3. A lady's monopoly of psychos

Gotham City, 2 years later

A shit-eating grin spread on his dry lips as he finally was able to discern the boat, fairly silent, slowly reaching the docks. Two more followed it, all of them carefully hidden by the night darkness as a blanket laid on them. No more lights than the necessary, perhaps even less. He allowed himself the pleasure of lighting a good Cuban cigar, directly smuggled from the Habbana and neatly borrowed from the Roman himself. The first breath he took tasted him too sweet.

His dark eyes danced equally pleased and cocky over the bunch of losers unloading the stock; none of them would even smell the third part of the bills he and some others truly were gaining with the business. Of course, that only made one wonder about how loaded the Roman actually was. The bastard had a clever mind, more clever than he could admit to be. Nevermind, it still was a good sum of bucks in his hands; he couldn't complain. He sent a brief glance that screamed arrogance over his shoulder towards the back of three of the men keeping watch. A pity they weren't wearing their usual blue uniforms right now. Taking another puff of the cigar, he glanced around. A little up their spot, he noticed the containers littering the place with a specific order. So that was where that cop had caught the rapist... Nice. He briefly wondered if he'd spend the rest of the night with one of his boss' finest ladies when, finally, the last cargo was set on the ground with a firm 'thud'.

A simple move of his balded head, then his brothers were passing the cargos inside the trucks of the two SUVs parked. The three losers waited in silence; he could almost smell their fear. Moving like a jungle cat, he neared one of the open trucks as someone momentarily took one of the wooden boxes. Yes, that's what they were expecting. He finished off the cigar, then threw the butt of it towards the black waters that caressed the shore.

He faced again the three awaiting dealers. "Remind me, how much you agreed?"

It was almost as if he could see the surprise in their faces upon hearing his decently educated speech. Mentally, he smirked; not all of this city's scum was born in the Narrows, after all.

Eventually, one answered. "50 each."

He paced a little, stepping towards them. They managed to root their feet on the ground. "There's some little problem, ya see." None of them had the balls to try to appear confused; their nervousness and fear, on the other hand... "A little bird sang to me, three nasty lil' rats have been sticking their noses where they shouldn't," he took another step forward. "Asking the wrong questions to the right people."

Two minutes, less even, and one of them broke. "We want no trouble. Just pay us an' we're off."

He tsk-ed, disapprovingly. "What did you boys find out, uh?" Silence, as expected. The idiots must be pissing their pants for sure. If they were going to work for them they should've known better. "Ever heard that shitty cliche, guys? It goes, curiosity killed the cat." Finally, the three took a couple of steps back just as his right, ringed hand came to rest on the hem of his black jeans. One of them, in panic, made a run for one of the boats. His trained, merciless hand, however, was quicker. A faintly noticeable sound of a bullet sailing through the air followed by the sound of the body colliding partly against the ground, partly against the water. Then the blood began to flood from the hole in his head, staining the pebbles and sand. The other two had just time to blink before a second and third bullet were delivered to each. They hit the ground in a matter of seconds.

As the corpses were removed from the scene, he stroke his goatee trying to recall the number of murders the GPD had kept track of performed by himself. However, a couple of seconds later, he mentally shrugged. Well, now they had three more to add to the list.

"What they did?" One of the cops at his back questioned, tensed.

"Find out it ain't shit just to get high, and not only for those willing to get it..." He thought. Instead, he didn't bother to give an answer, especially to someone that, during daylight, carried an ID identifying him as a police officer. He marched towards one of the SUVs, his three brothers already waiting for him. Two were inside one of the cars, the other seating at the passenger's seat next to his empty spot behind the wheel. The other two, aside from the corrupt cops, would follow behind with a smaller car. He initiated the SUV he was in, already turning the wheel to direct the vehicle towards the exit, the other two at his trail. He didn't get far, however, forcing his right foot into the brakes upon seeing the front of two GPD cars blocking his way. "What the...?"

The loud sound of a cop's voice speaking through the radio said, "All of you! Step outside the vehicles with your hands above your heads."

He gripped the wheel with enough strength to make his sunk, tattoed knuckles turn white. "Boss?" Asked uncertain his copilot. His temper must've got the better of him and his common sense, because the next moment all he was aware of was the aching pressure of his foot against the gas. The front of the SUV slammed against the police car's parked at his right, but he managed to stabilize the vehicle before driving like crazy, out of the docks. Not long after, two sirens drowned all of the traffic noise as they circled at their back in a hurried chase.

