Building on forty-third and forty-second just crumbled! Another plant just burst through the ground!
Got civilians trapped under rubble near the one-oh-two!
The bridge over Gotham river just collapsed!
Getting reports of gas coming from the plants, repeat: reports of gas coming from the plants. All units, proceed with caution.
It's Joker Gas, that Bastard!
Just received a report that Batman, Shazam, and Zatara are working on eliminating the plants near Police Plaza. Black Canary spotted near the turnpike! Has anyone heard from Dr. Parker?!
Percy did his best to ignore the chatter squeaking from the radio at his hip, unless he got word of something in his area, the reports were unhelpful to him at the moment.
It was getting hard to see through the lenses on his gas mask, he had retrieved it from the trunk of his car, along with his department issue shotgun, shortly after leaving Vale at the bar. He had seen several pods from one of the plants burst, covering a group of nearby firefighters' in a noxious looking yellow-green gas. Within moments, the firefighters had collapsed to the ground, laughing uncontrollably until they started foaming at the mouth. Before long, they had been little more than twitching, lifeless husks.
There had been nothing he could do.
Theoretically, Percy didn't need the gas mask. He hadn't actually ingested the poisonous gas yet, but he found out during his time overseas, that he could filter most toxins and poisons out of his body. Still, he needed to keep up appearances, with Batman already knowing about his abilities, he couldn't risk anyone else finding out what he was.
There was an explosion a few hundred yards from where he was running, as the underground pipes of a nearby gas station ignited, and the entire building blew. Over the roar of the flames, and the blaring sirens of nearby patrol units, Percy was able to make out the sounds of screams coming from near the building.
Changing his trajectory, Percy took off as fast as his legs could carry him, in the direction of the inferno. He momentarily considered the ramifications of charging into the inferno, but ultimately decided against it. It wasn't that he was afraid of the fire, after an encounter with a Wyrm in his youth he had discovered that he was largely immune to fire. Still, he would need to move quick, it would look strange if he came out unscathed from running directly into a wall of literal fire.
Vaulting over the flaming hood of a parked car, Percy followed the sounds of the screaming, and charged blindly into the burning gas station. Flames licked at the sides of his clothing, and at the soles of his shoes, but he ignored it, kicking the door of the building in, and running into the blazing store.
"GCPD," He announced, "Is there anyone in here?"
"Over here, help!" Someone called from over by the counter. Percy fought his way through the fire, and the collapsed shelves of snacks and other gas station merchandise. What had once been the check-out counter, was a charred pile of rubble, and Percy could make out through the smoke, the small form of someone desperately clawing at debris. It was a young man, his clothing coated in soot, and charred from the flames. Skidding to a stop, Percy knelt down next to the man, placing his shotgun on the ground next to him, and began clawing through rubble at twice the speed as the man beside him.
Within moments, Percy had successfully dug through the debris, and saw the blue fabric of a shirt. Grabbing a fistful, Percy pulled, successfully yanking out the small body of the little girl trapped under the rubble.
"You're ok sweetheart, I got you," Percy said softly, yanking his mask of, and securing it around the girl's head. With as much smoke in the air as there was, he didn't want to risk the girl inhaling too much of the noxious fumes, it would be incredibly more hazardous to her developing body than to Percy's.
"She yours?" He asked to the man beside him, who nodded, and all but yanked the little girl out of Percy's arms. The flames were becoming even hotter, so without asking for permission, Percy gripped the man, cradling what Percy imagined was his daughter in his arms, and Percy all but dragged the pair out of the burning wreckage of the building, making sure to grab his shotgun as he did so.
The threesome stumbled through the flames of the ruined station lot, before finally making it clear to the other side of the street that was, blessedly, not on fire.
"GCPD has a safe-zone a block north, head there now!" Percy shouted, already peeling away from the startled civilians.
"Wait!" Came a squeaky voice from behind him, and Percy turned in time to see the little girl, with some help from her father, pulled the gas mask free of her tiny face, and held it out to Percy.
With a smile, Percy nodded his face, before grabbing the mask, and placing it back on his head, fighting back a grimace as he did so.
I really hate pretending to be mortal sometimes
His radio chirped to life at his hip, "Any units in the vicinity of Finger and Moore, we are receiving reports of plants in the area, civilians trapped,"
"Unit Forty-Six, en-route," Percy immediately responded to the hail, as he made a sharp left at the next intersection.
How the hell could this happen again. Another goddamn Metropolis. Another city destroyed. And for what?
He swallowed the bile that threatened to build up in his stomach, he didn't have the time to be righteously angry. Not with the world burning around him, and not with so many innocents still getting caught in the crossfire.
Making another turn, he had to duck, as a large vine, belonging to one of the plant creatures, lashed out in his direction. Sliding underneath the incoming vine, Percy brought his weapon to bear, aimed, and fired. The buck of the weapon impacting his shoulder with a dull thud. Green goo, and plant viscera exploded from where the buckshot impacted. There was a loud whining and keening, that seemed as though it came from the plant itself. Percy paid it no mind, however, and fired off another three rounds in rapid succession, effectively tearing the vine and plant in half.
