#redamancy

[spellweaverao3]

REDAMANCY | Coming March 1st, 2025

a new tomione fanfic featuring elements of mystery and suspense

[secretly1nlov3]

old romance.♥︎

[theunmappedstar]

is anyone interested in me posting mafia au art as we go bc i have a ton and completely forgot about it.

like. a TON.

[collaberal-damage]

me and my partner huddled in the bathroom together so we can try our new pawprint shaped foaming soap. i love being in love and being silly

[lovepassionheart]

[kingslxyers]

whatever it takes - cause i love the adrenaline in my veins

daemon scoffed at the idea of religion; for the only god he worshipped was rhaenyra - the six years on Dragonstone starting from S1E02

Chapter 4.

Click here [x] to read (AO3)

[widowsresolve]

Now live: Chapter 54!

Their first stop in Miami had been food and coffee, staking out the Roxxon building coming second. It took a little longer than an hour and a half after their arrival at a suitable observation point for the parking lot to clear of a majority of the employees and another forty-five minutes for an apparent security shift change. “Would’ve been nice if the smoker was sticking around,” Clint quietly mused as he set down his binoculars to stretch his arms. Natasha only responded with a hum of agreement before she gestured to draw his attention towards the right side of the building from their position. “Light’s still flickering at least.”

Read on AO3

[upismediacenter]

LITERARY: A Larkspur in Lacedaemonia

[nebuleuse-cosmic]

𝑅𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑦

[ya9amicide]

my spring semester ends in about two weeks so hopefully (🤞) i can get some redamancy chapters out for you guys soon since i won’t have as many classes going on during the summer.

[spellweaverao3]

REDAMANCY | Coming March 1st, 2025

“The wind is hushed, the stars grow pale, The pensive moon her light doth veil; And whirling on, the magic choir Sputters forth sparks of drizzling fire.” — Faust Pt. 1, Goethe

[artangel-23]

"Redamancy" by anhei on INPRNT

[theunmappedstar]

REDAMANCY

synopsis: when amateur detectives Sophie Foster and Fitz Vacker are sent to investigate an anonymous tip regarding a speakeasy, they are unknowingly thrown into the path of the notorious Sencen crime family.

genre: angst, some fluff, mafia au

characters: keefe sencen, sophie foster, fitz vacker, dex dizznee, tam song, linh song

pairings: sophie foster/keefe sencen/fitz vacker

word count: tbd

⇢ posted: 05.08.24 | . masterlist

[armatuspoeta]

~Redamancy~

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- // This story follows Detective Emily Walker, a gifted police officer who has close ties with Lieutenant Jim Gordon and a tragic past. She goes with Gordon to investigate the crime scene and murder of Mayor Don Mitchell Junior, however things soon become much bigger than she ever thought, and her life will never be the same. Romance, tragedy, heartache, and all the many wonders and misfortunes of life ensue on her determination-fueled mission to apprehend the Riddler and uncover the truth of Gotham side by side with Gordon and the infamous Batman. [Emily is an established character; however, I left many aspects about her (like her physical appearance) purposely vague. I want the reader to be able to walk in her shoes... like a middle ground between a y/n fic and an oc one.] ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Tw: Violence, mild depictions of gore, murder, other mature themes, cussing ``` Word Count: 13,924 ~~~ A/n: Wow, this took a lot longer than I expected, lol.  But here it is, the first chapter finally finished! With that being said, this is my first fanfic, so any feedback is welcome! There might also be some spelling errors in here, so I’m sorry in advance :}

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                             [Chapter One: The Bad Beginning]        

                                                             A scream. A horrid pierce through the night. It woke me up instantly, like a splash of cold water. My blood felt like ice, pounding almost painfully with each thump of my heart.  I couldn't move my wide-open gaze from the ceiling. Fear sunk its claws deep into my flesh. I couldn't move, not even as pained gasps came from down the hallway. There was a wet choking noise. Sputtering. Labored breathing… a thud. I couldn't move, even now as there was only an eerie silence. My chest rose and fell with a shallow rhythm and my hands gripped onto the blanket with white knuckles. An attempt to break from my spell of hesitation. It didn’t work. Quick footsteps began to come from my parents’ bedroom. They got closer, louder, and I felt my body begin to tremble violently with the promise of a horrible painful fate. But the noise carried past my bedroom door. They hurried down the stairs until they were eventually out of earshot. The front door slammed. Suddenly the claws were ripped away, gone with the footsteps. However, they were replaced with a different terror, a horrible urgency in the aftermath of the dark deed that must have occurred.  The aftermath of my cowardice.  In one swift motion, like a much more confident and braver version of myself, I threw the blanket from my body and ran down the hallway towards my parent’s bedroom. Moonlight spilled through the gap of the door, not fully closed in a rush to flee. With my heart in my throat like a steadily pounding drum, I placed my shaking palm against the wood of the door. I paused to gather courage. To mentally prepare myself as much as I could. ”..Mom?...Dad?...” I pushed it open the rest of the way. I had never seen so much blood.                                                              ~ I wake with a start, my eyes wide and my breathing fast. My heart beats against my ribcage like a caged animal.  I look down at the table I’m mostly slumped over, my brow furrowed with a mix of confusion and terror. The typical aftermath of that nightmare. My spiral notebook lay open in front of me, the one I use for work. Messily written notes take up about half the page, detailing my findings and other important information. Scattered around the table is an assortment of papers, photographs, and statements, all belonging to a case I’m working on about a simple home robbery. I look in front of me to see my laptop open in the middle of the table.  The screen is black. I reach for the laptop to confirm my suspicions about the battery being dead but am instantly met with a nasty stinging sensation.  On the underside of my forearm, there’s a big red indent on my skin from where the thin metal spiral holding all the pages together dug into it during my unplanned slumber. Momentarily distracted by the discovery, I raise my left arm off the edge of the pages.  How did I manage to fall asleep on top of the worst parts of the notebook? I gingerly let my arm rest on the tabletop and then reach for my laptop with my right. A quick smack on the spacebar lets me know that the battery is in fact dead. Damnit. I can’t keep doing this.  I can’t keep pushing myself this far, ignoring myself this much for the sake of others, for my job. But how can I stop? The precinct is overworked enough as it is, and as much as I would love to forget, these cases aren’t just a job. They’re people. Living, breathing, and hurting... but sometimes... Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it. If I’m even making anything better.  I became a detective to help this city, to do the best I could to make sure that no one would have to go through what I did, So that I could do my best to let people live happy and peaceful lives, to be a light in the darkness. An agitated sigh escapes my lungs as I place my hands to my forehead.  The old kitchen chair groans as I lean back against the uncomfortable wooden backing. I’m working myself to nothing and I’d be lying if I said that my cause was selfless. In all honesty, it helps me forget my own troubles. Solving the mystery, giving people closure and helping them move forward with their lives... it distracts me from the deafening silence I come home to. Temporarily satiates the vicious monster that my grandmother had carefully sewn into every aspect of my existence. The words that I eventually began telling myself.  This is the only way I’m worth anything... But time and time again, it’s never enough, the beast is never satisfied. I am never enough. Still, I keep trying, keep forcing every aspect of myself into my job, pouring all of my life into my foolish hope of healing whatever I can get my hands on. I’m getting tired. I know that I can’t keep this up forever... I can’t keep running this marathon, and the finish line will never stop moving. When I take down one operation, there’s always another. When I’ve solved one case, there’s always a new file on my desk.  The underbelly doesn’t sleep, and in that regard neither can I. Gordon sees it, I know he does.  He’s been a light in my life ever since that night when he pulled me away from my mother’s body.  I know he knew my parents, even though he was a good bit younger than them when they were all working in the same precinct. Maybe that’s part of the reason he stayed in contact after that night, always made sure I had what I needed and more.  He tries to talk to me about it sometimes, tries to convince me to take a break.  As much as I want to, I can’t. I’ll be left in my head, left with my fear and finish line getting even farther. Even if it kills me, I have to keep running.  I take in a deep breath before I let it out again. I need to stop thinking about this and get on with my day. With a newly established sense of vigor, I grab my glasses from beside my notebook and put them on. The lenses are a bit smudged from my half-asleep struggle to get them off my face, but I ignore it for now. I need some caffeine and some grounding. Pushing up from the old kitchen chair, I make my way to the kitchen. My bare feet catch the chill of the cold linoleum tile, classic shitty apartment off-white and a bane of my existence during the colder seasons.  Though, I like most of the other aspects of the space.  The walls are painted a calm yellow and my small square table is pushed against the left wall. Matching yellow chairs are pushed in and a modest house plant acts as a centerpiece. I’m not really sure what kind it is, but Gordon got it for me as a housewarming gift when I first moved in after I finished college.  It must be very resilient or need very little care because I always forget to water it... honestly, it’s a miracle it’s still alive and still green.  Tea. Right. Newly re-focused, I go up to my white cupboards and stand on my tip toes to open it and pull out my favorite mug. At this point, the routine is easy, and my body goes through it on autopilot. Fill the kettle with water. Put it on the mount. Press the button. Grab the package of tea. Take the bag out. Put it in the mug. Most of my coworkers prefer coffee and while I do sometimes partake in a good cup of joe, I just like tea better. It’s easier to drink for some reason. I tried to get more into coffee before, when I was just a rookie cop trying to fit in. It didn’t really work. I still can’t seem to find my place there. Even though I made Gotham history with how fast I was promoted; I work hard, and I can’t even count how many cases I’ve solved... it’s still the same.  Though, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I don’t set aside time for friendships and maybe my tunnel vision gets too consuming.  But I can’t stop it, everything I’ve tried doesn’t work.  I’m stuck in this endless loop of filling a forever emptying cup, drying a waterfall with paper towels.  The kettle beeps, high pitched and ear piercing. The water’s ready. Once again, I shift my focus to starting my day. I pour the water into the mug before setting the kettle back on the mount. Steam fills the October air, and the water begins to stain with swirls of green. Cup in hand, I continue the routine and go to stand by the window. It’s about four and a half feet tall and two feet wide, nice to look out of but otherwise not much to write home about. The wooden edges were painted messily and it’s chipping a bit from how long ago it must’ve been. It’s my favorite window in my apartment. The reason doesn’t even really have anything to do with the design itself, but rather it’s functionality.  I can get to the fire escape through it.  On clear nights, nothing is more soothing than sitting on the cold metal with a blanket and looking up at the stars or watching Gotham’s sleepless routines.  I often think about someone I really like and trust sitting up there with me, sharing in the serenity... but that’s all it ever is. Thoughts. I don’t have time for romance. On the horizon, golden sunlight is cresting over the dark buildings, painting the sky with various shades of pink. A contrast to the greys and blacks of nearly every building in this part of Gotham. The warm morning glow brightens the town, making the darkness retreat like hissing vampires. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of clouds right now... maybe it’s gonna be sunny today.  A faint honk from the street below catches my attention. A taxi angry at a person on a motorcycle for going before them, even though it didn’t even really seem like the taxi had the right of way. Though, seeing the biker in question brings a small smile to my face. They drive off into the distance until they’re little more than a blurry dot. I know that it’s a bit weird to smile at strangers who have no idea that you exist, but this person passes by here almost every day, almost always near dawn, and they always wear the same grey jacket, dark green helmet, and tan backpack. After seeing their commute so many times, I can’t help but think about who they are and find comfort in the familiarity. What kind of a life do they have? Are they going to or coming home from work? Do they have a family? Who are they? It’s funny how two separate routines lining up just right can make a complete stranger start to feel like a distant friend. Though, I know that my amicable affections are one sided. I take a sip of my tea and resume my quiet observations of this town. This city, where I lived since I was born, where my parents started their life together. Gotham is a cesspool in many regards, but there’s still good. I see it every day. Humble families doing what they can to scrape by, neighborhoods and communities helping each other during times of crises, seats given up on the subway to someone who needs it more. The sun is still there when it’s covered by clouds. Kindness and empathy still exist even when overshadowed by darkness. Even if it feels hopeless, even if I can never stop running... I won’t give up on Gotham. I can’t give up on Gotham.                                                        

