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File: GCPC9Cover.jpg (1.01 MB, 1200x1500)
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The badge's cool metal feels smooth against your fingertips. The chilled damp air of the basement flows in and out of your nose smoothly and slowly the scent around you shifts from mildew and old detergents into Linen with undertones of wet garbage. The almost eerie silence of the basement gives way to a slowly growing rumble of rain on metal. You keep your eyes closed and let your muscles relax as you slowly and naturally shift into a new posture. Straight back, chin down. An unease grows in your stomach, a sour knot tightening and releasing in pulses. The twisted cousin of butterflies.

A thin layer of moisture forms between your fingers and the shield clutched in your hand. You feel a spreading dampness over your shoulders and forearms and as you open your eyes you find yourself staring at a familiar door, but beyond it, instead of dust and loose trash, neon signs blink in the face of a black Gotham night.

'PAWN, SILVER AND GOLD!'

You turn your head slowly and recognize the toothpick gnawing face of Gorchakov. The neon reflects off his oiled hair as he checks a small black pager clipped to his waist.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?" You find yourself asking, anxiety plucking at your vocal chords.

"You gotta relax, partner." Gorchakov chuckles as he types out a message on a cheap flip phone. "My ticket got stamped recently, I'm moving up to detective any day now and you're still in the minor leagues. You tryna walk a beat forever?"

"No, sir. I just.." The words trail off. The knot tightens. This doesn't feel right.

"You're just scared of some slangers, I get it. You're right, we should get out of here. Let em do their work." He scoffs as he stuffs the phone into his jacket.

"I'm not afraid, I just think it would be better if we calle-"

"No. No, I hear you loud and clear. You LIKE getting paid nickels to kill your back and deal with scumbags all day." He approaches the shop and yanks on the door. "Please, Madam. Hop in, let me make sure you get home safe."

Your hand flies out and pushes the door from his grasp. He holds up two hands and steps back laughing.

"He does have balls!"

"Fuck you, Charlie." You mutter, you feel a flutter of something. Fear?

"That's more like it." He approaches you and cups your face. "Keep that attitude up and you'll be joining me before you know it."
>>
"There's more to this than promotions.."

"Is there? We've done some good shit together, D. But you haven't made a name for yourself yet, aren't you tired of hanging out in my shadow? This arrest will be all you, my man. Your name on the top of the paperwork!"

You feel your face growing hot against the cooling sprinkle that's above. Gorchakov sighs and pulls you around with his arm around your shoulder. He leans in.

"You got a girl you plan on marrying don't you? Monica or something?"

"Mabel."

"Right. Well doesn't Mabel deserve a husband who can adjust his schedule? Who isn't at risk of getting shanked by some degenerate with a drop problem every day?"

You remain silent. Shame brews inside of you. Why can't you stand up to him? Why do you always feel so powerless around him?

"Doesn't Mabel deserve a big honkin rock on that finger when you propose?"

A new feeling wells up. Pride. Desire. Love. You nod your head wordlessly.

"It's your lucky day, D. I have just the place, come on." He turns abruptly from you and enters the store.

You chase after as he pushes the door open aggressively, a chime rings out and an older man behind the counter looks up from a book at the register. His eyebrows lift up. Surprise? Maybe. Or maybe it's recognition? Free's gaze doesn't stay on him long enough for you to get a good grasp. Your eyes dart to the basement door, your hand twitches and you settle it by letting it rest on your belt.

"Excuse me, sir. GCPD. We're here looking for a ring." He smiles and pulls the wet pick from his mouth, letting it tumble to the carpet.

"I don't purchase stolen merchandise, Officers. I can't help you."

"Oh, you misunderstand! We aren't here on business. See my friend over there? He's sweet on this girl, Mandy. But as you can see those work pants don't come with much pocket room so we were hoping you could do us a favor? A little Boys in Blue discount?"

Free drags your eyes to the shopkeeper, his face is pulled tight in distaste, it isn't until Gorchakov withdraws a few crumpled bills from his pocket that he relents. Standing up slowly he motions for you both to approach a jewelry display. A glass countertop with velvet pillows, containing sparkling gems and polished metal bands.

"What's her ring size?"

"Uh, it's eight."

"Any preference on the design?" He huffs like a child being made to do a chore.

"Just whatever you have?" You give Gorchakov a questioning look but he only gives you an OK sign and winks.

The man bends down and slides open a back panel, his weathered hands fishing for a box and ring as he sets one out on the counter.

"This is the only eight I have in stock."

You step forward to check it out as Gorchakov leans on the counter with his elbows, leaving smears of rainwater across it.

"While he looks at that I actually had a few questions myself, mainly I was curious about what you kept in the basement."
>>
Hairs on your neck stand up, separate from Free's feelings, while Free examines the ring with daydreams of a bright wedding in his head you focus all your attention on listening.

"Extra stock."

"You got a back room?"

"Nope."

"Any other customers today?"

A heavy sigh.
"Just you two."

"Ah.. Damn. See, I was hoping you weren't gonna do that." Gorchakov hisses.

Free looks up to see the aged man raising his eyebrows in confusion.

"See you just lied to me. I saw a gaggle of punks walk in here and unless this dump suddenly became a magic shop I can only think of one place they'd end up."

"I think you boys should leave." The man snaps closed the lid on the ring box and tries to withdraw it. Gorchakov drops one of his hands on the man's wrist.

"Not until you admit you were lying to me and tell me what those punks were doing here."

"You sure you wanna do this Ch-" The man is cut off as the hand gripping his wrist shoots to his head.

Gorchakov grabs a fistful of the wispy hair that still remains and grips tightly. Slamming the owner's head face first into the glass of the display, it spider-webs and crackles as smears of blood from the definitely broken nose leave stains against the new expanding strands of white. It's so fast and violent that you take a step back, hand reflexively jumping to your weapon, your mouth agape Gorchakov looks at you with an expression bordering on amused.

"What's got you so jumpy?" He asks casually.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Your fingers slide around the grip.

"Relax, D. Look." He leans behind the counter and presents a sawn-off double barrel that he holds by the barrel. "This guy was ready to cut one of us in half, so I took him out before he could. Simple as pie."

"I don't.."

"Look, we still have some guests in the basement so can you keep an eye on the door while I get this guy set up. Lucky for us this place has a few bracelets lying around." He chuckles as he steps behind the counter and pulls an old pair of iron cuffs off the wall which he uses to secure the owner to a wall pipe.

He scoops the small velvet box off the counter-top and tosses it to you, your hands shoot up reflexively to grab it. Gorchakov winks.

"Keep it. Call it civil forfeiture."

"Charlie, I really don't think this is a good idea."

He blows you off with a wave as he pulls his pistol from a shoulder holster.

"Look, it's some kids slinging grass. Maybe some drops if we're lucky, is that badge just for show or are you a cop?"

"I'm a cop, but-"

"But nothing, if you aren't gonna help then get the fuck outside and I'll call you when the real work is over. But if that uniform is for more than date nights with the lady then get your ass over here before one of these assholes makes us."

You stutter for a few seconds. Gorchakov rolls his eyes and puts a hand on the doorknob to the basement, gun in hand. As he goes to turn you whisper.
>>
"Wait!"

He looks to you expectantly. You swallow once, pushing down the bad feeling in your gut and drawing your service weapon and stuffing the ring box into your pocket.

"I've got your back."

"That's my boy. Let's show these guys who runs this city."

You nod and Gorchakov cranks the handle and you both descend into the dimly lit gloom...

You feel a sharp pain in your head, your vision goes blurry, Gorchakov whispers over his shoulder to Free but you struggle to make the words out, Your grip on this is slipping, but you're close. So close. You just need to hang on a few minutes more.

Entering the basement Gorchakov rounds the corner first, his gun raised high he let's out the familiar order.

"FREEZE."

You swing wide and take caution not to sweep over Gorchakov as you step beside him, keeping your gun trained on the small group of suspects.

Six males. Ages ranging from mid-twenties to late thirties with one exception. A young man, at most nineteen, stands with his hands held high in the air. They shake and rattle like dead branches in winter. The table in front of them is covered in loose cash and weapons, you see a man eye the table and you take a step forward keeping your weapon trained on him.

"Don't." You growl.

"I knew you had balls, kid." Gorchakov says approvingly. "And what do we have here? A little scumfuck swap-meet?"

"Get stuffed, Gorchakov." One of the men spits.

"Careful." Gorchakov warns, his voice now icy cold. "I'm a cop remember?"

"You know these guys?" You ask.

"More like they know me, get your face in the paper enough and people you never met start holding grudges against ya." He speaks with the same charismatic rhythm but his eyes are cold and dull as he stares down the man who spoke. "Right? You know me from the paper?"

He remains silent and Gorchakov steps forward, leveling his weapon at the man's chest.

"Don't get shy now, sweetheart." He whispers.

"Yeah.. alright. I know you from the papers."

That knot tightens again. This is wrong. Very wrong. Your eyes flicker between the two of them and you see more than a one-sided grudge in their shared stares. It starts to tumble into place in your mind and the feeling that you made a horrible mistake entering this basement starts to engrave itself into the lump in your stomach. Gorchakov notices your ogling and raises a brow.

"There a problem?"

"No, sir. Just a lot of suspects."

"That there is... that there is." He replies, his voice fading. That impish glint in his eye now long gone as he surveys the room.

"I... We don't have enough cuffs to detain all of them right now. We should get some zips from the shop and-"

"And leave them alone?"

"No, sir. I was.. maybe you could watch them and I'll run out and grab them."

"Me? Watch them?"
>>
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Another nervous swallow, sweat starts to seep from the space between your pistol grip and palm. Gorchakov stares you down but eventually relents, nodding his head as he sweeps his barrel over the small group.

"You heard the man. Back up, away from the table, now let's go. Get down on your knees and keep your hands interlocked behind your heads, make one wrong move and I'll waste you. I swear." He follows them as the lumber backwards, various whispered groans of protest are ignored as they get into position on the far wall.

"I'll be right back." You mutter and start to turn.

"Hold up." Gorchakov calls, you turn and he looks at you from behind the table. Your heart freezes. "Call that back up you wanted too, tell em to make it snappy."

"Will do." You get out breathlessly before turning for the stairs once more.

First step.

The sound of something heavy sliding on the plastic table top.

Second step.

A faint click.

Third step.

Agony. Burning. Choking.

The world around you explodes. Bright flashes of orange and red. A slow moving mist of your own blood spreads out before you, your legs turning to gel, and your knees slam into the floor as you watch dust and bits of stone drop from the wall where a series of small holes have appeared. You fall forward onto your chest as your gun slips from your hands. Muted voices scream and shout but it's all so far away now. You try to take a breath in but no air comes, you try to speak but all that comes out is a strangled gurgle and a surge of hot metallic blood. All thoughts leave your mind except for survival.

You extend an arm and dig your nails into the rough concrete, pulling as hard as you can you manage to move a few inches, the pain is unbearable and even though you had hardly moved your exertion demanded fresh air. Your lungs twitch and spasm as you begin to choke on your own blood, the burning pain seeping from your chest all the way up your throat. Your hearing slowly returns, dimmed, as a shadow looms over you. You feel a rough hand grasp your vest and flip you onto your back, a movement that only serves to make your drowning and spluttering all the worse. Staring down at you is Gorchakov, his face a mixture of pity and disgust, he speaks but his voice sounds miles away.

"I wish you had just kept your mouth shut and kept the ring." He speaks as his free hand rummages through your pockets.

You extend a bloodied hand and grasp at Gorchakov's shirt, leaving smears of fresh red, he doesn't even seem to notice as he pulls the ring box from your pocket. He holds it up and rattles it lightly.

"I'll make sure Mary gets this, pal. Sorry it had to shake out like this."

You gag and splutter trying to force out the words.

"..king...kill..."

He shakes his head and stands, saying nothing else.
>>
Mabel. You need to get back to her, you can't leave her. Not like this.

Visions slide in your minds-eye, the face of a woman you'd never seen before. Locations around Gotham. Amusement Mile. A nice restaurant. The inside of a cozy apartment. As your body begins to seize and your fading heartbeat pounds in your ears you hear Gorchakov ever so quietly..

"You know why I'm here."

You feel panic setting in, you're entering new territory now, staying in the vision of a dying man. You feel his pain. His sorrow. His hate. All simultaneous to your own emotions but still distinctly separate, a firm line in the sand, you could try to endure this and ride off his perception to hear what Gorchakov discussed. But at the same time this suffering is wearing you down, you aren't sure you could keep a grip on this scene if you weren't anchored to Free, and the consequences if he were to die while you were in this state? You truly don't know.

>Endure Free's Death, just as he did, any lead you can get on Gorchakov is worth the pain.
>Release your vision, you have enough to go on as it is. No need to risk it.
>Write-In(?)

Links for the archive and Author note below as usual.
Shout out to RedWisp for the art and the other Anon who added the VHS distortion effects.


Sorry for the late post but I wanted to drop this all in one batch. Hope it was worth the wait!

PREVIOUS THREADS: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=DetectQM

If you have any questions feel free to ask and if you have any art please do share and feel free to plug yourself/socials in the process.

>>
>>6076462
>Endure Free's Death, just as he did, any lead you can get on Gorchakov is worth the pain.
We don't really have the luxury of slowing down at this point.
>>
>>6076462
>Endure Free's Death, just as he did, any lead you can get on Gorchakov is worth the pain.
>>
>>6076462
>>Endure Free's Death, just as he did, any lead you can get on Gorchakov is worth the pain.
>>
>>6076468
+1
>>
>>6076462
Qm when are we gonna be able to recover from the psychic damage
>>
>>6076462
>Endure Free's Death, just as he did, any lead you can get on Gorchakov is worth the pain.

Mark is gonna end up in the nuthouse at this rate.

Glad to have you back QM! Hope you had a good vacation!
>>
>>6076462
>Endure Free's Death, just as he did, any lead you can get on Gorchakov is worth the pain.
Arkham Asylum, here we come...
>>
>>6076731
Would Batman visit Mark?
>>
>Endure Free's Death, just as he did, any lead you can get on Gorchakov is worth the pain.
Free's will lives in that moment. At the moment of living it out, there's a part of him that wants to stay alive to do anything he can to fuck Gorchakov. Why not give him that one last fuck you post mortem.

>>6076735
Batman visits almost all of his gallery

Us loosing our mind and becoming a villain while SIM redeems himself into a vigilante could be a thing.
>>
>>6076468
>>6076503
>>6076540
>>6076551
>>6076688
>>6076731
>>6076971

You feel your perception slipping away, the room dimming as sounds distort and fade, but you're connected to Free at the deepest levels. His will to live, to fight, to see Gorchakov pay mingle with your own desires for justice and grant you the strength to hold on just a minute or so more. Long enough to hear what happened next.

"Are you fucking crazy Charlie? Killing a cop here!? The block is gonna be swarming with pigs now."

"Am I crazy? Are YOU fucking crazy? How many payments have you missed huh? If you paid up normally and didn't leave your dick on the table I wouldn't have had to blast him. What the FUCK were you doing?"

Quiet, tense silence fills the air. Only the last sputters from your lips carrying across the concrete walls.

"We were trying to get the funds together.."

"You've been trying?" Gorchakov lets loose a mocking laugh. "It's been over two months, Lou. Time for getting right is long past."

"Then... then why are you here?"

"To let you off the hook."

"Huh?"

"Mandragora isn't interested in your petty cash anymore, Lou. We've... restructured some things. Call it new management."

"Mandragora is out?"

"More of a merger, really. I need word to get back to your Rat King. You're fired. Mandragora doesn't want anymore business with you and he wants his name kept out of your mouths, whatever happens in the Narrows is now entirely the business of the Rodents living here. He's never been associated with you and he never will be again. That clear?"

"Shit.. I uh.. Yes? Thanks?"

"Don't thank me yet, Lou. Not until we get word that your 'King' agrees to the terms. You got someone who can deliver the message quickly?"

"Frankie, he's young but he knows the alleys like the back of his hand."

"That's what I'm talking about, come over here, Lil Frankie."

You hear timid quiet scuffs of worn sneakers on the floor, Gorchakov's voice drops to a whisper and moments later you feel small hands tugging at your belt. The familiar pop of your holster strap and the weight of your gun being drawn from it's holster. The last remnants of Free's conscious mind rebel but all they can manage is a twitching finger and a drawn out groan that ends in a crackling rattle.

The steps fade away and you hear the metallic clacking and jostling of the Uzi.

"Here, Frankie put this on the table here. Mind your finger."

A relieved groan and the thud of the gun hitting the tabletop.

"Good boy, now you know the message right?"

"Mandragora is leaving the narrows, we don't work with him or talk about him anymore."

"Sharp memory, but you forgot the most important part."

You hear the click of your safety.

"This is what'll happen if he says no."

The shrill scream of the boy pierces the air before being drowned in a cacophony of gunfire, as Free's eyes finally lose the strength to stay open you see the bright red sneakers of the boy sprint past and bolt up the stairs.

Then.


Nothing.
>>
Everything is dark. The faint thudding of your heartbeat is the only noise keeping you company. You're submerged in warmth and comfort. You go to breathe but feel no need, the pain from your lungs is gone, the pain from the gunshots is gone, and all that remains is quiet and comfort. The beating slows.

Then it grows quiet.

Then it goes silent.

No voices, not the sound of your heart, the city, or anything else. For the first time in your Twenty plus years of living you finally get to enjoy silence.

Then from nothing comes sensation. A prickling on your cheek, like an itch, begins to spread. Cold rings form around your wrists. In the Bowery a mother yells for her son as he goes to cross the street early. In Robinson Park a man calls back his dog from the edge of a steep hill. In a basement in the Narrows a man roars trying to bring back a friend he may have lost. They all yell the same thing. As the prickling turns to pain the sound comes rushing back to your ears and all you hear is:

"Mark."

Your eyes shoot open and you gasp violently. Letting loose a sputtering cough you instinctually try to rise to your feet only to be yanked back to the cold floor as cold steel cuts into your flesh. You look around wildly and feel powerful hands grasp you by the shoulders, manhandling you into submission as you flail in confusion.

"Mark! Son of a bitch.. Mark, calm down son. It's me!" The voice calls out, familiar to you, a salve to your spiraling mind.

You crane your head around to peer over your shoulder and see Hawthorne, crouched low with hands restraining you, a small set of keys clenched in his knuckles. You stop fighting and let your pounding heart wear itself out. The moment you feel the cuffs loosen you fall forward and stay bent on hand and knee, taking long and slow breaths of cold precious air.

A hand touches your back and you flinch. The burning pain of those bullets forcing their way to the front of your mind as you spin around wild eyed. Hawthorne stares back at you, his own face pale and sunken, looking at him you see something you had never noticed in his weathered eyes before now. Fear.

"I got you, son." He says gently, extending a hand again.

You reach out and grasp his hand enjoying the new warmth being brought to your cool flesh. The spreading warmth reminds you: You are alive. Slowly raised to your feet you struggle to focus on anything, your mind and the world around you scrambled like only the worst of fevers can do. You open your mouth and speak without thinking.

"He killed me.. Grochakov. I.." You're cut off as you're pulled close and Hawthorne thumps your back.

"I got you, son." He repeats quietly, like a mantra. "You're good."

You catch your breath and the spinning of the world around you starts to slow. The longer you're kept in this clutch the more you're grounded, until eventually you can speak. Only then does Hawthorne relent on his grip.

"Sir, I found out what happened here." You start.
>>
"Stow it for a second. I need a run down on you, are you okay?"

You nod.

"I think so, I just.. after Free was shot I stayed with him or.. in him? I was there until the end." You swallow harshly. "I felt him die, I felt ME die."

"You didn't die, you're right here. Look at me." His tone is firm and strict but still gentle. You look to him and you watch as he scans your face. "You scared the piss out of me, rook. You were shaking worse than a Drop addict, I tried waking you up but you went limp and I thought.."

You study him in return. His eyes distant, skin only just now gaining color again, and more than that you can feel his panic radiating off of him. You smell it but only for a moment, on a stray draft, burning meat.

"I'm okay." You affirm quietly, speaking not only to him. "Gorchakov came here to send a message to someone, Rat King. The message was from Mandragora."

Hawthorne grunts, finally releasing you fully.

"Rat King is an urban legend, Narrows Robin Hood mixed with Pied Piper. I was hearing about him even when I was growing up."

"Must be more to it than that, Mandragora wanted to send a message. Business was closed and any prior business, never happened. Gorchakov killed em all, set up the shooting entirely. Bastard probably shot himself while he was at it." Your mind settles as the gears begin to turn internally again. More puzzle pieces to find fits for.

"Right well.. write it all down. Best you can remember." Hawthorne speaks quietly, his eyes traveling around the room. He puts another light hand on your arm and urges you forward. "Let's get out of this basement."

You don't object, you trudge up the stairs with legs heavy as cinderblocks and make your way to your shop.

=== 45 Minutes ===

The sound of pen scratching paper fills the car, Hawthorne took over driving and left you with a series of forms and a pen, your report of the vision is as detailed as you could make it. You stop just short of describing the feeling of Free's death but a clutching pain in your chest leads you to simply sign your name at the bottom. You look up, taking in where Hawthorne has had you both parked, light flakes of snow drift down from the sky. So small they only appear as dancing specks in the beam of a streetlamp.

"Snow in October, so much for global warming huh?" You quip, looking to Hawthorne.

He doesn't reply, he simply stares out the window with a finger in the corner of his mouth as he gnaws on the nail pensively. Thinking back on it you don't recall a single word he spoke since you left the basement.

"Hawthorne? Sir?"

He starts and looks to you, sighing.
"You finished?"

"Yes, sir." You pass the papers over and he gives them a passing glance. His face settling into a deep grimace. He reads in silence for a few moments before you interrupt.

"Everything alright, sir?"

He sighs again, tossing the pages of your report on the dashboard.

"I should be the one asking you." He seems almost frustrated. "How can you do that?"
>>
"Pretty sure it has something to do with the lump on my-"

"Stop being a smartass." He interrupts firmly.

You raise your eyebrows and lift a hand in apology.

"Understood, sir. I'm sorry. I just don't know what you mean."

"I mean how do you go from being an inch away from death's door to cracking wise about snow?"

"I wasn't-"

"I saw you, Mark. I saw the color drain out of you. I've seen lots of men dead or dying and they looked a hell of a lot like you did." He speaks sloppily almost tripping over his words in places.

"I don't know what to say." you reply quietly. "This is just how it's always been, something bad happens and I bounce back. I have to."

He stares at you silently for a few moments.

"I don't want you to do it anymore."

"What?"

"I don't want you using your powers anymore. Not like that."

Your mouth hangs open and you lift your hands.

"We weren't exactly swimming in options, sir. We did what we had to do to get answers."

"I know that, but the answers aren't worth dick if your kill yourself getting them."

"I didn't."

"Are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure the first words out of your mouth were 'He killed me' not Free. You."

"I was confused coming out of the trance, I didn't know what I was saying."

"That doesn't make it any better, son." He shakes his head. "I can't have you do that again, no matter how bad we need the information. We have to have limits, as cops. Lines we don't cross. This needs to be one."

>"Putting our life at risk is part of the job. My visions aren't any worse than running towards gunfire or getting between Dent and Firebug. If we need my abilities to take down Gorchakov then we'll use them."
>"Alright, I didn't realize this would rattle you. I'm sorry and I should have warned you a little more thoroughly. No more Projections, I promise."
>"You mean lines like killing suspects rather than taking them in? I stopped you from gunning down Mandragora, that was my judgement. The same judgement I'll use to decide when and if we need my abilities."
>"I didn't expect this to rattle you, you didn't act like this when I was dealing with Firebug at the museum or when I was undercover. You had faith in me, what's changed?"
>Write-In
>>
>>6077057
>"Putting our life at risk is part of the job. My visions aren't any worse than running towards gunfire or getting between Dent and Firebug. If we need my abilities to take down Gorchakov then we'll use them."
We would have done it even if the tumor didn't exist
>"I didn't expect this to rattle you, you didn't act like this when I was dealing with Firebug at the museum or when I was undercover. You had faith in me, what's changed?"
We're still doing it. We're still holding tight and working our way to win this. What's got him spooked?
>>
>>6077054
>You smell it but only for a moment, on a stray draft, burning meat.
The echo of that day still clinging to him as a part of him, love this bit
>>
>>6077063
+1
>>
>>6077063
+1

It’s not a rational thing, Hawthorne is seeing one of the few people he can call his friend kill himself right in front of his eyes. Why would he ever let that happen without at least raising his concerns first?
>>
>>6077063
supporting
>>
>>6076455
Hey, do you mind if advertise my Orange Lantern quest here?
>>
>>6077472
Do not, faggot.
>>
>>6077472
>trying to shill one's own quest in somebody else's
For as on-brand as that is for an Orange Lantern, I would say just keep it in /qtg/.
>>
>>6077479
Fair
>>
>>6077057
>"Putting our life at risk is part of the job. My visions aren't any worse than running towards gunfire or getting between Dent and Firebug. If we need my abilities to take down Gorchakov then we'll use them."


Kek, I'm reading Beerus' Intergalactic Food Reviews at teh same time, and almost voted for Mark to turn to Hathorne and say:

"I'll blow you away in an instant you freak! God of Destruction's Anger! Beam struggle!"
>>
>>6077576
sudden Disco Elysium style brain interruption where a little kid watching anime in his apartment is picked up on out of nowhere
>>
Ka-boom.
>>
>>6079036
Huh?
>>
>>6077063
>>6077094
>>6077116
>>6077457
>>6077576

"Putting our life at risk is part of the job. My visions aren't any worse than running towards gunfire or getting between Dent and Firebug. If we need my abilities to take down Gorchakov then we'll use them." You begin, Hawthorne's face sags and he opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "I didn't expect this to rattle you, you didn't act like this when I was dealing with Firebug at the museum or when I was undercover. You had faith in me, what's changed?"

You see his jaw set and for a moment anger flares in his eyes before he releases it with a sigh.

"Nothing changed, it's just.. I guess this is the first time I've seen how the sausage is made."

"I've used my powers before, you've seen it."

