AN: Like, Gothamites are hardcore, but the transplants are understandably gonna go, 'WHAT'. Either they adapt or they don't, and I wanted to see about one that didn't.

Nicole's never had a gun to her head before. She's only lived in Gotham for a year, worked for Oswald Cobblepot for four months. She's a college kid, she's never-she never thought-

"We're gonna walk outta here," the man's saying. "Any of you assholes try ta follow, and blam-blam."

She'd frozen. They'd told everyone to get down and she'd stiffened up, she hadn't meant to…

"Leave the kid alone," a voice snaps from behind the bar. "Mister Cobblepot's already gonna be on your ass, don't get kidnapping charges thrown in there."

Dove's nice. Well. Usually. Nicole's pretty sure she helped bury a body or two, but she's nice, keeps the creeps off the servers. Won't let Nicole anywhere near that back room, where Cobblepot sees...special people. Doctors, clowns, a weird green guy. That sort of thing.

"Shut up, lady."

"Just sayin'. You go now, you get slapped with robbery and property damage. You take her, it gets ugly."

The man shifts, turns the gun to Dove instead.

"Shut your fuckng mouth-"

CRA-ASH!

"Shit-"

CRUNCH.

Nicole feels the man behind her fold like an accordion, hears the crunching of his collarbones under heavy boots. Her first thought is that it's Gotham's local cryptid, but the gloved hand thrusting her out of the way goes under a leather jacket, and when she crawls under a table and peeks out, there's no cape.

She's heard whispers about this one. He's new, and more dangerous than Batman's ever been. The Bat, according to her coworkers, will break your arm and hang you off a gargoyle. The Red Hood will shoot you or worse.

He's not shooting now. He doesn't have to; somebody's rushed him, screaming, only for him to step aside and catch the guy by the back of the neck to slam his head into a table. And then he's moving, climbing up the man with the machine gun to cut the cord holding the lamp above him. The lamp comes down on the guy's head, but Hood's already onto the next one, kicking him in the chest to send him over the little railing and onto the dance floor below.

"Get that son of a bitch!"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Hood cartwheels-and cartwheels look utterly awful on a man his size-out of the way of bullets. Nicole huddles further back under the table until her ass is pressed against the bench. "Or are you just bad at wordplay?"

Scary the cartwheels might have been, but they brought him right up to the guy. Before Nicole can blink, Hood's flung himself...into the man's arms...and then they're both going down. There's a horrible crunching noise.

Somebody else-last one?-has gotten bold enough to get close. He doesn't have a gun, not that Nicole can see, but he's got a big butcher knife.

"Gonna carve my name in your face, bitch," he spits. Hood goes very, very still.

"S'that so," he says, no glee in his voice. No banter follows. "Been there, done that."

What?

BLAM!

Silence. That's what follows the gunshot. Then the knife hits the carpet, and then the man. He doesn't. He doesn't have a head any more he doesn't have a head any more HE DOESN'T HAVE A HEAD ANY MORE-

She pukes. It's just bile, because she hasn't eaten much today, but it gets all over her because she's still huddled under the table.

Hood's still here. He hasn't moved other than to lower his gun, but he's breathing heavy. A few seconds pass before he turns his head towards the bar.

"Sorry 'bout the mess."

"Think I'll take the mess over the alternative," Dove says dryly. "Thanks, Hood."

And then he's gone, back through the ruined skylight. Nicole hiccups, tasting acidic mucus from puke and tears, and tries not to look at the. At. At him.

"Okay, sweetheart, come on outta there…"

Dove's suddenly crouched down. Doesn't she see? The blood's seeping into the carpet and it smells and one wrong step'll be into bone shards and-

"Come on. We gotta clear out so the cops can get a cleanup crew in here."

But…

"Come on, honey...let's at least getcha into clean clothes, okay?"

She crawls out. Now that she can see everything, it's. It's bad. The man who had the gun on her is broken, and the guy that went over the railing landed on his head and there's blood a-and-

"Come on. Bathroom-Charlie, f'the cops get here, I'm just getting the kid cleaned up, okay?"

"You got it."

The bathroom is clean. It's white and there's mild elevator music playing in it. Dove parks her at the sink and turns the water on, yanks a handful of towels out of the dispenser.

"Breathe in...okay...this your first vigilante run-in?"

First vigilante, first hostage situation, first death…

She just nods, stomach churning, and blubbers out, "What the hell?"

"You get used to it."

"He killed him." And she's crying again and man, this is inappropriate but her family's five hundred miles away and- "I-I know he was gonna kill me but he just shot him like it was nothing and now his brains are in the carpet-"

"Sh-sh-sh." A wet towel dabs at her face. "I know. Hood...Hood's methods are a little rough. But he won't hurt you, I promise."

"We work for Penguin!" she manages to spit out. "He's a crime lord! And I'm just trying to get through college but what if he doesn't know that or-"

Dove starts laughing. It's not hysterical, or mean, it's just a little incredulous.

"He won't hurt you, honey. Trust me. I'm gonna get you some clean clothes out of the locker, okay? If you wanna get out of those and...pat down or whatever, you go ahead."

She leaves. Nicole gulps, tastes more yellow, and sticks her head under the faucet to rinse her mouth out. She doesn't wanna go back out there to. To see anything, or have to talk to the police. She wants to go home, back to Ohio where they don't have masked weirdoes and where you don't have to get used to somebody pulling a gun on you or to seeing dead bodies or anything like that.

One more year of college. Just one more year.

God, that can't come soon enough.

THE END