                                                         ~

The rain pummels against the asphalt, batters against the metal roof. It was not and still isn’t sunny today. Warm air is blowing from the heater vents of Gordon’s unmarked station car and it’s a saving grace in this harsh weather. I’m sat in the passenger seat wearing my work clothes. A white tucked in button up, my shoulder holster, a black tie, my very professional black jeans with my golden detective badge attached to my left front pocket, black converse which are also very professional, my glasses, and my puffy midnight blue GCPD jacket. I had gotten it when I was first hired. The right shoulder has the GCPD symbol embroidered on it in a golden yellow and the zipper doesn’t really work anymore after years of not-so-gentle wear. I can’t bring myself to ask for a new one, though.  Four years of fighting crime carries a lot of memories with it. I look up out of the rain-hazed windshield. The city is dark around us and the only light comes from the headlights and the buzzing streetlamps lining the sidewalk. This part of town is trashed. More than usual. There’re piles of garbage, a lot full of bulldozed rubble, and the bones of a tall unfinished building. It keeps my attention and as we get closer it’s easier to observe the details. It’s comprised of rusted scaffolding and thick weather-stained concrete slabs. Near the bottom in a long strip is an old metal sign with the renewal plan logo and catchphrase printed throughout in tarnished white letters. It seems like it wraps all the way around. To my surprise, Gordon slows in front of the building and pulls into the nearly hidden entry way. My brows furrow and my mind begins to swim with a dozen questions, all of which I’m trying to answer at the same time and getting nowhere. We’re supposed to be investigating the crime scene of the mayor, and to my knowledge this place is nowhere close to it. Gordon drives further into the unfinished parking area and stops in front of an elevator built in the middle. It sheds a sickly yellow light and provides the only illumination in the otherwise dark building. I turn my head to look at Gordon and I know he can see my confusion... But he says nothing as he puts the car into park and shuts the car off. Like such a menial task could take all of his attention. Knowing that he won’t acknowledge my silent question, I voice it instead. “Wasn’t Mitchell killed in his house?” My voice is a slice through the silence. He takes out the keys and keeps his focus ahead, utterly unphased by my words. He was expecting it. “Yeah.” He answers simply and my stewing confusion festers into quiet bewilderment at his avoidance. Sure, he answered the face value part of my question, but that wasn’t what I really wanted to know, and he knows it.  “So... why are we here?” I prompt again, this time I make sure to phrase my words in a way he can’t step around. After a small moment of tense silence, he turns his gaze to me. His face holds an expression that I rarely see when it’s just me and him. His eyes are sharp and there’s a neutral scowl on his lips. The tough exterior he uses during work. His armor of sorts, a way to hide his true self from anyone who either wouldn’t like what they saw, or to protect himself. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He answers gruffly before he unbuckles his seatbelt. My mind begins to race once more with possible explanations, but nothing makes sense. If we’re here to see some sort of informant or other police officer then he wouldn’t be acting so strange about the situation, he would just tell me what’s going on... so who are we meeting with? His continued silence gives me no more answers and before I have the chance to ask more questions, he gets out of the car and closes the door with a soft. ’thunk’. Without even sparing me a glance, he begins walking to the elevator.  I don’t want to be left behind, so I get out of the car and follow after him. The elevator has two metal grate-like doors that he squeaks open before stepping inside and standing to the right in front of the panel of buttons. I follow him in and stand on the left side. He pulls the doors shut and pushes the button for the top floor. It’s still silent between us and I can’t help but wonder if I did something wrong. The lift begins to ascend, and I turn my head forward to watch the empty floors go by through the gaps of metal. Did I say something bad to him without realizing? Did I forget something important? I try to think back to earlier today, looking for a reason he would be upset at me, but I come up blank. I trust Gordon, he’s been an important figure in my life for quite some time now... but still, the taught energy between us tingles up my spine, sinks it’s fangs into my back and infects me with an anxious itch.  Sure, I can survive a shootout, keep calm in pursuits, and witness the horrors of humanity on a near daily basis, but I’m a coward when it comes to personal human interaction. I want to ask again, try to get the answers that the little demon in my back is so ravenous for...  but when I open my mouth to speak, Gordon beats me to it. “This place and what I’m gonna show you... you have to keep it secret.” He’s still looking forward at the column of buttons, his gaze intense yet blank. Like he’s thinking just as hard as I am. My mouth closes, but I’m left with even more questions than I had before. What’s so special about this skeleton of a building? He looks over to me with a raised brow and I realize that I didn’t answer him. Almost panicked at the revelation, I rush to answer and in turn stutter my words. “Ye-Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, I won’t tell anyone...but what is this about, Gordon? You’re making me worried.” His gaze softens and with that little action, all of his armor falls off.  There’s a cocktail of emotions behind those deep chestnut eyes.  Tenderness, fear, guilt, nervousness... why? Nothing is making any sense. “I’m sorry... you’ll understand soon.” Is all he offers before he looks back at the door.  Godammit, why won’t he just tell me?! The creature gnaws on my flesh and my bones begin to jitter as the curiosity starts to eat me alive.  Finally, the elevator shudders to a stop and Gordon pushes the doors open. Rain blows in from the open spaces where walls should be, with it carrying a deep chill. Some illumination is provided from the elevator’s aforementioned glow, but the floor is still shrouded in darkness. Closer to the edge of the concrete across from the elevator, there’s a strange shape. It’s cast in a deep black shadow against the far away lights of the city. Gordon steps off of the elevator and begins walking towards it. Tentatively, I once again follow him. As we get closer, it gets easier to see... it’s a spotlight... and stretching across the surface is a metal bat symbol. Oh... oh. “This is the Batman’s signal tower.” I blink as the realization causes an internal avalanche, the creature in my back howls with glee and my cascade of thoughts wrap around my mind.  Gordon is working with him. How could he not be? If we were here to lure him out and arrest him, Gordon would have said. No, Gordon was nervous, afraid of what I would think of him after I found out.  Understandably so, Batman is a bit of a touchy subject back at the precinct. Most if not all the cops hate him, but it’s not out of fear for the people.  It’s from a selfish belief that he’s doing their jobs for them and encroaching on their territory.  They forget what’s actually important here... Protecting Gotham. As for myself, I have mixed feelings.  I’m glad that it seems he’s keeping a good morality, but what if that ever changes? What if it’s more complicated than he thinks and he ends up hurting the wrong people? Though, I guess cops face that dilemma too.  As long as it seems like he keeps the best interest of Gotham in mind, I have no problems with him.  Gordon reaches down and flicks the switch. It starts buzzing and a dim green glow resonates within the bowels of the light. It gets brighter with the second until it’s a powerful yellow beam across the sky and his symbol is projected up into the clouds. I’ve sat on my fire escape and looked up at that thing so many times now, but it feels so surreal to be seeing it this close.  This symbol represents more than just the bat.  I’ve seen it firsthand. Criminals are terrified of him, enough so that even just seeing his light can send the timid ones home... and the brave? The foolish? I end up seeing them in the interrogation room and I can tell that they’ve run into him before they even talk, and not just because of the bruises.  Their eyes dart, their knees bounce, and they flinch at every sound.  That symbol doesn’t just mean Batman, it means fear. I turn my attention from the projected bat back to Gordon. He’s observing me, trying to gauge my emotions through my stunned silence.  The fear is still there, deep within his gentle chestnut eyes. I take in a deep breath. “I’m not mad at you.” I break our spell of festering stagnancy with a gentle tone. Sure enough, his shoulders relax a bit and he breathes out a quiet relieved sigh. “How long have you been doing this?” I ask one of the many questions buzzing throughout my mind. Gordon is quiet for a moment before he turns his gaze out towards the city. He’s observing the glittering lights, the cars down on the street... but I can tell he’s not really paying too much attention to them. “Been two years now.” I blink silently as I let the information sink in.  Two years is a long time to be hiding something like this. I then voice my next question, trying my best to pick the most relevant ones since I’m assuming our time alone is limited. “Why bring me here tonight?” The mayor was just murdered, a very important case. It wouldn’t make sense for Gordon to delay us being there just so that he could make this confession to me. Talking with the Batman had to have some sort of significance to the investigation. “When I got the call, they told me there’s a card addressed to him at the crime scene. I want him to check it out, see what he thinks...” The others really aren’t gonna be happy about that. He turns his head towards me, and his eyes now carry a glimmer of softness. “I need you on this case too. Figured you should meet him now instead of later.” A bit of warmth fills my chest at his words and the deeper sentiment underneath them. He wants me to work this case with him instead of the other detectives that were already assigned to it, and he wanted to bring me in the loop sooner than the others so I would have time to process it all. He likes to pretend that he’s such a cold and callused lieutenant, but I know the real him.  