With every passing second, Detective Renee Montoya's worth was rising in Barbara's estimation. It didn't hurt that she had followed Barbara's orders without hesitation, calling for back-up as soon as Barbara had shared her observations. It wasn't every day that a cop took directions from a civilian—and that was precisely what Barbara was, no question. She had no illusions about that, even if she did have a propensity for getting involved in the greyer areas of law enforcement.
Getting involved. Involuntarily, Barbara smiled. What a tactful way to phrase it.
She watched as Montoya got the Commissioner on the phone...and then listened in, shamelessly.
Well, maybe I'm not QUITE a civilian.
"It's Montoya. Did you pick up on the frequency? We've got a situation unfolding..." Montoya paused for a moment, listening to the Commissioner on the other end. "They got in as workmen." She chewed her lip, thinking something over. "Fact is, Commissioner, it was your daughter who caught on..."
Who admits to that? Barbara listened in amazement as Detective Montoya proceeded to possibly commit career suicide. For the first time, she found herself wondering if her father weren't doing his job a little too well—was there such a thing as a too-honest cop?
This perplexing question of weighty ethical implications didn't stand a chance of achieving further exploration, at least at the moment. Montoya abruptly terminated the call and turned back to Barbara. "Is it at all remarkable or even relevant that your father didn't even bother to ask how the hell you're involved?"
Barbara smiled crookedly but didn't answer this question. Instead, she said, "You didn't have to tell him it was me who caught on. I wouldn't have ratted you out."
Montoya was checking her gun. "I respect your father too much to lie to him. Besides, I deserve to be in hot water for letting things get this far." She glanced over at Barbara. "Stay here."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm checking the area to see if any other assholes are around." For a brief moment, Montoya's professional voice faltered just a little, and Barbara caught the sound of the genuine Gothamite that she was. "God only knows how many of them got in—we didn't even bother to surveil the service entrance in the alley. Dammit—even with your father arguing, the higher ups wouldn't spare the extra men."
Barbara watched as Montoya crossed the street and disappeared into the shadows.
In the distance, sirens began to howl.
In the years that had passed since Alfred had assisted Master Wayne with taking on the mantle of the bat, the butler had learned a great deal.
Never be complacent.
Never give up hope.
Always be prepared.
To that end, he had long ago arranged with Lucius to have a certain amount of equipment available at Wayne Towers—a couple of suits, of course; some well-maintained weaponry and an extra utility belt; emergency medical supplies...and for Alfred's benefit, as much as Gotham's, a police frequency scanner.
It crackled to life as he struggled to overcome the shock he was experiencing over the hacked computer files. He hadn't had time, even, to call Master Wayne and convey this latest bizarre twist, but from the sounds of it, there were other problems at hand.
"Request all available units to 28920 Madison Ave. Potential hostage situation unfolding."
"That's Safe Haven," Alfred whispered.
The Tumbler was silently moving through the back streets of Gotham, heading in the direction of Safe Haven, when the Batman picked up on the same police transmission that had alerted Alfred and Lucius.
Safe Haven.
What was the time? Six? Closer to seven? What were the chances that Annabeth had gone home by then? He caught himself wondering this, and briefly felt ashamed. Putting Annabeth before everyone and everything else—understandable, of course, but not something the Batman could allow of himself.
Dammit.
A sudden rage, rare for him these days, welled up inside of him. Goddamn Gotham. In that moment, he could have happily razed the entire city to the ground. Fortunately, the moment passed, and the Batman quickly centered his thoughts, his focus, his entire being. Annabeth could be in danger, but from the sounds of it, others were definitely in danger.
The beast took over, and the Tumbler charged forward through the night.
Barbara was surprised.
It had been a long time since she had seen any action, other than when she had meddled in the Batman's affairs. A few years had passed since her time on the force, and she suddenly realized how much she missed it. It wasn't something she allowed herself to think about often—she was a pretty decided kind of woman, didn't allow herself to look back or wallow in regret, so for one moment she was taken aback by the fire and adrenaline surging through her. It hadn't been like this when she had helped the Batman before—but then, before, she wasn't as aware of the people who needed help. Before, she had aided the Batman...now, she was aiding actual people.
The sirens were coming closer, and she found herself praying that they were heralding the coming of clean cops. Cops her father trusted.
