Song: Me & The Devil – Soap
Around 5 PM, Alexandra was mid-workout in the gym, the rhythm of her routine momentarily interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone. She wiped sweat from her brow as she picked it up when she saw it was Lila calling.
"Alex, I'm really scared," Lila's voice trembled through the line, drenched in panic. "Someone sent me a message, an unknown number. They... they know where I am. They're telling me to go to some place, or they'll hurt me—and everyone I love. That includes you, Alex."
Alexandra's mind raced, adrenaline spiking not from her workout but the gravity of Lila's words. "Lila, listen to me very carefully. Stay where you are, do you hear me? Do not go anywhere. I'm coming to you," she instructed, her voice firm yet calm.
"I... I can't, Alex. I'm so sorry," Lila stammered, her fear palpable. "I have to go, they said they'd—"
"No, Lila, stay on the line with me, alright? Just stay on the phone," Alexandra pleaded, grabbing her keys and heading for the door.
But the line went dead. A stark, foreboding silence filled Alexandra's ear. Lila had hung up. Heart pounding, Alexandra sprinted to her motorcycle. Thankfully, foresight had led her to place a GPS tracker on Lila's phone during their last encounter. She pulled up the coordinates on her own device and roared off towards the location.
The GPS led her to what appeared to be Rupert Jones' apartment. The front door was ajar, inviting a surge of dread that tightened around her chest. As Alexandra cautiously stepped inside, the disarray confirmed her worst fears. The place was in chaos—furniture overturned, items scattered. Signs of a struggle?
She moved through the apartment, her senses heightened, each step echoing ominously in the ransacked space. Alexandra's eyes then caught a glimpse of something on the kitchen counter: receipts for three tickets to a local club, "Neon Pulse."
"Is he planning something tonight? Using Lila as bait?" she muttered under her breath, piecing together the chilling possibilities. The urgency was palpable, a sickening plot unfolding in her mind.
Wasting no more time, Alexandra dashed back to her bike. Her ride back was a blur, her mind working through scenarios, strategies, anything that might give her an edge. Once home, she quickly changed into gear more suitable for a club—not her usual scene but tonight was about far more than appearances.
Revving her bike once more, she sped towards Neon Pulse, the growing dread sharpened by the roar of the engine beneath her. This was no ordinary night. It was a race against time to prevent another one of Rupert's horrors.
Song: What We Think – Lunar Plane Remix
Alexandra entered Neon Pulse, her presence marked by an attire designed to blend in yet captivate. She donned a low halter-top V-neck that plunged to her navel, paired with tightly fitted ripped jeans that accentuated her determined stride. Her appearance was further distinguished by an intricate tattoo spanning from her neck to her shoulder: an elegant fusion of roses, guns, and a Christian cross, interwoven with delicate filigree that hinted at her French heritage—a nod to a lineage of resilience and battle-hardened grace.
Another tattoo, subtly peering out from beneath her waistline and trailing over her lower back, caught the dim light—a design that combined elements of art nouveau with a modern twist, suggesting both sensuality and strength.
As Alexandra's eyes adjusted to the club's pulsating atmosphere, she spotted Lila being hurriedly maneuvered through the crowd by a man in a hoodie. Close behind them, another young girl stumbled, her distress obvious despite the cacophony of booming bass and flashing strobe lights that enveloped the club. The other patrons, lost in their revelry, paid no mind to the subtle drama unfolding.
Determined, Alexandra began to weave her way through the crowd. Her movements were deliberate, each step taking her closer to Lila and the unknown threat. The loud music and disorienting lights made the task more challenging, but Alexandra's focus was unwavering. She navigated the sea of bodies with a dancer's grace and a warrior's intent, her eyes locked on her target, ready to intervene before it was too late.
Oswald Cobblepot, better known as Oz, was upstairs at the Neon Pulse, lounging among a cadre of Falcone's mobsters. A thick cloud of cigar smoke swirled around him as he leisurely surveyed the scene below. The club's pulsating lights illuminated the faces of the scantily clad dancers entertaining his group, their movements a blend of erotic appeal and allure.