"Who's sung?!" He barked as the pedestrians fled from the crosswalks and a couple of cars honked, stopping right before crashing against the SUV. The copilot yelled back his answer which he failed to understand. "The fucking sirens are too close," he tought angrily, sinking his foot even further against the gas pedal. No matter how hard he turned the wheel left and right, they weren't losing them. He wasn't sure where was he driving anyways, but after a while the area of the Narrows materialized ahead of them.

He frantically scanned the situation and the structure in front of him. "The bridge!" He thought, as an idea popped into his head after noticing the lack of traffic jam there. With renewed determination, he got into it, purposefully driving against traffic. The only car on the lane moved to the side, desperatedly trying to avoid the collision and, as he had hoped, crashing instead against the cop car that had been trying to flank the SUV's right. He laughed, noticing the two remaining cars at their back. He bet, the grin on his face surely was sickeningly mad as he abruptly moved the wheel to the right. He got onto the other lane as the police car at the front braked, attempting to not slam itself against a second car that had just pulled up to their spot. Both would have succeeded had it not been for the second police car colliding with the back of the first.

But as he was nearing the entrance of the bridge, a light blinded him and a shot echoed through the air right before he felt the SUV losing control of the direction. The light disappeared just as the SUV slammed against the metallic structure's side and the airbag flew into his face, keeping him from seeing anything. A loud beep was preventing him from hearing anything else but, some seconds later, he was finally able to make out the words every cop was shouting at them. Didn't they have more original lines than "hands up" and "don't move"? With a lot of strength, a bit less confused, he forced his balded head up and gazed around. Cops surrounding them, all of them wearing black balaclavas as well as the reglamentary and standard Glock in their hands. He knew better than to try to make another escape, so he followed the orders and lifted his bloodied hands.

Two cops, a man and a woman, came up to him. The guy shoved him out of the driver's seat and into the car's side; he noticed then the fancy GPD helicopter above them and the bastard with very good aim holding the M40 pointed at him. As the male cop put the familiar handcuffs tightly around his wrists, the blue-eyed policewoman said all cliché-ish another familiar line. "Victor Zsasz, you are under arrest for murder and drug trafficking."

Next day

Just as I expected, the DA's assistant was extremely happy with the news I had delivered. And, like I suspected, her excitement soon turned to doubt. "Does Falcone know?"

I rested my back further against my office chair. "He surely must." I answered, regardless that Miss Dawes already knew this, or suspected it at the very least. She wasn't stupid, after all. "The colleagues from the criminology lab are already analyzing the samples of the cargos we caught." I checked again the last email I had received from the labs as I re-ajusted the phone on my ear. "A week more or less, perhaps less before they have anything. Hopefully they'll be able to tell if the mob is selling a new experimental drug or something similar." I added.

"As soon as you get results inform me; anything will be useful for the accusation." I nodded, in spite that she couldn't see me. "I'll talk with the DA to see which judge will conduct the trial too."

"Let's hope Crane isn't there either." I supplied. "He's already sent 20 of Falcone's men to the Asylum; Zsasz would be the third one truly relevant, though."

The sigh of my interlocutor was anything but subtle. "Let's hope." Then, she said. "Thank you for everything, Detective." I smirked.

"No need, Miss Dawes. I hope we talk again soon, maybe with good news."

A soft chuckle, then she spoke. "Indeed. Have a good day."

"Likewise." We hung up, and then and only then I allowed myself to heave a tired sigh of my own. I checked my watch. I still had quite the time before finishing the morning shift. Lunch could wait until my baby brother and sister's gift was safely wrapped and kept within my car. Afterwards I'd be able to eat something and check the lab work. Gordon was busy with Comissioner Loeb, and I honestly couldn't remember what Reed was up to, but he had his own work to do.

I was about to close my inbox when a new mail popped on the screen, instantly making me roll my eyes. Linda Hargraves was too persisting, really. For the past two years she had made her career -and probably life- purpose to drive me insane and become the personal journalist that covered all of my cases. As if taunting me, every once in a month or two, I would see an email of hers with the latest article she had written related to the GPD and my cases. I always left them unresponded. Reed now tends to joke that the woman actually is after a date and not only a scoop.

