Ernestina, Eris, Aequitas: to obtain that which is just we must ask that which is unjust.
August 26th
21:07 EST
TV 18 Studios
I wake.
The TV 18 lobby is nearly deserted. Few remain. Wayne. Fox. Gordon. All gone. Lawless leans over me, his lined face drawn and haggard.
"Time to go." He offers his hand-a gesture of courtesy he has never before extended. In six years of partnership I have always been his equal. Like me, the scales fall suddenly from his eyes…but it is far too late. I am Lady McBeth: I have been unsexed. And now-now!- Lawless finds me both weak and a woman.
Two things I have tried for years to forget.
Fear night. Gotham State Prison.
They've heard Arkham's been breached, the city nearly destroyed…terrorist attack, all reserves called in, national guardmen…they have all descended on the city, and there's no one left to send. They know now is the opportune time, the only time. The largest prison riot in US history is being tended to by less than 50 officers. By the time we arrive, the riot has been in suit for nearly 16 hours….The good news? Most of the guards were able to escape…. The Bad News? Trapped still inside are the remnants of the kitchen staff, a janitor, four women and three small children from visiting hours… and five faithful guards, who have now been on duty for more than 24 hours. They're bolted in the cafeteria office, a small room located on the south wall of the 60 yard long mess hall, surrounded by 120,000 square feet of fires, flickering electricity, and 600 of the state's worst offenders.
The batteries in the guard radios died hours ago, we've been unable to make contact…God only knows if they're still alive. In a low rush of whirring blades, SWAT joins us as we load up in riot gear. I heft a heavy, armored shield, hair plastered thick and sweaty to my face, Lawless stands next to me.
"Alright, men, listen up!" Hensley shouts. "Our objective is get those people the fuck out of there! We are NOT to use lethal force unless NECESSARY. We've got civies, women and kids in there and we're gonna bust 'em out! Logistics says NO live ammo-you bring live ammo in there and you risk it falling into the wrong hands! Our first priority and our ONLY priority is the safety of those people! Any questions? No? Then MOVE!"
We breach the perimeter, plastic explosives bring down the security door. Flashbangs are tossed in, deafening us. Yawning darkness and rising reek, power has been cut in order to keep all security doors locked. They've estimated perhaps half the inmates are still confined to their cell blocks…we are left with 300 sex offenders, murderers, serial killers and terrorists. Maximum security, unfortunately, was not one of the wards that remained under the electrical lock down. We will run in, blind and deaf, against an army of body building, blood crazed criminals whose only hope of liberty before age 70 is to kill us all… We run in blind, sending our small force against the terrible wrath of Leonidas…
"Clear!" We run as one, memories of both Mortalis and my stay in Memorial flashing through my head. Lawless is next to me, panting as we hit the end of the release tunnel-
Another explosion. The heavy chain link bangs open. Chaos. Mayhem. Fires burn. Hallways littered, water lines clogged, we slosh through sewage and the flotsam of floating bodies, ruined furniture-
"LOOK OUT!" An inmate swings a fire extinguisher, our man goes down into the dirty water. He raises it again, rubber bullets piercing his flesh-
Shouts. Shots. They've raided the security armory. We're sitting blind in the open entry way, staggering through three feet of water carrying over fifty pounds of Kevlar and steel. Sixteen years ago, Masterchief would've called this 'Strategic Position Deep Shit'.
I relay it to Lawless.
"No fucking kidding!" He shouts. "Initiate Operation Get the Hell out of Here! Cafeteria's to the left! Head that way-!" Shields up, debris and rounds pinging off them we inch through the disgusting water, the rancid scent of sewage searing our lungs-
Rotten stench, foul water, flames flickering smoke choking I send one sprawling into the reek with a double tap to the head. We lead the way to the cafeteria, plodding slowly across the open expanse-
The door is wedged shut, we shove and strain, forming a wall to shield those who must drop their guard to force open the doors. Rubber bullets into the locks. Ramming shields, ring of metal on metal. Plastic explosive, we duck under our shields, a terrible wave or rancid water pouring over us.
It is oily and putrid. It smells like-
A lighter is tossed from the second floor, falling in a slow, graceful arc towards the dark waters below-
"Get down!" I force Lawless under as a sea of hamburger grease ignites on the surface. A sickening rushing noise our backs singed the surface boiling, lungs straining no air, no air-!
