Well, as it's a beautiful Thursday, I think I'll stay in my dark room and live on the Internet. I'm telling you people, one of these days sunlight is going to slip through my window and all that's going to be left of me is a pile of blackened ashes in front of my computer. I'm looking a lot like Gollum at the moment and I think JTHM is living in my house, (My brother's music). Anyway, we are almost ready to wrap up this story. Just a few more chapters at the absolute maximum I'm thinking five more updates.

Enjoy!

(Still pissed about the chocolate cake.)

That hurt. It was the first thought on his mind and it was really the only thing that mattered at that moment. Broken ribs, definitely a broken arm, and... Oh god, he couldn't move his legs, he could barely even breathe.

"Jesus Christ!"

Hysterical. High pitched male, couldn't be more than seventeen.

Gordon's hands and neck were brushing against something rough and itchy. Everything smelled like sweat and burnt rubber, dust and headaches.

"Calm down dammit."

Rougher tone, older male, experienced and criminal with a whine that suggested petty thug, small time crook for hire.

What's my name?

"People don't just fall through the roof. Oh God, what are we gonna do?

Hysterical voices were not the best thing at that moment, headache. Brain on a pogo stick. Jumping up and down, pounding into skull.

"Shut up someone's gonna-"

"We gotta call someone. Jesus is he still alive?"

Am I still alive? I don't feel alive. I'm a zombie. I'm... Gordon.

Batman, Joker, Hospital. Heights, flying.

"Yes, Fuckface he's just dazed."

"....Really?"

"Are you five years old? Of course he's dead."

"Oh, god, we gotta call the police."

I am the police.

"That's your brilliant plan? Jesus man, that's fuckin' genius. Why don't we call the fuckin' police."

"We're just gonna leave him here?"

"He's dead, an if you wanna join him you're welcome to-"

A toe moved, I'm alive! I'm alive! I'm alive! Oh, even thinking hurts.

"Is he moving?"

"Let's just get the fuck outta here, we can probably make it out of the city before nightfall. This place is gonna be crawling with cops and whose gonna get blamed for that?"

"Would you shut up, I just saw his hand move."

"Look, even the pile wouldn't stop that kinda drop, he's probably got a broken neck at least, now get your ass out of here. I'm gonna get rid of the evidence."

What? Where am I? Evidence? Pile?

"What?" Asked the second man, momentarily distracted.

"Remember what Stags told us? We gotta destroy everything. Someone saw that guy crash through the roof and we gotta fix it. Do I really have to explain this to you?"

I have to move.

But it's so easy to lie here...

"But-"

"Get the fuck outta here before I shoot you myself."

There was something important that Gordon had to do, something that nagged on his aching head.

Bruce.

Gordon groaned and opened his eyes. Above him was a dimly lit roof and a hole where he could see the Gotham clouds, slightly cross-hatched by his glass-less eyes. He took a shallow breath and made a weak flopping movement with his wrist.

"Mike..."

"What is it now?" The voice was further away, and Gordon's eyes rolled in their sockets, tiny black lights were sparkling on the ceiling of the warehouse.

"Mike, he's breathing." The voice was now terrified, the hysteria turned into a morbid panic.

There were heavy footsteps and Gordon hitched his breath enough to let out a light, splintering cough. Little shooting pains spread through his ribs and throat rooting themselves in his face.

"Well I'll be damned..."

Gordon slowly turned his good arm down, feeling the surface it was lying on. His brain was slowly starting to wake up and it hurt. Blood was leeching slowly back into motion, putting pins and needles everywhere.

Cotton. Furry cotton, not unlike sheepskin.

Something hard poked him in the shoulder. Groaning he pushed himself upward with his good arm, letting out a whimper of pain as every movement aggravated his ribs.

Disorienting shadows leaped everywhere and a fuzzy blot of pinkish white was ten feet in front of him. Blinking, he tried to make sense of the information that was passing through his whirling head. There's someone standing in front of me.

My head hurts.

His glasses were gone, lost on the train most probably. But he could still make out what he had landed on.

Fuzzy stuffed animals of an indeterminable shape, bunnies bears but they'd been gutted, each had a gaping hole with cotton guts spilling out in a macabre version of child's surgery.

And grit under his fingers, he had been a cop long enough to smell the bad drugs. And this was a fucking mine of cocaine. They had smuggled the drug in the animals' stomach like Crane's fear toxin.

Of all the places to land...

Short chapter but what the hell

So... Yeah... Not as great as it could have been but I love Gordon too much to kill him. I debated for a while though, and I still think it would have been a wise choice to splat his head across Gotham streets, just for dramatic effect. That sounds evil but I dunno, the story might have had more closure. (I'm going to make some pretty final decisions by the end of this but I don't think I'll kill Gordon off this time. Plus I still need him for the next three or so chapters (GOD! Does this Story Never END???!!!!)