The Chalk Girl

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Batman or the Dark Knight trilogy. I only own my OC, Eleanor Chalk and the other OC, Pastel, modeled after an awesome friend.

A/N: Hi again! First of all I would like to thank the readers for reviewing. Since we have reached way past the "20" mark, as promised I'll be bringing the delicious content. (Insert random evil laugh) Secondly, I wanted to apologise for the late update. I was down with sore throat and a close shave of a fever – thanks to the load from my intern work.

If you have any questions you have for the characters or the story, feel free to PM or review. I will do my best to give you my best answer.

WARNING: Flames will not be tolerated and certain chapters of the story may contain swearing, along with disturbing, violent and sexual content. You have been warned.

Anyways enjoy the story! :D

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PREVIOUSLY ON THE CHALK GIRL...

"You see the Boss doesn't like your work. Every time we fail to catch you guys, he makes us clean up your mess."

"AEROSOL! NO!"

"Gordon, its me, Blake. I think you might want to see this."

"Where's Pastel?"

"My guess is that she was the one spying on our activities during her vandalizing routine."

"Why Stickers? Why sell us out?"

"Because you went against our code."

WHAM!

"No matter… If they are so adamant in their naïve ideology, then they shall receive their due punishment tomorrow."

/\\M/\\ /\\M/\\ /\\M/\\

Chapter Three: Morality

Commissioner Gordon entered the scene, spotting Blake inspecting the body in the lobby. He strode towards the young detective. "One wounded and one dead? Are you sure we are talking about vandals here?"

"Checked their files, sir. The only one with a registered weapon is one of the dead bodies upstairs," Blake informed him. He stood up and placed his hands on his hips. "These Mercs broke in and butchered two young men. Obviously targeted them for their activities." Blake gave him a look. "You know how much they hate the Bat."

Gordon concurred with a nod, keeping his eyes on the body. "So what's the damage?"

"Face burned and multiple stab wounds on the left leg and right arm."

"You think one of the survivors did this?"

"At first. Then I saw the blood trail behind him and this." Blake bent down and pulled the collar down from behind. A large gapping hole had pierced the man's neck. "Bullet pierced through the spine and throat. Kill shot did him in before he could succumb to the wounds. Rifle found next to him."

"Suicide over bleeding out," Gordon concluded. "What about the other Merc?

"Knocked out by a paintball gun."

Gordon stared blankly. Blake smirked, jabbing his thumb at the broken weapon behind him. Gordon whistled. "For a group this young, they sure have skills."

"Yeah. But with all these booby traps, how could the Mercs have got in so easily?"

Gordon smiled. "Well you are a Detective now, I think you can figure it out."

Blake grumbled.

"So where's the other one?" Gordon asked.

"He woke up and fled upstairs. Put up one hell of a fight. I had to knock him out and tie him up in one of the rooms with my cuffs."

"I'll try and get him to talk. You go find out whatever you can on this group. If the rest of them are still alive, Bane and his Mercs will be after them."

Blake nodded in agreement. He knew where to start. As unpleasant as it was, he knew he would have to pay a visit to Mr. Chalk soon.

/\\M/\\ /\\M/\\ /\\M/\\

My head still ached from the hit. A groggy feeling filled my mind, but I managed to shake it off. My legs staggered, wobbling towards the light. My hands felt around the darkness, discovering a circular metal object. A doorknob. The door creaked eerily as I pushed it open. I soon found myself in a familiar lavender blue hallway. The walls decorated with family photos and wooden oak doors. I realized that I was in my old house.

A small noise caught my attention from the second door on the right. A thin line of light shone through the gap under the door. Carefully, I tiptoed, making sure not to make a sound. The wooden floorboards felt cold underneath my feet.

At the door, I reached for the knob. Hesitantly, I twisted it and pushed. The door was unlocked, opening with ease. Inside the room, light flooded it through the windows. As I stepped into the light, I recoiled in horror with a shriek.

