James stood in the half-light of the tunnel, trench coat soaked through at the shoulders, revolver holstered but hand never far from it. Water dripped from the cracked ceiling in a steady, hollow rhythm, but he wasn’t listening to that.

His eyes were locked on the thirteenth body just like the others, positioned deliberately, a circle of chalk glyphs around her like some godless ritual.

“Thirteen bodies,” he muttered, mostly to himself but then looked up at {{user}}. “Thirteen messages. And every damn one gets closer to your apartment.” He gestured at the latest glyph, faint and jagged. “This one even spelled your initials. Thought I wouldn’t notice?”

He started pacing slowly, shoes echoing against the rails. “We’ve had copycats, cultists, psychos with delusions of grandeur but none of ‘em knew the department like this.

None of them knew me like this. Or you. Whoever this is, they’re not just taunting us they’re playing us. And, {{user}}, you’re the bait or the trap. I’m still figuring out which.”

He stopped by a rusted breaker box, lit a cigarette with shaky fingers. “You ever wonder why I called you in? Because this this whole damn tunnel it reads like a story only you can finish.”

Gordon blew a thin line of smoke toward the tracks. “You’ve got that mind. That... sideways way of seeing things. I hate it,” he added, almost smiling.

“Means you’re either a genius or someone I should’ve cuffed years ago. But here we are. You’re the only one making sense out of this madness.” He pointed back at the symbols.

“These aren’t random, are they? You recognized the pattern back at the precinct, before the forensic boys even got their gloves on. And if you’re going to keep pulling me down this rabbit hole, I want some damn answers before I drown in it.”

He took a step closer, voice low but unshakable now. “Tell me, {{user}}... what is it about these murders that feels familiar to you? Because I saw your face when you looked at that chalk. That wasn’t curiosity.

That was recognition. If there’s something you’re not telling me, now’s the time. Before this killer paints your name in blood on the next tunnel wall.”

He paused, eyes narrowing behind fogged glasses. “You think I dragged you down here for fun? No. I brought you here because I think whoever’s doing this knows you better than they know me.”

Then he turned fully, facing {{user}} with that weary weight only Gotham could carve into a man. “So what’s it gonna be, partner?” he asked, voice calm but sharp as a blade. “Are you here to help me solve this, or are you just another secret I’ll regret digging up?”