She glanced down and up the street—and then did a double-take. There was a person coming down the sidewalk, heading towards Safe Haven, and there was something about the slouching, shuffling gait that seemed familiar. And then Barbara realized—it was the girl, Stacy, who had been with Annabeth de Burgh at MCU a few days back.
Shit.
Barbara didn't even bother to pause and wonder why Stacy wasn't in Safe Haven, experiencing potentially mortal danger along with all the others. In fact, the only thing that Barbara was thinking about was that, since Stacy had been with Annabeth at MCU, meeting with her father, somehow she had to be tied into all of this. And she was about to try to step back into the place which had suddenly become very dangerous.
Suddenly, gunfire rung out in the night.
Both Barbara and Stacy froze in place.
Sounds like a Sig...not a GPD gun. Montoya could be hurt.
But Stacy was precariously close to walking into a situation that had very possibly just turned deadly. Who to help?
Her indecision lasted less than two seconds. She didn't carry a gun any more, so rushing in and trying to help Montoya could end up with her getting killed. Stacy it was, then.
Another volley of gunfire erupted, but to Barbara's experienced ears, it sounded like a different shot, a Glock—which Barbara knew was standard issue for Gotham cops. Her instincts told her that it was Montoya, still alive and giving as good as she got. Praying that her instincts—and her uncanny ability to identify the sound of firearms—were sound, Barbara began to head towards Stacy.
The decision now made, both adrenaline and momentum kicked in. Barbara barreled up the sidewalk, her long, skinny legs easily carrying her with gratifying swiftness. She had been a runner all throughout primary and secondary school, and she could still haul ass. She was determined to intercept Stacy before she got any closer to Safe Haven and the clusterfuck that was unfolding within.
"What the fuck?" Stacy exclaimed as the tall, skinny form of Barbara Gordon practically bowled her over. "Watch it!"
Barbara grabbed Stacy's arm. "You're coming with me."
Alarmed and confused, Stacy began to pull away, but then, suddenly, she recognized Barbara from the other day. "What's going on...?"
Yet another salvo of gunshots resounded. Barbara ducked to the sidewalk, hauling Stacy down with her.
"It's trouble, that's what. You don't want to be here."
Stacy cocked her head. "Are those sirens coming for us?"
Barbara realized that the cops were almost there. And then she remembered all of the times her father had questioned the loyalty of his forces. "I'm not sure who they're coming for...but we don't want to be here anyway." She rose from where they were crouching, and pulled Stacy up with her. "I'm getting you out of here, now."
Any protest Stacy might have been formulating died abruptly as one final shot—again, Barbara suspected from Montoya—cracked into the night. The two females darted for Barbara's motorcycle, and a few moments later, an engine roared to life.
Less than two minutes later, three police units had arrived on the scene, and Montoya had emerged from the alleys, unscathed but in full battle mode.
And there was no more Barbara to be seen.
Within Safe Haven, Seth Percival was raising hell.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" he screamed at one of his previously indistinguishable goons. "Jesus christ, why don't you just call the cops and let them know we're here? We were supposed to go unnoticed as long as possible."
"But boss," the man pointed out—not unreasonably—" I saw some bitch nosing around on the street below. I think she was a cop. So I thought-"
"You'd blast the window out and miss the cop?" Seth stared at him in disgust. "Now the whole neighborhood knows shit's going down.And it's goddamned cold."
That was true. The bitter night air was fingering its way in. Coupled with the terror that gripped Annabeth and the rest of the hostages, the cold was making things extremely uncomfortable.
Since Seth Percival's demoralizing revelation that it had been Donna who had been selling them out, Annabeth had remained subdued, no doubt trying to process this information and come to grips with this sudden, dangerous turn of events. But now, "Why are you doing this?" Annabeth burst out. "You want one person—so why are you terrorizing all of us?"
Seth knelt down beside Annabeth. Too late, Annabeth recalled her promise to Bruce, made a scant few hours ago. So much for lying low and keeping out of trouble.
Of course, neither of them had considered that perhaps trouble would come looking for Annabeth.
Seth's lip curled in disgust as he regarded Annabeth. "You just never shut up, do you?" With disturbing calmness, he placed the barrel of his gun against the side of Annabeth's head.
"SETH!" Donna shrieked.
He ignored her and continued to talk to Annabeth in that cold, quiet voice. "We break into your little girl-power ghetto. We tie you up, we threaten to kill you...and you still keep on talking back." He glanced over his shoulder at Donna, who still sat in the rocking chair, quivering with helpless rage. And then he turned back to Annabeth and continued.