A ghostly woman sat on the rocking chair with her head slumped to her left. Her face was chalk white, her skin shriveled like a prune. Long blonde hair withered, dangling in front of her eyes. The pupils in her grey blue irises were dilated. Her mouth stretched in a silent scream with foam and saliva dripping from her ghostly pale lips to the floor. On the pole beside her was an IV bag connecting to a needle in her left arm.

"M-M-Mother!" I cried, rushing to her side. I shook her shoulders and checked her pulse. My heart sunk into a pit and I fell to my knees. Leaning my head on her lap, my shoulders shook uncontrollably as I sobbed.

"...your… fault."

All of a sudden, two hands grabbed my throat and hoisted me up. My lungs gasped for air, as I struggled to break free from the vice-like grip around my neck. My mother glared with cruel icy eyes.

"It's all YOUR fault!" She roared.

"N-No!" I choked. Her nails dug deeper into my throat.

"Of course it is, you stupid child! You brought HIM here! If it weren't for you, I would still be alive! I won't be dead, I w-"

A sudden gunshot cut her off. My Mother – in shock - stared down at the bleeding hole on her abdomen. In a matter of minutes, a crimson fountain spurted from the wound, unleashing other unworldly contents. She screamed in agony and released me from her hold. I landed on the ground with a heavy 'thud' while my mother clutched her stomach. Her face scrunched into an expression of excruciation pain. I watched in horror as she tried to staunch the bleeding with her clothes, only to allow more red juices and slime to gush out from her stomach.

I was frozen with fear in my spot, watching her panic – knocking down the pole and her chair, tearing the IV drip needle from her vein while deliriously screaming and gasping. It was like a scene from a horror movie came to life. My will to cry out was lost in that frightening moment. My Mother let out one last bloodcurdling scream before crumbling to the floor. Her body shuddered before laying still. A pool of blood formed beneath her, staining the wooden floorboards. A cold silence filled the room, mixed with the smell of blood and death. My voice finally cracked with a whimper.

"You shouldn't cry for her."

A man in a tux strode into the room. He wore a burlap sack over his head, stitched poorly around the eyeholes and the mouth. His cerulean blue eyes stared straight into my soul, threatening to suck me in. In his hand was a pistol.

"I had planned to give her a more concentrated dose. But it seemed that her mind could only take so much," He casually remarked, placing the gun on the cabinet next to him.

With each step the killer took towards me, I backed up against the wall. My breathing grew erratic, heart pounding against my chest. Fear had seized me the moment cold sweat broke out from the pores of my skin. The man stopped right in front of me, sauntering towards my trembling form. Not once did his cerulean eyes break away with mine.

"W-Why?" My lips quivered.

He raised a finger to caress my cheek. "She was mean to you, Eleanor. Don't you see?"

The man crouched and leaned down to my ear, whispering in a chilling tone.

"I did it ALL for YOU."

/\\M/\\ /\\M/\\ /\\M/\\

"NOOOO!" I shot up from the bed, breaking out in cold sweat.

The grimy room was cramped and dirty, only able to fit two people. At the foul smell, my head throbbed.

"Man, that must have been some scary shit of a nightmare."

I turned to the direction of the voice. Beside my bed was my raven-haired best friend. She looked rather roughened up - her coat slightly torn at the end and her hair ruffled in a mess.

"P-Pastel?" I stuttered in surprise.

"The one and only." She grinned. "How are you feeling?"

My smile dropped along with my shoulders. The memories of the recent events hit me. As I retold what happened, Pastel held her temple in disbelief. "Oh God…"

I lowered my gaze, head bowed down in sorrow. "I tried to save them, Pastel, I… I'm sorry."

Pastel bared her teeth, rose up from her seat and kicked the chair.

"Damn it!" She cursed, turning to the front door. "You're not getting away with this, you dickheads! You hear me? When I get outta here, you'll be sorry!"

"Pastel…"

Just then the guard opened the door, annoyance written all over his face. Pastel would have lunged herself at him, if it weren't for our incoming visitor. Stickers came striding in with all her glory. A skimpy black tank top and lacey skirt, matched with high-heeled boots.

She nodded to the two guards. "You two keep watch."