With a gasp I surface and stand. Noisome scent of burning flesh. At least ten of our men are dead, floating limply in the oily water, burning still. Lawless staggers to his feet, I grip his arm. He is shell shocked, eyes wide, mouth gaping, a burning corpse floats gently by….
Chaos rages all around. Furniture, food, bodies, bullets rain from the balcony. Nearly fifty men stand between us and the far door, desperate to reach their prey before we do. Leverage. Some hope to buy their way out with hostages…
Others don't give a fuck about escaping.
Brackish water runs down my face, hair slicked and soaking, dripping in my eyes. We are in the calm, the eye of the storm. Lawless looks like he may faint-
"Lawless!" I smack his face. "Lawless!" He blinks, eyes focusing. He sees me, and for a long, long moment he simply stares.
"Lawless!" I shout again. Finally he answers me.
"I'm getting too old for this shit." He grunts as I hand him his shield, relief washing like a cold wave over me.
"Fall back! Fall back to the Southeast corner!" Hensley shouts. "Southeast corner!"
There are thirty of us left standing. Beaten, bruised and burned. Anyone alive had to have taken refuge under the churning water….and the arms we now hold are useless.
"Alright, men, this is how it's going down. We've still got plastics, tazers, clubs…tear gas-"
"Sir, you've got to call for backup. Ain't no fucking way we can get through this!"
"We've still got to wade out with 'em! Ain't no way in hell we can protect 16 civies!"
"We don't have to get 'em out of here, just get between these bastards and that door-"
They're wrong. No help is coming. It is up to us, and only us. Selling our lives dearly to buy time will not help them…it may still be days before they are reached…
Am I the only one who sees? We need to kill them. All of them.
"Here's the plan!" Hensley shouts as bullets ping off our shields, ricocheting into the water below. "We're going to march along the eastern wall and try to cut between them-!"
As one we scan the wall. Protected above by the balcony's overhang….open to the side, the front, the back. Sparta. Rome. We must use our shields to form a defensive shell…
We form a line, two deep, Hensley tosses two flashbangs across the room, dirty water, smoke and light briefly illuminating every corner of this dark hell. He turns to us-
-and his pale face becomes an apoplectic shade of purple. "What the fuck!" He shouts. "Who the hell let HER in here?"
Dirty water falls into my eyes, eardrums numbed by the blast. I couldn't have heard that right-
"Change of plan! We go three deep!" He shouts. "I want G.I. Jane here in the middle closest to the wall-"
"Sir-!"Lawless is incredulous.
"I don't need a girl in my way!" I'm a woman. A lia-fuckingbility. If this thing goes down, it'll have his name all over it. Even in the midst of a war zone a beaurocrat will reveal himself. Sixteen civilians, and thirty officer's lives hang in the balance…and still his priority is covering his ass.
"Sir, I'm an officer just like anyone else-!" I shout furiously, blood boiling. Sixteen civilians, four of them women, three of them small children…Gotham City is under terrorist attack, no one else is coming, we can't afford to waste any more time-can't afford to send anyone away-!
Surreal. Debris continues to rain down on us. They are pouring down the stairs, brandishing shanks, knives, fire extinguishers…. They are closing on us. Soon they will have us hemmed-
"Hensley!"
"I've got thirty officers, sixteen hostages, 600 prisoners and three million dollars of equipment to look after! I don't have time to worry about protecting you. STAND DOWN!" Spit sprays my riot mask.
Fear. Tempers. Adrenaline. Testosterone. Stress.
"HENSLEY!"They are nearly here-Hensley no longer the only one keenly interested in my gender. I can feel their gazes, hear their cat-calls. They are coming for me. Ten men move in front of me, Lawless among them.
Hensley ignores them, continues to shout, spit flying from his mouth, tunnel vision, stress taking it's toll-he is blind to the chaos around him, can't feel, smell, taste the acrid water around him, doesn't see the army forming around us….he is panicking…and he only has eyes for me.
I am shaking in rage. Protect me? In the last three years I've lost 60 pounds of muscle. I'm now feminine, lean, lithe…but not weak. I am just as spry and deadly as I ever was in Underworld. Protect me? Sixteen years ago a grenade landed, seconds to detonation I pull my helmet off burying it deep into the sand…Protect me? Gerald's fingernails scream across the linoleum, long, raking shreds pulling out of tile, carpet, plaster…
I am death, I am a hunter. I am vengeance. I am fury. Four women, three small children. If these bastards break that door… Angel!