"Not like that." He shakes his head. "This wasn't a séance, son. It was suicide. I thought I was gonna watch you die in a shitty slum basement, because I ordered you to."

"It wasn't an order, I volunteered." You protest, but Hawthorne holds up a hand.

"I'm your superior. More than that, I'm your teacher. That means any decision you make is on my shoulders and..." Hawthorne pauses, you see something shimmer in his eyes. A distant memory maybe. "I've seen enough men and women die in the line of duty, because it's like you said. This IS the job, but the difference is when it's a firefight I can cover you. If it's an investigation or interrogation I can advise you. But that back there, you were on your own, all I could do was watch."

You feel your own expression of frustration soften, lilac pulses of sadness radiate from the weathered Sergeant, and for the first time you think he's starting to look his age. You silently accept his words and you both sit in silence for a few moments while you collect your thoughts.

"Sir."

"Yeah."

"We can do it. We just need to hold tight and keep working our way towards winning this."

"Mark-"

"I'm not looking to die. But I'm going to walk as close to the line as I have to so we can win, I may not be able to have the career I thought I would but maybe it could all be worth it if at the end of this I get to look SIM, Gorchakov, and whoever else wants to fuck with us right in their eyes before I put the the cuffs on them."

"You really are an 'Honor and Duty' cop through and through, huh?"

"Apparently."

Hawthorne cracks a reluctant smile as he cranks the ignition on the shop, bringing the engine back to life, he gives you one last side-glance and you share a silent nod. He turns forward again and you both pull off through the dancing flurry of snow.

=== 2 Hours Later. Nearing 6pm. GCPD Precinct 1. ===
>>
Hawthorne insisted you transcribe the audio from your interview with Kent by yourself while he ran out to get Kent's signature on an affidavit. With stiff fingers you slide censored copies of the transcript and your recounting of your vision into a filing box and wrap the seam with fluorescent yellow tape, you'll be keeping this off-site from the department but as an extra layer of deterrent you slap a sticker on the front reading plainly:

'Bertinelli, Pino'

You stretch your cramped hand and the words of Hawthorne flow through your mind like he was still right beside you:

"We've got enough on our plate without wondering if Gorchakov and his cronies are checking our computers while we're away. Until this is over we're going analog only, everyone knows we're on the commander's shit list so we just act as if it's business as usual. We go around our CO and now we're working a dead end case, covers our ass."

Even now you can't find fault in his logic but damn if this cramp in your hand doesn't hurt. You haven't written this much since school and even then half the assignments were on laptops. You walk the box to the evidence room and make no attempt to hide the fatigue in your face, playing up how miserable you are to be working 'useless assignment' as you walk it to the back and tuck the box discreetly away behind a few other cold cases with more dust than leads on them.

Heading back to the locker room you get changed back into civvies, making sure to fold your uniform neatly before packing it in a small duffle bag filled with stinking gym clothes. You lift the corner of a sweatshirt with your finger and see the corner of a manila folder untouched and still holding the master copies of your filing thus far. Never can be too careful after all. With a grunt you toss the bag on your shoulder and head for the parking lot, after all the work you put in today you could really use...

>Some fun. You have Allison's number from earlier and the stress of the job is eating at you, maybe she's free tonight?
>Some help. You're Shivers are getting more intrusive by the day and you can't afford to take a break now, time to see if Question can still reach Detective Jones.
>Some rest. You're on the move nearly twelve hours a day, maybe what you need to help settle your Shivers is a night alone to meditate and relax.
>Some booze. Something about psuedo-death really makes a man thirsty and nothing quenches your thirst like an Old Fashioned at Jimmy's.
>Write-In
>>
>>6079141
Aaargh, I want to pick the waifu route option and yet
>Some help. You're Shivers are getting more intrusive by the day and you can't afford to take a break now, time to see if Question can still reach Detective Jones.
is just so much more important and sensible.
>>
>>6079141
>>Some fun. You have Allison's number from earlier and the stress of the job is eating at you, maybe she's free tonight?
>>
>>6079141
>>Some fun. You have Allison's number from earlier and the stress of the job is eating at you, maybe she's free tonight?
We should take a moment and see if she's still interested. I'm sure she'll understand given recent events.
>>
>>6079141
>>Some booze. Something about psuedo-death really makes a man thirsty and nothing quenches your thirst like an Old Fashioned at Jimmy's.
we need to blow off some steam and also adding on to our cover ofmisery on a "useless assignment"
>>
>>6079146
+1
>>
>>6079141
>Some fun. You have Allison's number from earlier and the stress of the job is eating at you, maybe she's free tonight?

Ya boy’s gonna work himself into an early grave soon. No SIM, no Shivers, and no binge drinking cause that only makes things worse.
>>
>>6079129
Mark would have normally aborted the Shivers vision and exited on Free basically being dead if it were any other case or time. But we needed more to pin Gorchakov down and Free was long dead. This was necessary but I get why Hawthorne is disturbed. Any other GCPD cop was here to see it, they'd get the same or worse. Now I just hope there's less cases where Mark needs to stay up to the moment of death
>>
>>6079141
>tuck the box discreetly away behind a few other cold cases with more dust than leads on them
If psychic powers to the extent of Shivers' reliability and power existed in real life without glownigs executing or kidnapping anybody stepping out of line with them, you could totally clean entire police departments worth of cold cases
>>
>>6079279
That's kind of the idea behind Mark pivoting towards Detective as a career path. Mark's abilities lend themselves towards opening up just about any cold case. I also think he'd be a secret weapon for time sensitive cases as well for the same reasons.
>>
>>6079281
4th amendment shenanigans though.
>>
>>6079502
Every cop in the GCPD has an innate bonus to making up a probable cause, don't you worry.
>>
Hey fellas, there'll be a delay on updates tonight and possibly tomorrow. Seems I caught something pretty nasty on my vacation and I'm laid up shivering with a pretty high fever.

Apologies for the delay after such a long break but I can hardly think right now let alone type up an update. I'll be back as soon as I can, promise.

See ya soon.
>>
>>6079741
Such is the QM Curse. Take care
>>
>>6079741
Sounds like the summer Covid wave that hit my work. Be safe!
>>
Good news I am feeling much better, we resume in a few hours and I'll run an extra day to make up for the delay. Thanks for sticking with me.

Locked in for talking to a woman for the first time outside of a forced dream encounter, break-in, or for work.
>>
>>6080938
Glad you're feeling better!

>talking to a woman for the first time outside of a forced dream encounter, break-in, or for work
Kek.
>>
>>6079164
>>6079180
>>6079274

You need some fun. Your head, the visions, the case, all of it is just noise at this point. Your hand slips into your pocket and you feel the gentle touch of a scrap of paper. You withdraw it and open it up.

'Allison'

You probe your inner cheek and stare at it. Just one afternoon, one afternoon with someone who isn't going to look at you like your head might explode any second. It would be nice..

Fuck it.

Your hand dips back into your pocket and returns with your phone, a few taps later and for the first time since college you feel anxious to hit call.

"Hello?" A familiar voice answers.

"Hey, Allison. It's Offi- It's Mark.. DeLucia." You close your eyes tight and grimace.

"Oh, hey!" Her voice perks up. "I was hoping you'd call."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, after yesterday I was worried. It was my first time ever running into.. one of 'those' guys. Whatever they're called."

"That's actually kinda why I was calling, you could say work has been a bit stressful lately and it'd be nice to have a break."

"I'm assuming you mean with me?" You can hear the smile in her voice.

"You'd assume right, if you're okay with getting a drink?"

"Hmm.." She hums, leaving you in suspense for a few moments. "I have an early shift tomorrow."

"Oh. I und-"

"So how about a dinner instead? I know you GCPD boys can put em down but I like to give my liver it's own break now and then."

Now your own smile begins to spread.

"Sounds good, you have a place in mind?"

"Nothing too fancy, ever hear of a place called Angelo's?"

"Angelo's? Of course, that was my favorite slice when I was young. I lived just down the street from it."

"So you know the address then, awesome. How long would it take to get there for you?"

"Oh uh." You cast a glance to your bag of dirty laundry. "I just got off actually, haven't had a chance to get home yet."

"Same boat, I don't mind if you don't."

You chuck your duffle into the back seat roughly and settle into the front seat.

"I guess I could make an exception, if you could abide by extra pepperonis."

"I suppose I could live with that." She says in a faux thoughtful tone.

"Good."

"Good.." She echoes. You feel a flutter in your gut and mumble out a goodbye as you hang up.

You let out a long sigh and nod slowly. You're a bit out of practice, sure. But you've still got it. You smile to yourself and crank the engine..
>>
The autumn sun in Gotham dips low behind the jagged skyline. The gargoyles and gothic spires of East End stand out against the fading light. The trains carrying most people home rattle and shake the old rusted rails. A few passing moments of nostalgia almost have you thinking you can hear the old voices of your father's friends during their poker games, or the clinking of wine glasses from your mother's book club. The spell broken with every new coffee shop, padlocked door, and spray painted wall you see. As you put the car in park you settle your mind and let the whispers of the past and present settle like mist in the background of your mind. You're determined to have one normal night out.

Stepping out you approach the familiar grease trap, iron mesh tables still coated with a familiar red paint that now chips and exposes the rust and weathering of passed years. You smile to yourself and let your hand rest on one as memories of your after school 'snacks' with Nonno come back to you. A delicate clearing of a throat brings you back to the present as you look up.

Allison stands before you with her hair tied into a messy bun and an oil stained GCFD Shirt tucked into a pair of dark jeans. She holds a small clutch and beams at you as you approach, she steps closer as well.. only for you both to pause and awkwardly size each other up.

What do you do? A handshake? Too formal. Fist bump? Jesus Christ, no. Is she waiting for you to hug her? Are you close enough for that even? Your train of cluttered thoughts are broken as she lightly touches your forearm and raises her eyebrows.

"Extra pepperoni, you said?"

"Yeah.." You answer quietly.

She gently pulls on your arm and nods at the door.

"We should order then, it's a bit chilly out here." She speaks the final point with an exaggerated shiver and you nod.

"Of course, sorry. Just reminiscing."

"You grew up nearby you said? Was this like your 'secret spot' or something?" She ask as you hold the door for her, bathing you both in the warmth and comforting smell of a pizzeria.

"Something like that." You laugh. "My grandfather would bring me here after school on days he picked me up. We'd share a slice or a calzone, shaved ice in the summer, it was our little ritual."

"That's cute."

You chuckle awkwardly and turn to the counter, throwing up a finger and catching to attention of the man behind the counter.

"You got two slices of extra pep, chief?"

"We were about to turn off the ovens for tonight pal." He starts as he turns around, then he lays eyes on Allison and shifts them back to yours. You flick your eyebrows in a silent plea. "But uh.. I might be able to whip something up for yous two."

"Thank god, I am starving." Allison groans. "We had to change the oil on all the trucks at the firehouse today, I wokred through lunch."

"Just grab a seat, I'll let ya know when ya pie is ready."
>>
"Appreciate you, boss." You tell him pointedly as you pull a ten from your wallet and slip it into the slit lid of an old sauce jar.

The old worker gives you a wink and nods you to a booth in the corner, still shining slightly from it's wipe down. You both step aside and slide into the cramped booth. You groan and wriggle in place.

"These seemed a little less tight when I was in school." You grumble as you angle yourself sideways a touch. "Or maybe I'm just in worse shape than I thought."

Allison lets out a soft musical laugh and shakes her head.

"You're in amazing shape if you ask me." She says as she plucks a small plastic menu card.

"Oh yeah?"

She looks up and you see pink creeping into her cheeks.

"I mean. The other morning you were running like hell is all."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Not that you don't look good, of course. It was just impressive.. y'know. How much you ran." She clears her throat awkwardly and you laugh.

"I appreciate it, not really a fair look though. When the alternative is getting the marshmallow treatment a little cardio doesn't seem that bad. At least not until the day after."

"Still sore?"

"Big time. I was never much of a runner." You chuckle.

"Could have fooled me."

"Marshmallow." You repeat, fanning your fingers out and letting out a small 'Fwoosh'

"Uh-huh, surprises me though that you aren't much of a runner. You seem the type of guy who has a lot of energy."

"Yeah? How so?"

"Word on the street is that you burn the midnight oil on top of the candle at both ends."

Your face shifts into one of confusion.

"Word from who?"

"Word travels between FD and PD when they aren't having pissing contests." She answers without looking you in the eyes. You lean in.

"Word travels huh?"

She shrugs playfully.

"A guy walks up to you at a bar and chats you up, you maybe ask a few people questions."

"You had me vetted?" You ask in a faux insulted tone.

"Not on purpose!" She clarifies. "Being one of three women in the firehouse leads to a lot of big brothers, y'know? Just bringing you up was enough to get them all snoopy."

"Well I feel at a disadvantage, all I know about you is that you don't really care for hockey, you're itching to get a promotion, you're Gotham born like me and... that's right. You definitely "didn't" send me a free beer to get my attention." You tease.

"I didn't! I didn't even know who you were remember?" She objects.

"You heard about me in the paper.." You reply with a joking shrug.

"The radio."

"Same thing really." She laughs and after a moment she straightens up and waves a finger. "Go ahead then, I'm an open book. Show me your interrogation skills, Officer. Ask me the deep stuff."

>"Why'd you get into fire fighting?"
>"Is it hard being on of three women at the fire house?"
>"Where did you grow up in the city?"
>"What's your greatest fear?"
>What's your thoughts on Meta-Humans?"
>Write-In (encouraged)
>>
>>6081188
>"Where did you grow up in the city?"
Keep it light, this is a first date after all.
>>
>>6081188
>"Where did you grow up in the city?"
The guy working the counter here just earned this place a 5 star review on Yelp.
>>
>>6081225
+1
>>
>>6081188
>>"Where did you grow up in the city?"
>>
>>6081225
+1, including for that review. Small businesses need the help, especially in a place like Gotham.

>>6081188
Haha, can you imagine if we opened by interrogating her about Metas? Might as well star with "ay, you got anything against Italians??" So defensive!
>>
>>6081189
>>6081225
>>6081269
>>6081567
>>6081643

"Where'd you grow up in the city?"

"Street checking me?" She asks coyly.

You shrug.

"Your neighborhood says a lot about you."

"Mine might say a little too much."

"That kinda answer screams... narrows." As you say the name a whisper of gunpowder and mildew hits your nose, you resist the urge to make a face.

"Bingo." She clicks her tongue.

"Tracks for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Fire fighter, it's a tough gig."

"You mean tough for a girl?" She lightly challenges.

"I mean tough period. Narrows builds em like brick.. uh." You trail off awkwardly.

"Shit houses?"

"Heh, yeah. Sorry just got my dad in my head right now, telling me not to curse in front of a lady."

"You cursed in front of me at the bar just fine."

"That was different it wasn't-"

"A date?" She asks with an arched brow.

"Your words not mine."

"Smooth." She says bluntly but with a nice smile.

Over her shoulder you see the man approaching with a small pan, steam rises carrying the intoxicating scent of grease and dough. In his other hand are two glass bottles of cola held between loose fingers. He sets down the small pan and puts a dewey bottle in front of each of you.

"I ain't trying to dirty up no more cups." He explains as he pulls an opener from his apron and pops both tops in quick succession.

"Appreciate you, what's your name chief?"

"Wultah" He answers through a thick accent.

"Thanks, Walter."

He waves a hand and shoots Allison a look.

"If you really wanna thank me let me know if ya lady here has a sista!" He let's loose a smokers cough and sighs contentedly as he walks away. Only stopping to call over his shoulder. "We're locking up in a half hour or so."

"We could take it outsi-" You start but Allison hurriedly cuts you off.

"We won't keep you!" Allison calls after him. A thumbs up behind the back is her reply. She looks back to you and shivers with exaggeration. "Too cold outside to sit the whole time."

You shrug and grab a small shaker of red pepper flakes, she glances down at the small oily cheest disk set out and smile.

"Let me show you how I grew up." You tell her, pulling a hot gooey slice and sliding it towards her.

You both enjoy your meal with some more general small talk. Allison spent her childhood with a single mother trying her best to get her through school and keep her happy, while she didn't have much growing up she did manage to do better than most Narrows residents. Her mom managing to afford an apartment for them at the very least. You share a few stories of your old house, the first one before your medical issues caused your folks to become nomads. She smiles and her eyes glitter as you describe Nonno and his various eccentricities, plenty of them he passed onto your father and you.

"Seems like you had as happy a childhood as you could." She states, dabbing at her fingers with a napkin.

You shrug as you sip the last dregs of your cola.
>>
"Maybe I'm just an optimist, or a selective memory."

"I feel you on the second one. I don't think anyone grows up in Gotham without a few memories better left in the closet."

"Eh." You groan as you pull out a few crumpled bills to leave on the table for your bill. You both stand and to your surprise Allison steps a little closer, delicately wrapping her arm around yours as you head for the door.

"Eh? You one of those types who likes to dwell a little bit? 'Low points make the high points higher' kinda perspective?"

"Kinda but more just.. my nonno. Him and my dad both would tell me 'some things a man can't run from' and all the bullshit I dealt with as a kid. The shit you dealt with too. It's the stuff that makes us who we are at the end of the day."

Her head dips onto your shoulder and you feel a lump in your throat form. How long had it been since your last date? Hell how long had it been since you last... You clear your throat and push your more base instincts aside. This is a nice date, no need to push it.

As you open the door a rush of October air pushes past you both. She shivers and huddles closer to you, you squeeze back.

"Wanna look at the ocean for a second?" She asks quietly.

"Thought it was freezing out?" You tease.

"That's why I said just a second." She laughs, taking a step ahead while still clasping your arm. As she starts to round the corner she freezes and turns back around. Her mouth pulled tight into a neat frown.

"Something wrong?"

"I saw your car, made me think about how this'll be over soon." She starts, her hand slowly traveling down your forearm.

"We both gotta go home eventually, date can't last forever."

"Yeah.." She mumbles, the light trailing of her fingertips making the hairs on your forearms rise.

"Not that I'd mind.." You follow up. Withdrawing your arm slightly so her fingers meet your wrist. Then your palm.. then your own fingertips.

She stares at you with dark eyes reflecting the dim parlor lights behind you. Next to your head a neon sign kicks on: 'CLOSED' the buzzing of the sign and the flickering of the lights make your blood run cold. 'PAWN, SILVER AND GOLD!' Your hand trembles slightly.

"I've been told I'm good company" She says looking down coyly at her shoes. She looks up and you see concern enter her eyes. "Are you okay, Mark?"

"Yeah, just uh.. really is cold out here huh?" You try to chuckle casually but it comes out dry and tight.

Her fingers slide between your own and she squeezes your hand.

"I work the same city you do." She says gently. "I know how it can be. Rough day at work?"

"Something like that." You say, embarrassment edging into your voice.

"Talk to me about it, helps to have someone who can listen."
>>
>It's deep inside you, but you crave this. Someone you can talk to, someone you don't feel obligated to impress or be strong for. Tell her about the basement and the vision. "It could take a second, how about we talk and wave watch at the same time?"
>She's gorgeous, funny, and you both really click. But every time you bring work and life together it always goes poorly. But that doesn't mean it'll always be that way. "Maybe another time, tonight has just been so nice I don't want to mess it up with shop talk."
>You're blowing it. You played everything so cool and now your fucking Shivers are sticking their foot in the door again. Not this time. "I'd rather do this.." (Kiss her)
>This date was fine, but this feels a little too serious for you. This was nice and all but you weren't signing on for much more than a nice night out and some fun. "I appreciate that, but I'm alright, really. We should check out the ocean before you catch a cold."
>Write-In

(Don't worry about blabbing btw, Mark knows OpSec so if you pick option one he isn't going to name drop Gorchakov and the entire mole plot like a moron. He'll keep it as transparent as he can without being irresponsible with his words.)

Author note and character question below:

Please let me know how you feel about this little section, I've never really written a lot when it comes to characters with "chemistry" and I'm curious to know how I did or if anyone has any pointers. On top of that I'm also curious about a general temp check on how you guys feel about Allison. Provided she hasn't gotten much screentime (so far?) Please let me know.

Secret vote option if '>Kiss her' doesn't win:

Go for the goodnight kiss?
>Yes
>No

>>
Thanks for the cockblock SIM, you fucking asshole
>>
>>6081870
>She's gorgeous, funny, and you both really click. But every time you bring work and life together it always goes poorly. But that doesn't mean it'll always be that way. "Maybe another time, tonight has just been so nice I don't want to mess it up with shop talk."

Write-in: “Work’s just been tough lately. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to put the bad stuff out of mind. Thank you, really, tonight was perfect.”

If she asks what, mention that you’re trying for Detective and make a vague allusion to the “extra-special” nature of Gotham’s criminals. Don’t gross her out with details.

Good-night kiss: YES. Duh.
>>
>>6081912
+1

>>6081904
He better have succeeded in taking Angelo out for good
>>
Gonna leave the vote up for a good bit longer so people can get a vote in if they want, also posting this bumps it so those who don't know I'm running an extra day have a chance to see it. New update tonight around the usual time(ish)
>>
>>6081870
>>This date was fine, but this feels a little too serious for you. This was nice and all but you weren't signing on for much more than a nice night out and some fun. "I appreciate that, but I'm alright, really. We should check out the ocean before you catch a cold."
>>No
personally mark is may or may not be dying from a tumor that may or may not related to his powers and I think that we as mark have to much shit on our plates to even think on having/being on dates at the moment
>>
>>6081870
>She's gorgeous, funny, and you both really click. But every time you bring work and life together it always goes poorly. But that doesn't mean it'll always be that way. "Maybe another time, tonight has just been so nice I don't want to mess it up with shop talk."

>>6081912
+1 to the write-in details.

Yes. If the mood is right at the ocean, anyway. She's coming on real strong.
>>
>>6081870
>>6081912
this
>>
>>6081912
>>6081945
>>6082361
>>6082362

You inhale slowly through your nose. That scent of mildew and gun smoke slowly fades away, replaced instead with the smell of ocean mist. You smile gently and nod.

"Maybe another time, tonight has been so nice. I don't want to mess it up with shop talk."

She frowns and you feel her hand loosen around yours, you weave your fingers around hers and squeeze back.

"Work's just been tough lately. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to put the bad stuff out of mind. Thank you, really, tonight was perfect.”

"I understand.. I have days like that too." Her smile creeps back and she takes a few hesitant steps towards the corner.

You both slowly walk across the lot, sharing in silence and company, her thumb traces small circles on your knuckle. As you reach a small set of steps leading to some rusted viewers, you hear the jingling of change, the faint clicking of a binocular coming into focus. Despite the October night you feel gentle sunlight. The lights of the city dance on rippling waves of dark purple, a sea of twinkling orbs. You smile.

"The moon is gorgeous." She whispers.

You turn your eyes upwards and feel a whisper of dread, almost expecting that black spreading mass to be there. But all you see is the full moon in all it's radiant paleness.

"It's only a paper moon.." You repeat quietly.

"Hm?"

"Nothing, just something my dad used to say. It was a song he liked."

"Good memories?" She asks, gazing at you with some slight wonder.

"I loved the ocean, not so much the crowds." You chuckle.

"I get that. I've never been much of a people person either."

"And we both end up as public servants. How's that work?"

You feel her shoulder shrug against yours.
"Maybe we just feel some kind of.. pull. To help. You being sick, me being poor. Not a lot of room to worry about much other than money or getting better."

You turn from the ocean and look to her.

"I never really got better."

"And I get paid city wages." She counters with a laugh.

"Looks like we still don't have much room then."

"There could be room for two. Maybe."

"Anyone ever tell you that you come on strong?" You ask.

"Not typically, but I mean. You're a cop. I do what I do, neither of us has a promised tomorrow. So why dance around things?"

You nod slowly, your hand slowly travelling up her arm, slowly brushing aside a strand of hair caught by a wayward breeze.

"So then it wouldn't be too much to do this?"

You lean in and you feel her do the same. Her lips are soft and warm, her scent vanilla and tobacco. It breaks far too early for your liking but you still pull back and slowly open your eyes to meet hers, you see a shimmer in them as she looks deep into you. Another ocean gust washes over you and you feel a prickling up and down your spine.
>>
"I don't think that was too much at all." She says quietly, then her eyebrows jump and she checks her phone. "Oh hell, it is late though. I should go home.."

"Me too, I have a lot on my plate right now."

You both nod but still keep contact, just for a few seconds more. She pulls her hand first and smiles at you one last time as she descends the stairs and offers you a light wave over her shoulder. You wave back and feel a familiar warmth spreading in your chest. This was a good night.

== At Home ==

You step inside and flick the lights on, tossing your duffle across the room onto the couch, you're almost at the point that you aren't expecting a break-in when you get home, that's growth. You head for the fridge and pop it open, no beer since Hawthorne was over, you settle for an old water bottle from the package you bought months ago. Some plastic aftertaste is better than whatever is in Gotham's pipes. You drink greedily and send the empty bottle soaring into your trash can. The voices have been remarkably quiet since you left your date, only the faintest whispers occasionally graze your ear, this might be the first good night's sleep you've gotten in days. Heading back to the couch you grab your duffle and make your way to a micro washer/dryer kept behind a slatted closet door. You pluck your files from the bag and send the rest of it's contents into the opening before setting it to wash. You hold the folder in your hand and a ridiculous memory pops into your mind. Question's words echo in your head about a ventilation shaft...

Knock knock knock.

Ms. Dover opens the doors in a long nightgown and her usually spectacled eyes naked and drawn into tight squints.

"Marcus?" She asks, groggily.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm really sorry to bother you but my apartment had a bit of a plumbing issue.. would you mind?"

She blinks lazily in her haze and then shuffles aside gesturing you to come in.

"Of course, dear. Do you need me to arrange for a handyman?"

"No ma'am, I'm sure I can handle it. I'd just rather do it in the morning."

"Mhm, alright then. Go ahead." She mumbles sleepily, one eye already closed again.

You rush to her bathroom and shut the door behind you with a soft click, digging in your back waist band you pull a folded and crumbled folder from under your shirt. You take a seat on a pink fuzzy toilet lid and scan the floorboards until you see it.