Gordon is kind and considerate to the people he’s close with, but something I value most about him is the bond we share. In my entire life, there’s only been a handful of people who have been able to read how I feel, understand what I mean when I say something a bit more abstract. Those people were my mom, my dad, and Gordon. After they died, it was only him left on that list. I feel my smile falter a bit at the thought of them, but I try to fix it before Gordon can notice. It doesn’t work, I can see his own fading and a gentle concern take its place. It’s been twelve years since it happened, I’ve long since learned to live with it and I try my best to not think about it too much. Doing that does bring me some reprieve, but it never fully goes away. It’s like my trauma is a living thing, an apex predator that stalks my every move and waits for the perfect times to pounce, rips me apart from the inside out with images that never truly leave. Regrets that I can never rectify. I wish I could just focus on the good moments with my parents and forget everything else, but the memory of that night gets stuck in my head like a broken VHS tape, rewinding over and over at the worst possible parts, a scream on repeat. Then a lion claws its way out of the TV screen, boasts itself with a puffed-out chest while it glitters red with dark bloody pride. It casts a shadow over all the better times spent with my family. I can lock the animals away, take out the VHS and push it to the very back of the shelf... But then the nightmares come. They’re not nearly as often as they used to be, but when they rear their ugly head, it’s an entity that escapes my careful control. It lets out the spiteful zoo, rips out whatever was playing and shoves the dusty tape back in. On those days, I just try to ignore it, to distract myself. They go away eventually... but other times there’s more reminders and it’s much harder. The roars get louder, more demanding, starving for my attention. The shadowed hand grips my chin forces me to look at the blood red screen. I blink and give up trying to convince Gordon. I know he’s not gonna let me go so easily, not when he knows something’s off. “What’s wrong, kid?” He speaks in a gentle voice as he closes the distance between us and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. I give him an appreciative little smile before I turn my gaze to the darkened cityscape below us. “...I dreamed about them again. Of the night it happened.” The only sounds around us are the faint buzzing of the signal, the loudly pattering rain, and the far away noises of Gotham below. It seems that he’s trying to think of what to say. “I’m sorry...” He draws in a little breath, and I turn my head to look at him. He’s gazing out towards the city now, just like I was previously. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” I remind him with a melancholic sense of certainty in my tone. I don’t see it often, but sometimes I catch little hints that he feels guilty for it all, even though there was nothing that he could’ve done. Whenever I see it, I do what I can to correct it. Regardless, his expression is sorrowful and behind his eyes I can tell he’s thinking about when it happened. “It was hard for me too... it still is. I still miss them. We worked together sometimes, me and your folks. I looked up to them a lot.” The VHS clunks and sticks itself on a different part of the worst event of my life. Gordon was one of the first responders that came to the house.  I know it wasn’t easy on him either... I know I didn’t help with that. But I was only thirteen and I couldn’t accept that they were dead. “Wanna talk about it?” He asks me and moves his head to return my gaze. Part of me wants to, wants to just let it all out and hope it’ll stay gone, thrown to the wind like a handful of ashes.  But I know that this isn’t the time. The mayor is dead and at any moment Batman could come up that elevator.  Right now, how I feel isn’t important. I gently shake my head and give him a small smile. I mean it to look reassuring, but I can see that it must not have worked because Gordon’s expression stays mostly the same. He lets out a quiet sigh before he gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Alright. But if you ever need anything, I’ll be there. All you gotta do is ask.” My smile becomes more genuine at this. The reassurance is calming, especially because I know he’s not just saying it to make me feel better.  Gordon took care of me while social services were making sure that my grandmother’s house was a stable place for me to live, he helped me get the scholarship I needed to get my Criminal Justice degree, he helped me become an officer, and then he convinced the Commissioner to give me a chance when I applied to be a detective way sooner than it’s usually allowed in most departments. I owe a lot to Gordon, and I’m glad to call him family even if we’re not related. “Thank you. For everything.” Gordon smiles in return and he lets his hand rest at his side again. We fall into a few moments of a comfortable quiet. The rain still pours, and the city still bustles with nightlife, but it’s a soothing ambiance. One I’ve been accustomed to for many years. Though, it’s interrupted when the elevator suddenly whirrs to life behind us. It startles me and I spin around to find that it’s begun to descend. In my peripheral I see Gordon turn his head to look back at me as the elevator goes, leaving us only in the yellow aural glow of the spotlight. Someone must have called it from one of the lower levels... Gordon speaks my thoughts. “He’s here.” I turn my head to look at him, my eyes a bit wide as the nervousness grows stronger, overpowers any residual warmth I was feeling and spreads throughout my upper body like a parasite. I’m not quite sure why I’m so nervous to meet him.  Maybe it’s because I’ve been curious about him for so long, or maybe I’m afraid of making a fool out of myself in front of someone so revered and infamous. Or maybe, it’s because he feels like such an intangible thing to me... something surreal and unfathomable. Like a dream. Much more casual than me, Gordon turns around to face the empty space where the lift was in preparation for the vigilante’s arrival. I take a breath and level my gaze towards the darkened elevator shaft as well.                              Soon, the light starts to come back and within the rising elevator there stands a shadow. Batman. His suit is so much more detailed in person... different shades of black make up the ensemble and every single detail seems like a lot of thought went into it.  A black cowl made of thick leather with ears that come up in a point, a dark grey chest plate with his symbol going across, tactical pants, a utility belt, arm guards with a row of what I assume to be some sort of... crossbow arrows? affixed to them. His black cape is attached to his shoulders and it seems to be made of some sort of heavier material... leather maybe? If so, it’s a smart choice. Leather is pretty protective. His boots seem to be a higher end brand of work boots, also leather and also black. Rainwater still drips from him onto the elevator floor... but it doesn’t seem like he would be too affected by the rain. He’s got all those protective layers on, I bet he doesn’t even feel it.  He reaches out with a gloved right hand and pushes open the door... but then his gaze lands on me and he stops in his tracks, like a deer caught in the headlights.  Did Gordon not even tell Batman I was coming?... Or is this their only way of communication? Regardless, I swallow a lump of anxiety and turn my head to Gordon, silently hoping for the best. “You got here fast.” Is all Gordon gives in form of a greeting. I still can’t bring myself to say anything yet, even as I look back towards the vigilante and see that he’s looking right back at me. “Who is she?” Batman’s voice is equally as enigmatic as his persona. Deep and rough but still soft and rounded at the edges. It’s almost breathed out, like a dark whisper. “She’s detective Emily Walker. We can trust her.” Gordon answers. Batman’s quiet for a second as he looks from me back to Gordon... like he’s deciding for himself if he can trust me.  Then it seems he’s come to his conclusion, and he closes the distance between him and us... It’s so surreal to see him this close.  Like something you’d dream and can’t possibly be real... but here he is, standing right in front of me... wait, he’s actually right in front of me- I look up and find a pair of ice blue eyes shrouded in black greasepaint staring right into me.  It’s a shock, an electrocution that pierces into me and stabs through all of my defenses.  Throughout my life, I’ve carefully built these walls, and I’ve made them so thick and so tall that hardly anyone could scale them, and therefor they could never truly see me living in the middle, trapped in my dusty old cottage.  But he’s here now, standing in front of me in this signal tower and in the decrepit old shack I’ve forgotten how to escape from.  The lion scurries back into the fuzzy TV screen, terrified of the stranger that’s appeared in our home.  I’m scared too, horrified of what he might find here, horrified that the bloody pictures and the stagnant staleness permeating the air will disgust him or drive him away, that he’ll use it against me or mock me.  But... there’s something else too. I’m elated, ecstatic that someone is finally visiting, someone is in here with me and I’m not alone anymore.  Maybe he has a key, maybe he has a sledgehammer, maybe I can escape, remodel, do something to stop drowning in the dust and death, to feel the warm sunshine on my skin once again and breathe fresh air. “Don Mitchell Junior was killed in his home earlier tonight... the killer left a card for you. I want you to come take a look with us, see what you can find out.” Gordon breaks the spell, pulls my hand from the live wire, causes Batman to shift his gaze back over to look at him instead of into me.  My cheeks feel hot against the frigid air, and I’m still disoriented from the mental intrusion.  Was that what it was?... How did he even do that?... How did he easily break through every single barrier I put up? In all my life, I’ve never had eye contact as intense as that... no, it wasn’t even eye contact. It was opia, he was staring directly at my soul... and I was completely defenseless against it. Why couldn’t I look away, what was he searching for? Did he find it? Batman hardly seems distressed by our exchange, but I know he felt it too. How could he not? How could he not know that he was standing right inside of my inner world? Regardless, batman shows no emotion on his face.  His mask -both physical and metaphorical- is flawless... but there’s a slight tick in his jaw, like he’s holding something back. Maybe it did have an effect on him.  Maybe he wasn’t expecting to fall that deep into my eyes. I wasn’t expecting him to either.  However, that’s all the clues I get.  “Sound good?” Gordon asks Batman and I finally turn my head to look at him.  The poor Lieutenant looks confused... I wonder what that exchange looked like from his perspective. Probably very weird. ”What?” Batman rasps out and with a furrowed brow, I take my chances at looking back at him. He seems almost dazed, shocked, confused... like he was completely in his own world for a moment... Did he experience the same thing I did, or was he just thinking very very intensely for some reason? Gordon raises a brow at the Bat before he looks between me and him, confusion clear as day.  “The mayor was killed. I want you to come with us to check it out.” Oh, the others are really going to hate that... having batman running around Gotham is too much for them, but having him in an active crime scene? We’re in for a long night.                                                               ~ Yeah, I was right. The others really do not like this.  We’re walking down the dim hallway of the late mayor’s home, a beautiful old townhouse that’s well cared for and cozy, definitely owned by rich people. Gordon is walking in front of me, leading the way through the parted sea of glowering stares. Not a single one of these cops are giving us any mercy, no they’re all glaring in unison like a hive minded creature, determined to make us feel like scum. It’s working. Well, for me anyways. However, I try not to think about it too much. They can make me feel like shit, but they can never make me fold... I trust Gordon, and therefore I trust him with his decisions... even the ones that involve bringing a vigilante to a high-profile murder case. He walks behind me, his heavy bootsteps a constant interruption in the tense atmosphere. A metronome, steady and even. A reminder that he’s still behind me beside from the way I can feel him. His looming figure almost seems to carry a cloud of shadowed energy with him, the kind that tingles up your spine, raises the hair on your arms, and steals the breath from your lungs. It probably helps that he’s always so quiet. In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve realized that he doesn’t talk often, and when he does it’s usually just short replies. Martinez and another officer are guarding the entrance to the study and behind them a few crime scene analysts in their white jumpsuits are measuring, taking pictures, and dusting for fingerprints.  