And here we are, finally, with revised chapter 2! Of all the times for my laptop to die, huh?
Fun Fact: As Lexigirl23 pointed out in her review, Detective McKenzie is named after the actor who plays Jim Gordon in the show Gotham. This was actually completely unintentional, as I could not come up with a name for said character, and used the name 'Ben McKenzie' as a placeholder when writing the first drafts. I meant to go back and change the name later, but at that point, I had gotten so attached to the name, I could not picture this character being called anything else, and the placeholder name stuck.
"Police and emergency services are urging Gotham residents to stay off the roads and in their homes tonight in light of the severe winter storm warning. Snow accumulations tonight are expected to be 5 to 8 inches, with winds of up to 50 miles per hour. Radar reports show the storm moving northeast…"
"Well, we'll certainly be getting a white Christmas this year."
Laura snorted, gazing out the passenger side window of the police cruiser as the weather report droned on through the staticky radio. Gotham's streets were uncharacteristically desolate, the layers of snow and ice coupled with the bitter wind warding off most of the city's usual nighttime traffic, and keeping all but the most determined pedestrians indoors. In any other city, the winter weather coupled with the bright Christmas lights strung along the city's streets would have looked pretty, the picture-perfect image of a quiet Christmas Eve.
In Gotham, it just looked sinister.
"No kidding. It'll be a miracle if I can get my car through this mess tonight."
McKenzie smirked. "The way tonight's going, we'll be lucky if we-"
"Dispatch to unit 17." The cruiser's scanner crackled to life, cutting off the detective.
Laura reached over and quieted the weather report, picking up the mic mounted on the radio."This is unit 17, over."
"Unit 17, please respond to 43 Phoenicia Street, at the GCR tower near the Carmine Hotel. Break-in, 4 suspects, all formerly armed."
Laura frowned at the radio, ignoring McKenzie's muttering from the driver's seat as he swung the car around back towards Coventry. "Formerly, dispatch?"
"Affirmative." The dispatcher confirmed, her voice fading in and out as the signal wavered. "Suspects have been subdued and are awaiting detainment."
"Copy, dispatch. We're on our way."
"Who do you think took them down? Doesn't sound like one of us."
Laura turned back towards the cruiser's window, shaking her head.
"No idea. But we're about to find out."
"What?"
The man sitting in front of Laura, a scrawny, shivering Gotham Optics technician stuffed into a too-big parka, huffed at the sergeant's look of disbelief.
"It was a bat. A huge, man-sized bat. It came down from the ceiling and attacked the guy, and just...flew away."
A second technician scoffed, sneering at his co-worker. "Don't be an idiot, Jerry." The second tech, this one a balding overweight man somewhere in his fifties, turned towards the two officers. "It was a guy, not some bat-monster. Huge dude, all decked out in tactical gear an' shit. Military-lookin' stuff, you know? Dude even had a fuckin' cape. Came out through the vents and did some kung fu shit or somethin', knocked out the guy who had me with one punch."
Laura ignored McKenzie, whose head had perked up at the mention of the mystery man, and focused on the second tech. "And then what happened?"
The technician shrugged. "He told me to call the cops and get myself outta there, and just crawled back into the vents. Weird fucker."
"He went up to the tower."
McKenzie turned to face the third technician, a mousy-looking kid no more than a year out of college who had been silent since their arrival. "What do you mean?"
"The guy in the armored suit; He went up towards the tower's control panel." The kid replied, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his well-worn coat. "Don't know what he wanted up there, but that's where he went."
Laura turned to one of the officers who had pulled up with the paddy wagon only a few minutes after her own arrival, a patrolman she vaguely recognized from the Burnley Precinct. "Finish getting their statements. I'll be right back."
Turning her back on the technicians, Laura headed towards the radio tower's stairs, McKenzie close on her heels.
"You think it's him? The Bat-Man?"
Laura shot him a look over her shoulder. "I hope so. If there's more than one guy running around Gotham in a bat suit tonight, we're in for a world of trouble."