"Of course, why am I surprised? You certainly are your mother's daughter."
In a gratifyingly brief period of time, a large number of GCPD patrol cars had responded to Montoya's dispatch for back-up. By the time Gordon arrived, five units had converged on the street in front of Safe Haven, and another four showed up after him.
"How bad is it?" he asked Montoya
She shook her head. "No idea—I saw at least three go in the front, but-"
"But the Arrows wouldn't go in with so few."
Both Gordon and Montoya turned around to face the source of the new voice; where there had been only darkness before, the Batman now stood. "We can be sure they brought in plenty of muscle. We need to go with the worst-case scenario."
"And now there's a hostage situation, probably a bad one." Gordon glanced over at Safe Haven. "No one's answering phones within the building...Montoya, it's time to call in a negotiator." Gordon glanced over at the Batman, but he was already gone.
Again.
Time was running out. The Batman understood that Gordon would have to try official channels first, but it didn't mean that he had the same obligation.
There was little time to act, and even less time to think. He moved even faster than usual, scaling and shimmying and not even bothering with stealth—at least until he made it to the rooftop of Safe Haven. With any luck—and god knew they needed some—the intruders hadn't paid any mind to the roof access...he tugged at the door which led into the building, felt the pull of the lock. Locked from the inside.
Not a problem at all. He raised his gauntleted arm and struck, and the entire doorknob fell to the ground, lock and all. What was left of the door swung open, easily enough.
His luck, for once, held. No one came rushing out...which meant he could go rushing in, at least initially unnoticed.
But not yet.
He began removing items from his utility belt—items which had, until tonight, been stowed away in the Tumbler, awaiting their day. Or night, as the case may be.
Swiftly, he laid out the essential equipment—six tiny, mechanical devices, followed by a remote control and one small monitor. He powered on each device, one by one, and watched in satisfaction as the tiny devices sprang to life, unfurling tiny, fluttering mechanical wings and rising into the air, their red eyes glowing. They were tiny surveillance cameras, disguised as bats.
He snatched the remote control and began to dictate the bats' movements. Eager little buggers, as no doubt Alfred would say. He directed the bat-cams through the busted-open door and watched them disappear into the unknown darkness.
And then he returned to the portable viewing monitor. Before, it had been blank, but now, with the cameras in action, the monitor burst to life with six tiny, slightly grainy images appearing—six live images of the interior of Safe Haven, transmitted wirelessly from the miniscule cameras residing in the bats' eyes. Another successful invention from the workshop of Lucius Fox.
Six floors, six bat cameras.
Floors six, five, and four appeared clear, although it was impossible to say for certain, with many doors being shut. The first floor bat-cam revealed the prostrate form of Thomas; whether or not he was alive or dead, the grainy image didn't reveal. In the stairwell leading from the first to the second floor, two men, presumably Archers, lurked, prepared to fight anyone foolish enough to storm the building. The second floor appeared to be clear.
And then, another stroke of luck. On the third floor, the intruders had not completely barricaded themselves off. The third-floor bat-cam gained access to all of the public rooms, including the playroom, where everyone was. The camera transmitted everything to the Batman—Donna in the rocking chair, the clients crowded, bound, into one corner, the four Archers keeping guard over them...and Seth Percival, holding a gun to Annabeth's head.
"You look confused," Seth said to Annabeth. "You know, I suspect you didn't have the opportunity to head a lot of bed-time stories. In fact, I know it." He stroked the side of Annabeth's face with the cold gun muzzle. "Let me try to make amends."
"Fuck you."
"Once upon a time, there lived a little princess. Her mommy loved her, but her daddy was a very bad man. And her mommy was very unhappy. But one day, her mommy met a knight who offered to make everything better—to take the mommy away to another, magical place. But of course, the knight didn't want to be saddled with someone else's brat, so mommy left her little princess behind." Seth glanced over at Donna and smiled. "We all can guess what happened to the little princess, can't we? That's you, Annabeth. But what about the mommy?"
"Why should I give a damn?" Annabeth spat. "What's it got to do with me?"
"Everything, you stupid bitch." Seth paused. "Where was I? Oh. Yes. So the mommy moved away with her knight and came to a new kingdom, and even took a new name, and everything. She always missed her princess, but she always loved her knight more. Or so she said.