Things would have been considerably easier if he was comfortable using his powers. Usually, the power of the mist would shroud the abilities of demigods, but that was only when his kind were battling monsters or others of his ilk. The mist, even with proper manipulation on Percy's part, might not have been able to fully protect him from scrutiny.
Especially not in the digital age where everyone had a cellphone with a built-in camera. All it would take was one person, seeing the wrong thing and uploading it on the internet, and everything Percy had so carefully crafted would come crashing down around him.
There was also the matter that Percy detested using his powers. Detested what they represented, and worse still, detested what they reminded him of.
He could handle the minor things, following blood trails, listening to heart-rates, and identifying targets by feeling and seeing masses of water. But shaping that water? Utilizing the powers, he had been born with in a combative fashion? He detested it. After the war, after his greatest failure, he had promised himself not to resort to those powers, unless absolutely necessary. It was partially for his own safety. Percy's abilities were far from subtle. They were powerful, and uncontrollable, much like the sea itself. But more to the point, they were visually impressive. It was hard to hide when someone summoned several hundred gallons of water, or was causing earthquakes or storms with their mind itself.
But Percy was also being selfish. He was being prideful. And most of all, he was being respectful. Respectful to those he had failed, to those his powers and great strength had killed. He had vowed to never use those abilities to take a life. Not directly. Not after what he'd done.
He wouldn't be the man he had been before. He couldn't be.
He just wanted to be normal. Desperately so.
The wriggling mass of vines and earth-matter was of no consequence after Percy had blown it to high hell, and so he focused on where he thought the civilians would be trapped. It wasn't hard to figure out where the call had originated from. One of the office buildings on the street had been next to where a plant had emerged. Half of the street facing wall had been torn away; the innards of the office building spilling out onto the streets below. The other half, had caved into the building next to it, threatening to pull that structure down with it.
Nearby, a fire crew was attempting to put out the flaming husk of a grocery store, before it threatened to engulf the entire street. They were too focused on the flames to be of any help to those still trapped in the other building. So Percy ran as hard as he could in the direction of the collapsed offices. A patrol office materializing from nowhere and pulling alongside him.
Brown hair, and black eyes; the officer was on the taller side, just around six foot, and not overly proportioned, cut more like a gymnast than like Percy.
"O-officer Jack Drake sir, I, um, got the same call about the office building," he said, his breath coming out in shallow pants as he tried to keep up with Percy's blistering pace. He also sounded scared to death, his voice almost whimpering part of his introduction.
Get it together man, people need you right now Percy thought, a little disparagingly,
Percy only nodded, his attention still focused on the building,
"Any idea what the hell is going on?" Percy shouted, vaulting over a barricade, Officer Drake following suite,
"Some group of villains calling themselves, 'The Injustice League,' sir," Drake responded, "This, um, looks like Ivy's work, and I-I've been hearing over the radio that the damn c-clown's personal gas is involved too."
Percy couldn't quite contain the growl that reverberated through his chest.
Again, the rise of the contemporary hero, and the destruction that follows in their wake.
Percy shook his head of the thoughts,
"Sweep the lower floors, get anyone out that you can. When you're done, get that fire crew over here asap. No telling if or when this building might be going down," Percy ordered.
The man simply nodded his head before complying. As they entered the apartment building, Officer Drake veered off to the right, heading down a collapsed hallway, and banging on doors and making announcements to any potential survivors.
Percy, however, took to the stairs,
Taking the steps three at a time, Percy rounded the first landing, and charged down the shattered and crumbling hallway. He had to dodge out of the way, and hug the far wall, as a piece of the floor above suddenly fell through, falling directly where Percy had been standing moments before.
Not bothering to stop, or even slow down, Percy focused what little of his birthright he was willing to use, and focused on searching for the familiar bodies of water, that made up the blood of human beings. He locked in on a shape, trapped in the remnants of an office at the end of the hall. He could also see two more bodies in the building on the same floor, on the other side of the hall, and three bodies on the floor above,
He burst into the room, hopping over falling desks, chairs, and cubicles, calling out as he did so, "This detective Percy Jackson of the GCPD, is there anyone still alive in here!" His sweat, and the moisture of his body was starting to fog up the lens of his mask, instead of willing the fog away, Percy simply tore the offending structure from his face. If he really needed it, he'd use it.
"H-help me, help me please, I-I-I'm stuck!" Cried a feminine voice, and minor relief flooded through Percy. As useful as his abilities were, he hadn't been so certain that the person had been alive. Jumping over the final desk, Percy found the young woman, her leg caught under part of the ceiling as it had caved in around her. The block of ceiling was almost certainly too heavy for a normal person to lift.
Percy only hesitated for half a second, before deciding it was worth the potential risk, the lives of others was always worth it.
Getting down on one knee, Percy gripped the underside of the slab, and made as much of a show as he possibly could of hefting the block with all his might. In reality, to a man with his enhanced strengths, the block was no heavier than the weight bar, but he still needed to put the effort in to make it look like an extraneous task.
