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File: RedWispDLPortrait.png (650 KB, 1600x2000)
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You let your eyes linger over Caesar's defiant expression while you run what you know through your head.

Two assailants, college aged, college athletes potentially, vehicle description, and general build and descriptions. Gotham U is a big university but if they're on any sports team it would make finding them much easier. Next you take in Caesar's injuries, he's moving and speaking fine so it's unlikely he broke anything unless he's tough as nails and just isn't letting on. You remain silent thinking about what he said and in the end you have to agree with him. Visiting anything in the city would be a risk that's too big to take.

"Maybe we can't take you to a hospital in the city, but I can still take you to an out of city one."

"What?"

"Get your stuff, I'll take you myself, it's my day off anyways."

"DL, I don't think that's really needed man. I'm fine."

"Those rings of light you see are called 'Halos' and it could mean you have some sort of injury in your head. It needs to get checked out and I'm not gonna take no for an answer."

Caesar stares at you for a few moments, his face a mix of emotion.
"Why?" He asks after grasping at words for a few moments.

"Because you could be hurt, a blow to the head could-"

"No." He cuts you off. "Why do you care so fucking much man? You talk me down in that parking lot, you help get my mom out of that jam with Anarky, and now you wanna take me to a doctor on your day off? You came to check on us off the clock? What do you want from us?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Nobody works for free, DL. There's a catch, something."

"Caesar, where is this coming from?" You ask him, getting up from your chair to move closer, the resulting squeak against the floor makes him jump in his seat, almost imperceptibly, and it all clicks. He's afraid. He put on a brave face but when it comes down to it he's still a kid, a kid who suffered a violent assault, and just got told it could have seriously damaged him internally. Growing up in Gotham makes you tough but it makes you cold right along with it.

"You already talked me into snitching on some dudes, are you working me? Trying to make me into a CI or some shit? Cause I appreciate what you've done DL, but I ain't the GCPD's boy."

You look at Caesar and feel a wave of sadness wash over you, not from the shivers, from the depths of your own stomach. This is the type of child the city raises when left alone.

>"I got into this work to help people. That doesn't stop when I'm off the clock, there are plenty of others in the Department who feel the same way."
>"I'm not asking for anything other than for you to trust me, you don't have to trust the GCPD or even like cops. Just let me help where I can."
>"I'm not asking you to do anything for the GCPD, your problem with those two guys is going to be handled personally, not on GCPD time."
>"If it wasn't for the police your mom would still be and Anarky mule. Get over yourself, we don't want anything from you."
>Write-In
>>
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Apologies for not being able to make a new thread before the other one got closed by the Archive.

COVER ART:
Credits for this piece go to: RedWisp (please feel free to plug any socials you have if you want to advertise.)

If you want to be used as the Thread Cover-Art in the future just post whatever GCBC Related Art you make in the thread and I'll save it for later use. I keep all art that gets submitted and appreciate it tons.

NEW READERS:

Catch up on the story here: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=DetectQM

Attached picture is your current perk list.

RETURNING READERS:

Welcome back, thanks for playing <3
>>
>>5960920
For the record...
>"I got into this work to help people. That doesn't stop when I'm off the clock, there are plenty of others in the Department who feel the same way."
but also
>"You want to know what's in it for me? You know a little something about my meta ability, right? How I see and hear all the shit that goes on in Gotham? The good, and also the bad? Well maybe, for my own sake as much as everyone else's I'd like it if there was a little more good and LOT less bad. You want to know what's in it for me? Well, there you go, kid: a good night's rest, and the knowledge that if I let my guard down and go daydreaming, I can expect to see something nice."
Now, you want to make sure you don't end up like Ted Grant or some Gotham Knights quarterback at the end of their career? taking care of family means taking care of yourself, too.
>>
>>5960937
+1
>>
>>5960920
>"I got into this work to help people. That doesn't stop when I'm off the clock, there are plenty of others in the Department who feel the same way."
>>
>>5960937
>>5960957
>>5961035

"I got into this work to help people, That doesn't stop when I'm off the clock, there are plenty of others in the Department who feel the same way."

Caesar takes your words in with a skeptical raised brow.

You sigh. He's just a kid, he doesn't understand how someone could be motivated by more than themselves or their family, you need to just lay it all flat for him.

"That's not everything though." You say, breaking the brief silence and sliding back into the chair.

"You want to know what's in it for me personally? You only know a bit about my meta-abilities, right?"

"I know you like 'talk' to the city or something. Know things about it, the people in it."

"More than that, I see and hear everything that goes on in Gotham. All the shit happening in this city gets put straight into my head. Constantly."

"Are you for real? You can't like control it?"

"I can quiet it down, for the longest time the only thing I had access to was a the volume and that doesn't stop the sensations."

"Sensations?"

You nod, finding it surprisingly hard to swallow. This is the first time since you were a child that you actually explained this to someone.
"Sometimes I'll feel a cold wind, only I'm indoors, or I feel a spreading heat over my stomach and then see on the news someone was shot in the gut in the Narrows. I learned to keep my guard up though and if I really focus on ignoring it, the voices become more like whispers or a conversation in another room. The sensations are more like goosebumps or a muscle spasm or something and they only get through when it's serious."

"How long have you been like this, DL?"

"My whole life." You say with a bitter laugh. "That's why for my own sake I want to make this place a something better. Hell, maybe, for my own sake as much as everyone else's I'd like it if there was a little more good and LOT less bad." Your voice picks up speed and you find yourself gesticulating wildly. "You want to know what's in it for me? Well, there you go, kid: a good night's rest, and the knowledge that if I let my guard down and go daydreaming, I can expect to see something nice for once."

You lean back in your seat and let a low long exhale loose. Your relief from unloading immediately replaced with shame when you look at Caesar's scared and confused face.
"Shit, Caesar. I'm sorry-" You start before he cuts you off with a hand.

"Hay que imponer nuestra voluntad a nuestras debilidades." He mumbles, before looking up at you. "That's a quote, some rich fuck he liked or something, he told me it everytime I told him I was afraid of something."

You stay silent and let Caesar take his time to get out whatever he needs to. It only takes a few seconds before he rises from his seat.
"I'm sorry, DL. You've done a lot to help my folks and..well I've been a dick. Because I was scared, but I need to act like a man."

He avoids your eyes as he speaks but you can hear it in his voice. He gets it now.
>>
"It shouldn't be long before your mom gets home, is your sister fine being alone?"

"She's used to it." He says with a tinge of weariness in his voice.

"Right. We can wait for your mom to get back if you'd like."

"It'll be fine, DL. You have your policia outside watching the place."

He steps away and cups his hand over his mouth.

"IZZY! I'm going out for a bit, tell Mom I went with DL." He hollers through the apartment.

From the room with the music you hear her shout back.
"Get me something sweet!"

"Sure thing." He calls back before looking at you. "She isn't gonna remember, don't sweat it."

You shrug and head outside, Caesar following shortly behind you after grabbing a hoodie and covering up a bit. You get him settled in your passenger seat and give the plain clothes a heads up. Before long you and Caesar are on the road, heading right back to where you had just come from.

"Once we cross the river it'll be safe to take your hood down, until then keep it up and just stay low or lay back until I let you know."

"Whatever you say, jefe."

You both settle into a comfortable silence as you head for the river.

>Any more questions/comments for Caesar?
>Skip to the doctor
>Write-In(?)

Sorry for awkward updates right now, page placement forced me to make a new thread in a weird spot.
>>
>>5961115
>buy her cookies or sweets near the hospital. Maybe a muffin
>>
>>5961171
+1
>>
>>5961171
+1
Ask Caesar what she likes. Get one for him too. And another for yourself, it’s been a stressful two hours.
>>
>>5961200
>>5961171
+1. Or, shit, do we have any snacks from the Neighborhood Watch brunch? Share some of that. mayeb one fo Mom's cannoli?
>>
>>5961171
>>5961176
>>5961200
>>5961264

The scenery changes slowly as you pass back over the River towards Burnside once more. The pale greys and blacks of Gotham fade into muted greens and smattering of orange, red, and yellow. Caesar pulls his hood down and stares out the window.

"First time outside the city?"

He nods, keeping his eyes on the moving smear of color that speeds by.
"Are we close to the hospital?"

"Well it 's not a hospital exactly, it's more like a beefy Urgent Care, but that's what I always called it. The people out here don't want to have to head into the city for a broken arm or something. They'll have the equipment to check you out."

"So you've been there?"

"Once or twice, when I was a kid. My parent's didn't like taking me to Gotham General. Too big for me, made the Shivers worse."

Caesar doesn't speak, he just silently takes in what you say and lets his eyes drift back to everything that flies by.

"If my memory is right and they haven't changed anything, there's also a little bakery down the street from it, we can grab your sister some cookies or a muffin or something."

"She likes Jelly Doughnuts, or stuff with fruit in it."

"They might have a strawberry cake or something then, think about what you want too."

"I'm getting something?"

"Well it would be a little cruel of me to drag you out here and not let you get something. Plus I want something too and it'll look better if you order with me." You joke.

"I don't really eat dessert or nothing like that."

"Too tough for some cake?"

"Nah it ain't that, just if we got the money for dessert and stuff I'd rather my mom and Izzy have some. My dad used to take me to get Churros from a cart in Robinson Park though, so I guess cinnamon and sugar something?"

"Just take a look when we get there, I got you."

=======

You both step through the doors of the clinic to a room completely devoid of anyone other than a receptionist who is deeply absorbed in whatever she has playing on her phone. You frown and look over the rows of empty chairs, not even the mounted television in the corner is on. The place has a stillness to it, like talking would shatter the air itself, still you open your mouth.

"Excuse me, do you guys have room for a walk in?"

The receptionist glances up from her phone and a free hand snatches a sheet of paper and puts it on the counter in front of her, she then snags a pen with a plastic sunflower taped to it and tosses it haphazardly to the same spot.

"Fill that out." She says without giving you a glance.

"Sure, thanks." You mumble, grabbing the pen and getting to work filling out whatever details you can and having Caesar fill in for himself the symptoms section. You spin the page around and set the pen down with a faint clack. The receptionist takes the paper and slides it further down the counter before tapping a button on a small tan board, all without looking up, she jerks a thumb towards the door on the opposite end of the counter.
>>
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"The Doctor will come check out your sheet in a moment." She says with a bored lilt to her voice.

You open your mouth to question her when the doors fly open and a familiar old man steps through the doors. From his coat pocket dangles a pair of Purple Tinted Star-Shaped Sunglasses.

"Doc Thorne?" You ask.

He smiles widely at you and steps past the paperwork to put his hands on your shoulders as he looks you up and down.
"Good lord, look at you, son. Call me Bradley or Brad, I haven't seen you in years."

"I didn't think you'd still be working here, Doc. I'm surprised you're still..."

"Licensed? Alive?" He asks with a barking laugh.

"Practicing." You say reassuringly. "You aren't old enough to stop just yet though, eh?"

"Definitely not, I actually just saw your father the other day. They mentioned you were back in the city again but really in the heart of it, never thought you'd step in here." His eyes shift over to Caesar and he slips his glasses from his pocket and slides them on before extending a hand. "Especially not with your son, handsome boy, must get it from his mother. Nice to meet you, son."

Caesar ignores the sharp laughter of the doctor and shakes his hand once.
"I'm not his kid, DL and I are friends."

Dr.Thorne stops his laughter and wipes an eye as he grabs the sheet from the counter.
"I know you aren't his, Caesar. I was just pulling his chain. Now let's take a look at this."

He lowers the sunglasses to the tip of his nose as he reads over the sheet.
"Come on back, we'll get you squared away. You too, Mark. I could use a hand from you."

"Uh, shouldn't a nurse handle that?"

"I'm not cutting the boy open, Mark. Just figured he'd be more comfortable with you around, but if you'd rather wait out here and enjoy the.." His gaze lingers on the receptionist. "Conversation. Then feel free. But I'll be running him through a scan and then doing a routine check up, could take a little bit and I get lonely when I have to monitor a scan alone." He chuckles again.

You feel your arm hairs raise and for a moment you smell that same disinfectant you spent days wallowing in as a child. Shivers or childhood trauma? A classic game for you.

>"I'll stay in the waiting room. You'll be fine Caesar, it's just a quick scan and probably an exam."
>"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc."
>"I'll come back with you guys, don't wanna leave Caesar alone, it's his first time outside the city."

Secondary Vote (if you go back):
>Ask Dr.Thorne about the clinic, it used to be packed and he had a full staff of nurses and even a few other doctors. What happened?
>Ask Dr.Thorne about the receptionist, you remember an older lady with blonde curls when you were younger.
>Ask Dr.Thorne about Caesar's condition while he's in the scan, more than just his recent injuries. What's his overall health?
>Write-In
>>
>>5961762
>"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc."
>Ask Dr.Thorne about the receptionist, you remember an older lady with blonde curls when you were younger.
>>
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If the QM or players are interested at all interested, I'd like to cordially incite you to (and Officer DeLucia) to participate in that greatest of /qst/ community events, the official crossover husbando/waifu (or king & queen) contest!

Taking nominees now, and for the next five days.

>>5961634
>>
>>5961770
I'm flattered and accept, I'll wait to post in your thread until later when I have my home IP Address instead of my shifting mobile one.
>>
>>5961762
>"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc."
>Ask Dr. Thorne about Caesar's condition while he's in the scan, more than just his recent injuries. What's his overall health?
>Ask Dr. Thorne about when last he saw your father. Was it just a random thing or did he swing by for an examination?
>>
>>5961762
>>"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc."
>>Ask Dr.Thorne about the clinic, it used to be packed and he had a full staff of nurses and even a few other doctors. What happened?
>>
>>5961762
>"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc."
>Ask Dr.Thorne about the receptionist, you remember an older lady with blonde curls when you were younger.
>>
>>5961765
>>5961814
>>5961825
>>5961838

"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc." You tell him with a playful tap on the shoulder.

It's minute but you catch it, Caesar's shoulders shifting ever so slightly in relief. Dr.Thorne's laugh echoes off the empty walls of reception as the three of you head back. You find yourself having to catch your breath at moments as memories bubble and blend with the whispers of Gotham, dulled but far from silent, even being across the river. You focus on your breathing as you walk and focus on what's in front of you, each room you pass seems bare bones and you spot more than a few rooms and offices that are completely empty. Dr.Thorne guides you both into a room and steps in closing the door behind him.

"So, according to the paper you went through this a few days ago. Really wish you had come in sooner." He says as he gets gloves and a thin pen-light as he taps an exam table for Caesar to hop up.

"Why do you wear the glasses?" He asks, as Thorne delicately pulls beneath his eye and shines the light in.

"Style. You like em?"

Caesar shrugs, Thorne moves to the other eye.

"It's an acquired taste I get it. But I've been doing it since I was giving the Officer check ups."

He peeks over his shoulder at you and follows up.
"Your dad told me you got into the GCPD, congratulations."

"Speaking of, when you saw him last was everything alright or was it just one of those random things you swing by a clinic for."

He snaps off the gloves and tosses them in a spotless trashbin.
"Well, Officer DeLucia. I'm sure you can appreciate my legal restraints when it comes to discussing patients."

"Of course." You say quickly.

"Don't worry, son. Your father is strong as an ox, his smoking aside, he's perfectly healthy for a man his age." He turns to Caesar and jerks his head. "Hop up. We're gonna take a walk down to the MRI, we only have the one so it's lucky for you that business is slow today"

You both follow his lead as he heads down the hallways, more space means more memories, one memory in particular sticks out to you.

"Doc, who's the new receptionist? I remember a lady when I came around, the one with the curls."

"Helen? She left about uh..six or so years ago. Couldn't afford to keep her sadly."

"Ah." You say not really knowing how else to respond. Thankfully Thorne was always a talker and he fills the space you leave. \

"New girl is Veronica, she's the niece of a friend and works for cheap. He wanted her to get some real job experience and I needed someone to let me know when patients were in. She doesn't have Helen's way with people but she gets the job done at the least and that's all I can really ask for."

He opens a swinging door and leads you into the darkened MRI room, a flick of the switch and the room hums to life with a flash of sterile lighting. Caesar groans and squints.

"Another good reason for the glasses, eh champ?" Thorne says.
>>
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Caesar fills a small plastic container with his belongings one of which is a thin chain you never noticed before, tucked beneath his shirt collar. A silver portrait of a saint dangles from the center as he gently sets it in along with a cell phone and some coins.

"Good man, go ahead and lay down on this table, I'm gonna turn the lights down and we'll get you in there."

"You gonna stay in here, DL?" Caesar asks, his tough exterior shaken by the idea of getting into that cramped tube.

"I'll be in the observation room with the Doc, I hated going in these things too when I was a kid."

"It ain't like that." He protests.

"Yeah, it ain't like that." Thorne interjects pressing the box into your hands. "Caesar is a tough guy, he just needs to make sure he has a ride home after this. Right?"

Caesar nods his head and jumps onto the bed.
"I've never done this before though so, any tips?"

"Just stay still and we'll have you out of this thing in no time, champ. Really important you stay still though, you need anything just talk to us."

Caesar takes a breath and lies on his back, Thorne nods you towards the door of the control room and hits a switch that slowly dims the lights of the room. You grab a seat and look over the monitors and then you hear it. The hum of the MRI kicking on, you shudder as you feel that crushing pressure in your chest you used to get. You shake it off, nothing you haven't already gotten over. The door opens and Thorne steps in, tapping a few keys in rapid succession until the screens erupt in dim blue light and reveal a slowly shifting image. He slides the glasses off and leaves them next to his keyboard.

"Seems like a nice kid." He says as he taps a few more keys.

"He is, just needs a little guidance."

"That right? What's his whole deal?"

"What do you mean?"

He hits one more key and the image splits into 3 different ones, all slowly shifting, turning to you he shrugs.
"I mean he's a kid who obviously is living a bit of a rough life, definitely into some trouble himself, and he's brought into a clinic that's out of the way by an off duty or plain clothes cop. That wouldn't raise flags for you?"

"It's a long story."

"You should know better than anyone how long these things can take." He says leaning back in his seat folding his hands. "It's been forever since I've seen you last, son. Just curious what has you dragging a kid like that up here."

>Explain everything, how you first met, how you stepped in to protect him from anarky, and how he's in your witsec program now. He's bound by HIPPA after-all.
>"Not much to tell doc, you know how it is, people in Gotham need help and it's my job to help em. Nothing more."
>"He kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city. I got a soft spot for him."
>"He's important to a case I'm working, I need to keep him healthy and comfortable until I can close this thing after that I guess we go our own ways."
>Write-In
>>
>>5961888
>"He's important to a case I'm working, I need to keep him healthy and comfortable until I can close this thing after that I guess we go our own ways."
None of his backstory is protected health information. HIPPA does jack shit here. I trust the doc but it's best to keep things close
>>
>>5961888
>"He's important to a case I'm working, I need to keep him healthy and comfortable until I can close this thing after that I guess we go our own ways."
>"He kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city. I got a soft spot for him."
>>
>>5961888
>"He's important to a case I'm working, I need to keep him healthy and comfortable until I can close this thing after that I guess we go our own ways."
>"He kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city. I got a soft spot for him."
>>
>>5961888
>"He kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city. I got a soft spot for him."
>He needs a ride and doesnt want his mom to know he got roughed up
>>
Update will be late tonight, but it will come.
>>
>>5961888
>"He kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city. I got a soft spot for him."
>"He's helping me out with a case, though. That's how we met. Can't tell you more than that."
>>
>>5962547
>>5961952
>>5961968

"He's important to a case I'm working on. I need to keep him healthy and comfortable until I can close this thing after that I guess we go our own ways." You say matter-of-factly.

Thorne gives you a side-glance and then turns back to his monitors.
"Purely business then. Understood."

You stare through the dimmed glass at Caesar's dirty sneakers, soles worn thin from constant roaming, the laces chewed and frayed on the ends from being stepped on countless times, and you sigh quietly to yourself.
"Maybe he kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city."

"So not all business after all, eh Officer?"

You shrug.
"I got a soft spot for him, he's a good kid, he just needs a little guidance."

Thorne simply smiles in the glow of the screen and busies himself with marking down various things of note from the scans. You try to get an idea of what's happening but, of course, to you it all looks like nonsense so you grab a seat and get comfortable...

=======

"Alright, Caesar." Thorne says scribbling aggressively on a small sheet. "This is a prescription for a low level pain killer, your ribs are going to be sore for a while but there isn't anything indicating a break or fracture. If your vision issues get any worse or hang around longer than a few more days I'd go see a Optometrist, the injury may have given you an astigmatism of some sort."

Caesar looks panicked for a moment before Thorne holds up a hand.
"It's minor, son, right now we can assume it's temporary. I'd avoid any further knocks to the head however, you got pretty lucky this time."

Caesar nods and takes the prescription slip.
"Thank you, Doctor."

"Of course, stay safe out there."
Thorne gives you a pointed look and you nod. Putting a hand on Caesar's shoulder.

"Let's get you home, it's nearly four already."

You both head to the car and climb back in.
"Not so bad, eh Caesar?" you ask him, seeing that once you're outside he seems to loosen up a bit.

"Not a fan of hospitals." He mumbles, stuffing the paper from the doctor into his pocket.

"Me neither." You tell him truthfully as you fire up the engine. "Don't crumple that paper too much, we're gonna hand it to one of the Wit-Sec officers and they'll handle picking up the meds for you."

"You trust that guy?"

"He was always nice to me when I was young, he's a little eccentric huh?"

"More than a little, that place was dead. Gave me bad vibes."

"Hard times I guess, but I've never really seen anything like that either."

You give the old clinic one final look as you reverse out of the lot and make your way back into the heart of Gotham.
>>
A brief stop at 'Flour Power Bakery' nets you a thin cellophane baggie. A strawberry shortcake cupcake sits at Caesar's feet in a tiny box, he munches on a twisted doughnut dusted in sugar and cinnamon as you pass some of the little natural scenery. As you reach the bridge a sea of tail-lights make you sigh deeply, city tourists coming out to see the leaves change, you give Caesar a glance.

"Toss your hood up, we'll be here a minute."

He grunts in response spewing some sugar crystals on your dash, you respond by grabbing your own Boston Cream and enjoying a sweet snack in the standstill.

========

The sun sits on the horizon of the city like a fluorescent orange speedbump against the curtain of gray clouds. Caesar sit's slumped against your side window with his hood up, snoring slightly. You smile and think back on how tired you'd be after hospital trips. Your car eases to a stop as you park it by the front stairs of the apartment complex, you do your best to avoid acknowledging the plain clothes as you pop open the door, the car dings gently as you open the driver side door and the dome lights flicking on cause Caesar to stir.

"Fuck.." he mumbles.

"Welcome home."

"Eugh, what time is it?"

You click your phone.
"Five, we hit some traffic on the bridge. You fell asleep pretty quick."

He groans in response as he opens the door and steps out, looking at you over the roof of the car, as he holds the bag and cupcake box limply in a free hand.
"You wanna come in?"

You raise your eyebrows a little surprised.
"I think your mom is already home."

He shakes his head.
"No shit, DL. She's probably cooking dinner already. You want some? She said she had to make you something sometime as a thank you anyways."

You rub the back of your neck and glance at the slowly lowering sun.

>"Sure, I could eat."
>"I can't, but I'll walk you to the door. Make sure you get in safe."
>"Sorry, Caesar. I have some business to handle that can't wait." (lie)
>"I don't think that would be really appropriate, you're all witnesses in a case I'm working. The department probably wouldn't be too happy about fraternizing."
>Write-In
>>
>>5962634
>"Sure, I could eat."
I'm curious.
>>
>>5962698
+1
What IS she cooking in there?
>>
>>5962634
>"Sure, I could eat."
>>
>>5962634
>"Sure, I could eat."
>>
>>5962634
>>"Sure, I could eat."
>>
>>5962634
>"Sure, I could eat."
>>
>>5962698
>>5962704
>>5962735
>>5962749
>>5963459
>>5963477


You smile and feel a gentle rumble in your stomach.
"Sure, I could eat."

Caesar gives you a single nod while coming around from the car and heads for the stairs.
"Vamos then." He calls back over his shoulder. You're forced to jog to keep up as he sprints the stairs heading for the top floor. When you finally crest the last platform you see he's already inside and left the door cracked, from inside you're hit with the wafting aroma of spices and cooking meat, your stomach grumbles again but louder as you approach the door. Stepping inside you hear a flurry of Spanish as Caesar and his mother talk, her hands turn and pull at his face as she inspects the bruising, looks like he was hiding his run in with those college boys from his mother too.

You awkwardly clear your throat and she turns to you, standing up and approaching with her hands folded.
"I'm so sorry, Officer." she starts. You hold up a hand and stop her.

"No need to apologize, I came to visit and thought he should get checked out. No big deal."

"And the boys who did this?"

"They'll be handled, assault should be taken seriously especially against a minor."
She rubs her hands nervously.
"We don't want any problems, Caesar shouldn't have been there anyways, you really don't have to bother yourself-"

"Ma'am, it's okay really. It's my job."

She smiles lightly.
"Thank you, for taking him to a doctor and for everything. Helping us. Helping me."

"Really, it's okay." You insist holding up a hand.

She nervously stammers and rubs her hands together.
"If you were hungry, I was just about to finish up some Pozole.."

You blink a few times waiting for her to finish her sentence when Caesar interjects.
"You're invited to Dinner, Dl. Officially."

You flick your eyes back to his mother and she nods.
"Just as a way to pay you back, for your kindness."

You smile and nod towards the kitchen.
"My grandmother would haunt me if I turned down a homecooked meal, manners from the old country and what not."

She smiles brightly and steps to the kitchen gesturing to a seat.
"Then please, make yourself at home."
>>
You sit down next to Caesar's sister who holds her cupcake box tightly to her chest at the table.

"Having dessert first?"

"I'm not allowed yet, so I have to make sure nobody steals it."

"Smart." You quip, settling into your seat and taking in their space more. Despite having not been here long the place already feels well lived in, though maybe that's just Gotham housing, pictures litter most surfaces. Showing what looked to be a very happy family, you can only wonder what kind of trouble his father got in. From all the pictures you see he seems to be a good father at the least, never a photo without a wide smile on Caesar's face or his own.

Your thoughts are disrupted by a bowl being placed in front of you and a large plate of steaming tortilla laid in the center of the table, homemade from the looks of it, Caesar's mother looks at you and nods to the tortillas.

"I finally unpacked my press, decided to put it to use."

"Well it looks delicious Mrs..." you let it trail off as you realize you don't even know her name.

"Welles, Bianca Welles."

"It looks fantastic, thank you for the food, Mrs.Welles"

She simply smiles and takes her own seat, turning her head over her shoulder and calling back in sharp spanish. The word's you pick up are Caesar and Andele. He eventually shows up in more casual clothing, a pair of basketball shorts and a Gotham Knights T-Shirt.

"You ever play ball for the high school?"

He shakes his head.
"Nah, I play at the park though." he pauses for a moment. "I did I guess, probably will when we get out of here."

"Cheer up, Mijo. Before long you may be off to college, so let your mama enjoy the time she has with you." Bianca coos as she pinches his cheek, an action Caesar accepts begrudgingly.

Your bowl is filled with the delicious looking stew, the smell of roasted peppers and pork emanate from the rising steam, you grab a spoon and almost out of an old habit shoot a glance at Bianca. You set your spoon down delicately as you see she is sitting with eyes closed, holding Caesar and Isabelle's hands, whispering a small prayer in spanish. You close your eyes and recite what your grandparents used to say, a little something to stay close to them even now that they're gone.

You open your eyes and Caesar leans forward grabbing a handful of tortilla, his mother looks at you and smiles.
"Please, eat."

You need no more motivation than that as you dig in. As you eat you think, the silence of this dinner nagging at you a touch, you're used to loud family discussion but everyone here eats so quietly. Maybe you should start the conversation?

>Stay silent and eat your dinner.
>"So, Mrs.Welles, forgive me if this is too personal. But when is Mr.Welles going to be getting home?"
>"So Bianca, what brought your family to Gotham? Or are you a native?"
>"How is WitSec treating you? Are you guys getting everything you need? Anything I could do to help?"
>Write-In
>>
>>5963563
>Stay silent and eat your dinner.
When in Rome.
>>
>>5963563
>>Stay silent and eat your dinner.
It could be that we are the thing harshing the vibe. Or it could just be that they just ain't that kinda family. Hopefully it isn't too spicy for us!

>inb4 roll for spice tolerance
>>
>>5963563
>Stay silent and eat your dinner.
>>
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>>5963617
>>5963625
>>5963634

You decide maybe it's best not to talk just because of your own sort of discomfort and just focus on enjoying the meal, a warm hearty stew with juicy pieces of roasted braised pork in a spicy broth, it's been a long while since you had a real homecooked meal.

"So, Mijo." Caesar's mom starts casually. "How did you get this job, Isabelle was telling me about?"

Caesar glares at his sister but she avoids the brunt of the damage by concerning herself with dunking a tortilla into the broth and keeping her eyes down.

"It's not a big deal, mama, I just pick up some fruit and go sell it. It's just for some extra money."

"Oh you 'pick it up'? Who from?"

"Pedro.." He says unconvincingly waving his spoon around. "From the Nature-Mart."

"Mhm.." She says quietly before folding her arms. "Are you stealing the fruit, mijo?"

He drops his spoon.
"Mama."

"Answer me."

Caesar looks to you with an exasperated expression.

"Don't look at him, answer me Caesar." She reiterates, her accent growing stronger.

He swings his head towards her, his eyes dull and evasive.
"I don't know. They fall off a truck and-"

His mother laughs once sharply.
"They fall of a truck? Quieres terminar como tu padre? Huh?"

"Mama, I need the money. Nobody is getting hurt it's fruit they are gonna throw out anyways!"

Bianca closes her fingers on one hand and looks to you. You look to Caesar. Isabelle looks to grab another tortilla.
"Maybe you'll listen to Officer Delucia, that even if you 'need money' you can't do this sort of thing, Mijo. What do you even need the money for?"

"Nothing.."

"Nothing? Mijo, you got hurt because you're out doing things you shouldn't be. I raised you better than this." She looks to you and gestures towards him.

"Tell him, tell him what's going to happen if he keeps this up."

