If I told you what I was,

Would you turn your back on me?

And if I seem dangerous,

Would you be scared?

Imagine Dragons

— Well, how? — I asked, leaning over the table, while Stewart looked at the bullet and in general did something incomprehensible.

— You are blocking the light, — he said calmly.

I straightened, then walked around the guy and stood behind him.

— British rifle, caliber 12.7 99, — he quickly wrote it down on paper. His handwriting, of course, was worse than that of the doctors. — They fired from a distance of approximately ... 60-70 meters.

He continued to write, and I continued to stand over, trying to understand how this can be determined at all with the help of a bullet. He finally finished and, pinning off his magnifying glasses, turned on the chair to me with a sly smile.

— The rest, so be it, tell you, if you agree to drink coffee with me.

Seriously? I smiled. On the one hand, I was about to spend the evening in the company of food and girl talk, but on the other, Stuart is a cutie and why not? It seems that the last time when I took the charm of a new acquaintance, it ended up being a maniac. Although comparing Stuart and Jamie-Jerome is the same as comparing Darth Vader and that small green monster. I agree, the example is so-so, but the essence is the same.

— Of course. Why not?

— So at lunch? — Stuart stood up, looking at me, probably his most friendly look. — And yet, tell the commissioner that I will report on ballistics a little later.

— Yeah, — I nodded, but when I was about to leave, I decided to clarify something: — Or maybe I'd better agree to eat pizza with you? And then I will soon have to start singing myself in order to drown out the serenades of dying whales in my stomach. You don't like it, believe me.

My heartburn began to pass and now I wanted to eat. I looked hopefully at Stewart, returning to papers and ballistic calculations. The guy just laughed silently.

— As you say, he shrugged. — I know a good pizzeria nearby.

There was something so warm and friendly about it. So much so that I almost forgot about all the hardships that I experienced this morning. So, inspired by this event, I flew back to my kingdom of unsubscribed calculations, to the cemetery of patience, normal vision, and any meaning.

It took really a lot of time to finish all the writing and more or less razgresti it into neat piles. Always, when I had to do something tedious, difficult and not pleasing to me, I thought only about what was waiting at the end. About food, about a warm bath, talking or about the bed - in different cases in different ways. Finally, the unfortunate reports were completed, and my hand seems to have turned into a swollen something from so many written numbers and letters.

In order to quickly get rid of these hellish torments, I very quickly dragged it all to the commissioner, so that she could see the level of my hard work. It all cost me blurry silhouettes due to eye strain and aversion to the writing process as such.

— For the future: you need to knock before entering, — said Essen calmly.

— Everything is ready, сommissioner.

And so it is not clear that my hands were a little busy? I clenched my teeth, swallowing a very bold answer, and just threw all the papers on the commissioner's table.

— Here it is. Everything is here.

She rose from her chair and ran her eyes over the papers. Commissioner Essen's expression became as if I had thrown her a mammoth head on the table: a little dumbfounded, but generally pleased.

— Did you manually rewrote all this? — I nodded. Commissioner took the topmost folder. — And for how many months?

— For two years — I replied with killed voice. She raised her eyebrows, looking up at me. And I almost pleadingly said in addition — Now can I go for lunch? Please.

— Yes, of course - Essen hastily nodded, returning to her throne. — I think you deserve it.

I deserved it according to the laws of the labor code, if that. Oh, from hunger, I get too aggressive. So I just nodded my thanks and left.

Stopping at the entrance to the commissioner's office, I began to seek out Mr. Lytle. By the time before lunch there was still about half an hour, so I needed to occupy myself with something, and I planned to return to the ballistic laboratory. But, fortunately (for Stuart), I stumbled upon an uncle.

— Stuart and I are going to the pizzeria, do you want to join us?

Yes, I still did not give up trying to get my uncle out of the abyss of his hopeless work. I know, I know that this is not the best moment, considering that these "Maniacs" are doing, but from ten minutes and a couple of pieces of pizza nothing will change. Or not?

— I can not, — he gazed somewhere in the direction of the table, which, apparently, personified his work. — Wait, with what Stewart? With that one of the ballistic department?

— Yeah, — I nodded, already heading towards the stairs. — We agreed to have dinner together. What's wrong?

— No, it is... — he bore me with a strange look for a couple of seconds, giving out at the same time joy for me and wariness for my further fate. — Well. Glad you already found friends.

To my great happiness, the moment that was supposed to end with edification from Uncle Jim, like, "Just don't do anything wrong, guys," well, or something like that, was spoiled by a phone call. My uncle immediately rushed to answer, picking up the phone, but before that he turned to me.

— Remember what we talked about. Gordon.