Lifting the block just enough so that the woman could free her leg, Percy let the block fall, before crouching down next to the woman,
"Can you stand?" he asked, doing his best to portray a calm and confident appearance. In these types of stressful environments, civilians needed reassurance, as much as they often needed help.
The woman, a pretty dark-haired woman in her early thirties shook her head, "I-I don't think so, I t-think it m-might be b-b-broken," her voice cracked in pain and fear as she spoke,
"Do I have your permission to lift you up," Percy asked, and the woman quickly nodded her head. Reaching under her, taking care not to jostle the leg too much, Percy hefted the woman into a soft carry, and turned and made his way as quickly and gently out of the building as he could.
Once outside the building, Percy was pleased to see that a contingent of firefighters, as well as a fresh ambulance and team of paramedics had arrived at the scene. The building the firefighters had been combatting was mostly put out, so there were a large number of available bodies to assist in clearing the building.
Percy wasted no time in depositing the woman on a gurney, brought his way by an approaching pair of paramedics. As he dropped off the woman, Drake, and a pair of teenage boys, and a man in his late fifties jogged out of the building, none looking worse for wear, but Drake's face was still holding an undercurrent of fear and disbelief at the situation he'd found himself.
Percy turned to a pair of firefighters' who were jogging up to him, their faces red, and sweat glistening on their cheeks and foreheads,
"Two more trapped on the second floor, on the east side, three on the floor above. One on the eastern wall, and two on the west." Percy relayed as fast as possible. The crew members nodded their thanks, before splintering off to head into the building.
Percy's radio crackled to life once more,
"Call for a 10-15 near the bodega. Potential 10-17 in the garment district. Reports indicate armed and potentially dangerous; any available units please respond."
Percy brought the radio at his hip to his lips, "Unit Forty-Six, firefighters, clearing the building on Finger and Moore. Officer's Jackson and Drake en-route to the Garment District to respond to possible 10-17."
"Unit Forty-Six, acknowledged."
Turning to the now shaking Drake, Percy asked, "You loaded Officer?"
"W-what?" Drake asked, looking petrified at the thought of live fire being exchanged,
Percy growled, but tried to reign in his temper, "Load your side-arm Officer, we're taking that call." Before the man could think to muster a response, Percy had turned, and was running toward the Garment District, less than half a block away. Reaching into his pocket, Percy relieved several more shell casings, and racked them into his rifle.
Never underestimate the greed of humanity to take advantage of a terrible situation.
BREAK
Nothing like the end of the world to sober you up Montoya thought sardonically. Reaching her arms out, she grabbed the small child from the crew member, as he hefted her out of the building. Hefting the little boy into her arms, she then turned, and deposited the crying child into the arms of a local paramedic.
It had been like this for what felt like hours. One crisis fixed, only for twelve more to pop up simultaneously. It didn't help that it seemed like no matter how many of the plants that were killed, even more emerged to fix the gap. Even with the combined efforts of Batman, Shazam, Black Canary and Zatara, there seemed to be no end in sight for the plants that Montoya knew, had to belong to Ivy.
But that wasn't the most disconcerting thing about their situation. She had been in her apartment, with Kate, for the television announcement. Had seen the heavy hitters calling themselves the 'Injustice League' the foil to the defenders of the planet. The antithesis to everything the Justice League stood for.
It was unprecedented. Sure, there had been times in which villains had teamed up. Penguin and Freeze. Ivy and Quinn. Moth and Firefly. But they never ran in groups of more than two, never teamed up like these psychopaths seemed to be doing. It was a nightmare scenario. The idea that supervillains, people who went toe to toe with the most powerful people on the planet, teaming up to spread as much death, destruction, and mayhem as humanly possible.
And all for only a couple hundred million dollars? That didn't sit right with Montoya. There was something else happening there. But that wasn't her concern at the moment. Her concern was trying to stop as much of the bleeding to her city as possible. To put out as many fires, stop as many plants, and rescue as many civilians as she possibly could, and hope and pray that the Justice League would be able to stop whatever was going on.
However she couldn't just leave it at that. No, something was nagging at her, gnawing at her subconscious; a torrent of thoughts and emotions begging to be unleashed.
Maybe Metro had a point?
Nobody was a bigger believer in heroes that Montoya. Nobody championed the righteous cause of people like Batman like she did. She remembered the days before the bat. Remembered being too scared to leave her home alone, even in the middle of the day. The bodies, the disappearances ,the rampant corruption.
Then the Bat appeared, and then the others. All of sudden, those who had the power to cause fear, and terror, who had been in control; the system they had so carefully structured to maintain their individual monopolies on power and wealth began to crumble away. Citizens in Gotham had hope; hope that they would be safe, hope that there was an end to the terror, the crime and the brutality.
Unless they'd grown up in Gotham, other people just couldn't possibly understand.
And then the Justice League had formed. Humanity, the entire world, had protectors and care-givers. People with the power, and sense of responsibility to use their greater powers and abilities to help people, had joined together to do everything they could to protect the citizens of their planet from all forms of terror. Both on their little green marble, and off.
For a while, it had seemed like things might have been changing.
But had it?
Had anything really changed?