"Yahtzee.." You whisper under your breath.

You kneel from the seat and set upon your target. A thin floor grate for ventilation, old and brass. A little digging around the edges let you get the grip you need to wiggle it out of place and stuff the folded intel inside. A faint knock at the door hurries your efforts to replace the grating.

"Marcus, I'm going to bed dear. I left a spare key on my table, please lock the door behind you and hand it back tomorrow."

"Uh.. yes ma'am." You say awkwardly as you straighten up,

You give it another minute or so before flushing and making your way out.
>>
You close your own door behind you and turn the deadbolt, a massive weight off your shoulders.

"Fuckin break in.. go ahead." You mumble to nobody in particular. "Aw there's nothing here? Guess you're fucked."

You enjoy your battle of wits against yourself as you take a shower and slide into the cool waiting sheets of your bed. You had a great night with a beautiful woman, you even got a kiss, and you stuck those files somewhere nobody with any sense would look.

As your eyelids become too heavy to fight off and the wear of the day catches up to you, for the first time in a long time you fade to sleep with a smile on your face and a thought in your mind..

Maybe things are starting to look up for you.

>Roll 1d20 (Taking Mid of Three, Special Event if a roll is doubled.)
>>
Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>6082492
>voices are quieter than they’ve been in days

Aww yeah, healing cancer through the power of *love*!
>>
Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>6082492
>>
Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>6082492
>>
>>6082510
>>6082516
>>6082516
Oh no we're so fucked
>d20
Nevermind we're still in this
>>
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>>6082510
>>6082516
>>6082522

Result: 12 - 'Lady In Red'

====

Your mind drifts through your memories of the day and surprisingly you don't find yourself lingering on the bad. Your experience in that dingy basement was still sitting like a cold stone in your brain but it wasn't the crown gem..

Your eyes blink open in confusion to the comforting warm glow of Angelo's lights illuminate a near perfect replica of the pizza shop, the only thing breaking the illusion being that the store is separated into four compact spaces. In the right corner you see your desk, files stacked high and your badge dangling from a rusted chain hanging from the edge of your chair.

The left corner is a sunny kitchen table, a bright yellow mug sits with wisps of steam above it, a small silver pendant sits looped through the handle of the mug and even from here you get whiffs of chocolate and cinnamon.

You continue shifting your eyes through the space until you look to your immediate right. Your heart seizes and your hand instinctively slips to your hip. This corner is unadorned, the floor just bare loose earth and a set of rusted storm doors reveal the chipped and weathered concrete steps leading down into a gaping black hole. Only one thing is visible in the gloom below, a floating set of out of focus tally marks that bob and tilt as you observe them.

"Charming." A woman's voice coos.

You start and spin around, hand still grasping at empty air by your hip. A familiar and unsettling face watches you without emotion like a porcelain mask with an invisible flaw. Some warp in the design that you can't see, only feel. The woman from the balcony.

"Fuck.." You groan, clutching at your chest. She regards you with a stiff curiosity, her eyebrows arching in a manner that feels highly rehearsed.

"Frightened?" She asks plainly.

"Something like that.. where the hell am I?"

She turns slowly, never moving her eyes only angling her head to observe the strange storefront. Her gaze settles on the lurking face in the cellar.

"You know him?" You ask quietly, finally regaining control of your heart.

"In a way, but this isn't for him."

She stands with an alien grace and moves to the doors, fear nips and bites at the heels of your mind as you quietly protest.

"Hey be careful.. maybe don't.."

Your words are drowned by the rattling slam of those rusty doors. With a high pitched shrieking of old metal she twists the handles, an action that begets a gentle rattling of the doors. She walks back to your small booth, a long dress of red silk and other garish accoutrement trailing and swishing behind her.

You swallow dryly.

"Thanks, I guess. Can't say it wasn't creeping me out."

"Imagine how I feel." She remarks coldly.

"Probably.. bad? Uh, no offense or anything but what's going on here?"

For the first time you see emotion creep into the stillness of her face.

"I could be asking you the same thing."
>>
"Excuse me?"

"Excuse you, indeed." She answers with a huff and a pointed folding of her long arms. "I thought you would have your priorities straight but it appears you, like all men, can only think with a single head at a time."

"Relax." You warn quietly. "You have no idea what I've been dealing with... do you?"

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't." She leans closer, setting her elbows on the table. You try to lean back but feel firm plastic holding you a few inches from her pointed white nose.

"Well unless you want to tell me, we aren't going to have much to talk about."

"I can't." She huffs, leaning backwards with a thud. The building releases a small cloud of dust and drywall. "There are rules to this sort of thing."

"This sort of thing? What is this exactly?"

She simply looks at you without emotion and blinks, slowly. Almost like she's mimicking you.

"It's a rule you can't tell me what the rules are even FOR? Then what's the point of even showing up here, or bringing me here? Because this isn't one of my usual spots, I'd much rather be.."

"In that old boat with your father, the center of Lake Superior."

"What? How did.. I swear if this-"

"I am not the doing of Nia and I won't allow you to even speak that comparison aloud."

"Not a fan, then?"

"I don't like intruders." She says in almost a hiss.

"You and me both.." You mumble. "Well then whatever THIS is, what's the purpose?"

"Our conversation was cut short on the balcony. I wanted to speak with you again.. I wanted you to speak to me again.." She smiles. You feel your spine tingle.

"About what?"

"Anything. Anyone. You went and... had a meeting with that woman earlier this night. You did it because you wanted to know her, to know of her, what she was like."

You keep silent, only nodding to let her know she can continue. Something about this is making your skin crawl.

"Well I can offer you the same thing, but better! Name someone, anyone you know. I can tell you about them, what they're like. What they're REALLY like when you aren't around, or when nobody is around." The smile keeps spreading until it reaches an unnatural point, then almost as if she sensed your discomfort, it shrinks back to a small petite grin.

You chew your inner cheek, what she's saying is odd but in the times you live in and with the life you lead. A dream woman who has dirt on everyone you know isn't exactly a far fetched idea.

"Alright.. say I believe you. What would you tell me about.."

>Hawthorne
>Grey
>Kimble
>Allison
>Banks
>Reiner
>Caesar
>Question
>Write-In
>>
>>6084011
>Vic Rogers
Fucker never sat right with me.
>>
>>6084011
Batman

But really
>Dent
What the fuck's going on with him.
>>
>>6084016
+1
This woman is clearly Gotham manifest
>>
>>6084011
>>Write-In
What was our Grandpa like? In private I mean. What would he say about our situation? What we're trying to do here?
>>
>>6084011
>Dent
>>
>>6084011
>The man who was burned in a dumpster outside my apartment.
>>
>>6084033
Probably but why is it acting so fucking weird?
>>
>>6084011
+1>>6084015
really dont wanna know about someone we like
>>
>>6084011
>Dent
Seems innocuous enough.
>>
>>6084011
>>>Write-In
>What was our Grandpa like? In private I mean. What would he say about our situation? What we're trying to do here?
>>
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>>6084011
>>6084015
+1, sure. That's the weird guy who wanted to be Mark's "friend", right?
Allies are out of question, who cares about their dirty laundry. Same with the girl.
Banks' issues are so obvious there's no need to ask.

See, I think it'd be weird for mark to treat this dream encounter like a fun game of "find out someone's secret! :D", because the whole situation is just so alarming. If I'd get a dream like that, sure, I'd ask about people I know out of idle curiocity, but mark is always in so much danger, mundane and supernatural, that I think he'd just go for something work/case related.

I guess investigating is the way to go for Mark, even in his dreams.
>>
>>6084015
Thirding
>>
>>6084015
supporting
>>
>>6084088
Gotham's a weird city. Keep her away from Time Drake, kek

>>6084011
>Vic Rogers
>>
>>6084011
>You
>>
>>6084015
>>6084117
>>6084431
>>6084491
>>6084507
>>6084530

You open your mouth to reject this. To walk away from this 'game' and save yourself some time. But then you realize. This is a dream. It's not like you're wasting any time that could be going to the case, not to mention the last time you spoke with her you saw something that lined up with SIM's own vision. Maybe it's not such a bad thing to lean into the weird.

"Vic Rogers." You speak out of instinct, that small part of your brain that always screamed at you when he was nearby. That pushed the prickling hairs straight up whenever he smiled at you.

The woman's smile fades and she speaks almost in a poetic or musical way.

"Victor, a victim of legacy with no connection to the roots from which his tree sprung. A stolen fruit, savored by no one. His mind is riddled with holes, emotions that he can't control steer him like the tight leather reins of a war horse in times of peace. In another time, another place, perhaps he could be healed. But not in Gotham. He will only rot."

Your skin grows cold as she speaks and you feel that familiar ripple of gooseflesh down your neck and arms.

"That was a bit.. cryptic."

"There are rules to this sort of thing, son of Gotham."

"But you can't tell me anymore? I've always had this nagging suspicion, this thought, that Rogers was more than he appeared. That he could be.. maybe. SIM." As you speak the name the rusty doors rattle and crash, it sounds like someone throwing their entire body into the steel. The woman doesn't even pay it a brief glance, she keeps her eyes firmly on you.

"I would tell you more if I could. But-"

"Rules. I know." You cut her off, glancing nervously at the cellar doors that have settled back into silence.

"But the rules do not dictate you're only allowed the one subject. That was only due to the circumstances of our last meeting." The smile returns, a touch more real feeling than before, a fact that makes you even more disturbed.

"In that case.. Dent. He's a bit of a prick but everyone thinks he has good intentions, does he?"

"Harvey Dent..." She speaks the voice quietly, like a name she heard once far in the past. "Harvey. He carries a black spot on a golden heart, one that cannot be removed no matter the effort. Though it is through his own actions that the spot spreads and leeches the shine from him. He is weary. Arrogance and Altruism are his two hands, one attempts to wash the other but when the flowing water stops he can see they have only grown more dirty. The water must never stop flowing. Ever forward. No matter the cost."

You lean back in your booth and sigh. Your mind chews on her words like overcooked steak trying to leech whatever understanding you can, but you find it hard to think longer than a few seconds before a rogue clang or rattle comes from the cellar doors and breaks your focus.

"Please do not let your mind wander, son of Gotham. Let my wisdom flow over you and you will understand in due time."
>>
>>6084016
>>6084050
>>6084205
>>6084037


"Sorry, just this place isn't the best for an intimate conversation."

"Because of the doors?" She asks, giving them an emotionless glance.

"Partly.. also just some.."

"Memories." She finishes your sentence.

"Yeah.. How did you? Yeah I can't help but think of my grandfather."

"Your Nonno.." She repeats, her face shifting again this time into a quizzical expression. "A killer."

"Excuse me?" You respond, your hair rising on your neck.

"His own assessment.. a killer seeking comfort from the nightmares of his own sins. His bed felt a coffin. His life a cage."

"You don't know shit about my grandfather." You say, your fist curling.

"He saw so much of himself in you, even more so than your father. A frightening thought. A man of deep faith, a golden cross planted proudly in a field of filth. He died-"

"You had better watch yourself.." You warn but you find yourself enraptured by her words.

"He died hopeful." She finishes, and you feel the rising heat slip away. "He sought to save others through faith, because he feared his own actions. But he saw and sowed in you a piety he never felt worthy of. His unlimited faith was not limited to his God alone, it still lies with you even now."

You blink. Feeling the heat rush to your eyes, the corners blurring as you swallow back the emotion.

"You didn't need to tell me that. I knew he was proud of me.."

Her hands slide across the table, like pale marble statuettes perfectly formed to slot into your hands. She touches you and you feel a familiar cold, you feel the blood rushing in the most minute tips of your veins, her speech comes from the depths of your own mind as her unmoving mask simply stares at you.

"You saved him, not his God."

You rip your hands away and feel a sheet of ice cold sweat forming on the back of your neck.

"Don't do that again... whatever the fuck that was. Don't." You shudder and obsessively rub your hands together to get the feeling back.

"Did I upset you? I thought these words would be of comfort for you."

"It's too much.." You say quietly. "Just, stick to speaking to me normally. Please."

"Of course, son of Gotham... I am sorry." Her voice stutters and stops as she says it, trying to form the sounds of regret or sadness. "If you wish to leave this place I can make it so, but it would mark the end of our conversation. I would not like that.."

>"Well I'm done, please take me out of here."
>"I do have another question for you actually.." (Write-In)
>"I wanted to know more about someone else" (Who?)
>"You keep asking about what I want to know, isn't there anything you want to know from me?"
>>
>>6084680
>>"You keep asking about what I want to know, isn't there anything you want to know from me?"
>>
>>6084680
>>"You keep asking about what I want to know, isn't there anything you want to know from me?"

Well we're nothing if not a gentleman. Gotta have a little give and take.
>>
>>6084680
>"You keep asking about what I want to know, isn't there anything you want to know from me?"
>>
>>6084680
>"You keep asking about what I want to know, isn't there anything you want to know from me?"
>>
>>6084680
>"You keep asking about what I want to know, isn't there anything you want to know from me?"

And just before we have to leave...
>"I do have another question for you actually.." (Write-In)
>"Was nonno's cannoli story true?"
>>
>>6084680
I forget, did Nonno fight in the war at all?
>>
>>6084808
Yup. Went back to Italy as a chaplain. Wonder what he saw...
>>
>>6084680
>"You keep asking about what I want to know, isn't there anything you want to know from me?"

>>6084838
Nothing good. Yikes.

>>6084804
You DARE doubt the cannoli story? It's real to me, damn it!
>>
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>>6084905
>You DARE doubt the cannoli story? It's real to me, damn it!
Ey, I MADE the cannoli story happen, stunad, you don't need ta tell me its true. I jus' want the broad to tell us da details 'bout it, capishe?
>>
>>6084808
>>6084838
well in the previous threads he was a translator and chaplain during the war
>>
>>6084685
>>6084690
>>6084720
>>6084723
>>6084804
>>6084905

"You keep asking about what I want to know, isn't there anything you want to know from me?"

"You don't find my information interesting?" She asks, eyebrows flickering slightly.

"Nothing like that, it just feels a little.. rude." You follow up with a joking tone. "After all, I am a gentleman. A little give and take goes a long way."

"Give and take.." She repeats almost confused.

"Yeah, it's a saying like-"

"Tit for tat.."

"Yeah like that."

"Quid pro quo!" She repeats excitedly, her mouth smiling with unnatural elasticity again.

"Uh yeah! Only really heard that thrown around in seminars but.. yeah you get it."

"So I ask you something?"

"Anything."

She pauses for a few moments. Her face settling back into that cold neutrality as she ponders your question, ever so faintly you think you hear a sniffle. But when you focus on the sound you only hear that icy silence, shortly broken by the woman in red speaking.

>"Is it the people, the city, or your own will that allows you to carry on? Even with the weight of death, yours and others, looming over you?

(After this she will also ask)
>"What is your fondest memory in this city?" (Write-In only, Add to Mark's backstory)
>>
Sorry, short and late update but work has been pretty bad recently, I'm up to 6 days a week now with doubles but I'll always try to find a way to carve out some time for you guys and the story.

Let me know what you think of this Lady In Red as well, I've seen a few people thinking she may be the manifestation of Gotham. An interesting theory for sure. Next update will be bigger

XOXO, Gossip Girl.
>>
>>6085346
>"Is it the people, the city, or your own will that allows you to carry on? Even with the weight of death, yours and others, looming over you?

“You say it as if it can’t be all three. Each hold me up like the support pillar of a house. To pick only one is to dangerously disregard the weight the others bear.”

>fondest memory
“The day I passed the academy. I had my doubts I even made it- felt like a breath I could finally exhale from once I heard the news.”
>>
>>6085378
+1
>>
>>6085346
>The people. The city IS the people. Everything else is just scenery.

>My fondest memory of Gotham was this time my dad took me to see them light up the big Christmas tree, when i was twelve...
>>
>>6085346
>the city
I love Gotham so much. A ridiculous setting of dark urban fairy tales, just real enough to take it seriously. My favorite gothic heap of concrete and steel.

>"What is your fondest memory in this city?"
I wanted to try some loner memory where mark is either fucked over by bullies in school or fucks something up in the police academy, goes for a walk to clear his head, and his connection to the gotham comforts him instead of startling him. And he sees the beauty in the city while staring at some view of gotham, or talking to a random nice person.
But uh, that's not really "fondest". It can be a "beautiful" memory, but it isn't really warm and fuzzy.
I typed it out anyway, because picking "the city" instead of "the people" is a very loner answer, so I think the memory should be in line with it.
>>6085349
I think she's a ghost of a previos shivers user trapped in dream space. She does seem to share the place with both mark and sim after all.
Also, QM, you ever played cyberpunk? I just got to the braindance sequence and it's pretty much beat to beat in how mark's memory reliving works. V even remarks how much shock and pain he felt when dying in BD. Wonder if you made it the same by accident or was inspired.
>>
>>6085349
>Let me know what you think of this Lady In Red as well
...Martha?
>>
>>6085378
>>6085562
>>6085935
>>6086009

I have plenty to make something out of this but anyone else feel free to vote on or submit new ideas for memories, the update will just be late due to the usual circumstances. This will be your final chance to ask about anyone else as well so I will drop that here:

Ask About..
>Hawthorne
>Grey
>Kimble
>Allison
>Banks
>Reiner
>Caesar
>Question
>Write-In


>>6086009
I found the BD scenes in 2077 to be very compelling, especially that first death scene. If anything I'm a little pissed that they never touch more on it in the game. Die once and it takes the kick out of it I guess, eh? I take inspiration from a lot of places, mainly just trying to match the "vibe" certain scenes or concepts gave me. You can make a side game out of trying to spot them, I'm not the most subtle.
>>
>>6086065
>Ask About
Write in: Calc. [or however his actual full punny name is]

We might as well get SOME form of hint towards his fuckery
>>
>>6086074
+1 this too
>>
>>6086074
+1
>>
>>6086074
>>6086098
>>6086135

"Is it the people, the city, or your own will that allows you to carry on? Even with the weight of death, yours and others, looming over you?" She asks, her tone clinical and cold.

You raise both eyebrows and let loose a low whistle.

"Jumping right to the juicy stuff huh?"

"I wasn't trying to unnerve you-" You hold up a hand and stem her concern.

"No, it's fine. It's an easy enough question, I guess. All of it."

"All of it?"

"You say that like you don't think it can be all of them at once."

"Can you afford to have your mind so many places?"

"I can't afford not to. People, the city, my own values. All of them hold the same weight and if I sacrificed one then I don't think the others could hold the weight. Besides, it's not as if it's THAT many things. At the end of the day the city IS the people. The rest is just scenery."

"I see.." She says quietly, her face showing emotion in the way of a knitted brow. "This city and all within it must be quite precious to you."

"It is."

"What is your fondest memory within it?"

You huff with some surprise but feel a smile creeping as a slideshow of memories pass by you.

"The day I passed the academy. There were times I wondered if I even had it in me to get there. When I got the news that I had done it, that I finally got the chance to do what I always wanted. It was like.." You look up and see fully unclothed interest on the Woman's face as you speak the last words. "..it felt like I was finally letting out a held breath."

She slowly nods and her face settles from that curious excitement to the familiar neutrality as she takes in your words. You yawn as a veil of fatigue drapes over you as you sink into the chair slightly, feeling more than a little drained. The only thing that interupts the silence, per usual, are the strange noises that slip between the gaps of those iron cellar doors.
>>
As you're tuned into those minute noises you're rattled by a sudden bang followed by a shrieking metallic scrape. The woman looks to the sound sharply before returning her eyes to you, she speaks through pursed red lips.

"Our time is coming to an end, son of Gotham."

"Wait, you've got me thinking about work again. Could I ask you something else?"

"Perhaps."

"It's a person. Kal Quincy Late, alias Calc, can you give me anything on him?"

Her eyes almost glaze over as she speaks in the same strangely poetic rhythm she had before.

"Long thin fingers twist and rotate until all colors fall into line, first a row, then a full side, until all is uniform. Squabbling and opposing colors brought into line by a grand design of faux hues. For the end of this design shows no mesh of colors working in unison, the design is grey."

"Wish I could write this down.." You mutter.

BANG. Screeeeeeeech.

You shudder.

"I hope this is of use to you, son of Gotham."

"We'll see. Speaking of, will I see you aga-"

BANG. Screeeeeech.

"You may. The great threat still sleeps dormant, if you still think yourself able to adjust the designs of Fate, I wish you luck. I will be watching."

"That isn't as comforting as you might think it..." Your sentence trails off as you catch a glimpse of those iron doors.

Three glowing gashes of shorn metal stare at you, you lift a finger to point as another bang reveals the shining tip of a blade as it chews through the metal. As you stare you watch a pale spindly finger emerge from the glowing tear and beckon you closer.

"Ma'am.. I think you may want to handle this."

You feel a cold hand touch your neck and you feel your muscles seize.

"This is not something for me to handle, son of Gotham. There are rules.." She speaks into your ear sending racking shivers down your spine. As you feel her frozen lips touch your cheek you blink..

The gentle chiming of your phone alarm enters your ears as your eyes flutter open and you're greeted, surprisingly, not by the usual grey light of morning but a soft orange-pink spreading across your ceiling. Slowly you rise, your body feeling relaxed and without pain, turning to your nightstand you grab your notepad and get to work putting all that happened in your dreams to paper...
>>
>two kisses in one night
This almost makes up for the brain tumor.
>>
== GCPD 0850 ==

Stepping into the bullpen with a fresh set of clothes in your duffle bag and a full night's rest under your belt, you feel unstoppable. Your advanced perception maintains even now, maybe less of a side-effect and more of a new normal, but at this point you don't mind. You take in the crisp morning air and enjoy the feeling of that rare sunlight spreading across your face as it beams through a window. You close your eyes to enjoy it for a moment.

"Rook!" A sharp booming voice cuts across the bullpen.

You jerk your eyes open and jerk your head quickly to see Hawthorne standing with a mug of still steaming coffee, staring at you through the rich bitter vapors.

"Work starts at nine. Not nine o' one. Not nine o' five. Nine. Get dressed, we have a prison visit." He scowls at you and your memory catches up to you.

"Just trying to enjoy some of the sun before we're stuck taking statements all day." You reply, letting yourself deflate.

"Well stop." He says simply, mumbling under his breath in a tone almost too real. "Or else the Commander will find another way to fuck with us."

"Yes, sir." You give him half-heartedly before going to the lockers.

A quick change and a lock up later you're back on the floor and Hawthorne is handing you a glass mug.

"We aren't set to visit until eleven, we have an hour to kill until we need to make that drive. Little surprise waiting for us there too."

"Knowing about it means it isn't a surprise." You say, sipping lightly.

"Don't be a smart-ass, it's a surprise right now. We have another name on our list of people to visit."

"Another Anarky guy get transferred in?"

"Nope. This one is a request. Word got around that we're coming in, apparently spread by that sissy we caught in the kid's apartment."

"Someone WANTS to talk to the police? Sun in Gotham and now this."

"I'm waiting for the bugles to start." Hawthorne growls as he finishes the last of his cup. "But this is on your schedule, so if we visit him is up to you."

"Who's the guy?"

"Valentine Garcia, Caesar's dad."

"No shit?"

"Guess the kid must have brought you up to him, you game to add him to our agenda? Time is limited, especially with Grey's... assignment."

>"Absolutely, we should talk to him first. Being inside as long as he had he must have some inside intel."
>"We can, at the end. I don't want us to spend most of our time talking about his family when we could be getting info."
>"I already know what he's going to ask, favors or a good word to get out early. We're better off focusing on suspects related to our case."
>Write-In
>>
>>6086183
>"We can, at the end. I don't want us to spend most of our time talking about his family when we could be getting info."
I hate to be so damn rational about it, but at least we're giving him the time of day.
>>
>>6086183
>>"Absolutely, we should talk to him first. Being inside as long as he had he must have some inside intel."
>>
>>6086183
>"Absolutely, we should talk to him first. Being inside as long as he had he must have some inside intel."

Our witnesses keep getting iced. They’re not going to know very much about it themselves, but rumors must have spread around the long-term prison population. Let’s see what we can get.
>>
>>6086183
>"We can, at the end. I don't want us to spend most of our time talking about his family when we could be getting info."
>>
>>6086228
+1
Witnesses first
>>
>>6086183
>>"Absolutely, we should talk to him first. Being inside as long as he had he must have some inside intel."
We gotta interview him first- if not for the risk of possible elimination of him later, more also for the fact it's good PR to actually respond to someone asking GCPD preemptively.
>>
>>6086214
>>6086228
>>6086282
>>6086310

"Absolutely, we should talk to him first."

Hawthorne raises an inquisitive brow.

"Being inside as long has he has? He must have some inside intel, rumors spread around the long-term prisoners fast, someone in there could have more for us."

"Makes sense. Just don't get distracted."

"I won't."

"I mean it, it isn't our place to play middle man for him. Guys on the inside only ever do trades, don't offer him anything we can't follow through with."

"Aren't we allowed to lie?"

"Yeah, but the guy is your little buddy's dad. Figure that might sour things between you."

You grunt quietly, thinking it over. You follow up with a sudden question.

"Should probably know the line then. What did Grey work out with the DA?"

"Time off for actionable information, ARGUS is still hungry for intel so they can pin down Anarky himself. They've been on a goose chase, so the DA is eager to slide them some scraps considering how much time they spend in the city."

"Makes sense.. how much time off are we talking?"

"They're willing to drop to time served if the information is good enough, direct line to Anarky. Anything else is played by ear."

"Meaning next to nothing, yeah?"

"Probably." Hawthorne says matter-of-factly.

"Politics." You grumble, sipping from your own cup. "No time to waste then, let's load up the shop."

"I'll get my fancy suit back out."

== Blackgate Penitentiary ==

You follow Grey's low profile sedan patiently through the series of checkpoints. Every stop another loop in the pattern of ID verification and security sweeps. The closer you get to the building the more the whispers of your Shivers seem to grow and merge until you can actually make out the faint collective voice whispering one phrase:

'Let me out.'

As you pass the final checkpoint you clear your throat and pull the tight cotton collar of your uniform away a bit.

"Problem?" Hawthorne asks.