Martinez lets me and Gordon in with a little tip of his hat, mostly aimed to Gordon I think.  Me and Martinez aren’t friends, but we aren’t enemies either. In truth, I’ve only spoken to him a few times and it was all work related. We keep walking into the scene and I’m about to begin taking stock of what I see- but then I hear the heavy footfalls stop. Why’d he stop? “Woah, woahwoahwoahwoahwoah...” I turn my head back towards the commotion.  Officer Martinez’s palm is placed firmly against Batman’s chest plate, and he’s leaned his body a bit to block the path through the threshold of the study. The bat looks down to the hand on his chest and then back up to meet the officer’s gaze. He remains silent, but the expression in his eyes is searing, like he’s just daring Martinez to try something. “Police action.” Martinez finishes his sentence and looks right back into the burning glare he’s receiving.  Martinez will never let Batman through, and with the way they’re looking at each other, the vigilante may very well get arrested tonight. “Gordon-” I get his attention and he stops walking to look back.  He lets out an annoyed puff of air before addressing the situation. “He’s with us, Officer.” Martinez looks utterly bewildered at Gordon as he turns his head to look back at us. “You kiddin me, sir? You’re gonna let him in here?” He asks before letting his incredulous gaze flick between the Shadow and Gordon. Despite the way the Bat slightly tensed up with agitation when my coworker referred to him in such a way, he remains patient with the matter and Gordon remains diplomatic. “Martinez... let him through.” The officer is plagued with uncertainty... but orders are orders, and he can’t very well refuse if he doesn’t want to face the consequences. So, with a palpable silence carried between the four of us, Martinez returns his hand to his side and let’s Batman through into the study. Gordon continues walking further into the crime scene as he puts on some white disposable gloves, and Batman walks past me where I’ve stopped.  I turn to follow after him when I hear Martinez mutter to himself. “Goddamn freak.” Wow. What an asshole. That’s definitely being added to my mental file of him. Forcing myself to ignore my anger, I continue to follow after the bat... I don’t know if he heard the insult or not, but it seems pretty likely he did. I hope he’s not letting it upset him. Regardless, this is a crime scene. A man was murdered. Anger has no place here... at least not from me. With that in mind, I observe my surroundings. The sight is grisly. Mitchell is posed sitting in his recliner with his left arm on the arm rest. Over his left hand is a small paper bag and his head is covered in duct tape all the way around except for the top. Brown hair matted with red sticks up messily from the space. Gordon steps up to the right of the body as he finishes putting his gloves on. I stand in front as I begin putting on mine. “What do we know?” Gordon asks the lead detective standing behind Mitchell’s chair. Seemingly done scanning the room for now, I feel batman glide to the left of Mitchell from behind me and the lead goes quiet as he watches him with a bitter stare. Of course. Because we totally need this to happen again, right here, right now, in front of the dead body of a brutally murdered mayor. But, I stay out of it and refocus myself. I look back to the body and scan all the details I can find. Written across the face of the tape mask is the phrase ‘NO MORE LIES’ in red marker.  So Mitchell was hiding something... or maybe Mitchell’s death is supposed to convey some sort of message. Probably both. I would like to give Mitchell the benefit of the doubt, but I don’t think any politician doesn’t have a few skeletons in their closet(s). “Detective.” Gordon prompts again and I look up, thinking for a moment that he was addressing me.  Though, I quickly realize that Gordon was addressing the lead. Whoops. I give a quick glance around and it doesn’t seem that anyone noticed. Good. I look back down to Mitchell. As I observe what I can, the lead detective seems to have been taken from his resentful Batman-caused stupor and answers Gordon’s original question. ”Sorry, Lieutenant... we’ve got blunt force trauma, lacerations on the head. He got hit a lot of times... and hard.” That much is obvious. Though the headwounds do look particularly nasty, they don’t seem like they would be the direct cause of death. Unless maybe he also had gotten a very bad concussion and suffered internal bleeding. Though, I see no convincing evidence of that yet. My eyes trail down to the floor in front of Mitchell... blood has seeped across the ground and splattered in other areas. Deep red with a darker tint towards the edges in the larger puddles and the same dark color all throughout the smaller ones. It’s been a couple hours since it was spilled... there’s a lot of it, too... It couldn’t have come from just his head, something else must have happened. There’s a thoughtful silence between us and I make careful steps towards the right side of the body, next to Gordon. With gentle movements, I hold the late mayor’s forearm in my right hand and carefully take the bag off it with my left. The sight that greets me is fairly ghastly, but not unexpected. His thumb has been cut off... that explains the blood at least. “All this blood from his head?” Gordon asks and I answer, turning my attention upwards towards the vigilante and my coworkers. “No. The thumb was severed... the killer probably took it.” The lead detective’s expression turns even more sour, and I realize that I must have stolen the words from his mouth. Again- whoops. Still, I keep focused and look down at the deceased hand once more, determined to find out all that I can.  Maybe I’ll be able to see something that Mr. Sunshine detective over there missed, and I can make him annoyed again. Gordon takes his little flashlight from his pocket before leaning over and clicking it on over the stump. I bring it a bit closer to the light so we can observe it better. With the added visibility, I see that the edges of the sever is bruised. Mitchell was alive when it was cut off. “He was alive when it was cut off.” A much darker voice echoes my thoughts and in a moment of quiet surprise, I look up at batman to find his eyes flit from the deceased hand I’m holding to meet my gaze. The contact is less intense this time, but it still sends a tingle up my spine, still sends a rush through my nervous system and still grants him access to the little cottage inside my head. My coworkers look to him as well, almost questioning. As they stare, I come back to myself and look down again. Batman is a better detective than I thought... or maybe he watches a lot of true crime. Maybe both. My coworkers are still looking at him and the air is becoming unbearably tight. I have to say something. “There’s ecchymosis around the wound.” I give some clarification to hopefully let us push past this awkward tense spot. In Batman’s eyes I can see a bit of subtle bewilderment.. maybe I voiced his thoughts as well. Eye for an eye, I guess. After only a few seconds of the thick atmosphere focused on me, I feel myself crumble a bit under all the attention. So, I shift my focus back to the sever, hoping they look away again soon. What’s so crazy about me clarifying something Batman said to warrant this kind of reaction? Am I supposed to just let the conversation hang like that? Is the lead pissed off that I backed up something the Bat said? Is Gordon lost in thought or waiting for the lead to say something? Whatever the case, I want them to do it not staring at me. I try to ignore it and just focus on my job. Doing so, I realize how clean the cut looks. Bloody and horrendous, sure, but lacking the usual jagged and uneven implications of movement. “There wasn’t a struggle either... he must have been unconscious from the blunt force to the head... which means he probably died from suffocation when his airways were blocked with the tape.” Gordon releases a quiet sigh at my deduction. His expression becomes a bit pained as he thinks about it. “Damn...” And I have to agree. It seems like a terrible way to die. A terrible way to murder someone. With that thought, I don’t see anything else worth noting about the finger and I gently set the hand back down on the arm rest. I feel more than hear batman’s bootsteps glide behind me as he crosses the room, most likely observing something else.  I’m still not used to having him around... it’s strange how he can seem to float through a room. Maybe he really is just a living shadow.  I look up and see Gordon turning his flashlight to the TV, observing the newspapers taped over the screen. They’re of Mitchell, headlines and articles about his campaign. Painted over them in the middle is the word ‘LIES’. The theme repeats. This killer either knows something about the mayor that we don’t, or he’s completely delusional. Either is perfectly believable at this point. The lead detective finally continues the brief, and I listen while I scan the room. “Security detail downstairs said the family was out trick or treatin. The mayor was up here alone... the killer may have come through the skyline.” His words are finalized by the click and flash of one of the crime scene analyst’s cameras.  I look up to the skyline to try to see if there’s any cracks or smudges on the glass... but if there are, they’re too small to see from here.  Though, my attention catches something else. Batman is moving from the wall toward a seemingly unnoticed spot on the floor, his face retaining all of that stone-faced coldness that seems to be the baseline of his persona. With a new curiosity, I follow behind him. The vigilante stands silently in front of it as I walk up beside him. He eyes me before glancing down at it, observing it. I look down too. It’s a strangely shaped bloodstain, an outline of something with a right angle. I crouch down as I retrieve my small flashlight from my jacket pocket and click it on. With my light shining on it, I can see little streaks from where it seems like whatever object left this slid against the floor a little bit, as if thrown or dropped. My mind goes to the possibility that Mitchell dropped this when he was attacked... but then why would it be bloody? Would the killer really have the ability to finish the job while injured and still manage to not get their blood anywhere on the crime scene? I guess their blood could be here too, but from what I’ve seen, the patterns don’t really match up if it was coming from two different people. Another odd thing is that the blood here is darker than the rest, meaning whatever this event was, it was probably done sooner than when the thumb was removed.  I look up from my crouched position and Batman meets my gaze. Again, the opia is still there but I try my best to ignore it. “This blood is older. I think whatever left this outline was the blunt weapon.” He’s silent for a moment as if thinking, analyzing the stain with my theory in mind, matching it up with the various other small clues and blood splatters in the room... I suddenly feel like a rookie version of myself telling Gordon a theory and anxiously awaiting his approval.  Even more like the approval hungry person I was (and I’m sure I still am) a great flood of relief and pride washes through me as Batman gives me a small nod in agreement. Though, the stupidly pathetic wave of dopamine leaves nearly as quick as it came as he turns to walk back towards Mitchell. Well, at least he acknowledged me for a second. That’s a start, right?