"Years passed. The mommy still loved her knight—but the knight no longer loved her. He wanted a queen—and the mommy that he rescued was really nothing more than a pretty peasant. And so he left her to find himself a queen. And what do you know—the mommy followed him right back to where they had first met! She begged him, not to take her back, but to help her find her princess. So he did—but the princess was still lost to her.
"More years passed. The knight became a king. And believe it or not, the mommy began to build up her own kingdom, but her little princess wasn't part of it. And then one day she learned that some vagabonds had hurt her princess...but that they wouldn't be punished. So, once more, she returned to her one-time knight and begged for his help...swore undying fealty, only if he brought vengeance to the men who hurt her princess."
Despite the horror of her current predicament, despite the terrible things Seth was saying, Annabeth willed back the memories of what had gone before. Anything, even this horror, was preferable to remembering that night.
"The knight agreed, and so he brought balance back. One by one, he killed the vagabonds. And everyone moved on." Seth stared hard at Annabeth until she looked back at him. "Some more than others. But a knight never forgets a debt owed. And so for years he watched the mommy and her princess. He waited. He watched as the mommy secretly watched her princess grow into a woman and brought her into the little kingdom she had built. He watched as they worked together, he watched and saw that the princess knew nothing, remembered nothing. He watched and decided it was time to collect his debts."
No one—none of the clients, none of their children, or Donna or Annabeth or Maya—uttered a sound. And so spellbound were they all, even the Archers, that no one noticed the tiny bat fluttering through the room.
"The princess only knew the name of her mommy from her birth certificate. She only knew her as Susan Stratos. She never knew that Susan had changed her name when she had first moved from the kingdom of Gotham, and she never knew that she changed it again when she moved back. And so the princess had no way of knowing that that name was Donna Drake, Queen of Safe Haven." Seth glanced over at Donna. "Does that cover everything—Mommy?"
"Goddamn you, you sick son of a bitch." Donna whispered this with the deepest venom.
Annabeth remained silent.
Seth shook his head. "Now that I think about it, that's not quite the end of the story. I forgot something...oh yes, the debt. Donna, you're about paid up, I think, aren't you? Jeana, Carrolly, Renee...They were actually the ones who paid your debt...and now Stacy. And then we'll be all settled."
"We'll never be all settled." Annabeth spat this out. Her stomach was roiling with betrayal and fear, but her mind was absolutely focused. She wasn't going to look at Donna—or whoever this woman was—and she wasn't about to give Seth fucking Percival any satisfaction. The only thing that mattered was getting all of them out of this fucked-up situation whole and alive. "You've had your fun," she continued. "I know you've got a beef with me. So work with me. Don't work with them." She jerked her head over to the clients. "Let them out of here and we'll talk about Stacy."
Seth smiled, as though struck by a sudden and pleasing inspiration. "Say please."
"That's how you want to play it, Seth? Fine. You want me to beg? I don't mind." Annabeth struggled from her seated position—no easy feat, considering how tightly her hands were bound behind their back. She struggled to her knees and looked up at Seth. "Please."
The Batman had seen enough. He directed the bats back through the building and onto the roof, packed up his gear, and quickly made his way back down to Gordon.
"So glad you decided to join us again," Gordon said. "The negotiator's on her way."
"We don't need her. We can finish this, but we need to move quickly...there are two men in the stairwell between the first and second floor, and there's another five on the third floor, holed up with the women, in the playroom..."
Seth was enjoying himself.
"Please, Seth, I'm begging you. Let them go."
For a moment, he appeared to be considering Annabeth's words. "You know what? I don't think you'd tell me shit." He glanced over at Donna. "But I bet Mommy will." He released the safety on his gun.
"Goddamn it, Seth, leave her alone! Stacy's not even here!" Donna screamed.
Seth cocked an eyebrow. "Either you're selling out your girls again, or you're lying. And I am not inclined to believe you. One of these girls is Stacy, and you're hiding it."
"It's true," Annabeth said. "She took off hours ago." She swallowed and glanced upward towards the gun.
"Well, she'd better hurry up and get back...people are going to get hurt, otherwise."
"You wouldn't." Donna almost seemed to be whispering this to reassure herself. "You wouldn't."
Without warning, Seth lowered his gun slightly and pulled the trigger. The shot roared loudly throughout the room, drowning out the startled cries from the women and children in the room.
