, Dean," Batman said, his voice measured.

Dean didn't look away. His expression remained firm, unwavering. "I'm not speaking out of guilt, Batman," he said, turning off the Bat-Signal before adjusting the black police hat on his head. "I mean every word."

He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Watch the people on that list. You're good at catching things others miss. You'll find them. And as for Robin… don't worry. I know where the Owl's Nest is."

Batman's eyes narrowed slightly, studying him.

"Owls don't build their own nests," Dean continued. "They steal the ones built by others. They always hide in someone else's shadow. Under Gotham, there's a maze. Robin should be there. I'll bring him back."

Dean turned to leave, his silhouette blending into the shadows of the rooftop. But before he disappeared completely, he hesitated for just a second.

"And Batman," he said quietly, "when this is over… I want you to tell me the truth about this world. Because no matter how much I look at it—it feels both familiar and foreign at the same time."

Dean walked forward without looking back, his footsteps steady as the wind carried the distant echoes of sirens through Gotham's skyline. Behind him, Batman remained on the rooftop, watching his retreating figure in silence. He didn't stop him, didn't call out, didn't follow. For a long moment, he simply stood there, deep in thought, his cape billowing in the night air.

Dean had just handed him the names of Gotham's elite, claiming they were part of the Court of Owls. And yet, even with that information in hand, Batman knew better than to act rashly. The Court was a myth, a story, a boogeyman whispered in the dark. For years, he had chased ghosts, hunting for proof that the Court of Owls was real, but no matter how deep he dug, the answer was always the same—nothing.

And yet… Dean had spoken with absolute certainty, as if he knew, as if he had already seen their existence with his own eyes.

Something in Gotham was different from the world Batman knew.

And it wasn't just the Court of Owls—there were other anomalies, things that shouldn't exist, things that didn't belong in this world. Things like Manaphy and Groudon.

The mere thought of them sent a wave of unease through him. Batman had alwayss prided himself on knowledge. He had spent years mastering every field of science, from chemistry to forensic pathology, from engineering to applied physics. He had memorized every known species on Earth. And yet, even he had no idea what Manaphy and Groudon truly were.

---

Deep beneath Gotham, far below the surface, the air was thick and damp. The scent of mildew and rot clung to the walls of the old tunnels, remnants of a Gotham long buried beneath time. The city's underground network was vast, stretching for miles, built upon layers of forgotten history. At the heart of it all was the Labyrinth—a twisting maze of endless corridors, built in secrecy, hidden from the world above.

And deep within this suffocating darkness, Dean moved forward without hesitation. A single flashlight cut through the shadows, illuminating the damp, crumbling walls. The glow of the beam flickered slightly, reflecting off the moisture that dripped from the ceiling. The stench of stagnant water filled the air, mixing with something worse—something old, something rotten.

Dean barely reacted. His eyes were fixed ahead, scanning the walls with meticulous focus, searching for even the smallest clue. This wasn't the first time he had walked through Gotham's underbelly, and it wouldn't be the last. The Wayne family had spent generations building Gotham, pouring their wealth into the city's architecture and infrastructure. But even they had secrets.

Alan Wayne, Bruce's great-great-grandfather, had been one of the city's greatest architects. He had devoted his entire life to constructing Gotham's foundations, shaping its future with his own two hands. And in the end, he had died alone in the sewers, stripped of his legacy, forgotten by the very city he built. His death had been brutal. His body had been found naked, his skin torn apart by over fifty stab wounds. And yet, his murder had been ruled as an accident.

The thought left a bitter taste in Dean's mouth. Even in death, the powerful could rewrite the truth.

He stopped suddenly. A faint stain marked the wall ahead—dark, old. Blood. It had long since dried, turning a deep shade of brownish-yellow. Dean's eyes narrowed. His fingers tightened around the handle of his blade, and without hesitation, he slammed it against the wall.

Crack.

The sound echoed through the tunnel. A small hole appeared where the blade had struck, revealing something beyond. Something hidden. Dean stepped closer, his hand brushing against the rough stone, feeling the hollow space behind it. Without hesitation, he raised his blade again—and struck.

The wall gave way, crumbling inward, revealing a passage just large enough for a person to fit through. Beyond the opening, there was only darkness. Dean didn't hesitate. He stepped forward.

The moment his feet touched the ground again, he knew.

This was it.

The Labyrinth.