They nodded and stationed themselves at the back of the cells. Stickers' entire appearance was such a contrast against her previous wardrobe. Her dolly-bird demeanor had been replaced by arrogance and greed. Stickers was no longer the innocent girl I knew. She was a traitor and an accessory to murder.

Noticing how hard I was glaring at her, Stickers replied with a lipstick-coated smirk. "Feeling comfy, Chalk?"

"Quite the opposite actually."

"Good. Because that's how you should be treated." She emphasized on her words bitterly.

"Stickers!"

"Stay out of this Pastel," Stickers spat. "This is between me and our 'leader'."

Pastel was appalled. The outburst was unexpected from the ex-Goodie-Two-Shoes. I looked hard at her, wondering how it all came to this. "Why?"

"Because I hated you," She said. "You were always a Hypocrite. Going against our code behind our backs. Everything we stood for was a lie. The Batman doesn't kill, but you… YOU were willing to play with our hopes and lives for your own sick desires."

"Who the hell filled you with that shit?" Pastel demanded.

"Bane. He told me the truth - About how the Batman was already dead. About how he was not coming back."

I steeled myself to remain calm. I had heard rumours of his death – a few from Pastel's spy routine. But I refused to believe that they were true. If the police had not given up on him, why should I?

"Then again, you are a strategist. Every thing is like a chess game to you, isn't it? You're nothing but a cold-blooded woman who would use others as pawns for her own agendas. Your kindness was nothing but a mask to hide that black heart of yours!"

"You sent those men to kill the others… Markers… Guerilla…Even Aerosol…"

No, YOU killed them! I LOVED Aerosol like a brother! I…" Her voice trailed off. "I didn't want him killed."

Then she glared again. "But all he ever talked about was you. How great of a leader you were. How cool you were! How compassionate and understanding you were… Like a mother!"

A pain swelled in my heart at the word 'Mother'.

"He did what he did because he wanted to protect what's left of our home," I defended. "He was family. I would never want to hurt him in any way."

"You're not even related to him! But Bane," Her voice softened. "He was so understanding. I was angry at first that he killed the Batman but he was gentle. He didn't mind if I brought Aerosol along."

My blood froze over at her love-sickness. Dear Lord, she was in love with the tyrannical terrorist.

My eyes narrowed at her. "Aerosol would never work with Bane."

Her head snapped at my direction. "You Shut up! I waited for years for his return. But the Batman never once showed his face after Harvey Dent was killed. Wake up, Chalk! The Dark Knight has abandoned us! The Law lied to us about Harvey's death and you're still hung up on what Scarecrow did to you!"

"Sticke-"

"Everyone should just go burn in hell!" Stickers yelled.

Pastel and I watched as Stickers panted, before composing herself. It was the first time she had let out all of her feelings – the bottled up emotions. Though I knew Bane was responsible for corrupting her thoughts, a part of me felt guilty for not realizing how she really felt. And so I made one final attempt of reason. Damn my soft-heartedness.

"Don't you get it? Bane is gonna kill us all! And he will kill you too once your purpose is done."

Stickers giggled darkly. "I don't think so… Considering that Bane is MY lover."

Pastel lunged at her, but the mercs held her back. "You F %#'in SLUT!" She yelled.

Stickers laughed maniacally. "Enjoy the rest of your time left, guys. I have a feeling you will be on thin ice real soon."

The Mercs threw Pastel to the ground, following Stickers from behind. Her laughter echoed from the corridor as the guards slammed our cell doors shut.

"Chalk, are you gonna let this Bitch just walk away?"

"She has an army of men at her beck and call for now. Plus, those thugs in the front don't look intent on letting us escape."

"So what do we do now? Wait for our 'Death by Exile' sentence?"

The both of us sat in silence for an hour, watching the guards and random passer-bys. The screams of struggling prisoners sent shivers down our spine. I scratched my chalk across the floor.

"I know that look," Pastel said.

"What look?"

"Your eyebrows are frowning downwards and you are scratching the floor with your chalk. That usually means you got something on your mind."

I kept the chalk back hastily.