Annabeth crumpled to the floor.
"You really want to test my resolve on this one?"
Gordon and the Batman were finalizing their plan of attack when they heard the gunshot.
Time had run out...and maybe their luck, too.
"Cut the power!" Gordon shouted into his walkie-talkie. "Have the medics on stand-by."
The Batman was already on the move. "Three minutes—and then come in through the front entrance."
Neither Seth nor any of his men attempted to stop Donna as she rushed to Annabeth's prostrate body. She pulled Annabeth's body over and moaned softly as she saw the crimson blood blossoming onto her blouse.
"Stomach and chest wounds," Seth said softly. "A blessing and a curse. If you miss vital organs and arteries, you don't die right away...ah, see?"
Annabeth's eyes were now open—clouded with pain and shock, but alert and staring up at Donna.
"Like I said, they don't die right away. But they will die—painfully-if they don't get medical attention quickly. So...if our friend Stacy shows up soon, little Annabeth here might make it. But...if she keeps us waiting...well, what's one more dead bitch? There's plenty more where she came from."
Once more, the Batman was on the roof—only this time, it was because he, and not his bat-cams, was accessing Safe Haven.
Long ago, he had lost count of the instances in which he had been up against the wall, out of time, do or die. Only once before had the stakes personally been so high...
….and that one time hadn't gone so well.
No. He couldn't think about that. Those were the thoughts of Bruce Wayne, and they had no business in his awareness now, clouding his judgment, hindering whatever movements or execution of choices he would have to make. Bruce Wayne could not do what needed to be done.
He had no idea what had just happened—no idea who, if anyone, had been shot, but the fact remained that people were in danger. The only chance for this danger to pass and leave everyone unscathed would be if he left Bruce Wayne behind; he could only be the Batman now. Thinking of the personal stakes would only get people killed.
He took one deep breath, and as he did so, he left go of all thoughts of past and future, Rachel and Annabeth, hope and fear. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, all of Bruce was gone.
Only the Batman remained.
Within the playroom, hope was quickly fading, replaced by a horrible, suffocating tension, and an even greater fear. Most of the adult clients had realized by now that this was a situation that was not going to end quickly or well; this realization was underscored by Annabeth's slightly labored breathing and the choked sobs emanating from Donna as she knelt over Annabeth.
Each and every one of the men who had accompanied Seth on his hostile takeover now remained impassive, seemingly indifferent to the woman who was dying on the floor in front of them. They simply stood, silently, their guns visible and at the ready. Of the people they were terrorizing, only Maya remained completely calm and focused—much to her own surprise. Along with everyone else, she had listened to Seth's story with a sick sense of betrayal and confusion growing within her, but that was beside the point. The main point was that, if someone didn't act quickly, Annabeth was going to die. And she might not be the only one.
What Maya did next took a tremendous amount of courage. Up until that point, she had been just another one of the women, ignored by Seth. To speak up would be to attract his attention, and quite possibly, his ire. But it had to be done.
"Donna," she said softly.
Donna didn't hear her, which wasn't surprising. It appeared that she had gone to a completely different place, haunted by god only knew what.
"Donna." Maya said it louder. It was vital to get her attention. It certainly got Seth's attention; he had been seemingly transfixed by the physical agonies of Annabeth and the mental anguish of Donna. Now, he turned and regarded Maya. She could only imagine what he saw: just one of the many females in the room, bound like the rest. Expendable, no doubt. But now that she was speaking, she was unafraid. "Donna, you need to help Annabeth. You're the only one that can do anything right now."
For a moment, Maya was uncertain that her words had penetrated Donna's brain. But after a moment, Donna lifted her head. "What can I do?"
Maya glanced at Seth. He shrugged gleefully. "Do whatever you want, Donna. It won't make a difference one way or the other if your little Stacy doesn't show up soon."
Asshole. Maya restrained herself from screaming this, and instead struggled to recall anything about basic first aid she had ever been taught. "You need to staunch the bleeding."
Fear had robbed Donna of all power of independent thought. "How?"
"Your sweater. Take it off, use it!" Maya watched as Donna slowly struggled out of the cashmere sweater she had worn over her blouse that day. "Now put direct pressure on the wound." Even as she said it, a detached part of her brain was registering surprise. This is basic first aid. Anyone knows this.
Donna was not handling things well.
