Point Of Impact

Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, Floyd Lawton looked out of the car window at the bustling nighttime traffic; not oblivious to the unsatisfied looks of the drivers surrounding him. Personally, it was a mild feeling for himself. Some felt sour, incensed, in regards to the holdup, but Lawton wasn't one to make a fuss about it. There were bigger things he could've been tempered over, but the cool and collective nature of his character restrained his thoughts.

For now, at least.

Floyd was a money man, he could easily think in the form of crunching numbers. The passion behind his work was another factor. One hundred percent of the shots you don't take you miss, and he knew that well. Even if some of the things he put up with wasn't his ideal gig, he knew he'd get his favors out of it. He wasn't a nitwit marksman, he was a smart man. That difference alone saved him from being fed to the fishes in Gotham Bay.

For what it was worth, Hill was giving his stacks handsomely. On that end, Floyd couldn't complain. It was close to two in the morning, yet the night still felt young and in many ways, he liked that. Gotham during the day felt like a cesspool that had to hide what she truly was as if it wearing nothing more than a mask.

His day job wasn't the most interesting in the world, but it paid his bills. Hill paid a lot of money for nothing, maybe the man was an idiot or maybe he was just paranoid. You want the man doing your dirty work to be content, happy. In his line of work, he had dealt with plenty of employers like him. The whiny type, the ones that were more comfortable with issuing orders and then crying about not seeing the result. Still, money was money. It was green, worth a lot, and universal in it's meaning.

Lawton was driving toward the apartment complex that Melody Fairchild was living in. It was beneath him on some levels to be an errand boy, but so long as the money was coming in, he wouldn't make his irritation noticeable; not yet. From the radio, the voice of a late-night radio show host was talking about the latest events in the city.

It was a woman talking, Vesper Fairchild was her name and she seemed to be in her element. Floyd didn't really care for stuff in Gotham, the city was just a location he happened to visit frequently. As much as it was entertaining to hear about someone ranting and raving about some billionaire playboy prick; It just wasn't in his wheelhouse of interests.

The traffic eventually let up and Lawton found himself accelerating down the street. He was close to the hotel and he had to prepare everything that needed to be said, or how to say it even. The girl was an innocent, maybe she just missed work because she was scared to come in? Dealing with a boss like Hill would have made him quit altogether. Thank god he didn't go into legitimate life.

21st Schuman Avenue, Guisy Towers. Apartment B22.

It was far away from City Hall, that was the only thing of note he took from the journey. Well, that and the image of two bums fighting over a cardboard box several blocks ago. It would have been comedic, but instead, it was merely sad. Lawton shoved those thoughts aside as he parked the car outside of the apartment building. From there, he gazed up.

Guisy Towers was just like the other apartment complexes he had run across; run-down, with ugly brickwork and a face that had a layer of paint peeling from like acne. He would make this quick, the thought of staying any longer than he needed to in this dirty street wasn't a pleasant one. Lawton pushed open the dirty glass doors that led into the apartment lobby.

To his right were a grid of apartment mailboxes, each labeled with a fading paper sticker. Each row of boxes meant a floor of the apartment complex. He found B22 in the middle row and took a moment to read the name….

Isaac Summers.

Maybe she was living with a boyfriend? He didn't think too much on it and moved for the stairwell at the end of the narrow lobby hallway. Each brown stair screeched under the pressure; another sign, in case it wasn't obvious already, of the lack of flourishment. God, he hated Gotham.

The place stunk like shit. Lawton knew that a cigarette would make for a better smell. He shook his carton until one stuck out, enough for him to pull it free. Taking the lighter from his jacket pocket, he lit the cigarette quickly. Floyd sucked in a breath and pulled the cigarette away, pursing his lips to blow a dense cloud of nicotine ahead of him. Now that was his kind of smell.

"Anyone ever tell you that there's no smoking in this building?" A voice called out before a rough hand clasped onto his shoulder. Floyd frowned as he turned, meeting the face of an older man; about forty years of age, a lean and willowy build. If he had to guess, the guy had to be a boxer or something of the sort.

"No, I didn't see the sign. Hell, I don't think I can see shit in this place." Floyd merely smiled, taking the grubby hand off of his shoulder. "I don't see why I can't finish my cigarette in peace. Come on, it's only one."

"Sign at the entrance said no smoking," The man continued to frown. "Hell, what's a pretty boy like you doing in this part of town anyway?"

