Somewhere in Gotham – Years Ago
Frank Gallo was born with a face people didn't trust.
Even as a baby, the nurses at Gotham General joked he looked like he was already mad about taxes. His mother, Lucia Gallo, said he had "a mafia scowl and detective eyebrows." His father, Angelo, wasn't around to weigh in—unless you counted the monthly "involuntary donations" enforced by child support.
Frank didn't cry much. Didn't laugh much either. He just… watched. Quiet. Broad-shouldered by age ten. Heavy-footed. Always with that tired, slightly pissed-off look like he knew the universe had played a joke and he was the punchline.
Childhood – East End, Gotham
Gotham's East End raised tough kids. And Frank was tougher than most—if only because he had no choice.
The teachers didn't like him.
The kids were scared of him.
Even the neighborhood cat hissed when he walked by.
But Frank wasn't mean. He never threw the first punch. Never started fights.
He just… looked like he did.
In fourth grade, a classmate accused him of threatening to "break his legs." What Frank had actually said was:
Frank: "You shouldn't steal her lunch money. That's not nice."
But his delivery? Flat. Monotone. Staring straight into the kid's soul like a loan shark made of concrete.
That kid never stole again. But Frank got detention for a week.
Middle School – Age 13
By middle school, rumors surrounded Frank like secondhand smoke.
"He snapped a desk in half."
"He beat up a whole gang."
"He growled at the vice principal and made him cry."
None of it was true.
Well… except the desk thing. But that was cheap plywood, and he just leaned on it too hard.
Still, Frank learned early that it didn't matter what he did—only what people thought he did. So he stopped talking. Kept his head down. Did his homework. Worked part-time at his uncle's auto shop by age 14.
He was strong. Quiet. Reliable.
And completely misunderstood.
High School – Age 16
By high school, Frank had the body of a 25-year-old boxer and the personality of a guy who fixed your sink and never charged extra.
He didn't go to parties. He didn't smoke, drink, or chase girls. He just worked, studied, and occasionally fixed things around the neighborhood for little old ladies who didn't flinch when they saw his face.
People made assumptions anyway.
"He's definitely in a gang."
"He probably carries brass knuckles."
"I heard he ripped a car door off once."
(That one was true. But the car had caught fire. There was a kid inside. No one thanked him. They just stared.)
Frank's Mom – Lucia Gallo
Lucia worked nights at Gotham Mercy as a nurse. She had two rules for her son:
Don't lie.
Don't let the city turn you into something you're not.
She loved Frank, even if she didn't always understand him. Sometimes she worried Gotham would chew him up and spit him out like it did so many others.
Lucia: "You've got your father's shoulders, Frank. And my frown. That's a dangerous combo."
Frank: "I'm not trying to look mean."
Lucia: "You're not. You were just born with a 'don't mess with me' face."
Frank: "Great."
Lucia: "Better than looking like a victim."
The Incident – Age 17
It happened on a rainy Friday. Frank was walking home from the shop, boots muddy, hoodie up, eyes down.
He spotted a man dragging a woman into an alley behind a liquor store.
Frank didn't hesitate.
Ten seconds later, the woman was safe, and the man had a broken wrist and two broken ribs.
Cops arrived. Guns drawn.
The woman, terrified and confused, pointed at Frank.
Woman (shaking): "He… he did something."
Frank: "I stopped the guy. He was grabbing her."
Cop: "Step back. Hands up."
He spent the night in holding. No charges stuck, but his record? Flagged. His name? Remembered.
Adulthood – Age 20–28
Frank didn't go to college. He fixed cars. Did plumbing. Worked a dozen odd jobs around the city. Helped elderly tenants install air conditioners. Rebuilt a porch for free. Caught a purse thief once and just handed the bag back without a word.
But the rumors kept following him.
"He's an enforcer."
"Works for Black Mask, I think."
"Silent type. Probably has bodies in his closet."
What he actually had in his closet were winter coats and a one-eyed dog named Mr. Tibbles.
Present Day – Age 30
Frank lived in a second-floor apartment in a crumbling Gotham walk-up.
He had a strict daily routine:
Wake up late.
Drink terrible coffee.
Help someone with something heavy.
Be mistaken for a criminal.
Eat a sandwich. Hopefully.
He didn't want trouble.
He didn't start trouble.
But trouble had a way of sniffing him out like blood in water.
And lately… it was starting to feel like someone—or something—was pushing him closer to Gotham's criminal underworld.
Whether he liked it or not.
Last Week
He walked past a mugging. The victim pointed at him.
Helped an old man find his dog. Dog turned out to be stolen.
Gave CPR to someone overdosing. Woke up in a squad car.
Three days ago, someone started calling him The Gaunt Man online. A blurry photo of him walking through fog got ten thousand shares on BlüdhavenNet with the caption: "Is this Gotham's new enforcer?"
He was being watched. Tracked. Whispered about.
All because of his face. His silence. His size.
And because Gotham needed to believe in monsters.
The Truth
Frank wasn't a vigilante.
Wasn't a gangster.
Wasn't a hitman or ex-black-ops or the bastard son of Deathstroke.
He was just a guy.
With a scary face.
A calm voice.
And the worst luck in Gotham.