"No, just the voices are a little more.. unified than I'm used to. I can actually understand them now if I listen too close."

Hawthorne grunts quietly.

"New power?"

"Environment." You clarify.

Hawthorne nods his head and takes your answer.
"Let's get this wrapped up asap then."
>>
Grey greets you both in the lobby as he pulls three laminated badges from a metal tray below a thick booth window. He passes one to you, which you take, but leaves his hand open; beckoning you with his fingers.

"No guns past this point, we'll get em back when we turn in the badges and pass a swab test."

"A swab test?"

"Mouth swab, ran against your DNA in the GCPD database."

You unbutton your holster and withdraw your service weapon. Safety on. Mag dispensed. Round ejected from the chamber.

"Maybe for a normal prison, but the clientele Gotham has to offer? We don't want a Clayface getting by." He pulls a small plastic baggy and holds it out to you. Inside is a plastic tube and a swab. "We also don't want them getting in, swab and seal."

He and Hawthorne pack your weapons away as you hand over the swab. A few seconds of keyboard clacking later the massive steel door in front of you buzzes loudly before slowly sliding open to reveal a featureless beige hallway. Grey takes the front and heads down confidently. As you walk you can't help but notice the variety of cameras, vents covered with fine mesh, nozzles, and pressure sensitive floor tiles that click with every step.

"This is the airlock. One of Dent's pet projects, he's taking a lot of the money from GCPD budget to shore up the prisons. This is newly added, took a month to install fully, only got approved because of that Arkham escape."

"I thought Dent was planning on handing off prison services to ARGUS for meta-prisoners?"

"If that plan goes through Dent intends to offer them the land, the Hall is establishing a good rapport with the agency and if they agree to use Gotham as a place for a command hub then they buy out the prisons and whatever buildings they need for that."

"Which gives Gotham a big windfall once the check clears."

"Yup. It's politics, making a move hoping it pays off before your game ends." Grey coughs gently and clears his throat before speaking in a more hushed tone. "Speaking of, we're on a time limit ourselves. Our interviewees are being held tight and aren't going to be kept out of cell longer than necessary. With the exclusion of Mr. Garcia, who I see you put at the top of our agenda."

"I did, he's been serving a long time now. I figure gen pop has to have some useful rumors flowing through it."

As you reach the door at the end of the hall it begins to open slowly with loud clunks. Grey tilts his head down and speaks.

"When do you want me to check on 'that'? Longer I have to look the better chance I find something, but when I get it we're pulling out, even if you're mid interview."

>"As soon as we sit down with Garcia, split. Come back when you have something and we'll go."
>"Stay around for a while, we'll give you a signal when it's time for you to go out."
>"Go now, hang around the guards and try chatting a few of them up. Bide time until it feels right, then get us after."
>"I trust you, go whenever you think is best. We'll make do.
>Write-In
>>
>>6086914
>"Go now, hang around the guards and try chatting a few of them up. Bide time until it feels right, then get us after."
>>
>>6086914
>"Go now, hang around the guards and try chatting a few of them up. Bide time until it feels right, then get us after."
>>
>>6086914
>"Go now, hang around the guards and try chatting a few of them up. Bide time until it feels right, then get us after."
I don't trust this. We need those last 2 Anarky guys to spill on Calc and Mandragora and the whole shebang or their heads are next.
>>
>>6086914
>"Go now, hang around the guards and try chatting a few of them up. Bide time until it feels right, then get us after."
>>
>>6086928
>>6086998
>>6087142
>>6087210

"Go now, hang around the guards and chat a few of them up."

"Do your social butterfly thing." Hawthorne chuckles.

"Pretty much, bide time until it feels right to go looking, get us after."

Grey nods once and pats his pockets theatrically.

"Well I left my cigarettes in the car, so maybe someones kind enough to share?" He grins slyly and looks to Hawthorne's sour grimace. "Don't worry, dad. I won't inhale."

"Yeah yeah, save me one." He grumbles in return.

"Uh-huh, work fast cause I don't like to linger."

Grey and Hawthorne tap knuckles as you split off at the hallway, you hear the distant sounds of Grey running his cigarette play as you enter the visitation rooms.

Bare and painfully simple, the room is sandwiched between two sets of thick iron bars, the floor is covered in a layer of loose dirt and dust. A bulb sticking out of the concrete itself burns hard and bright. A prison clerk sits in the room with a stack of files and a bottle of hand sanitizer that fills the room with an alcoholic stink.

"Officers." He starts in a friendly tone.

"Sergeant." Hawthorne corrects him.

"Right, um. I have here the files of the men you'll be meeting today. We got word from the DA and the Mayor to offer our full cooperation to you."

"I couldn't tell by where we're standing. I feel like we're here to interrogate Saddam." He kicks at a small patch of dust and sends it scattering into the air.

"Ah yes, this is our original interview room. We've recently had another built but it was made with more... difficult inmates in mind. But seeing as these inmates are normal, our warden doesn't see the point in using the new space when this one works just fine."

"Normal?" You ask quietly.

"Non-Metas." The clerk clarifies with a smile. "You're perfectly safe."

"Of course we are, we're the goddamn police." Hawthorne scolds, the clerk retreats into his suit slightly nodding in feverish recognition.

The sight of the man nearly trembling takes the wind from Hawthorne's sails and he sighs. "Just send in the first, have your CO's stay outside the door until we call them in. The usual procedures and all that."

"Of course, sir." The clerk speaks as he stands from his chair abruptly and gives you a sort of half bow half salute as he awkwardly shuffles from the room.

You and Hawthorne take your seats and grab the first file.

'Valentine José Garcia'

Ten years left on his sentence, originally incarcerated for First Degree Armed Robbery after one of his accomplices turned on him. Affiliation with False Face Society prior to their dissolution. Sentence has been extended three times due to physical altercation with other inmates and a single case involving a guard. At the end of his stay he will have been incarcerated for 23 Years. 5 of which were added during his sentence.

Hawthorne whistles.
"Caesar's dad has a bit of a chicharron on his shoulder." Then his eyes narrow.
>>
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"That little girl, seems a bit TOO young to have been born before he went in. Too young to have been born a few years after he started actually."

"So?"

"So, when he inevitably asks to get out early to see his family a guy with his kind of track record might not react so well to the fact his baby mama was anything less than devoutly faithful to him."

"I don't know, I didn't get that vibe from them."

Hawthorne goes to speak but lets it fade into a grumble as the iron doors clack and slowly open. Valentine Garcia enters the room slowly, prompting the guard escorting him to give a hard shove. Valentine stumbles forward a bit and looks up meeting your eyes. He gives you a shallow nod and Hawthorne waves away the guard.

"Mr. Garcia. I'm Sergeant Hawthorne and this is my rookie, Officer DeLucia. We heard you wanted to speak to us."

Valentine sits and lightly shakes his arms to untangle the chains that connect his wrist shackles to his ankles.

"I go by Val, Sergeant. And I did want to talk to you, but more so him." He points with both hands to you.

"I thought you would, I've met your son. Hell of a kid." You offer.

"Yeah.. He's mentioned you too. When word about some GCPD coming in to rough up Anarkists, I figured it wouldn't hurt to reach out."

"We aren't here to rough up anybody, just ask some questions."

"Right.."

You all settle into a tense silence for all of eight seconds before Hawthorne's commanding tone strikes at the heart of this meeting.

"Tell us what you want, Garcia. We know you reached out because you were hoping the guy who was nice to your kid would be nice to you, so get it out and ask."

Val smirks bitterly and nods.

"Alright then. I want to get out early, even if it's parole, I want to see mi familia."

"There it is." Hawthorne says triumphantly. "I told you, Rook. Guys like this might as well be named Seuss with how easy it is to read em."

"Hey fuck you, pig! You try being in here as long as I have and see how you feel."

"Not likely, I don't do much to put myself at risk of ending up in your shoes."

"Maybe not you... but other Officers? Shit. They should be UNDER the jail, but instead they're on the streets. Right. Now."

You lean forward, Hawthorne remains still as a statue but his brow furrows ever so slightly. He's listening.

"So I'm guessing this wasn't going to be a one way favor. You're willing to hand over some information in exchange?"

"I don't snitch, I do that and.." He drags a thumb across his neck. "But. It ain't snitching if it's the cops. Dirty cops especially."

"Spit it out." Hawthorne says, his finger tapping anxiously on his forearm.

"I got a few names, but I need you to be real with me. What's this information worth? And how do I know the GCPD isn't just gonna rug sweep this shit like everything else?"

"We should be asking you that, jack. Can't help but notice your ink poking up over your shirt there. FFS, you can't be swimming in allies in here since old Black Mask got the black van treatment."
>>
Val shrugs and looks away.

"Shit happens, vato. I got flipped on. Mask probably did too, but it wasn't by me. They tried too but I kept it pushing and eventually they left my ass alone. The fact I'm in here on a snitch call and held out against the heat? It's the reason I can ask for this meeting with y'all and not expect a shiv waiting for me in the bunk."

"So you're will is iron until it's time to give up a few cops and get home, right?"

"A few DIRTY cops, naco. Shit do you even have kids?"

Hawthorne stares him down with intensity you've only seen once.

"That a no? Cause I would do anything for my mijo. My mija."

"You're mija? Is that a fact? How's that work?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. Back in the day I had a man on the outside drop a stack to the head of visitation. It got me a conjugal visit."

"Bullshit, Blackgate doesn't allow conjugals."

"Unless it's off books." You chime in.

"I had time with Caesar before I went in. It wasn't a lot of time but I got to touch him, to hug him. My little girl doesn't even know what I look like without a sheet of glass between us."

You frown but Hawthorne doesn't relent.
"Heart wrenching story, Garcia. But we need more than a tearjerker to offer you anything."

"I just told you about the head of visitation taking bribes."

"Something we'll look into, but it doesn't win you any prizes unless you can prove it."

"I can't.. shit got tight around here the second that fed money started pouring in. But that just created new problems."

"Go on." You stop Hawthorne before he can speak, you feel your skin prickling.

"All these government varos led to the prison getting a big construction budget. But none of it's been used on Gen Pop."

"What? What do you mean none of it has been 'used on' you?" Hawthorne asks.

"I mean it isn't being fucking used on us. Meta-Prisoners got new rooms, cafeteria, a separate yard. The guards are getting new uniforms and gadgets for handling Meta-Inmates. Hell, they get new break rooms filled with all sorts of expensive shit while we're in places like THIS." He gestures around the dim dusty room. "The money isn't going to anything that isn't meta-related. They're bringing in new guards who only work in the pods in the Meta-areas, they're spending so much of that money that they're cutting guards from our end of the prison to make up for it."

"They're cutting guards from normal inmates? That's insane, why would they do that?"

Val leans forward conspiratorially.
"If you want my take? They're fixing to flip this entire building. Turn it into some Meta-Human concentration camp or something, get all the normal prisoners out and fill the bunks with Metas so they keep getting that government funding. Prison's are a business after-all."

"Even if this was true, there aren't enough meta-human criminals in Gotham to make it worth the effort." Hawthorne speaks firmly but you hear the lack of resolve in his words. He's considering this.
>>
"They could ship them in." You say almost under your breath. "Gotham is right on the ocean and Blackgate has a fully functioning port.."

"I could tell you were the smart one, my boy said you were like.. extrasensory or whatever. That's why you know I'm telling you the truth, the warden and all the top level admins at this place? They're leaving us for dead, not enough guards means more and more fights every day. Those fights breed bad blood for the loser and even if they get caught solitary is currently 'under construction' while they work on fixing the stupid fucking mail pipes they put in. So they just chuck em right back in until that bad blood gets boiling enough for... y'know. Then the problem takes care of itself. One less mouth to feed."

"Just to be clear. You, Valentine Garcia, man who used to run around in a mask battering grannies for their handbags. Are telling us that you have intel that shows corruption in Blackgate's COs?"

"Not without something saying that me spilling all of it would get me a few years knocked off."

"We can't get anything in writing this soon-" You start but Val cuts you off.

"I don't need it in writing. My boy trusts you. So if you look me in the eyes and tell me you'll handle it, I'll trust you on that." He offers a shackled hand for you to shake before adding somewhat ominously. "And I'll hold you to your word."

You look to Hawthorne and he shrugs, leaning in to whisper.

"This has nothing to do with Anarky. Remember we only have confirmed approval from the DA for is to offer reduced sentencing to anyone who has a direct lead to Anarky. That's it. Play this how you want it but.. be careful not to promise something you can't keep. Whatever he tells us will take time too and we're on the clock."

You look back across the table and his hand still lies extended, solid as a statue.

>"Alright, you have my word, tell me what you know and I'll get your sentence reduced."
>"I'll do you one better, if you give me good intel that leads to direct action, I'll argue for your sentence be commuted. You'd go free."
>"You have my word that I will try my best, we have authorization from the DA to offer reduced sentences but this falls outside the scope they set for us."
>"I'm sorry, Val. This isn't something I can promise you, if you still want to tell me I'd obviously appreciate it but I can't promise you something I don't have."
>"Not interested, it sounds plausible but it's insane. I appreciate your time and you reaching out but we have to meet some other prisoners."
>Write-In

Big walls of text means time to take the temperature.

>Thoughts on the theory that Val has regarding Blackgate?
>Thoughts on Val from the very limited amount you've gotten to see/speak to him?

As always appreciate you guys following the story, hope this update was worth the wait.
>>
Almost forgot. Secondary vote:

>Any follow up questions for Valentine? (Write-In)
>>
>>6089279
>"You have my word that I will try my best, we have authorization from the DA to offer reduced sentences but this falls outside the scope they set for us."
If he doesn't take it, we can always take time LATER (when we're not crunched to hell and back) to negotiate with the DA for this specific case and come back when we have better assurances.
>>
>>6089279
>"You have my word that I will try my best, we have authorization from the DA to offer reduced sentences but this falls outside the scope they set for us."
Give him the full, frank information. But also:
>"If you still want to tell me I'd obviously appreciate it but I can't promise you something I don't have.If it were me, I wouldn't want to be party to a concentration camp' even if I didn't get anything out of it."

Val seems like a macho prick, but also that's about what you'd expect from a Gotham goon. I think his theory holds water though. Man has a brain, at least for spotting and recognizing crime.
>>
>>6089296
There is also the potential to table it for the department and see if there is an existing investigation that could potentially benefit, and hand it off to them, though I don't know if the GCPD has the remit for this kind of thing and not the FBI or IRS, since it deals with Federal transactions.

>>6089279
>Any follow up questions for Valentine? (Write-In)
Does he feel safe here at Blackgate, considering what he knows? We could probably arrange for a transfer elsewhere to a separate location (even if temporary) as a precaution if he felt it was a good idea.

Also a reminder that he can send letters home

Even if a conspiracy didn't exist, and there was no direct threat to him, Staff that became aware of this may react poorly since an investigation may well reveal actual wrongdoing; there is little that we could do to keep him safe.
>>
>>6089279
>"You have my word that I will try my best, we have authorization from the DA to offer reduced sentences but this falls outside the scope they set for us."
>>
>>6089279
>val theory
It's legit. ARGUS wouldn't hesitate to do this. I remember bits scattered earlier in the quest about that funding money too, about Dent taking from GCPD and using it elsewhere
>val thoughts
He's a scumbag and he's in this hellhole for good reason. Caesar and his family deserve to see his dad again, but time will tell if Val here can last long enough to get out even with a reduced sentence. I don't have hopes the feds will spare the inmates to make room for their precious meta money-makers

My vote is backing >>6089301 but also what >>6089296 said about specific DA negotiation later. We are on the clock, and everybody in the GCPD is a fucking dead man if Mandragora gives the word. >>6089350 also has a point bringing up federal transactions, but wouldn't the feds be the ones wanting to sweep this if it involves Blackgate COs being corrupted and tied to their in-progress meta-human cash farm here? The questions are all good too; Val's risking his neck here but he doesn't know everybody else is also on the chopping block if we don't make it in time
>>
>>6086166
Calc
>"Long thin fingers twist and rotate until all colors fall into line, first a row, then a full side, until all is uniform. Squabbling and opposing colors brought into line by a grand design of faux hues. For the end of this design shows no mesh of colors working in unison, the design is grey."

>>6084677
>"Harvey. He carries a black spot on a golden heart, one that cannot be removed no matter the effort. Though it is through his own actions that the spot spreads and leeches the shine from him. He is weary. Arrogance and Altruism are his two hands, one attempts to wash the other but when the flowing water stops he can see they have only grown more dirty. The water must never stop flowing. Ever forward. No matter the cost."

>"Victor, a victim of legacy with no connection to the roots from which his tree sprung. A stolen fruit, savored by no one. His mind is riddled with holes, emotions that he can't control steer him like the tight leather reins of a war horse in times of peace. In another time, another place, perhaps he could be healed. But not in Gotham. He will only rot."


Okay, who's autistic enough to delve into this psychic mumbo jumbo and help me out on what this means? This situation sounds Dent related maybe?
>>
>>6089460
>"Long thin fingers twist and rotate until all colors fall into line, first a row, then a full side, until all is uniform.

This line describes someone solving a Rubik’s Cube. You’re supposed to make a row of one color, then a full face. After that there’s a set of instructions you follow to solve it.

Possibly metaphorical for Calc having everything he needs to execute his plan, and he’s ready to put his final steps into action.

I should also note that it is a Rubik’s CUBE. Which is the same shape as the Father Box. So Calc could be the party working on the Father Box.
>>
>>6089460
I like yapping about conspiracy and shit, and I'm the anon who called out the Calculator fake identity with the private construction team, so let's see if I get it right again.

Starting with what >>6089530 said I fully agree, tho I don't feel is totally correct. I don't know almost anything about Calc except what QM showed in this quest, but it looks like Calc is this kind of control freak that he makes a whole world scale plan so he can make the price of his favorite ice cream go a few cents lower. A Rubik's cube has 6 sides each with different colors, and that could symbolize how big Calc plan is, by having 6 different aspects he's micromanaging: One is in the criminal world, working with Anarky and my theory is that he's using them to move around the rest of the criminal minds OUTSIDE of the Maggia we've already dealt with. There's already proof of him having is hands at a private/corporate level with his private construction team and other stuff he made under that alias, then there's also a public level to it with his attack to the meta-human museum, looking to scandalize the public at the Anarky fashion.

But with how great of an scale this is, either this has been brewed while Mark was wearing diapers to be complete, and if this is not the case and it only began a couple of years, there are factors that Calc can't control and he's just gambling that the luck is in his side so part of the cube solves by itself, until all the cube is solved and the whole picture is revealed

>Dent
Egomaniac who wanna use his good deeds as excuse and forgive what he had done. If he wants to build a new Hospital, he won't care if he needs to raise taxes and leave people homeless, because at the end there's going to be a new Hospital. A new housing project? He won't care if the materials are cheap, he already gave a solution to the homeless he created. His shortcomings are inevitable because he NEEDS to have people kissing his feets and receive praise, after all, he was the Harvard student who escaped from Gotham and can be filthy rich, but he can't tolerate being cucked by a Gotham 6 who was HIS woman. If he keeps on giving he might save himself, but he's doomed to fall.

>Victor
The kid we saw on our vision long time ago. Not relevant for this, he's just a attack dog and more than likely to be SIM.

My guess is that Val is right with his theory, maybe Dent has a economy plan which involves bringing Meta-humans to receive money from ARGUS and maybe giving ARGUS control over Gotham, at the cost of giving more leeway to local non-meta criminals. Penguin, Black Mask and JOKER could get less force when dealing with them, while the handful of metals get 3 ARGUS squad teams because he can shit Skittles as a meta and people saw him. All of the cost for a economic boom that could help fix and expand Gotham as a whole but leaving the normal people struggle even more.
>>
>>6089596
>All of the cost for a economic boom that could help fix and expand Gotham as a whole but leaving the normal people struggle even more.
Which of course heightens the friction between metas and normals
>>
>>6089596
Or Calc is manipulating things in his favor to bring either a specific meta or so many metas in the meta wing so he can cause a break out. It'd be easy to do once every single one of them are all there, plus it'd be total anarchy everywhere.
>>
>>6089624
*total Anarky
They DO share a pool of goons and such right now.
>>
>>6089596
The only thing I want to point out is that the riddle specifies that “the whole design is grey”. So the color face theory is likely wrong.

It’s almost like he’s trying to put everyone in the place he wants while dissolving the differences between them. Like he wants them to all have their original loyalties erased.
>>
>>6089296
>>6089301
>>6089350
>>6089414

"You have my word that I'll try my best." You start, Val leans back and sucks his teeth while shaking his head. You hold up a hand and continue. "We have authorization from the DA to offer reduced sentences for information but this falls outside the scope they set for us."

"In other words you're gonna cover this up? Makes sense, you are GCPD after all." He offers with a bitter laugh.

His laugh is cut short by a sudden loud bang as Hawthorne slams his fist on the table.

"Watch your fucking mouth, Garcia." He growls. "The GCPD is the only family I got, and Officer DeLucia? He couldn't be more clean if he dipped himself in bleach, if what you're saying is true he's looking into it. No matter who tells him to stop digging, he's annoying like that."

"Thanks?" You reply.

"Probably should have said tenacious. But I meant it anyways. If you're telling the truth then this is the guy to spill too. Deal or not."

Val's eyes shift over to you and you see he's still hesitating. Your eyes flicker up to a clock, nearly fifteen minutes on this one interview already.

"Look, I understand why you'd be pissed at this. But if you're son told you about me then you know I deal straight. If you want to tell me I'd obviously appreciate it, but I'm not gonna promise something that I don't have. Besides.. if it were me, I wouldn't want to be party to a concentration camp. Wouldn't matter if I got nothing out of it."

"That's the difference between the free and the chained, Officer. You can afford to do it for the right reasons.." He speaks low, you can see the calculation running in his head.

"That's true. But even if I couldn't? I still would." You speak staring directly into his eyes, trying to will your honesty to him. To make him believe you as deeply as you believe yourself. "There's also nothing stopping me from tabling this and taking it to the DA, working out a deal for you specifically. But it would take time, are you safe in here considering what you suspect? Have you told anyone else?"

"Nobody else, I didn't figure there was a point running my mouth until I heard you were coming in. As far as feeling safe? Safer than these other assholes."

"Cause you're a shot caller." Hawthorne grumbles.

"I'm a pod boss, I don't order shankings or anything. I play chess and keep to myself. I turned forty and everyone started calling me 'Tio', started keeping me stocked up on what I needed in exchange for being around me. I didn't ask for this."

"That doesn't happen for nothing."

Val looks at Hawthorne with embers in his eyes before sighing.
"A guard stepped out of line, got physical with some abuelo I used to play, so I took his baton and let him know what it felt like. Isolation's closed so they just chucked me back in, since then everyone's been close."

"And the geezer?" Hawthorne asks.

"He hit his head when he fell, didn't wake up. They took him to the infirmary but I haven't seen him since. It's been over a month."
>>
Just accidentally deleted the entire update, give me a moment.
>>
Val makes the sign of the cross and whispers a prayer.

Hawthorne leans back in his seat silently but you see his jaw set and his hand curl into a fist.

"I'll make sure this gets brought to the DA, I'll fight for a deal for you."

"You know where to find me then. Come with a deal and I'll spill everything on record, testify to what I've seen, the whole nine." He leans forward. "Prove to me you're a man of your word, primo."

"I will." You state firmly. "But we do have other interviews to conduct, I'm sorry."

He shrugs. But you still see some stray thought brewing behind his eyes.

"I'll get the guards." Hawthorne says, rising from his seat and approaching an ancient intercom on the wall.

As soon as he's more than three steps away Val leans closer.

"I'm saying this to YOU because you did right by my mijo, primo. He trusted you. If they get me before this deal happens. Or if the deal don't happen. Take this to a journalist, blast these fuckers on every front page you can."

"I-" You start but get cut off by the loud rhythmic clanking of the bars opening and the guards begin to file in.

One of them, a rather rotund Officer, grabs Val roughly by his bicep and yanks him from the chair.

"Mr. Garcia." You call after him, rising from the seat. "Maybe you should send some letters? To your family, they miss you a lot."

The rotund guard speaks for him as he shuffles him towards the intake.

"Mail room is closed for repairs, if he has anything to tell em he can wait until he gets visitation rights back."

Val is pushed from the room and all is quiet for a minute, Hawthorne shares a knowing look between each other before the clerk sticks his head into the room and inquires quietly.

"Who would you like to bring in next?"

>Terry Coyle, arrested for Assault with a Deadly Weapon, Attempted Murder five times over, and more. He was a gunman in the front of the Museum attack.

>Kenan Lee, arrested for Breaking and Entering, Brandishing, Assault, and more. Known to you as the Anarky member who held Caesar and his sister up.

>Julio 'Jules' Chavez, one of the only Anarkist's who didn't have a prior criminal record. Arrested for breaking and entering, criminal mischief, and a few narcotic charges. He was one of the crew fighting Nightwing in the museum's HVAC room.

>"Could we actually speak with you for a little bit? I had some concerns about the prison."
>>
>>6089439
>>6089460
>>6089530
>>6089596
>>6089598
>>6089624
>>6089643
>>6089920

I also really love you guys talking theories and discussing those Shiver Dream riddles, I was worried everyone kind of glossed over them, so have some (You)'s to show my appreciation.
>>
>>6090213
>Julio 'Jules' Chavez, one of the only Anarkist's who didn't have a prior criminal record. Arrested for breaking and entering, criminal mischief, and a few narcotic charges. He was one of the crew fighting Nightwing in the museum's HVAC room.
The weakest link. Break him first, the rest of the chain comes apart. Use the information gained from him to get under Terry's skin next.
>>
>>6090213
>Julio 'Jules' Chavez, one of the only Anarkist's who didn't have a prior criminal record. Arrested for breaking and entering, criminal mischief, and a few narcotic charges. He was one of the crew fighting Nightwing in the museum's HVAC room.
He was in the HVAC Room. He'd have to have known or been told something
>>
>>6090213
>Julio 'Jules' Chavez, one of the only Anarkist's who didn't have a prior criminal record. Arrested for breaking and entering, criminal mischief, and a few narcotic charges. He was one of the crew fighting Nightwing in the museum's HVAC room.