Then something in the general atmosphere cracked, and I almost heard the sound. Leaving my hopes to persuade my uncle to break away from the beloved work, I was about to leave, when suddenly his face became terribly tense, as if the call was from the other world. My uncle even took the phone away from his ear, as if he really couldn't understand if he heard a voice on the other side, or was it just a play of imagination. For a moment we crossed eyes, and I quietly asked, rather even to myself: "What happened?". But he said nothing and instead of answering me, he said into the phone:

— Hi, Barbara. How are you?

Inside, everything literally fell inside me, as if I was riding a roller coaster with wild speed. It can not be the same Barbara. How did she even have the audacity to call? But the unequivocal sight of uncle, who so successfully tries to keep his cool, spoke of the opposite. He spoke so calmly with the psychopathic that I was ready to pray for this calm, honestly. He just looked around nervously, making sure that everyone, as before, was busy with his business. I stood rooted to the spot, only trying to calm the accelerated pulse with internal assurance: "Everything is all right. It's ok. It will not work. Just a bluff."

— Listen, Barbara, I know you, I know. You are a good, good woman. This is all not you.

At the end there was such a laugh that even I heard him standing at the table. Here are just not understand what exactly she said. Apparently, something truly terrible, because even ideally unshakable uncle Jim suddenly raised his head and looked somewhere past me, towards the exit from the site. I turned around, and my eyes immediately came across a blonde in the corner of the arch. Damn it, she stood in the middle of all these policemen, in their red gloves and no one thought of paying attention?!

— Uncle? — I turned to him, feeling the tension in the air. Such that it could cut metal.

Then everything happened so quickly that I did not have time to understand anything except: "I will stay today without lunch, that's for sure." Because uncle jumped and rushed down, and Barbara away from the department.

— Stop! Wait! Uncle Jim!

I ran after him, but I got up in the middle of the department, realizing that I couldn't help but make it worse. Heck! What to do? Follow him? Tell the commissioner? Just lie on the floor here and wait until everything is resolved by itself? DAMN. Damn that day when I decided to move to Gotham!

Looking around nervously, looking for someone who would be as scared as I am now, I glanced at the door of Leslie's laboratory. I don't know what made me do it, but, in some sense, it probably saved my life. I pushed the door open and excited, completely unable to formulate thoughts properly, broke into Dr. Tompkin's laboratory.

— Leslie!

I stood in front of Dopkins's corpse. Such a pale and terrifying. At any other time, I would have staggered, felt nauseous, and would have left the lab as quickly as possible — I can't stand the sight of the dead, but not now. The brunette carefully looked at me.

— He...just ran after her! She called right to the department! I tried to stop him, honestly!

I choked with words, choked with them, like with something dry. Couldn't even decide where to start. The heartbeat did not even think to calm down, causing me to become more and more nervous and twitching.

— Come here. What happened?

— Jim, this...Barbara called him and then just...

I didn't have time to continue. There was a wild rumble, and after it incessant shots - one after another. And it was one of the most terrible moments in my life, which I certainly remembered for a long time. Leslie took a quick look at the door, and I felt her hands squeeze mine. Behind the door, silhouettes galloped, shouts were heard, which immediately drowned out the obscure noise and shots.

These were "Maniacs". There was no doubt. Looks like the worst nightmare you can ever see. Some steps and a shadow behind the door made me feel how much I was shaking. Leslie pushed me away, silently pointing at the stands against the wall. They stood along and it was possible to hide behind them only if the person entered did not go deep into the room. Trying to somehow establish order in my head, in order to understand what I generally do, I listened.

From the table where the corpse lay, hung a sheet that covered the body. Just a second before the door swung open, Leslie managed to dive under the table, hiding behind this sheet. At the same time, I pressed my back into the wall, pressing my knees to my chest so that they couldn't be seen.

I couldn't even see who entered, because I only looked at the face of Dr. Tompkins. Between us was about two or three meters, but I clearly saw her shaking. I saw her scared and pale face, saw her trembling hands as she raised her finger to her lips. I pressed both palms to my mouth and practically stopped breathing when the man stopped at the table with the corpse and there was an angry laugh. I shut my eyes tightly, so as not to let myself cry. These weren't such tears, when you are in despair or don't get what you want, there were tears of pain. Rather, fear — wild and uncontrollable.

Suddenly, the man turned around and left. His steps were lost somewhere in the roar of shots that began to subside. We sat like that for another minute or two, until I finally exhaled, probably very loudly and stretched my legs.

All I wanted now was to know that they were gone, and my uncle is all right. And the desire to find him suddenly turned out to be stronger than the fear that made me almost cry. God, there were so many people in the department...

Having found the strength to rise from the floor, I approached Dr. Tompkins, for some reason hoping that she knows what to do. But we both were equally scared and confused.

— I need to find my uncle, — I finally decided, throwing my hair back from my face and listening to the sounds outside. It was quiet there.