"Visiting some friends," Floyd threw the cigarette on the ground, stomping it under the heel of his boot. "Why, you got a problem with that?"

"I got a problem with guys dressed up in fancy clothes, saying they're visiting friends." The man's jaw tightened as Floyd leaned against the wall. "Everyone knows that the rich don't belong down here. I saw that car you arrived in too, got some money on you then?"

"When it counts," Floyd replied as he leaned away from the wall, letting out a small sigh. "You got one hell of a nerve to be picking a problem with someone you don't even know. I suggest you just walk away from here and let me visit my friend. He's just a friend from college, that's all."

"Look a little old to be in college, don't you?" The man replied as he stepped close, glaring down at the younger man. There was a loud chuckle as he frowned. "You have some nerve on you, rich guy and all, coming down here. What are you doing here really? Just coming to have a laugh on all us living down here?"

"Jesus, man. That's not what I'm doing at all." Floyd only chuckled as he placed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Come on, have a smoke?"

Without warning, the man lunged forward in an attempt to attack. But, Floyd was quicker on the draw, producing his pistol and aiming toward him. The older man began to step away, yet the glare on his face remained. Floyd could barely stifle a chuckle as he gestured for the man to move back by waving his gun quietly.

"Pal, I just wanted to come over here and visit a friend. I don't know what your deal is, but you really picked a game with the wrong person. Listen, do you have kids?"

"A daughter, why?"

"Well," Floyd sighed as his finger hovered over the trigger. "If you don't get back in your shitty little apartment then I'll be forced to find her and blow her pretty little head off. Is that something you're okay with, or are you going to have even more of a problem with me being here?"

He could see the man's audible nervousness. That was maybe one of the best parts of the job, watching as the wannabe tough guys visibly stopped in their tracks at someone who knew more than they did. Without so much as a word, Floyd watched as the older man raised his hands and began to walk back toward his room. Thank god he didn't have to waste a round on that piece of trash.

"Guess I got my answer," Floyd chuckled to himself before tucking the gun back into his waistband. He began to move down the hallway but stopped when he felt resistance as he tried to lift his boot to the next step. Great, fucking gum stuck to his stole. Just what he needed.

The gum's elasticity broke when he lifted his boot higher. Rubbing the boot against the carpet would do the trick. Once his boot looked clear enough, he moved on down the hallway…

B20….B21…B22. The metal plaque on each faded door were hard to tell apart, but he got there eventually. Glad to be wearing gloves, Floyd knocked on the door. Part of him wondered how much force it would take to break the wood, not much he imagined, given the state of it.

The door whined on its hinges, a metal chain stopped the door from opening more than a few inches. Wide-eyed through the gap was a lanky man, maybe a couple of years younger than himself. He turned a pale white already.

"Isaac Summers?"

"Yeah?" The man nervously replied. "W-Who's, uh…Who's asking?"

"No one you've heard of," Floyd managed a chuckle, running his hand through his hair. "Say…is Melody Fairchild in?"

"Who?"

He didn't have the wrong address. Maybe this guy thought he was being noble, the sight of him would make it look like she was involved in some bad business. Maybe that was why Hill of all people had hired him. But, that wasn't the truth. No, he was just being a major pain in his fucking ass.

"I was sent by her boss," Floyd managed a smile as he leaned against the wall. "He's just wanting to know why she's not been in."

"S-Sorry mister, but you have the wrong apartment…."

The man went to shut the door, not expecting Floyd's hand to grip it and hold it in place. Maybe his day would be a bit more interesting. Floyd huffed out a small noise of amusement, sighing as he admired the shine of his boots. He really didn't want to get them dirty tonight, but if he did….oh well

"No, I think this is the exact place. You want to go get her or do I need to break this door down and get her myself?" Floyd casually smiled at the man.

"I-I don't know anyone named Melody. I-I swear."

"And I don't believe you."

Before the man had time to realize, Floyd removed his hand from the door and planted his foot into the center of the door. The sudden force caused the metal chain to snap and fly open. "You're going to have to do some talking, or else I'm going to start breaking things."

"I-I don't know anyone named Melody Fairchild!" Isaac Summers crawled back as Floyd closed the door behind him. "If this is some prank that Jim put you up to, then this isn't funny."

"I'm not a prank, buddy. Do you really believe I'm a prank?" Floyd asked as he walked forward and knelt next to the young man. "Give me your phone."