A look of concern flashed on Pastel's face. "Did something happen after Aerosol got shot?"

I bit my lip. Pastel sat down next to me, her lips pursed.

"Was it… someone else?"

I gripped the hem of my pants tightly.

"Chalk, seriously. I know what you do when someone dear to you gets hurt. It was related to your PTSD, right?"

"Y-Yeah…"

"So tell me. You can trust me, man. I never left you after the college, so I'm won't leave just because you did something." Pastel smiled warmly.

My lip curled up at the side awkwardly. "What will I ever do without you…"

Slouching against the brick wall, I stared at the ceiling. The old light bulb hovering above us lit dimly. I took a deep breath.

"After Aerosol was shot, I just… I just snapped. Even when I got the Merc pinned down, I wanted him to pay for what he did. I wanted to kill him. So I stabbed him. On the right arm that pulled the trigger. I stabbed him again and again, slamming the knife into his skin. I didn't care about the blood on my gloves or his screams. I just wanted him to die. It was like something else took over me."

I lowered my gaze to Pastel.

"That was when I heard Aerosol's voice. He called me. Told me to stop. Told me that it was enough, that this wasn't what the Batman would do; this wasn't what I would do. That's when I snapped out of it."

Pastel's eyes softened. "Eleanor…"

I brought my hands to my face, sobbing. "I almost killed someone, Kelsey. I broke our code."

"But you didn't. You spared him in the end, right?"

I swallowed back my tears, sniffling. "You remember that time I told you about Scarecrow?"

Pastel nodded.

"Even after all these years, I never forgot what he did. I still can't forgive him for all the things he had done. I still had that old map of the asylum he was locked in hidden in my drawer. Sometimes, I had take it out and imagine the many tactics and routes I could use to silence him once and for all."

Pastel remained silent as I weakly smiled.

"I remembered how angry you were when you found it. You grabbed me by the collar and talked some sense into me. And when I didn't listen, you punched me in the face. You reminded me about the others' concern about me. About family," I chuckled. "Guess if it weren't for you, I might have done something real stupid."

Pastel's lips curled up at one end. She bumped my shoulder with her fist. "Now that's the Eleanor Chalk I knew back in college."

I smiled back. Suddenly, something outside caught my eye. I walked over, standing on my toes to peek through the small window on the door. A guard strolled by, holding a bowl of soup and a bottle of pills. Something shiny jingled from his belt.

"Chalk?"

A smile formed on my lips.

"I got a plan."

/\\M/\\ /\\M/\\ /\\M/\\

Crane sat on his chair, bored out of his mind. Upon slamming his gavel down, Bane's men escorted the pleading aristocrat out of the court for his due punishment. Adjusting his glasses at the list, a long sigh slipped his lips.

Jonathan Crane should be feeling satisfied, but he wasn't.

He had gained power. He had gained control. And most importantly, he was feared. As the Judge over death he had a few interesting cases – some amusing, others just plain pathetic. Special cases came by rarely, where he can take the punishments further than just 'Death or Exile'. His lips curled up at the thought. It was at times like those, in which he was glad Bane gave him full control of the courts.

Unfortunately, the thrill of watching bugs die grows mundane after a few weeks.

Crane rested his cheek against his palm, letting his mind wander. Drifting away to the past where fond memories were locked away in his mind. He remembered them all – the screams and faces of his victims. How Falcone trembled in his presence back at the interrogation room. How the citizens of Gotham would panic whenever Scarecrow came out to play.

Then he remembered her.

Eleanor Chalk.

Her father was his college professor and colleague from the asylum. She was waiting for his shift to end outside his office. A routine conjured by her father no doubt.

She would sit on that chair. Her head bowed in submission, eyes cast to her feet. Sometimes, her nose would be so deep in a book, that she wouldn't even notice he was there, until he cleared his throat. She was so timid and so obedient. Once when their eyes met, she would quickly look away to hide her blushing face.

"Do you like Literature?" Crane asked, out of the blue.