You awkwardly swallow your soup and let out a spluttering cough, as you wipe at your mouth with a napkin you at least get a moment to consider your response to all this.

>"I actually, uh, have something that I am late for. Thank you for dinner but I should really be going."
>"Mrs.Welles, as far as I'm concerned this is a family issue. I don't really think I should be weighing in here."
>"Caesar, your mom is right. Any other cop who catches you with stolen property, even fruit, is gonna haul you in. It's too risky."
>"Maybe you should cut him a little slack? He's only doing it to put money on your husband's books. His hearts in the right place he just needs to make better choices."
>Write-In
>>
>>5963769
>>"Maybe you should cut him a little slack? He's only doing it to put money on your husband's books. His hearts in the right place he just needs to make better choices."
>>
>>5963793
+1
Caesar has never not once said, suggested, or implied otherwise. He's doing all this for his dad and his family, and he's been upfront about it every time
>>
>>5963769
>"Maybe you should cut him a little slack? He's only doing it to put money on your husband's books. His hearts in the right place he just needs to make better choices."
That said...
>"Caesar, your mom is right. Any other cop who catches you with stolen property, even fruit, is gonna haul you in. It's too risky."
>>
>>5963769
>>5963851
+1
>>
>>5963769
Changing vote from >>5963847 to backing >>5963851
There's gotta be plenty of legit ways to do this
>>
>>5963851
+1
>>
>>5963851
+1
>>
>>5963769
>>Write-In "If it really is otherwise going to go to waste, you should try and petition for it as a charitable action. Not only would it prevent any other cops from getting on your case and harassing you, but it would look good on any future applications you might make."
>>
>>5964508
supporting
>>
From chill family moments to uncomfortable family moments in record time.
>>
>>5963851
+1

>>5963769
Not all GCPD are oft touches like us. Some of them will see a former gang-banger selling dubiously-acquired fruit without a permit and makes some snap judgements, with unfortunate results. We aren't telling anyone what to do here, exactly, or at least I'D rather not... But if they want our opinion as a cop...
>>
>>5963851
>>5963871
>>5963874
>>5964222
>>5964223
>>5966271

You set your napkin down and clear your throat a final time.

"Maybe you should cut him a little slack? He's only doing it to put money on your husband's books. His hearts in the right place he just needs to make better choices." You start, her eyebrows lift in shock and before Caesar can point to you and declare victory in this argument you hold up a hand towards him. "That being said, Caesar, your mom is right. Any other cop who catches you with stolen property, even fruit, is gonna haul you in. It's too risky."

The table remains silent for a few moments, Isabelle looks at you with wide eyes before shifting them between her brother and mother. Caesar's mother breaks the silence.

"You're doing this for your father?" Her voice is quiet, but there's something behind it that makes you feel like you said something you shouldn't have. Caesar closes his eyes for a second and looks up, something in his eyes.

"Well you weren't. Someone still has to let him know we care."

"Caesar." Bianca says calmly, quietly, and slow. "You do not understand things as much as you think you do."

"Well nobody explains shit to me, I'm nearly eighteen now ma, things have changed I can help now."

"Caesar.." She says exasperated, like this is a conversation had many times over.

You open your mouth to say something, anything but Caesar locks eyes with you and speaks first.
"And you, DL, all this shit about better choices? That kind of talk might work on Coventry coños but I they didn't make good choices, they only HAD good choices, I'm just doing the best I can." As he finishes he stands up sending his chair scuttling backwards before retreating down the hall to the room that once held soft music.

You blink a few times and shift your eyes over to Bianca, she stares dully at the table, you feel a pang somewhere in your chest and a wave of cold washes over you. Isabelle seems uncomfortably used to this sort of thing as she simply continues eating her dinner and sneaking her cake a few desiring looks. A familiar cramping comes as your stomach knots up and lies heavy while your appetite leaves you. An awkward silence permeates the entire room as you flounder for the next thing to do.

>"I'll show myself out, I think. Let you handle the parenting."
>"Maybe I should go talk to him? Easier a friend than a parent, right?"
>"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Feels like this isn't a new topic."
>"What's the situation with his Dad like? Are you two not on good terms?"
>Write-in
>>
>>5966707
>"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Feels like this isn't a new topic."
As I've said before, nobody likes nosy psychics getting into their own stuff. If we start probing, they'll assume we're using Shivers on them, even if it's just our intuition.
>>
>>5966710
+1
>>
>>5966707
>>5966710
+1
Yeah. Not quite our business even if we want good for Caesar.
>>
>>5966710
>>5966712
>>5966775

You push your bowl forward and fold your hands.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Feels like this isn't a new topic."

"It's not." She says abruptly, her face a barely hidden mask of frustration. You just hold your hands up.

"Understood, nobody likes nosy psychic getting into their business."

"It's not like that, it's just.." She sighs looking to Isabelle. "Izzy, take your brother his dinner, you can finish eating in the room with him."

The little girl needs no further prodding as she hops up from the table, abandoning her bowl and picking up Caesar's, in her free hand the small cupcake box is clutched against her body. When you hear the door down the hall click, Bianca lets out a weary sigh.

"I love Caesar's father.." She says, immediately bringing heat to your face.

"Right.." You say, not sure where this is even going.

"I told Caesar after you sent him home the first time you two met, that running around in the streets with men like Anarky wasn't acceptable and I told him.." She pauses. "You're going to think I'm a terrible mother, but I told him actions have consequences. The same conversation I've had a hundred times with him, only this time he threw in my face that 'Dad taught him that when he went to jail' and I was so frustrated. I had just gotten a call that our visit was canceled again because of a fight his father got in, all this time and he was just so much like his dad, I just snapped. I told him until his Father could prove that he could behave himself that I wasn't going to send him anymore money. That I wasn't going to give him take anymore until he or Caesar could prove to me.."

She breaks her sentence off early, eyes shining with a thin layer of tears, one small bundle breaks free and leaves a smudge in her make-up.

"Bianca, I'm very sorry for the situation you're in. Having to deal with raising a family while entangled in all of this mess with Anarky. It can't be easy." You speak gently, the words of your crisis management instructor ringing in your head.

She sniffs once and blinks away the excess liquid.
"No, I'm sorry. I should not be dumping this on you, you've already done a lot for my children already, Officer."

"Raising kids can't be easy, especially in this city, my parents went through hell with me but now that I'm older I can look back on everything they did for me and understand it. Sometimes all it takes to change our perspective is time."

"I feel like I don't even understand half the things I do myself. I just try to do what's best for them."

She looks down the hall and you see the bottom lip begin to quiver, perhaps it's time to go and let her work this out herself. You gently stand from the table and she looks to you.

"Your food was delicious, thank you for having me." You tell her politely.

"Of course, I'm sorry it ended on such a sour note."

You wave a hand.
"I've had days end far worse than this, believe me."
>>
You step away from the table and into the small hallway. You cast a glance at the closed bedroom door and frown, hopefully Caesar turns out alright at the end of all this, a second glance at a clock reveals it is definitely time to go home. The sting is tomorrow.

Your hand turns the knob quietly and you slip through the door with as little noise as you can, no need to bring Caesar out for a goodbye when he's steaming. A clank and clatter of dishes from the kitchen draw your attention, between the slit of the door and frame you spot Bianca cleaning up.

"Buenas noches, Officer DeLucia." She tells you.

>Say nothing back, just smile and nod.
>"Go talk to him later, he'll appreciate it."
>"You should call the Prison, with your husband on board maybe Caesar will ease up."
>Write-In
>>
>>5966796
>>Write-In
"Your children and husband are lucky to have you. Good night, Ma'am."
>>
>>5966796
>>Say nothing back, just smile and nod.
>>
>>5966799
+1
Poor woman, what a shit show.
>>
>>5966799
+1

>>5966796
>>
>>5966799
+1
>>
>>5966799
>>5966932
>>5967058
>>5967323

"Your children and husband are lucky to have you, ma'am." You say quietly as you close the door, the last thing you see is the expression break and the glimmering tears fall freely before the latch clicks and you find yourself standing alone in the hall of the apartment complex. You let out a long drawn out sigh and close your eyes for a moment, maybe those neighbors aren't so out of place after all, you slowly open your eyes and head down the stairs with only the echo of your footsteps with you. You feel strangely alone in this moment.

Stepping out onto the street you catch the Plain Clothes at shift change. An Officer makes eye contact with you and gives you a nod with a knowing grin, you grimace knowing what it means, a problem for tomorrow because right now you're exhausted. Your drive home is quiet, even Gotham seems to be keeping it's voice down for once, it's almost as if the city itself seems to be holding it's breath until it sees how tomorrow shakes out or maybe you're just reading too much into things. Distractions cast away nothing keeps your mind of what is sure to be a dangerous operation, early in your career as well, your overthinking is cut short by finally arriving home. You park, head inside, and enter your apartment the same as any other day. Once inside you get a beer and hit the couch to try and distract yourself.

"...indications of massive flooding in..."

"...UN Peacekeeping forces are calling for a ceasefire between..."

"...National Championships hosted at the STAR Stadium this winter, will Victor Stone be able to carry..."

Flip, sip, flip, sip, on repeat. Nothing you go by catches your interest as your mind continues to wander into what could be. Could this be your last night in your apartment? Your last beer? You've done good work so far but nothing like this, a bitter part of you thinks of Issac and his PR department, how perfectly tragic it would be for an up and coming police officer dying early in his career before he could do all the good he had planned. That would push papers, that would drive sympathy for City Hall and the GCPD.

"Fuck." You say out loud to yourself setting the bottle down on the table and rubbing your eyes. You feel yourself entering the same sort of spiral you'd endure as a child the night before a new operation, or medication, or therapy. You lean back into the soft backing of your couch and close your eyes.

You breath in slowly and hold it, three seconds and no longer, then you exhale. You focus on your body starting at the fingertips, the way they feel ever so slightly warmer than the rest of you and the faint vibration you can feel in them, before moving on to your toes and then inward. Slowly using your breathing techniques and the meditation techniques of John and Nia you slowly relax your arms and then your legs until you finally feel that knot in your stomach uncurling. Your head lulls backwards and you just focus on the breaths.
>>
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You drift into peaceful black solitude, the whispers of the city far from your mind, you're only disturbed when an orange glow begins creeping in from the corners of your vision. You risk a fluttering opening of your eye and find it assaulted by harsh sunlight, the feeling of dried sticky saliva on your cheek suddenly becoming noticeable as your head shoots up and you wipe at the crusty streak with a free hand. You blink a few times looking around the apartment, a brilliant sunrise punches through your window and gives the entire room an angelic glow, a sunny morning in Gotham. Anywhere else that may be considered a good omen. You panic and snatch your phone off the table to check the time, the hand gripping your heart finally relaxes as you see the time is actually 20 minutes before you usually get up anyways.

You make use of the time by finally losing yesterdays clothes and taking a shower hot enough to boil eggs. Your closet holds the clothes you had worn for the rehearsal at the station, a nice comfortable dress shirt tucked into creased black slacks, you change quickly and get yourself a tall glass of orange juice before grabbing the keys.

Stepping into the station you don't need inside information to know something big is happening, the commander's office sits empty, most of the Officers have their heads down focused on work. There's no additional chatter today, no jokes or coffee runs, everyone seems to be completely focused on whatever their assignments may be. Turning the corner into the Detective's Block you see why that is, a handful of Detectives from the precinct along with Sergeants stand in the War Room and in the center of them is Jim Gordon and Commander Reiner. A small box by the door holds a collection of cell phones and a sign taped to the glass reads simply:

'Place phone in bin upon entry.'

You enter the room quietly as you can but it doesn't stop most of the eyes in the room shifting to you. Gordon and Reiner maintain their gaze on Grey's Whiteboard. Kimble steps out from crowd when he sees you, only then do Reiner and Gordan give you a glance, the Commissioner's hand taps his shoulder and he leans in to tell him something. Despite the silence of the room you don't hear a word, behind Kimble you can see Hawthorne and Grey standing with folded arms, their eyes on you. They both give small nods. Gordon finishes speaking to Kimble and then raises his voice.

"Everyone clear out, get a coffee and something to eat, we come back in ten. Remember you are not permitted to access any phones or devices with an internet connection. If we find out anyone attempts to contact outside sources then loss of your pension and badge will be the least of your problems."

He claps once and everyone begins to filter out past you, mumbled hellos and a few kind words are given as the twelve or so men leave the room. Gordon makes eye contact with you and gives you a warm smile from under his moustache before also stepping out.
>>
All who remain in the room are you, Kimble, Hawthorne, and Grey. The room smells like a mixture of at least four different colognes. Kimble approaches you with a stern look on his face.

"You're nervous." He states.

"A little, but it's that obvious?"

"No, you'd just be a moron if you weren't and I know you're far from stupid."

"Thank you, sir?"

He sighs, pulling out a chair and gesturing for you to sit.

"I was told to give it to you straight, so I am, no bush beating or pussy footing." He says.

"Understood, sir. Hit me."

"Before I say it, I just want to let you know that we have faith in you and nobody is questioning your capability as an Officer."

Hawthorne groans.
"You just said you weren't gonna dilly-dally, say your piece already Kimble."

He turns with flared nostrils to say something back but you see him deflate.
"Yes, sir."

Kimble looks at you with a stone expression and eyes that almost pierce as deep as Hawthorne's while he speaks the next words:
"Mark, are you sure you can go through with this?"

"What? Of cour-"

A firm hand stops you.
"I know you have been preparing mentally, physically, and...psychically I guess. But it's different when it's right in front of you. You are going to be walking into a room full of men who have killed before. Women, children, cops, nothing is off limit to these people and you are going to be sticking your face directly in front of them. If they find out who you are before the meeting is over..."

"They'll kill you." Hawthorne growls from the corner. "They'll stick you or shoot you or drag you down to those sewers."

"We have men in the sewers don't we?"

"Yes, but not a full map. Your visitors below had you pull back early and we couldn't get another group to head back down. The foreman refused, said he'd go again in a week or so."

Your stomach drops.

"So when they get into the sewers it could still not work out, all we've done is tip fortune in our favor." Hawthorne finishes.

"Mark, I need you to tell me you understand all the risks. That you could die or worse in there, because once you step in you'll be completely alone."

"I understand that." You say.

Kimble goes still in a way that looks like he isn't breathing.
"Then I'm ordering you as your Training Officer that if you think even a bit that you can't handle this, Officer DeLucia, you will tell me right now. You tell me right now and I call the whole thing off, we do our original plan of kicking in the door and hoping the sewer sweep teams catch em as they run."

Grey and Hawthorne watch you with sharp analytical eyes, their faces betraying no emotion.

>"I can do it."
>"I don't know if I can do it, sir. I'm sorry."
>Look to Hawthorne for guidance.
>Look to Grey for his opinion.
>Write-In
>>
Fat Update: I'm gonna leave this one up for a while so you guys can discuss but we are finally here, the Sting begins in earnest.

Feel free to let me know your thoughts going into this event.

Good Luck
>>
>>5967738
>>"I can do it."
>>Write-In
"I should probably get my will in order first though."
>>
>>5967738
>"I can do it."

>>5967748
Kek, good one.
>>
>>5967763
It is a legit concern. Especially if we havnt already done up one since it shows we acknowledge the risks involved and are going in even though we know that things can go wrong and we not make it out alive.
>>
>>5967738
>"I can do it."
>>
>>5967748
+1
>>
>>5967748
+1
>>
>>5967738
>"I can do it."
Drop an envelope that lists what to do in case i die
I assume people who work in dangerous jobs have a will or contact x people upon death
>>
>>5967848
If you have no preferred heirs or charities or anything, and don't mind your valuables just going to next-of-kin, you don't really need one.
>>
>>5967748
We got a batman phone

If there's anything that'll put us at ease, it's knowing batman has our ass covered.

Though once Gordon probably already let the bat family in on this
>>
>>5967748
>>5967763
>>5967970
>>5967983
>>5968104

You swallow and force a smile with a chuckle.
"I can do it, should probably get a will in order first though."

Kimble's face doesn't move an inch, not even a flicker, as he stares into you.
"There are times to be funny and this ain't one. I refuse to take sending you in there lightly, never have and never will, I care about the men under my command."

You sit straight and feel a heat in your face.
"Yes, sir." You say quietly, embarrassed.

"He isn't entirely wrong, Kimble." Hawthorne says from behind him. He steps up to a filing cabinet by the whiteboard and digs through before producing a white sheet of paper and a folder.

"What are you doing?" Kimble asks, his voice exhausted.

"Giving him what he asked for, the kid want's to leave a last will? Last words? He can jot em down."

He stops to grab a stapler and bring it with him on his approach to you. The paper and folder are slapped down in front of you and Hawthorne hands you a pen from his pocket.
"If you're good to go, then say so. Write down whatever you want, or write nothing, whatever you need to do so you can go into this with a clear head. When you wrap up staple it inside the folder and we'll only open it if something goes bad. You get me?"

"Yes, sir. I can do this." You say, Hawthorne's words filling you with a resolve you lacked before.

"Then write. We'll give you some time." He pats Kimble gently on the shoulder as Grey steps by to hold the door open for them.

"Come on, Kimble. Let's get you something to drink."

The door clicks closed and you sit alone in the war room with nothing but a blank sheet and a cheap blue pen in your hand. You stare at the page and think...

>Write something down. (Write what?)
>Write Nothing.
>Write-In(?)
>>
Apologies for the lateness of this, work obligations and yadda yadda. Hopefully the rest of my week won't be so demanding.
>>
>>5968644
>>Write something down. (Write what?)

This being the last will and testament of Mark Delucia. I name my father, Nonno Delucia as executor of my remaining estate.

In the event of my death, I would have [10%] of my assets to be bequeathed to Ms Bianca Wells, to help in the care of her children. [20%] to the GCPD Survivors and Family Fund to aid others lost in the line of duty. To Commissioner Gordon, I leave 1 (one) unmarked briefcase located in my apartment. The rest I leave to my parents as I will no longer be around.

Signed,
Mark Delucia

-------------

To My Mom and Pop,

This isnt exactly how I thought we might say goodbye but then how is any. I'm sorry that I have to leave you two behind first.I believe in Gotham, that she can be a better place with the help of good people. I died doing a job I believe in, doing what I love. I'll be going ahead first and god willing we will see each other again.

Your loving son.

-------------

To Kimble and Hawthorne,

I entered this operation willingly, knowing the risks but also knowing what its success would mean. I'm sorry it ended this way but accidents do happen and I know we all did all we could. I was privileged and honored to serve under two of the finest instructors of the GCPD. Thank you for all that you have done for me. I'll have to leave the rest to you.

Officer Delucia
>>
>>5968644
>My psychic abilities let me know things that i should not. The true identity of batman is ..(illegible scrawl)..
>>
>>5968664

I like it, just a note though.
Mark's father is named Mario, Nonno is a term of endearment in Italian for Grandfathers.
>>
>>5968688
Is his middle/nickname Jumpman?
>>
>>5968688
>>5968664
+1
>>
>>5968664
I'd add Grey to the final "Thanks for the mentorship" tally maybe, but otherwise it looks good.
>>
>>5968664
+1
Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.
>>
>>5968688
Whoops. lmao. i trust you'll fix it then.

>>5968823
Yea, probably a good idea.
>>
>>5968664
supporting
>>
>>5968664
>>5968819
>>5968823
>>5968860
>>5969264


You pick up the pen and start scrawling.

"...name my father, Mario DeLucia as executor..."
You think about the brunch with your parents this morning, the things your father said swimming in your head as you write. His pride in you, your mother's acceptance of you no matter what, and the peace they both brought you despite a turbulent youth. You clear your throat and move on.

"...10% of any assets beqeuthed to Ms.Bianca Welles..."
Caesar, he's still on your mind, troubled but a good kid underneath the grime of the city. You have a nose for these kinds of things you like to think, regardless they're only in the mess they are now because you convinced Caesar to walk from the gang, at your core you can't help but feel slightly responsible for him and his family.

"...20% to the GCPD Survivors and Family Fund..."
Dent, despite his poor first impression on you, has the trust of this city and the people within it. His dedication to reforming the GCPD included a benefit for officers who put themselves in the line of fire for civilians. It wouldn't be a bad thing to have your legacy provide for some of your brothers in blue even if you aren't around to see it.

You look it over and suddenly another thought strikes you, the tucked and hidden briefcase in your apartment. Such a thing would raise a lot of questions, and you fear what some people's assumptions may be. Batman gave you that case but if you were to die it should go to someone
"..To Commissioner Gordon, I leave one unmarked briefcase located in my apartment..."

You look over the top and nod, but reading over the first line again, you can't help but feel the need to just say a little more.
"To My Mom and Pop,

This isnt exactly how I thought we might say goodbye but then how is any. I'm sorry that I have to leave you two behind first.I believe in Gotham, that she can be a better place with the help of good people. I died doing a job I believe in, doing what I love. I'll be going ahead first and god willing we will see each other again.

Your loving son."

You look up from the sheet and past the glass door of the War Room, Kimble leans against a cooler with obvious stress on his face. Hawthorne and Grey stand in front of him with big exaggerated hand movements and smiles. He gives a reluctant grin and waves them away, the scene brings a smile to your face and you pen one last thing.


To Kimble, Hawthorne, Grey.

I entered this operation willingly, knowing the risks but also knowing what its success would mean. I'm sorry it ended this way but accidents do happen and I know we all did all we could. I was privileged and honored to serve under two of the finest instructors of the GCPD. Thank you for all that you have done for me. I'll have to leave the rest to you.

Officer Delucia.
>>
You close the file and surround it's edges with a fence of silver staples, perfectly sealed and hopefully the need to open it will never come. Looking back up you see Hawthorne in the middle of another silent story, the only crease to your brow comes when you see him mime having two fangs like a cobra, Kimble puts a hand on his forehead and shakes it while laughing. You step out of the room and their attention snaps back to you.

"Get it all out, Rook?" Hawthorne asks.

You look down to the folder in your hand and actually do feel lighter, like all your worries will be handled no matter what happens, you smile and hand it over to Hawthorne.

"Yes sir, I'm ready."

He smiles and gives you a nod.
"I believe you." He says quietly.

"Me too, anything happens and I'll be in there to get your back." Kimble says with a resolute look in his eyes.

"I trust you, sir. Let's get these fucking guys."

"Well spoken." Grey says with a clap on your shoulder. "But there are some final preparations, Gordon and the Commander have been clear that as our lead horse you control the pace of this, when they come back we're going to discuss the final plan and it'll be the last chance for us to bring anything up."

"Sure, so it's just me speaking up?"

"Anyone can, but you have the most hands on experience with this due to your ability, not to mention you were our boots on the ground in the sewers."

"Basically, Rook. You need to rack your brain and see if you've missed anything, any details or information that could be useful to the operation." Hawthorne interjects. "Not to say we think you missed anything or are withholding, it's just important that you take a second to check yourself before going in."

You nod but feel that familiar cramp in your gut followed by a growing warmth in your head as you focus on anything you may have missed or could clue everyone in on...

>Any last second information or clues you want to bring up?
>"I think I've given everything relevant, that I know of, to the case already."
>Write-In

This is a chance for the analysts among you to check previous threads/conversations, or even ask me clarifying questions if you'd like, this isn't me telling you that you did miss something, just an opportunity to bring things up now that may have slipped or you didn't have the chance to mention.
>>
>>5969305
>"Did we ever confirm what that gizmo we found back at the store was? Whatever it is, the sewers might have more than a few installed."
>"Any rumblings of metas that might be working with the families attending the meeting? Wouldn't be unheard of for somebody to hire some superpowered muscle for protection during the meeting."
>"What equipment is the team in the sewers rolling with? I just wanna know whether or not I should expect a gas chamber if I'm down there."
>"Be honest, do I actually look the part of a career criminal?"
>>
>>5969305
>"Did we ever confirm what that gizmo we found back at the store was? Whatever it is, the sewers might have more than a few installed."
>"SIM is a mob hitman, sort of, right? Do we have profiles on meta enforcers who might be there? Even if it's not him, it'd be good to know what abilities I should be prepared for."
>>
>>5969340
Kimble is in the room with us. How much does he know about the SIM case? I'm very leery on bringing him up until I know for sure his own info on this. No +1 from me without that

>>5969321
I'll +1 this for the time being
>>
>>5969321
+1
>>
>>5969321
>>5969467
>>5969513

"Did we ever confirm what that gizmo was that I found in the store?" You ask Grey, he nods to Kimble.

"I checked it out with Bomb Squad, IED rigged to blow through a simple one charge wire rig."

"I get you, but you should probably dumb it down for Rook to understand it." Hawthorne says with a sly wink to you.

Kimble either doesn't notice or doesn't care, his focus lies solely on his own memory.
"It's pretty much your normal Motion Sensor that you get online with one bonus, additional temperature sensors to avoid accidental triggers you need movement and a heat register before it goes, it was rigged with a small canister of fluid and a sprinkler head. The entire thing was put together by hand, carefully, and the set payload was Napalm."

"Firebug?"

He shrugs.
"Whoever did it had experience with ordinance and probably chemistry experience on top of it. The housing itself wasn't anything too special, that motion detector can be found online."

"You mentioned seeing a similar looking box in the sewers didn't you?" Grey says.

"I did, it was just before we hit those strangers who were down there, but those boxes looked different they didn't have the modifications from what I could see."

"Think there's a connection?"

"Never accept coincidence as an answer until all other possibilities are worn out. Right?"

Hawthorne groans.
"Little cliché even for you, Grey."

Grey only shrugs.
"When a genius speaks people can't help but listen."

Hawthorne replies with a vulgar gesture before smiling warmly and turning to you.
"So you think whoever planted that rigged sensor at the store probably rigged some in the sewers?"

"I think it's worth putting out to Officers to watch themselves, keep an eye out for any of these black boxes."

Grey scrawls on a small notepad.
"Good start, anything else?"

"Any chance I'm not the only meta in the room? It isn't unheard of for people to hire Meta-Muscle."

"Our intel doesn't have any known Meta-Associates on record, guys like Maroni and Falcone seem to lean away from that sort of thing, the outliers are Cobblepot and Mandragora."
>>
"Any of them expected at the meet? I don't want to be walking into a telepath or something."

"Sorry, Mark. Penguin has a list of powered associates a mile long so we can speculate all day but the end result is the same: We don't know."

You sigh, that doesn't make you feel any better but then again you were never going to be comfortable on this assignment in the first place. You've made your peace with that.

"Then I guess it would be nice to know what everyone in the sewers is running around with, if I go down with them to keep my cover I just want a heads up if they're gonna be flooding the place with gas."

"Uniforms will be armed with the standard sidearm and a few of them will be packing long guns, shotguns with less than lethal rounds, and Kimble will be coming through with Tactical from the front. Breachers will be packing tear gas so plug your nose, I guess."

Kimble chimes in.
"You were gassed out in basic, weren't you? You'll be fine."

"I also took a hit from a stun gun in the academy but that doesn't mean I want to do it again."

"I mean, if it helps sell your cover."

Grey sets down the notepad and looks to you.
"This has deviated pretty far from 'things you'd like to tell us' and become more of asking questions so I may as well just ask now if you have anything else."

You mull it over for a moment and can't really draw anything else up right now, the nerves and the city have your mind in a nice little cloud, you make a mental note to meditate before actually going in. You notice everyone staring at you expectantly as you mill through your thoughts.

"I guess the only thing I have left to ask is...do I look the part of a career criminal? Be honest."

Hawthorne remains completely silent. Grey simply smirks and shakes his head. Kimble however looks over you pensively.

"I'd arrest you." He says finally.

"Thanks.."

=====

After a few more minutes people begin to trickle back into the space, ending with Gordon and Reiner who close the door behind them. Grey hands the Commander a slip of paper and steps away. Reiner reads it and nods to himself, slipping it in his pocket.

"Alright men, get seated and take notes, we won't be going over this again." Gordon begins. "Since this precinct is under the leadership of Commander Reiner here, I'll hand over the floor to him."

"Thank you, Commissioner. Sergeants take special note, you'll be leading our men in the sewers, I have some new information from you brought to us by Officer DeLucia so listen closely....

=====

The meeting retreads old ground for you, but you watch as these men who sit several ranks above you listen intently to your reports, warnings, and insights taking them all as gospel coming from the mouth of Commander Reiner. Grey and Hawthorne are occasionally called upon to offer some clarifying information or lend an opinion while you and Kimble remain silent. Eventually the meeting draws to a close and men begin to file out to gather their men.
>>
As everyone leaves you find yourself almost unwilling to get up from the chair, the looming reality of the danger still weighing on you slightly, Hawthorne, Grey, and Kimble are beckoned out of the room by Reiner. They step out and you close your eyes, slowly breathing you settle your mind following John's instructions, you feel the knot in your gut loosen.

A blob starts to appear in your mind, a pale yellow circle barely perceptible in the shadow, slowly a symbol appears in it's center. The symbol of The Batman.

Your eyes fly open and you find yourself staring into the well worn loafers of Commissioner Gordon.

"Taking a break huh? I can't blame you. I like to enjoy a cup of coffee alone before anything big, gives me time to think, settles my nerves."

You rush to stand up only to catch a hand on your shoulder.
"Easy son, you don't answer to me right now. Settle whatever it is you have going on with yourself."

"I'm alright, just doing some breathing exercises."

"Those are effective. Do you go all in on Meditation?"

"Sometimes, you meditate?"

"No no, but a friend of mine does. Learned from real flesh and blood Yogi's in Delhi, none of this tele-conferencing with fellas from San Diego." He laughs then clears his throat. "No offense if that's how you picked it up."

"No, sir. I also picked it up from a friend. A detective from another city."

"It's good to have worldly friends when we're rooted in one place. Don't you think?"

"Absolutely sir."

"Sometimes we have to be careful though, sometimes our friends distract us from who we really are."

"I'm sorry?"

"People say that children are impressionable but I think it goes for everyone, anyone in an early stage of something unknown is like a piece of wet clay, easily shaped by the hands of those around them. It's why I started the Training officer program, so that the good men and women of this department could pass along their views and their mindset to new blood. Change the system from inside."

"Hawthorne and Kimble have been great teachers, sir."

He laughs.
"Tell that to Commander Reiner, it's only by his recommendation that they got the opportunity. He's a good judge of character, and I think that shows in his officers. But even I'm not immune to influence, especially influence from friends. But it's important for an officer to always keep in mind the values of this city and to uphold the oath you took when you first picked up a badge."

