A/N: Sorry. I'm the worst at keeping stories up, I know. I'm rewriting this and changing it a bit, seeing as I just got a huge idea for the plot of the story. So here's a prologue, and I'll have the revised first chapter up soon.
Inspired by 'Jekyll and Hyde,' which I do not own. I don't own Young Justice either, but that goes without saying.
This may or may not be extremely creepy. :) Depends on your viewpoint. Hope you like it. Reviews are welcome. :)
"[General?] I'm happy to inform you that you've been relieved of your duties, sir. All of them." - 'Murder, Murder!' - Jekyll and Hyde
The smog is thick tonight in Gotham and the winter air smells of cigarette smoke, as it always does. It's long after midnight and Robin is standing in a narrow alley, next to his mentor, and hugging his arms around himself and trying to look like he knows exactly what is going on. Someone's been killed, he knows that; but that's just about allhe knows.
He stares down at the male body and decides that it is officially mangled beyond recognition; skin was torn from his face and the purple-grey flesh of his cheeks and neck is grossly twisted and hanging off in shreds. There are several slits running across his throat, so deep that if the coroners were to lift the body, his head would probably hang perpendicular to the rest of him. Not to mention the dried blood, dirt, and dozens of bugs covering his entire body.
Robin glances at the officers, who are buzzing about, looking for any evidence. The commissioner is going over things with Batman, and Robin is not quite sure what to do.
Outside the alley, cars whiz by, not noticing, nor particularly caring that someone had just been murdered. So they continue driving, honking their horns at the cars in front of them, even though it's late at night and people are probably trying to get some sleep, and the cars aren't even that close together.
Robin turns his attention back to the conversation in front of him. The commissioner is speaking, saying that the Gotham Police would take the case for the time being, but if they run into any trouble, they know who to call. Normally, Batman and Robin wouldn't be taking a murder case to investigate, seeing as they have other things to worry about, like making sure more people do not get murdered. But this did look to be an odd case: no murder weapon on the scene, no signs of a struggle, and apparently no fingerprints either. That, paired with the state of the decaying corpse, makes for one strange murder case.
"Yes, commissioner," Batman answers. "Understood. Keep in touch."
The commissioner nods and steps away, joining the rest of his team, which is perhaps one of the only groups of non-corrupt officers in Gotham. Batman turns to Robin.
"We'll let them handle it for now," he explains. And after a pause, he continues, "And when they reach their first dead-end, they'll call us. C'mon, let's head back to the cave. It's late."
The officers leaning over the body are grimacing, taking note of about three newly-discovered stab wounds to the discolored abdomen, as the two heroes make their exit, shooting their grapple-guns and swinging away.
Alfred Pennyworth is standing by the mantel, dusting the picture frames on top when Bruce and Dick come bounding up the stairs. The grandfather clock slides to the side as they enter the room.
"So," Alfred says, turning to face the two. "What crime was there tonight in Gotham?"
Dick is the first to answer, and he's straightforward, as always. "Murder. Down the alley by the old cathedral that no one goes to."
"Ah," Alfred nods. "And I don't suppose you know who it was?"
"Nah," Dick shakes his head. "The guy was mangled so badly, it didn't even look like he had a face left."
Dick takes a small pause, glancing at the clock. "I'm gonna head up to bed. Pretty sure I have a test tomorrow."
Once Dick is gone, Alfred sighs and runs a hand down his face as Bruce checks to make sure the BatCave is securely locked.
When exactly did Dick become so comfortable with this? When did murder suddenly become a common topic?
Alfred turns to Bruce. "I will never understand how he can talk about that so calmly."
Bruce only shrugs, walking around the sofa to stand next to his friend.
"I don't really see a problem. It's when you start enjoying talking about murder when the problems pop up."
Bruce lets out a short chuckle, which Alfred doesn't return. Of course, Bruce was only joking; but it just didn't seem like something to joke about.
Alfred smiles soberly and crosses the room. "True," he agrees, before exiting the room and walking upstairs to his bedroom.
"Very true."