Eleanor would poke her head out of the book, shyly nodding and tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear. Crane thought of many reasons behind her fascination with the literary world. When he questioned her, it wasn't her reply that caught him off guard. It was her voice – A soft, honey sweet lullaby.

Crane soon felt drawn to her. He wanted to know more about this quiet little bookish girl. He studied every inch of her behavior, every detail of her appearance and history, burning them into his mind.

Over time, Eleanor had warmed up to him, in their occasional chats. Even when he was in a foul mood, Eleanor would try to cheer him up or assume it was her fault for his current mood. Despite his initial annoyance, he always noticed how her smile would send his heart racing.

It wasn't until Christmas did Crane finally realize his feelings for her. That was the night she confessed to him. Or rather, kissed him on the cheek before running off in the speed of light. Crane was far from flattered. He was utterly surprised and confused, having spent a week reasoning over her rash impulse as that of a young adult naïve of Gotham's harsh reality. He was grown man in his mid-twenties, and Eleanor was only nineteen. A relationship was out of the question. Yet, he couldn't get the girl out of his mind. And soon she was all that filled her head during work.

Innocent, quiet and surrounded by an aura of mystery. She never failed to keep him guessing. And when she appeared in his dreams…

Crane shuddered, a coil forming inside him.

He knew he had to claim her as his. He had to. That's why he stalked her to her house and snuck into her bedroom. But just before he could taste her lips, her mother barged in – drowsy, but armed with her broomstick.

Crane never liked that woman. She was dreadful and a pain to listen to. Though their appearances were somewhat similar, the older woman was the complete opposite of her daughter. She reminded him too much of his grandmother - minus the religious fanatic personality. In fact, Eleanor's mother was the reason why the girl stopped visiting the asylum. To add to insult, Batman had him locked up in his own damn asylum.

Crane seethed at the very thought.

So he hatched a plan, escaped from Arkham and dealt with her. All for his love. His desire. His sinful pleasure.

By the time he noticed Eleanor, she was cowering against a wall. Teeth clenched and tears leaking from her baby blue eyes. She was literally reeking of fear. His intoxicating aroma therapy.

Logic never bond well with the concept of love and lust. However, he knew that Eleanor wouldn't accept him as Scarecrow. So in the heat of desire, Crane threw away all logical reasoning, grabbed both sides of her face and kissed her. He swore he saw heaven when their tongues mingled and bodies collided.

He remembered her screams. How she moaned from every time he marked her. How she cried and banged her fists at his chest in anger, her soul fighting with the morality of their act. The way she flinched and her thighs pressed together were sinful enough to send a shudder down his spine. Along with a tent forming on his pants. Despite her size, she had fought well – thrashing under him, struggling and beating against his chest. If he had not gassed her earlier, Eleanor would have shot a kick somewhere very painful. She was aware, but dazed and frightened. That was when she was most vulnerable to be controlled.

As he climbed over and held her in his arms, everything fell into place. It was like a dream to him, when they made love in the bed. Hips grinding, lips devouring soft skin that tasted of honey and milk. And finally, reaching an ecstatic climax, they had become one.

He closed his eyes briefly to relish the moment. Taking a deep breath of the memorable scent of her fragrant shampoo.

Crane never wanted her to be touched by another man since then. He wanted her to look at him, and only him alone. He took precautions of course, not to spill anything inside or at least don a condom. There was no need to burden her with a child then. It was the last thing the both of them needed. But the first night… the first night was an exception.

Sadly, their love story came to an end when Batman tracked him down, knocked him out and sent him back to Arkham. He had never seen Eleanor again since that day. Now that her father had retired, Crane had no way of returning to his love. He wondered if she had moved on?

'Eleanor… My sweet girl. When we meet again, I swear I will - '

"Judge!"

Crane's lips twitched, snapping his head at the Mercernary below him. "What?" He growled. Noticing the next defendant behind the Merc, he sighed and pushed his glasses back. "Alright, what shall it be? Death or Exile?"

"Errr…"

"What was that? Did you say Exile?"

The man flustered. "W-Wha- No! I haven't eve-"

"Fine!" Crane slammed the gavel down, a cold smirk on his face. "Exile it is!"