"What?"

"I said give me your phone. Now."

The young kid looked like he was going to piss himself. Quickly, he scrambled to pull out the smartphone and within a moment, he unlocked it and carefully slid it across the floor. Floyd picked it up and quickly scrolled through the man's phone. The only people listed under the letter M was Mother. Well, shit. It looked like he was actually telling the truth. Still, checking a second time for good measure wouldn't be a bad thing.

Throwing the phone back to him, Floyd began to move around the apartment. The first door he found was the first one he shoved open, it was the bedroom of Isaac Summers; a single bed and a few posters on the wall, ranging from alternative rock outfit Mucous Membrane and lounge singer Dean Kincaid. The kid had good taste. It was neat and tidy with no mess on the floor, it almost made the apartment look worth the place. Hell, there was no way that a woman was hiding here. He checked the kitchen next, no one there.

Checking one last time, he stepped into the bathroom and pulled his bright pink shower curtains aside. Nothing there beside some grime and bath suds. Now, this was embarrassing, if the kid said another word then it was possible that the cultivated reputation that Floyd had built up would be gone, just like that. Then again, who would this loser tell?

"You tell anyone I was here," Floyd walked over and grabbed the young man by the collar. "Then I'll pay your mother a visit. She wouldn't like that, would she?"

"I won't!" Summers cried out as he looked him in the eye. "I don't even know who you are!"

"Good. My best piece of advice right now? Go back to whatever hole you came from and stay there. This place isn't safe for someone like you. Either that or get a gun. But we both know you can't hold one." Floyd grinned, not saying anything else as he moved toward the door. He made sure to shut it behind him as he left.

Gotham City street air never tasted so great when he finally stopped holding his breath. His nest move was to dial in Hill's number and wait for the ringing to stop.

"Is it done?" Hill's voice peaked with interest. It almost amused Floyd how much he could read the excitement in his voice. Part of him wondered how well he'd handle bad news when compared to how he handled the good

"Not in the slightest," Lawton merely replied as he walked down the stairs. "Looks like you've got yourself a temporary secretary."

"Excuse me?" He sounded hurt by the phrase.

"The address she gave you. I knocked on the door and it's just some random kid who never harmed anyone a day in his life. I checked the place over, she wasn't there."

"What are you saying?"

"That you hired someone who doesn't even exist."

The address was just an apartment, even so, Batman took no chances. The apartment building's security was too low grade, it was the perfect place to lay a trap. That was his only logical thought since the cipher had been revealed to be an address, why send him to the address of an ex-security guard for City Hall? What was he hoping for him to find there?

Over the week, Riddler's entire modus operandi had changed just like that. Riddler had gone from a heist at City Hall, to murdering a man only responsible for his enemy's movement of money. He must have thought he was above the law absolutely, when in reality; he was just nothing another criminal with delusions of grandeur and a sense of superiority that would mark his end.

A sweep of the surrounding rooftop and alleyways eased his paranoia somewhat. Batman was dealing with a man he now knew by name and skill, but nothing else. He could pose as anyone if need be. An invisible enemy was far more deadly than any known one.

The address was located within a dense tower block and he could see the red fire escapes that snaked up the side of the tower in pairs. Batman glided from his perch atop of a gargoyle, to no surprise, Gotham was due for another night of torrent wind. Despite the chill that rode its winds, it helped propel him forward through the night.

"According to the schematic, sir. The apartment of Stanley Fritz is located on the third floor." Alfred insisted through his earpiece.

Batman forced his body down, cutting through the air as he descended. A thrust of his body allowed his cape to billow and he canceled his glide just before he reached the fire escape, allowing him to free fall for a moment before his hands grabbed hold of the fire escape railing. Pain spiked in his shoulder, Batman bit back the urge to acknowledge the sensation with a grunt. He was young, he would heal. Nevertheless, he pulled himself up and over. Once he was up, he approached the window with slow footsteps, making sure never to make a sound.

He could never leave anything to chance. The Riddler's actions, while deranged and spontaneous, were all connected in some way. In the time since the murder of Clayton Reed, he had been thinking of the endgame. Riddler planned months ahead of the heist, he had maintained his anonymity. So far, he had been advancing his plans with logic, crippling Hill's hold on Gotham and damaging his ability to obtain reelection. Batman would have removed the hard drive if he was the one intent on taking down Hill.