Things had been bad before, mobsters, gangbangers, and terrifyingly power criminals had run Gotham, but they were at least human. They could be shot. They could bleed. And they couldn't level entire cities with a single thought.
Not like what was happening in Gotham. Not like what was happening in cities across the world at that very moment.
Did Metro have a point?
Was it truly an endless cycle of continually escalating violence? When did it end? Would it ever end?
Before superheroes, the kind of catastrophe of the plants attacking the city had been mere fantasy. Something that only happened in movies, tv, or cheesy comic books. It sure as hell wasn't something that was supposed to happen in real life.
And yet here she was, standing in the street, and watching as Shazam streaked through the sky, one of the large plants held firmly in his grasp, as he punted the mass of flora out of earth's damn gravitational field and into who only knew where.
This was only the beginning. Criminals were teaming up, they were getting smarter, more clever. More dangerous, and why? Because heroes had been doing the same thing. Because they were sick of losing. And that meant that they'd hurt, and slaughter, as many people as possible, to win the game.
She finally understood what Metro had been trying to say to her. Had finally understood the haunted, angry, and defeated look in his eyes, as he had relived the armageddon that had been the attack on Metropolis only a few short months before.
Montoya had seen footage of the attack, had watched as an entire city had been reduced to rubble, because of the squabble of a pair of beings, who were closer to god's than men. It hadn't registered with her, not fully, the sheer scale of the destruction, and the danger, that beings like that created, simply by existing.
Montoya's head throbbed, whether it was from the philosophical meltdown she was in the process of having, or she was unfortunate enough to be having a hangover mid-catastrophe; it didn't seem to matter all that much.
"Montoya!" A familiar, baritone voice called out, pulling the woman away from her raging thoughts. Turning, she watched as the familiar form of Harvey Bullock, lumbered toward her. She'd never been one for mystery novels, even as a child, but she was familiar enough with tropes to recognize that Senior Detective Harvey Bullock was as cliche a detective as they came. Aging, in his late forties, with dark raggedy black hair that fell like curtains around his light blue eyes, and the protruding gut of a man who'd given up on exercise in favor of sweets. He was a bitter, spiteful man, but he was a good cop, and had been Montoya's own partner for some time.
He jogged over to her, his breaths coming in heaving gasps. For once, the grouchy old bat was covered in something other than his own lunch. The trilby on his head was slouching on the crown of his head, barely covering the sweat-coated mop of hair underneath. His pale yellow dress shirt was stained dark, with a combination of what looked like sweat, soot, and possibly blood.
It was the first time Montoya had really seen the man look his rank.
"It's damn good to see ya in one piece Renee," He said, sidling up to her, and reaching a hand out for her to shake. Montoya took the man's larger hand in her own, trying not to grimace at the cold, sweaty, grip.
"Good to see you too Harv, hell of a day," Montoya said back, retrieving her hand, and surreptitiously wiping it off on her vest.
Bullock snorted, "That's one word for it," He crowed, his thick Massachusetts accent petering into his voice, "More like, the whole damn world is coming down on top of of us again. Another one of them freaks shows, only the time, theres a whole damn group of em!" He huffed, and placed his hand on his belt, "Told ya," He said, wagging a finger in her direction, "I told ya that those freaks in the tights would bring us nothing but trouble, but did you listen to me, no, of course no-"
Bullocks speech was cut off, as suddenly the radio on both of their hips squawked to life, and Percy's familiar voice, flooded the broadband network.
"This is Unit Forty-Six, Code-2, Code-2"
"Code-2 Acknowledged, All unit's Code-1, Unit forty-six, what is your situation,"
"10-78 at the Garment District. Facing heavily armed resistance. 10-17 was false, repeat, not a 10-17, these are not looters. Armed men, with assault weaponry at the Garment District, requesting additional units now!" The pronouncement was followed by another spurt of high-velocity ammunition tearing through the radio. There was a gasp, and then a startled cry of pain.
"10-999! 10-999! Officer down, repeat officer down on Dini and Englehart," There was the sound of a large caliber weapon being discharged several times.
"Unit Forty-Six Standby,"
The radio was silent for a moment, "Unit Forty-Six, all additional units are unable to comply,"
"10-9 Dispatch?"
"I say again, no additional units are able to respond, all units are currently-"
"Unit Forty-Four to Dispatch, 10-4 on Unit Forty-Six's 10-999. En-route to last known." Montoya cut in. She had begun moving toward her squad car the second Percy had called for the 10-78, also known as an officer assistance hail. She had re-doubled her run when the triple nine was called in, shouting a pair of paramedics to follow her in to help out the beleaguered officers.
She had all but thrown herself behind the wheel of her vehicle, all traces of intoxication having left her in the wake of the sheer panic flooding her system. She was worried about Percy to be sure. She liked the man, they pair of them got along well, and he was challenging, in a good way, her own thoughts and beliefs. But she didn't know him well enough to be as scared as she was about his being in danger.
No, Montoya was scared of failing again. Of failing another partner. She was terrified by the idea that she might lose one more person, whose back she was charged with protecting. She wouldn't let that happen. Not again, never again.