This guy was handling the fear toxin. He’s bound to have seen something, even if they didn’t tell him everything.
>>
>>6090213
>>Julio 'Jules' Chavez, one of the only Anarkist's who didn't have a prior criminal record. Arrested for breaking and entering, criminal mischief, and a few narcotic charges. He was one of the crew fighting Nightwing in the museum's HVAC room.

Seems like an outlier, might get different info from him.
>>
>>6090217
>>6090255
>>6090291
>>6090397

I'll go ahead and lock this in. But I also have some unfortunate news.

I just found out a little earlier there's been some sort of accident, I won't get into any details, it's going to require me to go pretty far from home to help and just be around. I don't know how long this will keep me, could just be a day or two or it could last until the 1st (this upcoming Monday)

Very sorry to do this especially in the middle of a conversation in quest, but this is just one of those things I need to handle so I hope you understand. I will be back though, I promise, it could just be a bit. I'll be able to read while away so if you want to keep up your theory discussions or just chat about the quest in general it would be nice to have those to look forward to.

I'll see you soon, thanks.
>>
>>6091079
It’s all good QM. Here’s hoping that everything turns out okay.

Take as much time as you need, we’ll still be here when you get back.
>>
>>6091079
The QM Curse strikes again. I hope things get OK for you again. Basically what >>6091121 said
>>
>>6091079
See you soon QM, hope you're well.
>>
>>6090213
>Julio 'Jules' Chavez

>>6091079
Oh damn, sounds serious. I hope all goes well. We'll see you in a bit, QM.
>>
>>6091079
Take all the time you need QM. Your real life stuff should be priority, especially for something like health, be it yours or a family member's.
>>
I've been re-reading the old threads and the more I go through them the more o start to see shit that seemed like throw away comments turning up to be stuff that's coming up now. Especially all that early talk about Dent's politics and his plans for Gotham. Cool to see it all start tying together.

Would like to see more come up about some of those side officers like Bunko though.
>>
Are you dead OP?
>>
>>6092901
Try reading

>>6091079
>>
>>6091940
This quest makes me feel stupid sometimes tbdesu. There's so many plot threads around, but my brain has low RAM and I can only focus on *the current objective*
I would need a schizo sticky note board to keep up
>>
>>6093561
You can always make one yourself.
>>
>>6093561
Yeah but the overall pace is slow enough that you can catch up easily. I had difficulty keeping up with posting pace at a time and began reading again after like a 3 thread gap and had no big issues keeping up with the main strings.
>>
>>6093561
>>6093580

The use of these images has me wondering.

In Disco Elysium terms, Mark is dominantly Shivers, but who are the others?

Hawthorne would be Authority or Espirit De Corps imo

Not sure in Kimble, Banks and Co.
>>
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>>6093677
Mark has great scores in all purples. High volition(keeps on going), high empathy(obviosly), high inland empire(tripping balls every time he goes to sleep), high suggestion(can get people talking). Authority and Espirit De Corps will come with years of service.
His blues are good/okay. He's not doing crazy sherlock shit, but has solid logic.
His reds(besides shivers obviosly) are okay, he isn't a large or agressive guy, that's Hawthrone.
His yellows have "okay" base, but some have been trained to be way higher than others. I'd reckon his hand/eye and composure are great.
>>
>>6093741
We DID spec into being a grappler and quickshot.
>>
i feel like we should take that book to a library or something and use their photocopy machine to make extra's for backup and to use while keeping the main book hidden so no one can steal it
>>
"Can you send in.. 'Jules'?" You say, glancing over his file. The lack of a previous record standing out to you.

"Of course, we'll retrieve Mr. Chavez and bring him quickly."

They exit the room and Hawthorne leans over to appraise the paper with you.

"Julio... no record?"

"That's what caught my attention too, this too."

"College educated, degrees in political science and communications. No wonder he turned to crime, better pay."

"I think he might be a weak link. College educated, not Gotham born, his motive for joining Anarky could be as simple as politics. After all, he was carrying to bag for the gas which probably wasn't a coveted spot."

"How do you mean?"

"Think about it. They had to slip behind everyone else incognito to get the gas going, after that it's all hands on deck from GCPD plus Batman. There's no way they would have been able to escape... they could hold out for a while but then what?"

"Depends on them. If that fruitcake hadn't have shown up it would have been a real bitch to breach the room, one of em takes down a cop maybe it all goes sideways and they have to go down. Maybe they do it to themselves.."

"But they don't get the chance, they get arrested." You follow up.

"Exactly. And what are the odds that soon after Anarky goons wind up being free game on the inside? It reeks alright, only thing we have to do is get Julio to sell out a higher up."

"What makes you think he knows a higher up?"

"Experience. Despite the name Anarky runs his show the same way anyone else does if they want something to get done, with rank and file. A job this important doesn't get passed on by a guy who's not in the know, it needs someone who can answer questions or adjust strategy on the fly. Who the men have access to."

"Like how Gordon came to check in on the sting?"

"More of a 'rally the troops' situation on that end but sure. Julio had to talk to SOMEONE who could answer questions about dosage or accidental exposures. That someone is the next fish up the creek, closer we get to them the more perspective we get on this picture."

The door buzzes and opens, Julio is led in by his chains just as Val was. He keeps his eyes on the floor the entire time, his face blank, as he's led to the chair and sat down. You give the CO a nod and he seals the room, steeping back outside.

"Lawyer." Jules says in a quiet voice, his eyes still avoiding yours.

Hawthorne gives you a knowing glance before sighing and standing up from his chair suddenly. The scraping of steel on concrete rattles Chavez as his eyes finally lift to watch Hawthorne's large figure slowly round the table until he ends up behind him.

"Sir?" You ask cautiously, waiting to see the play.

"Yes, son?" He responds, almost bemused sounding.

"What are you doing?"

"Stretching my legs. We've been cooped up in here since 0900 talking to inmates, I'm surprised you're not up yourself."

"I feel fine, sir."

"How about you, Chavez? You enjoy your walk over here?"
>>
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Hawthorne claps a powerful hand on Chavez' shoulder and the young man flinches.

"I-I want my lawyer..." He repeats, his voice warbling slightly.

"I heard you the first time, I ain't that old. Problem is we got no way of passing that info along for you, that intercom there is just for letting them know when we want you out of here. I'd press it but they'd just take you away back to your cell.."

"You can't do that." He mumbles.

"Actually, Mr. Chavez." You chime in. "Gotham penal code doesn't have a right to attorney after you've waived your right once. You should have been asked prior to this sit down."

"Well I wasn't. They just dragged me here."

"We'll submit a complaint to the city for you." Hawthorne says in a cheerful but sinister tone. Leaning in close to Chavez' ear. "A civil right's violation like that could get you a pretty penny in court, but I'm sure you know that. Being a college graduate and all." You see it now, the continued physical contact, his tone. This is pressure fishing.

Chavez swallows hard and remains silent. You sigh, time to dangle the bait.

"Mr. Chavez. The reason we wanted to meet with you is that we're actually interested in cutting a deal with you."

"You are?" He asks suspiciously.

"Well, not the GCPD but the Gotham DA is willing to... forgive some of the time you're looking at in exchange for information."

"On Anarky?"

"I told you he's smart." Hawthorne chimes in, playfully tussling Chavez' shaggy unkempt mess.

"Smart enough not to rat. A couple years off doesn't mean anything if I'm dead in the next week."

Hawthorne looks to you, Chavez is talking at least. Now you just need to steer him...

====

[Conversation Attitude]
>Fear the Reaper. He's already been rattled by Hawthorne just jostling him, push on this. Instill fear in him, Anarky members are dropping like flies and he's in a prison that is reaching a boiling point of internal conflict. He either spills what he knows and gets to go back home or someone is going to spill his guts with a shiv. His choice.
>Double-Crossed. He's just a kid a touch younger than you. Anarky has always preyed on the most downtrodden of Gotham, stoking the fire inside them, he's a victim. A disposable tool to be used by Anarky and thrown away for 'The mission'. Push the idea that Anarky betrayed him, sent him to die for nothing.
>Under-sell. Someone fired up enough to join a political gang in a different city has strong convictions, strong enough to defend. Belittle him, not mocking but apathetic. Speak aloud to Hawthorne about how he's a little fish in a pond so large his stunt didn't even make ripples. he threw his life away for a cause that couldn't change anything if it tried. Get him righteous.
>Write-In

>General

>Verbatim

====

If you don't remember how to vote using this format, or if you're just now seeing it for the first time, please check out the attached image to clear up any confusion. Any questions, just ask.
>>
>>6093677
>>6093741
>>6093969
I like this question and this analysis. Enjoy a (You) for the interesting thought.

>>6094923
If by book you mean the transcripts and paperwork for your Mole Hunt then you have copies at the GCPD in a false case box as well as the master copies in your neighbors bathroom vent. If you want to make even more or take other security measures make sure to suggest it during a >Write-In vote when we have free time.

>>6091121
>>6091191
>>6091264
>>6091339
Appreciate the kind words, thank (You). Things are stable at least for now, if anything else comes up I'll always make sure to let you guys know before vanishing.

>>6091130
>>6092901
No curse can kill me.

>>6091940
>>6093561
>>6093630
I'm glad some early bread crumbs are starting to be recognized as coming together, I'm a huge fan of the call back and the entire 'seemingly usless information revealed to be important' trope.

As far as the pace making it hard to keep up with the (admittedly plentiful) plot threads, I'm sorry. If you ever need a refresher on something or have a general question feel free to treat this like a tabletop game and directly ask me anything. I don't mind filling people in on things they may have forgotten about or giving some context to certain things when asked. It's what I'm here for.

>>6093580
This is what I'm talking about, make sure you're smoking American Spirits and drinking the worst instant black coffee you can when you're assembling it.
>>
>>6095085
Glad to have you back QM.

I was fearing a Low Tier Goon situation after the first post. Glad to hear that everything went okay.

Tell your family member that they are the recipient of Good Vibes from about twenty anons. Whatever ails them will tremble in fear of our collected autism.
>>
>>6095075
I wanna go Fear the Reaper on this. Bonus if we bring up names of other Anarky members who were confirmed killed on the inside as well as exact dates they died. Some of them might well be ones he knew personally leading up to and including the museum attack. That'll cut right through into him. The faster he's out of prison with a reduced sentence, the farther he'll be away from the mystery groups behind the Anarky member killings. Those guys will still be able to track him and kill him outside of prison too... but that's not our problem. Maybe the hope that spilling the info that these mystery groups are willing to kill him over will enable their downfall, is enough to also spur on some inner sense of self-righteousness
>>
>>6095085
Good to see you back QM!

>>6095075
I feel like Double-Crossed might be good here, but I think the other (more active) anons probably have better ideas.
>>
>>6095075
>Under-sell.
Should work best on a guy who thinks he's some sort of martyr to a cause, or a political prisoner.
>>
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>>6093580
Well, I tried, but it feels like I forgot most of the info, because it turned out kind of empty.
>>6095075
>>Fear the Reaper.
With a side of
>>Double-Crossed
He's gonna get killed pretty soon, we don't even have to oversell it.
>General
Ok, here's the idea. He's a "smart" guy, surely he noticed that anarky goons are dropping. We need to push two points
1) He needs to get out, or he'll die soon too.
2) The hit on all anarky guys might have been put in by an some interested party who doesn't want a leak, could be anarky himself covering his tracks(it's probably calc now that I think about it, but it doesn't matter here)
He was absolutely thrown away kamiakze style, and he COULD have been okay with it previously, as /pol/ brained as you need to be to move to Gotham to join Anarky. But now, after being stuck in prison among actual hardened criminals, and facing certain death, I'd bet he's reconsidering.
Basicaly scare the shit out of him, make him feel betrayed and used, etc.
If we're feeling desperate, we could try listening to his manifesto, while feeding him the idea that "sure, that's all cool and good, but anarky doesn't actually believe in any of that, or operates like that"
>>
>>6095497
Nice conspiracy board, anon. Solid approach, too, though I still think we should lean on the last bit (getting him to rant about his manifesto, then point out how doomed his mission is and how his own boss doesn't believe it). That said, the last Anarky goons we approached that way were pretty dismissive, just relying on that stock sentiment of "you have to work within the constraints of the system you're stuck in until it's defeated."
>>
>>6095497
+1
>>
>>6095226
>>6095497
>>6095519

You close the file and pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out a low sigh. Slowly you lean over and grab a different folder, opening it up you take a breath and start to recite it's contents.

"John Witmore. One week ago. Puncture wounds to the neck, back, and.. groin." You see recognition spark in his eyes with the name. You whistle low and flip a page. "Jackson Fore. A couple days before that. Found covered in bruises and with a baseball sized dent in his head. COD is listed as.. 'inter-cranial bleeding.' Sounds rough."

"What does this have to do with me?" Julio asks you, clearly unnerved.

"Just letting you know what the future might hold for you. That's just two out of thirteen, I could keep reading until you put it together yourself."

"Put what together?"

"Oh come on, you went to college. You're educated." Hawthorne chimes in, more shoulder slaps and leaning close.

"Not educated enough to put your time into anything worthwhile, but I mean what can you do?" You follow up with a lazy shrug.

"Excuse me?" He seems more confused than anything, maybe he's not that smart.

"You left college to join a street gang, Jules."

"I didn't exactly have any options."

"Oh so you were threatened into joining up? Did they make you pack your dorm at gunpoint there, Che?"

"I'm not saying anything." He responds defiantly, the slightest waver in his voice.

"Feel free, we know how Anarky operates. They prey on righteous teenagers and morons with some sort of chip on their shoulder against society."

"Which are you, Che? A moron with values or a moron with a grudge?" Hawthorne presses.

"Fuck you, fascist."

"Guess that answers that." Hawthorne says with a chuckle.

"Come on, Jules. Humor me. Whaddya mean by no options? What draws a guy like you to Anarky?"

He shrugs.
"I didn't go looking for them, they got in contact with me. I was organizing protests, a few demonstrations, that kind of thing. It was better than anything else I could do."

"Better than- Son, you've thrown your entire life away. You had a degree, you had a future!"

"What future? Look around, old man. Rent keeps getting higher, gas goes up, and the entire time the government just bails out the fat cats. The people who deserve it LEAST. Who need it LEAST." He starts slowly but his words speed up, infused and dripping with simmering rage. You let him ramble. "People are struggling. The Narrows? There are entire TOWNS at that level of poverty. Entire communities with boots on their necks trying to make ends meet without the money to buy the string. I tried, you know? I got out of school and I put out application after application and got back nothing. You're saying I threw my future away? How much is a future working minimum wage using that diploma to wipe up grease stains worth, really?"
>>
Hawthorne opens his mouth to fire back but you hold up a hand.

"I get it. You finish school and it's like your entire life goes sideways, everything you planned for and everything you expected.. it just doesn't shake out like that. But you don't understand the situation you're in. If you stay in here, if you don't talk. You're going to die."

He swallows harshly, that fear flaring up behind his eyes again. You smell burnt almonds, horseradish, the sharp sting of chlorine. You need to push the fear.

"These deaths aren't accidents. They aren't part of whatever is boiling in the prison either, these are targeted. The men who hit the museum, they've all dropped like flies one by one, you worked with em you had to know some of them. Does it not bother you?"

He folds his hands and starts avoiding your eyes, that probing investigative gaze you'd picked up off Grey scans every inch of his face. Shame. Regret. Anger.

"Mr. Chavez. Part of you agrees with me, it's all too convenient that everyone involved with the museum is being targeted. Part of you knows you're next. And a part of you definitely knows you don't belong here with killers, rapists, and gangbangers." You lay it on thick and Hawthorne adds the garnish.

"All of them though, they'd sleep just fine at night after skinning you for the one thing they do hold sacred. The almighty dollar. You were sold down the river."

"No.." He responds.

"You know you were." Hawthorne continues to push. "You were sent into the belly of the beast with a safety rope and it wasn't until some whacko in a unitard was clubbing you over the head that you realized it was wrapped around your neck. They expected you to die in there, hell they WANTED you to die in there. So why fight for them still?"

"Mr. Chavez, answer the question." You add quietly and politely.

"I d-don't know an-" He stutters.

"Don't lie to me you little shit!" Hawthorne roars. "Someone is out there right now waiting to put a blade in your guts for a fucking twinkie and some new socks."

"He wouldn-"

"You'll be lucky if it's an open casket when they're done with you, you dumb son of a bitch!" He screams before looking to you and jerking a thumb upwards. "Get up, Rookie. We're done here, I'm sending this scumbag back to his cell."

"What!?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Chavez. I tried to get it across to you but we are on a time limit and if you don't want to help us there are a few more people who have more interest in living. We'll get answers from them."

"You can't, you said they'll kill me." His lip trembles and you see an ugly grid of wrinkles forming on his chin as his breath shudders. You push your empathy aside and shrug coldly.

"Not our problem, sorry to be so blunt but that's the truth. We figured you'd be intelligent enough to realize a set-up when you see one, it may not even be Anarky who set it up."

His eyes light up. You feel something click in your own head as a sensation takes over, that feeling of almost remembering something.
>>
"Okay wait.. wait!" He calls after Hawthorne who extends a finger towards the buzzer. Hawthorne pauses. "You said it could be an outside guy right? Someone not in Anarky.."

"It's a theory." You reply neutrally.

"If I could give you information pointing to them would that be good enough to get me out of here? I mean he isn't even in Anarky itself so it's like.. it's not even snitching really." He looks between you and Hawthorne for validation but you simply gesture him to sit down.

"If your information is good, we've been authorized to offer you a reduced sentence, but they want Anarky the man. Not the group."

"I can't.." He whispers.

"We don't have to go there right now then, just tell me about the museum, you were carrying the fear toxin for the HVAC system. I know that kind of thing doesn't just fall in your lap and you get told good luck. Someone had to brief you."

He nods nervously.
"Older guy, probably in his 40's. He was a doctor and that's all we ever called him was 'Doctor'. He had a girl too, young enough to be his daughter probably in her... mid twenties? We weren't allowed to talk to her, he just called her Queen."

You and Hawthorne exchange a glance. Doctor Crane?

"Go on."

"He gave me the bag and briefed us, we were a small group. We were supposed to get the gas pumping and then hold the room until.." He stops nervously.

"Mr. Chavez, I'm not going to tell you again. Speak to us or your deal is off the table and you go back into the zoo."

He swallows and looks down shamefully.

"We had to hold the room until they got the target, then we would leave and take the back door to the alleys behind."

"That confirms the idea it was a set up then.." You say quietly, jotting his words down.

"What?"

"That alley they were sending you too, that's where GCPD was staged. You'd have walked into an alley full of pissed off cops, more than a few of your boys were carrying some serious firepower too."

"Would have been one hell of a firing squad." Hawthorne adds dryly.

"Oh my god.." Chavez whispers, his eyes growing wide. "The plan for the room was the Doctor's but.. he told us the routes were picked by Anarky."

"I tried to tell you, to him you're just a useful idiot. A tool to be used until it broke. Do you get that now?"

He sits in silence for a few moments but eventually Chavez nods sullenly. His spirit broken.

"Maybe you wouldn't mind sharing a few more details. Like your target.. why was Mayor Dent so important to kill."

Chavez looks up in confusion.

"Dent? We weren't after Dent."

"Excuse me?" Hawthorne growls.

"We weren't after Dent, Anarky left a tape before we went. All the guys going to the museum watched it. The museum was a 'cesspool of the elite' and we were going there to capture the crown jewel of capitalism."

"Bruce Wayne." You assert. He nods.

"He wanted Wayne alive, told the assault team that collateral damage was fine as long as we got who we came for.."
>>
"Then why did Firebug come after Mayor Dent?"

His face screws into more genuine confusion.

"Who the fuck is Firebug? Look I don't know anything else except what I'm telling you. The museum attack was to kidnap Wayne, we would take him to the safe house and broadcast a message to the company."

"The company? Not the city?"

He shakes his head.

"It would have been delivered to Wayne Enterprises top board members, an ultimatum. Dissolve Wayne Enterprises with a board vote and liquify their assets including land and patents or we would kill Wayne on a live broadcast. If they agreed then we'd also be requesting all the cash they had on hand to be handed over to us for redistribution."

"You can't tell me you believed they'd agree to those terms."

"What I thought didn't matter... Anarky told us they'd either do as we asked and we could use that money to heal the sick parts of the city. Or everyone could watch Wayne die and realize that no amount of money makes someone untouchable..."

"Jesus." Hawthorne mumbles.

"You mentioned a safe house, would you be willing to point it out for us? As far as you've gone already, you may as well."

"I can. I can also tell you where the Doctor's lab was set up."

"His lab? You saw it?"

"We went there to pick up the bag, he wasn't staying in the barracks with the rest of us, Terry told us he wasn't one of us so just to go in and get the bag and leave. But the Doc he wanted to give us a demonstration.. let us know exactly what we were messing with. He took a little eyedropper thing and just put it on a spoon over a burner."

You write as fast as he speaks, his eyes are distant and he relives the memory and those scents from earlier are now deep in your own nostrils.

"It started to vaporize and he told us to 'take a whiff' and blew some towards us."

"What happened?"

"I don't know, I was in the back. The others caught a smell and went crazy, one of em was scratching at his arm until it bled talking about ticks and ants. Someone else pissed themselves.. he just kept mumbling the entire time. He walked up to me and put the bag in my arms, he told me to remember what I saw in case I felt like taking my mask off.' then he just went back to working on whatever he was cooking up. The guys were back to normal by the time we got back to the barracks but they were different, by the time we were ready to go to the museum I didn't see em around anymore.." He frowns and looks at you. "Do you think they.. y'know?"

"I don't know, but we'll look for them. You might not know cause you aren't from around here but that Fear Toxin is nasty work, you're lucky."

He scoffs as you finish writing the last of his words.

"You're doing good, Chavez. This is all very good information. You've mentioned the Barracks a few times now, is that where you all stayed?"

"The foot soldiers yeah, it's a slumhouse."

"I need the address, same for that lab you went to, and the safe house you would have taken Wayne."
>>
He nods uncertainly. You hold your pen at the ready but he stalls. As you're about to press him he speaks up.

"How much time am I getting off for this?"

"It depends on what you give us." Hawthorne grumbles. "So keep spilling."

"This is everything." He admits. "These addresses are the last bit of information I have, I need to know what it's worth. I'm in here for thirteen years and you guys made it clear... I can't do that. I need to know I'm gonna be safe."

"They're already holding you separate from Gen Pop, what else do yo-" Hawthorne begins.

"That can't last forever. The prison is doing this 're-modeling' and it's only a matter of time until the cell I'm in needs to be touched up and they throw me to the wolves. I've heard of it happening before.."

The sneak a glance at Hawthorne and see he's doing it as well. This makes Val's story about something shady going on backed up by at least one other person.

"I'll put in a good word for you, I promise. You've cooperated." You assure him.

"I need more than that man, I need to know this is worth it. Because if word gets out..." He lets the sentence trail, not even wanting to speak the idea into reality.

Hawthorne looks to you and raises a brow. "Your show" it seems to say.

>"I'll put in a word for your sentence to be reduced to 'time served'. I don't want your death on my conscience and more than that, I don't think it's too late for you to turn your life around."
>"I'll put in a word for your sentence to be squashed, you'll be out as soon as the Feds are able to take you into Wit-Sec. Within days. (Lie)
>"I can recommend the DA take 10 years off your sentence AND I can put in a request for a transfer. Get you somewhere a little further from whoever's pulling these strings."
>"What you did led to the direct deaths of multiple police officers, wounded civilians, and almost cost countless other lives. I can put in a word for Five years off your bid. Take it or leave it."
>"Remember how I told you that you needed to get out of this place or you were dead? Imagine how fast that'll happen with a snitch jacket put on you. It's too late now, Chavez. You tell me everything now or I'm not saying a damn thing to the DA."
>Write-In


Sorry it's so fucking long, this update, I had a lot of pent up writing to get out from my unexpected time off.

This chat with Chavez has lifted the shadows on some motivations and dropped some more darkness on a few other things. Curious to hear what you guys think of this new information you've learned. Make sure to let me know.

Also >>6095497 sick fucking schizo board, looking forward to you finding a way to fit all this new information on it kek.

Good to be back guys."
>>
>>6095913
>"What future? Look around, old man. Rent keeps getting higher, gas goes up, and the entire time the government just bails out the fat cats. The people who deserve it LEAST. Who need it LEAST." He starts slowly but his words speed up, infused and dripping with simmering rage. You let him ramble. "People are struggling. The Narrows? There are entire TOWNS at that level of poverty. Entire communities with boots on their necks trying to make ends meet without the money to buy the string. I tried, you know? I got out of school and I put out application after application and got back nothing. You're saying I threw my future away? How much is a future working minimum wage using that diploma to wipe up grease stains worth, really?"
But he's absolutely correct?

>>6095952
Good update OP
So is the Dent shit a red herring? How the fuck did Calc get his hands on Scarecrow long enough to do this? And we still haven't checked those sites owned by Calc and their connection to what's below
>>
>>6095952
>"I can recommend the DA take 10 years off your sentence AND I can put in a request for a transfer. Get you somewhere a little further from whoever's pulling these strings."

Giving him “Time Served” in Gotham with the green light going on is going to get him killed anyways. Three years out of state should be long enough for things to cool down.

And I doubt the DA is going to let him completely off the hook after the absolute stunt he pulled.
>>
>>6095952
>"I can recommend the DA take 10 years off your sentence AND I can put in a request for a transfer. Get you somewhere a little further from whoever's pulling these strings."
>>
>>6095991
Being right is kinda Anarky's thing, no? Like with Ra's.
>>
>>6095952
>"I can recommend the DA take 10 years off your sentence AND I can put in a request for a transfer. Get you somewhere a little further from whoever's pulling these strings."

