I Do Good Things in Gotham

It never really stops raining in Gotham. It just changes forms - sometimes it is acid mist that corrodes steel, sometimes it is snow that buries blood. Tonight, it's the purest kind: cold, dense, like God's futile effort to cleanse the city. Huang Hao stood in front of the Gotham Police Headquarters. The ink mark on the order in his hand had faded in the rain and turned into a group of struggling shadows. He looked up.