She flicked on the emergency lights, leaving the siren off for the moment, and had been about to peel out into the street, when the passenger door opened, and Bullock's large bulk squeezed into the passenger seat.
"Brother's in trouble, I ain't about to let one of our own go out like that." He said simply, and Montoya couldn't repress the smile on her face.
Bitter old crone that he was, Bullock was nothing if not loyal.
Without another word, Montoya peeled away from the building she'd been evacuating, and began making her way eastward towards the Garment District.
They maneuvered their way through the battered city. Doing their best to evade other emergency personnel and fleeing and panicking citizens.
"Look out!" Bullock cried suddenly, as they turned onto a street that ran parallel to the Garment District.
Montoya swore, and jerked the wheel violently, as the blonde-haired form of Black Canary streaked through air, as she was smacked violently by the extending vine of one of the larger plants. She watched in muted awe, as the woman recovered into a back handspring, landing on the hood of a nearby truck, before launching a supersonic cry into the plant directly in the path of Montoya's cruiser.
The sound-based attack tore into the plant. Shredding, and battering the plant, which tore apart, a keening cry of pain and agony escaping from the dying monstrosity. Montoya didn't have time to waste, and floored the pedal, the engine roaring in response as she brought the wheels up to the curb to get around the remnants of the plant.
"This shit needs to stay in Metropolis where it belongs," Bullock grumbled under his breath, one hand gripping onto the passenger handle over the door, the other clutching his old service revolver like a lifeline.
Rounding the final corner, she saw the carnage of the Garment District. It looked far less like the fashion capital of the city, and much more like an active war-zone. Brunt out and overturned vehicles littered the street, windows to shops were cracked, or outright destroyed. On the far end of the district, Montoya could see the smoke, and small skirts of flames, coming out of several storefronts. Streetlights were toppled, waste bins strewn aside, and the massive, shriveled husks of once alive monster plants, were scattered around the roadside.
On one side of the street, Montoya saw several masked men, wielding heavy assault weaponry, and wearing clown-masks, firing from behind overturned cars, and from the inside of buildings. They were firing at a separate store, on the opposite side of the street. She watched, still running, as the dark hair of Percy poked out from the side of one of the buildings, shotgun raised, and firing several slugs in quick succession at the opposing force. Someone yelled, and collapsed to the ground in a heap, and Percy ducked back behind cover, just as another volley of fire tore into where he had been moments before.
"God dammit, what are they doing here, thought we got the rest of them locked up in Blackgate after last time," Bullock said, his eyes narrowing.
He was referring to the men in the clown masks.
Joker's personal henchmen. The devout, almost fanatical followers of the clown prince of crime. Terrors that were nearly every bit as psychotically unhinged as the clown himself. They were extremely violent, and somehow even more disciplined. Bullock was right though, a raid several months had supposedly captured the remnants of the clown's personal gang, locked up in of the Joker's old hideaways on Amusement Mile. Apparently, they hadn't gotten all of them.
She didn't know if the Joker had ordered his men to attack during the plant invasion, or they were simply taking advantage of the chaos already in place to cause more violence and bloodshed, but it was a moot point at the moment. The priority was getting Metro the backup he desperately needed, and getting medical assistance to the wounded officer.
They were lucky, the clowns hadn't noticed them as they pulled up into the intersection, too concerned with their ongoing assault on Percy's less than fortified position in a neighboring storefront. Hopping out of the cruiser, Montoya ran to the trunk, and opened it, pulling out the standard issue Assault Rifle, that most Gotham Detectives carried locked in their trunks. While many departments were trying to move away from such military armaments, the GCPD had no such luck. The types of violent crimes that were all too common in the city made having heavy weaponry a necessity.
Pulling the weapon free, Montoya slipped several additional magazines into her coat and pants pockets, before slamming a fresh clip into her rifle.
Pulling her radio from her side, Montoya spoke into the mic, "Unit Forty-Four to Unit Forty-Six, Secure Channel Seven," She said, before switching her radio to the new channel, there was a burst of static, before the sound of live rounds impacting a nearby wall, came over the speaker,
"Seven secure, Forty-Four, send it." came Percy's voice, calm as though he were discussing the weather. Montoya bit back a grin, leave it to Metro to stay as calm as a cucumber in the shit like he was.
"Got your 20 in the storefront. Officer Bullock and I will flank and engage at range. What's the status on the triple 9?"
"Check. Officer is stable but needs immediate evac."
"Copy, you already announce?"
"Yes, but it couldn't hurt do it a second time, put on a body cam earlier. On your call or mine?"
"Yours"
"10-4"
Montoya cleared the channel before exchanging a look with Bullock, who nodded grimly, before hunkering down, and taking off at a crouched run down the other end of the street, in order to flank around the firing clowns.
Montoya ducked down, getting into a combat crouch, before moving into her own position, taking cover behind a burnt-out and overturned semi-truck. Peeking around the corner, she watched and waited for Bullock to get into position. Less than thirty seconds passed, before she saw the brief flash of his light, indicating he was ready and in position.
For a moment, nothing happened, and then Percy's loud, deed voice tore through the mayhem.