From his vantage point, Oz's attention drifted momentarily to the crowded dance floor below. That's when he caught sight of fiery red hair weaving through the mass of bodies. It was her—Alexandra. His interest piqued as he noted how striking she looked; the club's dim lighting only accentuated her allure. The memory of seeing those slim, toned legs during her morning run flashed through his mind, adding a spark of desire. For a moment, he entertained the thought that she might be here for a night out, possibly one he could make memorable.
However, as he watched more closely, he noticed her focused expression and the deliberate pace at which she moved. It wasn't leisure that brought her here. Following her gaze, he recognized two other figures she was tracking—Lila and Rupert, both familiar from his club, the Iceberg Lounge. A third girl, visibly distressed, trailed behind them.
Realization dawned on Oz that this was no casual visit. He checked for the gun tucked in his waistband, slipping on his jacket with a sense of urgency. As he stood, a dancer tried to pull him back into the frivolity, grinding against him in a misguided attempt to capture his attention.
"Move, lady, I don't got time for ya," Oz grumbled, pushing her aside with a firm hand. He started towards the stairs, his limp more pronounced under his quickened pace, his mind racing with the implications of what Alexandra's presence meant. As he descended into the chaos, the music's beat pounded in sync with his resolve to find out exactly what was unfolding on his unintended turf.
Alexandra bolts after the trio, her fingers flying over her phone's screen to text Mark for immediate backup. She watches as Rupert herds Lila and the third girl toward an alleyway just outside the club. Lila's face, streaked with tears, radiates fear, while the third girl appears dazed and drugged, barely able to stay on her feet.
Song: Deftones – Mascara
With her heart pounding in her chest, Alexandra sprints into the alley. She pulls out her gun and aims it directly at Rupert, her voice echoing off the grimy walls, "STOP! Don't MOVE, GCPD!"
Rupert curses under his breath, his words a venomous hiss. In a swift, menacing move, he pulls out his own gun and grabs Lila, yanking her back against him. His arm locks around her neck in a tight grip, the barrel of his gun pressing coldly against her temple.
"Drop the gun, bitch, or I'll shoot this pathetic whore," Rupert snarls, his eyes wild.
Keeping her gun trained on him, Alexandra's voice is calm but firm, "Rupert, drop your weapon! You're surrounded, backup is already on its way. It's over."
Sneering, Rupert shakes his head, "Yeah, fuck that. It's not over until I say it is—and it'll be over once I've had my fun with these rats," he gestures menacingly at Lila and the other girl.
Ignoring his threats, Alexandra shifts her focus to the third girl, trying to draw her out, "Hey sweetheart," she calls softly, her tone reassuring. "What's your name?"
Trembling, the girl crumples to the ground, tears streaming down her face. "Marie," she sobs, her voice breaking. "I don't know what's going on. He said he'd kill me—and her—if I didn't follow him. I don't feel good... please, help us!"
Alexandra's resolve hardens; her stance is unwavering as she keeps her firearm steady on Rupert, ready for any move he might make. "It's going to be alright, Marie. We're getting you out of here. Just stay down and keep your head covered," she instructs, her eyes never leaving Rupert's.
As Oswald edged closer, his presence unnoticed until the last moment, his voice, rough as gravel, cut through the tension like a knife. "Put the gun down, kid, 'less ya want your ass to be spray-painted," he commanded, leveling his own weapon at Rupert. He took his place next to Alexandra, merely a few feet separating them.
Alexandra, without moving her gun from the target, darted a sharp look at Oswald. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed under her breath.
Oswald offered her a half-grin, his eyes glinting with a mix of danger and mischief. "Just makin' sure ya don't get yourself killed, doll," he retorted, throwing her a wink that belied the tension of the moment.
Rupert's confusion morphed into fear, then into a sneering defiance as he recognized the new player. "What the fuck? Penguin?" he spat out, his voice quaking slightly. "You're supposed to be on our side, man. Not here, playing buddy with the cops."
Oswald's expression hardened, the playful spark in his eyes replaced by a steely glint. "I ain't no fan of boys who mess with women, especially young ones against their will," he growled. "I sure as hell ain't on your side, Rupert. Push me, and I'll put a bullet through your fucking head."
Rupert, though visibly shaken, masked his fear with a cold laugh. "Nobody gives a damn about these girls. They're nobodies, homeless teens destined to be junkies. If I don't make use of 'em, someone else will," he sneered, his gaze sweeping dismissively over Lila and Marie. "And as for Gotham? This city's a lost cause. Might as well have our fun and run it further into the ground, right?"
