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There was something wrong with the city of Gotham.
That wasn’t entirely accurate. There had always been something wrong with Gotham. There had to be something wrong with a city that allowed so many people to suffer.
That ripped a child from his parents for no other reason than simple avarice.
As much as Batman tried his best to save his home, there was something inherently rotten about Gotham. It lurked beneath the surface, always there, no matter what he did. No matter how many criminals he put away or how much time, money and effort he funneled into social programs, it was never enough.
Was there any point in pulling people out of the water, if he didn’t know how they were falling in?
Did his plans change if they hadn’t fallen in the first place?
If they were pushed?
As Batman continued his thankless plight, he became more and more certain of what he had to do next. Gotham City was dying; she had been for years. The rot and decay was a symptom, not the problem.
Nothing he did mattered, if he didn’t find a way to help his city.
In the end, he went to Constantine for help. Though they had a complicated relationship, Constantine was the best man for the job. It helped that his ethics were… malleable, given the right price.
“She might not like you,” Constantine said, taking a draw of his cigarette. “She might kill you.”
“If she does, we will know Gotham can’t be saved,” Bruce replied. “My mind is made up, Constantine.”
Constantine gave him an odd look. “I suppose I won’t be able to convince you this is a bad idea.”
“You won’t.”
“And if I say no, you’ll just go to someone else.”
“Yes. That is correct.”
Constantine shifted, putting out his cigarette. “Alright. I’ll do it. For your sake, I hope she likes you.”
“... I do too.”
Gotham was beautiful.
And she was terrifying.
Batman had never met anything like her, but he felt like he’d known her his whole life.
The city took on a vaguely humanoid form, but if you stared at her for too long, it became obvious that her body was crafted from the city itself. Skyscrapers and condemned buildings. Community centres and shopping malls. Hospitals and mortuaries.
She was Gotham personified, and Batman couldn’t look away.
She was sick, though. That much was obvious. Holding together her humanoid form was clearly agonising.
She craned her head like an old woman towards him. “Batman… have you come to end my suffering?”
Her voice sounded like the screeching of tires.
It sounded like birdsong.
It sounded like screaming.
It sounded like a sunrise.
It sounded like every noise a city could make.
It sounded like silence.
It was everything and it was nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Batman said. “It has to be done. You know it has to be done.”
To his surprise, Gotham agreed. “It is time for me to go. I hope the city that replaces me will make you happy. I hope it is better for you than I ever was.”
Batman had come here knowing what he would have to do, but he knew he would do it with a forever-heavy heart. The one and only time he’d break his rule against killing would be this moment. He had to hope it would be worth it.
“Do you still love me?" Gotham asked, in her final moments. “After everything I did to you? After all the pain I caused?”
Lowering his mask, he held her close. It felt right to do this as Bruce. Fitting, even. "Of course I do. I always have. Everything Bruce Wayne has done for Gotham, everything Batman has done to Gotham… I did all of this because I love you.”
He held her until she faded away into nothing.
When Batman came back alive, Constantine didn’t even try hiding his shock.
Batman returned to his fight.
Arkham began to make permanent, lasting breakthroughs in almost all of its inmates (except for Joker, who put up the biggest threat after finding a remnant of the Curse’s soul; he paid the ultimate price in the electric chair, and he wasn’t laughing on his way). The people began to start thriving, not just surviving, and as the amount of nouveau riches began to outnumber and overpower the elites, they mellowed out.
Batman liked to believe that his city had been reborn.