"Of course, Commissioner. But, why are you bringing this up?"

"Friend of a friend asked me to check in on you and I'd be a damn hypocrite if I didn't, do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, son?"

>"Yes, sir. I understand."
>"No, sir. I really don't."
>"Sometimes an outside perspective is necessary though, don't you agree?"
>"All due respect, Commissioner I think our mutual friend should keep to his own business. He's been slipping lately."
>Write-In
>>
>>5970123
>>"Yes, sir. I understand."
>>"Sometimes an outside perspective is necessary though, don't you agree?"

Our role is that of a public servant and we must remember that we are always accountable for our actions. Always we've also been working on the side with the Question and Huntress after all. So we do understand.
>>
>>5970137
+1
>>
>>5970123
>>5970137
+1
>>
>>5970137
+1 as well.

>>5970123
>>5969340 is me.
>>
>>5970123
>"Yes, sir. I understand."
>"Sometimes an outside perspective is necessary though, don't you agree?"
>"Not gonna lie though, I'm a little perplexed he didn't just check in on me personally. He's in town, ain't he?"
It's a genuine question. For as much as he does so with us, Batman doesn't have a reputation for going through other people for this sorta thing.
>>
>>5970377
I suspect he's worried our Shivers will reveal his identity.
>>
>>5970396
I figure that much was obvious. I'm only asking the question now because, in-character, it's perfectly reasonable. The Dark Knight isn't known to pussyfoot around anybody, much less cops.
>>
>>5970137
>>5970190
>>5970310
>>5970323
>>5970377

"Yes sir, I understand. Sometimes an outside perspective is necessary though, don't you agree?"

"At times." He says quietly. "But it's important for an Officer in my GCPD to trust himself and his fellow officers above anyone else."

"A lesson learned from our friend?"

He laughs.
"I tweaked it a little, but yeah."

"I can't lie, I'm a little perplexed he didn't just check in with me personally. He's in town, ain't he?"

Gordon shrugs.
"Keeping tabs on him is like putting a leash on smoke, not much point to it. For what it's worth he mentioned you had some...grievances about how you'd been contacted in the past."

Your face grows red as it dawns on you that the Commissioner of the GCPD may know all about your rant at the Road House.
"Ha, yes sir."

He sighs and pulls his glasses from his face. Looking at you with eyes that are both hard yet comforting, like he can see straight through you but isn't judging, he gestures to the board and speaks quietly.

"Your focus should be on the Sting right now, our friend is around and he offered to handle this for us but I turned him down."

"What? Why?"

"Because this city needs to see that we can still be the ones who protect them, that we can still strike at crime while remaining in the light, and failing all of that. We have a back up plan."

You remain silent, the weight of his words starting to settle on your shoulders, you look up to him again and his glasses rest again on the tip of his nose.

"You're our representative today, Officer DeLucia. Don't let us down." He offers a weathered hand and you grasp it. His grip is shockingly powerful as you give a firm shake.

A cold draft strikes you, somewhere in the Amusement Mile on the north end of Gotham there lies a small pile of rotten soaked rope, you shudder and your vision retracts. Drifting back past the tall chain-link fence you see the slowly spinning tire of a wheelchair, it's spokes speckled with rust from the bitter sea air. Flickering from the blunted point of old barbed wire is a single swatch of clothing. An old Hawaiian Shirt.

You blink and find yourself looking into the concerned eyes of Commissioner Gordon.
"Are you focused, Officer?"

"Trying, sir."

"Take your time now to get ready then, we head out in ten to meet with Maroni." He says as he stands, dusting off his slacks. You just give him a silent nod and return to your meditations.
>>
The unmarked car comes to a stop in the parking lot of a Gotham Gas and Fuel, you look outside and can remember your first shift as if it had happened yesterday. A sleek black town car sits idling in wait for you, a shady silhouette awaits you in the back seat.

You run your hand over your waist and feel the pistol tucked into your belt, a wiggle of your foot and you barely feel the snub nose attached to your ankle, hopefully they'll be satisfied with your main piece. You sigh and slip into your persona.

Mark DeLucia: Dirty Cop.

You step out of the car, trying to ooze sleaze from every pore, taking a moment to fix your oiled hair in a car window. A driver steps out and pops the backdoor, you recognize him as the lanky goon who stopped you and Kimble at the door of the restaurant. You slide into the backseat and find yourself in a thick miasma of faux-designer cologne.

"Officer." Maroni says smugly.

"Maroni." You reply.

"I think you mean, 'Boss' it would do you well to remember your manners. It's the bread and butter of our world."

"Excuse me?"

"You need to learn the language of respect if you want anyone to believe you're an associate of mine."

"Is that right?"

"Look at my driver. You think he calls me anything other than Boss or Sir? If he called me Maroni or, god forbid, Sal? Whaddya think would happen to him?"

You remain silent and stare him down, weighing his words against your pride.

"We ain't going nowhere till you show me you get it, it ain't just your ass on the line here. So call me Boss and show me that you can follow instructions." He leans back against his seat and looks at you expectantly.

>"Of course, Boss. I'll make sure nobody thinks anything is up."
>"Yes, Sir."
>"Well I'm not your employee, I'm a cop. Being a dirty cop doesn't mean I need to kiss your ass."
>"Focus on staying out of jail and I'll worry about the police work, Maroni. How about that?"
>"I'll call you whatever I want, it's only because of the GCPD that you're even getting to breathe free air, don't push it."
>Write-In
>>
>>5972560
>"Yes, Boss."
He's the fucking scum of the Earth, he gets no more than this.
I would have gone for "Yes, Sir", but I feel like he's a stickler for the specifics.
>>
>>5972576
>>"Yes, Sir."
+1
>>
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>>5972553
>A cold draft strikes you, somewhere in the Amusement Mile on the north end of Gotham there lies a small pile of rotten soaked rope, you shudder and your vision retracts. Drifting back past the tall chain-link fence you see the slowly spinning tire of a wheelchair, it's spokes speckled with rust from the bitter sea air. Flickering from the blunted point of old barbed wire is a single swatch of clothing. An old Hawaiian Shirt.
Oh. Oh no.

>>5972560
>>5972576
>+1
Yeah I'll back this. Even if I want to put his face through the window next to his fat fucking head. I hope they break his knees when they apprehend him "gently".
>>
>>5972560
>"Yes, Boss."
>"But I'm not your lackey, I'm a cop. Being a dirty cop doesn't mean I need to kiss your ass."
My assumption is that we act like we're hired by him, but overselling it might also raise suspicion.
>>
>>5972553
>somewhere in the Amusement Mile on the north end of Gotham there lies a small pile of rotten soaked rope
>An old Hawaiian Shirt
I guess we're not shooting Batgirl in the knee.

>>5972576
+1
>>
>>5972560
"Yes, Sir."

>>5972604
There's always other Batgirls, but good luck plugging Cassie Cain in the knee or anywhere else.
>>
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>>5972608
>spoiler
Ain't much I'm not willing to lose chasing a dream like that.
>>
>>5972614
Virginity? Wouldst thou give up your wizard powers, anon?
>>
>>5972630
>>
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>>5972576
>>5972599
>>5972601
>>5972603
>>5972604
>>5972608

"Yes, Boss." You say, trying not to let your disgust for Maroni seep into your tone.

"Good boy, see how easy that was?" He says with a wide toothed smile.

You briefly see a vision of you putting his smug head through the window behind him, one of the rare times it's your own mind and not shivers, but instead of acting on it you swallow your temper and let your eyes linger out the window.

"Hey, numb nuts. We stopped talking, that means you drive now." Maroni says tapping his knuckle against the back of the driver's skull.

"Yes sir, Mr.Maroni." He replies meekly.

=======

The town car rumbles to a stop, most of the drive Maroni couldn't stop himself from yapping on and on about how this meeting was going to set him up to run it all, you never thought the sight of The Tobacconist's would be a relief to you. You go to step out and a firm hand grabs your arm.

"You think you get out before the Boss does?" Maroni asks, a threatening undertone to his voice.

You yank the arm away violently, an act which clears the look from the old mobster's face, turning to him you speak low and aggressive.

"I'm not your lackey, Maroni, I'm a cop. Being a dirty cop doesn't mean I need to kiss your ass either, it means you pay me and I help you. I'm not overselling for the sake of your ego."

His eyes still hold a spark of passive defiance but the rest of his body assumes passive body language.
"Of course, Officer. Just trying to make the plan work as best as it can."

You grumble as you open the door and step out, making a show of straightening and brushing off your shirt while your eyes scan the parking lot. A small collection of cars, some classic and others more modern luxury types, dot the empty lot. You feel a chill go up your spine. You miss your chance to look into the feeling as a slap on the back shocks you back to the moment, Maroni holds out a suit jacket which you take and shove into the arms of his witless driver, you shake your head and take a final breath to quiet the voices. You need your senses focused on this building and not the City right now.

Maroni leads the way to the door, you keep behind him and even employ some of the GCPD VIP protection protocol you learned prior to the Museum assignment. You keep to his back focusing on flank angles and your rear, trusting ever so slightly, that his sense of self preservation would lead to Maroni warning you of any threats to the front. As the driver cracks the front door you're hit with a wave of tobacco and vanilla. Stepping inside the main floor is filled with personal stages, poles with a mirror sheen going up to the ceiling, old leather armchairs, and side tables with intricate looking lighters adorning the centers.

"Cigar, sir?" A voice from the dark interior startles you as you flick your eyes forward. An older gentleman in tuxedo complete with tails holds a wooden box open before Maroni.
>>
Your eyes begin to adjust to the dark and cool lighting of the Tobacconist Club and you see the more intricate details. Glass containers over vintage pieces of Gotham City history, old yellowed photographs, and newspaper clippings sit in gold frames behind the bar. A clicking draws your eye again as the man in the Tux lights up a freshly selected cigar.

"Any for your compatriot, Mr.Maroni, sir?" He asks, angling the box in your direction.

Maroni slaps it shut with a weak backhand while shaking his head.
"He's here for business, not pleasure. I'm here for both. Any refreshments?"

The man in the Tux simply bows his head and gestures with a long arm.
"In the conference room, sir. Please feel free to select any of our bottles from the bar as well, it's all on the house."

Maroni looks over his shoulder and raises his eyebrows, the same cocksure grin on his face.
"See, kid. The language of respect."

You keep a stone face and wait for Maroni to finish milking the royal treatment for every last freebie he can. After nearly ten minutes of perusing the both of you are led to a back room, it's entry nothing more than a set of beads on thin chains, Maroni steps through but you find yourself stopped with a hand on the shoulder.

"Very sorry sir, but the director of this event was quite clear, only the heads are to go in without additional screening. If you would?" He asks while gesturing to your arms.

You sigh and raise your arms, making no effort to disguise the annoyance that had been steadily building.
"Do what you have to do, I have a piece on my hip tucked into the belt."

"Thank you sir, but I am obliged to check you regardless."

The man's hands deftly and gently glide along you, firm enough to feel anything out of place but light enough to not leave a wrinkle behind on your shirt. This guy is good. He finds and withdraws your pistol, a loaner from the evidence lock up, he ejects the magazine before pocketing it and pulls the rack to eject a single remaining round which he catches in his free hand.

"If you would like we offer weapon cleaning while you have your meeting, no additional charge of course."

"No need, I barely use the thing." You say, if he's sharp enough to know it needs cleaning then he likely won't miss the absent firing pin.

He simply nods and sets the gun and all it's accessories into a small standing brass bowl. You look back and see others with similar contents. He sets the stand aside and resumes his search, his hands now going down your leg, this is when nerves start to chew at you. The ankle holster is a tight fit but not so tight he'd consider it anything but abnormal. You swallow and try to keep an annoyed but unbothered attitude but as he get's closer to your ankle you feel your face start to prickle.

"Where the fuck is my bodyguard!?" You hear belted out from the room. The Tuxedo'd Attendant stands up and pokes a head through the curtains.

"I was just finishing his search, Mr.Maroni."
>>
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"Then finish it for fuck's sake and bring us a champagne, four glasses, and something small to snack on. Like olives!" He calls back.

You and the Attendant share a look and you shake your head.
"If I didn't need the money.." You mumble.

He gives you a sympathetic smile and shrugs.
"Work is work, sir."

You look into the room and roll your eyes.
"Let me help you carry some of that mess so they don't get any louder. I've heard Maroni when he's REALLY angry and it ain't pretty."

"I can handle it, sir. I assure you."

"I insist, let's get this meeting going so we can both get out of here huh?" You nudge the man and walk towards to bar top, he follows after you asking in hushed tones that you not bring this up to his own boss and quietly thanking you. You breathe a silent sigh of relief and enter the meeting room with an ice bucket, some glasses, and a revolver.

His eyes. It's the first thing you notice about him. Mandragora in the flesh sits at a circular table, green felt and ring stains from drinks long drank decorate it's surface next to old flakey stencils of Texas Hold Em rules, he's even bigger in person than the files said. Six foot five and nearly 300 pounds with ghostly white skin, and those eyes. You feel a shiver and your arm hairs brush against the soft inner sleeve of your dress shirt. Around the table sits Mandragora, Maroni, Falcone, and Oswald Cobblepot. You blink a few times standing in place until a voice breaks you out of your stupor.

"Are you going to hand that over, or are we going to have to take it from you?"
Mandragora addresses you directly in a vaguely european accent, his dead eyes watching you flounder as a smile spreads over his lightly blue lips.

"Sorry.." You say quietly setting the ice bucket and champagne down in the center of the table.

"No trouble at all, dear boy." Cobblepot says, quite politely, as he leans forward grabbing at the bottle's neck. You can't help but notice his hands are grotesquely mutilated leaving only 3 large chunks of flesh with half embedded fingernails in the tips. You pull your eyes away before you offend.

"Your bodyguard seems a little green, Maroni. Not just around the gills." Mandragora continues, still looking you over like a choice cut of steak.

"That's cause he's a cop." Maroni quips through a mouthful of olives and gin.

Falcone gives you a bit of side eye but doesn't move. Cobblepot and Maroni continue enjoying their refreshments and Mandragora has a glint in his eye as he looks at you now. On the fringes of the room you see the other bodyguards, draped in designer suits and cheap jewelry, they tense waiting for what comes next, though you can't help but notice one of them remains completely still as he lounges against a vintage jukebox twirling a matchstick in his mouth. Mandragora slowly rises from the table and looks you up and down.

"You don't seem the type of man who's for sale, what's your price?"
>>
"Too rich for your blood, GCPD is a blood bath now with the 'Police the Police' shit that Dent is pushing." Maroni chimes in, a little too desperately, he swallows an olive roughly and speaks up in the same tone. "Why don't we just get this meeting going huh? Forget about that guy for a second and let's do business."

Falcone throws up a hand.
"That's what I said fifteen minutes ago when you hadn't shown up yet."

"Bite me." Maroni fires back.

"I got something worse than a bite planned for you." Falcone states while sticking a hand in his coat.

THWACK!

A sharp crack breaks both of their focus as Cobblepot slams an umbrella onto the table harshly.

"I believe, as the one who called this meeting, when we start is my call and so to is it my choice to count someone tardy."

Both the men look to one another and then slowly back to Cobblepot.

"Yeah, no problem." Maroni states.

"Take all the time you need to wet your beak." Falcone remarks.

"Steven, wrap up your questioning."

Mandragora gives a wave of apology and replies politely:
"Of course, Oswald. I simply wanted to know what makes a man abandon an oath." His gaze returns to you and his voice lowers. "So, Officer? What's your price?"

>"Cash, a lot of it. I got sick parents, rent, food, and all of that on a Cop's salary? I don't think so."
>"Only got into the department because Mr.Maroni wanted me too, my family is Old Gotham we remember how things were back in the day. Better than what's going on now."
>"Revenge, Batman put my older brother in a full body cast and I want to put a bullet in him. Two people who meet him the most are mobsters and cops, so I work for both."
>"None of your business, fatso, I'm not here to hold up the meeting so pretend I ain't even here."
>Write-In
>>
>>5972763
>>Write-In
>"What do you think? Leverage. Kind of price you can only get once. And he got it."
Vague, but realistic enough. A touchy subject. Something that gives us a reason to be rankled by persistent questioning.
>>
>>5972767
+1
>>
>>5972767
Ditto
>>
>>5972767
+1
Moms hospital bills ain’t gonna pay themselves. Nor will that vicious cocaine tab we keep running up.
>>
>>5972767
+1
>>
>>5972767
+1
>>
>>5972767
+1. Good one anon!

>>5972763
>>
>>5972763
>>Write-In
>"What do you think? Leverage. Kind of price you can only get once. And he got it."

+1
I like having the actual option directly stated in my posts.
>>
>>5972763
>>5972767
+1
>>
>>5972767
>>5972780
>>5972790
>>5972858
>>5972872
>>5972881
>>5972899
>>5973002
>>5973016

The language of respect. You're being tested here because of Maroni's fat mouth, you harness that annoyance and let it bubble up as you reply to Mandragora with a lifted chin.

"What do you think? Leverage. Kind of price you can only get once." You emphasize your point by pointing to Maroni who awkwardly looks to you with another olive between his fingers. "And he's got it."

Mandragora nods as his eyes glide to Maroni.
"Truly unfortunate, Officer. Maybe after this meeting a more beneficial agreement could be reached."

"Woah! What's the big idea?" Maroni says spewing olive juices.

Mandragora's eyebrows flick up and the smile vanishes. Maroni clears his throat and the two of them have a stare down, the only sound in the room is Falcone's groaning and the wet smacking of Cobblepot's lips as he pulls small smoked anchovies from the platter and swallows them in a gulp before delicately patting the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"I believe I am ready to begin." He says quietly, folding his deformed hands over his stomach. Mandragora breaks off the stare and returns his eyes to you.

"After this meeting we'll speak, I could have use for another Officer of the GCPD."

Something in the way he speaks sends jolts of electricity down your back. You simply nod and take a step back towards the edge of the room as Mandragora turns away and saddles a woefully undersized chair.

"Finally. The social club is over and now we talk division." Falcone says.

"Division?" Cobblepot asks him before chuckling to himself. "You make me wonder if you even read my invitation."

"I didn't have to. I can read between the lines, Penguin." He spits the last words and you see Cobblepot bristle but his composure remains steady.

"Illuminate me." His words cold.

"You send Pino to drop this shit off, Bertinelli's were part of the big three in this city." He pauses and scoffs before jutting a thumb at Mandragora. "At least before Moby Dick here got a hold of em, you brought them to heel and by sending Pino you got to put across two messages at once. That you wanted me here, and that the old power structure was gone, that someone who used to be in a family that was on top is your whipping boy now. So I already know what the next part of this is."

Cobblepot pulls his umbrella from its resting place against the table, he strokes the nylon material with a malformed finger.
"Which is?"

"The usual, fall in line or die, you may try and give Maroni and I a carrot by telling us we can keep our old turf and keep making money as long as we kick up a piece right?"

"You mistake me for something I am not. The actions you described are those of a common criminal, little more than a thug with planning skills. I am a business man, Mr. Falcone, and I bring you here not to stick my hands in your proverbial pie."

"Then what's the point of this?"
>>
"To make money, so very much of it, and to earn it all legally."

Falcone barks laughter, he slaps his knee and looks to Maroni who's eyes are firmly locked on the umbrella.
"Go legit? You call a sit down because what you want me on the board of directors for the Iceberg Lounge 2?"

Penguins hand tightens around the umbrella. Mandragora smiles and shakes his head.
"I wouldn't bring up that name if I were you, Oswald is still sensitive about the loss of his club."

"Well it's a good thing you aren't me or my money would be tied up in Big Belly Burger."

Maroni finally speaks up, his voice quiet and nervous.

"Carm, that's enough. Let's just hear em out maybe."

Falcone scoffs once more and leans back in his chair with folded arms.
"Sure, make me your sales pitch, Penguin."

Cobblepot takes a moment to sigh and pat his umbrella, gathering his thoughts, before ultimately pulling out a sheet of paper and tossing it to the center of the table. From your position it's hard to see but it looks like a standard bank statement.

"That sheet lists more than fifteen businesses owned within Gotham city limits. You may already recognize a few of the names."

Falcone snatches up the paper and his eyes travel over it rapidly as he intakes the numbers.
"What the fuck." he states before slapping the paper in front of Maroni who follows suit.

"What in the goddamn.." He mumbles.

"I'm glad you can truly read as well as you promised, Mr. Falcone. That's only the beginning of our plan as well."

"You're ripping us off." Maroni says almost to himself.

"Blame yourselves. You've become so accustomed to feeding on scraps that you couldn't recognize a banquet even if it was under your nose. The businesses that pay you a paltry protection fee are turning record profits under new management, yet you were so absorbed in playing Godfather that you didn't even notice to charge more." Mandragora chimes in. "This is the flaw with the old ways, you both hang your hats on respect and territory, and the unwritten rules. Cosa Nostra. Oswald and I have decided to follow a new code, Dent's tax code."

Your ears perk up.

"You can't just take something that has been mine since before you were-" Falcone begins.

THWACK!

"Choose your words carefully, Mr. Falcone. Respect is not at the forefront of our operation like yours but I can run these businesses with or without you."

"So if we say no, you're gonna whack us?" Maroni asks, his eyebrows furrowed and the bank statement clutched tightly in his fist.

Your eyes flick up to a vintage clock on the wall, the debrief put the entry team at a half hour after your entry, time is running short and Falcone's objections and this back and forth are burning your clock to learn whatever you can.

>Interject and try to defuse the situation between Maroni, Falcone, and Cobblepot. (Say what?)
>Keep silent, no need to call any attention to yourself. Worse comes to worse you'll just have to do what you can with what little you're hearing.
>Write-In
>>
>Maroni who's eyes are firmly locked on the umbrella.
>Maroni finally speaks up, his voice quiet and nervous.
>"What in the goddamn.." He mumbles.
>"You're ripping us off." Maroni says almost to himself.
>Maroni asks, his eyebrows furrowed and the bank statement clutched tightly in his fist.
Is the knowledge of the imminent sting getting to him? How is Maroni so cowed here after all the bluster and bravado he showed? Could we do something, anything at all here to get him some edge back? Or do we stay quiet and act the good little dirty cop bodyguard?
>>
>>5973356
This entire show is Oswald and Mandragora vs Falcone. Maroni's barely talking or giving input to matter. We can leverage Mandragora's interest in Mark to say something, or pull the Maroni right-hand move somehow. Talking to Falcone or Oswald will be a massive breach and get suspicious eyes on us. That's a no-go
>>
>>5973356
Maroni IS the weakest mobster at the table, which is why we chose him to flip. He probably also knows (seemingly better than Falcone) that Penguin has a habit of arming his umbrellas. Playing with his umbrella while Falcone is mocking him is the equivalent of polishing a rifle while making meaningful eye contact.

>>5973353
>Interject and try to defuse the situation between Maroni, Falcone, and Cobblepot. (Say what?)
"So you two, Cobblepot and Mandragora, you're splitting all this even-stevens? Sorry, sorry... I'm just a little surprised, since as far as I know, Cobblepot's way more, you know..."
(Maybe Mandragora will brag a little to impress upon us what a big swinging dick he is?)
>>
>>5973353
>Interject and try to defuse the situation between Maroni, Falcone, and Cobblepot. (Say what?)
>"Boss, if I may interject, offing you or mister Falcone would be bad for business. Either of you go under, there's gonna be reprisals and vacuums to fill. Either way, that spells a string of murders if not a full blown gang war."
>"My department can't just look the other way at that point, and if we sniff out a tax scheme, that means the feds WILL get involved. As soon as the IRS comes knocking, it's over."
>>
>>5973353
>Keep silent, no need to call any attention to yourself. Worse comes to worse you'll just have to do what you can with what little you're hearing.
We're meant to be the dumb muscle not Macaroni's personal diplomat. Best not to risk it.
>>
>>5973353
>>Write-In
*small cough into hand* "Pardon boss. As your bodyguard, they at least wouldnt shoot us here. Too much a danger of a stray bullet catching one of them. And if the number are as great as your reaction said, they only need to outspend and push us out if we refuse, legally if they are to be believed."
>>
>>5973372
>>5973375
>>5973381

You let out a small cough pointedly into the palm of your hand. Eyes dart your direction and everyone let's their words hang still in the air. You stare into Maroni's eyes and try to force him to get it, that you may have an out for him.

"You got something to say?" He asks aggressively, directing his attitude at you alone.

You awkwardly clear your throat.
"Sorry boss, as your bodyguard I just think we should maybe cool down a touch."

"So you think they're gonna whack us too?"

"No, boss. First of all I mean this room is a little small for a shoot-out." Your first line hits, Maroni, Falcone, and Cobblepot shift their vision and minds to the surrounding room. Mandragora keeps his eyes glued on you, a smirk playing on his lips. "They'd probably just settle for pushing you guys out with cash the legal way."

"Who fuckin asked?" Falcone spits towards you. "Put a muzzle on your pet cop, Maroni."

Mandragora holds up a meaty hand and holds it to Falcone, you can see his simmering rage just under the surface but he goes quiet all the same.
"I'd like to hear the perspective of a GCPD Officer, I don't know about you Oswald but it's proven valuable already."

Cobblepot shrugs. You take that as a sign to continue.
"Well it makes sense, you kill either of them and it creates a vacuum which leads to fighting for turf or status if not a full out gang war, if things go belly up then the department can't just look the other way at that point, and if they sniff out a tax scheme, that means the feds WILL get involved. As soon as the IRS comes knocking, it's over."

"It seems your bodyguard has a better grasp on the situation than you do, Maroni. Maybe we should be offering this deal to him." Mandragora says. Maroni flashes you a look and all you see behind it is malice, luckily his self preservation beats out his vindictive nature and he resigns himself to his seat with a huff.

"Put him in my place and he wouldn't last a day, this city would eat him alive. I've been running corners and making money since before he was a spark in his father's eye."

Cobblepot seems to consider the words and nods.
"That is true, both you and Falcone have been operating in Gotham longer than anyone left standing, your tenure with the city is part of the reason we wanted to bring you in. Our silent partner is seeking someone with intricate knowledge of the city, you two are the natural choices."

Falcone nods pridefully.
"Silent partner, that a fancy word for boss?"

"He is the brains behind the operation alongside myself."

"And? Did he get the flu or something? Why is he not here?"

"He isn't one for in person visitation, but rest assured he is attending this meeting all the same." Cobblepot nods to a corner and everyone's eyes shift to see a small black box resting on a shelf among poker chips and decks of cards. The same style of box you saw before but with a thin cable running from it up into the ceiling.
>>
Falcone's tongue prods his inner cheek before he leans forward and snatches the paper back from Maroni.

"So you're telling me we could be making double what we pull in now if we go in with you, provide our 'services' to your asocial boss?"

"More like triple your profits, entirely legally as well. Eventually at least."

"So it ain't a done deal?" Maroni chimes in.

"It is soon to be, we are waiting on two very specific things to happen, when our criteria is met we will be able to operate within the bounds of the law while still making record profit."

"And what is it you have left to handle?"

"A private matter, unless of course you are agreeing to enter into this venture?"

"Do we got a choice?" Maroni asks casting a look to Falcone.

"We always got a choice, Sal. But no good ones this time around, we say no and we get squeezed dry. Say yes and we hitch ourselves to these freakshow's wagon."

Penguins grip tightens once more but his face remains the epitome of calm, Mandragora looks nearly bored to tears with his eyes on the clock. You check it yourself and gulp. The raid will kick off in less than ten minutes. Both men sit in silence for a few moments, Cobblepot busies himself with a fresh glass of champagne and Mandragora sighs heavily.

"I think we go in, Carm." Maroni says gently.

Falcone just responds with a grunt.

"All we got waiting for us if we keep up what we do now is some territory they'll buy up anyways, staff with their own guards, powered ones probably since Cobblepot there is linked up with em."

"Fuck." Falcone says quietly. "FUCK." He repeats letting a foot fly into the base of the table. Glasses rattle and liquid sloshes but Mandragora and Cobblepot fail to react. "Take Maroni if you want, but I ain't handing my turf over to a guy I can't even see."

"Is that so?" Cobblepot asks slowly turning the umbrella's point to Falcone's chest.

Both men enter a long silence as they hold stare into one another. The tension is broken by a buzzing.

"That's mine, apologies." Mandragora says holding up a hand and pulling a small device from his breast pocket. Your stomach drops like it was filled with rocks and you take an involuntary inhale when you see him produce a cell phone, the exact same as the one SIM had given you for your late night talks. He flips the, in his hand's, comically small, top and presses it to his ear. His eyebrow raises and he looks to Cobblepot.

"Looks like we'll be finishing this conversation on the move." He says simply snapping the phone shut before squeezing his fist tightly, the sounds of crunching plastic barely muffled. "My mole has informed me an order just went through dispatch to breach the club in three minutes."

Eyes turn to you and you hold up your hands.
"I didn't know shit about this, I'm just paying off my debt."

"Then you won't take this personally, we need something to occupy them while we leave." Mandragora states as he rises from his seat pulling back his massive arm. Oh fuck.
>>
"Woah what the fuck!" Maroni calls out.

"No better distraction than a wounded officer where he doesn't belong." Cobblepot says nonchalantly as he clicks a button beneath the dealer table. You hear mechanical sliding and the sound of something metal clanging, what it is exactly you don't know since you're a little pre-occupied right now.

The words barely register to you as you watch a fist the size of a softball come at you.

>Eat the punch, just focus everything you have on staying conscious. Every word you can catch will help.
>Try to avoid the punch, it'll piss him off but the more time he spends with this the more likely the breach team catches them in the confusion.
>Make a break for the bead door, odds are they won't bother chasing you. Though they could still shoot you.
>Make a break for whatever Cobblepot just opened, if you're right and it leads into the sewers all you have to do is drop in and hope your knees survive.
>Drop to a knee and try to draw from your ankle holster, it isn't elegant but you just need to be faster than he is.
>Write-in
>>
>>5973522
>>Eat the punch, just focus everything you have on staying conscious. Every word you can catch will help.
try to diminish the impact as much as possible. Im afraid if we dodge, we will get shot
>>
>>5973522
>>Eat the punch, just focus everything you have on staying conscious. Every word you can catch will help.
>Write-in
But dodge the first blow and stall for a little bit.
"Wait, WAIT. I get it but... Don't hit too hard please, I still want to recognise my family."