As always, I did not reply to her email and closed my account. I clicked on the files of my desktop and, while waiting for them to open up, I extended my hand and grasped the reports of the operation and the criminal record of Zsasz. Lieutenant of the Roman and one of his most dangerous and implacable murderers, it was undenyable that he wasn't mad and had never showed signs of being crazy to begin with. His criminal life had started relatively soon and, like many that worked for Falcone, had been rescued from the streets and themselves by the crime lord. I took a deep breath. If Crane advised in the trial... Well, this time it would be too obvious in whose side he truly was if he sent Zsasz as well to Arkham. Damn issue was we wouldn't be able to do anything about it without the support of the judicial system.

The video was finally uploaded whole, compelling me to ignore the reports and focus on re-watching the interrogation of Zsasz. Pen in hand, my eyes glued themselves to the criminal, avidly watching every single move and posture he had made during the interrogation. He was way too used to cops, handcuffs and charges to be affected by the colleagues that had questioned him yesterday night... Or today's morning, depends on how you look at it.

Nearly an hour and a half later, the first draft of my profile was done. I'd revise it later at my apartment, before handing it over to the Sergeant tomorrow morning. When my shift came to an end, I found myself driving to the nearest toy store. The joys of having siblings that could be your children...

I really did not want to accept the incoming call on my phone. I had just sent a picture of the funniest and cutest matching t-shirts for two-year-olds to Carrie, indulging her insistent curiosity, when the dreaded number materialized on the screen. My first reaction was to let out a snort worthy of any brat. But then I remembered I was a sensible adult and, eventually, answered the call.

"Georgine."

"Hello Emilee." My stepmother's pleasant voice said. "I'm sorry to bother you, I just wanted to confirm if you're coming Friday evening."

"Yeah, sure." I handed the bill to the clerk. "Wouldn't miss little Jack and Amanda's birthday." I smiled in thanks as the girl offered me back the change and the wrapped garments.

"Good, good." Her voice was nervous enough for me to notice as I walked out of the store. "I made carrot pie as well, Thomas mentioned it was your favorite when you were a child."

"Thank you." I answered flatly. "I have to hung up, you know, I'm about to drive." I told her, even though my car still was at a good distance beyond my reach.

"Yes, of course."

"And Georgine," I added, not sure if out of pity or annoyance. "Just... don't try so hard."

After a brief pause, she answered. "Alright... See you on Friday."

"Until then."

My smile widened, showing off my teeth as the twins began to make faces at me. I returned the favor by sticking out my tongue and focusing my eyes to the centre of my nose. Their laughter was instantaneous. "Having fun you three?"

I looked over my shoulder to my father's black casual jeans, since my visual range was limited due to my sitting position on the floor. "Precisely," I said. "Now, if you excuse us..."

However, my little half-sister had other plans as she threw her hands up in the air. "Daddy!" My father laughed before taking his hands out of his pockets and happily lifting her small body. You could easily see their resemblance.

A small tug on my sleeve made me look away from the happy picture and back to Jack. He was smiling as he extended his arms towards me instead. In spite of myself, I smiled back as he managed to melt my defences. Then, with surprising stability having in mind I was wearing a pair of my usual heels, I scooped him up as well and planted a kiss on his cheek as his arms went around my neck. The moment was broken, however, when he pulled at one of my blond locks. I separated myself from him so we could gaze at each other. With a little grin, he showed me proudly his fist, locked around my hair. "Ouch." I simply said with a plain tone.

The little devil widened his grin before simply opening his hand and letting go of the hair. I couldn't deny, the bond I felt with him was stronger than with Amanda, not that I loved her any less.

"Come you both, lunch is ready for all." My father called before walking away with her second daughter. I followed as Georgine finished serving the drinks. The housekeeper must have the day off. I had to admit, Georgine had taste. Their luxurious attic had a sophisticated aura which was difficult to copy. It was no surprise, though. We were in the rich part of the city, after all.

Once everyone was seated in their places, the casual chat I had been waiting for started. "Thank you so much for the presents, Emilee. You didn't have to." The new Mrs. Porter told me.

I swallowed the food I had in my mouth before answering. "No problem. Besides, it's custom to give presents on birthdays, isn't it?" My father threw me a small, warning glance which I gracefully ignored, physically at least. Alright, I would control my inner, sarcastic bitch. And so I proved him when I added. "How has been work?"

My step mother's face immediately brightened itself, making me feel a bit guilty for my attitude. "Wonderful, actually. We're already making business with the Asian Giant, acting as bridge to the American market."

I nodded politely. "Impressive, I admit it." I took a sip of my wine before continuing. "You acted as the marketing leader, didn't you?" Her smiled grew as I showed off I knew something about herself outside our family issues.