Whatever crazy shit it was that Seth had been spouting, Maya didn't like to think about it. She knew Donna was closed-mouthed about her past; she knew that Annabeth had no family...but whether or not Donna was actually Annabeth's mother? Logic told her to disbelieve, but Donna's near-paralyzed state of shock was telling her something else entirely.
Nonetheless, Donna was following her instructions, and that was something at least.
"What else?" she asked Maya. Her eyes were those of a desperate person.
Shit. That creep is telling the truth. Annabeth is her daughter. "Nothing else, Donna...we have to wait."
Seth laughed. "Yes, Donna. You have to wait...but for how long? That's really the question, isn't it?"
Suddenly, the lights flickered, and then went off completely. The room was plunged into darkness, with the only light filtering through the broken window from the streetlights outside.
Seth laughed into the darkness. "This just gets better and better. I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you, ladies. This doesn't mean that someone's coming to rescue you."
"You think we're the stupid ones?" Maya spat. "You heard the same sirens we did. This whole place is surrounded by cops. How the hell do you expect to get out of here?"
Seth snorted. "In this city? With these cops? Who are you kidding? Half of those men out there probably will help us leave. You think anyone gives a damn about you?" He glanced over at the rest of the women. "You're pathetic, all of you. No one gives a shit—you'renothing, just a waste of space and air. There's not one single man here to help you!"
He abruptly paused in his tirade and watched as Annabeth began to struggle to sit up. Despite Donna's hands pressing against her wound, she managed to pull herself up a little. She appeared to be trying to say something.
That cruel smile was back in Seth's face. "What's that?"
"I said," Annabeth managed to wheeze out, "then who the hell is that?"
The look on Seth's face was almost comical as he jerked around in sudden confusion—but the look quickly disappeared as an enormous fist smashed into his face. Any opportunity that Seth had to see the man who was unafraid to stand up for Safe Haven was completely obliterated as the Batman efficiently and ruthlessly knocked him into the deepest throes of unconsciousness.
In the darkness, it was impossible to get a very good glimpse of what was unfolding. Between the yells from Seth's men, now leaderless; the screams and cries of the women and children; the grunts and occasional painful-sounding thuds and crunches that came from the fighting machine who had abruptly made his entrance, and then, at long last, the shouts from Gordon and his team as they made their way in through the front of the building, there was little sense of anything except utter chaos. Instinctively, Maya threw herself back amongst the women in the corner, trying to stay as far away as possible from any of the fighting or potential gunshots; she found herself praying for the first time in...well, ever...that this would end with no one dead.
Let this end soon.
And it did. For Maya, for Donna, for every other woman in the room, and especially for Annabeth, it seemed to drag on forever, but in reality, the Batman made short work of the men who had been terrorizing them. Maya had never put much stock into what she regarded as the urban myth of the Batman, but that night, her entire perception changed. Not only did she now believe he actually existed, but she knew beyond a whisper of doubt that he was On Their Side.
As suddenly as they had gone off, the lights came on once more, again bewildering many of them. Maya found herself staring in amazement at the now-subdued and unconscious men who had, up until a few moments ago, held death over their heads. She stared at the strange and wondrous Batman, she stared at the cops swarming the room and running to their aid, she stared at Commissioner Gordon, bellowing for immediate medical assistance. She stared at Donna, her hands and most of her front now soaked in Annabeth's blood. She stared and tried to process everything, and to grasp that this horrifying situation appeared to be over.
Except...it didn't feel over.
She struggled to figure out what it was. She tried hard, but the adrenaline in her system was ebbing away, leaving her silent and pliable as one of the cops began to undo her bindings and ask her was she okay? Was she hurt at all? Numbly she shook her head, distracted and looking the medics working on Annabeth; at Donna, now moaning and rocking back and forth, at the Batman, silently watching it all.
Something didn't feel right. Something was...off.
Focus. Maya forced to listen to the words swirling around her.
"...need to get these dickweeds into custody..." This came from the beefy cop, a strapping specimen of a man whose badge read "Bullock."
"...appears to be penetrating abdominal trauma...going into hemorrhagic shock..." These awful words were being exchanged by the grim-faced EMTs.
"There's a security guard that needs medical attention...we need to make sure the building's secure..." Gordon was barking this at the cops still swarming in.