The towering walls stretched endlessly in every direction, casting deep shadows beneath the faint flickering of ancient torches. It was a maze with no clear exit, a prison designed for those who were never meant to escape.

Dean's gaze flickered downward. The ground was disturbed. Faint scuff marks, the remnants of a struggle. And… blood. It was fresh. Not much—but enough.

Dean exhaled slowly. It seems Robin's freedom isn't completely restricted. His grip on his blade tightened slightly. At least he can run and jump. That was good. That meant it wasn't too late.

Dean opened the system and the panel flashed by.

[Name: Dean]

[Title: Humanoid Pokémon]

[Points: 4]

[Abilities: Sword Dance, Iai Slash]

All the points he had gained so far had been used up by Dean. He threw all his wealth into the pool and finally got two useful things, one of which was suitable for the current situation.

[Name: The Marauder's Map with Mysophobia]

[Type: Other]

[Quality: ★★]

[Special Effect: Record]

[Description: A map that has not yet started to be drawn has the characteristics of a finished product. After the user speaks the password, the map will automatically start to draw the surrounding environment and display the positions of everyone within the range. The map will be automatically cleared one hour later.

PS: The map of evil will guide you.]

Dean reached into his pocket, pulling out a small blank sheet of paper. He spoke softly.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." 1

The moment Dean spoke, ink bled across the blank page, unfurling like veins on paper. The intricate pathways of the underground maze revealed themselves, forming before his eyes in crisp, dark lines. The Marauder's Map had activated, and with it, the entire Labyrinth stretched out before him like a living entity.

His gaze flicked across the map, scanning every corridor, every turn, every dead end. Yet, among all the details drawn onto the parchment, there was something missing—something crucial.

There were no human signatures.

Robin wasn't here. At least, not within the range of the map.

Dean's jaw tightened. He had no way of knowing how large this underground structure truly was, and he only had one hour before the map erased itself. If he couldn't find Robin by then, he'd have to start over from scratch.

The faint, distant echoes of dripping water filled the silence around him. He rolled up the map, tucking it away, then turned sharply and started moving. His footsteps were swift but careful, his mind already constructing possible routes through the maze. If Robin was anywhere inside this place, then there had to be something—a clue, a sign, anything that would point him in the right direction.

The walls around him loomed high, casting deep shadows that swallowed the dim light. The stone felt old, ancient even, its surfaces uneven from centuries of neglect. Every few steps, Dean noticed faint markings—scratches along the walls, as if someone had been dragged or had struggled here before.

The Court of Owls' Labyrinth had never been meant for escape. It was a place designed to break the mind, to disorient its victims, to turn them into nothing more than whispers lost beneath Gotham's streets.

He quickened his pace, his grip tightening around his blade.

---

High above the maze, in a hidden observation room that overlooked the twisted corridors below, a gathering of figures watched him. They wore pristine white masks, carved in the shape of owls, their dark eyes focused intently on the lone intruder navigating the paths beneath them.

One of them leaned forward, pointing at the figure moving below. "What's going on with this guy?" His voice was sharp, carrying an edge of disbelief. "How did he find this place?"

Another scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't know, but I don't like it. This isn't part of the plan."

A third voice, softer yet laced with amusement, chimed in. "Little Robin is already falling apart in our little playground. The story was reaching its climax, and now this? I hate when new characters show up right at the end."

Their murmurs overlapped, a mixture of irritation and curiosity. Below them, Dean moved without hesitation, weaving through the maze with a determination that was unsettling. He wasn't lost. He wasn't confused. He moved with purpose, as if he already knew where to go.

The gathering of masked figures turned toward one another.

"He shouldn't be here."

"He's ruining the game."

"Then let's end it."

A heavy silence settled in the room as they reached a collective decision. Their heads turned in unison, focusing on the armored figures that stood in the shadows behind them.

Talons.

The Court's elite assassins, their weapons gleaming under the dim light, stood motionless, awaiting their orders.

One of the masked figures stepped forward, their voice cold and commanding.

"Claw, claw, owl's claw. Stop sleeping. Open your eyes, and obey my words."

A shiver ran through the air as the assassins stirred. Their movements were slow, almost unnatural, as they lifted their heads, the dim glow reflecting off the deadly steel in their hands. Their orders were simple.

Slit his throat. Carve out his heart.

And let the hunt begin.

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