"That's right." Georgine then cleared a bit her throat before asking me. "So, how have things been going on in the GPD?"

"Stressfull." I simply said, faintly hoping my father wouldn't say his next words, my hopes fading fast enough.

"Yesterday you arrested one of Falcone's men, didn't you?" He innocently took a fork of his meat as he returned my glare with an impassive stare.

"The MCU did, not only me." I retorted, ignoring Georgine's impressed face and the fact that she was restraining herself from asking any further. I appreciated the respect. "You and the mayor need to stop all that gossiping right now, you know. You're worse than grannies." I added, glancing pointedly at my father.

He laughed. "You can try to stop us, Emi, but if our long time friendship hasn't broken already, with all the crap going on... Well." He ended up the sentence with a pretty self-explanatory chuckle.

Georgine surprised me by slapping his shoulder and scolding him. "Language, Thomas." She moved her blond head motioning for the kids. I smirked smuggly, in spite of myself. Step by step...

As the rest of the afternoon unfolded itself, I found myself surprisingly comfortable. That awoke a lot of different emotions within me, especially towards my stepmother. While sipping coffee and relaxing on the sofas, I watched my father and baby brothers interact with the woman I had so many mixed feelings for. Georgine was undenyably pretty; whereas my beauty was more... flashy, the prime stereotype of cheerleader, which I ironically was during highschool, hers was more subtle. Barely a few years older than me, she could also make heads turn when she walked into a room. Less than me, yeah. However, her beauty was also the kind that made the few heads that have turned remain there, and in my experience for something more than simply be catcalled. Guess the picture before me was solid proof of that...

My first impression had always been to labell her as trophy wife, the kind of woman who was merely an opportunist. Then, at the time, I had hated to see that I was profusely wrong and she actually had brains separated from the hole between her legs. She had a natural refinement as well that many could only dream to possess. All of it, the comfort I had recently allowed myself to feel around Georgine Habdoy... No, Georgine Porter now. I gulped, and I could swear I almost literally felt the knot in my throat.

I shifted my pensive gaze to my father then. Was that what attracted him so much about her, her sophisticated persona and beauty? Had it been enough to risk your already settled family?

Yet, the answer was literally in front of me.

Everyone froze for a moment before I stood up from the black-leathered couch, left my mug on the coffee table and strode to my purse. "Porter" I answered the call.

"Detective, this is Cooper from narcotics. You gotta come an' see this."

"You have to be joking!" Gordon exclaimed as we, alongside Reed and González, stood in the lab before the samples.

"Afraid not, Sergeant. See?" Dr. Cooper showed us the blue color the powder had turn to. "It's cocaine, there's no mistake of it."

"They tricked us..." Reed muttered, angered.

"No, Falcone led us right where he wanted to." Gordon said. He looked to María and I. "The rest of the load?"

"The men who didn't ran away threw the shipment to the river, sir." The woman confirmed our suspicions. Meanwhile, Dr. Cooper from narcotics kept moving his eyes from one to another.

Poor Gordon sighed tiredly. "Very well. We still can present the charges for drug dealing and murder. Porter," I instantly fixed my eyes on his. "Would you say Zsasz knew about it? Ran just to distract us?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so, sir. He isn't crazy, nor that stupid."

Jim Gordon nodded determinedly. "Then make damn sure the DA and Miss Dawes have every proof of it."

A week later

Dr. Jonathan Crane's piercing gaze was irritating. The Roman couldn't deny, but would never admit either, that those icy blue eyes held something that completely unnerved him. The psychiatrist had called for a meeting, so there they were, facing each other with only a desk in between. Perhaps one of the doc's fancy glass-windows was better suited for the occasion. He lazily rested against his office chair, not bothering to ask Crane what did he want.

"No more favors. Someone is sniffing around." The man said after sitting on his own chair.

"Hey, I scratch your back, you scratch mine, doc. I'm bringing in the shipments. Just last week I deceived our blue-shirted friends, didn't I?" He reminded him; it was his men hired, his empire at risk, his right for a couple of fortunate coincidences.

"We are paying you for that." The smartass retorted with those unnerving eyes of his perfectly put and fixed on him.

"Maybe money isn't as interesting to me as favors." The Roman answered, covering up for his annoyance. It was he who always demanded, who held the long end of the stick.

"I am more than aware that you're not intimidated by me, Mr. Falcone." The mafia boss could've snorted at that, had the circumstances and the person in his office tonight been others. "But you know who I'm working for, and when he gets here-"

"He..." The Roman repeated in disbelief. "He's coming to Gotham?"