He would have left the drive in the hands of the Major Crimes Unit. Hamilton Hill would face prison and the reality of his actions and someone would replace him; for better or for worse. The Riddler saw that as the first act of his game. Where Batman wanted to sever the cancer that ate at Gotham, Riddler sought to erase it entirely with no care whether Gotham City survived his operation.

If the Riddler was still in the location or had anything awaiting him, then that meant he would have to enter the apartment as silently as possible. He would have to approach it the good old fashioned away. His sense of urgency made him take larger steps, the pain in shoulder awoke. He resisted acknowledging it further.

Beyond the half-open window, there was nothing but a veil of darkness. As he grew closer, even the moonlight couldn't give him better clarity. He would have to resort to getting in there and finding a light switch if he was to have any clue as to what awaited him. The window squeaked as he lifted it just a bit higher for him to climb through. It was dim enough for him to make out his surroundings.

A tiny kitchen was divided from a living room by just a kitchen counter. He ran his hand along the wall to his right, then he felt a switch. A soft click preceded the light above him, twitching with energy before lighting up the room. The kitchen counter against the other wall was tarnished with blood spatter and on the kitchen tiles in front of the cupboard; a body laid face down in a pool of red.

Fists balled, his head twisted toward the living room. It was just as cramped as the kitchen and just as bare, beyond a TV and a single armchair in front of it. Tension left him as he realized he was completely alone. Finally, his gaze settled onto the dividing counter in front of him. Atop the counter sat a white envelope. Painted on it? A simple red question mark.

"He was here. And he left a note for me to find."

Confusion guided his actions, what could the death of a security guard mean to Riddler's game? Maybe his letter would offer some kind of justification. Pulling it from the envelope, Batman unfolded the paper to find a collage of newspaper snippets that had been glued in to simply say:

Where am I dumped, but where am I found?
Alone I am, but much like many
Now that I am rusted broken, soon to be hidden by the bespoken
What am I?"

Once he read over the note, he folded it up and pushed it back into its envelope and then into his belt pouch. He would have to analyze it when he got back to the cave. Riddler claimed responsibility for Stanely Fritz's murder, but what was the motive? He didn't want witnesses, but yet he had waited nearly a week to erase him. Not to mention, it seemed more like a de-escalation than anything. He had just murdered Hill's money man in a brutal fashion and yet here it was, a simple execution.

"Hm. This doesn't add up."

"Is it possible that The Riddler is changing up his strategy?" Alfred's voice cut into his ear. " It's harder to predict him when there's no apparent strategy in place. Then again, the murder of this guard seems to be out of order. You would think he would target someone of Stanley Fritz's status first."

"There's only one way to be certain."

Batman moved back to Fritz's corpse. The skin was discolored and upon closer inspection. Just how long had he been dead for? More than a day, less than a week. Batman caught the smell of the corpse's emptied bowels and dried blood matted the back of his head. Why would Riddler leave this body here for a day or two, then announce it to him? It contrasted with Reed's murder, which in comparison, had been announced by Riddler mere minutes after he was done.

Stepping over the body, he searched for where the bullet would have finally come to a stop. Batman moved a shattered ceramic mug's remains out of the way. The force of the bullet had completely compromised the mug's integrity. A handgun would have been too messy in the apartment. The bullet impact had caved in a neat patch of plaster. The angle was off, the damage the further in the central hole in the wall was far more notable. This kind of firing power exceeded the type of handguns he was thinking over.

Batman stepped back over his body and tried to align himself with the impact. Every detail was crucial, the blood spatter helped confirm the angle of the shot. The blood reached the corner of the kitchen, it helped him as he shuffled himself more to the left, until he could feel his cape brush against the window.

"The bullet's trajectory was off," Batman touched the side of his cowl. "If Riddler was going to shoot him in the back of the head, why did he stand at this angle?"

"Perhaps he came through the window?"

"To climb the fire escape would make too much noise, Alfred. The window was already open enough for someone to shoot through it. But, I don't think the murder weapon was a pistol either. The impact left is bigger than anything a handgun could do. The bullet destroyed a mug almost entirely. A pistol would have left at least something behind."

"A rifle? I didn't take this Riddler for someone who would use a gun after butchering a man with an oversized piece of metal."

'There's no bullet casing left here. Riddler left everything but the casing. I can't see it inside the kitchen. And I saw nothing when I was out on the fire escape the first time."