I click my light off and pocket it again as I stand. A quick yet thorough scan of the room reveals no new information jumping out at me.  So, I follow the Bat’s example and return to my spot next to Gordon as the Lieutenant prompts the lead detective again. “You said there was a card.” The detective nods and turns his attention from the small notebook he was writing in towards a desk to his right.  On top of it are two things that look like they don’t belong in the usual clutter of paperwork and books.  A stiff green envelope with some small black writing on the front, and a strangely marked piece of paper with a plastic sleeve over it. “Yeah.” He answers as he holds both the pen and notebook in one hand and grabs the card with the other. The man hands it to Gordon, and I move to stand a bit closer to Gordon’s shoulder so I can read it as well. ‘To The BatmaN’ It says in a scratched handwriting. It’s easy to see that it matches the rest of the scrawls here. Gordon is quiet as he carefully pulls the card out, his expression focused and deadly serious. It’s a Halloween design with a cartoonish print of a skeleton with its arm around a giant owl while he shushes the reader with his other hand. Something about the childish nature of it in such a gruesome setting makes a knot form in my stomach.  Gordon begins reading the stylized print on the front cover of it. “From your secret friend. Who?” Gordon then opens the card and continues to recite. “Haven’t a clue? Let’s play a game just me and you... What does a liar do when he’s dead?” Underneath that, there’s a line of strange symbols... some sort of code I don’t know the key to. I can hear Batman start to take slow steps towards us, see his dark figure approaching in my peripheral vision. He’s as curious about this as I am... and rightfully so. This card is addressed to him after all. I lift my gaze up and observe his features as he takes his final step a couple feet in front of me and Gordon. A sharp jawline with a slight bit of stubble and lips shut in a firm line. Even though I’m pretty doubtful that I’ll ever be able to guess who he is, I still take mental notes. “There’s a cipher too.” The lead states and draws my curiosity once more. So that’s what those weird symbols must be. Gordon hands me the card before he accepts the cipher page from the lead detective and holds it where we both can read it. He looks over it with confusion before he looks to me, asking me a silent question with the raise of his brow. ’Do you have any idea about what to do with this?’ Holding up the card so that I see both sets of symbols next to eachother, I begin to think and observe, try to find matches to the symbols on the card or some sort of hidden clue within them. However, there’s too many of the strange markings and I quickly get lost within them, like reading a very boring book with very small letters.  Gordon watches as I do this, holding up the page of ciphers for me as I strain my eyes and my brain in more futile attempts to find out the hidden code. His curiosity seems peaked at my attempt. I know that I’m probably onto something, but this method of trying to solve it isn’t going to work.  A quiet and frustrated sigh leaves me before I lower the card once again and give Gordon a shameful shake of my head.  I should know how to do this. It’s my job to solve things, to find the pattern. I can’t help but feel a bit disappointed in myself. Though, I’m not going to give up that easily. It’ll just take me some time, my own copies of the cipher, and a place that’s not covered in blood or has a murder victim in it. In response to my temporary admit of defeat, Gordon looks up to the vigilante, curios of what he’ll make of all of this.  “Any of this mean anything to you?” Gordon asks with a raised brow and turns the paper so the Batman can see it. I hold out the card in a similar manner and watch as the Shadow’s cold gaze flicks between the two documents with a mix of curiosity and puzzlement... but there’s something else underneath that as well, it’s like he’s just now seeing that the card was written to him. Under the controlled guise, he’s a bit alarmed... which is understandable. Nobody wants a killer to write them some cryptic riddle. A few moments of silent contemplation pass. Batman opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by a shrill voice near the entrance of the Study. All of our attention shifts to it. ”What’s goin on here?” Rasps the telltale half-screech of my boss, Commissioner Pete Savage. He’s wearing a white dress shirt, a dark tie, dark pants, dress shoes, and a black windbreaker. His short grey hair is swept back and on his face are a pair of clear framed glasses and a very unhappy scowl. To really drive home the palpable anger, his hands are placed firmly on his hips. Not only that, but Savage speaks in a thick Gothamite accent... which really just sounds like a stereotypical angry New Yorker, which makes his scolding even more unbearable. I’m really not looking forward to what happens next. I give a worried glance to Gordon, and he meets my gaze. In the span of seconds, we have a silent conversation with each other amidst the blooming chaos.  Me telling him that I’m not the one who’s going to try to talk Savage, and him reassuring me that he can handle this to where we both still have our jobs. Gordon then looks back to our commissioner. “I asked him to come, Pete.” He says with a motion towards Batman. Man, this really isn’t going to end well... Savage already doesn’t like me too much. I feel bad letting Gordon take the fall for this, but he has a lot better chance at getting away with this than me. Savage begins stalking up to Gordon as he speaks, and Gordon reluctantly goes to meet him halfway. I can tell that he’d rather be anywhere but here. “This is a crime scene!” It’s Mitchell for christ’s sakes, I got the press downstairs!” Savage scolds as he points at the body, his furious eyes staying fixed on Gordon. “Ya know, Jim, I cut you a lotta slack cuz we got history. But this-” He pauses to point over at Batman. “Is way over the line!” The bat in question doesn’t seem too perturbed with the situation... instead it looks like he’s deep in thought as he keeps scanning his eyes over the body. I wish I could ignore conflict as good as he seems to be able to, but I’m still painfully aware of the arguing going on a couple feet away from me. “Kid, c’mere.” Gordon grabs my attention. My head snaps in his direction and I see that he’s holding his right-hand palm up in my direction. It take me a second to realize that he’s asking for the card. Once I do, I quickly jump to correct myself and hand Gordon the card. Savage subtly rolls his eyes at me. I wish I knew why he hates me so much. Nothing I ever do seems to be good enough, and I always have to work my ass off to even be slightly acknowledged by him. He knows how capable I am, he knows how good I am at what I do... but maybe that’s part of the problem.  He didn’t actually think that I would pass that NDIT, not within my first year at GCPD... I think that’s a big part of the reason why he even let me try. Not only did I pass, but I got 100% on my first try. That was the day his loathing began. Gordon silently holds up the card for our commissioner to see, frustration clear as day on his features.   ~~=~~ As Savage reads it, he begins to seethe with rage. ‘To The BatmaN’. “Wait, he’s INVOLVED in this?!” Gordon shakes his head, trying his best to remain calm but it’s easy to see that his patience is wearing thin. “No, he’s not involved-” “How do you know?! He’s a goddamn VIGILANTE, he could be a suspect!” Commissioner Savage continues his outrage and I feel bad for Gordon... I feel bad for Batman. Gordon invited him here, but everyone’s just been treating him like dirt the entire time. The Shadow hides his emotions well, but I know that if I was in his situation, I wouldn’t feel too great about it. I want to try to help. I push down the bloom of tingling nervousness within my chest as I leave my spot next to Gordon and stand next to the Bat by Mitchell’s body. He’s still ignoring the heated argument and his eyes are glued to the corpse. I can see that he’s deep in thought, but about what I can’t really tell... maybe multiple things at once, maybe he’s mulling through all the clues we have. On top of this, I can tell that he’s hyper aware of my presence but trying to ignore it. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll start scolding him too, or maybe he’s just plain weirded out by me. Either way, I came over here for a reason. I give a glance over to the two policemen and find that they’re still deep in their argument.  The coast is clear.  I look back to the Bat. ”I’m sorry.” I extend an apology like a friendly hand. It’s up to him if he takes it.  The sentiment seems to catch him off guard and he looks to me with a furrowed brow from under the cowl. Is he really that confused that I’m being nice? Or maybe he’s just not understanding what I’m apologizing for. ”The way they’re acting... they don’t have to like you, but they don’t have to be children about it. Gordon wanted to bring you, so it’s gotta be for a good reason.” Now he fully turns his attention to me. Soft blue eyes burrow into my own once again, but he doesn’t have to break through any walls this time.  