Disclaimer: Hey there, thank you so much for visiting my fanfic! Quick note, the character of Roulette is very loosely based on Harley Quinn, however I knew my character was going to deviate so much from the original version of Harley that I just decided to make her an OC, as I thought that would be simpler. In terms of the timeline of the Dark Knight trilogy, this fanfic is set about a year after The Dark Knight (so in early spring of 2009), and in this universe the events of The Dark Knight Rises have not taken place. Including this, the story is written kinda like a comic book/superhero movie, so there is definitely some suspension of reality required lmao. I also wanted to say that this story contains sensitive content and mature themes, so I'll include a trigger warning list below (if I miss any that you think I should add, please, please, please let me know! I would never want anyone to be inadvertently triggered from reading my story), but please be advised of that before you start reading. I'm also really new to writing fanfic (this is my first one), so I hope I'm doing this right. Thank you again for visiting!
Update: I just recently created a blog on tumblr for this fanfic, you can find it under the username and/or hashtag bloodredroulette
TW (these apply to the entire story, not just the Prologue): Explicit language, mental illness, self-harm mention, suicide mention, graphic violence, substance abuse/addiction, physical abuse, and suggestive sexual content.
Prologue
"Here comes the woman,
With the look in her eye.
Raised on leather,
With flesh on her mind."
-Devil Inside, London Grammar
American Pie by Don McLean blasted as screams echoed from down the hall. The smoke of a cigarette filled the room, a sickly glare from the video clips sending a cast over the fumes. "The money will be transferred to your Gotham bank account once the job is complete, of course. But proof of death will be necessary." The man managed to speak perfect English around his thick Russian accent, standing off to the side as a woman several years his junior watched the computer screen and smiled around her cigarette.
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye,
Singin' this'll be the day that I die.
Another scream pierced the still air, seeming to vibrate deep within the woman's bones. "Proof of death will be no problem." She swiveled in her chair to meet the eyes of the Russian man, her hands sloshing a cup of coffee around, as if out of habit. "Just tell Mikhas to keep an eye on the city's local news network."
The man laughed softly at that, scratching his temple with a finger. "Ah, will do, Roulette." He then cleared his throat, seeming to have more to say. However, Roulette could guess at what it might be, and had no interest in hearing it. Instead, she turned back to face the flickering screen once more, setting her drink aside. This freed up her hands to snatch the cigarette from her lips, simultaneously clicking impatiently to the next video clip. It looked like it had been taken straight from a police station's surveillance camera.
Well, I know that you're in love with him,
'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym.
"Alexei?" Roulette didn't bother to direct her gaze in the Russian's direction as she called his name.
"What?"
She took a long draught from her cigarette, red lips puckering around the small paper stick. The smoke, foul and beautiful all at once, drifted in lazy swirls from her mouth. "It's not that I don't enjoy the presence of your company, but I have some extremely, uh, urgent research I need to do." Once again, a screech of agony punctuated the space in between the two's conversation. Roulette assumed it was only appropriate, given the climate of the whole situation. It seemed to add a true authenticity to the age-old mob houses within Russia, one of which she was currently sitting in.
"Oh, I only had one more thing to say," Alexei stipulated, holding up a single finger in earnest. A small grin came to settle over Roulette's features, and she nodded in the man's direction with only a hint of hesitation. Looking pleased, Alexei strode towards her, checking over his shoulder as though he was afraid someone would enter the room and hear what he was about to say. Roulette highly doubted the words merited this level of urgency. However, Alexei turned back to face her with widened eyes, leaning in close. She raised her eyebrows high in anticipation. "What the hell is this song?"
But I knew I was out of luck,
The day the music died.
Roulette lost it. She threw her head back as howls of laughter escaped her, her mouth opened wide as if to scream. Alexei, still playing innocent as to what he had done to cause her to laugh, folded his lips in an effort to prevent his own chuckling. "What? I'm curious!"
"That was what you wanted to ask me?" Roulette gasped out between laughs. "Oh my God, ya fucking bastard! And no, don't look at me like that," she slapped his arm as the man's grin turned obviously more smug, clearly pleased with himself for making her laugh so hard. "But I'll tell ya, because apparently Russians have no taste in music." She clicked away from the video clip, pulling up the window which held the song she was blasting. "It's American Pie, a classic."