We'll delay him slightly dodging the punch and talking a little but that'll we'll stand still and tank the next means he'll not be too upset.

Also, its important to try and move ourselves while dodging that blow so that our back in facing the camera we saw. We want to get thrown into it and 'accidentally' crush it. Otherwise whats going to happen is that our boys are gonna rush in and call out in a manner that its clear we're here to set them up.
>>
>>5973522
>>Eat the punch, just focus everything you have on staying conscious. Every word you can catch will help.
Lean back and turn with it. And set that jaw or you'll lose some tongue. It'll hurt but hopefully we'll bounce instead of break.

I hope Mark has taken his judo-adjacent cop-grappling training seriously and does his break-falls regularly. Cause he's about to eat some floor kek

>>5973531
That's pretty clever too. Imagine letting yourself get rocked across a room just to bodyslam a router. Truly a madlad. No one would see it coming.
>>
That mole needs to be hunted down after this. God this is the second time.
>>
>>5973522
>Try to dodge it long enough to speak to them. "Hold on a minute, if we want to occupy them then just let me bar the doors! And while you guys amscray, I can handcuff myself to a chair. That way my position in the GCPD won't be completely compromised when they find me, and I still have my wits about me to tell them some convincing lies."
>>
>>5973533
+1
Roll with it
>>
>>5973531
>>5973533
>>5973566

Looks like we are going to attempt to buy a little time and line up a sell into a camera that would make WWE proud.

I need three rolls of a 1d100, taking the middle-most roll. I'll get the number and then write out the update tonight at the usual time.

Curious what you guys make of the meeting, what you heard, what your theories are, etc
>>
Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>5973588
Doesn't surprise me Cobblepot wants to go as legit as possible. Mandragora is the real threat here. Those black boxes might be tied to Calc, who is playing multiple sides including Anarky. But a certain Mr. Matches Malone being involved is muddying the waters. What's Bats up to?
>>
Rolled 25 (1d100)

>>5973588
Deus vult, lets goooo.
>>
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Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>5973591
The co-boss is probably Calc, considering it's calculator. Had some easy serves to Cobblepot for ez money and has been handling buildings in the area already.

Which means he might be aware of us individually. We're fairly high profile after saving Dent, so he's probably trying to figure out our angle.

Bats is probably taking advantage of the escape route to target individuals, but none of the bosses are really doing 'anything bad' at the moment. They're technically trying to go legit.

>>5973588
rollan and saving our asses.
>>
>>5973598
>saving our asses.
>>5973588
>taking the middle-most roll
We're stuck with my 38 >>5973591
>>
Hey everyone quick heads up, the update will be late tonight, very sorry but life is life sometimes.



ROLL: 38

DC: 45

RESULT: FAILURE

Update to come.
>>
>>5974105
We are KO'd
>>
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>>5974105
>>5974111
Pic related. Not like it's never happened to him, mind you, kek.

>>5973588
>Theorycrafting
I still think Darkseid or some other Apokaliptan creep might be involved.
>>
>>5974111
Would you rather Mark gets knocked the fuck out and breaks the box

or

Mark is seeing quintuple, conscious, but the box is fine?
>>
>>5974156
The latter. More intel is better long-run.
>>
>>5973591

You throw up your hands, desperate to buy any time.
"Wait, WAIT!" You cry out, to your surprise he seems to hesitate. You take the opportunity to let your mind race.

GCPD is going to be in here any moment, taking a knock here isn't the worst thing in the world but what truly concerns you is that camera, Kimble was already acting protective over you and if he steps in to see you injured he's liable to say something that blows the lid off your cover. You need to take out that camera some how and sadly it seems the only option is with your body.

"Don't hit me too hard please, I still wanna recognize my family when I wake up." You mumble.

You see a brief look pass over Mandragora's face, something like amusement, before he nods. You watch the fist open up and the fingers curl until his massive pale palm is exposed. You gulp and Hawthorne's words come into your brain.

Just after your sparring bout he gave you some pointers..

"You're a half decent wrestler but there's gonna come a point when you get hit in the face, no dodging it in this line of work."

"The punch or the situation?"

"Smart-ass, listen to me would you? This is a lesson from TO to Rookie."

"Sorry, sir."

"Not yet, wait until the next bout. I won't take it easy on you then, but let's focus on the lesson. First thing I learned when I started training for Gotham Gloves as a young man was how to take a punch. Lean back and turn with it. And set that jaw or you'll lose some tongue. It'll hurt but hopefully you'll bounce instead of break."

You blink and see the palm flying in, you lean and turn setting your jaw, in your rush to turn you end up overshooting the mark. You feel a bludgeoning force slam into the back of your head and the last thing you see before it goes black is the wall mounted camera rushing to meet your rapidly approaching head.

Sound is distorted. Your vision swims and you feel a spreading warmth over your forehead. Your eyelids flutter as you move limp resistant arms to prop yourself up only to be brought back to the ground by a sensory flood. The scent of the sewer, a burning pain in your chest, and a sharp pain in your arm. You flounder on the ground slightly as sights of the Amusement mile, an old gymnasium, and a bank of monitors with flashing lights explode through your mind leaving behind a tail of agony akin to a migraine. Your vision holds on the monitor bank and you watch as your own writhing form is grabbed by the shoulders and shaken by a familiar form. Only then does your vision return and the burning pain in your head dies down to a smoldering ache.

"DeLucia? Hey buddy, wake up. GET EMS NOW!" You hear inches away, you try to force words but none come. The camera, your eyes swivel and a minor dent decorates the spot on the wall next to the camera, still untouched and recording you both.
>>
You try again and only a whisper comes.
"..watching..." You cringe again as a pain that makes your eyes roll hits you for a moment.

"Hey don't talk, just stay awake. Get your eyes open for me." Kimble says, he comes into focus now more clearly. A black tactical vest with the letters GCPD emblazoned in stark white underneath his radio, except for the small pink tinge near it's bottom.

You shake your head and try to move your arm, it trembles in response and the headache threatens to surge again with any exaggerated effort.

"Stop moving, brother. Just lie still, you've..." His voice pauses and he clamps his mouth. "You're gonna be okay."

>Keep trying to speak, he needs to know you're being watched.
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.
>The pain is too much, whatever happened when you hit your head it knocked something loose, let go and let Kimble take care of you.
>If your physical body won't respond then you'll reach into Shivers to find whoever is watching this, it just forced itself into your mind so it's not like it can get any worse, right?
>Write-In
>>
>>5974312
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.
>>
>>5974312
>>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.
>>
>>5974312
>The pain is too much, whatever happened when you hit your head it knocked something loose, let go and let Kimble take care of you.
>>
>>5974312
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.
>>
>>5974312
>>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.
>>
>>5974312
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.
Swing your arm from side to side.
>>
>>5974312
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.
>>
>>5974312
>The pain is too much, whatever happened when you hit your head it knocked something loose, let go and let Kimble take care of you.
>>
>>5974312
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.
>>
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>>5974580
>>5974507
>>5974501
>>5974473
>>5974357
>>5974314
>>5974313

You grit your teeth and let your eyes close tightly as you put all the energy you can muster into a roll. You use the momentum to fling your arm up and you feel your knuckle connect with hard plastic that gives against your pressure, knocking it askew, your breath comes ragged as you feel a jolt of red hot pain behind your eyes.

"Jesus, Mark, just lay still and.." Kimble's words trail off, any light would be too much to handle so you keep your eyes closed and trust that he'll understand, you feel a shift in his weight and hear a satisfying crunch as something plastic snaps.

"What the fuck are you up to Mark?" You hear Kimble mutter to himself. The next sounds slam against your sensitive eardrums as he hollers. "Get me an evidence bag cause I got something over here, some wire cutters too, looks like it's wired and going up. Get Detective Grey on the roof of this place."

You finally feel your muscles relax, you did your job, you feel your entire body go pleasantly warm as if submerged in a long awaited bath. As you drift off you hear garbled words that bring you the last bit of peace you need to let go.

"You did good."

============

Your sight returns. That's the only way you can describe what you just experienced, like someone flipped on the lights, much to your surprise there is no follow up pain. You gaze out over a Gotham street, gray and washed out like an old photograph, you don't recognize this place but at the same time you have no sense of being lost. You pull and pinch at your face but you feel nothing but resistance and give. No pain. No sensation. Like a ghost.

"Hello?" You call out, there is no echo despite the emptiness of the city, you feel chillingly alone. You test a few more aspects: Your movement is unimpeded but still limited to that of a normal person so this isn't like your Shivers Flashbacks, buildings and everything else you touch reveal to be solid but devoid of temperature or texture, the sensation of touching them is like pushing solid warm air. You shudder and shake your hand as you step away from the office building you were just groping. Looking up the sky is it's usual ceiling of clouds but curiously they seem frozen in place.

"What the fuck.." You mutter as you ponder your next move.

>This is obviously some strange dream, maybe going back to sleep will take you out of it.
>This has to be Shivers related, try reaching out into this Stilled Gotham and see what it can tell you.
>Whatever this is you won't learn anything standing around, go for a walk around the city. (anywhere specific?)
>Write-In
>>
>>5974856
>Whatever this is you won't learn anything standing around, go for a walk around the city. (anywhere specific?)
Was there someplace the killer said we were going to meet at?
>>
>>5974856
>>This is obviously some strange dream, maybe going back to sleep will take you out of it.
>>
>>5974856
>>Whatever this is you won't learn anything standing around, go for a walk around the city. (anywhere specific?)
Try going home
>>
>>5974856
>>Whatever this is you won't learn anything standing around, go for a walk around the city. (anywhere specific?)
The local burger joint
>>
>>5974856
backing >>5974859
>>
>>5974856
>Whatever this is you won't learn anything standing around, go for a walk around the city. (anywhere specific?)
>The Amusement Mile
Those recent shivers have me thinking something important is at the Amusement Mile.

>>5974859
The killer said he'd text us the location when he was ready to meet.
>>
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>>5974859
>>5974881
>>5974890
>>5974893
>>5974930

Thoughts swirl in your mind but in the center of the storm is one absolute. Whatever this is, you won't learn anything standing around, you need to move and check this strange space out. You set off down the road aimlessly at first since it would be a bit difficult to find your way somewhere when you don't even know where you stand now. You mull over a few locations you want to find and as you reach the corner of the massive building you had touched you turn and run directly into..

Home. Your apartment complex stands before you, your foot that was mid-step now rests on the first step that leads up the stoop, a faint scent tickles your nose until you recoil. You know this smell, burning flesh, looking in it's direction a thin trail of smoke emits from the alley and slowly the volume of the smoke increases making that scent stronger and stronger until you feel bile rising in the back of your throat. You groan as the smoke begins to sting and burn your eyes with a hacking cough and waterlogged eyes you turn the doorknob and step inside, desperate to escape the street, only to find yourself outside again as you blink away the tears invoked just moments ago.

A sign stands tall beside you, at the top is a familiar sign, 'FUN BURGER' it reads. Your head aches and you hear a sound like shorn metal screeching over the city. You look up and see the back door of the building sitting open and a familiar shape leaning sideways in it's frame wearing familiar face paint.

"Banks?" You call out before scolding yourself internally. This is just a dream or a shivers vision, there's no point in talking to anyone here.

"Evening Officer." Banks says to you with a chuckle as he pushes himself off the frame. You remember this, your first day on the job, Kimble's stupid hazing ritual. You turn away and close your eyes, seeing old memories isn't helping you understand anything. As you're focusing you cringe as something solid touches your shoulder for the first time.

"Aw come on, aren't you gonna let me take your order?" You hear a voice taunt from just inches behind your ear. You spin to face the Faux-Banks only to replace the bile caught in your throat with a scream.

Banks stands before you, his left side still clad in clown make-up and Joker goon attire but his right side is terribly deformed. The hand on your shoulder is red and raw with a tight silver band melted and fused to his ring finger, flakes of skin and tissue peel up from him like an old pleather coat while pus bubbles peak from between bits of exposed muscle fiber slowly expanding and contracting as if breathing themselves. Your eyes travel finally to his face where his right eye is a hollow socket half filled with a gelatinous grey orb, the skin surrounding it tight, shiny, and splotchy.
>>
Out of reflex you shove him away and in the time it takes you to blink he goes from the half charred clown to regular old Banks in his full uniform. As he falls back from you his head cracks off the curb and his head lulls to the side. Limp. You stare at him, his wool uniform shirt riddled with tiny ragged holes, for a moment you can't even bring yourself to move.

An explosion from in front of you scares the hell out of you on top of bringing you back to the moment. As you throw up your hands to protect yourself a sensation hits like warm puffs of air striking your chest. You open your eyes from the flinch and see a shadowy figure hovering above Banks body, it's form incomplete. You hear glass behind you clinking at it falls, you look over your shoulder and see the front glass door of a Gas Station falling apart.

"THIS IS 1-ADAM-1, OFFICER KIMBLE. WE HAVE AN OFFICER DOWN, UNCONCIOUS BUT BREATHING. SUBJECT IS ARMED WITH A SHOTGUN AND HELD UP INSIDE GOTHAM GAS AND FUEL ON 13TH. CODE 3, DISPATCH AMBULANCE AND RA TO SCENE." The voice is absolutely Kimble's but despite being only feet away from 'him' it still reaches your ears with the crackling distortion of radio static.

Your head surges again, the pain washing over your eyes and temples like a harsh wave, your entire body starts to feel the pain now as you sink to your knees. Your hands clutch at the side of your head and your fingers scramble against your skin and skull as you resist the urge to pull at your own hair.

"What the fuck is this?" You push through gritted teeth and tears, your spit flies freely from between your lips as you return to an old habit, one that your grandfather insisted upon ever since you were a child. You steel yourself and repeat.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he-" You struggle to get the final words out, speaking as if your lungs were being crushed by two powerful hands, but then something reaches your ears that even through the pain fills you with a bittersweet joy. Your grandfather's voice.

"For the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you, Mark.”

You force your eyes open through the pain and feel it all dissipate at once. You breathe heavily, taking more than a few minutes to gather your wits and energy, your body feels as if it's in a throbbing state of growth and reduction. You let yourself lean back and cool stone meets you touch, spreading a delicate soothing through you. You let your eyes sway in the new dim environment you find yourself in: a hallway.

Your eyes rock to the left to meet two metal doors with blinding white and red coloring, an ambulance? The doors are imbedded into smooth concrete walls that cap the end. Your eyes rock right and meet a different door, this one tall and made of a dark chocolate colored wood and shining gold handle, behind it you can hear sniffing and sniveling almost like that of a child's but something...off.
>>
Using the wall to stabilize yourself you slowly rise and take a few deep breaths. Neither of these doors give you any feeling as far as Shivers go. In fact all the noise you'd grown so used to over the years is gone. It's absence unnoticed in the face of so much stress and uncertainty, coming to the realization now only makes you feel even more naked in the face of this unknown.

Looking up and down, behind or forward, none of it matters. You're trapped in a stone tunnel with two ways out, the doors at either end. You shift an uneasy glance between them and whisper another prayer your Nonno taught you before heading for...

>The Double Ambulance Doors.

>The Fancy Office Door.


Big text wall, really enjoyed writing this segment out and look forward to seeing what you guys decide on. We resume tomorrow at the usual time, feel free to use the between time to ask me any sort of questions or give me feedback. I'll be swapping to my phone so I'll be online and able to respond to you guys for the morning for a couple hours.
>>
>>5975035
>The Double Ambulance Doors.
Those seem to be points we *could have* fucked up but didn't? The gas station, banks' whole thing. I have no idea what any of that means. Mark is just tripping I guess.
I would be such a shit oracle, I can't decipher any of that.

At least I'm caught up now. Funny that we tried so hard to bring the gun into the meeting and it didn't matter at all. Sewer dive didn't seem to matter either. Fucking mole, god damn it. Sorry Gordon, no win for GCPD today.
>>
>>5975075
First of all, thank you for taking the time to catch up. I hope you've been enjoying the story so far. As far as the gun and the sewers, without saying too much, I'll just say this.

Don't write things off as being all for naught just yet.
>>
>>5975035
>The Fancy Office Door.
>>
>>5975035
>The Fancy Office Door.

Nice segment QM. You do these dream sequences well!
>>
>>5975097
The craziest part about it is when he started this quest, the idea of Mark being superpowered definitely wasn't on his mind. Let alone it being Disco Elysium shivers.

DESU, I'm more surprised DC itself didn't take the idea of 'shivers' given Gotham has actual magical/spiritual shit going on
>>
>>5975035
>The Fancy Office Door.
>>
>>5975035
>The Double Ambulance Doors.
Don't go into the light!
>>
>>5975035
>>The Double Ambulance Doors.
>>
Seeing as we have a tie and I have some stuff on a time limit to do irl, I'm gonna leave this up a little longer for any swap votes or tie breakers. Update will come late, when I get back if no tie breaker has been posted I'll just roll.
>>
>>5975035
>>The Fancy Office Door.
>>
>>5975742

>>5975229 is me, and I'll flip to
>The Fancy Office Door
We'll probably be fine... Right??
>>
>>5975035
>The Double Ambulance Doors.
>>
>>5975035
>>The Fancy Office Door.

Didnt vote at first since im leaning back and enjoy the dream acid trip ride.
>>
Amber-Lamps:
>>5975075
>>5975229
>>5975391
>>5975745


The Office:
>>5975082
>>5975097
>>5975190
>>5975743
>>5975744
>>5975746
>>
The sniffling and sobs from behind the Oak door makes your stomach contract but something about them draws you in, they sound so...frail.

The door is already opened when you reach it, less than an inch of clear space between the door and it's frame, you put two fingers through and slowly pull it towards you. The door glides silently as the light behind you creeps into the room, slowly like spilt liquid spreading over tile, you take a step in as a hazy shape comes into focus.

"Hello?" You ask quietly to the curled form in the corner. It rattles violently in response to your words.

"Leave me alone." It replies back. The voice goes in and out of audible volume as it speaks, as though you were communicating through a radio.

"Holy shit, you can hear me. Where are we?"

"Please, I did what you said leave me alone.."

"Huh? Hey can you actually hear me? Hello!?" You call out while waving hands in front of him.

"What, what the fuck do you want.." It laments, the front of it's body stays curled inwards.

"Hey!" You call, your frustration bubbling over as you reach out and grab at the human shaped mass of mist; the familiar warm but ethereal resistance stops you.

"Aghh! Stop it, leave me alone, I don't want too!" The mass begs as it contorts and spasms. You pull your hand back rapidly in shock and guilt starts to settle on you. Did you do this? Or is this just another illusion of wherever you are? You take a few steps back and whisper an apology.

"Hey, hey I'm sorry. Can you just tell me if you can hear me? Just wave your hands or something."

The pitiful cloud man continues to writhe in place as it's breathing stabilizes. It speaks to you no longer, instead using it's small stubby arms to pull itself away towards a close wall where you see some shimmering shape beginning to take form. The closer he gets the more it comes into shape as a dresser or something similar.

>This is a waste of time, whatever this is it's just another illusion. Leave.
>Follow the strange form, maybe it'll show you something when it reaches where it's going.
>Enough of this, grab the mist man and force him to answer you.
>Write-In
>>
>>5975892
>>Follow the strange form, maybe it'll show you something when it reaches where it's going.
>>
>>5975892
>Follow the strange form, maybe it'll show you something when it reaches where it's going.
>>
>>5975892
>Write-In
>Let him hide in a dresser if he wants
>"Allright then, keep your secrets, ghost person. Hope you get better."
>Leave him be and go look around
>>
>>5975892
>Follow the strange form, maybe it'll show you something when it reaches where it's going
This is SIM isn't it
>>
>>5975907
+1
>>
>>5975892
>Follow the strange form, maybe it'll show you something when it reaches where it's going
>>
No update tonight, sorry.
>>
>>5975898
>>5975902
>>5975958
>>5975980
>>5975990

You watch the strange form drift across the floor, smooth and easy despite the short distance, never ceasing it's movement even once. It reaches the large piece of furniture and the blob-like appendage that must be it's arm snakes into a drawer. The drawer itself doesn't move but you hear the noise, the gliding of tiny wheel on metal rails and the thunk of them reaching the end of their track, you watch as it pulls something from the ether. You see it, something small and rectangular, barely coming into view as it interacts with the shimmering mass' hand.

"Please. Please. Please." You hear it whimper. Until eventually it releases a wail alongside a sudden furious movement. You hear vibrations far away, as if you dropped a stone down a deep well, it echoes for a few moments but the sound eventually fades away to nothing. You look back to the figure and see it frozen now, it's more "human" aspects hidden by whatever pose it's taken, looking more like a blob than any sort of person. Whispers come from it but no matter how close you get or how intently you listen; there's nothing you can do to make out the words.

A sudden pain strikes your wrist, sharp and pinching, as the pain fades you feel a consistent pressure settle. You run a hand around the space and feel the slightest indent in your flesh; you don't have long to ponder the thought as a firm rumbling shakes the entire room. Long stretches of flashing light arc into the room. Yellow. Red. White. Rapidly shifting. You creep towards the door you took to get in, confident that whatever you could learn in this room has been learnt. You cast one glance back at the creature and feel a pang of pity before you step through the door back into the flashing lights that consume the hall.

The Double Ambulance Doors sear your eyes as the lights surrounding the edges work in tandem. As you get closer the light gets brighter and more intense until you set a hand on the long skinny handle and finally feel something solid and firm against your touch. You take a breath and yank as hard as you can...
>>
The screaming of a siren pierces the fog surrounding your brain and you feel your hand tighten around the cool metal you had grasped just moments before but as you pull your hand away to touch your aching head your hand stops abruptly and the pain around your wrist strikes again. You chance a peek through barely parted eyelids only to see a pair of chrome hand-cuffs keeping you restrained to the cot that you lie on now.

You take a few breaths and let the swimming feeling of vertigo wash over you, some high pitched beeps sound off and a man next to you speaks.

"He's waking up?"

You groan and shake your trapped hand.

"Sir, please just try to calm down. You've been out for a while now, uh is there any way you can say some words for me? What day is it?"

You struggle to align your thoughts in the haze of pain and whatever drugs they've pushed into you. You summon the will to force your lips into position and ask...

>"Where's Hawthorne?"
>"Where's Kimble?"
>"Where's Grey?"
>"It's Friday, right?"
>Write-In
>>
>>5978836
>"It's Friday, right?"
>"Where's Kimble?"
>>
>>5978836
>>Write-In
“Yeah I can say some words for you and I’m sure it’s Friday or if it midnight Saturday
>>
>>5978836
>"It's Friday, right?"
>>
>>5978836
>"It's Friday, right?"
>"Why am I cuffed?"
>>
>>5978836
>>"Where's Hawthorne?"
>>
>>5978836
>"It's Friday, right?"
>"Where's Kimble?"
>>
>>5978836
>>Write-In
Start speaking italian
>>
Rolled 35, 51, 87 = 173 (3d100)

>>5978853
>>5978888
>>5978891
>>5978896
>>5978925

Your head pounds and throbs but you still test the waters with some slurred and mumbled curses in Italian, a secret lesson your grandfather gave you in your youth, upon seeing the medic's concerned face you blink a few times and spit it out in English.

"It's Friday, right? Or at the latest a little after midnight Saturday?"

The medic sighs relieved and nods, but something about him still seems as if he'd seen a ghost.
"It's Friday still, we have you on the way to Gotham General. You had us pretty shook."

You blink in the face of sterile lighting and tug on your railing.
"It was just a punch, no biggie."

The medic shakes his head.
"You were out cold for..." He checks his watch and you once again rattle the chain of your handcuff. "Going on twenty-two minutes, now. All due respect you should be a vegetable right now."

"It was less like being unconscious and more like being asleep. Speaking of respect would ya?" You hold up your restrained hand and the Medic slaps his forehead.

"Of course, I'm so sorry. Officer Kimble left the key with me. Something about preserving your cover." He digs through his pockets and withdraws the familiar cylinder before freeing you from your iron handshake.

"Speaking of, where is Kimble, and why is a trip to Gotham Gen costing us this much time?"

His face pales and he swallows hard. You furrow your brow.
"What's going on?"

"We've been kept out of the loop for the most part, but whatever you guys were getting up to, a hornet's nest got kicked somewhere. Whoever you guys pulled up for isn't going without a fight, him or his friends."

"What!?"
You try to sit up and feel a rush of nausea strike you like a bat to the head. A firm hand on your shoulder guides you back to lying down.

"Don't move. We sedated you because uh well. You LOOKED like you were seizing, but your vitals stayed constant. We don't know what damage could be hiding in your head and that's not even considering the blunt trauma you just suffered."

Your breathing grows heavy as panic creeps into your chest. You close your eyes and take a solitary breath in, settling the sensation and gripping your nerves, this is no time to panic. Not yet.

"How bad was it?"

His frown leans to the side until you grab his wrist and give him your best Hawthorne stare. He relents.
"We have three more ambulances en route, they're in a holding pattern on the edge of the area until we get the all clear. Traffic is dead in the water and Gotham drivers don't even move for police or firetrucks." He casts you another worried glance. "It's a miracle that the delay in treatment didn't go worse for you."

"Any 10-53?"

He stays silent.

"Are there any Officers down?" You ask with more intensity as you lean up on an elbow.

"Relax, look there's been a few calls but we don't know anything. We can't get in, we won't know until this all wraps up. So you just need to lay back and try to take it easy for now."
>>
File: Spoiler Image (78 KB, 736x1030)
78 KB
78 KB JPG
Rolled 87, 90, 50 = 227 (3d100)

You grit your teeth and try to force yourself up again, this time the vertigo and light-headedness come much more gently but are still present. The medic grunts and furrows his brow, finally raising his own voice.

"Officer, I get that out there you probably are used to doing things your way, but when you're in the back of this ambulance I am your commissioner, mayor, shit. I'm Batman as far as you're concerned. You cannot be active right now and if you aren't going to listen to me then I'll have to administer a sedative."

You pause and shoot him a glance. The look in his eye tells you he means it, your eyes shift low and he's empty handed. Wherever this sedative is he'd have to reach, prep, and still get his hands on you to administer it. A vision flashes in your brain, Kimble clutching a gut wound as he bleeds out on the sidewalk, just your own worries or shivers? In this state you can't tell. Fear wraps itself around your spinal cord and slowly climbs up, using your vertebrae for rungs, you try to shake it but no amount of lip stiffening is going to change the fact.

You're afraid.

>Grit your teeth and make a break for it, if you've been in dead traffic odd's are that you can commandeer a vehicle or even just hoof it back to provide some support.
>Lay down and close your eyes. You're still so tired, stress and strain have drained your muscles of their strength. Whatever is happening you just need to trust in your fellow Officers.
>Bargain, this Medic can be reasoned with. He's firm now but maybe if you lighten your touch he could take you back, even having an ambulance on scene could make a world of difference for the wounded. (Say anything specific?)
>Write-In
>>
>>5979023
>>Bargain, this Medic can be reasoned with. He's firm now but maybe if you lighten your touch he could take you back, even having an ambulance on scene could make a world of difference for the wounded. (Say anything specific?)
If we ain't moving maybe we should stick nearby. I'll sit tight but the medical supplies in here could save someone instead of being stuck in traffic
Use shivers?
>>
>>5979023
>>Bargain, this Medic can be reasoned with. He's firm now but maybe if you lighten your touch he could take you back, even having an ambulance on scene could make a world of difference for the wounded. (Say anything specific?)
>>
>>5979023
>Bargain, this Medic can be reasoned with. He's firm now but maybe if you lighten your touch he could take you back, even having an ambulance on scene could make a world of difference for the wounded. (Say anything specific?)
>>Write-In
Explain how our powers work to an extent. It's on record we have them. We don't have full control and it puts us in a vision state. Sometimes it has us wander around, sometimes it keeps us in sleep.

Our vitals stayed stable because the knockout put us in one of those states. We're privy to information the others probably need to know about and our engagement is necessary.
>>
>>5979024
>>5979033
>>5979159

Looks like we are leaning towards this. That update came in a little late so I'll leave it for a sec for the usual voters to pop their head in.

In the meantime can I get 1d100, best of three for....reasons.
>>
Rolled 24 (1d100)

>>5979459
>>
Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>5979459
lesssgooooo
>>
Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>5979459
>>
>>5979464
>>5979024
>>5979033
>>5979159

You take a moment to collect yourself, worry and frustration were bubbling into your voice, this guy was just doing his job. Being aggressive or defiant would just get him to further dig in his heels, he's just doing his job. That's when it clicks. His job.

"You know anything about me?"

He sighs.
"No matter your rank or position in the department, it isn't gonna get you special treatment."

"I'm nobody special, just a rookie actually, but I'm a Meta-Human."

His eyebrows shoot up.
"You? You're the Meta Cop that's been in the paper?"

You can't help but smirk.
"Exactly. My ability lets me have a sort of...ESP. But it's only local."

"ESP, like psychics? Being a meta would explain the durability to be out that long, maybe."

"My powers can put me into something like a trance but that isn't important right now, I took an oath to help Gotham as best I can and I can do that not by being in the action but even if you can just park us close by. If we ain't moving maybe we should stick nearby. I'll sit tight but the medical supplies in here could save someone instead of sitting here in traffic."

His mouth screws up and he frowns as he thinks over your words. His job. You need to press the last little bit.

"You took an oath too didn't you? To help to injured and sick. Neither of us are accomplishing anything where we are now, the things I can sense are going to be vital. Please." You plead to him hoping to sway his decision. After a few seconds of silence he crouches from his seat and meanders to a metallic slot in the front.

"Turn us around, get as close as you can to the barricade and let dispatch know we're setting up to receive lightly wounded officers and civilians. Anyone else will have to catch a ride with one of the other units holding back."

You hear the bass of the voice responding but can't make out any words, you're confident there's no disagreement because at the end of the day everyone in this ambulance has the same goal.
>>
After some irritating finessing the ambulance manages to get turned around and you're finally allowed to sit up by yourself. The Medic offers a hand to shake.

"Robert Green." He states.

You grasp it and give it a weak pump.
"Mark DeLucia. Pleased to meet you Rob."