/\\M/\\ /\\M/\\ /\\M/\\

"HEY! ANYONE THERE! OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!"

Pastel heard the door being unlocked from the outside before the guard slammed it open. From his face, she could tell he was very annoyed. "This better be good."

"Its my cell mate. I think she's got a fever."

The guard looked over behind Pastel's shoulder, spotted me lying on the bed wrapped with her trench coat as a blanket. "H-Hey there…" I weakly greeted, before breaking into a coughing spree.

"You gotta be kidding me," He grumbled.

"Seriously she's burning up. I wrapped her with my trench coat but she's still shivering."

The guard eyed her suspiciously. "And why should I care?"

"Because if you don't, Bane won't be able to interrogate her. And who will he blame when she's dead?" Pastel folded her arms, shooting him a serious look. "You."

The guard's face paled, the frowned in annoyance. "Stay here", he grunted, closing the door.

A few moments later, the guard returned, with a glass of water and a packet of pills. Shutting the door, he walked towards the bed, offering the meds. "Here, pop one of these and sl- "

In a split second, I grabbed his arm. The guard raised a brow and chuckled. "Oh no, I ain't fooling for this trick."

I blinked. "Trick?"

"Yeah. You're gonna try and seduce me, then knock me out, steal my keys and escape," The guard pointed out confidently, grabbing my hand roughly. "Well guess what, you little minx, you will never escape. Not with that kind of stupid plan."

I winced at the pain on my wrist. Looking up to the jerk, I managed a smirk. "Well I give you credit… you almost got it right."

Before the guard could react, Pastel knocked him out with the chair from behind. The man groaned in pain, falling into a heap on the bed.

"That's for locking me up in this stinky room," Pastel huffed.

I snatched the keys from his belt and kicked him off me. After we left the cell, I locked it from outside. Just in case the guard woke up sooner than planned.

Pastel grinned. "Nice. Now what?"

"HEY!"

We turned around to see another guard had spotted us. He aimed his rifle at us. "Drop the keys and put your hands in the air."

I dropped the keys to the floor and we did as we were told. The bearded man kept the gun on us, moving closer to the key. From the corner of my eye, I saw a red lever. The sign above it read: FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY.

"Move. And I'll shoot." The guard warned.

As he bent down to pick the keys up, I dashed towards the lever, pulling it down. A siren went off and every cell door simultaneously opened. The sign of freedom sent prisoners fleeing their cells in joy. The guard cursed and shot at me. I dove to the ground, dodging the spray of bullets. Pastel grabbed the guard by his arm and kneed in him the gut. She snatched the rifle away from his grasp, slamming the butt of the gun at his nose. The guard crumbled to the ground, holding his throbbing nose in pain. Amidst the commotion, footsteps approached from the end of the hallway.

"Come on!" she yelled.

I followed Pastel down the opposite end of the hallway.

If this was just like any prison in the world, there had to be a prison sewer system. It would be a manhole leading to the sewers. But it was outside. According to Pastel, she was brought in via a secret entrance at the basement. Unfortunately, security would be too tight for that area. So Pastel suggested an alternative.

Through the maze of the prison block, we ducked and ran, racing right and left past cells and offices to hallways and corridors. Running down our third hallway, the guards were on our heels spraying bullets. At a fork path, I turned to her. "Which way?" I asked.

"The right! It should be around the corner!"

Following her directions, we reached a corridor alongside the restrooms. On the left, there was a hole on the wall surround by a metal frame. "This is it! The laundry chute should get us out in no time."

Walking closer to it, a nauseating smell invaded my nostrils. I held my nose in disgust. "Pastel, I don't think that's the laundry chute."

"Huh? What are you talking about…" Pastel's voice trailed off when she caught a whiff of the stink. She recoiled in horror. "OH GOD NO! I am not going through that!"

"But it's the only way out."

"Chalk you know how much I hate germs and filth! I mean the cell was bearable, but the Garbage Chute?"