— Do not even think. I will not let you go.

— But, what if they just needed a panic, as well as with this people thrown off from the roof? We can not sit here, maybe someone needs help. Maybe they already left?

It was too bold a statement for a man who uttered him almost stammering.

— And if not? Please, stay here.

I don't know what played important role - my curiosity, the tendency to do, what I don't should do or the beginnings of schizophrenia, but I suddenly glanced past Leslie at the door and gave out "Just not him!". As Dr. Tompkins stood with her back to the entrance, she abruptly turned around, and at that moment I slipped under the table and rushed to the exit.

And I wish I stayed in the lab. A man was sitting on the floor near the door that led to the main hall of the department. I rushed to him, but before I knelt, I realized that it was too late. He didn't look like a corpse, wasn't pale, only the growing red stain on his shirt showed death. I didn't know him. I saw him, when they brought Dopkins, but no more. Did not know his name, did not know whether he has a family. Having swallowed a lump in my throat, I gently raised a pistol from the floor that lonely lay a few meters away from the man's hand. Damn bastards.

Only a little bit looking out from behind the arch, I made sure that they were still there. Several people in the form of policemen were strolling around the precinct with shotguns at the ready. But the worst thing was not this, but the people - the officers, just the duty officers, privates and employees of the departments. Someone was already dead, someone was close to it. So many people. I squeezed the gun harder, trying not to pay attention to how my hands were shaking. Lord, I do not even know how to shoot.

Almost crawling to the table to better see what was going on, I leaned out of my improvised shelter. Please tell me that my uncle is alive. And that all this is gonna be over now. I looked in the direction of exit from the station, there was on duty one of the loonies. Somewhere a shot rang out, apparently breaking off the suffering of some policeman, and I slipped to the floor and pressed my back into the desk drawers. What am I doing?

Grabbing at least some semblance of courage, I looked out again. And for some reason only now noticed Commissioner Essen. She was tied to a chair that stood on pushed tables right next to the entrance to her office. The tall figure of a man in uniform pulled off his jacket and threw him down, turning around. I shivered, suddenly feeling how a gun becomes heavy in my hand.

It was he. That same guy from the Galavan's office. Jerome Valeska.

Damn it.

He still looked as handsome as he had then, except that all this was completely interrupted by an insane expression. Here and now he was not constrained by the role of some Jamie, a nice, respectable guy. This psycho has gotten so far as to be himself — a man who slaughtered his mother.

— To rule the world, — I heard some snatches of conversation. — Bla-bla-bla. But so far we are satisfied with a bunch of dead cops and piar, — there was a short laugh. — Kidding.

Okay. The commissar is now all there, alone with these schizophrenics, and I'm here with a weapon. Just don't be such a coward, Kim! It was easy to say it to myself, but it was incredibly hard to do. My father was always brave, my uncle was always brave, but not me. I kept a weapon once or twice in my life.

Having only slightly raised and put the finger on the trigger. Damn hard. Unbearable. Inside it was like a volcanic eruption. At some point I thought about everything at once. Is Stuart alive? Will this psycho remember me if they see me? What happens if I kill him right now? Where is uncle? Why did I even come to this God-damned city? I did not have time to give answers, because a shot rang out. It took some time to understand what I did. Squeezed the trigger.

The man who was holding the camera, standing next to the ginger, screamed, his legs gave way and he crashed down from the table. Completely inadequate and wild laughter of the guy broke the silence after the shot. I missed. Shoot just below the knee. And then I dived to the table, realizing that I definitely couldn't go back to the laboratory.

— Who did this? — Through his incredibly frightening laughter asked redhead psycho. — Come on, guys, do not hesitate! I want to personally shake hand to the hero of the day.

I did not have time to decide whether to rejoice in me or not. Something cold leaned against the back of my head and there was a click. I opened my hands and dropped the gun, raising my palms.

— We've got a rat, — a voice behind was loud enough to break my hopes of going unnoticed.

Hardly coping with shaking knees and weak legs, I stood up, looking at the owner of the voice. Partially bald man, with a dragon tattoo on his neck. Good God, he has a shotgun in his hands, aimed at me...

— Long time no see! - I slowly turned around, forcing myself to tear my eyes away from this subhuman and transferring him to Valescu. - Wait, do not tell me...Kate, Kira...Кim!

Great, this asshole did recognize me. Can I count on pardon in honor of our acquaintance? Ginger continued to play the scene from the only him well-known play. Apparently, he has such a lifestyle — to constantly showing off.

— Frankly, I missed you, — he grinned, as if trying to prove the opposite, gestured to me, and the man behind pushed me in the back with a weapon.

