Downtown Gotham. During the day it's home to a few of the cities poorer citizens. At night it become the home of clubs, drug dealers, and gangs. The streets are filled with gunfire some nights. The music from the clubs echoes into the air.
An apartment complex, empty and quiet during the day, is completely different at night. It becomes the execution ground of a gang led by one of Gothams' biggest, most ruthless names in crime. In one of the rooms is a man, his hands tied together behind a chair. He sleeps while 3 men surround him. One of them hides himself in the shadows.
"Wake him up, DeFalco." A gruff, raspy voice orders. One of the men nods, a well-built man whose large biceps might've tore themselves out of his shirts' sleeves. With one step forward he pulls his arm back and lands his fist into the mans' face.
Jolting awake from the punch, the man looks at DeFalco.
"Hey, what's the big ide-" He begins to shout when he realizes he's surrounded. His eyes shift around at everyone in the room. They stop when they hit the shadows.
"Who are you?" the man asks. He can make out the shape of someone in the shadows, but he can't make out who it was. DeFalco backed up against the wall and looked at the shadow.
"You know who I am, Winslow." The gruff, raspy voice said. At this point Winslows' eyes went wide with terror when he recognized the voice.
"Dear lord…" Winslow uttered. The figure stepped a bit out of the shadows, revealing everything expect half of his head. It was a man, about the same height as DeFalco. Any muscle he had was hid by the half black & white suit he wore. Even his dress shirt and tie were black and white.
His face, though stern and almost devoid of any emotion, was chiseled almost to perfection. His black hair was slicked back out of his handsome face. His piercing dark blue eyes were locked with Winslows' large fearful ones.
"P-p-please, ya gotta give me another chance. I'm beggin' ya" Winslow pleaded. The mans' face continued to show no emotion as he listened to Winslow. With a quick glance over at DeFalco the pleading was silenced with another punch to the face.
Winslow yelled out in pain once again. The man sighed, showing emotion finally, and locked his eyes back onto Winslow.
"I told you this was a one-way deal, Winslow. Fate decided I would lend you the money you need. Fate decided I should give you another chance to pay me back last time you asked for one." The man said.
"Please, Mr. Dent, ya gotta trust me. I'll pay you back, I swear. I just need more time." Winslow pleaded once more. Dent sighed once again as he reached his hand into the black half of his sports jacket. Beads of sweat ran down Winslows' face as Dent pulled out a large, double-sized coin.
One side was perfect, gleaming even in the darkness of the apartment. The other side was dulled and scratched up. Dent held it up to his face so that Winslow could see the coin, showing him the untouched side.
"You know the drill, Winslow. Good heads, you get another month to pay me back." Dent told him. He turned the coin over to its scarred side as he completely stepped out of the shadows.
While half of him was handsome, the other half was something from a horror film. All the flesh had been burnt off down to the muscle. Lips were gone, revealing all of his teeth as they gave this half of Dent's face a very eerie grin almost. The eyelid was gone as well, showing the entire eyeball as it gave Winslow a death glare of sorts. Jaw muscles could be seen shifting ever so slightly as Dent got ready to speak again.
"Bad heads, you pay." Dent told Winslow. At this point, Winslow was in tears. He knew what Dent had in mind as a way to pay him back. He watched with dread as Dent took the coin and flipped it. Both Winslow and Dent watched as it went up into the air and flipped around.
The coin seemed to be moving so slowly. It almost seemed like it was flipping in mid-air before it made it's decision of a side to land on. Winslow prayed it landed on good heads. And as if by some divine prank, the coin fell into Dent's hands. Dent merely looked down at his hand before showing Winslow the outcome.
"Sorry, Winslow." He told him. As if on some sort of cue, Winslow began to sob more and more. Reaching into the white half of Dents' sports jacket was a burnt hand, just like face. As he pulled it back out he readied the coin again to be flipped.
"W-What are you doin'?" Winslow asked. Dent looked at him, a smile on the only half of his face that could actually smile.
"I still have to decide if I want to kill you myself." He answered as he pulled out a six-shooter from his jacket. Winslow hung his head and cried as Dent flipped the coin again. He heard it spin around in the air. He cried harder when he heard the coin hit Dent's palm.
What Winslow looked up for was the sound of footsteps walking past him. Dent was leaving the room. The six-shooter was gone, the coin was gone, and all of the other men were gone.
"Wha?" Winslow said. Dent turned his head so that the deformed side was looking at him. Whether he tried it or not, the look of malice was stuck on his face at all times. Winslow could help but twinge a bit as he watched the jaw muscles and tendons move about as he talked.
"Fate has decided to let your end be a bit more…brutal." Dent answered. Nodding, he left the room. Turning to face the ground again, Winslow didn't have time to react to the large shadow looming over him. DeFalco hadn't left the room.
Outside the room, Dent walked slowly down the stairs. He listened very closely to the sounds of the empty apartment complex. First came the thuds. Then the screams. It seemed to go on for what seemed like forever. Half of Dent hated the sounds, thinking about what terrible fate he had laid before Winslow. The other half loved it all, enjoying every scream as if it was an opera to him.
"Just another night in Gotham City."