There wasn't much time for debate. Footsteps echoed not too far away from our position. And I had no intention of losing another friend. I took the rifle away from Pastel and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Pastel, you trust me right?"

"Erm, yeah."

"You know I cherish you as my best friend right?"

"Well, duh. What the heck are you getting at Chalk?" Pastel demanded, worried.

I smiled back. "Then you should know that as a friend, I can't afford to lose you too."

"Wha-"

With all of my strength, I pushed Pastel into the chute – head first, then torso and a final slam against her boots. Her voice echoed down the shaft, soon growing softer and softer. "Goodbye, my friend," I whispered softly.

The approaching footsteps and cocking of guns alerted me of the guards' presence. I turned around to greet them - Dropping the rifle, as a sign of surrender - raising my hands in the air. Under the long silence, death seemed inevitable for me.

"Stand down." A low voice commanded.

The guards lowered their guns immediately and parted like the red sea. A man in a brown bomber jacket styled coat strode in. I had to crank my head up just to meet his gaze. He was huge, towering over me with his size alone. The mask strapped on his face hid everything, but his eyes – confident and unwavering.

"Eleanor Chalk, I presume?"

"And I guessing you are Bane."

Bane grabbed me by my neck and pushed me against the wall. His grip tightened around my throat, causing me to choke. "You should know better than to challenge us, dear Eleanor. I could kill you. Crush your neck so easily with my bare hands." He threatened.

"True… cough… but since… ugh, I'm still alive… ack… you obviously want… something from me." I wheezed.

"And what makes you say that?"

"You didn't sent… cough… men after Pastel's escape… used her and Stickers… as bait… so that means… gack… I'm your target."

"You are smart after all." He released me, and I fell to the ground in a coughing fit. Stickers barged through the crowd, her eyes lit up in joy.

"Oh Bane!" Stickers exclaimed and rushed over to hug his arm. "Thank goodness you are here! We can punish her now right?"

I retched inside.

"Yes, I'm bringing her to the courthouse once the tumblers are ready."

"I'm guessing I'm riding in the front with you again?" She teased, batting her eyelashes.

"Actually…" Bane raised his arm up to her neck. "…There has been a change of plans."

In a flash, Bane wrapped his fingers around Stickers twisting it like a bottle cap with ease. I stared in shock as Stickers fell limp to the ground. Her head twisted awkwardly from her body.

"Dispose the body," Bane coldly ordered.

Two guards stepped forwad, picked Sticker's body up and left the corridor. I never saw her again.

Bane pulled me up to my feet roughly. "If you don't wish to end up like your friend then. I would advise to follow me without question. Do you understand?"

The shock from before dissolved like acid, into a cold, angry stare. "You won't get away with this."

"One thing you should know about me, Eleanor." His eyes replied with an aloof gaze. "I don't leave any loose ends."

/\\M/\\ /\\M/\\ /\\M/\\

Gordon noticed something shiny under the Merc's bleeding corpse. The blood had hid it well, but it was lodged deep in the wooden planks, splitting the flow of blood from the puddle. Pulling it out, Gordon realized it was a bullet shell casing.

"Wait a second…" He muttered, grabbing the stray rifle bullet shell Blake had picked up as evidence earlier. Holding the two bullets together, Gordon noticed that the bullet he found was bigger than the other.

He inspected the dead merc's body again. He wasn't sure but something seemed off with the gaping wound. Laying the merc on his stomach, Gordon pulled down his collar. He noticed that the exit wound was much bigger than the entrance wound.

His eyes widened in realization.

'Shit'

All of a sudden, a loud bang was heard from upstairs. Gordon swore and ran up to the room above. He slammed the door open and gawked.

The Merc tied to bedpost was shot execution style. Shattered glass pieces dropped from the tiny hole on the window behind the corpse. There wasn't a need to check the man's pulse – he was good as dead. Whoever the Sniper was, Gordon bet that it was the same Merc who set up the entire crime scene up.

Blake wasn't going to like this.

/\\M/\\ /\\M/\\ /\\M/\\

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review and no flames! Remember, reviews and favs are the writer's energy supplement. :D