Suddenly I am running, shrieking, breaking formation, riot shield tight in my hands I spin and hurl it with all my might through the crowd of inmates before me. "PALTRON!" Lawless shouts-
"HEY! You want some of this? You want some of this!"
I am Samson. I am David. Shank raises lunges for my neck I break fingers, wrist, arm, nose, it falls epilepsyflashingroaring they toss more flashbangs towards the north door another mountain of muscle another outstretched hand I bury the shank in his left carotid it is slick and slimy with blood my face splattered Lawless next to me shouting shouting more explosions men come rushing we charge desperately towards that door I was too late too late to save Angel I will not be late again-!
We lost five more men. None of the hostages…
…And we fucking killed them all.
Lawless opens the glass doors for me, one hand gently on the small of my back. My eyes burn and prick in the sudden orange glow of a buzzing streetlight. Again I try uselessly to excuse my tears.
Angel. In both life and death, his memory makes me both terribly weak…and horribly strong.
August 26th
21:10 EST
103rd Street
Concerned. But not condescending. Lawless watched me walk in here…he will help me walk out. No bullshit, no 'it's too far, you really shouldn't, let me get the car.' He is strength, he is steadfast…
We take the long walk to our…to his cruiser, one of his large hands still pressed gently on the small of my back, strong arm supporting me as I limp gingerly on my throbbing right leg. She is a beautiful car-sleek and black. Six years of memories.
None of which include me riding in the backseat. Briefly Lawless may have doubted my sanity, even now he doubts my failing body…but he has never doubted my heart.
August 26th
21:16 EST
103rd Street
Outside. It is dark and cool-a light wind offering small respite from my still burning fever. Several hours of sleep and two gallons of force-fed Gatorade have done little to heal me.
Sleek black sides. Bright, polished chrome. Gotham's harrowing nightsky reflects in her multi-faceted frame, myriads of lights in telescoping torrents, lost in the domed curvature of the open sky.
Lawless reaches around me to open the passenger side door. A young officer sits inside, turns his face towards us, dark eyes gleaming-
I gasp and stop dead.
Lawless looks down at me, mistaking my faltering for pain. "You alright?" He speaks softly, hesitation in his eyes, his normally gruff voice soothed with concern.
I have seen this hesitation before-this gentleness. But it wasn't directed towards me.
April 22nd. Darkness-but the night is far from still. Red and blue lights swirl lazily, casting the neighborhood in an eerie glow, rain slamming down in machine-gun bursts.
Chinatown. I park, yank the keys and the beating wipers die in mid-sweep. The seat belt snakes between my breasts as I shove the door and dash for the porch, feet instantly freezing in the rising flood.
Hair plastered to my face, cold drops running down my back a young officer runs out with an umbrella. "What do we have, Officer?" I shout above the pattering downpour and rumbling thunder.
"Triple homicide. They think it was Vladimir Nabokov-"
Bastard. Been at large since Fear Night. Lawless and I put the motherfucker behind bars not five years ago. He's a rapist…and a monster. Gerald's death is nothing compared to this. And now he's back, tormenting the civilians we have sworn to protect.
Too shrouded in my own anger I do not see. It is only now I realize it is his small, boyish hand that holds open the door for me.
Silence. The deluge of rain is muted and dulled. There is neither jibing or jesting. Nabokov's work is harrowing…and horrible.
Kitchen. Hallway. Faces stony, eyes red. Bedroom. Three naked girls lie sprawled across the bed. The eldest is maybe thirteen. The youngest…five. Yet it is difficult to say, their fragile Han features are as delicate, as still as the faces of the pale, porcelain dolls lining the shops of Chinatown.
A deep growl. Lawless is at my side. "I ID'd it. But we need you to confirm." Good man. Good cop. CSI hasn't had time to move, to contaminate anything…
I am sure. But I must confirm. I edge closer, and each dead face stares up at me, dark eyes open. For a moment, each is Angel. Nabokov, you motherfucker…I was nearly too late to save Angel's life. I am far, far too late to help these girls.
Lawless offers gloves. I trust him explicitly, but work must be done. As MCU Lieutenant, I must confirm this falls under my jurisdiction. "Do we have a name?" I ask emotionlessly.
