Gotham is amazing. Just sayin'. R&R!
Edward Nygma, also known as the socially awkward forensic scientist who talked in riddles, walked home after a long day at GCPD. His glasses were slightly askew, his dark hair ruffled. Detective Bullock was not that fond of him, scratch that, no one at the Police Department particularly cared for Ed, he was just needed to get the job done.
"Well, on the bright side, Detective Gordon doesn't scream at me to hurry up," He mused as he turned down an alleyway. He enjoyed walking down the darker areas to get to his moderate apartment, besides, most people would sneer at him if he walked down Main Street.
He came across a short man with a long nose, who stopped him. He looked like he was paid well, he had on a nice suit, and his dark hair, while slightly greasy-looking, was combed neatly on top of his head.
"Excuse me," He asked in a nasally voice. "Do you work with Detective James Gordon?" Ed raised his eyebrows, and replied,
"Yes, why? Do you need him?" Ed was slightly annoyed, as he wanted to get home quickly.
"No, I just needed to know that. He comes down this way to his house, correct?" Ed took a small step back and eyed the short man oddly.
"Who are you?" He asked.
"You'll know when James finds you," The man said with a smirk before whipping out a long knife and stabbing Ed in the stomach. Ed groaned and collapsed to the concrete in a bloody heap. The penguin-like man calmly wrote something down on a piece of paper, took out the knife, put the note on the blade, and shoved it back in the same wound, this time twisting the knife in Ed's stomach.
Ed's eyes glazed over with pain, and he started to wheeze as the taste of blood filled his mouth. Soon, the pain became unbearable and his dark eyes rolled back into his head as he entered the land of unconsciousness.
James Gordon turned down an alleyway on his way home; it had been a long day, and he needed a shortcut home.
What he expected to find in the dark alley:
Trash cans
Sluts
Gangsters
Druggies &
Thieves.
What he didn't expect to find:
Edward Nygma, the awkward forensic scientist who had a knack for riddles, lying flat on his back, unconscious, in a puddle of his own blood.
"Nygma!" He called out, running to the lanky man. Ed was pale, but not this pale. He looked over the long, skinny body. He was still breathing, and the knife was still embedded deep in his stomach.
When he noticed a blood splatted piece of paper on the knife handle, he bent down and picked it up, all while gathering the dying dark haired man in his arms.
As the blood stained his jacket, he read the note, anger blazing in his eyes.
I told you, detective.
Gotham is my home. I have to be like everyone else.
He crumpled up the note in his fist, and hurried home; Nygma's breaths were frantic and shallow.
Barbara Kean was not expected her fiancé to come home with a bleeding man in his arms. When he did, however, she said nothing, and got right to work, clearing off a spot on the couch for the man to lie down on.
"James, who is this?" Barbara finally asked once the bleeding man was settled on the couch, his wound wrapped tightly with a dish towel. James had the phone in his hand, about to dial the last 1 in 911 when he turned and said,
"Edward Nygma. Forensic scientist. Work. Found him. Alleyway. No time." He then put in the last 1.
"Yes, I have a stabbed man in my apartment, I found him in an alleyway, we wrapped the wound up with a towel to slow the bleeding." He explained to the dispatcher.
"Alright. Hurry, please!" He urged the person on the other end of the line, then hung up.
"James!" Barbara yelled, her voice frantic. He ran over to his future wife, who was kneeling beside Nygma.
Ed wasn't breathing.