Jezebel Plaza looked like something out of a Christmas storybook; The open-air shopping plaza was covered in a thick layer of snow, the holiday lights dangling from the glazed glass ceiling bathing the area in a soft, warm glow. A picturesque, if cliché, depiction of the North Pole, complete with colorfully wrapped presents, oversized gingerbread houses, and two large firs flanking an ornate throne dominated the center of the Plaza. It was every small child's Christmas dream, save for the thug in a worn Santa hat lounging on said throne, an armed guard on either side of him warily watching the group of newcomers approaching from Asherah Street.
"Guys!" The thug laughed, leaning forward in his seat. "So, little boys – what do you want for Christmas?"
Before any of the newcomers could answer, the thug, nicknamed 'Loose Lips' by his comrades (Though never called as such to his face), flashed them a crooked grin and leaned back on the throne, gesturing for his guards to begin distributing the contraband they'd brought. "Oh wait, I already know!"
The guard to his right opened a briefcase, hoisting it high enough for the newcomers to get a glimpse at its contents; a disassembled .50 caliber sniper rifle and magazine of aluminum-tipped armor-piercing rounds.
"The bullets are on us," Loose Lips explained as one of the men eyed the gun critically, its glossy black finish gleaming in the dim light. "A lil' Christmas present from Mr. Cobblepot to Mr. Falcone."
Wordlessly, one of the newcomers tossed a briefcase at the man on the throne, moving forward to begin assembling the rifle for inspection. Loose Lips took no notice, preoccupied with his end of the exchange.
"Now let's see if you've been naughty or….oh! Oh ho ho! Nice." He laughed, his eyes gazing greedily at the neat stacks of hundreds.
Unnoticed, a lone figure perched on an overlooking gargoyle not fifty yards from the exchange, a sneer dominating the only visible part of his face. Oblivious, the group continued on, even as the figure launched himself off his perch and began to glide through the air towards them.
"Where's the rest of 'em?"
"Easy, tiger." Loose Lips snapped, tearing his eyes from the briefcase to refocus on his new 'business partners'. "When you deal with us, you're dealing with the Penguin. This ain't some fly-by-night operation."
"Let's see 'em then. I didn't come all the way down here for just one-"
The man never got to finish his sentence, as two heavy boots planted themselves into his back, sending him flying forward into one of Penguin's men with the sickening crack of bone. Panicking, the men scrambled to fight back, but the unknown assailant had caught them off-guard, and the precious few seconds it took for them to process what the hell had just happened were all the newcomer needed to overwhelm them. Within moments, all were unconscious save for Loose Lips who knelt in the snow, hands raised above his head in surrender.
"Don't, don't! Whatever you're goin' to do – don't!"
The unknown assailant wordlessly grabbed Loose Lips and tossed him on the throne, the thug's breath catching in his throat as he gaped at the man before him; Tall, dressed entirely in black, and a long dark cape trailing from his shoulders like massive leathery wings. Loose Lips felt ice settle into his gut as the man advanced towards him. Flinching and attempting to shield himself with the briefcase of ill-begotten cash, the gangster screamed as he was violently kicked through the North Pole display, landing hard on his back as the man came at him again, grabbing him by the throat and hoisting him a foot off the ground.
"Where's the Penguin?"
Choking and sputtering, Loose Lips tried to speak, the armored man's iron grip making it difficult.
"I don't know!"
Clearly unbelieving, the man in black tightened his grip and hoisted the thug higher.
"Where is he?!"
"I…swear…." The criminal coughed out, black spots dancing across his vision before he promptly passed out in the armored man's grip.
When he came to, the first thing Loose Lips noticed was the sound of a man's harsh voice impatiently telling him to wake up. The second was that wherever he was, it was very windy and very cold.
The criminal awoke fully with an almost violent twitch before he began screaming, coming to the sudden and horrifying realization he was being dangled by his ankle eighty feet off the ground from the top of the Jezebel Plaza clocktower. Looking up, he gaped at the man in black who was holding him over the edge, the grip on his ankle loosening ever so slightly.
"Time to talk. Where's Cobblepot?"
"All right…yeah, thanks."
McKenzie hung up his phone, pocketing the device before turning to face his boss.