You feel his grip tighten as he turns your hand over in place and opens a drawer.
"I prefer Bobby." He says nonchalantly as he pulls out a bit of packaging. "And while you can sit up, I'm not gonna leave you high and dry. Gonna push some fluids and try to give you back some color. Plus it'll keep you from running off on me, on account of the needle and all." He gives you a goofy grin and you sigh nodding your head.

"Yeah I get it, don't worry. I'm not gonna try anything."

You let out a sharp gasp but remain stock-still as the needle pierces your arm but it's nothing you haven't dealt with before. You make a fist a few times until you feel the cooling flow around the crook of your elbow. You let your head fall back and rest against the wall of the ambulance as you make your return. Your eyes close and you slow your breathing, starting your meditation, and letting the voice of Gotham come back to you. Surprisingly you don't have an issue summoning Shivers up, it floods your brain, you gasp and try to focus your mind on..

>Kimble, tough as he is you're worried about him. That entire street seemed like it was in Mandragora's pocket.
>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.
>Grey, he wasn't part of the breach team but if the entire neighborhood started getting rowdy then he could still be in danger.
>Write-In


ROLL: 63
DC:25
RESULT: PASS
>>
>>5979629
>>Kimble, tough as he is you're worried about him. That entire street seemed like it was in Mandragora's pocket.
>>
>>5979629
>>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.
Kimble and Grey are big boys. If we can get a beat on Mandragora, we might be able to make up for causing a small riot.
>>
>>5979629
>>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.
>>
>>5979629
WHEW, close one on that DC.

>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.
>>
>>5979629
>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him
WHITE WHALE
HOLY GRAIL
>>
>>5979629
>>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.

>>5979695
Just for you, anon. And Huntress.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpoAcXu65TM
>>
>>5979629
>>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.

Here’s to hoping that Huntress takes advantage of the chaos and just sticks the fat fuck.
>>
>>5979629
>>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.
>>
>>5979629
>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.

It's gonna be funny if we end up with our own Night Nurse relationship where we have simple medical attention when we deep dive. Given there's someone watching us, we could probably go much deeper and further than we normally could.
>>
>>5979639
>>5979643
>>5979644
>>5979695
>>5979699
>>5979758
>>5979770
>>5979819

It's an impossible feeling, like remembering days that never happened, knowing the layout of buildings and streets you've never seen, and it feels good. Your mind drifts back to that dream of you floating over Gotham, the euphoria of understanding everything at once, right now you can feel yourself on the edge like water threatening to spill from a crystal rim only held back by surface tension. Just waiting for a disturbance to send it cascading.

Shivers makes your body tense and relax, the surging is almost rhythmic, you feel the cooling sensation from your arm fade and before long you feel nothing at all. Like you're drifting through a vacuum. Until a scent hits your nose. Coffee and sewage. A disgusting mixture but distinct enough that you pick up what Shivers hints at. You visualize your path as your vision glides along the streets, you pass over the heads of Police and Thug alike while they struggle over the street and the club. You pass a GCPD cruiser with a crushed and battered fender, in front of it a similarly damaged car sits with doors open and it's two occupants face-down in the street with hands locked behind their backs.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Donnie?" Asks a familiar voice.

"You said we had to take em head on to slow em down."

"Yeah, I meant distract em or something. Not to literally hit them HEAD ON."

"You shoulda specified.." Donnie replies coyly.

The other man begins to writhe and thrash against his cuffs.
"If I don't spend the rest of my life in prison, Donnie. I'm gonna fuckin kill you."

His impotent rage is quelled by a shoe pressing into the base of his neck.
"Knock it off before I add an attempted escape to your charges." Bunko grumbles, a small cut over his eye beads blood. "Chen, anything in the car?"

The chubby face of Chen emerges from the backseat on hands and knees nodding.
"There was a ton of garbage covering THIS up."

He holds a manila envelope sealed with a metal bracket. K.L. stamp the side in faded ink. Bunko pops the bracket and upends the contents onto the scrunched hood of his cruiser, a pile of bundled cash drops out and thuds against the metal. Your vision is pulled against your will despite wanting to watch the scene unfold further. You try to resist but any effort you put forth bares no fruit, Shivers continues to guide you to your destination. A familiar looking Café with long pull down shades blocking the windows. A red CLOSED sign adorns the center of the glass front door, a boundary you seemingly phase through as you approach it, as you enter that same scent hits you again. Fresh Coffee and Sewage. Slowly your vision rotates until you spot what you came for.

Steven Mandragora sits atop a comically small stool while he holds the handle of a mug between two plump fingers, in his other hand rests the phone you saw earlier, you also notice the hem of his pants are stained a dirty greenish brown.
>>
"...coffee, but beggars can't be choosers, Angelo..." Your hearing kicks in as you fully pass through the door.Mandragora laughs dryly.

"The irony doesn't escape me. You'll have to delay that pick up until after sun-down at the earliest."

You try to focus, but try as you can there's no pulling the voice from the other end.

"You could say that. Those two dimwits who work for Cobblepot caused an accident, a man as intelligent as him should have a higher standard for his associates but regardless, the police will need their usual time to process the scene before leaving so contact our friend and see if he can't get them to speed things along." Another pause and now he sits forward setting the cup down and sighing. "That won't be necessary. I highly doubt the GCPD is going to start kicking in the doors to random businesses, the Café is safe, provided I keep my head down they should waste most of the day searching the sewers for wherever Falcone and Company scurried off."

He sips from the cup and screws his face up in disgust before shaking his head and downing the rest as if it were a shot.
"It's covered with a dumpster, so even if they wanted to follow me, it's not an option Do I pay you to ask questions? I seem to remember our relationship being predicated on you doing what I tell you." For the first time you see the crack in his composure. He quickly pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "No no, it should be me who is apologizing. You know I value your opinions, Angelo, I just need this business concluded so I can see Edgar as soon as possible."

Your vision starts to distort, fine details become blurry and the few dim lights that are on inside the café emit a halo surrounding them, you push yourself to hold on.

"Yes, I know you do. If you wish to make it up to me then make sure you bring me a fresh suit when you arrive, I hate walking that cesspit." He nods once more and his shoulders relax. "Very good to hear, I'll see you at sundown." He closes the phone and begins typing a new number but before you can find out more. You blink.

You're staring into the confused face of Bobby who watches you with a mixture of concern and fascination.

"Did you just do your thing?"

You blink a few more times as that intrinsic knowledge of Gotham and it's streets slips from your mind like the name to an old song you used to love. Just on the tip of your tongue. You groan and feel a hand steady you as you lean, you wave it away.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just my head."

"Probably lightheaded from how hard you were straining."

"Sorry?"

"You looked like a fighter pilot at some points, your head was pulled up and you had veins popping on your neck. I was worried you were gonna pop a blood vessel but then you just stopped. Vitals stayed in the normal range except for an elevated heart rate but...y'know. Makes sense."

"Thanks for letting me tough it out." You say, giving your head a final cleansing wiggle. "I got what I needed."
>>
Bobby gestures to the metal slot you saw earlier.

"We have a line to dispatch if you want to pass anything along. Need it?" He also jostles a plastic bin. "Pretty sure, Kimble dropped your phone off too if you want it.

>"Call dispatch, get some Officers to the Café just down the road from the Tobacconist's Club. Ask for Hawthorne."
>"Call dispatch, tell them to pass a message along to Bunko and Chen."
>"Pass me my phone, it'll be faster for me to just call him." (Call Hawthorne.)
>"Pass me my phone, it'll be faster for me to just call him." (Call Kimble)
>"Pass me my phone, it's faster this way. (Call Question and Huntress)
>Write-In
>>
>>5980276
>"Call dispatch, get some Officers to the Café just down the road from the Tobacconist's Club. Ask for Hawthorne."
>>
>>5980276
>>Write-In
"Can I borrow your phone. I need to bypass dispatch and I think at this point my phone might be bugged."
Call Hawthorne
>>
>>5980282
This

I'm VERY much tempted to hand this off to Question and Huntress though. Police technically do not have reasonable suspicion or legal means for getting in there.

Theoretically, if SOMEONE happened to break in to rob the place, and some cops saw it? Maybe they'd go in to secure the place as said someone broke into the rear of the building.
>>
>>5980276
>>5980282
+1
>>
>>5980282
This but call Kimble instead. I don't think Hawthorne would actually be at the scene. He's still restricted to desk work, ain't he?
>>
>>5980276
>"Pass me my phone, it's faster this way. (Call Question and Huntress)
Need someone without red tape right now, I think.
>>
>>5980276
>>"Pass me my phone, it's faster this way. (Call Question and Huntress)
>>Write-In
Tell question and huntress to get Hawthorne too
>>
>>5980282
+1
THINK! MANDRAGORA WAS RIGHT THERE WHEN MARK WAS KO'D
>>
>>5980276
>"Can I borrow your phone. I need to bypass dispatch and I think at this point my phone might be bugged." (Call Hawthorne and then Question and Huntress)
>>
>>5980282
+1
I don’t want to chance a call to Q and Huntress right in front of the EMT, but could we get Hawthorne to contact them?

I’m sure he wouldn’t mind bending the rules a little bit on this one.
>>
>>5980455
All you gotta do is call and say the location and a "got him pinged". Then you go into the recent calls and clear it out so the EMT can't check after. The phone company logs it all on their end, anyway. So even if you call Hawthorne and tell him to get your mutuals they'd have that call, and then his subsequent call logged as well.

What matters is whoever we call moves fast. You don't need to mention names for that.
>>
>>5980276
>"Pass me my phone, it's faster this way. (Call Question and Huntress)
Mole can grab his perfect predictions of what GCPD will do and shove them up his ass.
Homing vengeful crossbow woman go!
>>
>>5980276
>>5980279
>>"Pass me my phone, it'll be faster for me to just call him." (Call Hawthorne.)
>"Pass me my phone, it's faster this way. (Call Question and Huntress)
Changing to this, we need to bypass dispatch.
>>
>>5980282
>>5980289
>>5980300
>>5980401
>>5980455
>>5980829

"Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?" Bobby asks, he sticks a hand in the box and produces your own phone turning it over as he inspects it. "You sure? Yours didn't break or anything."

"It's not that. There's a whole thing at the GCPD right now, it's better if I go around dispatch and reach out to an Officer directly."

Bobby shrugs as he sets your phone back into the box. He fishes in his pants and produces his own cell phone. He types out a passcode and passes it over.
"All yours, nothing international." He chuckles.

" 'preciate ya Bobby." You tell him as you dial.

=============

"Who is this?" A hard voice comes from the other end of the phone.

"Hawthorne, it's Mark. I'm using a phone I got off EMS."

"Mark?" The voice softens and goes low. "What the hell is going on? Grey had to leave the mobile war room, I heard you took a knock and were on the way to Gotham Gen."

"I convinced Bobby here that I'm more useful nearby even if I'm not in the action. But you need to listen to me Hawthorne. I got him."

"You got him? You gotta narrow who HIM is down for me, Rook."

"Narrow is the opposite of how I'd describe him."

"Mandragora." He growls. You hear shuffling and a multitude of scrapes and knocks in the background of his call.

"Bingo. He's keeping a low profile, drinking coffee at our spot."

"Our spot? Ah. That shitty café?" His voice is strained as he speaks.

"Not wasting any time huh?"

"Well I'm assuming you didn't call me because we have him surrounded with guns, Rook."

"We got until the sun goes down, then his right hand is on pick up duty."

"Over my dead body." Hawthorne grumbles, you feel a ripple go up your arm and your nose flinches at the passing scent of charred meat.

"Are you going alone?"

"Grey ran out of here like a bat out of hell, we got a call from Kimble that Falcone and his boys aren't going quietly. They traded shots with our Sewer Patrol. Kimble was going to reinforce."

"The others?"

"Cobblepot apparently took a swan dive into the sewage. Maroni gave himself up immediately. We've picked up the bodyguards as well." He grunts as he speaks and you hear the metallic clunk of a closing car door. "Time for me to go wrap this up. Thanks for the heads up, son. He won't get away from me this time, desk duty or not, you can bet your ass."

>"Good luck, sir."
>"If you need me there just say the word, Sir." (Sorry Bobby)
>"Bunko and Chen are outside the store now. If you can get in contact they can back you up."
>"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."
>Write-In
>>
>>5981053
>"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."
It'd be kino if Huntress and Hawthorne both pulled the trigger on Mandragora together
>>
>>5981053
>>"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."
>>
>>5981053
in addition to >>5981058, word it however you think is right based on what Mark knows of Huntress
>"Don't forget you're not the only one who lost somebody dear to them to that white whale."
>>
>>5981053
>>"Bunko and Chen are outside the store now. If you can get in contact they can back you up."
>>"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."
>>
>>5981053
>"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."
>>
>>5981053
>"Bunko and Chen are outside the store now. If you can get in contact they can back you up."
>"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."
>"Good luck, sir."
>>
>>5981053
>>"Bunko and Chen are outside the store now. If you can get in contact they can back you up."
>>"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."
>>
>>5981053
>>"Bunko and Chen are outside the store now. If you can get in contact they can back you up."
>>"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."
>>
>>5981053
>don’t go alone
God forbid he rubs his sloshy smelly tummy ha ha
>>
>>5981053
>"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."
Why are people voting to suggest he take the capes AND two cops with him?
>>
>>5981053
>"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."
Don't take the cops, Hawthorne is supposed to be off active duty. Also gonna lead to the conflict of interest, kill vs arrest.
No, just send two vengeful people in his ass.

Kind of concerned it's gonna be 2 vs what, 3, 4? But huntress is a cape, so she's supoosed to be good, right?

>>5980752
That's me, I will have 1 post id forever, pls don't ignore, qm-sama
>>
>>5981053
>"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."

Turn the prick into chunky salsa. He’s earned it.
>>
>>5981267
Let’s tally it up. Hawthorn is:
-old
-about to retire
-our mentor
-vengeful and suffering from target fixation
-about to accomplish his long term goal

The old man’s as good as dead, but he’s gonna go out in a blaze of glory.
>>
>>5981343
Oh yeah, he's probably dead. For him it's worth it though, so, you know. Don't fear the reaper.
I only hope he doesn't stop to monologue in the last second and botches it, but huntress' (murderous) presence should help.

"Hey, slughtly omnipotent meta guy who's also Hawthorne's friend, can you tell us how did he know where to look for Mandragora?" is gonna be a tough question to answer though. If Gordon catches on to our bullshit he's not gonna be happy.
Oh well, not robbing Hawthorne and Huntress of their kill.
>>
>>5981601
I'd rather deal with whatever nonsense will happen if Mandragora gets killed by Hawthorne and Huntress than having him run away. This is a golden opportunity to get rid of this fat cancer
>>
>>5981601
Good old fashioned detective work and a well experience hunch. If he doesn't buy it then just say batman was busy
>>
>>5981058
>>5981060
>>5981067
>>5981128
>>5981164
>>5981253
>>5981267
>>5981342

Hey everyone, I have something in mind, so this vote is gonna be a little out of order just so I can do the entire scene at once without an awkward break in it.

We are LOCKED in on Hawthorne doing a surprise team up with Huntress. The vote is this:

>Follow Hawthorne using Shivers as he confronts Mandragora
>Mandragora will be handled, all we need now is to locate Grey.
>Mandragora is handled, Shivers should seek out Kimble next.
>Write-In
>>
>>5983869
>Mandragora is handled, Shivers should seek out Kimble next.
Sewer shootout, though Grey is a big mystery right now
>>
>>5983869
>Mandragora is handled, Shivers should seek out Kimble next.
>>
>>5983869
>Mandragora will be handled, all we need now is to locate Grey.

handle the mystery

Do kinda wish we could get the play by play of the Mandragora showdown though. Lotta work went into getting to the guy.
>>
>>5983869
>>Mandragora will be handled, all we need now is to locate Grey.
>>
>>5983869
>Mandragora will be handled, all we need now is to locate Grey.
>>
>>5983869
>>Mandragora is handled, Shivers should seek out Kimble next.
Espirit De Corps
>>
>>5983869
Changing vote from >>5983884 to
>Mandragora will be handled, all we need now is to locate Grey
>>
>>5983869
>>Follow Hawthorne using Shivers as he confronts Mandragora
>>
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>>5983990
>>5984040
>>5984042
>>5984085 (Thanks for the tie breaker, anon)

"Don't go alone, don't forget about HER, she's just as committed to this as you are."

"Don't need any help." He answers, his voice cold and hard as stone.

"It's not about help. Don't forget you aren't the only one who lost something dear to that White Whale."

The other line sits in silence.
"You know it's true, sir." You add, hoping to tip the scale just so slightly. It pays off.

"I have her number. I'll send a text. But I'm not waiting." His tone is short and direct, his mind focused to a razor edge on what's to come. You take the victory for what it is.

"Good luck, sir."

There's no reply, the silence lasts so long you worry you may have lost the call, just as you go to check his voice comes through clear.

"Thank ya, son. I owe you."

The call closes and you stare at the phone a few moments before setting and closing your eyes. That wave of head pain threatening to surge again. You breathe and focus as best you can, the combination of drugs, head trauma, and Shivers has your mind in a Tug of War with the wind on all sides. But you aren't done yet, Grey is still out in this mess somewhere. You allow your eyes to flutter open but you keep their focus loose, the ambulance interior becomes a water-color canvas of whites, red's and blue. You hear some sharp beeping but it too fades into the smeared and muffled reality you find yourself staring into. The distortion of everything physical only hones your mental state and it becomes apparent to you. Literally. Before you stretches a small tube of rushing color. You stretch out to touch it and see your arm and hand in perfect clarity against the background, a warmth spreads over your shoulder as you extend a single finger to touch it.
>>
You feel wind rushing against your face as the scents of the city overwhelm: coffee, sewage, vanilla, gunpowder smoke, and more than you can even perceive pass through you. It makes you lightheaded and dizzy, being aware without truly knowing, sensation without context. Your vision begins to clear and as it does you find yourself lingering in the air above a familiar unmarked car. The sound of drums hum from inside; leaking from a lowered car window along with a familiar voice muttering.

"...with black curtains, near the station..." Grey sings to himself as he nods in his seat. He checks his watch before looking up and fixing his gaze on a manhole. You take a moment to rotate in space and scope out the scene. The place his car sits is half finished, bags of cement and small debris litter the ground, the only walls nearby are half plastered and the neighboring building is coated with a row of plastic sheets protecting red brick. Something strikes you as familiar about this, you will yourself around to face the rear of his car. An open gate with fluttering blue tarp shows how he got into this alley, as the wind whips it particularly hard you catch a few letters on it's tail end. Calc's construction site, the one you had brought up to Grey.

Before you can question what he's even doing here the question is answered for you. You feel something, like bile rising in your throat, looking down you see Grey reach into his pocket and withdraw an orange bottle; he taps out two large pills and pops them. He opens his car door and draws his pistol before stepping out, his eyes fixed on the manhole.

"Don't" You try to tell him. "Don't go alone down there." But you get no feedback, your words echo in the air around you without even a vibration in your chest to let you know what you said was even truly spoken. Your silent pleas are seemingly answered as he freezes. A questioning look on his face.

"Grey? Can you hear me? Or feel me?" You ask without breath. His eyes narrow and he raises his gun until the barrel is leveled with the cover. You shift your vision ahead and see the metal wriggle and bulge as the cover is lifted and slid aside. A hand comes up and wetly slaps the dusty alleyway floor, leaving behind a Three fingered hand print.

As Cobblepot's head pops over the edge, what little hair he still has is plastered to his head while his monocle hangs limply from an ear, he groans and lifts himself before looking up and freezing.

"Hey there, Penguin." Grey says casually. "Gotta say I'm actually surprised to see you here."

"That isn't my name, Officer. It's Oswald." Cobblepot replies as he lifts himself from the hole, his spare hand clutching the dripping and filthy umbrella. He doesn't get a chance to rise from his kneeling position before a metallic click freezes him.

"See that's why I like carrying a semi-automatic. I was making busts back when revolvers were common kit for GCPD, lot of Officers were against the idea but I liked it."
>>
>>5984145
>"...with black curtains, near the station..." Grey sings to himself as he nods in his seat.
https://youtube.com/watch?v=VR90gQ-SIaY
>>
"Is this your way of telling me you think differently than your co-workers? Because if it is then I have quite the proposal for you." Cobblepot says, his tone polite and quiet but you see it in his eyes. The ice cold blood of a man who isn't afraid to kill anyone, even a cop.

Grey laughs shaking his head.
"No, nothing like that. It's just that the old guard had gotten used to something they called 'Hammering'. When a suspect got uppity or when a stand off was going on they liked to pull those hammers back just to let the other guy know he meant business. When the Semi's started circulating a lot of guys complained they'd lose some sort of edge. That mental advantage over a perp that they relied on. Problem was, with those old revolver you cock the hammer back and it's go big or go home, if you wanted to make the weapon safe again you had to take your thumb and slowly let the hammer go back into resting position." He slowly demonstrates as he sets the pistol's hammer back. Penguin never moves. Grey lets out a sigh and fishes around his coat before continuing.

"And the issue with THAT is that one slip of the finger from a sweaty thumb or some rain? Bang. One dead suspect who could have been a collar. All because they wanted the other guy to know they meant business."

"What's the point of your story, Officer? As a matter of fact how did you even know to be here?" Penguin asks, his own eyes narrowed with something similar to what you've seen in Grey's.

Grey withdraws a pair of handcuffs from his inner coat and tosses them forward, they skitter and clatter landing a few inches in front of Cobblepot. You notice his malformed hand slowly working it's fingers beneath the grip of his umbrella.

"Funny thing is I didn't know. I had a hunch and I've been studying. I know these sewers as well as you do probably, so when I heard over the radio you had taken a dip down there, I knew you'd break off from the others and head for your own exit. There's a reason yelling 'Scatter' is a trope in films, I just happened to get lucky and pick the right spot. It's prime real estate, next to a sealed location owned by someone you were confident we had no idea of, perfect spot to slip away with minimal time spent in the sewers."

Cobblepot scowls and sets his foot properly beneath him, causing the slightest shift in his body, Grey takes a step with his lead foot and levels the barrel directly with Cobblepot's chest.

"I told you that story because I wanted you to know that if I kill you it's because I fucking meant to, now put on the damn cuffs, Penguin."

"My name is Oswald." Cobblepot growls.

"And my rank is Detective." Grey replies.

The two men hold each other's gaze, until....
>>
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>I need 3 1d100's For Penguin
>I need 3 1d100's For Grey
>Announce who you are rolling for when you submit your roll please.

I will roll any dice not rolled by the time of tonight's update, then we will see the results of Penguin v Grey.

One of these men has a Best of Three and the other has either Middle of Three or Least of Three. As for which is which I'll leave that up to the imagination.
>>
Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>5984154
Let's do it grey
Shoulda had a partner though
>>
Rolled 96 (1d100)

>>5984154
Penguin
>>
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>>5984163
>>
>>5984167
I only rolled for Penguin because you rolled for Grey in >>5984160. One for one.
>>
Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>5984154
roll is for Penguin

Also, damn Grey got lucky. To stakeout the exact manhole. Well, or unlucky, depends on the rolls. Bet penguin loads his umbrellas with 12 gauge slugs.
>>
>>5984173
Imagine if Penguin had Least of Three, and he natural critfailed into his umbrella gun jamming mere moments before he gets shot by Grey. That's what you get for diving into the Gotham sewer water
>>
Rolled 67 (1d100)

>>5984154
Rolling for Grey
>>
>>5984154
For Grey
>>
>>5984207
>>
>>5984207
>>5984208
dice+1d100 in options tab
>>
Rolled 7 (1d100)

>>5984154
for grey
>>
Rolled 36 (1d100)

>>5984154
pengy

>>5984185
After Grey just had his whole spiel about gun safety and gun failure, Cobblepot having his fancy gizmo gun not work would be true cosmic fuckery. 96 means he gets it pointed, then 1 is a very loud CLICK. Oooh. Fat boy would get his shit rocked.
>>
>>5984173
RIP Penguin
>>
>>5984173
o7
one more body tonight in gotham.
>>
>>5984401
Don’t be so presumptuous anon.
We don’t know if Pengy is the Bo3 or Wo3 roll yet.

Either way, with these rolls one of them is getting dropped.
>>
>>5984413
I would think critfails override best of anyways
>>
>>5984415
I can't recall if it's been done so before.
>>
>>5984437
I don't think we've gotten a crit before.
>>
>>5984442
Nah, read the first thread again. Got a nat 100 on a spot check.
>>
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>>5984173
Oh my. Well that makes this next section a forgone conclusion.

>>5984453
Good memory, Anon, I appreciate that.

Update is being written now. Everyone who rolled, don't worry, you will get your (You)'s that you deserve.
>>
>>5984160
>>5984163
>>5984173
>>5984200
>>5984224
>>5984250

Penguin smiles, his debonair persona melting away as soon as he bares his pointed teeth, you see a massive malformed finger slide over a switch.

"Shoot! Grey, Shoot!" You try to yell, but your words come out weak, your warning carried away on the wind that funnels through this alleyway.

Grey maintains his stare, his eyes having that same gleam of analysis that you've seen so often, his gun hand remains still as a statue. You find yourself holding your breath, an ember of pain burning in the center of your lungs, as Cobblepot chuckles to himself.

"I was just thinking about your story, Detective. About the revolvers." He says as his free hand reaches towards the cuffs.

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking you were on the right track, but the answer to your revolver problem wasn't to introduce the semi-automatic."

Grey remains silent, his eyes still laser focused on his suspect. The ember in your chest starts to spread to both sides as a slow and unceasing pressure continues.

"The true mental advantage doesn't come from having the bigger gun, or the scarier gun, no. The advantage comes when your opponent doesn't know.... that you have a gun at all!" Cobblepot releases an unholy screech as he reaches the end of his sentence. His hand holding the umbrella thrusts forward like a master fencer going for a finishing blow. Grey reacts at exactly the same moment by pulling the trigger of his sidearm. His expression never shifts, even when his face is illuminated by the brief flash of flame and cinder, he sacrifices all defense just to ensure his shot hits and...

The gamble pays off.

The end of Cobblepot's umbrella hangs limply in the air, extended as if the canopy would erupt at any moment, but nothing comes except the gasping as he touches that free hand to his stomach and pulls it away coated in slick bright blood. He tries to stand but falls backwards instead, his umbrella falling from his hand and tipping into the open manhole beside him. You hear it clang and clatter against ladder rungs until a splash marks it's resting place. Grey bends over with a hand on his knee and his pistol hand pressed firmly into his chest. He takes deep breaths and releases a few hacking coughs as his breathing slowly returns to normal. Cobblepot groans and moves on the ground, just barely, his life only preserved by Grey's mercy to try and avoid a fatal shot. You feel something in your throat rising and as Grey approaches his vehicle he lets loose a rumble from his throat before spitting. A glob of condensed mucus and blood smacks the pavement and he looks at it for a few moments before sticking his head in his window and grabbing a radio.

"Dispatch. This is Detective Bennett, I have Oswald Cobblepot in my custody, need an ambulance and additional units for an escort to Gotham General. Relay this information to Commander Reiner and have him contact my personal cell for the location."
>>
>>5984555
Fuck yes.

This op is going beautifully.
>>
>>5984555
I suspect Grey's living on borrowed time as of now.
Cobblepot is the most vicious of all Gotham's elite when it comes to exacting his revenge. And by sparing his life here after shooting him, he's just ensuring that the penguin has AMPLE time to plan for that vengeance.
Unless the ambulance slow-codes him.
>>
>>5984555
>A glob of condensed mucus and blood smacks the pavement and he looks at it for a few moments
Ah. Fuck. Lung cancer? Fuck.
>>
Before you can see anymore you feel the warmth from your shoulder spreading. No. Shifting entirely as it begins to cover the center of your chest, then slowly a pressure build and you open your eyes to a smeared and distorted ambulance ceiling as well as a horrible grinding pressing pain in the center of your chest.

"Fuck!" You call out as you rocket upwards from the gurney. A surprised Bobby jumps backwards, his face a mosaic of relief and annoyance. Slowly the world becomes clear again as you blink tears away, you put a hand to your aching chest and look to Bobby.

"What happened?"

He lets out a frustrated sigh and throws his hands up.
"You tell me. Your o2 levels dropped significantly along with your respiration rate, you were convulsing again but not as heavily due to the muscle relaxants. What the hell was going on?"

"I was watching something pretty intense is all, I'm fine."

"I disagree, your heart went out of rhythm for a moment near the end. That's when I decided to wake you up."

You rub your still tender chest and look to him.
"How did you do that by the way? I've never had anything pull me out of a vision like that."

He holds up a hand and forms a fist before extending two knuckles.
"Sternal rub, I tried talking to you and even shaking you but got nothing so I went with ol' reliable."

"It hurts like a mother." You reply, looking around and seeing the ambulance doors now sit wide open. Various GCPD Officers sit around on found stools or curbs and receive light bandaging for scrapes and cuts. You see nothing major among them thankfully.

"It's supposed to. After all that though the hospital isn't being put off anymore. They called in another Precinct to handle traffic direction and perimeter, the way should be clear for now."

"We can't leave yet." You protest, Kimble still on your mind.

"You don't get to make that call anymore, Mark. I'm sorry but your health is not something I'm willing to gamble with anymore than we already have. Besides, we've used up most of the basic first aid we have so unless someone needs an epi-pen or a couple bags of saline there isn't much more we can do."

You lay back into the gurney disappointed but knowing he's probably right. You frown and sigh. Bobby frowns sympathetically.

"None of us can do everything for everyone; we gotta know our limits or we'll burn out and then there's nothing we can do for anybody."

"You sound like Grey."

"I'm sure he's a smart guy then." Bobby chuckles as he leans forward to give a few goodbye waves and nods and pull the doors shut. He goes to the slot and looks back to you. "Next stop, Gotham General."