He had to double-check.

Batman climbed back out onto the fire escape, again lining himself up with where the impact hit. He wouldn't need a rifle if he was out here, the chances of missing him were minuscule. He found no casings by his feet. It would have to be done form a distance then. He turned to look out across the street, the nearest possible place he could have shot from was blocked by the corner support pole of the fire escape. There was no line of sight for him to even make that kind of shot

He glanced across the fire escape again until he noticed a small groove in the metal railing. Batman stepped back and crouched beside it, seeing if it could possibly connect…

"Alfred," Batman tapped the side of his cowl once again. "The shot that killed Stanley Fritz was made an improbable angle. To the police, it would like nothing more than a break-in."

"What are you saying, Master Bruce?"

The impact dip curved in a strange way, leading Batman to look up at the rooftops across the street and squint as he crouched lower to work out the angle. That narrowed it down somewhat to the further end of the street's rooftops. A trick shot possibly...

"I think Riddler is taking credit for a murder that wasn't done by him."

Grappling across, Batman pulled himself up onto the rooftops and began moving across them, raking over every inch of damp roof tarmac as he went. After he was done clearing each rooftop, he stared at the apartment fire escape again, trying to justify the angle.

"I don't see how there could be any different possible suspects in this murder. Riddler had an interest in City Hall and given his deranged mindset, it's possible that he decided to take action on the guard because he felt like that."

Batman stopped as he came to the second to last rooftop. A single chimney occupied the dark tarmac landscape, beside it; something glittered in the low light. "Clayton Reed was done with assistance. Even this could have been done by a hired assassin." He insisted, taking hold of the object and holding it up to the light. A golden metal tube, an inch thick, and as long as his finger. "Alfred, I have something."

"What is it?"

"Looks like a spent casing. Judging by the size, I'd say it would fit a sniper rifle."

It was a tangible piece of evidence that he would have to go over with Alfred when he returned to the cave. There was a sigh from the other end of the communications channel. Batman could note the frustration in the butler's voice. "But why would Riddler shoot a security guard from a rooftop at a nearly impossible angle and then go all the over there just to plant a bloody letter?'

The scenario didn't make sense. Stanley Fritz was not an inside man, if he had been involved, then he could have deactivated the alarms from the inside, negating the need for the skeleton key. No, this was unrelated.

"Why would someone kill a guard?"

"He was present at City Hall. Stanley Fritz was connected to Hill." Batman insisted. That was the connection. Hill. If he had this theory weeks ago, he would have doubted it himself. He knew that Hill had neglected Gotham, but now he was a blackmailer and money launderer. It would not be that far of a stretch to believe that he could have been a murderer too.

Hill had already told him he was fired, why murder him? His next thought was Hill himself. The blackmail had made him feel a sense of entitlement. He could take a life because he had been embarrassed by his guard's failure. His image as being untouchable had first been usurped at City Hall.

"Hill could have ordered it. He was embarrassed by Fritz's perceived failure."

"Jesus," Alfred sighed. "Do you think he could have?"

"It's a possibility. He has the means and the motive based on what we've discovered."

"The improbable angle and the confusion of the crime scene would be enough to turn it into a cold case."

"Well done, sir. What's next?"

"He left a riddle for me. I need to solve it."

Where am I dumped, but where am I found?
Alone I am, but much like many
Now that I am rusted broken, soon to be hidden by the bespoken
What am I?"

It was a clue about The Riddler himself. A man who despised the rich. A man who could not stomach to work beneath them. Where would he have ended up to be found? He was talking about his origin, childhood was the formative years of any person's life. Maybe he was talking about a location again. Rusted and broken indicated something that had been in disrepair or shut down that would soon be gone.

Gotham was going through a change, almost every street had somewhere that was outdated or due for demolition. Riddler was deliberate with his word choice, his mutilation of Reed had been the basis of his theory that his enemy was a perfectionist. Riddler was raging two wars, a mental one, and a physical one. A genius mind needed some sort of simulation and what better way to do it then confuse and misdirect his enemies in the process?

Hidden. Bespoke.

Riddler had a clear dislike for the higher society of Gotham. They were the ones who had the power to change the city, instead to The Riddler, they had abused her. Dumped, alone, but one many. They would be destroying something old and rusted to hide it with bespoke. An abandoned building that no one would be using, that was due to be destroyed sometime soon, taking any evidence left when it was eventually demolished.