"CSI is on their way. You think the Bat did this?"
Kneeling in the rubble of what was once one of the radio tower's walls, Laura shook her head pityingly as she examined the body lying on the floor. The man, once a Gotham Optics tech according to his jacket, was sprawled on his stomach amongst the broken concrete, his face and abdomen blackened and burned. "Doubt it. He showed up, what, half an hour, forty-five minutes ago? Body's too stiff for that. This guy's been here for hours. Plus, the Bat's never killed before; Seems a bit off that he'd start with some random repair tech."
"Any ideas?" McKenzie asked, leaning against the stair rail.
"Not really. Seems like overkill to rig a door to explode to kill one guy. Probably wasn't aiming to kill anyone specific, just keep people away from the control panel."
"You think the tower was sabotaged, then?" McKenzie frowned. "So whoever did this was, what, just protecting their work?"
"Far as I can figure," Laura shrugged. "But who would mess with a radio tower? Techs say it's back online, so they obviously didn't take anything, or at least nothing vital. Why else would anyone bother coming here?"
Before McKenzie could respond, a shrill ringing rang out in the corridor. Fishing around in her pocket, Laura pulled out her phone and brought it up to her ear.
"Anderson."
"Anderson, it's Gordon. You and McKenzie still on scene at that tower on Phoenicia Street?"
Laura eyed McKenzie, mouthing 'Gordon' in answer to the blond's curious look. "Yeah, we're here. Why?"
"Someone anonymously sent in a tip about a body upstairs. And a full analysis of the crime scene. And the IDs of the victim and suspect."
Laura suppressed a smile at the captain's irritated tone. "Yeah, we found it. Already called it in to CSI, we're just waiting on them to show."
"Good. You and McKenzie head back to the precinct when they get there."
"You got it, Captain."
In response to McKenzie's questioning look, Laura shook her head. "Someone called in about the body and sent us a full crime scene analysis. Looks like the Bat's been busy."
Standing up, Laura brushed the concrete dust off her pants and took a step back from the ruined wall. "Gordon wants us back in the East End as soon as the techs show up."
McKenzie raised an eyebrow. "Something going on?"
"Not that he mentioned." The sergeant shrugged. "Probably wants to coordinate the search for whoever broke out of Blackgate tonight. Best get it done now, before the roads get completely impassable. The weather's only supposed to get worse from here on out."
The CSI technicians arrived soon enough, crime scene analysis in hand, Laura noted with amusement, and within minutes the two officers were on their way to the East End Precinct.
"I'm sure Danvers is thrilled," McKenzie said offhandedly, drawing the sergeant's attention away from the passing sight of Pioneer's Bridge. "Dead boss, prison breakout; I'd hate to have his job right about now."
"He probably has no idea what's going on," Laura sighed, leaning back into the worn seat. "He's on vacation for the holidays, Miami or something. That's why he wasn't at the execution."
There was a long pause before the blond spoke again. "So, if the commissioner's dead and the deputy commissioner's on vacation, who's in charge? Branden, or Gordon?"
"Honestly? Not a fucking clue. In a perfect world, Gordon's captaincy puts him at the top, Branden's connections be damned. But he was Loeb's lapdog, and with SWAT at his back…"
"It's anyone's game." The detective concluded.
Laura nodded, gaze returning to the city flashing by outside the cruiser's window. Leaning her head against the cold glass, she sighed, not daring to vocalize what both officers were thinking.
And we're going to be caught right in the middle of it.
The once-opulent Lacey Towers apartment was in shambles. A fire had broken out, leaving the hardwood floor blackened and charred and a layer of soot covering the whole room. Pieces of broken furniture littered the floor, indicating some sort of fight or struggle. The most gruesome feature was the two bodies decorating the main room of the apartment; the male sprawled out on the floor in a puddle of dried blood while the female, identified as Tiffany Ambrose, was strung up on the chandelier by her wrists, the billowing sleeves of her dress fanned out as if in mimicry of an angel in flight.
It was here that Bruce Wayne found himself, kneeling in the soot and ash to better examine the male victim.