"Bye bye, Miss American Pie?" Alexei sounded confused even as he read the lyrics off, his Russian accent butchering the tune.
"No, no, just American Pie." Roulette clicked back to the video clips, the haunting face popping back onto the screen as she did so. "It's by Don McLean."
"You Americans are all fucking weird, you know this?" The Russian chuckled to himself as he leaned back from the computer screen, crossing his arms over his chest.
"If by 'you Americans' you're referring to the two ya know, then sure, honey." Roulette retaliated, taking a sip of her coffee, the bitterness complementing the staleness of her cigarette well. The taste itself seemed hollow in a way, and she loved it, her mouth left feeling old and rotting.
"Whatever," Alexei scoffed at her, walking back over to the door and resting his hand on the knob. "I will leave you to your…" His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted to the computer screen and all its disturbing images, "research." Another scream attached itself to his emphasized word.
"Thank you, sweetheart," Roulette popped the cigarette back into her mouth, front teeth closing in on it instinctually. "It's been awhile since I've been in Gotham, I need to catch up."
Oh and while the king was looking down,
The jester stole his thorny crown.
"There is a lot you missed, that city seems to breed the crazies." The Russian shook his head sardonically, pretending to look sad for Roulette's sake. She couldn't tell if his sorrow was supposed to be for the amount of research she had to shift through, or the fact that her home was known for the amount of people who lost their minds while living in it. Perhaps both.
"It is the city of crime." Roulette pointed out with a shrug, adjusting herself in the chair. "I'll fit in." Her hand strayed to brush the barrel of a favorite Glock she had sitting on the desk beside her coffee, the polished metal slipping under her fingers with ease. A city of villains.
"You will fit in because you couldn't pass a psychiatric test if your life depended on it," Alexei countered, a rather unapologetic smirk adorning his features. Roulette blew a puff of smoke in his direction to show her annoyance, although it did little to the man, who was well out of reach of the cigarette.
"I could fake my way through anything, thank you very much," she murmured under her breath, closing her eyes to quell the flash of hot anger she felt beginning to boil in her veins.
"What?"
"You can go." Roulette did not want to speak to Alexei anymore, and she refused to look in his direction as she heard the door squeak open.
"Bye, bye Miss American Pie." The man spoke softly as he closed the door behind him, arrogance at his own cleverness edging the words.
No angel born in Hell,
Could break that Satan's spell.
Roulette turned back to the computer, fingers tapping and head bobbing along with the song's beat. The gaunt face on the screen moved before her gaze, eye sockets seemingly filled with nothing but darkness, no matter how hard she looked at the footage. The smile was red enough to match her own crimson choice of lipstick, and the rest of the face was painted a stark white color. A criminal mastermind who dresses like a clown? Her mind churned as her lungs burned up in a cloud of smoke. Gotham has a lot to answer for. She clicked away from the video to a plain image, taking in the lurid purple suit and green-tinted hair. Oh yeah, she decided immediately, sitting back with a satisfied sigh, this one will be fun. In the distance, another shriek tore open the silence.
Singin' this'll be the day that I die,
This'll be the day that I die.
A few days later
"Anne." The sound of Katarina's voice punctured the dead air, her eyes narrowing as she watched her best friend slip out from behind one of the many furnaces scattered around the boiler room. Katarina had received a note in the mail yesterday - giving her a location and time to meet - which had been signed 'Anne Lynn,' the name of a person she had presumed dead for two years now. Given the sight before her, it was clear that was not the case. A hundred emotions flitted through Kat's mind as she took in the psychopath she called her friend, but she decided to shove all of them but relief and joy aside for the nonce, as the others would be much more difficult to sort through.
"Hey Kat," Anne's smile was warm as she stepped forward so that the sickly yellow light of the boiler room threw her features into sharp relief. She looked much as Katarina remembered her, blue eyes ringed in long lashes, dark blonde hair allowed to hang loose, and blood red lipstick applied with a careful hand. It was obvious these past few years had not changed the girl much, at least not outwardly. She must be 20 now, Kat thought, as Anne was almost exactly one year her elder. A fact that she had never let Katarina forget growing up.
"Are you alright?" It was Anne's turn to break the silence of the stale air, as Kat had allowed the pause to stretch far past the point of awkwardness while she absorbed the shock of seeing her best friend alive again. In lieu of responding, Katarina closed the distance between them with four long strides, reaching Anne and pulling her into a bone-crushing hug.