At any other time, I would be outraged and expressed everything I think. But not now. Now I was just terribly scared. Slowly climbing the stairs, I glanced at the commissioner. If I could get at least a tenth of that outer calm with which Essen looked at us. I was ready to bow before her confidence and courage at that moment. As soon as I had time to distract myself, I crossed my eyes with the man I had shot at. I swear, never before in my life have I seen such a look. As if he were a mad dog without any moral principles. If the eyes are really a mirror of the soul, as they say, then this man simply does not have it.

It's very funny to look at maniacs, cannibals and rapists through the TV. Be in tension for two hours. To succumb to the terrible and strange charm of the villains, like Lecter, and then exhale and live peacefully on. But when you face them face to face it is different. I can say for sure — this isn't a damn fun.

The man I was shoot was Robert Greenwood. I recognized him by these very eyes. And, by the way, Valeska against his background did not look such a horrendous maniac. Everything else, the "first impression effect" still influenced me, and I could not believe that Jamie-Jerome could be really dangerous.

I managed to notice only the bloody stain on Greenwood's trouser leg, where the bullet hit, before his hand dug into my throat. It was like claws because of which you stop breathing in a second. I grabbed his wrist, but naturally, that didn't change anything.

— I'll cut you into pieces, little bitch, — the stench from the mouth of this scum struck in my face, I tried to break out, realizing that in a couple of seconds, I would lose touch with reality. Greenwood bared his teeth in a cruel smirk. — And now your uncle will not save you from what I will do before. Oh, you'll like it.

At first I felt that the hand on my throat had opened and began to greedily swallow the air, clearing my throat with such force that it seemed I would spit out my lungs now. I looked up to somehow get my bearings on what happened and saw the pistol at the back of the head of this unfinished Hannibal Lecter.

— Kim is our friend now. Do we offend friends, Greenwood? - Valeska portrayed a disgruntled face, although behind this theatrical bravado, which he constantly carried, it was possible to discern such a fierce desire to shoot anyone for insubordination.

— No — he said through clenched teeth.

— So take the camera and, — he lowered the gun and turned to me. — My friend, how to put it...have problems with women.

He himself thought it terribly witty and Jerome laughed again. Of course, he has a damn problem with women. He dismembered them and ate! I would faint right now if it were not for the loud voice of the commissioner, which made the redhead instantly shut up and turn to the source of the sound:

— Leave her alone, poor bastard.

Holy woman I have already mentally asked her forgiveness for being considered her a bitch.

— Oh, sorry old lady. It's impolite. We haven't finished yet.

— Yes, whatever, i get it. You just crazy.

— Crazy? — Then he jumped onto the table and stared at the commissioner, bowing his head. — Look at me. You can see I'm not crazy.

— Very soon little man, you'll be dead. And the world will go on without you. Nobody will even remember your name.

All the time, while the commissioner spoke (with such an iron, bless it, with confidence), the guy only grimaced, pretending as if listening diligently. He had his own opinion on this, including something about a virus and an imprint, and so on through the list. I no longer caught half the words, because my head was spinning.

Only Greenwood's voice pulled me out of this state: "Because there is nothing more contagious than laughter". And in the next second the Jerome calmly pulled out a pistol and fired at the man. He dropped the camera and fell back off the table. In the same way as before, only. without the opportunity to rise up.

— My line, — commented on the guy, turning around to face the commissioner. — There's nothing more contagious than laughter.

It was so unexpected that I again felt my heartbeat accelerate. I felt bad again, and I couldn't even look away, because I immediately ran across the corpses of the policemans.

And then commissioner Essen suddenly spat in his face, interrupting a new flash of laughter. Seriously. Just like that. And then I could not resist and stupidly laughed, clamping her mouth with her palms. While I was trying to shut up, the commissioner, in addition, had a good charge with her head in his nose so that he got blood.

I looked over my shoulder, wondering what would happen if I now tried to resist, but before I found the answer, scilence was broken by laughter. Worse than before. And now the guy no longer seemed to me to those whom I met in the office of Galavan. I understood so clearly that all this was a staged scene and that if I had known a maniac in him, he would have shot me without delay. Right there. If Greenwood was a typical cannibal who kills because of an abnormal thirst for blood, who always follows a certain plan, then Jerome doesn't. He was a complete psycho, which was impossible to understand, or predict his actions. Absolutely sick. With his interests, which vary with the speed of light.

— You've got me, — he threw a quick glance at the person behind me and nodded slightly, and then returned to Essen. — My turn.

Someone's hands firmly grabbed me from behind. One squeezed the waist, and the second, holding a rag. I struggled and scratched in my last strength, twisting my head, just to keep his palm from touching my face. My eyelids became heavy, and for as long as I did not try to keep them open, nothing happened. The last thing I remember before disconnecting is that commissioner Essen made no sound.