>>6095991
>>6096179
Many Gotham villains are correct to varying degrees in their diagnosis of society's problems (or written as being so, at least). They're just usually ALSO crazy and delusional about the solution, or amorally exploiting the situation while paying lip-service to utopian ideals, or extremist terrorists. Anarky is usually depicted as some combination of those.
>>
>>6096017
>>6096177
>>6096204

You take a moment to mull over the contents of your notepad. He's revealed a lot of the reasoning behind the museum assault, knowing what Anarky is a pretty big development. This is a big help.. but then you catch it for only a moment. Burnt flesh. You straighten up the file and set it down gently, speaking slowly and clearly.

"Mr. Chavez. "I can recommend the DA take 10 years off your sentence.." He opens his mouth to protest but you shut him down with a glare. "AND I can put in a request for a transfer. Get you somewhere a little further from whoever's pulling these strings."

He settles slightly with that addition and looks to you with fearful eyes.

"You can't do better than ten years?"

"Being honest, Mr. Chavez. Three years is a steal for the stunt you pulled."

He seems to accept that without much fight, his shoulders slump.

"How long should it take for that to go through?"

"Considering you'll be someone pretty important to the feds. You can count on someone putting a rush on it." Hawthorne offers from behind folded arms.

Chavez nods slowly.

You look to Hawthorne and give him a nod, without response he stands and approaches the buzzer.

"Come and get 'im."

The familiar song and dance plays out but as Chavez is being led away Hawthorne grabs a CO by his arm and speaks to him in a low intense voice.

"This one here is on the government's shortlist, if anything happens to him you'll have feds crawling up your ass with a magnifying glass. Keep him secured."

The man yanks his arm away and sneers.

"Sure thing, Mitch." He says, spitting the last name.

As they exit you walk forward with a poorly disguised face of distaste but before you can ask Hawthorne shakes his head. You know better than to press this right now so you settle with him in the doorway watching Chavez shuffle down the halls, a thought itching in the back of your mind.

"Sir?" You ask quietly.

A grunt is thrown back your way, but the kind that says to go ahead.

"Was he wrong?"

"The hell?" Hawthorne asks, arching an eyebrow high and turning to face you.

"Not like that, what he did was obviously wrong. But the reasons he joined Anarky in the first place.. you don't think it makes sense? In a weird way?"

Hawthorne chews his inner cheek and his old eyes squint as he runs through the catalog of his life. You hear faint sounds of children laughing, raised voices, broken glasses, police sirens, and the crackling of a fire. You're almost lost in them until his rough voice brings you back.

"I asked you why you wanted to be a cop when we first met, rook. You remember what you said?"

"Yeah, I wanted to make the city a better place. I just wanted to make things better for the people here." As you finish his point clicks.

"Exactly, the difference is that you had faith. You had faith that the change could happen from the inside, using the foundations that already exist."
>>
"So you're saying I'm a bad day at work away from being him?"

"Not at all, I think it's a.. maturity issue. That kid probably spent his life being told that he could grow up to be anything he wanted, DO anything he wanted, and it made him expect the world to be fair. The way you grew up? You knew it wasn't fair from the start."

"Hah, I should be thankful for the tumor then." You joke. Hawthorne chuckles too but shakes his head.

"I'm just spit-balling, never been a shrink. Hell I've never really liked em either. But I think that time you spent moving between doctors and cities like you did, it taught you the most important lesson in life. You're never in control. He thought he could change that, even if the means were extreme.." He trails off as he watches Chavez round a corner.

"Wow. Not like you to get insightful like that, sir."

He glances over his shoulder at you and shrugs.
"I guess taking up babysitting has softened me up."

"Hilarious." You drop dryly.

"I try." Hawthorne begins to walk back in but stops and slowly turns to you. "You asked me a question, so humor one from me."

"Sure, what's up?"

"Why did you become a cop instead of a mask? I know, I know. Accountability and all that, but where'd that come from?"

>"What made you decide that working inside the system was better than trying to fix things from the outside?"

(Welcome to another Canon Mark Characterization vote, Write-In only but feel free to +1 answers you like. I love to see you guys stretch the writing muscle too)



In case anyone was wondering why I wanted this to be a vote I realized we didn't have a sort of backbone event, quote, moment etc in his past that would have been the catalyst for his 'obsession' with being accountable and transparent. Or even why he didn't just go into politics, or charities, instead of going to police route.

So I figured this is a fun way and a decent moment to bring in a more concrete motivation for our Italian boyscout going forward, especially since I have some plans..

>>
>>6096821
>Sir, the only way things will get better is if someone takes responsibility for them. That’s what we do when we put on this uniform, we make ourselves responsible for the harm done to the city as well as our own actions.

>I don’t see the metas lining up to walk a beat after they take down their monster of the week. And I certainly don’t see these “well-meaning revolutionaries” organizing a trash collection brigade. It’s all just violence for violence’s sake. A way for an individual to “take control”, as you put it.

>This uniform shows that we are willing to deal with the consequences of our actions, instead of hiding behind a spandex leotard and shitty party store mask.

>I know that GCPD has done its part to earn its current reputation. But I know that the people of this city deserve the kind of protection that can only come from humans just like them, patrolling the streets and giving enough to a shit to stop a gang of kids from smashing out their windows. People who will put in twelve hour night shifts fueled by shit coffee and not cut and run when there’s no glory to be had.
>>
>>6096904
+1
I think despite being a meta himself, Mark's power is down-to-earth enough combined with his upbringing and previous experiences with his ex, to be somewhat contemptuous of most other metas that play the hero. Not entirely though because he holds Martian Manhunter in high regard for being a fellow psychic meta and helping him. Question for being as "down to earth" as he is, and Batman for actually being there for Gotham as fucked up as he is. I like Mark expressing a bit of that disgruntled emotion about them here to Hawthorne. The second paragraph of that write-in hits nicely.
>>
>>6096925
It really can be a side effect of the nature of his power.

He 'feels' the entire city wherever he goes, but he doesn't become 'one' with the city really. Instead of being and individual representing many, he truly gets to feel as an individual in the hive in a way nobody else can.

That nature of being an individual means he 'understands' the systems that exist in an inherent way. It's such an extreme empathy, who is he to say he's better than anyone else?
>>
>>6097262
Well, I don't think it's that deep. Mark is just too real to dress in colorful tights with a big logo on his chest.
I do love capeshit, and don't demand every outfit to be some tacticool operator larp, but mark just doesn't seem the type.
>>
>>6097283
Plenty of 'capes' don't go full cape. I'd say Constantine is pretty firmly in capeland despite not dressing the part. Then again, he's kinda dragged into capeshit more than anything. Zatanna?Maybe it's more just the magic people getting caught up in shit.
>>
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>>6096821
>An asshole he knew in high school always wanted to be a "superhero" (for all the wrong reasons) and/or Mark previously dealt or talked with a really nice cop and found him "cool".
I think it doesn't need to be as deep as >>6096904 suggestions. They're cool, but make Mark sound like he's holding some sort of moral highground in an obnoxious way, no offence. Mark is young, I don't want him to spam philosophy at Hawthrone.
>>6097289
Constantine is more of a paranormal detective, no? Never read his comic books. I'm not sure where the line for "capeshit" truly lies. Zatanna is definitely *it* though, she's a showwoman after all.

Small schizo board update, we got more pieces, but TLDR is "it's all calc's fault", as usual.
We gotta check if the lab provided to scarecrow was calc's property, or an anarky one.
>>
>>6097304
Draw a dotted equal sign from Wayne to Batman next to it, I fucking dare you
Also black boxes like the one below Gotham might be tied to Darkseid
>>
>>6097350
>Draw a dotted equal sign from Wayne to Batman next to it, I fucking dare you
Come on now, that's just ridiculous
>Also black boxes like the one below Gotham might be tied to Darkseid
By black boxes I mean the one in the sewer, the one in the abandoned calc property and the one in the room where big mafia bosses met, not the mother box.
>>
>>6096821
I like the answer in >>6097304. That and maybe Grandpapa had a few words of warning about big men making cults of personality, after seeing what happened to Italy? Not saying he thought Batman or the League were fascists, but he might have cautioned Mark to be wary of guys who seem to be in it for glory, and bad experiences with super-fans and Mark's ex solidified the bias?
>>
>>6096904
>>6096925
>>6097304
>>6097406

"What made you decide that working inside the system was better than trying to fix things from the outside?"

"Shit. That's a bit of a deep question.." You ask, buying some time to consider your answer. "I knew this kid in school, the few years I was able to go, he couldn't shut up about 'superheroes' especially Superman. Couldn't stop talking about him, all the things he read about him doing online or in the papers."

"Kids still read the papers?" Hawthorne jokes, but you move past it caught up in a memory.

"I noticed after a while that he only ever talked about the big stuff. Catching falling planes or some conflict he personally stopped overseas and it just became kind of.. transparent what he really admired. He didn't admire Superman because he was doing the right thing or being good. He admired the power. He liked the fact that Superman answered to nobody." You look down at your shirt and see the dull reflection of your badge. "I guess the simplest way to put it is that the challenge makes it more rewarding. We're tied down in red tape, we answer to higher ups, there are limitations to our power. But we still make things better."

Hawthorne looks at you keenly, something glinting in his tired eyes.
"You let a fanboy dictate your career choices?"

"No." You answer defensively. "... Also my grandfather. He was never a huge fan of putting individuals on a pedestal like that, it would always end up in some rant about Mussolini being 'a big man only to people standing beneath him.' usually."

"Damn. He wasn't a fan of masks then?"

"I think it was more like he just really fucking hated Mussolini." You laugh. "But he had a point, big men are important men, and important men don't have time for the little guy and their little problems."

"That isn't limited to masks, rook. The same tipping point exists all over, you can't handle everything all the time, eventually you have to make a choice about what's most deserving of your time."

"I get that, but that's why I don't think I'm better than superheroes or more 'righteous' or whatever. But I don't see Justice League patrolling the street for punk kids smashing windows or boosting cars. But with masks getting bigger and bigger in the world... I dunno. Just feels like the police are more important than ever."

You both stand in silence for a few seconds, Hawthorne nodding slowly as he digests your words, until the clacking of dress shoes on polished linoleum draws your attention.

Rounding the corner you see Grey, both hands stuffed in his pockets and a thin layer of sweat on his face only visible as he gets closer.

"Detective." You state, trying to remain casual. Grey responds with a sly peek over his shoulders as he enters the room and drops his voice to a whisper.

"I got... something." He lifts his hands slightly to reveal a tightly clutched wad of papers, cut vertically in long thin lines.

"Shredded papers?"
>>
"To say security is lax in their mailroom is an understatement. Prisoners work the sorting and cycling and then a prison employee walks the cart and doles out the mail. Or at least they did."

"We had a few cons mention something about renovations, including the mail room." Hawthorne adds, standing watch at the door.

"I noticed, piping all over the prison like those pneumatic tubes at banks. Apparently the idea is to automate the process, let inmates work the room and pass approved mail from the pipes to Plastic is nice and thick in communal spaces like hallways or cafeteria. But on my way here from smoking outside I passed some cells, tubes running through there? Shaky and thin and cheap, more than that I saw something."

"Something big?"

"Something weird. Trash gets lined up every morning for pick up, with the construction the schedules are off. I found this." He rustles the paper strands in his pocket. "Sitting in a bag outside the cell waiting for pick up. I peeked inside and obviously no shredder, but weirder than THAT was what I saw on the tube going through that cell. Clear scrapes on the tube, small square maybe big enough to stick some fingers through, not big enough to pull out a full piece of mail but big enough-"

"To collect some paper scraps.. You think their passing messages through these and putting them together in their cells." You look to Hawthorne and speak in an excited whisper. "This could be how word is going around about targeting Anarkists."

He grunts in response, keeping his eyes focused on the hallways.

"You read my mind, Mark. We need to get out of here so I can piece this together. I also managed to snag a picture of the shift listing for the mail room, that with whatever this note has on it. I'm thinking we might just find some dirt on Kal Late.." He trails off and buries his mouth in his shoulder to release a hacking cough, so violent his body shudders.

You shiver and taste copper in your mouth, dancing blue and yellow spots fade in and out of your vision but only for a few seconds.

"You okay, sir?" You ask.

"Yep. Just haven't smoked in a while, I feel like I'm thirteen agaaai-" He lets out another rattling cough as he laughs but the laugh quickly fades. He looks up to you again, a small smear of blood on the corner of his mouth. "I'm alright, kid."

"Sir.. you're uh."

He rubs his face into his shoulder and you watch the blood fade into the dark of his blazer jacket. Hawthorne doesn't look, but it almost feels like he's intentionally averting his gaze. Thick veins bulge on his neck as he extends an arm and taps your shoulder.

"Clerk is coming."

Grey straightens up as best he can and steps behind you as you gather the files and walk to meet the clerk at the door.
>>
"Officers we- oh.. And Detective. We are having a bit of an issue right now, something to do with our maintenance. I'm sorry to say we can only squeeze in one more visit for you gentleman."

>"Bring us Terry Coyle, please."
>"We'd like to see Kenan Lee before we go."
>"Unfortunately it seems Detective Grey is feeling under the weather, we'll be back to complete the interviews another day."
>"Detective Grey actually had an inmate he was interested in himself, Detective?"
>Write-In
>>
Small edit to make in post 2 of this update.

"Apparently, the idea is to automate the process, let inmates work the room and pass approved mail from there to a CCTV monitored pick up location. Saves on man hours and money must be tight because while the plastic is nice and thick in communal spaces..."

Apologies for the mix up, I had a lot to revise and missed that bit I left out.
>>
>>6097352
Those small ones were just IEDs, no? Set up to fuck up anybody on Calc's trail
>>
>>6097768
>>6097352

It was a small detail, so let me clarify.

The boxes you saw in the sewers were different to the IED you discovered at the magic shop. But, it was the same box. One modified and one un-modified.
>>
>>6097709
>>"Detective Grey actually had an inmate he was interested in himself, Detective?
I fon't remember who Gray even wants, but if he does, sure, because the other two are kind of useless.
Terry Coyle is probably useless to us, because he's a professional retard judging by his resume and him being a gunman means he probably doesn't know shit AND would be hard to crack. Unironically let him die.
Kenan Lee is guy from way back, I don't remember much about him. Was it him in some orphanage we visited and then did the Cobra bit? Not sure what would we need him for.
Next stop in this Anarky/Calc investigation is a lab.
>>
Also, whoever construction fuck decided to route pneumatic mail tubes THROUGH THE CELLS is a capital R retard. For what purpose?
>>
>>6098228
+1
>>
>>6098230
Likely expedience and reduced cost, also as a refit to older buildings it can be hard to find sufficiently well recessed, unused spaces since they weren't designed with them in the first place and any spots that do exist for routing the transport pipes probably already have other refitted systems there already.
>>
>>6098228
+1
I trust Gray.
>>
>>6098230
Considering this is Gotham, I think I can outline the procedure below:
>Government creates a job for contractors to bid on
>city officials embezzle money from the fund
>the guy in charge of procurement hired a firm ran by his buddy from college who promised him a kickback
>no work gets done, procurer is found guilty of corruption
>barely any money left, hand the job to the lowest bidder
>workmanship is shit

Rinse and repeat, and you have modern Gotham.
>>
>>6097709
>"Detective Grey actually had an inmate he was interested in himself, Detective?"

>>6098318
I wonder if the Reeves/Pattinson movie Wayne Foundation scheme is part of this canon? Would fit.
>>
>>6098358
>>6098228
>>6098239
>>6098316

Just to clarify so we don't get another Kimble misread. These votes are for an option that is going to result in putting Grey on the spot.

He did NOT have an inmate in mind, this is just a light shove to try and get him to ask for the inmate who had the paper shreds to be brought down for you guys to talk to now instead of finding out about later. Apologies that wasn't clearly conveyed.

>Still go through with it? (Y/N)
>Leave
>>
>>6098398
Y
paper shreds guy might be important
>>
>>6098398
Gonna leave this up for a bit, something popped up I need to handle so I'll be extending our game time into the weekend.
>>
>>6098398
Y
>>
>>6098398
Y
>>
>>6098398
>Y
But mouth "sorry" to him. It's important, though!
>>
>>6098459
>>6098606
>>6098753
>>6099104

"Detective Grey actually had an inmate he was interested in himself, Detective?" You turn to face him and mouth a quick 'sorry'

His face is flush and damp with sweat but he pulls himself together, giving you a very stern glance he peeks over your shoulder at the clerk and clears his throat.

"Of course, what's the inmates name?" He asks politely.

Grey frowns and then you see the light click.

"Actually I don't have his name, he wasn't on our agenda today but while I was coming back from a smoke break I noticed an issue."

"An issue?" The clerk asks.

"With one of the cells, the inmate in cell C-13, I noticed some vandalism to one of your mailing pipes."

"Oh my.. well as chance would have it I don't think I can offer you that inmate at this time."

Grey's unease fades away as his eyes narrow and you see that analytical glint return.

"And why is that?"

"We were already aware of the issue and have taken him into solitary for the offense while we repair his cell."

"I fail to see how that means we can't speak with him."

"Well no offense to you Officer bu-"

"Detective." He clarifies firmly.

"Of course, Detective. Again I apologize but the inmates you met with today were already approved by the Warden. Of course you know the legal red tape surrounding this kind of issue, lawyers, scheduling, you understand.."

"I don't think he does." Hawthorne chimes in now, his voice low. "As a matter of fact, I find it interesting you're taking him to solitary when we've heard solitary is closed off for these 'renovations' you're undergoing."

"W-well it's a very complicated process and I'm no architect but we always ensure some solitary cells remain open just in case." The clerk stammers and you feel a ripple of gooseflesh down your back. "Unfortunately I'm not privy to the planning as decided by Mayor Dent and the Warden."

"Well fortunately we have this young man here." Grey says enthusiastically as he grabs your shoulders. "You recognize him?"

"Ah.. vaguely? Yes?"

"Then you know he's one of the officer's who saved Mayor Dent's life at the museum assault."

"The assault perpetrated by the people we've been speaking with today." Hawthorne follows up poking stiff finger into the clerks cheap double breasted.

"I was... not aware. Um. Perhaps I can make a call."

"Oh can you now?" Hawthorne says with the tone that you recognize is leading up to a rant. "Let me tell you something over here."

Grey taps you gently and turns, he speaks in a feverish whisper.
"He's buying us a moment, first off: Fuck you. You're lucky I'm sharp enough to play that off but try that on someone who doesn't think like you and you'll crash an investigation before it even starts. Second: I am trying not to let my massive bulging pockets show right now. That inmate we just asked about has stolen trash that's in my pockets, this shit cannot stay in here. Someone has to take it and go."

"It's jus-"
>>
"It's not just garbage." He whispers under the rising voice of Hawthorne now moving onto a tirade about public service. "If this is what we think it is, then this isn't trash being picked up. It's evidence being destroyed, someone is going to notice it's gone."

You give a shallow nod and dip your head.
"Yes, sir."

"Now the plan changes... someone gets these out while two of us stay behind to get the interview done. By the time we wrap up I have a feeling we'll have to go through a stop and frisk for 'security reasons' so it has to be now."

As he finishes his sentence the Clerk finally finds the nerve to interrupt Hawthorne.

"Sergeant, you've made your point! Please just.. relax here a moment and I'll contact the Warden about your request." He speaks quickly and with a tension in his throat.

He steps backwards as Hawthorne mumbles a few choice words. When the phone hits his ear and the greetings are spoken Hawthorne turns and approaches you quickly. Looking to Grey.

"Rook shook the plan up, what's our move?"

"One of us takes the shreds out of here now before the interview, hides them well, odds are after the interview we aren't getting out without a search and neither are the cars."

"Which one of us is it gonna be?" Hawthorne asks.

Grey sucks his teeth and his eyes pace side to side as he thinks.

"Can't be me, I'm the one who wanted to talk to this fucking guy.." He turns his eyes to you and frowns slightly. "You want a chance to fix this?"

"Him?" Hawthorne asks, not insultingly but a genuine question. You aren't sure if that makes it sting more or not.

"The CO's already have beef with you over that shit you pulled at the Department Ball and he's a rookie. Everyone is gonna look over him like he's invisible."

They both turn to you and ask quietly.

"You think you can handle this, Mark?"

>"Send me, I'll make sure it isn't found."
>"You should really send Hawthorne, I've already knocked us off course once."
>"Are you sure you can't go Grey? You don't look to hot already, wouldn't be hard to sell you needing to leave quickly."
>Write-In
>>
>>6099129
>"Send me, I'll make sure it isn't found."

I have an Idea. We may be able to walk out with it all :^)

>Cut a whole in the lining of our outer clothes and feed the scraps into it. Spread out the scraps to avoid bulges. Lightly melt the opening back together with a lighter and put a dollop of coffee on it so it looks like a stain.

The paper sounds from moving can be chalked up to the cloth rustling. We just gotta play it coolio
>>
>>6099208
+1
If not all of it, just the most pertinent documents possible.

Also wait- do we still have our cell phone? (Or Hawthorne his) we can just take pictures of the documents and just email them to ourselves as a fallback.
>>
>>6099129
>"Send me, I'll make sure it isn't found."
>>
>>6099208
+1
Also better to get the fuck out of the prison
>>
>>6099241
They’re paper shreds. There’s nothing to take a picture of without taking time to reconstruct the docs.
>>
Wtf did Hawthorne do to get apparently every guard here to hate him?
>>
>>6099786
Considering Hawthornes personality I genuinely think he has thrown hands with at least one of the guys here
>>
>>6099821
With the way these cowards are treating us and behaving overall? They deserved it
>>
>>6099208
+1

>>6099129
Also:
>Send a text to Question when you can
Sorting through trash to piece together a conspiracy? Q lives for this shit.
>>
>>6099956
>Mark walks in
>pours paper scraps on the table
>"We found THIS in the Blackgate trash pipeline"
>Q leaps up
>both wordlessly high five
>Hawthorne and Huntress facepalm
>>
>>6099970
Now that you mention it, it’s been a while since we’ve had a sit down with our favorite schizos. Q probably has something.

We should schedule a meeting between the boys in blue and spandex wearers to exchange intel.
>>
>>6099208
>>6099241
>>6099360
>>6099364
>>6099956

"Send me, I'll make sure it isn't found." You state, quietly but firmly.

Your two superiors exchange one more look before Grey jerks his head to the door. Hawthorne nods and walks away briskly. You hold a hand out and gesture.

"You have a knife?"

He silently digs in one of his duty belt pouches and produces a small black leatherman which he tosses into your hands. Without another word he turns and marches for the door and as his foot passes the doorway you can hear him yelling again.

"What is taking so goddamn long? Is that the Warden you're talking to now? Gimmie that."

Grey begins to pull his hands from his pocket as you pry a blade free from the compact tool.

"Guessing you have a plan with the knife?" Grey asks as he dumps small mounds of paper on the interview table, careful to keep them tidy.

"These shirts are double layered. I figure I cut a slit in it and we stuff the papers in there, a little shake and it'll even out. No bulges."

"And the hole?"

"You have a lighter right? We melt the slit together after."

"In my coat pocket, ho-"

"Long time smoker freshly quitting? You'll be carrying one around until you retire, just out of habit."

"Fair enough, one problem with your plan though. GCPD switched to pure cotton over synthetic, it doesn't melt anymore, it burns."

You straighten up with the blade in hand and the final bits of scrap paper being neatly tucked into the bundle on the table. Fuck. You need to think..

You blink.

A razor blade slits the tail end of a toothpaste tube, a tightly folded twenty is inserted and the tube rolled to conceal the entry. As you finish shadow falls over you, ice cold sweat drips down your neck, another inmate and a stone faced guard enter the room. The guard speaks first.

"You're getting the place to yourself, Stafford. Kingman, grab your shit and let's go."

The other prisoner extends a finger towards the sink.

"Lemme get my brush an' shit, I don't need nothing else."

As he steps past he gives you a small grin..

"Mark, what's your plan?" Grey asks bringing you back to the moment, you're now crouched by the table with the knife in your hands. It clicks.

"Lift my collar, make the slit under my collar, feed it in and we hide it after by just turning it back down."

Grey's eyes glint with approval but he wastes no time voicing it, he grabs the knife and you hear the halted start and stop sounds of ripping fabric. Then a hand enters your periphery and you waste no time feeding him scraps as he stuffs them into the newly vacant space.
>>
It's slower work than you'd like it to be, but the position of the cut leaves all the work to Grey. Slowly the pile disappears and more than once you're instructed to shake your shirt violently to make the stored contraband slip further down.

"Hey, where do you think you're going? Don't walk away from me, I've got your phone." Hawthorne calls loudly from the hall.

You slap Grey's hands away and stand rapidly while spinning. Grey grabs your arm and slaps your hand down on the table as he yanks at his tie and pulls it free from his neck.

As the clerk enters Grey steps in front of you and clutches the tie in his fist, the other hand fusses with your collar. You lean around him and offer a quiet.

"Sir."

He turns at the waist and see's the clerk and Hawthorn both in the door.

"You never taught this rookie to tie a goddamn tie?" Grey asks waving the tie for effect.

"Sorry to bother you, Officers but the Warden is having a bit of a scheduling issue. He's discussing it right now with Offic-"

"Son of a bitch hung up on me." Hawthorne says outraged, his thumbs mash the screen as he mumbles under his breath furiously. "Son of a bitch wants to play it like that, I'll text his sorry ass."

As he wanders off the Clerk follows in a panic.

"Officer, please don't.."

The moment they leave it is full speed ahead on stuffing the last remnants of the shredded paper into your shirt.

"Pretty clever, the bit with the tie." You offer.

"Not my first time using it either, Hawthorne just LOOKS like the type that can't tie a tie after all."

"Fair, but there was one problem with it."

"Oh?" He asks, as he flips your collar back the correct way and smooths it out.

"It's a clip-on." You tell him pulling the knot from his hand and flicking the arm on it's back.

"Only the best for GCPD detectives." Grey mutters as he brushes the wrinkles from your back and shoulders. "Move around for me."

You give a few test steps and there is the faintest hint of rustling but it's all you can do. You take a breath and steady yourself before approaching the door.

"Sir?" You say meekly, just leaning out behind the frame.

"Busy." Hawthorne tells you, holding a phone high in the air with his thumb slowly typing out a text meticulously. At his elbows are the out stretched arms of the Clerk. His fingers wriggling as he reaches in vain for his phone.