"Alfred. I need you to search for any pending demolition jobs in regards to old properties in Gotham."

After a few minutes, Alfred responded to him. Batman was eager to hear what he had. He had hoped this was a viable lead. There was little he could do otherwise and he couldn't bear the thought of a dead end. No, he wouldn't allow for that. There would be an alternative if not.

"I've managed to filter it down to just ten sites, Master Bruce. What kind of building from the riddle could he be referring to?"

"Soon to be hidden by the bespoken. Whatever is built on top is expensive. Try the contractors."

Another minute passed before the butler spoke again. He didn't realize how anxious he had become when waiting for the answer. "Now we have just three locations; Old Trinity Church, Timothy Dini's Home For Orphan Children and O'Neil and Son's Steel Mill."

"It's the orphanage." Batman was already moving again. Having pocketed the bullet casing into a pouch, he made no delays with reaching the Batmobile. His theory behind The Riddler was simple. He was an orphan, forgotten and neglected by the city. In his mind, the city had been twisted against him by the rich. He dedicated years to obtaining what he needed to, and now he had returned to wreak havoc on them for forgetting him.

"What should we do about Stanley Fritz?"

"Tip-off the GCPD to the murder. I'm going to find out what is in the orphanage."

"Sir, I would advise you return to the cave. We can analyze the bullet casing and consider the theories in regards to Riddler's plan."

There was no time for that. Their investigation had momentum. "He left a trail, Alfred. It's still fresh. I stop now and I allow Riddler to have the advantage."

"Sir, you cannot be certain that this murder is even related. You said it yourself, the evidence left behind doesn't add up. This is just some kind of wild goose chase that he wants you to do."

The emotion in Alfred's voice was obvious. He could it not be? Alfred had been the only paternal figure he had left. It would be ignorant of him to ignore his concern, but this was his mission. He was there every night to uproot crime from Gotham. If there was a one percent chance of catching Riddler via this lead, then he would have to take this as an absolute certainty.

"It was connected. Riddler is showing me what Hill is capable of. I think the orphanage is connected to Hill."

"Sir, you cannot be certain."

"There is only one way I can be, Alfred. I will be back after I've made that this lead is a tangible one."

Silence followed. Alfred no doubt had learned he would not be able to sway his stance over the communications channel. They would discuss it further when he returned. Batman shifted that to the back of his mind now.

He had to focus on the mission.

Selina tapped her foot erratically against the dirtied carpet. A thick blanket was wrapped around her shoulders as she tried her best to ignore the house's poor lack of heating. She already missed the hot water and comfortable beds of The Lady Beaumont.

Their temporary accommodation had been a nearby house; the overgrown lawn and dirtied windows meant that the place was good for the taking, she had made sure to put down some blankets over the sofa and armchair for more hygiene and comfort.

Across from her in the dark, Holly twisted and turned under her blanket, the sofa was just big enough for her to sleep on but barely adequate it seemed as she turned over to face her, letting out a huff of annoyance in the process.

To go from a luxury hotel back to their usual squatting in places no one noticed, it would be somewhat jarring for the girl, but she would adjust to it again.

"Why'd we have to leave the hotel so early? I thought the boss said we had another day?" Holly mumbled. That had been her most frequently asked question. Selina didn't like using the word boss, it reminded her that it wasn't just herself that worked beneath this employer. Holly had got the easy job, she was grateful for that at least. She knew that was the extent of things he had asked her to do.

The failure that had been her employer's fault still weighed on her. Selina never liked to be messed around, she wasn't a fucking amateur. She had been breaking into places since she was a little kid, really it had been her whole life. It was the only life she had.

"Something came up," Selina replied, partially hoping the quick answer would dissuade her from continuing the subject."

"You don't have to treat me like a kid anymore, Selina."

She was right. Selina hated to admit but she was right. Her motherly instincts had made her smother Holly to an extent and she saw nothing wrong with that. She wanted to give what life she could... But this job had been the first where Holly had been more hands-on, she was practically an adult now. Somehow through the past several years, that something she had never imagined she would see her as, beyond the street rat she helped escape from Stan.

"The boss changed the plan, wanted to go in and get the file from the bank right after he called. I made my way in and the file was already gone. He got angry and wanted us to get out of the hotel."

"But how was that your fault?"