"All of us thought you were dead, after you disappeared in Russia. Me, your brothers, your parents… we all thought you had been caught somehow and killed." Kat heard Anne chuckle softly against her shoulder, returning her hug forcefully. "Where have you been? Why haven't you contacted me before this?" Katarina pulled back from the embrace, keeping her hands on Anne's shoulders and glaring into her friend's eyes as she allowed her anger at being ignored for two years to slowly melt over her. "I thought you were fucking dead, Anne! How could you do that to me?" Kat knew exactly how, of course. Anne had never been one for empathy or consideration - she had always been something of a bitch - but in the years before her disappearance, after she had gotten caught up with the Falcone mob, she had turned especially vicious and selfish. That particular change in personality had made the blow of her death softer for Katarina, but still not easy by any means. She couldn't help but wonder if these two years had eaten away at what was left of Anne's heart.
"I know, honey," Anne put a placating hand out, her tone unusually gentle, "I'm sorry. I wish I could've contacted you before, I really do, but I couldn't risk it while I was in Russia. Ya know what I do, it's way too risky to try and get in touch with someone you're close with, especially when they're on a different continent." Kat knew what Anne was saying made sense, but she could still feel the heat from her rage; she didn't feel like being reasonable, not while she was freshly angry.
"Seriously? In two fucking years, you couldn't have once found a way to reach out in secret?" She stepped away from her friend, placing her hands on her hips and wincing as her fingers connected with the fresh wound on her side she had received yesterday. Her slight grimace of pain did not go unnoticed by Anne, who had always been far too observant for her own good.
"No, I swear to God." Anne's voice had lowered in volume, doubtless in response to seeing Katarina's pain. "What happened to your side, though?" The girl's brow scrunched.
"Well…" Kat reluctantly raised the hem of the tank-top she was wearing a couple inches, gritting her teeth as the fabric rubbed against the wound, "some petty bastard wanted to kill me, but he was a pretty bad shot, so instead of finishing me off, he gave me this." Katarina tapped her finger beside the injury in indication. "It was just a glancing blow though, and I got someone to stitch me up yesterday, right after it happened."
Anne's eyes, which had been lowered to inspect the sewn up gunshot, raised to meet Kat's gaze once more. She was surprised to find the blue orbs wiped of all emotion, it was suddenly as though Kat were looking into a wax figurine with empty, glass eyes. That's new. Beforehand, whenever Anne had been told anything she found surprising, her gaze would betray exactly what she was thinking; it appeared that had changed. She learned how to hide her emotions while she was away. What else has she learned? Kat felt a spark of worry grow in her as she stared at the blank face of her friend.
"You were shot?" Anne finally spoke up, her gaze flicking back down to the wound. "Something tells me I'm not the only one who has a story I need to share." That was also unusual for Anne, who could usually never keep her curiosity contained. It seemed that several things had changed since Katarina had last seen her best friend. Whether those changes were for better or worse was yet to be determined.
"Yeah." Kat averted Anne's eyes, feeling a prickle of discomfort at the thought of filling her in on what had happened in the previous two years. Not only had Kat hooked up with one of Anne's brothers (before he was arrested, that is), her new boyfriend, Robert Stallone, was about thirty years Katarina's senior and a prominent drug lord. Not to mention she had taken up dancing at the Reno, one of the strip clubs Rob ran. There was no easy way to tell your best friend any of those things. But Anne, of all people, shouldn't be surprised, she knew Kat's past. Both of the girls had come from families where love had always been more of an afterthought and where money was the only objective on their fathers' minds. This had led both their parents into criminal pursuits, with liberal connections to the mob and other under-the-table business ventures. Needless to say, this sort of environment had, on top of leading to a slew of fucked up mentalities, also led both the girls to pursue illegal undertakings themselves, as it was all they had ever known. All their siblings, with one exception in Kat's sister, had laid the foundation for this following of their parents' footsteps as well. Criminality ran in the girls' blood, so Anne would hopefully be more sympathetic towards Kat's recent decisions.
"Yeah?" Anne prompted, ripping Katarina back to the present and the flickering lighting of the boiler room.
"Yes," Kat reaffirmed, "but now really isn't the time." Anne nodded at that, remaining silent as though she knew Katarina had more she wanted to say. "Why did you want to meet me here? I know this isn't just you wanting to say sorry for disappearing for two years - which I'm still pissed about, by the way."