Alexandra's resolve hardened, her voice icy as she trained her gun unwaveringly on Rupert. "Rupert! Put the fucking gun down, you're cornered. It's over! The only future you have now is rotting in Blackgate!"
Amidst the tension, Lila's voice broke through, quivering with despair. "Maybe he's right, Alex. I can never be like you. You're everything I'm not. Who would even care if I'm gone?" Tears streamed down her cheeks as her shoulders shook with sobs.
Alexandra's heart clenched at the words, her voice softening immeasurably. "Sweetheart, please don't say that. I care. I care so much about you, and I don't want you gone," she implored, her eyes locking onto Lila's. "You're going to be okay, baby girl, I promise you. There's so much more for you beyond this night, beyond this fear. You matter, Lila."
Rupert sneered, seizing the emotional turmoil to his advantage. "Empty lies and promises, detective? How about an exchange? I let the girl go, and you come forward. I'd love to have you for myself," he proposed, his tone menacingly playful as he tightened his grip on his weapon.
Alexandra's gaze didn't waver, her mind racing as she weighed her options. "Fine," she said finally, her voice steady. "But only if both girls go free. They walk away, and then we can talk."
Before she could take a step forward, Oswald's growl cut through the stale air, "I ain't letting you do that, doll," he said in a low, dangerous tone, his eyes flickering with a protective fire as he stared at Alexandra warningly.
As the tension hit a boiling point, the sudden arrival of Detective Mark added a new layer of chaos. His voice boomed through the alley, clear and authoritative, "Drop the gun!" His eyes briefly flickered to Oswald, acknowledging his presence, but his focus remained on the immediate threat.
Rupert, momentarily distracted by the new arrival, didn't see Lila's desperate move coming. With a sudden burst of energy fueled by fear and adrenaline, she bit down hard on Rupert's fingers. He yelped in pain and reflexively loosened his grip. In the confusion, his finger jerked on the trigger, and a shot rang out, hitting Lila in the stomach.
As she slumped to the ground, the gun clattered from Rupert's grasp. Seizing the moment, he scrambled to retrieve it, aiming it shakily at Alexandra. But before he could fire, both Mark and Oswald acted in unison, each firing a shot that struck Rupert in both palms, causing him to scream and drop the weapon again, his hands rendered useless.
Mark sprinted forward to restrain Rupert, tackling him to the ground and swiftly handcuffing him despite the criminal's pained protests.
Meanwhile, Alexandra rushed to Lila's side, her training as a detective with a nursing background kicking in. She cradled Lila's head gently, pressing her free hand against the wound to slow the bleeding. "Baby girl, you're going to make it out of this," she reassured, her voice a calm and steady presence in the chaos. "We'll go for a ride in my bike, hang out, just stay with me, okay?"
As she spoke, Alexandra instructed Lila on how to breathe to ease her pain and keep conscious. "Breathe slowly, in and out, just like that. Don't close your eyes, stay with me," she urged, her eyes scanning the alley for any sign of the ambulance she hoped was already on the way. Her voice was a lifeline, tethering Lila to the present as they waited for help to arrive.
Oswald quickly knelt beside Alexandra, his expression grim but focused. He shrugged off his overcoat and handed it to her. "Use this," he said quietly, nodding towards Lila. The coat, part of his meticulously chosen attire, was thick and sturdy—ideal for applying pressure to Lila's wound.
As Alexandra pressed the coat against the gunshot injury, she finally took a moment to really look at Oswald. He was dressed sharply as always: towering black heeled boots added to his imposing figure, complemented by a sleek black suit jacket. Underneath, he wore a black waistcoat, accented with a golden watch chain that glinted subtly in the dim light. His shirt was dark, setting off the checkered pattern of his suit pants that gave a slight edge to his otherwise monochrome ensemble.
Catching her gaze, Oswald received her silent nod of thanks with a light, albeit strained, smile. His eyes flickered with concern as he turned his attention back to Lila, watching her struggle to maintain consciousness.