The shallow trajectory of the bullet suggests the shooter could be someone of Penguin's height, Bruce mused to himself. But the grooves on the floor suggest the victim was killed by someone leaning back in a chair.
Standing, Bruce moved over to the body of Tiffany Ambrose, still suspended in the center of the room. Glancing up, he examined the bullet wound in her chest, undoubtedly the source of the young woman's demise. This bullet was fired from a revolver. Ballistics analysis indicates a low angle of trajectory. The shooter could have been someone of Penguin's height, but the pattern in the gunpowder residue suggests the bullet was actually fired by someone lying on the ground.
As Bruce moved through the apartment, more clues began to surface, further piecing together the scene. Four people were present in the room at the time of the crime; Tiffany Ambrose, the male victim, his shooter, and whomever attacked the shooter. Penguin, though at one point present at the crime scene, had arrived long after the murders had been committed, and could not have been the shooter. Which then begged the question…
If he didn't kill Black Mask, who did?
A flash of color in the corner of his eye caught Bruce's attention, and he recognized the corner of a phone peeking out from underneath one of the scorched couches, its glittering pink case startlingly out-of-place in the gloomy remnants of the apartment. Kneeling to pick it up, Bruce could only assume the phone had belonged to Tiffany, the most recent contact in the texts listed as Romie 3. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, he scanned the messages.
hurry i'm scared
On my way
who's the joker?
No one that matters
Scowling to himself, Bruce put down the phone and made towards the door. With every new clue, only more questions were raised. Who is 'the Joker'? Was he the killer here, or is he one of the assassins?
Activating the comm piece in his cowl, Bruce tried to keep his mounting annoyance out of his voice.
"Alfred – I need access to the National Criminal Database."
"Well, the only way to do that would be to infiltrate the Gotham City Police Department." The butler's accented voice responded through the comm.
"Then that's where I'm going." The vigilante decided, pointedly ignoring the exasperated sigh that sounded through the mic.
"Sir, you'd need to physically hack into their servers. If you insist on doing something that foolish, you'll need a powerful nonlethal weapon. I recommend coming back here to pick up your concussion detonator."
Bruce made a noise of affirmation and exited the apartment, ducking down the hallway back towards the balcony he'd originally broken in through, careful to avoid alerting the SWAT officer at the end of the hall muttering curses as he tried to light a cigarette. Vaulting up to the roof, he activated the signal on his utility belt and within moments the dark shape of the Batwing appeared overhead with a roar. Shooting his grappling line upwards, Bruce swiftly made his way into the vehicle, ignoring the panicked shouts of the tenants and stationed officers below before shooting off into the night sky in the direction of Wayne Manor.
"I know everyone's still in shock over what happened to Commissioner Loeb, but we need to stay focused on our primary targets for tonight. So far Waylon Jones has been processed – and we're following an anonymous tip on Deathstroke's location – but we've got a ways to go before sunrise."
Jim Gordon stood in front of three dozen officers crammed into the East End Precinct's bullpen, looking sternly at the men and women below. Most were part of Gordon's Vigilante Task Force, but a few officers and detectives had been pulled from Homicide and SWAT to deal with the growing body count due to the assassins' presence in the city. Laura Anderson stood in the doorway to her office, only half-listening as she examined the crowd.
"There's eight assassins in town tonight. From the info we've been gathering, they are among the most dangerous criminals on record – period. After interrogating Waylon Jones, we've learned that they're all competing for a huge bounty which Black Mask has offered for the head of the Bat."
A murmur broke out amongst the gathered cops, and Laura spotted several of Branden's SWAT members exchange a furtive look. McKenzie, who'd been standing next to her, leaned over and whispered, "Fifty-million, from what I heard."
"Alright, cut the chatter, people," Gordon interrupted, once again commanding the attention of the room. "Our goal is to ensure order in this city, so our number one priority becomes bringing in the Bat before these assassins get to him. Now, the closer it gets to morning, the more desperate the assassins will grow – and if he's still out there – the more damage they'll cause to the city as they try to find or attract him. Focus on finding the Bat as quickly as possible, and above all, preventing civilian casualties. Alright, dismissed."