"GCPD, this is your last warning, lay down your arms and surrender yourselves into custody or we will be forced to open fire!"
A spray of automatic fire in Percy's direction was all the answer the Montoya needed.
Raising her rifle, Montoya sighted a target, the clown nearest to her own position, firing what looked like a modified pistol, augmented to fire fully automatic rounds, into Percy's position. Montoya steadied her breathing, before compressing the trigger. There was a single bark from the rifle, and a light kick into her shoulder, as the weapon recoiled. The head of the man she'd been aiming at, exploded in a violent rush of blood, brain, and viscera, as his life was extinguished.
As soon as her file fired, there was a similar bark, though substantially higher in pitch, coming from Bullock's position, as another clown fell to the street. Of the seven clowns that had been firing at Percy's position, there were only five left. Three of the five turned, two in the direction of Montoya, and one towards Bullock, as they stared in confusion at the lifeless bodies of their former comrades.
Apparently, Percy was not one to waste an opportunity. The loud and low bark of a shotgun shook the air, as two more men fell in rapid succession. One screamed, as his arm was violently shredded off of his body. The other's chest erupted, as the slug of Percy's shotgun tore through the body armor, he had been wearing like it was tissue paper, and blowing a hole out of the man's back.
Montoya took the opportunity to advance, calling out as she did so, "This is the GCPD, lower your weapons, and get down on the ground now! This will be your only warning!"
She got her response to her announcement, in the form of a wall of bullets. Montoya threw herself down on the ground, pressing flat against the surface of the street, just as a wall of gunfire ripped through the air where she had been standing a moment ago. She knew she couldn't maintain that position, without getting torn to pieces, so she rolled, positioning herself under the axels of another abandoned vehicle. Crawling forward so she was even with the front tires, she raised her rifle again, sighting one of the clowns, as it approached, assault rifle raised, he previous position.
Depressing the trigger two more times, a pair of rounds impacted the advancing man in the chest, the 5.56 ap ammunition tearing through the makeshift armor as though it weren't even there. The man stumbled, as though he wasn't sure what had happened, before his rifle dropped from his hands, and he collapsed face first on the cement.
The firing picked up once again, this time, coming across as frantic, and panicked. She was in the process of pulling herself free of the vehicle she'd been using for cover when she saw Percy attack. Leaping over the concrete divider that kept pedestrians from the typically busy street, Percy tackled on of the remaining men, the pair colliding into the cement in a heap.
There was the tell-tale crackle of a taser jumping to life, and a squeak of surprise and pain, as Percy jammed the taser into the ribcage of one of their attackers. Percy then turned on his heel, ducking as the final man tried to bring his rifle to bear on Percy's chest. Percy gripped the rifle around the barrel, and yanked it towards, and away from him, pulling the attacker along with it. The strength and speed of the sudden move, caused the clown to stumble, as the rifle was ripped from his grasp. Percy, faster than she'd seen someone move, then pivoted, putting himself behind the attacker. Reaching out, Percy wrapped both of his arms around the man's midsection, and wrapped his right leg around the clown's own right leg. In one fluid motion, Percy threw the clown to the ground, and rolled so that he was on top of him. Yanking the man's arms behind his back and neatly and quickly securing them in a pair of restraints.
Panting lightly, Montoya dug herself out from under the vehicle, and began a slow trek over to Percy, her weapon raised, and scanning her surroundings. Just because it appeared as though the remainder of the clowns had been taken down; it didn't mean that there weren't more potentially waiting somewhere in the wings.
Seeing no one, and not getting fired upon, Montoya cleared her sights, and lowered her weapon, coming to a rest as Percy finished restraining the clown, he'd tasered.
"Learn that one in the service?" She asked nonchalantly, as Percy stood up over the body of the groaning clown,
"Summer camp, actually," Percy shot back, a cheeky smile on his face, before gesturing to her to follow.
As she looked at his back, and trailed behind the larger man, a weight seemed to disappear off of her shoulders, that she hadn't even realized had been there. Hearing Percy's call for assistance, had damn near frozen her. Her thoughts consumed by the images of arriving too late, again, and finding another partner in a pool of his own blood.
Another failure.
Her failure.
She released a shuddering breath, and tried to push the images form her mind. Her partner was ok, for the moment, and they needed to focus on the securing their wounded comrade. The pair clambered over the threshold of a small barricade Percy had erected for himself, Bullock joining them in their approach, and introducing himself to Percy as he did so.
The man was pale, and shivering, a hand gripping a makeshift bandage on his left shoulder, whimpering slightly as the trio approached.
"Got the bleeding to stop," Percy muttered, "But I think he's in shock. Completely unresponsive. I think he might be having a full breakdown. Kept muttering about leaving the force, going into architecture or something like that. I don't know, but we need to get him out of here."
Montoya nodded her head ruefully. It was a painfully common occurrence in Gotham. The types of nightmares that were faced on a daily basis, the types of psychotic criminals running around. Full mental breaks were far from uncommon.
As Percy hefted the quivering man into a carry, and the three moved through the wreckage of the street, Montoya sighed.
It was going to be a very long night.