>"Wait! I know we can't do anything else for people here but there's a GSW around the corner. You could still take someone who actually needs the trip."
>Give him a thumbs up. Sharing a ride with The Penguin is the last thing you want right now.
>Write-In?
>>
>>5984571
>Give him a thumbs up. Sharing a ride with The Penguin is the last thing you want right now.
DO NOT OUT OURSELVES
DO NOT OUT OURSELVES
DO NOT OUT OURSELVES
DO NOT OUT OURSELVES
>>
>>5984571
>>Give him a thumbs up. Sharing a ride with The Penguin is the last thing you want right now.
>>
>>5984571
>>Give him a thumbs up. Sharing a ride with The Penguin is the last thing you want right now.
>>
>>5984571
>Give him a thumbs up. Sharing a ride with The Penguin is the last thing you want right now.
>>
>>5984571
>Give him a thumbs up. Sharing a ride with The Penguin is the last thing you want right now.
>"Once I'm cleared, I owe you and the guy up front a few rounds. Couldn't have done what'll be on the news tomorrow if you didn't stick around."
Might as well make some new friends, especially ones that can drive fast and fix bullet holes.
>>
>>5984571

>Give him a thumbs up. Sharing a ride with The Penguin is the last thing you want right now.
>>
>>5984587
+1 to this, as well.

>>5984571
>>5984589
>>
>>5984587
Yeah, +1 this along my vote in >>5984575
>>
>mark making friends with all the different kinds of emergency responders
Collecting them like trophy rings.
>>
>>5984571
>>Give him a thumbs up. Sharing a ride with The Penguin is the last thing you want right now.
>>
I got carried away with work before I had a chance to ask for feedback and thoughts on recent events. This was a big moment I've been looking forward too and I'm happy with the way things played out (thanks to (You) and your decisions) and was curious to hear what's on your minds now that things seem to be winding down.
>>
>>5984571
>>Give him a thumbs up. Sharing a ride with The Penguin is the last thing you want right now.

>>5984756
I got penguin shot with my 1, damn. Well, we did catch 2/4 then. If Mandargora isn't badass enough to fight off both Hawthorne and Huntress, then we got 3/4. Pretty good. Maroni is gonna get released, because we promised, but whoever the grand shadowrunner is, he's got half the amount of pawns now.
Pulling a gun on a cop should be a good enough charge to lock penguin away, right? Even if no other charges stick.

Mark being a guy in chair for 2/3 of this would feel like the main character is left out, but side characters are so good, just watching them do shit/direct them to their doom is pretty fun on its own.
>>
Update coming later than usual tonight.

I'm considering changing the schedule of times I drop updates, I operate on EST usually and my nights have been jam packed recently. I'll give it some thought before presenting options but if anyone has any suggestions or what-not feel free to bring em up. Feel free to also reply to >>5984756 if you want to kill time before the next update.
>>
>>5985583
Take your time, we love this quest
>>
>>5984756
I honestly expected Penguin to die there for a moment, which was pretty shocking against a regular cop and not eve the MC. Still not sure what to expect with Mandragora and our buds...

It's been very good, and I enjoy being the 'man in the chair' for a bit.
>>
>>5985603
>pretty shocking against a regular cop and not even the MC
Does Cobblepot have anything to help him stay alive longer? Guns are guns after all
>>
>>5985609
>Does Cobblepot have anything to help him stay alive longer? Guns are guns after all
Getting your ass beat by Batman on the regular for over a decade has a way of toughening you up. I'm sure he'll be fine assuming he gets an ambulance soon.
>>
>>5984571
>>"Wait! I know we can't do anything else for people here but there's a GSW around the corner. You could still take someone who actually needs the trip."
>>
>>5985609
Experience, training, and generally a skill for picking his battles wisely so he only fights when he can win. Batman's an exception, but Batman is also a poymath supergenius and at least ONE of the world's greatest detectives and strategists. He's so OP for street crime that he hangs out with physical gods.
>>
>>5985609
He's kinda fat. Maybe his bird blubber will make the injury a bit less severe. Gut shots take a notoriously long time to kill, though. So he should be fine.
>>
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>>5985251

You give a thumbs up, most you can do as the fatigue and exhaustion start to soak into your bones. You try to say something but find the words clog your mouth like a thick goo. You blink dopily at Bobby and he smiles.

"I pushed some sedative just in case you were gonna try to make a break for it when you woke up."

You laugh. It isn't that funny but you crunch over in the gurney chuckling to yourself until you close your eyes and drift away. You feel it again, the weightless tickle of floating in nothing, you feel cool and relaxed as a constant stream of air blows over and around you as you twist in place. A light presents itself to you, well more of a color really, no shine comes from it and staring into it doesn't strain your eyes. The more you look at it as it shifts in color and shape, the more it reminds you of the afterimage of the sun when you close your eyes. Your breath trembles as it encompasses you and fills you with a familiar warmth.

"Is this real?" You ask nobody in particular.

"..rk, ...ething .....ble is ....ng, so..thi.. .....ble is co.... on ....mas." A voice ebbs in and out of your mind, you feel blood pooling in your head as if you were upside down.

"I can't hear you.." You mumble, fighting the sedative. Your leg is caressed by the smooth winds again as the blob continues on it's path.

".......as ..e, ..rk, wa.. .hem."

"I can't understand you!" You try to shout, but it comes slurred. The voice get's further away as it repeats over and over, the distant amorphous blob of color eventually fading into the dark. You strain your eyes trying to hunt for any sign of it, a mounting anxiety building in your chest. You strain your eyes and see something, a pale yellow, you extend a hand and call out.

"Wait!"

You find yourself half sitting up in the gurney, hand reaching limply for a ceiling light in the hospital hallway, a reassuring hand touches your forearm. You whip your head and see Bobby, he speaks softly.

"Easy, Officer DeLucia. We're at the hospital."

You look around cautiously as you calm your breathing.
"I think I had a nightmare.." You mutter.

"That can happen sometimes, just a side-effect of the sedative, you're good."

You nod a few times and wipe a clammy hand across your face, the nurses at the foot of your bed content with your reaction begin pulling you down the hall once more.

"Good luck, Mark." He tells you as you're wheeled away, you crane your neck and call back.

"Once I'm cleared, I owe you and the guy up front a few rounds. Couldn't have done what'll be on the news tomorrow if you didn't stick around."

"I'll hold you to that!" He calls back, before turning and leaving back through the ambulance bay doors. You sigh and lay your head back on your pillow, still uneasy with a knot forming in your gut.
>>
Your uneasy feeling was well warranted, the doctor gives you a brief examination and reads the reports from EMS, he tells you the bad news you always got in hospitals.

"Unfortunately due to your prior condition, we think it would be wise to put you through the full battery of tests we have available. PET, MRI, CT, the works."

"You mean due to me being Meta."

"Of course not, Officer. Just your brain is very unique and so it may be best if we weren't to take any chances with imaging and diagnosis, after all I'm sure you'd like to get back to work as soon as possible."

You nod your head bitterly, when you were a child it was the implied threat to your parents that you'd be withheld from schools or even face CPS; as an adult it was the implied threat of not getting a sign off to clock back in. Being a medical mystery was a pain in the ass.

"Whatever you think is best, Doc. I just would like to get back to my job and home as fast as possible."

"Shouldn't be longer than a day or two."

You shake your head.
"I have a ceremony to attend tomorrow, non-negotiable."

He rubs his chin and frowns.
"We'd have to start now."

"Then we may as well." You reply dourly.

=========

Hours of tests, scans, and examinations later have you feeling like a kid again in the worst kind of way. You finally finish up and satisfy the Doctor, a kind nurse pushes you down the hall in a wheelchair despite your objections, after maybe the longest day you think you've ever gone through your weary and aching body hits the sheets and you swear you feel yourself melting into them. You get wired up and plugged with a bag of vitamins and finally have the chance to get your phone. A couple of missed calls from your parents, somewhat recent so they must have seen the news, and some unread texts.

"We got in contact with your supervisor, we are so proud of you and are so happy you're safe, we'll be down tomorrow."
-Mom

You send back a message letting her know that you'll be busy tomorrow but you promise your next day off to come see them again. You click the next message and freeze staring at it, your mouth twitches before breaking into a smile.

"I got him. Alive."
-Hawthorne

You hit call and the line rings and rings before going to voicemail, you feel a buzz as you go to leave a message and check your phone.

"In with Reiner and Gordon, rest. I'll pick you up for the ceremony tomorrow."

You text back.
"How did you know I was still going?"

"I know you."

You smile again and set the phone aside, your head ached, your body begged for relief and your gut knot slowly unties itself as you get comfy. Before long you find yourself drifting back into a dreamless sleep.
>>
>>5985733
>"I got him. Alive."
>>
>>5985733
>"I got him. Alive."
>-Hawthorne

God. The old man can finally rest.
>>
Waking up the next day you felt great, better than great even, your head feels clear and everything seems sharper from color to sounds. There's still some tenderness on your forehead from hitting the wall but otherwise you feel far better than usual even. Your hospital breakfast of powdered scrambled eggs, a hard cinnamon roll, and some salty slices of ham is devoured in record time and another after that. You remember when you had an absolute feast at the food trucks after you expanded Shivers the last time, if this was a trend you'd need to start investing in snacks or meal prep, you spend the morning doing some more light tests such as memory, light sensitivity, and some basic logic puzzles. As you do your work you feel a strange vibe from the nurses as they help you, all of them seem to act extra sweet and sensitive with you, maybe they were told to since you're a wounded officer and all. Still as you head back to your room you're anxiously checking your phone for any word from Hawthorne when you hear a knock.

"Mr.DeLucia?" Your Doctor stands in the door with a file folded under his arm. He speaks softly and scans the room.

"Morning Doctor Pine, hope this isn't about anymore tests because I'm leaving here in the next ten."

He chuckles awkwardly and shakes his head.
"No, sir. I just had something I wanted to speak with you about before you left, I was hoping to catch you before you had left."

You furrow your brow and go to answer him when a rough voice arcs over his shoulder.
"You got bad timing then, Doctor. Because I'm here to get him."

A thick arm juts through the doorway holding onto a set of GCPD Dress Blues in crinkly shining plastic wrap.
"I got your prom dress, Rook. You can talk to the Doctor once we get out of here, traffic is hell."

You look at the doctor and shrug.
"Sorry, doc. He outranks me." You go to grab for the suit when Dr. Pine puts a hand around your forearm.

"This is not something that can wait, son." He tells you quietly.

"Horse shit." Hawthorne spits, you look over and see the side of his head is a myriad of blue, black, and yellow. A pair of aviators cover what's likely to be a nasty shiner too.

"What the hell happened to you?" You ask him.

Pine sighs frustrated and speaks quietly but firmly.

"Mr.DeLucia, I have something to share with you. You will either listen to me or I will be forced to withhold your discharge."

You hold up your hands.
"Jesus Christ, Doctor. Okay, I'm sorry for not listening to you, I'm just in a real rush."

"How long this takes depends on you." He tells you before taking a breath and composing himself. "Perhaps we should also speak alone."

>"Anything you have to tell me Hawthorne can hear, he's my training officer."
>"Hawthorne do you mind stepping out, I'll be out in a second."
>Write-In(?)
>>
>>5985737
>>"Anything you have to tell me Hawthorne can hear, he's my training officer."
>>
>>5985737
>"Hawthorne do you mind stepping out, I'll be out in a second."
Oh it's a fucking tumor isn't it
>>
>>5985737
>"Hawthorne do you mind stepping out, I'll be out in a second."
Gotham gave us cancer or something, the fucking WHORE!
>>
>>5985737
>"Hawthorne do you mind stepping out, I'll be out in a second."
Did Shivers physically alter his brain somehow?
>>
>>5985731
>"..rk, ...ething .....ble is ....ng, so..thi.. .....ble is co.... on ....mas."
Mark, something terrible is coming, something terrible is coming on Christmas.
>".......as ..e, ..rk, wa.. .hem."
Christmas Eve, Mark, warn them.

Guys?
>>
>>5985761
Oh shit, that's real fucking ominous. Good thing we have a phone that goes straight to the Bat. Or we could tell Reiner who will tell Gordon who will tell Batman.
>>
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>>5985737
>"Hawthorne do you mind stepping out, I'll be out in a second."
>>
>>5985737
>"Hawthorne do you mind stepping out, I'll be out in a second."

THE OLD MAN LIVED! WOOOOO!!!!
>>
>>5985761
Based detective anon, now to figure out what to do with it. Why Christmas, calendar man?

Is "Them" the police or bat family?
>>
>>5985737
>>"Anything you have to tell me Hawthorne can hear, he's my training officer."

>Write-In
>Joke about Gotham being so shitty it gave us brain cancer
>>
>>5985733
>"I got him. Alive."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6gWWOKTcYM

>>5985737
>"Anything you have to tell me Hawthorne can hear, he's my training officer."
Something about trusting your fellow officers and such.
>>
>>5985830
+1
>>
>>5985836
>Something about trusting your fellow officers and such.
Honestly, even if it's something debilitating, I doubt Hawthorne would start babying us over it. We didn't underestimate him, despite people telling us to bench him. We just yeeted the old man at Mandargora(which I honestly believed would end up in both of them being dead). We've got some trust going I think.
>>
>>5985737
>"Anything you have to tell me Hawthorne can hear, he's my training officer."
>>
>>5985737
>>"Hawthorne do you mind stepping out, I'll be out in a second."
If we have cancer do we go full professor x and shivers around in a wheelchair so we don't take fall damage as we use our powers as a bald guy
>>
>>5985863
Let's not risk getting the QM haunted by the ghosts of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, okay? Don't want to open up old wounds from beyond the grave.
>>
>>5985879
It'd be better for somebody who actually likes comics to use those ideas than the parasites who bled Lee and Kirby dry.
>>
>>5985880
>Lee
>bled

>Implying the man wasn't bleeding others in his time
>>
>>5985737
>>"Hawthorne do you mind stepping out, I'll be out in a second."
>>
Step-Out:
>>5985789
>>5985811
>>5985863
>>5986196

Stay:
>>5985752
>>5985830
>>5985836
>>5985843
>>5985853

Votes are NOT locked just yet but it seems to be leaning in a particular direction.

It's a weird time being the middle of the week but I am going to enact a schedule change, more of a shift really, just until the weekend hits and I can hear some of your opinions. Update will come around the same time as the one yesterday and probably a second one when I actually get home.

Future Schedule Speculation below if you care:

I was thinking about running weekdays from around 5am-11am EST, just concerned with how the vote volume will look in those timeframes since I want to do 2 Updates a day when possible. I'd also still probably do the occasional early update when I can, my job gets a lot busier when summer starts to come around so my schedule is a little fucked. Thanks everyone for sticking with me while I work this out. Let me know what you think of those times.
>>
>>5985737
>"Anything you have to tell me Hawthorne can hear, he's my training officer."

>>5986314
Works fine by me. The thing about a well-done quest is that even if you miss or lose a vote, it's still fun. Keep up the good work, QM!
>>
>>5986314
Uh, QM, how'd you miss these three votes?
>>5985754
>>5985755
>>5985758
>>
>>5986373
Good question lol
>>
>>5986373
Shit you're right, sorry Anon, I made that notice in a major rush and missed those because I saw my own post and my brain short circuited. It's not locked in as I said earlier though so it'll be a proper count for the update.

Thank you for bringing that up and keeping me honest.
>>
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You sigh and nod towards a chair in the hall.
"Hawthorne, do you mind stepping out? I'll be free in a second."

He grumbles and turns.
"Sure thing, Rook, no skin off my back." His hand juts out again holding the large plastic sleeve. "Get dressed in here then, Doctor's gotten a good look at all of you already, I'm betting."

"Yes, sir." You tell him with a chuckle.

You watch as he lumbers and drops into a seat where his shoulders slump low as he rests his hands in his lap, you can't help but notice the how dark and scuffed they are. The door enters your vision from the left and clicks softly, you shift your eyes to the Doctor and he steps past you to draw the curtains and hide your room from the visitors and nurses who roam the halls.

"You're being very secretive here, Doctor." You say suspiciously.

He turns to face you and you see a layer of sweat on his upper lip, he walks past you and stands in front of your window that faces outdoors and takes a deep breath.

"Isn't part of being in healthcare bedside manner, you're freaking me out." You tell him bluntly, a wiggle in the back of your throat.

"I'm very sorry, Mark. I just haven't ever really had to do this sort of thing before."

"What thing?"

He pulls a thin sheet from the folder and holds it up, sunlight shines through exposing an image you've seen before but different. You'd seen scans of your brain before as a child but this one is different, a dark mass lingers on the right side, you point to the abnormality with a shaky hand.

"What is that? Do I have a bleed or some swelling?" You ask, your voice tight and pinched in your throat.

"Mark.." he begins, he takes a moment and you watch as he steels himself. Your gut clenches. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but during your most recent round of scans we found this image."

"What is it?"

"I want to assure you that we checked our equipment multiple times to ensure there was no error.."

"What is it?" You ask again, desperation giving your voice a jagged edge.

"Mark, please, I just need you to know that we did our due diligence to ensure what we found was accurate and-"

You grab him by his white coat and he lets out a whimper as the page flutters to the ground.

"What the fuck is in my head?" You ask him through gritted teeth, it's only when you stop to look into his fearful eyes that you catch yourself. You let go and swallow. "I'm sorry.."

To your surprise a hand rests on your shoulder and Dr. Pine makes eye contact with you and he gently pushes you to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Mark, we've found a tumor in your brain. From the images we've taken there is concern from our Neurology Specialist that it could, with time, start to encroach on your parietal lobe."
>>
You clasp your hands and you let your head hang, it feels heavier than it did just seconds ago, you try to breath it hard as if you'd just taken a hit directly to the chest. You do what you know best and get into your breathing exercise as you fight to contain every stray emotion before it explodes apart like frayed rope. You sniffle once and lift your head, nodding bitterly.

"Why now? You said you thought this was connected to my Meta status, right? Then how come this was never spotted once in nearly fourteen YEARS of constant hospital visits? Specialists? GENIUSES!?" You raise your voice at the end without meaning to and you just shake your head.

"The technology has come a long way from when you were a child, Officer, but you're right if there was a tumor this size they would have spotted it."

"Meaning what? It just spontaneously appeared? Or..or it's been in my head all this time just...just.." Your words fall to the floor silently.

"Growing." Dr. Pine says gently as he places a hand on your back. "We think it may have started off as something very small; as you grew up so did the tumor but it always managed to stay under the radar. Undetected until you came of age and decided to try and live as normally as you could."

"A Meta with a normal life, a fuckin oxymoron, I can't catch a fucking break." You shake your head and Dr. Pine remains silent as you process everything you'd heard. Only one question was on your mind.

"What can we do about this?"

"Well the first step is more scans, we'll need to essentially build a 3D model of your brain, our Neuro specialist is one of the best in the world. He'll need as much data as he can to come up with a plan of action, even if we cant remove the entire thing we have treatment plans and options on operations that can have you living a normal life at the end of it all."

"The end of it all." You laugh once. "How long until then?"

His face droops and he averts his eyes.
"It wouldn't be a short process, it could take years of repeat operations, experimenting with medications, and a lot of rehab."

"And if I choose to do nothing?"

"Are you really-"

"Hearing all my options before deciding something? Yes, I am. Please answer me."

He shakes his head and throws up a hand.
"We can't really know. Parietal lobe deals with perception among a list of other functions, leaving the tumor alone if it is indeed growing means it could start to impede your functions like sight, sensation, and mental faculties."

"IF it's growing?"

"Son." He replies exasperated. "Growth isn't the kind of thing you can catch on a single image, we need prolonged study and observation to best determine what could happen and what is likely to happen regarding your condition. If you leave this alone and we're right then at best you'll spend the rest of your life with random cold chills, hot flashes, or stabs of pain. But at worst you could be as delusional as end stage dementia patients or paranoid schizophrenics. This is serious."
>>
"You think I don't know that? This is my brain AND my life."

He holds up a hand and nods.
"I know that, which is why I'm not trying to rush you into anything. I'm going to give you some time to think about things." He glances to the wall and back to you. "It's the first week of October, I'll give you until the day after Halloween to contact me and set up a plan."

"And if I don't want to? If I'd rather live my life with a mass in my head?"

Dr. Pine stands and sighs as he takes a few steps away from you.
"Then I'll be forced to disclose this information to your Commissioner and your Union Rep, before you have a chance to deteriorate."

"What? You can't do that, that's a violation of my privacy."

"You work for the city government, Mark. You carry a gun daily. Just because you aren't experiencing any decline now does not mean it will never happen, and when it begins it will be the city that is held liable for anything that you do. Intended or not."

You scowl and run your hands over your face and through your hair. The entire time you fight the urge to stand up and grab him by his coat again. Finally you accept that, for now, there's nothing you can do about this.

"I guess we'll talk after Halloween then."

He sighs and nods.
"Your powers are real Mark, but so is this tumor and what it can do, if down the road you can't tell the difference between a hallucination and your...whispers. Then what?"

You remain silent and stone faced. He gives you a sorrowful look and steps to the door putting a hand on it.
"Should I tell your friend you'll be a minute?"

>"Just tell him I'm getting dressed, nothing else." (Keep it to yourself)
>"Can you ask him to come in here for me?" (Tell Hawthorne)
>"No. Let him know I'm not going out today. I want to stay here for a few days, maybe let you guys do some more tests."
>Write-In
>>
>>5986449
>"Can you ask him to come in here for me?" (Tell Hawthorne)
If this does actually start to fuck with our head, Hawthorne should know about it.
>>
>>5986450
+1
>>
>>5986449
>>"Can you ask him to come in here for me?" (Tell Hawthorne)

>"Turns out if you gaze into Gotham long enough it gives you a brain tumor. What a bitch of a city"
>>
>>5986449
>>"Can you ask him to come in here for me?" (Tell Hawthorne)
hey qm even if we didn’t get knocked by mandragora and end up at the hospital would’ve we end up finding out that we have a tumor at a later date
>>
>>5986476
Yes, I've had this set in stone from the beginning as soon as Shivers was voted on in Thread 1.
>>
>>5986477
I guess you've been charging up the suffering cannon for a while then kek. Jesus.
>>
>>5986449
>Write-In
Find batman
Maybe he knows a brain surgeon or the atom
>>
>>5986484
Does a man truly have a strong sense of justice and responsibility if he is not tested? But I do avoid just adding suffering for the sake of it.

I'm a massive fan of tragic heroes as well. Don't take that to mean any particular characters fate is set to end one way. I just personally find stories of hard fought triumphs just as compelling as stories of bitter defeat. I look forward to seeing what kind of ending your choices and the dice carve out.
>>
>>5986466
+1
I wonder if the shivers gave us the tumor, or if the tumor gave us the shivers?
>>
>>5986466
+1

>>5986477
You madman
>>
>>5986449
>>"Can you ask him to come in here for me?" (Tell Hawthorne)
>>
>>5986466
+1
>>
>>5986450
>>5986459
>>5986466
>>5986495
>>5986515
>>5986608
>>5986588
>>5986476

"Can you ask him to come in here for me?" You ask quietly, still computing everything you were told.

Dr. Pine nods somberly and sets the file down lightly on a table by the door.
"Of course, the image is your to keep and I included my card, if you need anything or decide you want to begin testing earlier than the end of the month don't hesitate the call."

You simply grunt in response. It's enough for him to step out and after a few seconds the door creaks quietly.

"Rook?" Hawthorne asks quietly.

You try to reply to him but feel your throat constrict, not even breath passes between your lips as you stare at the floor. Everything in your mind races to find some answer, a solution, or path that could help with this. But you come up with nothing. The door clicks as Hawthorne closes it, you hear a pause in his footsteps, only then do the words come.

"The file." You mumble.

You hear the scratching of paper and the same wobbling noise of the film being held up.
"Oh, son.." You hear Hawthorne say almost gently. "Is it.." He let's the sentence hang. You feel him lingering as he tries to find the words to say to you, he eventually settles on a warm silence as he approaches and rests a hand on your shoulder. He doesn't say anything, he just leaves his hand there as you both stare out the window for a few minutes.

"Thanks, sir." You break the silence after you manage to compose yourself enough for conversation.

He sidles up and takes a seat next to you.
"You could call me Mitch, if you want."

"I'm not terminal, I don't need the make-a-wish treatment."

He laughs dryly.
"From what I hear, knowing me isn't much of a treat."

"You aren't that bad."

"Neither are you." He replies strongly. "Which is why I know this ain't gonna stop you."

"You don't know anything about it." You say, not in a nasty way, just a statement of fact.

"Then fill me in."

You look to him to protest until you see it in his eyes. Genuine concern and determined grit. You sigh and shrug.
"Alright..."

============

"So yeah, that's about where we are. Turns out if you gaze into Gotham long enough it gives you a brain tumor." You laugh bitterly and then add under your breath and as much to Gotham as it is to yourself.. "What a bitch of a city."

"Doctor has some balls trying to hold this over you, if he had said that with me around I'd have let him know where this information was gonna end up alright." Hawthorne growls. You let out a single laugh.

"It's a good mental picture, that's for sure."

"So what's your plan, son?"

"Sorry?"

"You aren't the type to roll over and accept something like this, we gotta get ahead of it. Talk to Gordon, Reiner, get it so when it comes out you still have a place at GCPD."

"A place? Doing what? Writing reports or answering phones?" You ask him.
>>
"Doing something at least. We need you there."

"Hawthorne, I'm a fresh rookie. Nobody is going to stick their neck out for me."

"You just helped kick off one of the biggest gut punches to organized crime in Gotham since I was still calling people Sir."

"You still do."

"Only people I respect." He says with an air of mock indignance. "Besides, Grey and I ain't nobodies. We'll both gladly put our hands in the fire for you, Rook. Kimble too."

"I know, but maybe you-"

"Maybe nothing. You're GCPD, family, and we aren't about to let an egghead muscle you out."

"Nobody is muscling me out, if I leave it's going to be MY decision, I wanted to bring you in the loop on this because I owe you the truth. More importantly if I get worse and start acting funny I can trust you to be real with me."

"Rook, I just don't think-"

"He brought up good points, Hawthorne. I could be a danger out there, if something happened and I knew I could have avoided it.."

"Then worry no more, if I get so much as a whiff of you acting funny I'll put your lights out like I did that fat bastard, Mandragora."

You shake your head and laugh a little before you feel it settle on you again.
"I don't know how I'm going to tell my parents.."

"Doesn't have to be alone."

"Appreciate it."

"Mhm.."

You both settle into a forlorn silence again. Eventually Hawthorne speaks up, his voice quiet.
"What are you gonna do, son? About this shit-show? When the end of the month hits are you really prepared to walk away?"

You let the question sit in your mind. It's the same question you've been rolling over and over in your head this whole time.

>"If I don't notice anything getting worse, we can talk to the Doctor, convince him that I'm okay."
>"If I don't notice anything getting worse then we can contact Gordon and the Commissioner."
>"Even if nothing changes, at the end of the month I think I should go in for the testing anyways."
>"I don't think I can answer that right now, sir, I'm sorry."
>"I'm prepared to get to Banks ceremony before we get any later. I should get changed."
>Write-In

Secondary vote:
>Ask Hawthorne to keep this between just you two.
>Let Hawthorne now it's okay if he mentions it to others.
>Say nothing about it. Let him decide.
>>
>>5987139
>"Even if nothing changes, at the end of the month I think I should go in for the testing anyways."
>"I'm prepared to get to Banks ceremony before we get any later. I should get changed."

>Let Hawthorne now it's okay if he mentions it to others.
>>
>>5987139
>"Even if nothing changes, at the end of the month I think I should go in for the testing anyways."

Secondary:
>Let Hawthorne now it's okay if he mentions it to others.

To be honest we need more of a super-doctor not some run of the mill Joe. And we do have several avenues of at least trying to get in touch with one.
>>
>>5987144
+1, the brain tumor can wait but Banks can't
>>
>>5987139
>"Even if nothing changes, at the end of the month I think I should go in for the testing anyways."
>"I don't think I can answer that right now, sir, I'm sorry."
>"I'm prepared to get to Banks ceremony before we get any later. I should get changed."

>Let Hawthorne now it's okay if he mentions it to others.
>>
>>5987146
Hey, if Bats wants us on his backup squad then it’s time for him to show it.

We don’t even need to tell him. I think he’ll find out on his own.
>>
>>5987139
>"Even if nothing changes, at the end of the month I think I should go in for the testing anyways."
>"I'm prepared to get to Banks ceremony before we get any later. I should get changed."
>Let Hawthorne now it's okay if he mentions it to others.
>>
>>5987139
>"Even if nothing changes, at the end of the month I think I should go in for the testing anyways."
>Ask Hawthorne to keep this between just you two.

I almost feel like we should tell SIM about this. I know he's a bastard and a murderer, but he's the only one who shares our condition. If he's got the same tumor, then...I don't know. But he should get scanned one way or another, even if he has to do it on the down low.
>>
>>5987183
>If he's got the same tumor, then...I don't know. But he should get scanned one way or another, even if he has to do it on the down low.
Why? If he dies it's not a really bad thing.
>>
>>5987185
Could help us with our own, you never know. As with any rare disease, the more people they have to study, the better for treatment.
>>
>>5987185
Adding to >>5987211, if he does get checked out, we could check with all the doctors in Gotham about any recent arrivals asking about a tumor in their head and narrow down the suspects.
>>
>>5987139
>"Even if nothing changes, at the end of the month I think I should go in for the testing anyways."
>"I'm prepared to get to Banks ceremony before we get any later. I should get changed."
>Let Hawthorne now it's okay if he mentions it to others.
>"Tell me how your showdown went in the car so I can be in a better mood at the ceremony, alright?"
>>
>>5987139
>"Even if nothing changes, at the end of the month I think I should go in for the testing anyways."
>"I'm prepared to get to Banks ceremony before we get any later. I should get changed."
>Let Hawthorne now it's okay if he mentions it to others.
>"Tell me how your showdown went in the car so I can be in a better mood at the ceremony, alright?"
>>5987146
Agreed. A second opinion wouldn't hurt at all.
>>5987183
I also agree that we should tell SIM. Not for his benefit mind you, but for the knowledge of whether or not this brain tumor is actually related to our Shivers.
>>
>>5987144
>>5987146
>>5987152
>>5987162
>>5987170
>>5987183
>>5987224
>>5987330

"Even if nothing changes, at the end of the month I think I should go in for testing anyways."

Hawthorne opens his mouth to reply but you cut him off as you rise from the bed.
"But more than that, I'm prepared to get to Banks' ceremony."

Hawthorne's mouth hangs for a few seconds before he shuts it and nods silently as he passes over the outfit. He turns and heads for the door to the room, he pulls it and as he passes through the doorway you speak up again.