Anne grinned at that, "I'd be disappointed if ya weren't, sweetheart." Her smirk widened as Kat sighed in response. "But you're right. I came here to ask if I could stay with you temporarily."
"What-?"
"I know I'm asking a lot. But this is my first week back in Gotham and I've been sleeping in abandoned buildings in the Narrows since I returned. It's exhausting, ya know, dealing with fucking rapists and muggers every night." Anne laughed bitterly as she spoke, clearly not that exhausted by it; Kat was sure she relished the ability to hone her skill at killing with people she didn't have to bother covering up her tracks for, it was probably a refreshing change. "But, in all honesty, you're the only one not in jail I could track down. Both Nick and Will got themselves fucking locked up in Blackgate, as I'm sure you know, and I can't find any of my other friends. My sources aren't that great yet, and ya know these girls are tricky bitches to find."
Katarina nodded as she took it all in. She of course knew that Anne's two brothers, Nick and Will, were both incarcerated in the city's penitentiary, and she wasn't the least bit surprised that Anne was having trouble finding her other friends, as they were most likely stealing, grifting, hacking, or murdering their way through Gotham covertly (Anne had always had an interesting menagerie of friends, Katarina being one of the more moral ones, which was saying something). But, unlike the notable assholes of Gotham, such as the Joker, Anne's friends always kept undercover, and were therefore next to impossible to swiftly track down.
Do I want Anne to stay with me? Kat pondered as she gazed at the hopeful figure of her friend. What will Rob think? While her boyfriend didn't necessarily care what she did with her life, he had always been a little extra protective, given his occupation. This made Kat inclined to think he may have some reservations about Anne, a contract killer who used to (or might still) work for the mob he was so often at odds with, staying with his young girlfriend. Thankfully, if Anne did come to live with Katarina, Rob wouldn't have to meet her, as he never spent the night in Kat's apartment; if he wanted Kat with him, he always called her to his own safehouse on the outskirts of the city. But that still didn't sort out the problem of Katarina's own anger at Anne. A large part of her wanted to give into the vicious temptation of denying Anne a place to stay, purely out of spite, but another, bigger part of Kat knew that she had to give in. Not only would she be safer with Anne sharing her roof (and Katarina would take all the protection she could, since some of Rob's enemies were now starting to get wind of her connection to him), but it would also give Kat an opportunity to keep an eye on the girl, which she felt would be best for both Anne and Gotham.
"Alright," Kat sighed resignedly, watching as Anne's face split into a wide grin. She almost looks deranged when she does that. Katarina knew it wasn't the nicest thing to think of her best friend, but it was true. Anne's eyes had always seemed to hold a violent glint, and paired with a huge red smile, it made for an unsettling image. A female Joker. The thought crept into Kat's mind before she could stop it - the bloody grin must have done it. She shuddered even as she tried to push the intruding idea away; that was absolutely the last thing Gotham needed. Kat had no clue how much Anne had heard of the Gotham news while she was in Russia, but she did know her friend well enough to understand that it was a truly terrible idea to tell her about the Joker, if she didn't already know. Anne would take it quite personally if she caught wind of someone more fucked up than her, and God only knew the lengths she would go in order to remedy that. This is why it's best she stays where I can keep an eye on her.
"Thank you!" Anne leapt at Kat, throwing her arms around her in appreciation. "I don't have many things, so I won't take up much space. I always had to travel light in Russia, and most of my stuff couldn't be transported on planes." Kat shot her a questioning stare at that. "Uh, the airlines don't really like people trying to smuggle assault rifles and penthrite across continents," she elaborated. "So that means I only have this-" Anne reached beneath the red bomber jacket she was wearing and withdrew a Glock, turning it around in her hand, "-and a few knives. That was all I could manage to safely hide in my luggage. The rest of my equipment should be arriving soon, a friend of mine is smuggling it to Gotham for me."
Kat didn't ask what sort of 'friend' this was, she knew better. "That's fine, my apartment isn't in a nice area of Gotham, so I suppose it won't really matter what sort of weapons you're keeping there." Katarina motioned for Anne to follow her as she began to lead the way out of the boiler room. "Just nothing which could blow up the place, okay?"