"Yes, he is." The doctor calmly answered as leaned forward, prompting the crime lord to tense his jaw as subtly as he could. "And when he gets here he's not going to wanna hear that you've endangered our operation just to get your thugs out of jail time."

Falcone was sure, his gaze must have turned into a glare now. He pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment, before asking in defeat. "Who's bothering you?"

"There's a girl at the DA's office." Crane said before Falcone rushed to state the habitual procedure.

"We'll buy her off-"

"Not this one." The psychiatrist interrupted him for the first time; he added, then. "Not these ones..."

Falcone frowned before moistening his lips. "Idealists, huh? Well, there's an answer to that too."

"I don't want to know." Doc said as he leaned back again.

"Yes, you do." Said the mob boss, leaning forward this time. He placed his elbows on the desk as he brought up his crossed fingers up to his shaved chin. Then, asked. "Who's the other meddler?"

I really shouldn't have been surprised in the slightest of Crane's testimony, yet, my red knuckles and scattered papers on the floor said otherwise. Miss Dawes had just hung up to confirm our suspicions; Crane was more than corrupted and Zsasz was free of jail. Not helping myself, I slapped my right hand against my desk once more in frustration; the sound echoed all over the rather small room. My left hand, however, untangled itself from a fist and went up to my forehead, rubbing circles on my frown. A couple of minutes later, maybe more, I stepped away from the side of my desk to gather, again, all the files of the case I had foolishly throw in my fit of rage. It was hard enough to try to be a good person under normal circumstances, but in this damned city... I sighed.

I had just crouched when my office phone rang. Rising up, I left the folder I had just picked on the wooden surface before bringing the receiver up to my ear. "Detective Porter."

"Still in the office?" I briefly checked my watch upon hearing Gordon's question. It was nearly 2:00 am.

"Yeah," Answered I, my feet making no sound thanks to my lack of normal heels. The flat soles of my boots were a blessing, I gotta admit it. "I have to clear up some stuff." I told my boss, sending a brief glance towards the paperwork as I sat down tiredly. "Anyways, I changed shifts with Hunter, had this morning and afternoon free in exchange of the evening and most night, sir."

I heard the Sergeant's soft chuckle through the phone, even if I knew he was as amused as me. "Very well. Call me when you've sorted that stuff, then we can try to make something productive."

"Sure, sir." Then the call ended, leaving me to take back all the folios and folders. Once everything was laid out on the table, I started to re-order it. Zsasz record on one pile, the last drug dealing cases' reports on another, Falcone's record and crime empire diagram and study on a third. Profiles, my most precious paperworks, safely inside the purple folder I already was tucking in my purse to take home with me. And, finally, I inspected the copy of the reports Carrie and Joey, one of the porters, got me from Arkham. I'd study them tonight.

By the time I was done my watch showed the time was 2:54 am. I dialed again to Gordon's office, getting no response though. The procedure repeated once, twice, until I got tired and simply walked out of my space, marching to my boss' office.

The GPD's most dedicated and honest Sergeant took his sweet time to return to his practically second bedroom, a hot coffee from the shop in front of the station in his hand. He would need it tonight, more than ever before. The asshole of Flass had dropped him at the workplace a couple of hours ago, and even though officers came and went in the lowest levels of the building, nearly all of his team was off to their homes. He would've sent Porter away too for a rest hadn't he known already it would've been useless. The woman was nearly workaholic, much like himself in a way. But the MCU needed a rest, especially after the failure with Zsasz. All evidence had been futile, and they had a corrupted judge and shrink to thank for that. Once he reached his office in the third floor, one above Porter's, Gordon took off his jacket and placed it on his chair before sitting down. The small, red, flashing light indicated him someone had called him. "Emilee" He immediately thought while calling back to her own office. No answer.

He was about to try again when the lamps' lights flickered right before going out, leaving only the back-up lighting. As an instinct, he froze. No GPD cop could afford unfortunate casualities. The sound of a weapon, maybe a gun, followed the moment as in the blink of an eye he felt said weapon against his scalp. "Don't turn around." A deep, low voice commanded him. "You're a good cop. One of the few." The shadow continued, making him listen intently. That wasn't the usual speech...

After a pause of silence, Gordon asked. "What do you want?"

"Carmine Falcone brings in shipments of drugs every week. Nobody takes him down, why?" Precisely.

"He's paid up with with the right people."

"What will it take to bring him down?" Gordon frowned for a moment; that one was new.