"Also, don't feel like you need to keep this a secret on my behalf. Y'know if Grey or Kimble or whatever.." You let your sentence drift off. Hawthorne stops to hear you but he doesn't turn, he clears his throat, another nod and he leaves without a word.

=======

After a rapid changing you find yourself stuck in Gotham traffic about six minutes later. Hawthorne and you both sit silently, you can't help but notice the notoriously stoic Hawthorne seems borderline non-verbal. You stare at him for a bit, hoping maybe the annoyance of your gaze will break the spell of silence he's settled into, about a minute in he starts twitching. Two minutes the eyes begin to flick to you. At nearly four minutes you hear the sound of your victory, a long drawn out sigh and a faux-defeated intonation.

"You want to ask me out to dinner, Rook?"

"That's old material, sir." You reply.

"Is it? Well I was just so distracted by you making goo-goo eyes at me that I must have been distracted."

"Goo goo eyes?"

"It's an expression." He says dismissively before a frustrated sigh kicks in. "Look just say what you wanna say."

"I'm just looking at your wounds is all, looks like a hell of a fight."

"You should see the other guy."

"I intend too but I wouldn't mind hearing about it first."

"Aww I don't wanna talk about that right now." He grumbles.

"I didn't really want to talk to you about what I got going on but, we're partners aren't we?"

He barks a lone laugh and shakes his head.
"You've been drinking Kimble's Kool-Aid, Rook. We aren't partners, this is a mentor and mentee relationship so that means the mentor, me, calls the shots."

"Didn't you tell me you weren't my T.O. anymore? Should give us some wiggle room."

"Jesus Christ." He exclaims closing his eyes for a moment. "You really wanna know that bad?"

"It would put me in a better mood before the ceremony, that's for sure."

That does it, you see his shoulders slump as he limply shrugs them.
"Alright but, it isn't much of a story."
>>
You turn in your seat and lean back, the cool glass soothing permeating through your hair and helping soothe the whisper of a headache that seemingly always lingers.

"I took your advice, called up the woman and her faceless boyfriend, apparently they were already close by. Something about Maroni."

You nod.
"It didn't sit right with me that Maroni would get a free ride off the GCPD. I wanted them to pick him up if possible so it wouldn't be related to our case, just another vigilante bill pick up."

Hawthorne grunts.
"Smart. But a little outside the spirit of the law don't you think?"

"But within the letter."

"Either way, he turned himself in to the first person who looked like they may even BE a cop once lead started flying. They didn't have an issues meeting up with an old friend." He spits the final words. "I arrived at the Cafe in an unmarked, going through the front door I got line of sight on the suspect, the two caped cooksaders climbed in through the back. We had him pinched."

"And so he fought." You say.

"Not quite." Hawthorne says quietly. He sighs again and wriggles in his seat uncomfortably. "Do we really have to go through this, we got the guy for Christ's sake."

You narrow your eyes and cock your head.
"What happened? Are you saying he didn't fight then, or did he not fight at all?"

Hawthorne's face shows you the shadow of something you'd never seen on him before. Shame.

"You've been honest with me, I owe you the same, Rook. If it changes things.." He pauses and shakes his head again. "Nevermind, I'll just tell you."

"Sir? What happened?"

"I got in first, he was pinched between us but it never seemed to bother him. All he did was pick up his phone off the table and crush it, just right in the palm of his hand. I don't know if I could have handled him in a fist fight, but that's why I had my weapon drawn." Hawthorne pauses to honk his horn at a taxi that cut him off, you barely notice as you hang on his every word and in your mind you can see yourself there. Watching...

====

"Don't fucking move." Hawthorne grumbled, his hand wrapped so tightly around the grip of his pistol that his knuckles turned white. A free hand scoured his belt before it tossed a pair of cuffs onto the table.

"These might be a little small, Officer." Mandragora taunted, picking them up between a forefinger and thumb, jingling them like plastic keys.

"I always bring extras." Question said from the shadows, stepping into the light with a shadow of his own just behind him; the razor tipped end of a crossbow bolt glinted dangerously in the dim light. Mandragora chuckled and groaned as two more sets of cuffs slid across cheap tile flooring.

"Helena...I'm interested in how exactly you came to be here." He looked to Hawthorne with a smug expression. "Even though the vigilante bill allows for extra-judicial means of arrest the city still frowns very heavily upon Officers fraternizing with your types." He punctuates his statement with a look to Hawthorne.
>>
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The look read like that of a chess master catching an opponent mid-blunder. But this was no game. The heavy click of a revolver hammer sat heavy on the air, an unspoken sentence: Put on the cuffs or die.

Mandragora began to slowly attach each bracelet before linking the trio together in the center behind his own back. He smirked as he leaned back in the chair, the wood groaning under his pressure.
"Now what?"

The question went unanswered as Hawthorne glared. Question's head swiveled from Mandragora to Hawthorne.
"Read him his rights, get him out of here."

Hawthorne continued his silence, he walked forward slowly as he kept the gun flush with Mandragora's head.
"Do you remember me? Asshole."

"Sergeant Mitchell Hawthorne, I haven't seen you recently but I never forget a face. Especially one I shared a nice fireside morning with." He sighed dreamily. "Better days."

The barrel of the gun left an indent in the side of his fat pale neck as Hawthorne pressed the gun deeper.
"You killed the only thing this city ever gave me."

"Oh please, you're being dramatic. Helena over there lost two people at my hand and even she isn't acting this way."

"Don't bring them up." Huntress said coldly, her words venomous, as she stepped from behind Question and further into the room. "If you want to live to see the inside of a jail cell, you'll keep your mouth shut."

Mandragora's eyes swivel to the gun in his neck.
"Not if the Officer gets what he wants."

"Fuck you." Hawthorne spits. "I don't want this; but you kill and torture and maim for a profit. So maybe this city would just be better off-"

"You can't do this!" Question said stepping forward and pushing Hawthorne's gun away.

"Q!" Huntress yelled.

"Don't get in my way, Dick Tracey." Hawthorne replied.

"Or what, you'll kill me too?"

"Haven't made up my mind."

"Both of you, stop!" Huntress demanded, her crossbow still pointed at the white whale.

Mandragora shoots a glance to his pocket.
"You, faceless one. You seem to be willing to hear logic. Reach in my pocket and you'll find my wallet. Your cop buddy and the Bertinelli brat think I'm in this to make money? Please. What money would I get from killing a cop's wife?"

Hawthorne shoves Question aside and presses the gun directly against his lips.
"Her name was Suzanne. Say something about her again, you scumfuck killer."

Mandragora remained silent and simply gestured with his eyes to his pocket. Question's gloved hands deftly scoop out the old leather square and as it opens a small accordion of photos falls, dangling just over the table. A young boy, white hair and pale in complexion, looks at the camera with a goofy smile and an ice cream melting in his hand. Mandragora leaned back freeing his lips from the cold steel.

"Edgar. My son. When he was born, I swore that I would leave my old life behind me, that I would turn a new leaf and give him everything I was missing. Everything that brought me where I am today."
>>
"Save the speech, fatty." Hawthorne snarled. "You've hurt too many for that."

"Hawthorne.." Huntress' voice is quiet, she holds the photos in her hand looking at them. "What about his son?"

Question took the photos gently and slid the wallet back into it's place. A light touch of his hand on Huntress' crossbow and she begins to lower it.
"I told you, killing him wouldn't solve anything, you'd just become him in the end."

"No." Hawthorne started, his face beet red with anger. "There's no way in hell that this sob story is working on you."

"He has a son, Hawthorne, if I killed him...I would be doing exactly what he did to me."

Hawthorne laughed, bitterly, his face a mixture of disbelief, rage, and disgust.
"He took my entire life from me. I've been dreaming of the day I could finally get Suzanne justice and I'm not letting it go now. Not for him or his son."

He leveled the pistol again and for the first time Mandragora showed real fear, his powerful legs pushing the chair backwards as he stood. In a sudden burst of speed Question was between them, hip checking the table out of the way, his gloved hands held up and pushed towards Hawthorne.

"Get out of my way or you'll eat those fucking gloves."

"Sorry, Sergeant. Not happening."

Huntress went to assist but a single step from Mandragora roots her in place as she aims a bolt at his chest.
"Don't move. I'm not killing you but you aren't walking away from this. Hawthorne, you don't have to do this. Think about what Mark would think, what he would say!"

"He'll understand." Hawthorne said to himself, somewhat uneasily. "I've come this close and I can't let him hurt anyone else. This is your last warning Question, get out of my way before I put a hole in that mask."

The crossbow swings to Hawthorne.
"Do that and you're next."

The moments of eye-contact between Hawthorne and Huntress is all Question needs to strike at the forearm and wrist with both hands. The revolver hits the tile with a heavy clunk and before he can make a go at it the crossbow returns to Mandragora. Free from the threat of imminent puncturing Hawthorne rubs his wrist and arm.

"So you want to do it old school, huh news boy?"

"I don't want to hurt you, Sergeant." Question replied steadily.

"I was a Gotham Golden Gloves contender once, son. It'll take more than you have." Hawthorne replied as he squared his shoulders and raised his fists into a traditional boxing guard.

"I trained in space." Question replied icily before adopting his own strange stance.

The two men held eye contact, both tense and ready to strike at any second, it wasn't another three seconds before the fists started flying...

>I need the same as Penguin v Grey here, remember to announce who your roll is for in your vote or it won't be included.
>3 rolls of 1d100 for Hawthorne.
>3 rolls of 1d100 for Question.
>>
Rolled 35 (1d100)

>>5989950
Rolling for our boy Hawthorne. GET HIS ASS!
>>
Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>5989950
rolling for Hawthorne
>>
Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>5989950
Rolling for Hawthorne.
>>
Rolled 90 (1d100)

>>5989950
>Question
>>
Rolled 15 (1d100)

>>5989950
For question

Also holy shit, did the retarded sob story really worked? Are we doing "oh no murder bad" thing again? Fucking hell, really? In Gotham out of all places. I thought Huntress is tougher than that.

Problem with being a guy in the chair. You're at mercy of other people's decisions.
>>
Rolled 97 (1d100)

>>5989950
The Q
>>
>>5989987
It is canon tho. Huntress actually catches up with him after he gets out of prison, ready to kill him but sees him and his son and decides not to.
>>
>>5989997
Huh. Cool. Had no idea. Fair enough.

I guess I just had it with "oh no how could I ever kill" as a storytelling device, but killing/not killing is a big thing in DC, not only for batman. Gotta remember that I guess. It's a me issue in general
>>
Sorry Hawthorne, turns out Question actually does know his Judo well kek
>>
>>5989952
>>5989956
>>5989962
>>5989966
>>5989987
>>5989993
Damn, dice are really simping for Batman right now.
>>
>>5986494
>Batman fan likes tragic heroism
Checks out.

>>5986495
Which came first: the Chicken Little predictions or the egg-sized lump of cells?

>>5989987
Gotham is famous for its reiging non-killing JLA-member vigilante kingpin, and this is literally based on Huntress' main arc from JLU.
>>
>>5990211
Dangit Riddler, didn't know you post on 4chan of all places
>>
>>5989966
>>5989993
Got his ass beat by a schizophrenic weirdo. Hawthorne is no longer allowed to give Mark shit for the Cobra incident.
>>
>>5990485
He's an old man and Question has that generic all-around Superhero training every Leaguer gets.
The fact that it was as even as it was is a testament to Hawthorne's abilities, even in his old age.
>>
>>5990546
More than that, this is a Question who has fought Lady Shiva, which means he may have trained under Richard Dragon.
>>
>>5989952
>>5989956
>>5989962
>>5989966
>>5989987
>>5989993

Locked in the numbers. Writing now.

ROLLS:

Question: 15,90,97

Hawthorne: 35,51,75

Best of three for: Both.
>>
The first to strike is Hawthorne, his heavy right hand firing out at surprising speed, Question interrupts the punch with a strike from his palm against the forearm. Hawthorne capitalizes and fires the left uppercut into the gut of Question. He backs away from the sputtering Question and assumes his stance again.

"You still want to do this?" He asks.

"No." Question tells him quietly before exhaling and straightening himself. "But I will anyways."

Question's fists unfurl and his fingers stretch out slightly bent.
"You take Karate as a kid?"

"Are we talking or fighting?"

Hawthorne grunts and moves forward trying to start a similar combination, only this time, starting with the low uppercut. Question's open hand rockets downwards, his fingers wrapping around the fist on it's ascent. He forces the hand down while his other arm pulls back and delivers a devastating palm strike to the bottom of Hawthorne's jaw. The roof of the café dims as teeth clack and blood pools in Hawthorne's mouth; he has no time to consider the fluid as a second palm slams into his gut, sending his stomach into flips, ignoring the pain Hawthorne grasps at Question's tie with his unrestrained hand; yanking as hard as he can the faceless man is brought into range for a headbutt delivered right to where his nose should be. The lack of crackling cartilage and bone makes it clear he was off, but the strike still left Question dazed. He backs up and holds up a hand.

"This is your last chance, stop th-" He doesn't finish his sentence before a fist collides with the center of his face and sends him backwards into a glass display shelf, the plates and bowls within rattling in response.

Hawthorne spits bloody mist in the direction of the ground and puts his hands up again while roaring.
"Come on, superhero, enough of the oriental crap. Hit me like a man!"

Question pushes off the counter back to a standing position, his gloved hand works a finger under the knot of his tie and he yanks it loose, his hands now ball into fists and he adopts a similar stance to Hawthorne's.
"Remember I gave you every chance to avoid this, Sergeant."

Question lurches forward sluggishly at first until his head ducks just a bit below where his shoulders once were, then he advances at an alarming pace with his head bobbing left to right. Hawthorne's punches connect with forearm and bicep as Question plays a defensive game, patiently waiting as Hawthorne unloads a couple years of pent up fury onto him. He keeps up the barrage but time takes it's toll on everyone, as the seconds tick by the punches become slower, sloppier, and weaker. Hawthorne could tell and he knew that any boxer worth their salt would wait for the perfect time to counter, a weak punch at the end of a combination, and that was the bait he cast out. When Question would go for the counter uppercut he would be ready for it, he would avoid the strike and let out a single shot to the chin with all the strength he'd been withholding.
>>
Hawthorne threw a sloppy left, little to no power and way off target, he even over-extended to make the target too good to resist. Question's body shifted his left arm tucking in as he rotated...

"Here it comes, the uppercut." Hawthorne thought. He dropped his left arm hard into a flat block to protect a shot from below as his right arm sent a haymaker straight for Question's temple. Only it never connected.

Question's rotation wasn't to get into position for an uppercut. Hawthorne was right when he predicated a counter but he failed to think outside the scope of a boxer, after all Question assumed his stance and was fighting like him. As the haymaker closed in Question moved with that same incredible speed to raise his arm, redirecting the punch and gripping the wrist, as his right hand grabbed the bicep, and his foot shot forward delivering a low shin kick as he rotated. Hawthorne's own momentum from the punch worked against him as he was hip tossed into the same glass display he had thrown Question just a moment ago. Question wasted no time following up, closing the distance he delivered a flurry of punches to the body. Hawthorne tried his best to protect what he could but the moment he defended one weak point another was pressed just as harshly. A final strong strike to the liver leaves Hawthorne groaning and sinking to his knees. Question takes a few steps back and tugs on the bottoms of his gloves.

"The problem with Boxing for me was it always seemed too flashy, a strike to the chin looks good in the photos but it's basic instinct to protect your head and throat. Really the best method for handling a larger opponent is to target the weak points, like kidneys or the liver."

Hawthorne groaned a long and low.
"Fuuuuck you."

"You should be proud Sergeant, there are some athletes who can't withstand even a single blow to the liver, then again people from around here seem to be a bit tougher than normal. I should conduct some tests on the water." He muses to himself seemingly as Hawthorne struggles to get to a standing position again as he lets out ragged breaths.

"We aren't finished yet." He growls, pushing off the counter and stumbling towards Question sloppily. He throws another sloppy punch and it too is caught and redirected, this time towards the door. He pushes himself off the ground immediately squaring up again.

"How many more liver punches can you take Sergeant? Two, Three?"

"Guess we'll find out."

Question sighs and you watch his leg rise slightly.
"Maybe you need a little more force put into it."

"Try it, princess. I'll stick that loafer up your ass." Hawthorne grins with red teeth. "Now come over here so I can kick your ass."

"Remember you asked me to hit you like a man." Question replies monotone and dry. He takes two large strides and raises his leg, curled back he twists and angles his body for a devastating kick to the soft side of his Belly or even worse a driving kick into the ribs.
>>
Hawthorne shifts his arms to defend his body, curling up in a defensive posture with his chin down. The kick sits at that perfect angle to be caught in the cushion provided by Hawthorne's arms. But it never comes, Hawthorne instead watches through the corner of his eye as the rotation continues and the foot raises higher; until it fires down at a diagonal and the toe of Question's shoe drives into the crown of his head. Hawthorne's chin is driven into his chest like a railroad spike and a shooting pain fires straight down his skull into the brain. Like an electric jolt going through his body Hawthorne's legs go stiff as he takes maybe two steps before collapsing to the ground, belly to tile he lies there for a moment.

Question sighs, pulling his tie tight around his neck once more, he kneels and speaks.
"Sometimes I like to be a little flashy."

Hawthorne replies with a mumble, his voice muffled by tile and whatever blood is still oozing into his mouth. Question grasps his shoulder and the center of his back gently as he rolls him.
"Say agai-" His words evaporating into the air as his hands go up once more.

The barrel of Hawthorne's revolver glints dimly into the afternoon light, held tight against his body, a devilish grin spreads over the old man's face as he repeated himself.

"I said 'Bang'." He chuckles, the sound crackling and raspy.

"You'd shoot me, Sergeant?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're a good cop. Too good to be doing this."

"Q.." Huntress says, but a single hand held out to her silences the protest.

The two men sit in silence for a few moments. Huntress gives a few concerned glances but keeps her crossbow trained on Mandragora. The white whale himself watching on with genuine interest on his face, why shouldn't he be invested after all, his life was on the line.

Hawthorne's thumb slowly reaches up and pulls the hammer, disengaging it as he slowly returns it to a resting position, his face returns to his baseline scowl and the gun barrel clunks against the floor as he lets it go and slowly lowers his head to the floor.

"I don't shoot a man without looking him in the eyes first."

"Lucky for me." Question replies with the smallest tinge of relief. "This means you'll be taking him in?"

"Yeah, soon as I can feel my legs again."

======

"From there it was as simple as walking him to the car and putting him in the backseat, my suspension is shot to hell now but he's sitting in lock up."

"No fuss?"

"My guess is he was just happy he got to leave with the same amount of holes he came with."

You frown and look at Hawthorne as he gestures at you.
"Go ahead and get started."

"Sir?"

"I know you're dying to tell me off for even thinking about killing a suspect as important as him. I deserve it, I haven't exactly let you slide with much so it's only fair."
>>
>"It was a pretty selfish move, dumb too which isn't like you."
>"The guy took your wife from you, he deserved that bullet and more, but it's not our job to be executioners."
>"I can't ever really understand what that choice was like for you, but I always trusted you to do the right thing."
>"Huntress and Question shouldn't have gotten in the way, I'm sorry Hawthorne."
>"It's better this way, the world would be better off without men like him, this way we can catch even more people who were in his orbit."
>Write-In

Whew, I've done a few massive walls of text for characters here recently so I think it's a good time to do a Character Poll and answer any questions if you have any.

Secret Bonus Question:
>Who is your favorite character and what do you like about them?
Feel free to include your favorite moment of theirs in the story so far if you want.
>>
>>5990622
>Write-In
Clap his shoulder, comradely.
“Thing is, I don’t think I need to. You’ll do enough of that for the two of us. And everyone walked away alive. No need to dwell on the what ifs.”
>>
>>5990622
>“Thing is, I don’t think I need to. You’ll do enough of that for the two of us. And everyone walked away alive. No need to dwell on the what ifs.”
>>
>>5990631
+1
>>
>>5990622
>“Thing is, I don’t think I need to. You’ll do enough of that for the two of us. And everyone walked away alive. No need to dwell on the what ifs.”
>"I can't ever really understand what that choice was like for you, but I always trusted you to do the right thing."
>>
>>5990622
>>“Thing is, I don’t think I need to. You’ll do enough of that for the two of us. And everyone walked away alive. No need to dwell on the what ifs.”
Batman. doing paranoid schizo things
>>
>>5990622
>“Thing is, I don’t think I need to. You’ll do enough of that for the two of us. And everyone walked away alive. No need to dwell on the what ifs.”
>>
>>5990622
My favorite character is probably Question, for some reason. It seems like he could be standing right behind me ready to lecture me about radiation from phones or some shit at any time.
>>
>>5990690
>>5990631
+1

>>5990622
>Bonus question
Hawthorne probably, but you write Question very well. I can really hear all his dialogue as if read by Jeffrey Combs. Hawthorne is a really good flawed-but-respectable mentor figure, though. No wonder we're so attached to the gritty old bastard.
>>
>>5991189
I imagine Hawthorne talking like Clancy Brown aka Hank from Detroit Become Human, or a less nautical Mr. Krabs
>>
>>5991252
Or Lex Luthor, I guess, since he also got the Clancy Brown treatment
>>
>>5991257
Do you think anybody pointed that out during a coffee break where Luthor was making a speech on TV and Hawthorne was in the room?
>>
Update will be coming in an hour or so, locked in for
>>5990631
>>5990656
>>5991189
>>5990730
>>5991005
>>5990638
>>5990690

I love a unanimous decision.

>>5991252
His performance with Connor is the only saving grace of that game. I like Clancy as a voice for Hawthorne.
>>
>>5991260
>He sounds like you if you didn't smoke.
>I sound like him if he wasn't a candyass.
>>
You guys might have noticed I did not in fact do the update.

I had, ironically enough, some medical issues with my own head (migraines) and was out of commission for most of the day. I think I'm going to take today off to rest a little as well since I'm still a little sensitive to light at the moment. Apologies, but we will return tomorrow probably far earlier than normal.
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>>5991943
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>>5991943
oh god it's the QM curse

Don't go into the light QM
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>>5991943
Feel better soon, QM. Take the time you need, and rest well!
>>
>>5991943
Godspeed QM, hope ya feel better soon.

Have you considered the cosmic irony of you giving Mark a brain tumor, and coming down with a migraine yourself in less than a week?
>>
>>5991943
Get well QM.
>>
>>5991943
QM about to start hearing the voice of /qst/
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>>5992844
>roll 3d100 bo3 to make it to work today
>>
>>5992913
Rolling
>>
Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>5992913
>>
Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>5992913
>>
Rolled 57 (1d100)

>>5992913
>>
>>5992913
>>5993021
>>5993166
>>5993203
Well, that doesn't pass the DC. o7
>>
>>5993378
The blanket is too warm, the mattress too soft, the pillows too cool. You find it impossible to muster up the gargantuan effort necessary to rise from your bed. In the distance a phone rings but to your ears it is faint. The comfort of the morning is too strong. Not even the light spilling through the cracks in your window curtains is enough to rouse you. You sleep in. Much to the dismay of your boss who insists they are "swamped" with his empty hands and dry brow. You will awake in several hours with dread in your heart, but for now you dream.
>>
>>5992913
>>5993021
>>5993166
>>5993203
>>5993378
Good thing QM has Veto power then, I'm popping in on my day off to give you guys the opening to the event because you all deserve something to chew on after being so patient with me and my defective eyes.

>>5992042
>>5992201
>>5992472
Thank you for your kind words as well.

>>5993431
Please respect our original deal, the audience doesn't need to know about my ghost writers. (I dig it)
>>
You let your hand fall on his shoulder and chuckle.
“Thing is, I don’t think I need to. You’ll do enough of that for the two of us. And everyone walked away alive. No need to dwell on the what-if." You end it with a warm smile and a nod.

Hawthorne looks at you for a few moments, his own mouth curls into a small smile and he lets our a sigh of relief.
"You're right, Rook."

You both settle into a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive, Hawthorne pulls another cassette from his glove box and pops it in. Turning the music up you both enjoy the ride. (https://youtu.be/ye-MwxuXfeo)

======

Pulling up to a curb you throw open the door and step out, as composed as you can be while still being in a massive rush. Hawthorne calls out to you as you hop from seat to curb.

"Go get a seat, I'll park her and get over soon as I can."

You thank him with a wave of the hand and head towards the bustling crowd. Pushing through the crowd you manage to feel warm even in the chill of October, as you make your way through people begin to notice the uniform and step aside letting you get to the front of the crowd, roped off by neon tape and a few standing officers. They give you the up and down and step aside, letting you into a reserved section of steel folding chairs and a sea of dress blues and suits, you grab an empty seat and settle down. Scanning the crowd you see some familiar faces, a couple officers from Gotham-By-The-Sea that you remember from your sparring match, some Officers from your own precinct, and a front row consisting of various members of City Hall; you recognize the irritating face of Issac among them and utter a silent prayer that he not notice you. You tug at your collar and enjoy the cold air flowing beneath your shirt, despite it being a cloud covered mid-day the sun still feels like it's bearing down upon you, as you go to look further at the crowd the crackle of speakers distract you.

"Ladies and gentleman, please welcome Mayor of Gotham City: Harvey Dent!"

The crowd around you rises and you follow suit, removing your hat like the others, and gently clapping. Dent approaches the microphone and holds up a hand, gives a shake of his head at the applause and leans forward.

"Citizens of Gotham, I want to thank everyone who made it out today; as well as anyone watching at home." A nod to a nearby camera finally brings your attention to it. "We're here today to talk about one thing. Heroism. As you all know, before politics I was just a Prosecutor trying to do my part, I put away dirty cops, gangsters, and anyone else who wanted to treat this city. OUR city, as if it were their own personal playground. But now, under my policies, the GCPD has been trying to turn a new leaf and enter a new era; one of integrity and accountability."
>>
He pauses and looks over the crowd, nodding gently as he does so. You swallow and swipe at your forehead, pulling away a slick smear of sweat with it. You look up and your eyes probe the rolling grey clouds, only scattered sunlight managing to push through. You sigh and wriggle in your seat.

"That being noted. I say this not as your mayor, or a lawyer, but as a citizen of Gotham." He pauses for dramatic effect and looks into a nearby camera. "It. is. working." He accentuates each word with a slap on the podium and gives a wide politician's grin.

"Recently you've seen in the news that the GCPD had one of it's largest stings in history. Salvatore Maroni, Carmine Falcone, Oswald Cobblepot, and that's not even half of it. The men and women involved in that operation deserve more than medals and ribbons and tinker tape parades, but in the interest of keeping the identity of the Officers involved secret I can only offer them this: From the bottom of my heart and on behalf of Gotham, Thank you."

The crowd erupts into cheers and applause and Dent closes his eyes, soaking it in, you feel your face go warm. Are you blushing? You touch a hand to your cheek and feel the opposite, cool like marble, but a familiar sensation builds in your gut as you turn your eyes back to the stage. The same feeling you get when you first spoke to SIM, first saw him kill, saw him raise a blade against that child, you feel hatred.

"But today, we're here to celebrate and honor someone very special. Officers of the GCPD who I have a close personal relationship with, on account of the fact, that when the Wayne Museum of Meta-History was attacked and my life was threatened these officers put themselves between me and a would-be assassin, a deranged man wielding a flamethrower, showing no fear and one Officer even sustaining grevious wounds to protect me. Some people may say they were simply doing their jobs, but the job was far from simple and they honored their Oath in what seemed to be the bitter end and I'll be damned if I don't honor them in equal regard. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Officers Anthony Banks and Luke Kimble!"

Thanks again for the patience everyone, see you sunday!
>>
Damned politicians.
>>
>>5993573
>Are you blushing? You touch a hand to your cheek and feel the opposite, cool like marble, but a familiar sensation builds in your gut as you turn your eyes back to the stage. The same feeling you get when you first spoke to SIM, first saw him kill, saw him raise a blade against that child.
>You feel hatred.
Mark SEETHING at Dent right now holy shit
>>
>>5993969
Or maybe he's picking up a Shiver? Is Dent suppressing an episode? Maybe something triggered him...
>>
>>5994444
Does Dent actually HATE that the cops succeeded? That Mark and the GCPD are doing their fucking job?
>in the interest of keeping the identity of the Officers involved secret I can only offer them this: From the bottom of my heart and on behalf of Gotham, Thank you.
This combined with the reaction Mark had makes me think Dent is saying "fuck you" to him or meaning the opposite of his words
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>>5994499
It is possible Dent has a hero complex and he wants things to go wrong so HE can fix them. And when he's not the one everyone is admiring it pisses him off.
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>>5995326
Makes sense when you remember that the moment someone scars his handsome face (as happens in most universes) he IMMEDIATELY goes full over-the-top thematic super-criminal and changes his entire living situation, wardrobe, hiring/staffing system, and speech pattern to obsessively center around his new gimmick. Two-Face is a huge showboating ham, so Harvey Dent PRE-descent probably is as well on some level. Pic related doesn't just spring out of nowhere.
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>see you sunday!
>We did not, in fact, see him on Sunday
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>>5995762
It's still sunday here.
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>>5995762
Sorry Anon, bad habit due to years of Night Shift work, Sunday leading into Monday equals Sunday in my brain even if the date changes at midnight. I'm still updating here in a bit closer to the new schedule I brought up a couple posts back.
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>>5993969
>>5994444
>>5994499
>>5995326
>>5995337

The crowd goes up in applause and cheers as the two men enter the stage. Kimble leads the way with Banks trailing behind, both men stand straight and tall, you hear a few friendly heckles from the Officer section of the crowd. You want to clap and join them but this heavy atmosphere of anger weighing on you keeps your nerves taut and on alert.

Dent steps aside from the podium to approach Banks and Kimble for a handshake, not missing the chance for a photo-op he turns and faces a small pod of reporters. Dent's gleaming politician's grin more than makes up for the fact that Kimble looks as if he'd eaten a bowl of lemons prior to stepping on stage. Moving on he poses with Banks next who smiles for his photo, you can't help but notice the creeping scar that reaches up his neck as he's making no attempts to hide it. Returning to the podium Dent leans into the microphone.