I open the door and welcome him inside the cabin. There’s an added bit of skepticism inside the puzzled expression as he searches the house, pulls books off of the shelf and overturns couch cushions. I let him. A few moments pass and it seems that he gives up. His eyes soften a bit before they turn back to the body.  I can’t help but feel a bit dejected that he didn’t say anything, but at least the air feels a bit lighter between us. The agitated words have since raised into a hushed shouting and there doesn’t seem to be any hopes of the argument getting calmer any time soon.  ”He lies still.” Until Batman once again seems to cut through it all with his rumbled discovery and casts the room into an uncomfortable silence... again. So he must have been thinking about the riddle. Gordon and Savage are looking at Batman, Gordon like he’s caught onto a rapidly moving train of thought, and Savage like Batman had just insulted his mother.  Maybe he should. ”Excuse me?” His tone is thin, and it’s obvious he’s on the verge of losing it. ”The riddle.” I speak up and Savage’s searing gaze lands on me until Gordon re-directs it and raises the card up for the Commissioner to see once more. “What does a liar do when he’s dead? He lies still.” Exasperation fills his tone, but still he’s trying to be professional. We’re all cast into a silence once more.  Me and Gordon waiting for Savage’s move and Batman assumingly waiting for ours.  Finally, the raging grump of a police commissioner stomps from Gordon and over to the corpse, stopping on the opposite side of it that me and the Bat are standing next to. His expression softens into one of a pained sorrow as he looks at all the damage done, and I can’t help but feel bad for him. I knew that they knew each other, but it seems like Savage and Mitchell were closer than I thought. “Ah, Jesus...” Savage mumbles to himself as he continues to observe the state of his dead friend. It’s never easy seeing a dead body, but when that corpse turns out to be someone you knew... it’s always so much worse.  My left hand moves to nervously fidget with the broken zipper of my jacket and Savage suddenly turns his attention back to the vigilante beside me. His eyes are sharp and bitter once more. “This must be your favorite night of the year, huh pal?” The commissioner spits out, obviously turning his grief into rage for anyone he deems worthy of it. “Happy fuckin Halloween.” Savage finishes as he turns his hateful glare to me.  I can tell that he probably wants to start laying into me as well, but Martinez’s soft voice cuts through the atmosphere and steals all of our attention. “Excuse me, Commissioner?... They’re ready for your statement.” Savage lets his gaze go back to Mitchell. Again, his rage morphs into sorrow. After a moment of a tense pause that holds us all hostage, Savage tears his eyes away from the former mayor and fixes them on Gordon. He stalks over to the Lieutenant and stops just about a foot away from him before he leans in close to his face. “I want him outta here. NOW.” He growls the last word out and Gordon somehow still manages to not say or do anything in retaliation. Without another word, the ball of rage leaves the scene and storms off to deliver his statement, Martinez following at his side. Gordon is taking a moment to collect himself... I don’t blame him.  The room around us has become a bit easier to breathe in since Savage left, but the air is still dense and tinged with iron. A man is still dead and the one responsible is still on the loose. Gordon turns his head towards me and Batman. ”Come on.” His tone is short but it’s clear that the annoyance in his voice is not meant for us.  Regardless, I oblige and the three of us begin to walk the opposite way we came, down one of the dimmed hallways of this now broken home.  Cops are still littered throughout the area, and I look down to avoid them. That’s when something on the floor catches my attention and I can’t will myself to go any further... there on the dark wooden planks is the sticky red footprint of a child’s shoe... perfectly positioned to see the grotesque tragedy.  Soft yet thudding bootsteps trail to a stop beside me as the TV clicks on, red static buzzes across the screen. I look up towards the sound of quiet voices and see that a few feet down the hallway there’s a bedroom door open and mumbled words. Consumed by this pit of grief-stricken realization, I follow them, Gordon and the Bat going momentarily forgotten. I need to know what happened, and I hope to whatever god is out there that it’s not what I think. In the room, a little boy dressed as a red ninja is sitting on the edge of his bed and across from him a policewoman is writing something down in her handheld notebook.  In my head, the VHS clunks into motion and the past plays for me once again.  The lights in the cottage dim. The screen is all I can see. I was in his place before... looking at him, I see my reflection. An echo of the summer night that I come to dread every year since. One that tossed me out to sea and left me to fend the rough waters with storms that never seem to truly pass. I can’t look away as his tear glazed eyes looks up to connect with mine. They hold all the sadness of a devastated child.  One that’s seen something they were never supposed to and now has to live through the anguish. He looks so young... I hope he can find it in himself to still be a kid after this, to be carefree and playful. I was older than he is, but when my parents were killed, it still took all of those away from me. The boy’s gaze flicks to the right of mine and it’s only then I can bring myself to follow it.  Batman is standing beside me, a tower of darkness and mystery... yet his demeanor seems just as far away as mine just has been.  His eyes seem just as troubled... maybe he also knows how it feels.  Maybe he’s got a bloody VHS of his own. Gordon must have kept going when we stopped because he’s walking back to us from the way towards the exit. I look at Gordon and I know he can feel my pain, my grief for this poor boy who just had his life forever changed.  ”Yeah...” He confirms to us, and I feel the weight in my chest sink heavier. Batman’s eyes are still on the boy who’s since looked back at the officer in front of him. ”Kid found him.”       ~* THURSDAY, OCTOBER THIRTY-FIRST ------------------------------------------------------- The city streets are crowded for the holiday, even with the rain. Hidden in the chaos is the element, waiting to strike like snakes.  But I’m there too. Watching.  Two years of nights have turned me into a nocturnal animal. I must choose my targets carefully. It’s a big city... I can’t be everywhere. But they don’t know where I am. We have a signal now. For when I’m needed... But when that light hits the sky, it’s not just a call... it’s a warning. To them. Fear is a tool. They think I’m hiding in the shadows... but I am the shadows. I wish I could say that I’m making a difference... but I don’t know.  Murder, robberies, assault... two years later they’re all up... and now this.  The city’s eating itself. Maybe it’s beyond saving... but I have to try. I have to PUSH MYSELF. These nights all roll together in a rush behind the mask. Sometimes in the morning I have to force myself to remember everything that happened. The notebook closes like muscle memory.  It is muscle memory at this point. Nirvana plays in the background, loud enough to echo against the cavernous walls of the abandoned subway station, but soft enough that I’m able to keep enough attention on the morning news playing on the screen behind me and the events of last night playing on the one in front.  The music helps me think, lets me passively take in both sources of information without getting overwhelmed.  I’m still in my drifter outfit, the middle stage between Batman and Bruce when I can’t be seen as either. It’s how I spend pretty much every morning now. My way of winding down, shedding the skin I put on every night so I can go back to just being Bruce... though sometimes, I wonder if there’s even a separation between the two anymore.  ”..This certainly isn’t the first time Gotham has been rocked by the murder of a political figure. In fact, in an eerie coincidence, it was twenty years ago this week that celebrated billionaire and philanthropist Dr. Thomas Wayne and his wife Martha was slain during his own mayoral campaign.” My mind stutters when the news anchor says my parent’s names. It’s like a cold glass of water thrown into my face.  I try not to think about that night too much... but it seems that everyone else just can’t help but bring it up. Reporters are like vultures when it comes to tragedy, and it seems that they’ll never stop feasting off of mine. I need to listen to what else she says.  Keeping my attention focused on the news, I reach over and turn down the music all the way before allowing myself to look at the television behind me. ”It was a shocking crime that remains unsolved to this day. Don Mitchell Jrs’ political career was especially notable for his tough war on drugs..” The news anchor keeps speaking about the mayor as the elevator in the shaft behind me starts rattling down. Great. I’m sure this conversation is gonna go well. I turn my gaze from the television behind me to the screens on my desk, trying to delve deep into my work so maybe he’ll leave me alone. As much as I try, I can’t truly focus on it. I’m too distracted listening to him close the elevator door and walk towards me, the thump of his cane accentuating every other footstep. Still, I try to ignore it as I reach out and hit the fast forward button. I need to get to the crime scene. ”I assume you’ve heard about this.” He asks about the news story. Like usual, he’s pretending that nothing happened, like we didn’t just have a verbal war hours earlier. ”Yeah.” I answer him, not bothering to hide the shortness of my tone. I’m not gonna bring it up, but I’m not gonna act like I forgot either. I don’t care if he knows I’m still angry at him. I hear Alfred take a couple steps closer until he’s standing beside me at the desk. The monitor’s screen displays Mitchell’s body through a grainy veil of red, what my contact lens cameras saw.  