"Jane Doe one and two. We have a positive ID on her-" He indicates the eldest. "Xiao Wang. This is her parent's house-we think she may have been babysitting. We still haven't been able to contact."
I brush aside Xiao Wang's long hair, and there, cut through the flesh of her tiny, pre-pubescent breast is a dark and bloody N. It's done with at the flat end of a seal, heated on the kitchen stove until the iron glows red hot, flesh sizzling and peeling back. The putrid smell of burnt hair and fat still saturates the air.
"Bastard." Is all I say.
"Confirmed!" Lawless barks to CSI. "Lt. Paltron is now in charge of this investigation!"
I nod to them. "Get me evidence." Cameras. Swabs. UV lights, proteins and body fluids lighting up in the darkness…
I walk the responding officers through the drill, Lawless at my side. Even in light of this horror it feels right, natural. It is only now I realize how much I have missed working the street. It has been over four months since I left Homicide…
Finally I realize what is missing: Aaron's new shadow. His rookie partner…Jim? James? Or am I confusing him with Gordon?
"How's Connolly shaping up?"
"Connolly?" Fred Milton asks disinterestedly, about to crack the first joke of the evening. "He takes some getting used to. But he's not a bad gay—I mean guy."
"He's a damn good Kid." Lawless growls, shooting a glare to Milton. His irreverence knows no bounds.
I smile bitterly, opening the file in my hands, lost in a rush of adrenaline at the sight of Nabokov's sneering face. Between him and Doestoiveski, it is hard to say who is worse. Whatever else he is, Dmitri has the decency not to fuck little kids.
"Where is he? Connolly, I mean." I flip another page, noting his absence among the assembled officers.
"Outside," Lawless says. "He didn't need to see this."
I drop the file, it scatters across the kitchen floor, papers sticking to the dampened tile. I do not bend to retrieve it. I raise my eyes slowly to Lawless'. His says nothing. I've known him long enough that silence speaks volumes. Something is wrong. Off.
EMS struggles through the door, dragging wheeled stretchers and muddy turf over the carpet. Everyone's eyes are turned to this unfeeling irony.
"Send him in." I state quietly.
"I really don't think he needs to see this," Lawless counters.
I raise an eyebrow, but no explanation is forthcoming. "I think he does." Lawless calls him Kid. Treats him like a Kid. But he isn't-youngest cop in the US police force be damned, Connolly is an officer. And a rookie in goddamned Gotham City-a hazardous duty post for fucking sure. He needs to know what's out there. Naivety will only get him killed. And if he can't handle it-he has no business being a fucking cop.
"I'm his partner. I think I know better than you what he-"
"And I'm your boss," I say coolly. "Or had you forgotten?" His statement is less than fifteen minutes old. "I want him on bagging detail."
Lawless is rigid. "No."
"Bradley!" I bark, raising my voice for the first time above a slight whisper. "Bring Connolly in. I want him helping EMS!"
Eugene's face is inscrutable. Milton busies himself with paperwork. Lawless glares, hazel eyes boring holes through mine. I turn away.
Soaked to the skin, hair in dripping, matted locks against his ridiculously boyish face Connolly enters, shooting Lawless a curious look. Innocently, naively he follows Bradley to the waiting slaughter.
Shock. His lips part. Face pales. Those dark eyes widen, then clench closed. Horror and nausea wash in waves over him. Flitting open again, those eyes are wounded and wet with tears. Minutes pass. Still he is frozen, agonized at the sickening reality before him.
Lawless stands tense beside me, shaking under the overpowering urge to surge forward, pull him away, erase the horror of that image in the sure comfort of a strong embrace-
Angel. I know that desire well. Had I seen, had I known, I would hold him in my arms, face pressed against my chest, kiss his head, his hair, his face, press him closer, fight away the wave of nightmares-
How was I so blind? His eyes are my Angel's eyes, dark and light, shot with tears, his face my Angel's face, stricken, brows knit in pain, tiny mouth falling open, lips parting…My son. My child. I still do not have the strength to think of him as a man.
A rough hand against my back. I sit heavily, Lawless still supporting me. One hand under my knees he swings me into the seat, tucking me into the car and closing the door.
I hate being treated so goddamned weak. Perhaps because I know I am.