"Gotcha," Anne winked as she obediently followed, but Kat didn't believe her compliance for a second. She had no doubt that Anne would begin attempting to store grenades and napalm in hidden caches all around the apartment the first chance she got. Katarina made a mental note that she would need to start seeking out all possible hiding places for explosives and check them often, now that Anne would be living with her.
"Thanks. I'm guessing you came here through the back entrance?" The boiler room the two girls had been conversing in was in the basement of the Lee Holden Bar, just outside of the Narrows, but close enough that the crowd was always filled with clearly shady people. Anne and Kat would draw no suspicion, even if they would be exiting through the basement's back door.
"Yeah."
"Great, I parked my car around the back anyway." Kat checked Anne once more, realizing she had no bag with her. "Where's your stuff?"
"I left it hidden near where I slept last night. It's, uh, in the Narrows." Katarina saw Anne shoot her a glance out of the corner of her eye. "Would ya mind swinging by there real quick?"
"Yeah, it's no problem." Anne smiled in response.
The two wasted no time in hurrying up the steps to the back door of the bar, and swiftly locating Kat's car, which was only parked a few yards away. Once they had climbed inside, Katarina made good on her promise to head to the Narrows, driving past the city blocks at an almost-certainly-dangerous speed. She had always been one to see speed limits as more of suggestions.
"You need to take a shower when we get back to my apartment," Kat spoke up as she drove, sniffing the air of the car delicately. She doubted Anne had been able to shower since she arrived back in Gotham, and it was evident.
That made a laugh spill from Anne's lips, red splitting to reveal the pearly whites beneath. "Oh, for sure. Ya know how hard it is to try to clean up blood with makeup wipes?" When Kat shook her head to signify she didn't, Anne continued, "Pretty fucking hard. They're all I've had to wash with since I got back. They don't do much in terms of eliminating smell either, as ya can tell."
Kat made a noncommittal noise in response, focusing on the road as Anne directed her through the Narrows, to the spot she had stashed her belongings.
"Are you gonna tell me what you were doing in Russia and why you suddenly came back?" Katarina broke the silence as the car rounded a corner onto a pothole-ridden street.
"Just a minute. Stop here," Anne motioned to a patch of road right in front of an alley, two rotting buildings situated on either side. "I'll be two seconds." Then she was hopping out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Kat watched, vehicle safely locked, as Anne jogged down the alleyway, pointedly ignoring the leers she was getting from several men ambling down the sidewalk. Kat did her best to ignore them as well, averting her gaze and looking at her steering wheel, thinking she would just drive away if anyone attempted to break into the car. Anne could fend for herself in the Narrows, Katarina could not.
A commotion in the corner of her eye drew Kat's attention back to the alleyway. Anne had retrieved what looked like a duffel bag from behind a heavily graffitied dumpster, and it was currently slung over the shoulder of the arm she was using to point her gun at a man. God, she was in that alley for less than five minutes and she's already threatening to kill someone… she clearly hasn't changed that much. Kat chuckled to herself as she watched the interaction intently. It appeared that Anne was growling something at the man as she circled her way back towards the mouth of the alley. Then… Katarina was jumping in her seat as a bang echoed throughout the street. The man had dropped dead and Anne was jogging back to the car, a fine spatter of blood scattered across her face and presumably her jacket, although the red coloring made it impossible to tell.
"Sorry 'bout that," Anne apologized as she hopped back into the car, Kat unlocking the doors just in time. "But it's nearly impossible to walk into an alley around here at night and not get threatened."
"It's fine, just don't get any blood on my car seats, okay?" Anne nodded in compliance as Kat stepped on the gas, angling the car back towards the heart of the city, where her apartment was situated. As they drove, Anne filled Kat in on what had happened during the two years she had disappeared (although Kat assumed she left a great deal of detail out).
Anne had started working as a contract killer and enforcer for Carmine Falcone, the premier mob boss of Gotham, five years ago. It had been at her father's behest, as he had been grooming her for a position with Falcone since her birth. Anne's two brothers had been given to Falcone as well, both as enforcers, working their way up the mob ranks slowly. Neither of them, however, had managed to curry the favor that Anne did with the boss, as she quickly became one of Carmine's best contract killers, despite her age and gender. Her success could be attributed to a number of factors, from her natural inclinations towards apathy, a driving thirst for power and notoriety, a dedication to her grueling workout regime, and a distinct cunning that wouldn't exactly pass as smart, but was clever enough to make Anne a good manipulator. Of course, a large part of her success was also due to one of Anne's other friends, Pari, a genius who happened to make a career out of computer hacking, a skill which Anne had wasted no time in utilizing for her own benefit. This lethal combination of factors had quickly foisted Anne to the attention of Falcone, who would eventually entrust her to travel to Russia in 2007 to assassinate a man who had fled Gotham after double-crossing the boss.