"Yes, sir. Detective Grey was just wondering when the warden would be by?"

"He told me, it would be soon. There's really. No need. For this. Childish. Display." The Clerk lets out in frustrated huffs between jumps to attempt a recapture of his phone.

"What!?" Hawthorne barks, he pulls his arm down and tosses the phone to the clerk lazily.

"I tried to tell you! But you insisted and then snatch-"

"Whatever, tell the Warden to put a rush on it." Hawthorne says, snubbing the clerk with a hand. "You."

"Me, sir?" You ask, trying to look like his trademark gaze still gets to you.
>>
"No, I'm talking to the Chinese fella behind you."

You throw a glance over your shoulder.

"OF COURSE, I MEAN YOU!" He follows up, his neck veins pressing against his pale skin. "GREY."

Grey walks out from behind you, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"Where's the Warden?" He asks calmly.

"He's on his way, but right now you and I need to get something clear. That one." He points a finger at you. "Is my gopher, he does not run errands for you or anyone else except me. You get that?"

"Sergeant, I think you'r-"

"No. We've worked together a long time, Grey. So I'm willing to look past it this time, but you know how I am with my recruits. They learn from me. Nobody else." Hawthorne whips his head to you. "You trying to get favors? Out-grow your old CO and leave him behind for the Detective's lounge? Hm?"

"No, sir." You almost whisper, while looking down.

"Speak. Up."

"No, sir." You say more forcefully before adding on. "But maybe he has something to teach me abou-"

"Shut up." Hawthorne cuts you off viciously. "Matter of fact, I don't wanna hear your voice anymore. Keep quiet unless I talk to you."

"Mitch.. Go easy on the kid, relax a little. He just had some questions about Detective work is all." Grey says, giving you a gentle expression of apology.

"Oh you had questions? I got a question of my own De-tec-tive. Why bother training someone who doesn't even wanna learn from you?"

"You know that isn-"

"Y'know what. Recruit. Go wait in the car. I've gone from not wanting to hear your voice to not wanting to see your face."

"Sir, I did-"

"GET OUT." Hawthorne roars, spit flying from his now red face.

The Clerk meekly tucks his hands and stays by the wall, as still as a statue.

You throw Grey a convincing look of sadness and he returns it. Slowly, reluctantly, you walk off back the way you came..
>>
The walk back is uneventful, this area of the prison mainly being used for administrative staff or contractors judging by all the scuffed work boot prints in the dust. You pass back through the 'airlock' and hold your breath until you reach the end. Half-expecting some sort of alarm to blare and guns to protrude from the wall. But nothing happens.

You approach the door back to the open and press your thumb against a small black patch of glass. A few seconds pass before it's tinted with a green light and the door hisses open.

"Officer." The woman behind the desk says simply, filling a tray with your guns and sliding it out towards you. "Where'a the other two at?"

"I was told to wait in the car.." You reply quietly, trying for once to exude embarrassment instead of hiding it.

"Aww.." She coos. "It's okay honey, we know all about that joker here. He's a real piece of work."

"Officer Hawthorne?" You ask.

"Mhmmm. Can't go a day without hearing his name." She rolls her eyes.

>"What happened? The guards, the clerk, even you. Why does everyone hate him?"
>"Well then you understand.. probably better if I just do as he says. Thank you."
>Write-in
>>
>>6100630
I'm gonna miss this old man when he kicks it

>>6100631
>"What happened? The guards, the clerk, even you. Why does everyone hate him?"
Keep it simple
>>
>>6100631
>>"What happened? The guards, the clerk, even you. Why does everyone hate him?"
>>
>>6100631
>"Well then you understand.. probably better if I just do as he says. Thank you."

Fuuuuuuck no. We are LEAVING NOW.
>>
>>6100659
DQM surely wouldnt make us go through that, right? The quest will end before we have to see Hawthorne die, right??
>>
>>6100631
Changing my vote from >>6100659 to
>"Well then you understand.. probably better if I just do as he says. Thank you."

>>6100678
He survived his last day before retirement. All bets are off
>>
>>6100631
>"What happened? The guards, the clerk, even you. Why does everyone hate him?"
Gotta know.
>>
>>6100631
>>"Well then you understand.. probably better if I just do as he says. Thank you."
ask hawthorne about it personally later, dumbasses
get outta here first
>>
>>6100678
The business with Mandragora is still ongoing, with the green light hanging over our heads.

There’s every chance that Hawthorne will bite it any day now. But my money is on Grey dropping first.
>>
>>6100676
+1
ON YOUR FEET, SOLDIER! WE. ARE. LEAVING.

We do not have the luxury of chit chat. More chit chat means more eyeballs on us. We have paper to deliver to a schizo, not social hour
>>
>>6100631
>"What happened? The guards, the clerk, even you. Why does everyone hate him?"

>if she starts taking too long

>"look, he might actually check if I followed his orders, so I need to go."
>ask for number
>never call number
???
>Profit?
>>
>>6100906
This. I'm not sure why other anons think asking the question means we must linger indefinitely and risk detention.
>>
>>6100939
That and engaging a little is less suspicious on the cameras
>>
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68 KB JPG
Mark and co are pulling some now you see me tier shit for paper scraps, Question would be proud.
>>6099970
>Hawthorne and Huntress facepalm
You know, my first exposure to Q and H was this quest, so I was kind of surprised when youtube fed me the compilation of them fucking around in JLU, and it's the Question who is a reasonable one.
>>
>>6101099
Now You See Me was a garbage movie
>>
>>6100674
>>6100726
>>6100906
>>6100939

>>6100676
>>6100687
>>6100748
>>6100861

This is actually tied up if I'm not mistaken. Since the tie is a result of a vote swap (>>6100659 to >>6100687) I'm going to use my QM executive powers to go ahead with >>6100906's vote plus caveat since I think it's fair to both sides. Writing now.
>>
You glance to your left, the dull light of Gotham at noon revealing a shimmering miasma of dust. You holster your weapons and go to walk away when something nags at you.. The way Hawthorne has been treated here, the looks, his own reluctance to talk about it. You have to know..

"Excuse me, ma'am?" You ask quietly.

"Yeah, doll?"

"What happened?"

"I'm sorry?"

"With the Sergeant. The guards, the clerk, even you. Why does everyone here hate him, what did he do?"

"I'm not surprised he didn't tell you." She harrumphs, taking a moment to set aside her small paperback. "Mr. Hawthorne is a very.. damaged man."

"I've picked up on that.." You say cautiously.

"Mhm, I don't doubt it sweetie. He's a live wire, ever since his wife died." She tuts and shakes her head. "Poor thing, that really tore the Warden up."

"The Warden?"

"Of course, she was his daughter after all."

You feel your skin contract and a sense of unease washes over you.

"Oh." Is all you can manage.

"It was tragic, she was beautiful and young, we all loved her here. She'd come every Christmas party and she was a stellar baker too." She gushes and the entire time you just focus on fighting back giving any expression.

"How's that lead to everyone hating the Sergeant?" You prod.

"Hm? OH, well after her passing he showed up here one day out of the blue. Set up a meeting with the warden unprompted and well.." She looks around before leaning forward and dropping her voice low. "A couple of the guards stayed nearby because the Warden was worried about something like this and sure enough they hear a racket in his office and throw open the door to find him on top of the Warden really laying into him."

"Holy shit."

"No kidding. He managed to fight both of them off too, left them all in the office and went home. Warden didn't want to press any charges, said it wasn't what Susi would have wanted. But it doesn't even end there, the GCPD does a Ball for Police, EMS, and the Prison guards every two years. His first one back he has to get dragged out by his own partner." She shakes her head disapprovingly. "He reeked of liquor."

"Was it another fight?"

"Was it ever, I guess he hadn't had enough the first time. He picked a fight with the same two guards he brawled with last time."

"Why would Hawthorne do that?"

"Between you and me, the Warden had his suspicions that their marriage wasn't as swell as he made it out to be. A lot of drinking, late nights, you can probably fill in the blanks yourself sweetie. Man like that doesn't need a reason to be violent, just an excuse."

You nod shallowly and look back to the outside.

"Guess I should just do what he says then.."

"I'm sorry, honey. Stick with it, he's an old man now he can't keep this up forever."

"I'll do my best, ma'am." You answer hollowly before walking off to the parking lot with a few more questions in your head.
>>
You lean on the shop, trying your best to seem bored, as you watch guards rotate atop the walls in the distance. Odds are they couldn't see anything well at this range but you'd still rather wait for a moment alone before you get to work.

You kill the time by grabbing a rag from the War Bags and making slow rounds around the car. You wipe away invisible dust and mud as you examine the car for locations you could store this, spots with some promise get a routine where you scrub an invisible point aggressively. You repeat the process with Grey's sedan just to be sure you have both your options firmly in hand. The entire time you can't help but to reflect on that story. The idea of Hawthorne mistreating his wife is insane to you but a more rational part of your brain points out you've only really known him for a few months now, his life and who he was before meeting you is almost a mystery except what he's chosen to share. Perhaps what he chooses not to share is the more damning thing.

You shake the thought away, you can't afford to get distracted by this right now. You lift your chin over the hood and see the back of a distant Guard entering his tower. If you're going through with this the time is now.

>Remove the entire shirt and stuff it in the bottom of your War Bags, what are the odds they go through the trouble of unpacking the entire thing?
>Remove the shirt and ball it up tight, it should be able to fit in the wheel well and as long as you don't hit any big bumps it should stay stuffed in there.
>Dig into the slit for all the scraps and fill your wallet with them, it's a long process but you could do it on the dash board in private. What are the chances they pull your wallet and also dig through it?
>Grey has his medicine in his car and if you dump the pills you may be able to stuff the shreds in there. It's a long process but who is going to open a cancer patient's medication?
>Write-In (Get creative)

Secondary Vote:

>How does Mark feel about the story he heard and does he bring it up to Hawthorne?

Of course I would also like to know your personal thoughts and feelings on this new Hawthorne lore. I like to keep his history close to the vest and as such it always intrigues me to hear how you guys feel about him when these things do come up.
>>
>>6101235
>Write-In (Get creative)
Would the Shirt fit where ever evidence is normally stored?

As long as it is tagged properly, it shouldn't be looked at too intensely considering we could use the "chain of custody" / evidence handling procedures to avoid explicit handling of the "evidence", as well as the potential for secure unobserved "diplomatic" stowage within the vehicle.

We could potentially even combine it with Grey's medication option, and with the pills bagged separately and their case as two items and relabel (or blackout identifying features, with marker) to house the recovered fragments within.
>>
>>6101235
>>Dig into the slit for all the scraps and fill your wallet with them, it's a long process but you could do it on the dash board in private. What are the chances they pull your wallet and also dig through it?
If only I knew how much time we had. Do we have anything under the shirt? The sight of mark half-naked doing shit in the parked cop car will be a weird one.
Can we not just leave the scraps in the shirt and keep the shirt on?
>How does Mark feel about the story he heard and does he bring it up to Hawthorne?
He does not bring it up. I'm honestly a firm believer in "not my fucking business" doctrine on this one. The wife™ is long dead anyway.
Wouldn't mind if this particular bit of melodrama just went nowhere.
>>
>>6101261
+1
and what >>6101479 said about Hawthorne
>>
>>6101235
>Remove the shirt and ball it up tight, it should be able to fit in the wheel well and as long as you don't hit any big bumps it should stay stuffed in there.
Isn't that pretty much what SIM did? Worked wonders for him, for a while at least. Though if viable, I'll also back >>6101261

As for the Hawthorne matter...
>None of your business, and it doesn't seem likely
I can't imagine Hawthorne as a wife-beater. Maybe an angry or callous man who shouted or was needlessly brusque when he was young and hot-headed. Maybe a bit shut-down emotionally, or even scary by accident, given his demeanor and size. Never change your opinion about a man you know because of an unsubstantiated rumor, though.
>>
>>6101610
Gotta agree, if that story is true we should see Hawthorne sauced up constantly. Granted your wife dying can sober you up quick but I don't see him as the "bounce a beer can off your wife's head" type even when he was younger. There's probably more to it than we've heard.
>>
>>6101261
>>6101510
>>6101610

You stand and wipe your hands with the rag as something catches your eye inside Grey's vehicle. An orange pill bottle sits comfortably in the cup holder and an idea starts to form. Not wasting any time you begin unbuttoning your shirt as you pop his door and slink away with the bottle to the safety of your shop.

The shirt comes free, you free your badge and turn the shirt inside out, you toss it aside and dig through your duty belt to pull free some evidence bags. There's no immediate pressures but you move with a feverish speed as you pull a marker and scribble across the sticker that adorns the bag.

'M, DeLucia
Badge Number: 463
08-13-20XX
Bloodied shirt recovered at scene, Owner unknown.'

You write Hawthorne's name and add the date and time before popping open the bag and cramming the shirt inside, carefully hiding any of the sew patterns from your patches showing through. You seal that bag with the customary red tape and drop it at your feet as you pull a smaller baggy and dump about half of Grey's pills into the bag. Sealing it and taking the time to even pull a biohazard sticker from the roll in the glovebox and slap it on.

With that handled you open your door and approach the trunk, careful to make sure you still have a few moments of privacy, popping it open you heave the closest war bag from the trunk and let it slam the ground in a cloud of dust and dirt. A small safe door peeks at you from the bottom of the trunk, you punch in the code and the door swings open. You stuff the two bags inside and slap it closed as you kneel down and dig through the war bag until you reveal your prize.

A fresh GCPD Patrol Officer's work shirt. Being a Boy Scout pays sometimes.

Re-clothed and with your plan in action the only thing to do now is wait..

You lazily scroll your phone, doing your best to sell the 'bored and meek rookie' performance Hawthorne set up for you. But as you do so, you figure it can't hurt to get a leg up on things. You open your text messages and type one out.


"Got a present for you. Free today?"

"Depends on the present."

"Jig-saw puzzle, picked it up from a friend of ours. The one from work."

"I see. It's been a while since I've caught up on my Iranian Carpet Weaving techniques, it'll be a good challenge, I'll be at the usual place."

"No, you can't get grease all over this. I have to use it after."

"Understood I'll go by your place, easier that way."

"There has to be a better option, what about Jimmy's?"

"Not possible, I'll let myself in."

"Please don't."

You stare at your screen as the 'sent' notification never changes to a 'read' you sigh and lay your head back. The endless cycle of B&E isn't done with you yet.
>>
==== Some time later ====

A slamming door shakes you from the near sleep stupor, the voices of the city lulling you into a state of deep relaxation, you check the side mirror and watch as Hawthorne shakes off the arm of another man as he shouts.

"Get your fucking hands off me, McCloud." He barks.

You pop the door and cautiously approach, you notice now those patrolling guards on the wall earlier now surround the courtyard in an eerie silent ring. Your skin itches and your index finger twitches.

"Mitch, this isn't a fucking discussion. You and your partner are subject to search. Warden's orders."

"Only thing I got that belongs to the warden is one of these." Hawthorne replies, giving McCloud the bird. His crooked finger mere inches from the Guard's nose.

He responds by grabbing Hawthorne's wrist and turning him into arrest position.

"Woah woah, is this necessary?" Grey's voice calls. He exits the building accompanied by his own escort.

"He's the one who got up in my face." McCloud spits, struggling against the resistance Hawthorne puts up. He attempts to spread Hawthorne's legs with a kick to his calf but Hawthorne remains resolute in his defiance, laughing mockingly.

"You got toenail polish under those boots, McCloud? You kick like a girl's soccer coach."

"Alright, you crusty fuck." He mutters before pulling his collapsing baton and swinging it open in a wide arc.

"Hey, ENOUGH." Grey shouts, but his escort puts a firm hand into his chest.

Hawthorne, undeterred by the sight continues his mocking tone.

"That's a cute stick, McCloud. How deep can you get that thing now, you been practicing at home?"

"Oh I'll show you.." He seethes. But as his arm pulls back a high pitched shriek echoes across the lot and a tinny deep voice comes through a set of rusted speakers.

"McCloud that's enough." A dignified voice, clearly belonging to an elderly man, says patiently. "If Sergeant Hawthorne does not wish to be searched then he will not be searched."

Hawthorne takes the moment to break free from the grip, he does so with surprising ease as McCloud stumbles a few steps back.

"Told you, princess. I don't answer to punks."

"The Sergeant is correct, he does not answer to us. But true as it is, so is the inverse. I do not answer to you, Sergeant. Therefore I am in no rush to open the gates and allow you to leave."

"You old bastard, you can't do that." Hawthorne calls out, screaming to the sky.

"Not indefinitely, but as I suspect you of a crime I am willing to take that risk and hold you here while I contact a superior who you DO answer to. And don't think I'll waste my time on that Commander Reiner, I'll take my complaint straight to Jim Gordon at City Hall."

Hawthorne stares with hard, hate-filled, eyes at a tinted window that overlooks the courtyard.

"The choice is simple Sergeant. Acquiesce to the search now or wait until you are ordered to do so by your superiors. The wait is of no consequence to me."
>>
Hawthorne gives no reply, instead you watch as he silently clenches his fists and approaches McCloud slowly, he marches straight past the escort and places his hands on the wall. Feet and arms in perfect compliance with GCPD standards.

"Get this over with." He growls.

"Try not to get too excited back there, McCloud. I know this is your favorite part of the job and all." He quips as he's slowly and thoroughly frisked.

Grey approaches a spot nearby and assumes the same position.

As you watch on you suddenly notice a third guard at the doors to the facility, he approaches you and extends a finger before turning it and beckoning you closer. You figure there's no point in dragging this out, within ten minutes the three of you are thoroughly searched. Shirts removed, socks removed, they even have you show them every pocket and pouch contained in your duty belt. With nothing to show for it they cross their arms and the three of you now stand before three guards who eye you with open disdain.

"Got what you wanted? I know McCloud is drooling over the idea of a cavit-"

"Shut the hell up, old man." McCloud says, his face pink with anger or something else.

Hawthorne simply lifts his hands. Grey takes the opportunity to speak out.

"Seeing as the search revealed nothing, like we said, I assume we're clear to leave now?"

McCloud stands still, his foot tapping rhythmically as he bores a hole into Hawthorne with his gaze.

"Search their vehicles." He commands.

Hawthorne lets out an annoyed groan.

"Leonard, this is insane. We haven't had any access to our vehicles this entire time." Grey pleads.

"He has." McCloud states, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

This sends Hawthorne into a fit of howling laughter.

"Th-the kid?" He breaks into a fit of giggles again. "That rookie can barely tie his own shoes without someone leaning over his shoulder reminding him the rabbit jumps down the hole. I doubt he's a smuggler."

"Maybe. But you don't know." He turns to you. "Officer, relinquish the keys to your cruiser. All of them." He holds out an expectant hand and waits.

"Kid, don't give him shit." Hawthorne growls.

"Recruit, you will relinquish the keys to that vehicle now or that call going to Jim Gordon will have your name included in it."

You look over his shoulder as Grey pulls his keys and tosses them over to another guard nonchalantly. You sigh and dig the keys from your pocket before handing them over. You join Hawthorne and Grey by the wall and you all lean back.

"How'd you do?" Grey asks you quietly.

"We'll find out." You murmur back.

You watch as they pull the Shop apart, doors open, glove box and console emptied out onto the seats. It isn't until the trunk is opened that you have the first tingling of doubt. A feeling accentuated by the loud voice of McCloud calling to you from across the courtyard.

"Officer. What is the code for your evidence locker?" He calls.
>>
"Why not ask me?" Hawthorne chimes in.

"Shut up. I won't tell you again. Recruit, the code for the locker, please." He demands.

>"Sorry sir, Sergeant Hawthorne said I'm not ready to use the lock-up yet. I don't know the code."
>"Sir, please. That locker has evidence from a prior scene in it that hasn't been processed yet. Please be careful."
>Give him the code with no fuss.
>"No, sir. The contents of that Lock-Up are for the GCPD and our forensic teams. I'm not authorized to give you access."
>Write-In
>>
>>6101860
>"No, sir. The contents of that Lock-Up are for the GCPD and our forensic teams."
>Quote some things from the official GCPD guidelines that support your claim.
Contamination is real.
>>
>>6101863
+1 boy scout max
>>
>>6101863
+1

The warden can tell Gordon that he wanted to contaminate evidence if he REALLY wants to get into that box. Even if we weren’t guilty as fuck, this is shady shit.
>>
>>6101863
+1
Chain of custody, motherfucker
>>
>>6101863
+1

>>6101860
I'm >>6101610 on mobile.
>>
>>6101860
>>6101863
+1. I'm half tempted to do it with the same tone of voice as this guy, but it'd be too obvious that we're mocking him.

I just thought up some Possible Mark Lore regarding his Teenage Part-Timer voice. Where's a fan lore opportunity when you need one...
>>
>>6101863
I mean, if they want to threaten us with Gordon...

This would be the thing where they wouldn't want Gordon to find out. Mostly because the evidence in there is related to the chew out we got.

It's official we went over our superiors head, and that we were demoted to a "cold case" right? Which is also what brought us here? Breaking chain of custody here would be a shitshow, let alone the fact none of us know what they're looking for anyway.
>>
>>6101863
+1

With how many complaints about Dent there have been, I wonder if we're gonna end up citing a Dent-created regulation for this.
>>
>>6101863
>>6101866
>>6101879
>>6101888
>>6101923
>>6101945
>>6102331

"No, sir." You start firmly, you can see McCloud's eyebrows lift in surprise at your refusal. "The contents of that Lock-Up are for the GCPD and our forensic teams."

He marches towards you, his steps heavy and dust stirring.

"Officer.. DeLoo-see-ah." He reads from your tag. "Are you sure you want your first meeting with Gordon to go down like this? Cause you heard the Warden."

"Call him if you want sir, he'll tell you the same thing I have. Procedure 202-13 is clear that anyone who handles evidence procured in the act of a crime or evidence recovered from the scene of a crime must properly receive, invoice, release, and sign the labels of the evidence in question. Which means I'd need you to fill out our evidence forms to the standard of the GCPD before I can let you handle any evidence."

"And what if I just break that box open." He growls threateningly.

"I'd log it, file a direct complaint with the Law and Prison Enforcement Boards, and you'd be added to the list of willing handlers since I've broken down procedure for you. Meaning you'd be expected to make yourself available to the courts for attending trial, providing testimony, alongside being on the list of people responsible if the evidence is declared tainted which could open you or the prison up to lawsuit."

"Are you serious?" He whispers, his breath hot and sour.

"I have my pocket patrol guide if you want to check for yourself.." You offer quietly.

McCloud stares at you in a silent fury, you feel his thoughts ping-ponging in his head as he tries to dissect and pick apart anything you'd said. Hawthorne lets off another round of laughter.

"You picked the wrong one, McCloud. This kid eats, drinks, and shits procedure. I never did like bookworms but he's turning my opinion around." He loudly mocks and claps.

McCloud walks away without saying anything. He approaches the trunk slowly and freezes. Running his fingers lightly across the lid of the safe.

"I can't handle any of this without.. all that shit you said?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Alright then." He states, turning and planting his thumbs into his belt loops. "Come open it then. I won't touch anything, I'll only look."

You feel the tension in Hawthorne and Grey, vibrating under your skin like running a finger across a taut guitar string. You keep a cool face and nod.

"These codes are private, sir. If you don't mind?" You ask.

McCloud obliges and turns his head as you key in the code and the door unlocks with a dull thunk.

McCloud's eyes scan both the crumpled bags hungrily.

"Where'd you pick this up?"

"Bowery." You say flatly.

"What was the call?"

"A 481, possibly a 502. Would have missed it if we didn't call a 11-85." You rattle off radio codes and hide behind what Hawthorne has so lovingly called 'Jargonese'
>>
"Speak plain, Officer."

"Hit and run fender bender, driver was probably drunk or impaired, the vehicle hit needed a tow truck which led us to finding the evidence on scene."

"Where did you find it?" He presses.

"The shirt was recovered from the shoulder of the road and the pills were pulled from the street as well. The suspect hit the victim and exited his vehicle, complaining about being too hot, at that time the Victim noted he was bloodied from the nose. When she mentioned the police he entered his vehicle and fled the scene making it a 481. The pills allegedly fell from his driver side door which is the 502 and we stayed with her until she was towed." You recite your lines confidently like a robot, letting your conscious thoughts go and your mouth move almost on it's own. You always had a knack for bluffing, even growing up.

"I don't see any blood on that shirt."

"It's inside the shirt sir, he peeled it off and left it in a heap on the ground."

McCloud stares and stares, he knows something is off but he just can't put it to words. The pressure mounts but you keep your cool, remembering all of Hawthorne's interrogation advice and inverting it. You keep your breathes steady and don't rush to break eye contact, the only thing you allow yourself to show are a few nervous glances to Hawthorne. The scared rookie.

"Alright, this is enough." Hawthorne calls, walking from the wall. One of the guard's nearby places a hand on a baton but a glance from Hawthorne and he thinks twice.

"I'll let you know when you can leave, Mitch."

"Not happening, we have schedules to follow and maybe you didn't notice by the way he isn't dressed up like a damn blueberry but that one back there is a Detective. Specializes in Homicide and Arson."

"I don't see how tha-"

"I'm telling you he's a busy guy with important shit to do, McCloud. You swung your dick around and even got your pap-pap upstairs to wrap a hand around the base so you had more weight to it, but I'm sick of listening to your smug ass voice." Hawthorne forcefully shoves you aside, your feet skitter to try and keep upright, as he slams the Lock-Up closed and presses a button re-engaging the lock.

"Let's call your boss and see what he thinks."

"Fucking try me." Hawthorne growls, stepping closer.

Seeing the tension rise Grey jogs forward and plasters on his most disarming smile.
"Woah woah, alright let's turn it down a few notches here. Both of you."

"Tell that to your boyfriend."

You feel a twinge in your chest and then a spreading warmth.

"How about I ask you something instead?" Grey follows up. "What are you looking for?"

"We'll know it when we find it."

"So you don't know?"

"We know. It's none of your business however."

"Well, it will be. When you call Gordon out here over something like this how do you think he's going to react?"

