Author's Notes: So this is a fanfic idea I've had rattling around in my head for a while now. I'll say right now that it's incomplete because I couldn't bring myself to finish writing it. I had a whole story idea in mind and a couple of scenes written out in advance but the story itself was...too dark for me to bring myself to finish it. But it felt wrong to leave the story to just rot unposted in its current form. So this is me posting what I have - that means its largely unedited, might have mistakes, and might not be consistent. Maybe some day I'll get around to writing the rest of it but I doubt I will.
A Time Above (Prologue)
"There was a time above, a time before. There were perfect things, diamond absolutes. But things fall, things on earth. And what falls, is fallen."
-Bruce Wayne, The Batman
The Parisian coroner descended the steps down into the subway station, pleased to see the officers had already cordoned off the area. The head inspector was the one to let him into the crime scene, and he could tell from his tired eyes that the man hadn't gone home in a while. Once they were on the platform, the coroner was greeted by a grisly blood splatter on the far wall of the station and a stopped train blocking off one of the tracks. He figured he didn't have to ask but did so anyway, "What is it this time?"
The inspector took a sip of his coffee cup and answered, "What it looks like Jean. Witnesses say that some guy got mugged up on the street. Suspect ran down here where he was caught by…"
He paused, which wasn't good news for him. He really hoped it wasn't another one, "Any suspects?"
"Who do you think?" the inspector frowned then gestured towards the edge of the platform, "Do your thing. I have a few more witnesses to speak to. Public place like this in the middle of rush hour? Everyone with a camera on their phones? The whole world saw."
The coroner nodded and made his way to the crime scene, climbing off the platform and onto the train tracks to see the eviscerated remains of the victim - there was just enough to make out bits of brain, skin, tissue and bone were splattered all along the rails going about twenty feet. He sighed and knew his work was cut out for him. This was the fourth death related to one of Paris' guardians this month. What the hell did that mean for Paris?