The wail of sirens cut through the tension as the ambulance arrived. Paramedics quickly assessed the situation and sprang into action, carefully loading Lila onto a stretcher. As they prepared to wheel her away, Lila reached out, her hand gripping Alexandra's tightly. The connection lasted only a moment before the paramedics had to pull the stretcher away, taking Lila towards the urgent care she needed. Alexandra stood there, watching the ambulance doors close, her hand lingering in the air where Lila's warmth had just been, feeling the weight of the night's events settle in as the vehicle sped off into the night.
As the distant wail of the ambulance faded into the background, Alexandra turned her attention back to Oswald, suddenly aware of his imposing height, accentuated by the very-high-heeled boots he wore. With a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, she quipped, "What's the occasion, planning to join the Gotham City Ballet?"
Oswald's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the edges in amusement as he leaned slightly towards her. "Only if ya the one teachin' the class, doll. I bet ya'd look stunning in the spotlight," he retorted, his thick New Jersey accent coloring every word, turning her snark into a smooth compliment.
The mood between them shifted as Oswald's tone softened into a flirtatious drawl. "Ya alright, sugar?" he inquired, his gaze searching her face for any sign of distress.
Alex stiffened slightly, her back straightening as she replied, "I'm fine."
"Don't get all ramrod straight on me, doll. I'm jus' askin', honestly," Oswald chuckled, the rough timbre of his voice a comforting rumble in the cool night air.
As Oswald expertly lit his cigar, the smoke twisting into the night air, he paused to give Alexandra a long, appreciative look. "Ya know, ya somethin' else… Selfless. If more folks were like ya, maybe Gotham wouldn't be such a shithole," he mused earnestly, the glowing tip of his cigar punctuating his words. Taking another puff, his gaze swept over her figure, lingering on the tattoos peeking out from under her sleeves. "And I gotta say, the way them tattoos peek out and that outfit fits ya—it's quite... captivating."
Alex rolled her eyes at his overt flirtation and responded in French, a hint of amusement in her voice, "Tout le monde à Gotham n'a vraiment pas de filtre." (Everyone in Gotham really has no filter.)
Oswald chuckled, blowing a ring of smoke into the air before responding with his thick New Jersey accent. "What was that, sugar? Sounded classy," he teased, leaning in a bit closer. "Ya gotta teach me some of that French talk. I hear it's the language of love, right?"
He took another slow drag from his cigar, his eyes never leaving hers, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "Though, I'm more interested in the practical lessons—like maybe ya could give me a crash course in French kissin'?" His tone was playful yet charged, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he added, "I promise, I'm a fast learner, 'specially with the right tutor."
Oswald's tone grew serious as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a graver note. "Just be careful, alright? 'Round criminals like Rupert… When they've got nothin' left to lose, they ain't afraid of draggin' ya down with 'em."
Alex nodded slowly, her gaze distant as she considered the dark alley around them. "There's always going be hope in Gotham, as long as folks still believe in it. And I do. I have to."
Noticing her slight shiver in the chilly night air, Oswald slipped off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "Cold night, huh?" he remarked, the smoke from his cigar mingling with the crisp air.
"Thank you," Alex murmured, her voice barely audible over the city's distant hum.
Oswald's smile returned, lighting up his rugged features. He took another drag of his cigar, then exhaled slowly, watching her through the smoke. "How 'bout dinner then? A proper sit-down where we can talk 'bout savin' Gotham and all that?"
Alex's lips curved into a half-smile, her demeanor firm. "No way in hell."
His face shadowed for a moment, but quickly followed by a mock hurt flashing across his features. "No way in hell, huh? Ya wound me," he teased, his voice laden with feigned sorrow. Then, with a playful wink, he added, "But I ain't one to give up easily. See ya around, doll."
As Oswald started to walk away, Alexandra called out after him, a hint of urgency in her voice as she realized he was leaving without his jacket. "Hey! Oswald, your jacket!"
Without missing a beat, Oswald turned slightly, his back still to her as he continued limping away. His voice floated back, thick with his New Jersey accent, "Give it ta me next time ya see me, toots. Don't wash it though, I'd love to smell ya," he called out over his shoulder, the mischievous smirk audible in his voice.
He didn't turn back again, just kept walking, the rhythmic click of his high boots echoing off the alley walls, leaving Alexandra standing in the cold night, wrapped in his jacket, a perplexed yet amused smile touching her lips as she watched him disappear into the shadowy entrance of the club.