BREAK
Percy did his best to stifle the yawn that threatened to split his face. It had been a long time since he'd felt as exhausted as he did. The plant's started disappearing shortly after he, Montoya, and Bullocks altercation with the clowns. The League, apparently, had finally managed to figure out what was going on, and managed to put a stop to it. But, just because the plants had stopped rising, didn't mean that his night had been over by any means.
Percy and Montoya had spent an additional six hours, running around the city. From looters, actual looters that time, to trapped civilians, to any number of odd crises. The sun had been well risen, by the time they were called in.
However, what was concerning and confusing, was that Montoya and Percy hadn't been called back into their precinct. But rather, to One-Police-Plaza. Percy initially assumed that maybe it had something to do with the fight with the clowns. Maybe they were about to go on suspension, pending an internal inquiry into whether their actions had been justified. That made the most sense to him, but it still didn't explain why they were being pulled all the way downtown for the inquiry.
The types of internal investigations were never discussed downtown, always in the precinct of the officer's in question. It sure as hell never happened in the office of the Commissioner.
It was odd, in the several years Percy had been with the Metropolis Police, he had met Commissioner Corporon only twice, and here was, seeing Commissioner Gordon for the umpteenth time in as many days.
It was Montoya's turn to yawn, not even bothering to cover her mouth as they stepped into the elevator that would take them to the higher levels.
"Don't do that shit," Percy said, covering his mouth with his coffee cup, "For the love of god, I need a nap."
"Sorry partner," Montoya said, her eyes dropping slightly, as she took an enormous pull from her own to-go cup. The two of them were on their fifth cups in as many hours.
It had been that kind of a shift.
"Hear about Drake?" Montoya asked, Percy arched a brow,
"No, what happened, he ok?" He asked. The man had been a bit keyed up during the fight, but Percy couldn't blame him for that. His first real combat had nearly frozen him in place. Granted he had been four at the time, but mortals couldn't be held to the same standard.
Montoya snorted, "He's fine. Shoulder is kind of fucked up I guess, but he'll recover. No, but he quit. Guess his dad is some kind of bigshot in the archeological world. He's taking over for his old man."
"Huh, good for him, I guess," Percy shrugged, he was far from surprised, the man had looked shell-shocked when he met up with Percy. Some people just weren't made for the fight he supposed.
The elevator slowed to a halt, and dinged, before the doors opened, and the pair stepped into the hall they had vacated in such a hurry the night before. Arriving in front of the door to the office, Montoya reached out a hand, and rapped hard on the wood paneling three times. There was an immediate response,
"Enter," Came Gordon's gravelly voice, sounding even more hoarse than the last time Percy had heard him. Opening the door, Montoya led the way into the office, Percy following, and shutting the door behind him.
Striding up to the desk, Percy took a stance beside Montoya, and waited, as Gordon finished typing something into the monitor on his desk. Looking up at the pair of them Gordon grimaced,
"You two look about as bad as I feel," He grumbled, "Sorry about that. Should have realized you'd been working the full shift, what with the mountain of bullshit that was last night." Percy almost snorted. As bad as he was sure they looked, Gordon didn't look like he was faring any better. His eyes had large, dark bags under them, and his right hand held a slight tremor, that told Percy he either hadn't had the time to smoke in a while, or was so hopped up on coffee that he was getting the jitters.
"Unfortunately," Gordon grimaced again, "The bullshit gets worse."
He turned his attention away from the monitor, and stared back at them,
"Romanji is dead." He said simply, skipping the preamble.
Percy's stomach fell out of his chest.
"What?" Demanded Montoya, the look on her face of abject horror, mirroring Percy's own creeping sense of dread. "How? When? What the hell happened? Was it the plants?"
Gordon shook his head. He looked older than he ever had to Percy. As though he'd aged another twenty years, in the last twenty hours. Percy supposed that was par for the course as a Police Commissioner. Doubly so when you were the Commissioner for a city like Gotham. Gordon removed his glasses and rubbed tiredly at his eyes.
"Found him in the holding cells this morning. He was shot three times. Twice in the stomach, once in the head. Professional hit. We think it happened during the attack, someone took advantage of the mayhem to put him down, before he could turn on Falcone."
"Wait a second," Percy said, shaking his head, "Why in the hell would Falcone just off him like that? He had no way of knowing Romanji was going to flip. The number of people that were privy to that information was small, and more importantly, Falcone had bailed Romanji out before, why not this time?" Percy trailed off, as Gordon looked at him sympathetically,
"Think about it Metro, from the get-go, it looked bad for Romanji. You said it yourself in the interview. Falcone's lawyer, this Carlos guy? He never showed up, which means that Falcone was cutting him loose." She scoffed bitterly, "As to nobody knowing about it?" She shook her head, looking disgusted, so Gordon took over,
"Welcome to Gotham son, half the damn department is on Falcone's payroll, and that's especially true for your precinct. I have my suspicions, in fact, that you and Montoya might be the only ones in the damn building, not on the bastard's dime. It's my thinking that one of uniforms working for Falcone came in during the chaos. Buried Romanji, and snuck back out. Would have been able to do it too, since all the electrical in the One-Seven went down cause of the attack. Turned all the camera's off too. Would have been easy. But, unfortunately, that ain't the worst of it."