That much Kat had already known. "Yeah, I knew that. What happens while you're in Russia? Do you kill the guy you're supposed to?"
"I'm getting to that," Anne snapped back, her voice flat.
Anne had found the man she was supposed to kill rather quickly, and assassinated him as she was told, this being the first job she had ever completed without the help of Pari. However, she soon found she had lost all contact with Falcone and his organization. Later, she would discover that this was because the man had been driven insane by Dr. Jonathan Crane and carted off to Arkham, which left Salvatore Maroni to take up the mantle of Carmine's operation. With both her brothers locked up at this point, her position within the mob as contract killer had been lost in the shuffle, and no one had ever contacted her. Anne had been about to return to Gotham when she was approached by some men in Moscow working for the Solntsevskaya Bratva, the most prominent branch of Russian mafia. They had been following her and were impressed with her work, so they had come to offer her a job. Anne had accepted, thinking that if Falcone was gone, she had no future for a viable career in Gotham anyway.
While there, Anne had been trained by a handler named Alexei, who had taken a liking to her. Given his high rank within the Bratva, as Alexei was directly related to Mikhas, one of the bosses, Anne had done her best to make sure he continued to like her. Under his guidance, Anne became one of the best contract killers the Solntsevskaya Bratva had, as well as a drug trafficker, bank robber, and high-level enforcer. Alexei had also introduced her to the best combat instructors the Bratva had on their payroll, realizing that if Anne was going to hold her own in the mafia as a woman, she would need to be specially trained. Including this, he had taught her to speak Russian, French, and Italian, often beating her when she failed to meet his expectations. This had incentivized her to pick up the languages very quickly. Eventually, she opened up bank accounts in Russia and America through a string of fake identities, and slowly amassed a good deal of cash. She even earned the nickname 'Рулетка,' or Roulette in English, because of her luck at said game.
"I played a thousand times, I swear Kat, I should be dead." Anne chuckled as her eyes flashed in the streetlights.
Katarina decided to ignore that, thinking that if Anne wanted to gamble with her own life by playing Russian roulette, then Kat certainly wouldn't be able to convince her not to. "Ok, so you got caught up with this Russian mob and you get better at killing? Why are you back then? Did you and the Bratva have a disagreement or something?"
"Nah, I'm one of the best they've got, Mikhas would never let me leave alive." Anne shook her head. "I'm, uh, here for a job."
Kat turned and shot her friend a glare as the car stopped before a red light. "You're here to assassinate someone?" Anne's silence was all the confirmation Kat needed. "And here I was thinking you just came back because you felt bad for leaving your friends and family in the dark on whether you were dead or not." Katarina gritted her teeth as she put her foot to the accelerator. "But no, you're back because your really fucked up job told you to come back. Honestly, Anne, I should just kick you out of this car right now."
"Hey! You were the one who asked why I was back. What do ya want me to do, lie?" Anne retaliated, her voice rising at an alarmingly fast rate.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Kat muttered mutinously, but resigned herself to the fact that the last thing she wanted right now was an argument with Anne, who she wasn't totally sure wouldn't kill her. In light of that, she took a calming breath and asked, "Who is it you have to kill this time? Some on-the-run double-crosser again?"
"Um… not exactly." Anne's voice took on the tone that alerted Kat she wasn't going to like whatever was about to come out of that girl's mouth next.
"Who then?"
"Well," Anne paused, and Katarina saw her pressing her lips together in preparation. "Ya know the Joker?"
"No. No. Oh my God, no."
Note: I would like to apologize ahead of time for continuity errors, as I happen to be terrible at remembering small details in my story. For example, every time I write a new chapter, I always believe it's taking place in the autumn despite the fact that I repeatedly state this is in the spring of 2009. So, if you catch a continuity error please feel free to call it out, cause chances are I have no idea it's there lol!
Up Next: Roulette (aka Anne) begins searching for an old friend and a way into Arkham.