Gordon’s observing his head with his flashlight, the lead detective beside him.  Picking up his hand and removing the bag is her, Detective Walker.  I don’t know what to think of her yet.  Gordon said that we can trust her, and it seems like she’s good at her job... but there’s just something about her that feels... different somehow.  The way she looked at me... I was just trying to size her up, see if I could trust Gordon’s word about her... but then her eyes locked onto mine and everything suddenly fell away. We weren’t in the signal tower anymore, we were at Wayne Tower, and she was there, locked in the empty dark home with me. She saw the angry little boy sitting there in his parent’s bedroom, wondering why the world was so cold... she saw me. I don’t like it. No one is supposed to be able to see that deep, not even Alfred, not even the people that know me. ”Bruce!” Alfred snaps me out of the trance. I look down and realize that I paused the video on a perfect frame of her face, the moment when she seemed to read my mind about Mitchell’s thumb. ”Bruce, did you hear me?” I blink and take a second to collect myself before I finally look over at Alfred.  He must have thought that I was ignoring him on purpose because he looks angry.  ”No.” I answer and look back at the screen. It’s still paused on her, crowned with the information my recognition software found. Alfred lets out a soft frustrated sigh before he repeats himself. ”I recognize her name... but I don’t know what from.” What? Why would Alfred know her?  I need to find out, I need to know everything about her that I possibly can. My curiosity feels like a beast, feral and unrelenting. Starving for every bit of information it can get it’s claws on.  I move to my monitor on the far right and minimize the displayed camera systems, then open the search engine and type in her name and title.  Multiple articles appear, but none of them are what I’m expecting.  ’Det. Amelia Walker and husband Ofc. James Walker Murdered || GCPD1′      ’Celebrated Cop Duo Murdered! ||GothamGazette’            ‘The Mysterious Case of Amelia and James Walker || GothamColdCases’      My breath catches in my throat... She went through it too, then. That’s why she froze up when she found Mitchell’s son.  I click on the first link.  ...’At approximately 3:28 AM, July 15th 2010, GCPD first responders received a phone call from a concerned neighbor claiming that screams were coming from the Walker Residence.  When police arrived, they found the bodies of Amelia and James Walker, stabbed to death in their bedroom.  Amelia was on the floor and James still lying in bed. Emily Walker, their thirteen-year-old, was on her knees at her mother’s side unharmed. The police have not yet found the killer.’... ”Oh... I see.” Alfred breathes out with a heavy sadness. My jaw clenches and I minimize the page. I can’t read any more of that, not right now... why are people always murdered in this fucking town? Why does this darkness have to spread so much, infect so deeply and take so greedily?... I’m getting distracted.  I look back at the main monitor and press play.  We watch the video silently for a few moments before I skip ahead to when Gordon’s reading the card. I pause it and then hit the print button.  The warm paper glides out from the printer and it’s a grace for my aching fingers.  As much as I’d like to savor it, I don’t want to waste any time.  The video continues in the background as I write down the answer to the riddle in silver sharpie, writing each letter above the symbols in the card- what I can only assume is the letter’s equivalent in the cipher. ”The killer left this for the Batman?” Alfred’s alarmed voice breaks the silent peace we found.  There it is, all my hope for a calm morning gone. I look at him, expecting the tension to soon break into a shouting crescendo. ”Apparently.” He moves his gaze from the screen back to me and I can see the agitated shift  in his features.  ”You’re becoming quite the celebrity. Why is he writing to you?” I glue my eyes to the screen once more and press the fast forward button.  I can tell that our conversation is quickly becoming a ticking time bomb.  One wrong move, and it’ll blow. ”I don’t know yet.” The answer stays on the neutral side of things, doesn’t comment on his first statement. It’s a bit ironic though, Batman becoming well known. I started this project to try to make a difference in Gotham, an actual difference, instead of our politician’s usual way of staying in good light and making more money... but I didn’t realize just how freeing anonymity is. ”Have a shower.” Alfred changes the subject with a tone of defeat as he sets a glass of water down on the desk beside me.  I expected him to re-open the festering wound of our argument from last night, but I guess he learned that saying the same thing over and over again won’t make me change my mind. I never thought the day would come.  He turns away from me and begins to walk back to the direction of the elevator. ”Our accounting friends at Wayne Enterprises are coming for breakfast.” What?? Those are the last people I want to see right now and Alfred knows it. Not only that, but they’re going to be in our house. Today alone I’ve had to deal with two assaults, a mugging, murder, and now accountants?? He couldn’t have even told me beforehand so I could have some time to prepare for it? ”Here? Why?” I try to find some sort of reason why he might ever think this was a good idea. It seems that my question was the end of his patience. ”Because I couldn’t get you to go there!” He bursts out as he turns to face me again. Oh boy. Here it comes again. ”I haven’t got time for this.” I say as I look back towards the red screen. It’s true, I really don’t have time for this conversation again, especially since he knows I still feel the same about it that I did last night. ”It’s getting serious, Bruce. If this continues, it won’t be long before you’ve nothing left.” There it is. Alfred wants me to go on my father’s route of change, to use money to become a mayor and try to save Gotham ‘the right way’. Maybe it would have worked for my father, but I’m not him, as much as Alfred wishes otherwise. I was born into this company and robbed of every major life choice since I was ten. I don’t want to be the ‘Prince of Gotham’ I don’t want to have my name and face plastered everywhere. That won’t help anything, not from me. This town is rotting, and it gets worse every day. Old fashioned politics can’t save it anymore and no matter how much he hates it, this is the only way.  Gotham needs Batman, not Bruce Wayne the hermit screw-up. With a deep breath, I turn my head once again to meet the eye contact. I want him to be able to see how much I mean this. ”I don’t care about that. Any of that.” His jaw ticks and I can tell I’ve struck a nerve. ”You don’t care about your family’s legacy?” He thinks kissing babies and being famous is my legacy? No, what my dad stood for, his charities and kindness, that was his legacy. Doing what he could to help Gotham, to save people. ”What I’m doing is my family’s legacy. If I can’t change things here, if I can’t have an effect... then I don’t care what happens to me.” His expression shifts as the anger seems to melt away and instead a grave sadness replaces it. ”That’s what I’m afraid of-” ”Alfred, stop. You’re not my father.” Fuck. I really didn’t mean to say that... I really don’t mean it either, but Alfred doesn’t know that. The damage is done. There’s a weight between us, one that bogs the air and makes him pause for a few seconds as the sadness in his eyes grows deeper. ”I’m well aware.” I can’t do it anymore. This conversation, this night, the accountants, the disappointment and pressure, the murderer on the loose, and that fucking detective... I just need to be left alone for ten goddamn minutes or else I’m going to explode. Neither of us say anything else as I look back to the screen.  Gordon is showing the cipher page.  I quickly pause it and press print before I get up and leave for the elevator. I don’t know why I always have to make everything so much worse.  Sure, Alfred pressures me to be someone I’m not, but he still raised me when no one else could... even though he didn’t know how to. He’s not my father, but he always took care of me like one. Drowning in regret, I close the doors and press the button. The freight elevator begins to rattle upwards and once my work-station is out of view my eyes close and my head thunks against the cold metal wall. I’m so tired and sore, and there’s a million different emotions going on all at once, thrashing, fighting, screaming, crying...  I just want to lay down.                                                                   ~ ​