Gordon pointed out the eastern window, anger clouding his expression. Percy followed the finger out the window, and froze again. Where the forensics lab had been, less than twenty-four hours ago, was little more than a pile of ash and rubble. The pit in Percy's stomach, became a ravine, as his mouth dropped open in abject shock and muted horror,
"No." He whispered, "No, no, no, do not tell me that-"
"Gone." Gordon confirmed, "At least, we're assuming so. A damn plant came up, straight through the middle of the damned forensics lab. Parker's dead, so are two of his techs, and a third's in critical at Gotham General. Damn building fell right on top of them when that plant came up. We've got teams poking through the rubble right now, but we've lost…a lot."
Percy couldn't believe what he was seeing. He was in shock, in a matter of hours, all of the hard work, evidence, and leads, had been turned to dust. Sure, the man that had killed Silver St. Cloud was dead, but that was hardly a consolation, not with the one truly responsible for her and her family's deaths was still breathing free air. And then another terrible thought hit. How many others? How many other cases had been riding on the evidence in that building? How many bad guys were about to get away, all because of some piss poor luck?
He felt sick to his stomach, and he finally had to sit down in one of the empty chairs in front of Gordon's desk. Disbelief. Sadness. Despair. Those emotions were all waging inside of him. But something else was burning hotter, and ferociously than all the others.
Anger.
Hot. Righteous. Anger. Anger at the supers, for creating a world where shit like the night before happened with alarming regularity. Anger at the villains, for being so callous, so cruel, and so uncaring about the lives of others. For being so caught up in their war with the supers, that they didn't care how many innocents' lives were caught in the crossfire. Though for some, perhaps that was the whole point. But above all of that, Percy was angry with himself.
He'd been stubborn. He'd been prideful. If he had simply let the Bat have the damn bracelet, then they wouldn't be in this mess. Sure, they didn't know what was on the damn thing, but if Falcone wanted it bad enough to kill the St. Cloud family, then it was important.
And now it was gone.
Gone because Percy, regardless of how justified he was in his beliefs, had been too prideful, and too stubborn to hand over the bracelet. Now they would never know what was on it. And with Romanji dead, so was the case against Christian Falcone.
There was a strong hand on his shoulder, drawing Percy's attention. Looking up, he saw Montoya, looking determinedly at him.
"It's not your fault Percy," She said softly, once again using his name, to show how serious she was being.
"It is," he insisted, "If I had just-"
"Montoya's right son," Gordon cut in, "We can sit here and play 'what if' till we're blue in the face, but the fact remains that what's done is done. And nothing can be done about it. I stand by my decision and yours, not to hand over the drive. It was the right call, at that time. And it just means we'll have to find some other way to pin Falcone. Until then,"
Gordon sighed, then smiled, "You both did excellent work. I know the circumstances are…fuck it, terrible, but that is neither of your faults. The only people to blame are the villains, and Christian Falcone. You both did an extraordinary job, and exemplified what it means to be an officer of GCPD. For that, I thank you, and I will take personal care, to ensure that this case does not get reported falsely in your records. As far as I'm concerned, the matter of the murder of Silver St. Cloud, is a closed case. You did your job, and went above and beyond while doing so. I've forwarded a memo to your duty captain, you two have the rest of the day to yourselves. Consider it an apology, as well as a thank you from me. Take care of yourselves, and get back to work on Monday. I'm sure we're going to be busy."
With that, they were dismissed from the office. They were silent, as they waited for the elevator, both Percy and Montoya lost in their own thoughts, wallowing in the emptiness they were both feeling. They had closed the case, sure, but Silver St. Cloud did not get the justice she deserved. It felt hallow.
"So," Percy asked, stepping into the elevator, "What do we do now?"
"Now?" Montoya asked back, pressing the button for the lobby, "Now, we recharge."
"Then it's back to work,"
AN: For anyone interested, those were real police codes and signals. Most states and departments use their own variation of the ten-code system, but I decided to keep it generic here. It was fun to put together! A little cameo for those who really know you comics. Nothing major, won't really amount to anything, but I had an opportunity for a fun moment, so I took some liberties with a character and changed part of their story if you can guess who it is. Now, I'm guessing some people might not love how this ended, truth be told, you shouldn't love it. You should be mad, because that's the reaction I want. Every story needs a bad guy, and Christian Falcone will be him. How will Percy get him? I know, but you'll have to wait to find out! But! Don't worry, because it'll make it that much sweeter when the bastard falls. Hope you enjoyed the ride so far, and now for another minor hiatus. This chapter marks the end of the pre-written chapters I had put together for One-Seven. Next up on my schedule is Our Protector. My Ole Faithful. So if you're a fan of that, expect the next arc to start being published before the end of the month. But fans of this, don't worry, it's going to come back! Thank you all for you continued love and support, it continues to amaze me how well my dumb little stories continue to do and I cannot express my gratitude enough to all of you who have been so loving and supportive. Thanks again, stay safe, and love you all. See you soon.
Love,
LilDB