She wasn't wrong. For the past few hours she had been reliving that phone call; thinking about all the things she wanted to say back at him, but she couldn't. It was obvious to her now that she wouldn't be getting out of this job until it was over. But how long would that even be?

"He was looking for someone to vent on."

Batman was becoming even more of a pain in her ass then she realized. She had expected him at City Hill at least, then he tracked them down and forced them to flee, now he was affecting her boss. Was she ever going to catch a break with this guy?

"I don't like it, Selina. I think he's a bit…." She whistled and twirled her index finger against her temple. "If you know what I mean."

That made her laugh a little, she needed it. One of these days, they would get enough money to bail out of Gotham for good. Just a few more jobs. Before she could settle into her daydream about Star City's hot and sandy beaches, her phone buzzed in her pocket again. She already knew who it was.

Selina got up and walked into the next room, the grimy looking bathroom. The damp smell made her cringe, but as she got her phone and answered, her priorities shifted.

"Miss Kyle," The scrambled voice announced, bursting through the phone with a sense of anger. "I do hope you're enjoying where it is you've made yourself at home."

"What is it?"

"No need to be sharped tongued. I'm offering you an opportunity to meet face-to-face."

Why?

He had been a distorted voice on a screen and through burner phones for the past few months. Why would he need to change up their dynamic? The sudden change in attitude too made her uneasy. What could possibly be the reason for all this?

"I thought you preferred to remain faceless?"

She couldn't imagine it. The screen made him seem larger than life. In some odd way, it would ruin her perspective of the "City Hall Mastermind". An undisguised voice might have provoked her imagination, the entire mystery negating any idea of the sort.

Now she was considering it. She pictured a squeaky little shrimp of a man, balding probably. His real voice, oh that would be squeaky. Her lips found their way into the shape fo a smile. Selina was mainly imagining how she would have been able to hold a straight face if he did look like that.

"Times are changing and so must I." Even distorted, she could make out her employer's snide laughter. Soon, she would be matching that snobby noise to a face she so desperately wanted to punch.

"What's the job?"

"Oh, all in due time. I will explain the specifics in person."

He sounded…eager. She should have been excited, it was a step closer to maybe her employer's actual goal. At this point, she didn't care about the rewards. She just wanted to be done with the man. This job would set them up well enough to leave Gotham behind. His usual deflection of her answers remained unchanged still and she wouldn't push any harder than she needed. His polite tone could never be heard clearly through the distortion, so she never knew what might set him off.

"Okay, .what's the address?"

"52nd Billhawk Street. Tomorrow at four o'clock. Don't be late."

And like that, he hanged up. Leaving Selina to wonder whether it was her nerves or the mold in the sink in front of her that made her stomach feel like it had been turned upside down.

Holly was up and waiting for her, having taken her spot in the armchair. The unbroken stare she gave her could only mean she expected her to start spilling everything. For a second she almost forgot it wasn't some gossip she could joke about, this was a sudden change in the dynamic of their entire employment.

"So… what's happening with the job?"

"I'm meeting him tomorrow… in person," Selina mumbled, moving over to the sofa and sitting down in its center, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she tried to clear her head.

"I don't like it, Selina."

"Me neither. But its the only way we're going to get this job done any quicker."

"What does he want you to do you reckon?"

Part of her wanted to switch off there and then. Selina was tired enough as it was. The news she had received stacked up on top too. The last thing she wanted to do was start talking about it.

"Probably another building to do with Hill or something." She didn't disguise the reluctance in her voice, a sudden yawn another sign she wasn't engaged.

"I mean but you're meeting him in person!"

"Holly, just get some sleep."

Holly lost her enthusiasm, an excited expression draining right from her. Iit made her regret her words immediately. A glance elsewhere was made before she responded. "If you're meeting him tomorrow then you should get some sleep."

She then gestured back to the rest of the sofa beside Selina she could sleep on.

The thought of sleep was alluring. She could feel the weight of her eyelids now that she started to think about it. But she always stayed up and kept watch for them. That had always been the way things went ever since they started living with each other.

"But I should-"

"You've done it more than enough times, Selina. Now get some rest." It was Holly's turn to snap, the lack of sleep combined with their sudden relocation was enough to justify the high tensions currently brewing between them. Some sleep would ease things out.

"Alright, night Holly."

"Night, Selina.

The thought of those hot sandy shores already coming back to her as she laid herself down and shut her eyes. It didn't take as half as long as she thought she would to fall into her dreams of a better time.