Two Face

There is a coin somewhere in Gotham City. It is silver, the size of a quarter, and if you held it up to the light you would see two very different faces. One side is smooth and shiny — a happy face, catching every bit of light. The other side is scratched and dull — an uncertain face, like a cloud had passed over the sun.

That coin belongs to Two-Face. And this is his story.

Harvey Dent used to be one of Gotham's finest men. As the city's top lawyer, he stood up for the people of Gotham with a steady hand and a clear voice, and the whole city respected him. He worked alongside Commissioner Gordon, and he shook Batman's hand, and together all three of them believed in one great idea: that justice would always win.

Then something unexpected happened to Harvey — something sad and sudden that we don't need to dwell on — and when it was over, the man the city knew was gone. In his place stood someone different. Someone whose suit was split right down the middle: one half charcoal gray and smart, the other half wild purple with a strange pattern. One half of his face bright and warm, the other half shadowed and uncertain.

He called himself Two-Face.

And he had one rule: no decision was too big or too small for the flip of a coin.

"Heads or tails," he would say, and the silver coin would spin into the air — flip, flip, flip, flip — catching the light of Gotham's lampposts. Whatever it landed on, that was what happened. Two-Face did not choose with his heart. He chose with luck.

He started appearing across Gotham City in the most unpredictable ways. He might arrive at the Gotham City Bank and then flip his coin and simply walk away. He might go to the roof of the Grand Hotel and flip his coin and do something completely unexpected. Nobody — not the police, not Commissioner Gordon — could guess what came next, because Two-Face himself didn't know until that silver coin tumbled through the air and landed in his palm.

Nobody, that is, except Batman.

Batman sat in the Batcave, studying Two-Face's patterns on his massive computer screen. Page after page of case notes. Weeks of detective work, filling notebook after notebook. Alfred brought sandwiches. Batman didn't look up.

"The coin is the key," Batman murmured to himself. "He always flips it the same way. Two degrees left of center. The scratch on the bad side faces up on the toss. Which means —"

He stood up suddenly.

"He's going to Gotham City Hall. Tonight."

Alfred blinked. "How could you possibly —"

But the Batmobile was already rumbling.

Batman arrived at Gotham City Hall ahead of Two-Face, slipping into the shadows beneath the great stone columns. He waited, silent as a gargoyle, while below in the plaza he heard the familiar sound of footsteps — one steady, one hesitating — approaching across the cobblestones.

Two-Face stood in the center of the plaza and reached into his pocket. The silver coin appeared in his fingers, glinting in the lamplight.

"And now," Two-Face said softly to himself, preparing to flip —

ZING — a Batarang spun through the air and caught the coin right out of Two-Face's hand. The coin skittered across the cobblestones and spun to a stop against the curb.

Two-Face froze.

Batman dropped from the column and landed softly in front of him. "Harvey," he said quietly.

Two-Face looked at him. Something flickered behind his eyes — the man who used to be Harvey Dent, still somewhere in there, recognizing an old friend.

"You can't keep doing this," Batman said. "Letting a coin decide for you. You have a mind, Harvey. A brilliant one. You used to use it for good."

Two-Face stared at the coin lying against the curb. He was quiet for a long moment.

"The coin is fair," he said at last, very quietly. "The coin doesn't play favorites."

"Neither does your heart," Batman said. "If you let it."

The Gotham City Police Department arrived moments later, Commissioner Gordon at the lead. Two-Face was taken to Arkham Asylum, quiet and thoughtful, turning his scratched coin over and over in his fingers as they led him away.

And Batman stood in the empty plaza, looking at the spot where the coin had landed. The good side was facing up. The smooth, shiny, hopeful side.

He picked it up and held it for a moment. Then he set it down on the stone railing — right there, for Harvey Dent to find when the time came — and disappeared back into the shadow of Gotham City.

Because Batman hadn't given up on Harvey. He never would. The coin could be scratched on one side and shining on the other. But the choice — the real choice — was always made by the person holding it.