[kingslxyers]

whatever it takes - cause i love the adrenaline in my veins

Bit of an update on Chapter 4 here. TBH, really excited to share - we're coming up on a bit of a turning point in the really slow burn. I had initially planned for 7 chapters in total, but it's looking more like 9 or 10 at this point. It does take a while for me to get chapters up between work and school, but also because I write in no particular order. Chapter 4 is probably going to be up sometime this weekend. Now, I hardly ever do previews of unfinished chapters, but here is a small snippet of the next one because I literally cannot help myself:

It was a question borne of innocence, looking to sate genuine curiosity. Daemon had always stood at the crossroads between desire and duty, toeing the line between petulant reprisal and true obeisance to his liege, to his house and to his family. He danced through the blurred lines, ensnared in a web of conflicting emotions.

daemon scoffed at the idea of religion; for the only god he worshipped was rhaenyra - the six years on Dragonstone starting from S1E02

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Thank you to everyone who has shown so much love! I really appreciate it! x

[widowsresolve]

Chapter 53!

Clint waited for the elevator doors to close and provide relative privacy before he angled towards Natasha and wryly asked, “Am I on track to guess the plan is to infiltrate the closest Roxxon building for a lead on that footage?” She reached past him to press the button for his floor before hers. “Their HQ is in Chelsea, I figure even starting blind we can be in and out within a few hours.” He nodded. “You thinking of risking a direct entrance?” “I think we need to.” Before Clint could respond she added, “I’ll get a veil programmed for you, meet in twenty downstairs? Business cover.”

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