Gordon walked off towards his office as the crowd dispersed, and Laura recognized a familiar head of red hair waiting for him by the door. Quickly averting her eyes from the father and daughter, whose muffled argument could be heard almost immediately after the office door shut, Laura addressed the detective at her side.
"You catch that look between SWAT when Gordon mentioned the bounty?"
McKenzie nodded, folding his arms over his chest. "Yeah. Not surprised Branden would try to go after it. He's almost as much in Sionis' pocket as Loeb was."
"Must not be feeling too confident he can grab power from Gordon." Laura mused.
"Heard Hill might name Grogan instead."
Laura groaned. Peter Grogan was just as corrupt, if not more so, than Loeb; The man, if one could call him that, was a notorious social-climber who didn't so much as sneeze without consulting Sal Maroni first. Most considered the GCPD corrupt to the point of near-uselessness; Under Grogan, it wouldn't even be worth the taxpayer dollars it took to keep the lights on.
Laura's budding complaints were cut off by the sound of a door slamming, and with a glance over to the captain's office she saw Barbara Gordon storming off in the direction of the stairwell, the teenager pointedly ignoring her father's "Barbara, wait!" shouted after her. Sighing, Laura gave McKenzie an apologetic smile and quickly ducked into her office, snatching something off the desk before striding down the hall towards her superior's office.
Gordon was leaning against the open door, glasses perched halfway down his slightly crooked nose as he rubbed his forehead. Laura shook the small bottle of painkillers in her hand to announce herself before holding it out, the captain looking up in surprise before grabbing the bottle and swallowing two pills dry, nodding towards her in wordless thanks.
"The Bat-Man argument again?"
Gordon sighed, nodding. "She just doesn't understand that he's just another criminal. That he's subverting the law. If she wasn't so damn stubborn…"
"A trait she inherited from her father," Laura pointed out with a smirk.
Gordon pointedly ignored her, massaging his temples. With a backwards glance towards the stairway, the sergeant laid a hand on her mentor's arm.
"Jim, just relax. Go get a cup of coffee and take ten. Believe me, you look like you need it. I'll go talk to Barbara."
The captain shot his protégé a grateful smile, giving her a quick pat on the shoulder. "Thanks, kid."
Laura turned away from her mentor and descended the precinct's main staircase. Barbara wouldn't be hard to find; Since she'd been old enough to work a computer, the redhead had always been sneaking off to the East End Precinct's basement server room, spending countless hours sifting through the GCPD's case files and the National Criminal Database. Today was no exception.
"Anything in particular catching your eye?"
The teenager jumped, clearly not expecting company. The fear on her face quickly gave way to annoyance as she recognized the sergeant, folding her arms across her chest and scowling at the woman before her.
"Laura! Jesus, don't scare me like that!"
"Sorry, Barb." Laura glanced over at the computer the young woman had been working with, arching a brow as she scanned the screen. "Investigating missing weapons?"
Barbara blushed, but held the sergeant's gaze. "If I don't do anything, who will? The system's broken Laura, you know that! Those weapons will just get sold off to Penguin or Black Mask, and no one will do anything!"
Laura sighed, laying a hand on the redhead's shoulder. "I know Barbara, believe me, and I don't like it any more than you do. But men like that? Penguin, Falcone, Black Mask? They're monsters. These are not the kind of men who'll pull punches just because you're fifteen. If someone finds out you're doing more than just reading case files and they take you as a legitimate threat, they will hurt you or the people you care about. Trust me, I've had it happen. I know it sucks watching all this happening and feeling like nothing is getting done, but please Barbara, for your own safety, keep your head down and let your dad and I handle this."
The girl let out a huff, glancing back towards the computer screen with furrowed brows. She opened her mouth to continue, but before she could, the emergency exit door swung open with a metallic screech. Turning towards the newcomer, Laura felt her heart leap into her throat and immediately shoved Barbara behind her, unholstering her sidearm and aiming it at the figure in the doorway. A deafening silence fell over the room at the telltale click of the gun's safety being flicked off.
In the doorway stood the Bat-Man.