Nevermind, he answered the shadow. "Leverage on judge Faden... and a DA brave enough to prosecute."

"Rachel Dawes." He knew that name quite well; the question was, why did his interrogator know.

"Who are you?" Asked the cop, still unmoving while looking at his desk.

"Watch for my sign." Gordon frowned again. What was that supposed to mean?

Gordon tried again, right as the pressure of the weapon at the back of his head disappeared. "You're just one man?" The Sergeant didn't dare to move a muscle, especially without knowing the answer to that question.

"No." The voice whispered. "We're two."

Gordon was about to ask again as his forehead wrinkled itself in confussion when the unmistakable click of the reglamentary gun echoed in the office. "Then tell your friend to not be shy and join the party."

Bruce froze as the Glock 17's barrel came too close to his head, just as through the corner of his eye he caught glimpse of the blond female cop fearlessly holding it. This was not supposed to happen. "Detective." Gordon acknowledged, slightly turning on his chair.

"Call for help, sir." The woman said. "I'll keep our guest in line."

Gordon immediately turned back to his desk as he hurriedly pressed the different numbers to call to the first floor.

Then, Bruce turned his head to look at the policewoman; tall, fit... yet not enough to overcome his height or strength. Obviously, there was no choice; he had to escape.

Lacking the luxury to think through his flight plan, and swallowing any moral reprovals, he swung his left fist towards the pretty stone face watching him as his right hand took hold of the gun's barrel, twisting it to the side and away from his head. Even though he mentally thanked the woman's quick reflexes for avoiding the punch, he managed to take the Glock from her iron grasp in that moment of distraction and pull her against his chest. Instantly, the detective's sharp elbow tried to collide against his ribs, and he blessed the armor suit; the cop struggling against his chest knew exactly where to land a blow. As good as himself, perhaps better, but he had had a couple of fights too. Enough to teach him well.

Bruce trapped her neck with his left arm and aimed with the gun in his right hand for her temple, right before putting the safety back on. With the adrenaline pumping in his veins, he didn't trust himself. Last time he ended up blowing up the building he had been fighting in, after all.

As the blond detective's body froze against his, Gordon had already turned around with his own gun aimed at him. "Let her go!" He screamed, falling into the bluff.

Bruce waited for a moment, then, seeing no other option, pushed the woman with all of his strength towards the GPD's Sergeant. The instant their bodies separated, he turned around and sprinted to the window he had used to come into the building, straightaway climbing the staircase with an expertise worthy of an ape's envy. "He's going to the rooftop!" The detective's feminine voice called from beneath.

He had just reached the end of the way up when the flat roof's door was kicked open and through came Gordon, the blond police woman behind him. Bruce turned around again and ran, ignoring all the cops, more than the two he had encountered if his mind and ears weren't playing tricks on him, and their yells of "freeze". Instead, he forced his legs to run harder, towards the edge of the building. Then, he jumped, with the Glock he had taken from his attacker still in his fist.

I watched, helplessly, as the madman who had held me at gunpoint fell into thin air, disappearing from our view. Not long after, a metallic crash was heard, and Gordon and another cop whose name I didn't know nor cared for walked closer to the edge of the building, trying to take a peek of the psycho... or his body in default. I mean, that crash has sounded pretty bad from up here.

I locked my gaze then on the Sergeant, checking once more he was uninjured. I repeated all of what had happened in my head; I had found Gordon's spacious office empty. After finding the desk and main room empty, I had walked to the right, to the other part of the office where a larger table was set up for any extraordinary meetings and a couple of small couches rested. That area was empty too. Finally, when I was checking the tiny bathroom attached to the office, the lights had gone out. I've never thanked my flat soles and silent nature so much. In all honesty, I can't be certain if any harm would've come to Gordon regardless of my presence, but I wasn't willing to take the risk. Not with the GPD and this city's record.

"What the hell was that?" Asked the uniformed cop.

Gordon, sucking in another heavy breath, simply said. "Just some nut." Then, he turned to me. "You alright?"

Taking another heavy breath myself due to the adrenaline and the race, I simply nodded.

"Got all the psychos for yourself, huh?" A detective from another unit, who I also didn't recognize, asked me.

I chuckled humorlessly. "This is Gotham, what did you expect?"

A.N/: Forgive the long wait. Haven't been able to revise this one, though; I'll try to do it in the near future, so apologies for that too.

Thanks so much everyone who has read, faved, followed and reviewed. Seriously.

~Se acerca el invierno