"Our heroic GCPD officers, ladies and gentlemen!" He reiterates, pausing for applause which dies down in a few seconds. "Now everyone, both of these men were commended by their department's for their work but I want to take it a step further and deliver the highest honor that is within my power as Mayor. The Gotham Cross."

The crowd goes quiet and murmurs go around. Dent holds up a hand.
"I'm aware this award has only been given out twice in the history of this City but if I could, for a moment, I want to speak about why I'm awarding the star to Officer Anthony Banks. Anthony Banks clocked into his shift to work VIP detail at the Museum that night thinking the worst he'd have to deal with would be drunk guests or someone a little too pushy for a selfie." He pauses to chuckle at his own joke, the city hall crowd follow suit. "But instead of the boring shift I'm sure he would have preferred, he was faced with a terrible situation where he was given two options. Leave me to die and save himself or to die with me."

Dent pauses and nods his head solemnly. You feel another bead of sweat roll past your eyebrow and dribble down your cheek, you gulp and undo a few buttons discreetly hoping to alleviate this discomfort. You glance around at the stage lights, are these things really running so hot?

"But instead of picking from those two options, Officer Banks did what any good Gothamite would do when presented with such a test. He wrote his own answers! He chose, instead, to fight!" He slams his fist down and the police section erupts into cheers. You go to join but pause with your hands held aloft, you feel something. A vibration inside of your ears, just below the shouting of the crowd, a rumbling.

"Officer Banks chose to fight and was willing to give his life for me to escape, he charged the assassin as Officer Kimble provided covering fire to make my escape possible. Despite knowing it could be his end, Officer Banks quite literally held himself to the fire! Proving that his character was forged of stronger stuff than even steel!"
>>
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The crowd grows louder as Dent raises his own voice. You hear the rumbling grow louder and louder as a burning heat creeps up your back, like the summer sun beaming down on your neck, your sweat runs cold.

"Anthony Banks proved that night that Gotham is done being the punching bag, our city now has arms that are willing to punch back!"

The crowd surges to their feet with applause and loud cheers. The smell of smoke and fuel make you woozy as you stand up to join them.

"All that being said, I'm only a mayor, the voice of the city for as long as you will have me. I am a servant to this city and the good people within it and that's why it wouldn't be right of me to give you this award Officer Banks. So instead of getting this honor from a man who may not even be in office this coming year, I've enlisted someone who is embedded in the very stone that Gotham is built upon: Son of the recipient of the first ever Gotham Cross and here to award you with your medal is my dear friend, Bruce Wayne!"

This jolts you back to reality as you turn to the stage and see the familiar form of Bruce Wayne step out from behind a large poster, despite his movie star smile and his energetic waving you can't help but notice how his eyes sit deep in his head and though he hides it well you can sense just how tired the man is, you watch as he approaches the steps leading up to the stage with a small wooden box clasped in his hands. Strangely enough as you look at him, this man you'd had such a pleasant conversation with, all you can feel is that same hatred that was boiling in your stomach. Almost as if he sensed you Bruce stops on the stairs, his smile vanishes and his tired eyes squint.

That's when you feel it.

A blast of dry radiating heat from behind you, as if you were standing in front of an open oven.

"What is that?" You hear someone next to you wonder aloud, turned at the hip with a gloved hand shielding their eyes from the sun.

You turn with them and look up to the sky and your mouth goes dry as you see a distant cloud of dark black smoke growing larger and ever so quietly with it comes the rumbling of powerful engines. Tearing across the sky leaving a trail of flame and coal black fumes is a makeshift glider with a solitary dark clad figure hanging beneath it, massive gun crossed over his chest. Firebug.
>>
Cameras turn and zoom in on the figure and everyone begins to mumble and speak to one another, wondering what that is. But out of this entire crowd you know only four of you know what's coming.

Looking back to the stage you see Dent standing idle as his saucer-like eyes gaze into the sky. Your hand shoots to your waist only to his a decorative belt loop.

"Fuck." You whisper to yourself. Hawthorne hadn't brought your back-up with your outfit. Looking around you notice most of the police crowd in their dress blues are unarmed, only the on duty officers minding the barricades and the Mayor's personal security team are armed. The rumbling grows louder and only one sound emerges over the roaring of jerry-rigged jet turbines, from the event's own speakers you hear the familiar voice without the modulation of the helmet.

"HARVEY DENT, I'VE COME FOR YOU!"

Officers scramble, Kimble grabs a security officer and relieves them of their weapon. The civilian crowd begins to panic and try to push out from the barricade line to escape. The crowd becomes a violent mosh-pit as mass panic sets in. The stage clears out as Dent is rushed off by security. Wayne stands stock still with the box clasped in his hand, perhaps frozen with fear. Scanning the stage again you see Kimble directing security and Banks is completely absent, as you start to feel the officers around you push and shove you make a decision to..

>Head for the parking lot and find Hawthorne. If anyone is going to bring a spare gun to an award ceremony it's him.
>Head for the stage, link up with Kimble and help direct security. You two are the only ones who have any experience facing off with this guy.
>Pursue Dent, if this is still over his grudge then Firebug will be going after him over everything else.
>Aid Wayne, Bruce Wayne may not be the target this time but you can't risk him becoming collateral damage.
>Help direct the crowd, you're unarmed, uninformed, and freshly tumor'd. The best thing you can do is evacuate as many civilians as you can and try to keep this from breaking out into a stampede.
>Write-In
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>>5995928
>>Help direct the crowd, you're unarmed, uninformed, and freshly tumor'd. The best thing you can do is evacuate as many civilians as you can and try to keep this from breaking out into a stampede.
Everybody has their part to play, let's make sure nobody's trampled.
>>
>>5995931
+1 we have NO GUN and we are supposed to be OFF DUTY. We played our part talking down Firebug the first time when he was with the Anarkists, but he won't obey a second time where he's the instigator alone
>>
>>5995928
>>Help direct the crowd, you're unarmed, uninformed, and freshly tumor'd. The best thing you can do is evacuate as many civilians as you can and try to keep this from breaking out into a stampede.
>>
>>5995928
>>Aid Wayne, Bruce Wayne may not be the target this time but you can't risk him becoming collateral damage.
>>
>>5995928
>>Help direct the crowd, you're unarmed, uninformed, and freshly tumor'd. The best thing you can do is evacuate as many civilians as you can and try to keep this from breaking out into a stampede.
>>
>>5993573
Huh, I wonder what got Mark seething so much
Dent isn't even evil or anything here. Just a politician.
>>5995928
Oh, it was a warning, not our own hatred. Firebug's mentality leaked into our head a little.
>>Help direct the crowd, you're unarmed, uninformed, and freshly tumor'd. The best thing you can do is evacuate as many civilians as you can and try to keep this from breaking out into a stampede.
Okay fine. His suit is 9mm proof anyway, as we figured last time. And even if anyone has an AR it's outside in some cop car trunk. Dent might be cooked this time.
>>
>>5995928
>>Head for the stage, link up with Kimble and help direct security. You two are the only ones who have any experience facing off with this guy.
>>
>>5995928
>Help direct the crowd, you're unarmed, uninformed, and freshly tumor'd. The best thing you can do is evacuate as many civilians as you can and try to keep this from breaking out into a stampede.
>>
>>5996039
>Huh, I wonder what got Mark seething so much
It seems like we were probably picking up on Firebug's own rage, I'm thinking. Not sure why he hates Bruce Wayne, too... But maybe just because he's friend with Dent?
>>
>>5996073
I mean most criminals in Gotham just hate Bruce for being rich or publicly funding programs and people who stand against them. Him being friends with Dent would certainly make ol Heat Beetle pissed at him though. What fools we were though, to forget about mister high-temperature endoskeletal.
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>>5995928
>Head for the parking lot and find Hawthorne. If anyone is going to bring a spare gun to an award ceremony it's him.
>>
>>5995931
+1
>>
>>5995928
>Help direct the crowd, you're unarmed, uninformed, and freshly tumor'd. The best thing you can do is evacuate as many civilians as you can and try to keep this from breaking out into a stampede.
>>
>>5995931
>>5995987
>>5995999
>>5996030
>>5996039
>>5996071
>>5996251
>>5996395

You aren't in a position to do much. The crowd is bustling and pushing already and it's only a matter of time until this devolves, you put your foot on the metal chair and step up before cupping your hand to your mouth and shouting over your section of Officers.

"Everyone needs to evacuate this area now! Grab your family members and find one of these officers and have them escort you to your vehicle in the parking lot! Lock your doors and stay down until you're told otherwise!"

You turn to the others and make a massive windmill motion pointing to the lot and to your pleasure the instinct to follow orders wins out and the Dress Blue section begins filtering into the crowd of civilians, multiple of them shouting their own instructions as they keep an aisle clear and move attendees out in small groups. There's still an air of panic but instead of surging waves of bodies it's a barely organized stream flooding down the aisles and making their way for the lots. You turn to the stage with your new vantage point and see Kimble flash you a thumbs up before off jogging after Dent with a newly acquired sidearm, you fail to see Banks or even Wayne now. You sigh and drop from the chair, everyone has their role to play and you've chosen this for now, you need to prioritize clearing out civilians while you still have time. You step into the aisle and offer your arm out to a pair of well dressed women and a young man, shuffling your way towards the bay of parked cars while they grip onto your uniform with white knuckles.

"It'll be alright, just stay near me." You find yourself repeating as you press a hand to the backs of those in front of you to ensure they never stop moving. A few people hang back taking the chance to toss chairs and other obstacles to the side letting the aisles flow into open space more quickly. Heading into the lot itself is a relief, the claustrophobia fades away and even the civilians seem a little more at ease now that they aren't crammed in a tight column of bodies. You guide the group to their car nearby and they waste no time jumping in and turning the engine, you stick a hand in the door and grip their wheel with a white gloved hand.

"Don't. If you tear off out of here everyone is going to follow you and we go from a stampede to a pile up." You speak quietly but firmly, staring the entire time just to really impress your point. The woman nods meekly and you release her wheel. "Doors locked, wait for an officer to come by and let you know when it's all clear. Just keep your heads down, we've got this." You give a reassuring smile and turn away hoping you didn't just lie through your teeth.

Most of the crowd has found it's way to the parking lot with most of the Dress Blue section acting as escorts, perimeter, and making personal calls on their phones. It won't be long before this place is swarming with GCPD and whoever else they can rope in.
>>
You scan the area looking for anyway to lend a hand and your eyes settle on a familiar sight.

Banks stands in front of an opened trunk of a GCPD cruiser labelled 1-A-1, Kimble's cruiser, you jog over and shout his name. His head barely turns before he reaches up and slams the trunk lid down, turning to face you with a shotgun held tight in his grip, a duty belt in the other hand. His expression is strangely blank.

"Mark." He calls out almost, casually to you, as he jogs over.

"Banks, what are you doing?"

"Kimble told me to get to the car, so I decided I may as well go all out." He holds up the pump action and waggles it. "I grabbed his duty belt, figured he'd probably want something too."

"I watched him take a piece off of security already." You say before realizing his odd behavior. "Wait, are you going back in?"

Banks grunts instead of addressing your question and starts a light trot back towards the stage area, the rumbling growing louder as Firebug is nearly upon the venue, you follow along as Banks shoves the duty belt out towards you.

"Take his, I doubt he'll mind. Plus I'll feel a little better having you watch my back."

"What? Banks, what the fuck are you doing right now?" You ask him as you wrap a hand around the belt, he releases it the moment you do and half cycles the shotgun, his eyes scanning the port as it flashes a red shell. He nods with grim satisfaction as he looks up to you.

"I'm showing this asshole what I've got, no strings." He speaks quietly but with a grit that grabs your attention. "I was assigned to protect Dent that night with Kimble and that freak is still coming after him, so until he's dead or in cuffs the job isn't done."

"Banks...I'm not sure-" You start with concern.

"You told me life is about dealing with strings, remember? That it's about spotting them and avoiding them? I think there's a third option. We cut em." He takes a breath in and you can see it in his eyes as you feel it in the pit of your own stomach. Fear. But cutting through it in the shine of his gaze is determination. "No more strings or playing politics. Let's just get the bad guy and call it a fucking day. Sound good, DeLucia?"

He turns his eyes onto you and you see in them a plea. You feel your arm hairs ripple and lift as a tight pinching pain spreads over your neck and shoulder, you roll it a few times to shake off the sensation and tell Banks..

>"Sounds good, let's get to Dent."
>"I would, but I still don't know where Hawthorne is in all of this, I need to link up with him and then we'll come support. Good luck."
>"This is insane, Banks. SWAT and everyone else will be here in a few minutes, this isn't our responsibility. We should fall back."
>"Wrong, you're going to get yourself killed trying to prove something to yourself that everyone else already knows."
>"For the record, I think this is a horrible idea, but I'm in."
>Write-In
>>
>>5996922
>>"I would, but I still don't know where Hawthorne is in all of this, I need to link up with him and then we'll come support. Good luck.
If a flamethrower gets shot with a shotgun, wouldn't he just leak a lot of high pressure, flammable liquid everywhere?
>>
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>>5996922
>>"For the record, I think this is a horrible idea, but I'm in."
>>Write-In
pic related.
>>
>>5996924
12 gauges can be loaded with buckshot or slugs and police actually tend to carry both.

I'm sure hes noticed that pistol rounds werent going through his armour. Now slugs might not go through either but you're still dealing with a 1oz projectile. Even if it doesnt penetrate, its gonna fucking hurt.
>>
>>5996922
>>"For the record, I think this is a horrible idea, but I'm in."
>>Write-In
try to rally other officers for backup
>>
>>5996924
The tank is pretty well protected by his body. And a shotgun has the added benefit of being able to knock someone onto their ass even if they're wearing something bulletproof. I don't think buckshot can punch through typical pressurized gas tanks though. They're a lot tougher than media makes them look. Unless it's a propane tank, those are just sheet metal kek.
>>
>Shotguns are pretty accurate weapons
>Firebug probably isn't even taking cover
If we have slug rounds, or even 00 buckshot, this guy's bones are getting powderised, bulletproof gimp suit or not. At least I hope so. We trained with long guns, right?
Fuck it, time for some police brutality.
>>
>>5996922
>>"I would, but I still don't know where Hawthorne is in all of this, I need to link up with him and then we'll come support. Good luck."
>>
>>5996922
You know what, let's have this round 2 with our boy.
>"For the record, I think this is a horrible idea, but I'm in."
Hawthorne can handle himself. He's probably with Bruce somewhere securing the VIP after Kimble has Dent with him. Civvies are handled, so now we provide backup
>>
>>5996922
Banks has barely recovered from being half burned. This is probably a terrible idea.

Ask him if this is to prove himself, because if it is, this will go poorly. We need to link up with Hawthorne. If he's moving up, secure a LoF for us to bring Hawthorne and some more firepower. 9mm isn't getting through the armor.
>>
>>5997263
>Banks has barely recovered from being half burned
Point. Gotta remind him of that. Something like "pride is well and good, but if your mobility is fucked because of your injuries you should be very careful about positioning yourself"
Nah, too dry. Idk how to talk to people, I'll just take a pre-made one

>>5996922
>"For the record, I think you're going to get yourself killed trying to prove something to yourself that everyone else already knows, but I'm in."
I just can't opt out. Superhero bullshit vs dudes with guns is my favorite type of fight.
>>
>>5996922
>"For the record, I think this is a horrible idea, but I'm in."
>>
>>5997570
he's about to get married and things are looking up.

got as many death flags as 'one day to retirement and just caught the mafia boss who killed my wife' Hawthorne
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>>5996925
>>5996931
>>5997093
>>5997570
>>5997597

"For the record, I think this is a horrible idea." You tell him as you fasten and tighten the belt around your waist, letting the dress belt fall to the asphalt. You give it a tug and let your hand rest on the grip of the pistol.

"Round two then." He looks up and his eyes linger on the approaching column of smoke.

You follow his gaze and feel your stomach squeeze, only slightly this time, you turn and jerk a head to the deserted stage, the rumbling grows to a roar as it's nearly overhead, Banks gives you a nod and heads off. You stick close and steady your breathing. The scent of burning fuel and filthy air increases as Firebug screams across the sky, literally, you can't help but feel a deep rooted fear hearing his voice roar like a wild animal. Or maybe that fear isn't yours?

You blink, a wave of dizziness rolling over you like delicate waves, not enough to topple you but more than enough to make itself known. You manage to keep your feet under you as you hit the steel steps and head up to the thick curtains; grabbing the deep red material and throwing it aside reveals the state of City Hall's entourage. A large dark SUV sits surrounded on all sides by those from the front-most rows of the event, two security officers stand on the opposite side of the SUV while Kimble stands in front of the rear door with his arm planted in the chest of a familiar face. Issac. Both of them oblivious to your having breached the curtains.

"You need to get the fuck back, now!" He shouts. His hand rests on a pistol tucked haphazardly into his dress belt.

"There's room for at least six of us! More if we sit on the floor!" Issac pleads.

"You're not hearing me. I said to get back." Kimble replies with a grim stillness to his voice. His hand wraps around the grip. "This isn't a debate, I have my orders. Tell your colleagues to move from in front of the vehicle."

"You're just going to let us die?" A shrill voice cries out from the twelve or so people mobbing the vehicle.

Kimble's head whips towards the direction of the voice.
"Are you fucking stupid or something? The target of this attack is the mayor, by being here you're putting yourself in danger."

"Because you won't let us leave!"

The crowd shouts in agreeance and you see Kimble scowl as his eye twitches. His chest heaves gently as he takes shallow breaths, he pulls the pistol from it's place but leaves the barrel facing the ground as you and Banks hop the waist high barricade.
"Clear the road!" He shouts aggressively, his voice deep and booming coming from the core of his chest. "If you do not disperse you will be arrested.." He lets the sentence hang but a clear 'Or else..' sits in the vacuum.

Issac turns to look at his coworkers frantically before his head swivels to you, his eyes light up with recognition and he breaks away from Kimble and the car. Kimble follows his stare and upon seeing you with Banks you see him sigh in relief.
>>
Now you're the one being beset upon as Issac gets uncomfortably close.

"Mark! Talk some sense into your coworker please." He begs. You glance over his shoulder and Kimble gives you a shake of his head.

"Nothing to talk about, I have orders to evacuate the Mayor." He shouts to you while also making it clearly directed to those around. The crowd seems to be in a state of uncertainty, waiting to see how Issac's pleas fall on your ears.

"See!? He's unreasonable, that SUV can easily fit more than the Mayor and his secretary, this isn't fair!"

You look up and see the faces of City Hall employees looking at you, etched in fear and uncertainty. Kimble's scowl grows deeper and Banks is completely checked out, turned and staring at Firebug's approach.

"Mark, I know we didn't get off to a good start with each other but please. Don't let them strand us here."

"We'll never make it if we have to run!" Another voice calls out.

"If he can't get the mayor then we're next!" Says another.

Issac stares at you with desperation and expectation as he grabs your dress blues by the lapels.
"Be a good cop, help us."

>"Orders are orders, Kimble is my TO and I follow his commands. You all need to get out of here while you still can."
>"You said six people could fit in that SUV, but I count ten or so. I'm assuming you'd be one of the lucky six?"
>"You all need to get out of here now, who's to say Firebug doesn't just incinerate anyone nearby when he comes in for his landing. Are you trying to die?"
>Fire your pistol into the ground. "Get the hell out of here, now!"
>Punch Issac. "I'm arresting this man for assaulting a police officer, unless you want to be fried or locked up then you need to clear out."
>Write-In
>>
>>5998008
>"Sir, we're trying to keep EVERYBODY here safe, not just Mayor Dent. I'm not about to let you get people killed because you'd rather panic than listen to trained professionals."
>"Now I'm gonna say this once and only once. You can get to your car and lay low or you can leave the building in cuffs with criminal charges to your name. Your call."
It would definitely be easier to just punch him or discharge a round into the floor, but we're still trying to set an example here.
Even if we do end up having to do this the hard way, nobody can say we didn't at least try to do it by the book.
>>
>>5998008
>"You all need to get out of here now, who's to say Firebug doesn't just incinerate anyone nearby when he comes in for his landing. Are you trying to die?"
>>
>>5998025
+1
>>
>>5998008
>>Write-In
"That madman is after the mayor, what do you think is going to happen once you get in the car with him. We get the mayor out safe quickly, the faster the madman leaves this place."
>>
>>5998025
+1

Add:
“It’s not like this car will cover you from a flamethrower anyways. If he targets this vehicle you’re all going to burn with Dent. And he WILL target this vehicle when Dent gets here.”
>>
>>5998130
Love this addition, it'd hit that Isaac right in the self-preservation
>>
>>5998008
>>5998130
+1 to this. "You guys don't wanna be in a car with Dent, considering the attacker is after him personally, can fly and has a flamethrower."
>>
>>5998101
>>5998130
>>5998444
+1

>>5998008
All these anons have put it very well. Appeal to these people's sense of self-preservation. Being in that vehicle is the least safe place they could possibly be. We're keeping them safe by NOT letting them jump in that vehicle
>>
>>5998025
+1
>>
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76 KB JPG
>>5998025
>>5998065
>>5998130
>>5998142
>>5998444
>>5998717
>>5998834

"Sir, we're trying to keep EVERYBODY here safe, not just Mayor Dent. I'm not about to let you get people killed because you'd rather panic than listen to trained professionals."

"What?! Sir? Don't act like you don't know me DeLucia, if this is about earlier I already apolo-"

You cut him off with a swift hand placed between you.
"I'm gonna say this once and only once. You can get to your cars and lay low or you can leave this place in cuffs and with a criminal charge. Your call."

"You're serious.." He says hollowly.

"It's the law, sir." You reply bluntly before raising your voice to shout over the crowd and incoming engine. "Besides, It’s not like this car will cover you from a flamethrower anyways. If he targets this vehicle you’re all going to burn with Dent. And he WILL target this vehicle when Dent gets here. The madman is after the mayor, you go with him and hat do you think happens? We quicker we get the mayor out of here the sooner he gives chase and leaves you alone. Do you get it now?" You basically scream the last words as members of the group surrounding the car start looking past your shoulder.

Your words combined with the sight over your shoulder seems more than enough to chip at whatever mania had gripped them. Slowly they break off and sprint in varying directions, Issac looks over your shoulder and you watch as his eyes go wide.

"Banks?" You ask without turning.

"Yup. Here." He replies quietly, grimly, a ripple goes up your back. You put a hand on Issac's chest and push away.

"Get out of here."

Without his mob Issac wastes no time fleeing, you feel Banks back connect with your shoulder as he walks backwards.
"We need to make sure Dent gets out of here." He says, at least you think he does. The air around you is hot, it stings your eyes, and the sounds of the thrusters drown out all but the loudest noises as it closes in to the ground.

Before you, skidding to a stop is Firebug.
>>
You take steps back with Banks as Firebug casually reaches up and taps a buckle in his chest which frees him from the various belts and straps.

You give a side view to Banks and see his face pale white, his pupils pin-points, and his hands shaking gently. You put a hand on his arm and continue your walk back to Kimble.

Stepping forward Kimble levels his weapon with Firebug, who remains still, watching the approach. His voice comes out through the same radio filter you heard last time.

"You know small-arms are just a waste of your bullets, Officer." He says as he slides the tarnished metal barrel of his flamethrower to the front, a small pilot light kicking on as he grips it.

"It'll still hurt." Kimble growls.

"Will it hurt as bad as burning alive? Ask your friend." He gestures with a nod. Banks maintains his stare and says nothing, with his expression you wonder if he even heard what was just said.

"You." Firebug continues. "You were there last time as well. Small world."

"Too small, maybe you'd be better off somewhere else?"

"Not this time, pig. You got into my head last time, sure. But things have changed."

"What exactly has changed? This is still about your past with Dent, something your wife and child wouldn't want to see you destroy yourself over!"

"You brought them up last time too, it got me thinking about that very thing, what would they think if they saw me like this? Doing this? I realized I didn't know." He pauses in his speech and you hear his breathing coming through as he takes a step forward. "I never even got to meet my son. My wife? Well she knew I was in the army, that I saw things, did things, but we never talked about them. The honest truth is I'll never know what they would think if they saw me now. Because they're fucking dead. They're dead and it's Harvey Dent's fault, for that he's gonna fry."

A woosh of flame sends the three of you a couple steps backwards as it licks across dark asphalt. You see Kimble's trigger finger twitch but he holds steady. He knows firing a shot is a bell that can't be unrung, one shot and this is guarenteed to end in violence.

"You were right about one thing the last time we spoke. I'm not a killer without reason. Get out of my way and you get to walk away, otherwise they'll be identifying your bodies with a sieve."

"Are you insane?" You ask him, just trying to stall for any time you can.

"No. But I am observant. Officer Kimble." He says.

Kimble narrows his eyes.

"Officer Kimble, why is it that the driver for Mayor Dent didn't depart the moment the space was cleared?"

"Eat shit." He responds. His answer is met with another small belch of fire and a distorted tisking.

"The lenses of my mask can act as binoculars, for long range scouting as well as intricate work such as-"

"Making IED's" You whisper. "You're with Calc.."

He ignores you pointedly, tilting his head slightly as he probes again.
>>
"Could it have been because Dent's driver was nowhere to be found? He vanished as soon as I got picked up, didn't he?"

Kimble grits his teeth and shoots you a look from the corner of his eye.
"This fucker must have done something to the driver, or one of Calc's men."

"You're wrong there, Kimble. The driver made the smart choice, he's perfectly fine, better than we found him even. You can't build your house on rotten timbers and expect it to stand forever. This is your last chance, all three of you. Walk away now and let me burn the debris, clear the way for your department to build Gotham back up again the right way."

You swallow hard and give a look to Banks, his eyes are fixed on Firebug but his breath is shallow and rapid while his eyes seem distant and unfocused. A delicate touch to his arm makes him jolt as he turns to face you.
"We aren't listening to this right?"

A voice over your shoulder replies.
"Maybe we should.."

You turn to Kimble who has his barrel now pointed slightly down. His eyes avoid yours.

"Kimble, are you serious?" You shout whisper as you lean in. He pulls away from you and refuses to meet your eyes.

"Think about it. He's gutting the department, putting us in dog and pony shows, he isn't a leader. Not to me. If it was Reiner, or Hawthorne, or Gordon in there I'd die before I let anything happen to them. But Dent..."

You grasp his shoulder and turn him to face you, in his eye you see the same glint he had when you were at Maroni's where he made the deal.
"Let's walk away...DeLucia." He says quietly, but his eyes raise to meet you as he finishes. "Let him go into the car if he wants, let's be done with this. That's an order."

>"Yes, sir.."
>"Have you lost your mind? To hell with your order, I'm not giving up the Mayor."
>"Banks, talk some sense into him. You can't be okay with this."
>Firebug must be distracted by now, quickdraw on him mid conversation.
>Write-In
>>
>>5999235
>>Firebug must be distracted by now, quickdraw on him mid conversation.

Fuck this. This isn't even a question for an officer with a sworn oath to protect and serve.
>>
>>5999235
>Firebug must be distracted by now, quickdraw on him mid conversation.
ON WHAT FUCKING EARTH DO WE JUST ABANDON A MAN IN DISTRESS?!
>>
>>5999235
>Firebug must be distracted by now, quickdraw on him mid conversation
Let Dent hate us alive not dead. The city needs him standing as long as he can
>>
>>5999224
>Isaac reacts to what he sees
>Mark immediately knows Firebug arrived
>Banks confirms it in 2 words
I can imagine this play out on a comic book page or movie. A small bit that carries weight
>>
>>5999235
>Address Firebug. "What if you COULD talk to them again? Not in the afterlife, while you're still alive. Think about everything you've seen and heard about. Metas, sorcerers, aliens and more. I don't think vengeance is the right answer here. A man as driven as you could find a way to speak to them again, and I'm damn sure a way exists somewhere in the world."
Frankly speaking this would have been my first go-to if I was in the DC universe. It's hard not to believe in the possibility when you have magic heroes and magic villains publicized all over the place.
Anyways, stalling him just a bit longer is going to be a good thing to do, I reckon. Gives backup more time.
>>
>>5999235
>Firebug must be distracted by now, quickdraw on him mid conversation.

Time for The Cobra to strike.
>>
>>5999235
This is beyond fucked. He already has his weapon drawn, pointed and primed, finger on the trigger. Even if we quickdraw, someone (probably Kimble) is getting cooked. "Banks, talk some sense into him" must be a joke option, Banks is completely out of it. Giving up Dent is a choice I would make, but not Mark. "Just go find a wizard and talk to your family in afterlife" is a funny option, but idk.
>>Firebug must be distracted by now, quickdraw on him mid conversation.
Protect and serve, huh? Kimble is gonna hate us for life after this. There is no good ending to this standoff.
If Dent doesn't stop gutting GCPD budget after this shitshow, Mark might become a supervillian himself.
>>5999326
Yeah, I see it. Is Kimble old? Asking for a drawing, I always forget how people look.
>>
>>5999326
I'm actually in the process now of learning and working on scripts/screenplays, actually, so I guess the lessons are seeping in. This quest and (You) guys reading have really brought back my passion for storytelling in a major way. I'm glad to have a high quality audience.

>>5999359
Early to mid-thirties is where I have him in my head. He's the middle point between you and Hawthorne, as well as Hawthorne's former trainee. Also, thank you for taking the time to draw anything, I love seeing the artwork some of you can put out, especially since I am completely talentless when it comes to drawing.
>>
>>5999359
>Mark might become a supervillian himself.
>>5999357
>Time for The Cobra to strike

THE COBRA RISES!
A GOOD SNAKE? ONLY IN GOTHAM!
COBRA HUNTS MOLES IN GCPD HALLS!
COP BY DAY! SNAKE BY NIGHT!
BATMAN OFFICIAL STATEMENT TO COME ON NEW FELLOW JUSTICE ANIMAL?!

STAY TUNED!!!!
>>
>>5999372
We are page 10 please archive
>>
>>5999235
>>Firebug must be distracted by now, quickdraw on him mid conversation.
>>
File: dead eye.gif (1.81 MB, 480x270)
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1.81 MB GIF
>>5999235
>Firebug must be distracted by now, quickdraw on him mid conversation.
>>
>>5999235
>Firebug must be distracted by now, quickdraw on him mid conversation
Now or never. Can't believe akimble thought he could ORDER us to commit dereliction of duty.



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