"So, do you know much of him?" I asked.

"Who, Allen?"

"Yeah, ya know the transfer!" I attempt to make small talk to help ease the pain of this awkward and humdrum moment.

"Oh yeah, him. Well, from what I'm told, he's really good. He isn't much like me when I started, this guy has already been around the block once or twice." She explained.

"Yeah," I began, "Metropolis streets. He ain't been around our blocks. Hope the fella is ready..."

"Oh trust me, Bullock, from what you've shown and taught me, he'll be ready." Montoya said as she gave me an assuring wink.

I decide to retire the idea of small talk and laid my head against the glass. Through this glass, all I see is filth, with a bit of hope. We pass through Gotham's main Industrial District to get to the crime scene. People like Bruce Wayne and Garnett Greenside make these buildings extraordinary. The one thing I have to admit about the city is it has the most amazing buildings in America.

The Wayne Central Station is a perfect example of the architectural brightness this city has. Both Wayne and Greenside's fathers built it back in the day, with their combined talents; they created one of the country's greatest monumental treasures known to man. Greenside himself said to his co-workers, "Remember, for anyone coming to Gotham when they depart the train, this will be the first thing they see of the city. I want them to know they've come to the most remarkable place on earth."

He was a great visionary, who sadly had recently passed. Well, along with the remains of the original Wayne Central Station. Yes, the one man who had created it demolished it, sadly, a few years back. Many people have several different conspiracy theories behind why it happened, but all I know is the Joker was present when it happened, so that should tell you something.

It wasn't much a of a travesty, as Wayne Enterprises was already planning on rebuilding it, as it had so much structural damage and had to be abandoned in its last few years of life. So, Wayne hired Greenside's genius son, who of course must've learned from his father, to build the brand new Wayne Central Station that stands here today, well mostly. It hasn't been fully done with construction, yet it is open and it allows tourists and city goers to have some hope as they enter this sporadic hell of a city.

But, man, you had to see the original. It truly was somethin'. It was huge and beautiful, with various forms of marble, flooring, and all that good stuff! It truly blew everyone away and certainly served its purpose. But I have to say, the new one that is pretty much done construction, is a beauty, too. Everything about it screams the original, just with a little modernized flair. For this reason, they used the original blueprints and worked around that. But I digress...

We finally make our way to Gotham Bay through the vigorous traffic, home to fishers, the homeless, and murderers alike.

"This one doesn't look good..." Montoya proclaims as we examine the crime scene from the car.

"We've seen much worse." I say, as if I tried to reassure her.

We walk up to the crime scene; the smells of fish and pollution make me well aware of my location. I try to examine the area; regardless that my head is flourishing with what has previously happened this day. There appears to be three bodies. Two of which were stabbed frequently with what appears to be a pocketknife. The third body appears to be the actual killer... this has to be the most gruesome of the bodies...

"Poor bastard." A fellow detective, Marcus Driver, calls out as he examines the apparent killer's body.

"You think he's the poor bastard?" Montoya questions, "Looks to me as these two are the poor ones! He was wrong on so many levels..."

"I guess you're right..." Driver agrees, "But we know nothing of the murderer or the victims. All we know is these two were stabbed to death and this one gouged his own eyes out, and stabbed himself in the stomach, causing himself to bleed out."

Montoya and Driver continue to examine the body and question witnesses until Commish comes; I just feel so distant right now. I feel as though those punks could be watching me, or about to kill me now. Even the horrific occurrence in front of me barely fazes me. But what is fazing me is the damned press; I always hate these people. They're like flees and ticks to a dog.

"Hey, Harv, are you okay?" Montoya asks sympathetically, she always looks out for me.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay, Montoya. Just tell me what we got." I say as I point beyond the crime scene tape.

"Well, from the looks of it, we have one drugged up John Doe who ran down and around Gotham Bay shrieking that "crazy fucking demons" were chasing him. This comment came from witnesses who claimed he ran around screaming bloody murder." She continues, "And then he apparently pulls out his pocket knife, stabs these two unfortunate souls here, and then gouges his own eyes out, only to finish with a jab to his own stomach."

I have to admit, it wasn't a pretty sight. None of us were expecting this sort of damage. I cannot imagine the psychological scars adults and children now have from this sort of crime.

I divvy up a plan, trying to maintain the whole "new" Bullock who actually tries to be less of an alcoholic and more of a cop, "Alright, Montoya, I want you to continue to question bystanders and Driver, I want you to try to find out where this masquerade began and then track the route back to here. Are you guys with me?"

"Damn Bullock," Driver began, "you certainly are one for cleaning himself up. You barely look hung-over..."

I admit it, Driver is a bit of a blabbermouth, I am too, but he always literally speaks his mind, but I try to forgive him.

I try to think of a quick response and spit out, "Yeah well, you know it was just the New Year and I have resolutions and all to get to, ya know. So, go out there and map me a path!"

Driver smiles toward me and answers sarcastically, "Yes sir, Mr. Detective."

Now that I have the situation under control, it is time for me to act as crowd control until Gordon gets here.

"Everyone, civilians and press alike," I began, "can you guys settle down and give the boys in blue a break for once? I mean, do you really want to see a man with no eyes, among other things? Give the deceased room to breath... metaphorically. And this is specifically to the press, if you want a statement on this case from a cop, and you can put me on the record for this when I say fuck off."

So much for the new resolution...