Yes—that's it. The thing that wasn't over. Cold dismay washed over Maya as she remembered the one other man who had come in, the one that Seth had told to remain in the basement. But even as she realized it, as her mouth struggled to overcome her shock and speak the horrible words, she realized it was too late. Suddenly, he was there, that first man, stampeding into the room, against all reason slipping past the swarming masses of cops.
The gunshots took them all by surprise. Before the cop who was helping Maya threw her down to the floor and relative safety, she caught a brief glimpse of a most curious thing—the Batman throwing himself towards Annabeth. But then, too, she saw Donna, suddenly doing the same.
And it was Donna who caught the bullets.
It had been chaos before, but now it was absolute pandemonium. Commissioner Gordon was attempting to resuscitate Donna, but it didn't take any sort of expert to see that she was, emphatically, dead: three bullet wounds, one to the throat, one to the chest, and one to the side of her head, had taken care of her. One of the other cops quickly took over the useless CPR; the Commissioner needed to attend to other matters. Meanwhile, Bullock and Montoya had tackled the last Archer who had eluded them all through their own negligence; several cops were attempting to make themselves heard over the terrified screams of the children. And amazingly, the EMTs continued working. With absolute concentration and cold-hearted pragmatism, they had resumed work on Annabeth as soon as the gunman was tackled, and as soon as they saw Donna's body.
And that was when the Batman realized—for Annabeth, there was still hope.
In fact, Annabeth was conscious. Her eyes were wide open, gazing up at the many people who seemed to loom above her. From the way her eyes darted around, it was clear she was looking for someone.
And then her eyes came to rest on the Batman, and beside him, Gordon.
Again, she was trying to say something. Her voice was inaudible amidst all of the other noise in the room, and as Gordon and the Batman both drew closer, one of the EMTs snapped at them both. "Give her air-" he glanced up and realized who he was talking to, but he held firm. "She needs air."
"No." Annabeth managed to say. "No."
"Ma'am, try to stay calm," said the paramedic. To his EMT colleague, he said, "We need to get her to the hospital now."
"Here's the stretcher," Gordon said. He backed up, pulling the Batman with him as two more EMTs came in, wheeling the stretcher. With amazing speed, they lifted Annabeth onto the stretcher; it was then that the Batman and Gordon saw that she was still bleeding. As the medics went to work strapping her in, inserting tubes, and generally saying ominous things, Annabeth managed to throw out a hand. She gripped the Batman's arm and looked up at him and Gordon.
"It's gone to hell. Find Stacy—and get to Trinity. Get to all of them."
There was no opportunity to say anything else. The medics were done cooperating with anyone; their job was to help the patient, and the Commissioner and his friend weren't doing anyone any favors. Even more medics had arrived, and were working on the hopeless case of what was once Donna Drake, Director of Safe Haven, and mother of Annabeth.
As the Batman watched as the medics began to navigate Annabeth's stretcher out of the room, Gordon turned to him. "Think things might be getting a little too warm in here?"
His reference had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the fact that more and more people were flooding in, and with each extra person, the likelihood that they were sympathetic to the Batman dropped more and more.
Reluctantly, the Batman tore his mind away from Annabeth. She had made her wishes known—hell, they were practically orders. With what might have been her dying breaths, she had told him what she expected of him—and it was nothing more or less than what he should do. Once more, Annabeth had made a sacrifice to Gotham.
"I'll get over to the Narrows," the Batman said.
Gordon nodded. "I'm going to get in contact with the Feds. If possible, just keep an eye on the situation up there until I can get plenty of back-up—"
"People you trust, I hope."
"As much as anyone can be trusted," Gordon said, and there was no disguising the bitterness in his voice. "Montoya, you're coming with me. Bullock?"
The heavy-set cop looked up from the Archer to whom he had been giving his Miranda rights. He cast a foul look at the handcuffed man, finished his speech a little hastily, and then sauntered over to Gordon. "Yeah, Commish?"
"Head up the investigation here. Take statements, make sure everyone gets medical attention, you know the drill. Then I want you to find Stacy. Talk with the women, see if you can get an idea of where she would have gone. Find her, stay with her, and fucking shoot to kill anyone that comes close that we don't trust." Gordon was aware of Bullock, Montoya, and the Batman all staring at him, taken aback by his abnormally aggressive words. "I mean it. I'm tired of this shit, tired of these thugs running our city and making life hell for too many people. It's time we give a little hell back to them."