McCloud sits there in silence, formulating an answer for a question he never considered. Grey continues.
>>
"He's going to make it the department's business. Because you're accusing a decorated patrol officer and veteran detective of smuggling... 'something' that you'll 'know when you see it'? Am I getting that correct?"

McCloud sets his jaw and stares into Grey with a simmering hate that you only saw directed at Hawthorne.

"Got anything to say to that McCloud?" Hawthorne probes. Grey holds up a hand in Hawthorne's face.

"Look. I get that you and Hawthorne have beef. Shit it's simpler to say the entire prison has beef with him, but this is crossing the line. I think it's actually in our best interests to call Jim down here. I'll explain the situation to him on the phone." Grey pulls a phone from his pocket and squints as he maneuvers through his contact list.

That same crackle fills the yard and a familiar voice echoes.

"Let them leave. Your search was non-conclusive so let's not waste more of the Detective's valuable time."

McCloud looks up with protest painted across his face but he holds his tongue. Instead lowering his head and grabbing at his shoulder radio.

"Put the prison on lockdown, pull the inmates from their cells, and turn em upside down." He speaks, a crackling affirmative confirms his order and you hear a faint siren inside the building. Yourself, Hawthorne, and Grey watch him as he gives the Lock-Up a final look before turning his eyes up to you all.

"You heard the Warden. Fuck off." He grumbles as he walks away, leaving your trunk and it's contents in the dirt.

"Gladly." Hawthorne replies before nodding at you. "Rookie. Pack the shop back up."

=====

From the gates, across the bridge, and back into the city proper neither of you speak a word. Both of you in your own worlds, Hawthorne breaks the silence by clearing his throat.

"Rook."

"Yes, sir?"

"Good work. Really good work." He says, keeping his eyes planted on the road. You can't help but smile slightly.

"Thank you, sir."

"What's our next move?" He asks, back to business.

"We have to go over the information we've picked up and we need to look into those scraps."

"Gordon's kid does computers. Maybe she knows about a software or something that can put em back together for us."

"I don't want to ask the Commissioner for anything else, he's done plenty for us. Besides I have another plan in mind."

"Oh? Care to clue me in?"

"Who do we know who loves digging through trash and cracking conspiracies?"

"No." Hawthorne states plainly, giving you a side glance.

You simply stare back with a grin.

"No." He states more firmly.

"You want to spend the night gluing this thing together? The week is half gone, we need to make some serious progress."

"Well maybe your psycho friend ended up taking over the family business just like he said."

"So you'd rather rely on SIM's plan working? The plan, by the way, where he kills his way to Mafia CEO and then gives us all pardons?"
>>
Hawthorne is silent for a few moments before he glances over at you again, a pained expression on his face.

"Are you saying I get to choose?"

He gives another glance and sees the expression written all over your face.

"Fine. Fuck it." He says before mumbling to himself in a high pitched voice. "Let's go see the faceless hobo.."

"He's at my apartment."

"Really?"

"Not my choice, either."

"Least it won't smell like old marinara." He groans, pulling his phone and sending a brief message.

'Mark's Apt.'

High beams flash behind you in confirmation as Grey settles in behind you both as you cruise the grey streets of Gotham.

====

"My pills?"

"Sorry, Grey. I had to think on the fly. I thought the shirt alone would be strange."

"You know then? About my condition?"

"..Yes, sir."

"You both know I'm back here holding both of these bags while you crow, right?" Hawthorne complains.

"Right, sorry sir." You resume your hunt for your key and manage to find it. Opening the door you step aside and let them enter.

Grey whistles low.
"On a Patrol Rookie's salary?"

"My landlady lives next door, she gives me a discount."

"And what do you do for her?" Grey teases.

"She's like seventy-five.." You reply disgusted.

"Maybe it's time you get back into the dating pool, Mitch." He throws over his shoulder.

"Bite me." Hawthorne replies, letting the bags flop onto your coffee table before looking around. "Isn't he supposed to be here already?"

"He?" Grey asks.

"Me, Detective." Questions monotone inflection comes from a distant bathroom door. The sudden voice startles you but the thing that really floors you is that you're looking not into a smooth mask of skin but Question's actual face. "I'm here to help with a puzzle. I've had experience piecing documents together before."

"Is that right?" Grey asks curiously. He extends a hand. "I'm Tommy Bennet, but everyone calls me Grey. You seem.. familiar.

Hawthorne and Question both look to you.

>"Uh, you've met him before Grey. This is Question just.. without the mask."
>Let Question handle this himself.
>Gesture for Hawthorne to step in.
>"You probably recognize him from TV, he used to be a reporter."
>Write-In
>>
>>6102392
>>"Uh, you've met him before Grey. This is Question just.. without the mask."

God damn, that sequence was awesome. And we clearly hit a nerve since the prison went on lockdown. Boy scout routine is godlike.
>>
>>6102392
>"Uh, you've met him before Grey. This is Question just.. without the mask."
>>
>>6102396
+1
Duty and Honor cop reigns supreme
>>
>>6102392
>"Uh, you've met him before Grey. This is Question just.. without the mask."
That boy scout moment was lovely.
>>
>>6102386
We're so lucky the guard hasn't been a patrol man.

If he was, he'd ask to see our notepad.
>>
>>6102392
>>Let Question handle this himself.
>>
>>6102392
>Let Question handle this himself.
Either he'll introduce himself as Question or as Vic Rogers, or both. If there's some reason he wants to stick to one or the other, I say we let him. The man has some disturbances that could be at play. This is a big step for him.
>>
>>6102392
>Let Question handle this himself.
>>
>>6102392
>Let Question handle this himself.
>>
>>6102392
>>Let Question handle this himself.
No reason to nuke his alter ego right of the bat, he's not even doing anything illegal this time around. He's just gonna help us glue some documents together, which is probably a wrong way to handle evidence(showing it to a civvie), but fuck it, not as bad as usual vigilantie activities.

Also, holy fuck, this prison is beyond corrupted. What's even on those scraps thats worth putting the whole place on lockdown?
>>
>>6102392
Changing my vote from >>6102414 to
>Let Question handle this himself.

>>6102542
>What's even on those scraps thats worth putting the whole place on lockdown?
That's what we're here to find out, isn't it? We should also tell them about what we learned from the interrogations such as the Scarecrow lab location
>>
>>6102542
>>6102583

Where do we even start with theories. I guess the most obvious would be kill orders or something? But that feels a bit plain for all this pageantry tho
>>
>>6102960
Whatever it is.

Gordon's gonna have a fun time when we get it to him.

He agreed to an investigation that might find ONE, maybe two or three, dirty cops.

We might be bringing him a prison's worth by accident.
>>
>>6102490
>>6102497
>>6102501
>>6102539
>>6102542
>>6102583

You keep your mouth shut and gesture to Question. It's his show.

He approaches quietly and offers a gloved hand to Grey.

"A pleasure, Detective. My name is Vic, Vic Sage, and you're right to find me familiar. We've met before."

"That right?" Grey answers quietly, his eyes narrowed and the pieces already falling into place in his mind. "Ah. That trench coat.. that hat."

"Yes."

Grey gives you a dissatisfied look.

"Don't worry about any awkwardness, Detective. I know you intend to seek charges against me when our cooperation ends."

"Do you now." Grey replies again, now giving you an icy stare. "And yet you still give me your name and let me see your face? I'm guessing Vic Sage is an alias then."

"No. Victor Sage.. is who I am." Question almost struggles to get the sentence out, a visible discomfort on his face.

"You aren't worried about me using this to get after you?"

"You're welcome to try. As far as the rest of the world is concerned Vic Sage is missing presumed dead."

"Presumed or not. A name and face is a lot to someone like me."

"That's the question isn't it?"

A pause forms between them as both men stare each other down, not outright aggressive like his meeting with Hawthorne but you can tell there's a lot going on inside the heads of both men. You break the tension.

"Were you hiding for a dramatic entrance or something Q?" You joke, trying to bring some levity to the room.

"No, I was in your restroom."

"Oh, well when natu-"

"Scanning for bugs. I did your bedroom first."

"Alright yeah, that's more what I was expecting." You say wearily. You wave Question to the coffee table and tear open the evidence bag containing your shirt. "I said I had a puzzle for you. This is what I meant."

You withdraw the shirt and lay it flat, using the pen-knife you carefully saw out a patch of cloth from the back revealing various wrinkled strands of shredded paper.

"My my.." Question mutters.

"That's right, you nut. A gift just for you." Hawthorne teases.

"I'll get to work on it right now, I should have it done within a few hours at most."

"A few hours!? How're you gonna manage that?"

"Simple. In 1979 the Iranian Revolution took place, in the aftermath the US Embassy was abandoned by all staff and with most of their equipment and data-stores. But one thing they didn't take with them were the shreddings." He speaks as he gently straightens and sorts the mess into three separate piles. His eyes calm and focused as he does so. "Finding all of this and after the meddling done in their country the Iranians were curious to find out a way to read these documents despite their 'destruction' to that end they enlisted local carpet weavers to reconstruct the documents by hand."

"No shit?" Hawthorne asks. "How the hell does weaving carpets help you put a page together."

"Have you ever been reading a book and set it down to do something else, Sergeant?"
>>
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"Sure."

"When you came back to it did you immediately pick up where you left off? Down to the sentence? Or did you have to scan the page, refresh your memory and then pick up where you left it."

"I don't take crazy pills so I need you to get to the point here."

"Context clues, Sergeant." Question plucks a single strand and straightens it. "See these two curves here? The slight divot between them and the curve opposite."

Hawthorne squints and pulls the paper scrap close.

"Yeah, I guess."

"The first letter is a capital B, most likely followed by an e or an a. Since it's capital that means the piece preceding it is the end of a sentence. I'm looking for the front half of a B following a period..." His voice trails off as he searches the pile for a piece to match. "Once I look through all of these and feel their edges. I'll be able to get started re-assembling."

"Feel their edges?" Grey chimes in now.

"Yes. Small fluctuations in edge alignment will illuminate some of the more difficult pieces. It's a slow but effective process." He mumbles to himself.

"And you taught yourself this?"

"No. A fifty year old carpet weaver from the outskirts of Tehran.. she was a spitfire." Question waxes.

"So we're gonna be here a while?"

"Sadly." Hawthorne groans. "May as well break for lunch then."

"I'll go with you." Grey adds quickly, giving Hawthorne a pointed look.

"Yeah, sure. You're driving and buying then."

"Sure." Grey says flatly, pulling his keys from his pocket and walking away.

"Probably going just grabbing something from Great Wok, you want anything kid?" Hawthorne asks you.

"Anything, you know me." You reply, eyes fixed on Questions smooth and subtle hand movements.

"What about you?" Hawthorne asks Question.

"Nothing. I don't eat Chinese food. On account of the MSG."

"I'm not shocked you believe that bullshit about it giving you cancer or migraines." Hawthorne snorts.

"Not that, it's the name. It's right under your nose. Monosodium Glutamate? Please. MSG's real initials stand for Modified Synchronous Genome. It's actually quite simple if you follow th-" Questions rambling is cut off by the closing of your front door. He glances over his shoulder and then to you. "I'll tell him when he comes back."

"That's okay, I think."

"If you insist.. but I'm glad we're alone."

"Uh."

Question digs into one of his pants pockets and searches furiously.

"Uh." You repeat.

"One moment, Officer. You gave me a gift so it's only fair I give you this in return."

"Extending a hand out to you he unfurls his fingers revealing a small quarter shaped object."

"What is that?"

"A bug." He replies dryly. "I told you I was sweeping for them, but I wanted to give it to you in private."

You take it and examine it, not taking long to realize who planted this device.

"Does this belong to who I think it belongs to?"

"Yes."

"Son of a bitch.." You mumble, turning the small device between finger and thumb. "He has branding?"

"You should see the jet."
>>
You sit gently on the couch next to Q and hold the device up again.

"Is it still active?"

"No. I microwaved it."

"What?"

"I didn't have my usual magnets on hand or my faraday cage."

"Q, you can't microwave a fucking.. BatBug in my apartment."

"Why is that?"

"I rent, you dick." You pocket the object and settle into your couch, it's familiar contour helping you to relax. Question ignores your last statement and continues to sort through the pile.

As time drags on you feel your eyelids getting heavy, you glance at the table and see Question has made progress but not enough to do any analysis on. You sigh and let your head roll back. If you don't do something you're gonna fall asleep here. A prospect that doesn't sound too bad right now, under the foam of Gotham's voices you swear you can almost hear the lady in red..

[If you're asking Question a question (haha) feel free to select two options. Write-In also encouraged.}
>"Q, tell me about the Justice League. What was it like? Being a part of the 'Big Picture'?"
>"So why aren't you wearing the mask? I know you aren't big on leaving it at home."
>"How's Huntress doing? Shoot anymore bad guys recently?"
>"How was the meeting with Kimble? He seemed to be pretty satisfied with your talk."
>Let yourself fall asleep.
>Write-In
>>
>>6103075
>Write-In
Where the "BatBug" was found, and its likely capabilities. also depending on when it was installed. More info on the multitude of prior B&E's may be available.

Also

Tell us more about "Modified Synchronous Genome".
>>
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>"Simple. In 1979 the Iranian Revolution took place, in the aftermath the US Embassy was abandoned by all staff and with most of their equipment and data-stores. But one thing they didn't take with them were the shreddings."

picrel
>>
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>>6103075
Luv me Q, his "eccentric charm" works on me just as well as on Huntress
>"Q, tell me about the Justice League. What was it like? Being a part of the 'Big Picture'?"
Despite choosing the cop path, there is no way Mark never wondered. Also I think Q doesn't have THAT negative of an opinion on JL. We had a lot of "capeshit bad" in this quest, I think it'd be nice to have a brief moment of "capeshit pretty cool actually".
>>Write-In
>Where the "BatBug" was found, and its likely capabilities. also depending on when it was installed. More info on the multitude of prior B&E's may be available.

>"He has branding?"
>"You should see the jet."
Kek. I remember Archam games where he draws the bat with his explosive gel.
Wonder why Mark is dozing off already. We went to prison in the morning, so it's midday by now?
>schizo board update
IF scraps are the kill order, and IF the kill order was given by calc after contracting/directing anarky, then the whole prison is so fucked I don't even know what the correct response is. Gordon is gonna age 5 more years if all of this is as bad as it looks.
>>
>>6103110
+1
>>
>>6103075
>Where the "BatBug" was found, and its likely capabilities. also depending on when it was installed. More info on the multitude of prior B&E's may be available.
>"Q, tell me about the Justice League. What was it like? Being a part of the 'Big Picture'?"
>>
>>6103075
>>6103084
+1
>>
>>6103110
If it's that bad, should we really have this evidence in our house?

That's just asking for thugs to show up if they're suspicious enough.

We should also spend a moment faking the capture of evidence in our own notebook. Just so if we get harassed we can point at it. Just find an accident case number to associate it with.

All sketchy, but the only people looking into it are interested parties. Maybe poke dent down the line and watch for what scurries?
>>
>>6103075
>Tell Q about the schizo board from >>6103110
>>
>>6103075
I too want to add to my vote in >>6103116 to back >>6103306 as well
>>
>>6103266
+1 to that track-covering bit.

>>6103075
>"So why aren't you wearing the mask? I know you aren't big on leaving it at home."
I'm proud, but also worried.
>>
>>6103084

Let's break it down..

Modified - Pretty clear cut.

Synchronous - Occurring or existing at the same time. synonym: contemporary.
Moving or operating at the same rate.
synchronous motors.
Having identical periods.

Genome - Entirety of an organism's hereditary information

So it's a Genome that has been changed to be synchronous, so I guess Genomes made to be the same? Or operate the same?

My professional take is that Q believes MSG is making us Asian. Prove me wrong.
>>
>>6103708
+1 this too, I wanna see how he counters that claim
>>
>>6103266
Can't we do a mini schizo board on a piece of paper then burn it when done?
>>
We should ask J'onn J'onzz if it's possible to bring people to our internal mind schizo board next time we see him.
>>
>>6103957
...and by people, I mean no- (looks at Question, Huntress, and Batman for a moment) ...unpowered and non-psychic people.
>>
Hey...SIM said Mandragora was his father, didn't he?

...was a childhood photo of him what Mandragora showed off to get Huntress to stand down?
>>
>>6103084
>>6103110
>>6103116
>>6103221
>>6103160
>>6103463
>>6103499

You shake your head, the fatigue fading from you like a bad brain freeze, you should do something to stay checked in mentally. Why not talk?

"Hey, Q?" You inquire quietly.

"Yes, Officer." He replies, keeping his eyes locked on the strands he handles.

"Would you tell me about the Justice League? What is was like being part of the 'big picture'?"

His hands stop for a moment but carry on within a second.

"I suppose I could.. it was terrifying." He responds quietly.

"What?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not crazy. But I was up there in the Watchtower surrounded by things that defied explanation just by existing. Intergalactic races, men who moved fast enough to phase through solid objects, living incarnations of Gods.." His voice trails off. "What interested me the most about them however was how.. human they all were."

"Human how?"

"Arrogant, selfish, combative, secretive." He rattles off. "The thing I noticed more often was ego. Pride. Hubris.."

"Oh." You reply, slightly disappointed in his response.

For the first time you catch an expression on his stoic face as he hears your voice. His focused intense expression softens slightly and he continues.

"But that was how I felt when I first arrived. As time went on new faces joined, members who weren't godlike or super-human, mainly recruited by Batman."

"Batman was your recruiter?"

"He had a fondness for personal missions, he brought me into the fold as well, I was one of the first non-powered members of the Justice League. Something Batman referred to as a 'grounding' for the League. To keep them in touch. Of course every new addition was a new threat and after my thorough vetting procedures became known I developed a reputation."

"That tracks for you, I'm guessing Huntress was one of these 'grounded' additions?"

"She was. It wasn't until I was reaching the end of my tenure that she approached me. Before that time had passed and I became more open to the League, I was still on the fringes but I saw more than before. I saw how kind the League could be. I even attended one of those 'Town Halls' Superman liked to hold." His voice, normally monotone, has leaks of emotion seeping into it. Or maybe you just FEEL the feelings?

"I attended that glorified pep rally and listened to him speak. About Earth, about Kansas, about protecting the small guys." He sighs. "It was enough to make even an ironclad skeptic have hope. He gave that speech right after an incident."

"An incident?"

"Not worth getting into right now. But it led to my discovery, those simulations that were ran."

"The one's where Superman kills Luthor?"

"The very same. The Cadmus documents had more than simulations, it also carried reports. These reports were on the very same event that spurred Superman's speech to the league, they revealed that what he had told us was a lie. He and the original members had constructed a false story."
>>
"Holy shit Q, you didn't mention all this. What the hell is this 'incident' they lied about?"

"It's not important."

"Like hell, I wanna know."

"Officer, unless you want your big picture to get even larger. This is one thing I wouldn't look into."

"Coming from you that's a little ominous.."

"It was the first time I worked with Huntress, retrieving those files. The things I read sent me down a deep rabbit hole, I was convinced that the future was set in stone and only I could fix it..." His hands stop moving and he stares blankly into the table. "It made me realize something had to be done.. but before I had the chance Helena found me again. She had heard about my bout with the two most respected men in the league and came to check on me. When I told her I was going, that I had to go, she asked to come with me."

"That's soft hearted for her."

"When we first met she told me I must be the ugliest man in the world.." He says, a small smile hiding at the edges. "Sorry, Officer. You asked me about the League and I went on a tirade about myself.. the League are good people and I hope they have the strength of will to stay that way. Even when tested.." He speaks the final words in a whisper as his eyes focus back to his task.

"Anyone ever tell you talking to you is heavy?" You joke, sliding in closer to observe his work.

"I've heard. I just prefer not to sugarcoat if it's all the same."

"Then whaddya call holding onto this until everyone left the room?" You ask him, holding the small Bat-Bug in your palm.

"Operational Security."

"Keeping it secure from Grey and Hawthorne?"

"Keeping it secure from forces that may be observing them."

"Who's observing them?"

"I'll let you know when I finish my own observations."

"Sure, in the mean time can you give me the run down on this bug? Where'd you find it, what it can do, that type of thing?"

"I found it in your bedroom, spliced into the wires of your light-switch."

"What the fuck? Why there? How did you even find it?"

"It's what I would have done. As for the placement, it's simple. The bug requires power so it can record and transmit, splicing it into the wiring of your home results in a few extra dollars on a utility bill but otherwise leaves no trace. At least when done correctly."

"He put a bug in my wires because he couldn't be bothered to stop by and swap it's batteries?"

"Yes." He replies dryly. "You inquired about it's function and it actually seems designed for that very purpose, the top and bottom prongs are coated in a two layers. The first is some sort of solder and beneath that is a thin coating of copper, the design is rather ingenious."

"A layer of.. so it uses the heat from closing the circuit to weld itslef to my wires."

"Yes."

"How did you remove it then?"

His hands pause and you see him jut his chin forward as he stares.

"You'll have to call an electrician."

"Son of a bitch, Q." You groan. "Please tell me you were as minimally destructive as you could be."
>>
"I'm not a brute, Officer. There's a neat bundle of wires that just needs an inch or two of wiring to restore it."

"So what, you just snip some wires and you have the bug? Seems a bit simple for someone like him."

"The surge in powering from cutting it free seemed to blow a sort of fuse on the inside. Ruining most of it's components."

"You said you microwaved it."

"I did."

"After it shorted itself?"

"A pre-caution. Can never be sure there isn't more hidden away in there."

You both remain silent for a second as you stare at the bug in your hand. A question forms in your mind. You can't help but take a deep breath and ask it.

"How lo-"

"I pressed popcorn." Question cuts you off.

You deflate slightly, are you really that predictable?

"Well you know I have to ask. Why popcorn?"

"The popcorn setting is the best way to disable audio/video surveillance equipment, I've never had it fail me."

"How did you even learn this?"

"Oh come on, Officer. Why would the microwave companies make a button that routinely burns the one thing it's supposed to cook?"

You stare into his blank face as he glimpses up at you and taps his temple.

"They never intended it to be used for popcorn from the beginning."

"I don't think I'm ever gonna get used to the things you say to me, Q."

"We could go back to discussing the specifics of the bug if you'd like."

"Please. Any idea on an install date?"

"Not possible to tell, it didn't seem to have any internal memory storage so I figure everything it recorded was being live transmitted.." He trails off and pulls a small notepad from his pocket. "Meaning there must have been a storage location for it nearby... unless." He pulls and clicks a pen and writes in large letters:

'SATELLITES?' and underlines it before pocketing both and looking to you again.

"It was capable of audio recording and the exterior has small lenses on the front of it. Seeing as it was embedded in your wall I would put money on heat-mapping being used to track you through the thin plastic around your switch."

"Why?"

"That's the question isn't it? I've seen Batman's work and this is a light touch. Maybe the intent wasn't to monitor but just to keep a spare eye out for you.. or maybe that's what he would want you to think." He mutters to himself as he separates one pile fully away from the other and removes his gloves one at a time.

You realize this your first time seeing his actual hands as well, not as big a reveal as his face but you still feel strange seeing them without his leather gloves. Slowly he runs a finger down the edge of a strip and closes his eyes, he hums quietly to himself as he works. He sets the piece down and runs his fingers down the next, lightly gliding down it's length. He does this one at a time. You don't speak, not wanting to distract him, slowly he begins to assemble a few lines of cut scrap into the top of a page.

The layers stack and blend as he hums quietly and even whispers a song to himself.
>>
"...and though you turn from me.. to glance behind.." He whispers as he nudges and slides the final scrap from his small selection into space.

As the header comes together an image starts to form in the center of the page's top. As the top third of it becomes recognizable a slow horrifying realization comes over you. Question leans back and wipes his hands, staring pridefully at his work.

"Fuck." You say quietly.

"No worry, Officer. Now that I have it started the rest will come quickly."

"No.. I recognize that symbol. I just saw it. There's no fucking-" You stand up quickly and rush to your kitchen grabbing a piece of mail dangling off your fridge. You walk back to the table and put them side by side. There's no denying it.

"Q. I think I'm right. The head matches perfectly, so does the positioning." You state.

"I'm inclined to agree. If this is real however.. this may be larger than we thought.." Question replies with an icy seriousness.

You look at the scraps and then back to your proof. The invitation to Bank's and Kimble's award ceremony. Printed straight onto the Gotham City Hall Letterhead.

"Hawthorne and Grey are going to lose their minds.." You whisper.

"Only if you tell them.." Question replies ominously.

"Excuse me? Why wouldn't I tell them?"

"You're facing down a firing squad in four days, for starters. You're working an investigation that has your life on the line and now is the time you want to start adding distractions?"

"Distraction? It's a crime, Q! It's corruption!"

"You're already fighting a war on corruption from within. This opens an entire new front, a deeper well. More water in which to drown."

"So I ignore it?"

"No." Question replies firmly. His eyes set on you and ablaze with conviction. "Your war is with the moles within the GCPD and with SIM. I'll look into this personally."

"Q, if this is real we can't afford to wait on it. We need to start acting."

"And if it's a ruse you can't afford to lose concentration. Veering off course will kill your momentum, our adversary isn't a fool. This could be a trick as easily as it could be a key. Let me vet it, until then I can 'lose' those few pieces of paper that hold the city's crest. The rest of the letter you'll still have."

"Are you sure you could even handle it alone? It's not looking into some greaseball thug or a dirty cop. This is-"

"Looking into a corrupt government that may be colluding with convicted felons even behind bars? It's like an early birthday, Officer."

>"No offense, Q. But you've got a paranoid streak, better to bring everyone in on this and get their opinions."
>"You're right, Grey and Hawthorne are already losing focus. Worrying about things that aren't case critical.. maybe it's best they don't know until we confirm.
>Write-In

Lots of text, lots of getting to write Question. Always happy for the chance to give him some screentime. As always let me know what you think about what you've learned here. Thanks for reading.
>>
>>6105113
>"Not taking chances on this, Q. It could be connected to everything, somehow. I leave this out, and we might be missing a crucial piece of information that'll lead us to solving everything. No, we need everyone to know the details in case it helps one of us see the big picture behind it all."
>>
if this Question is loosely based on the animated shows portrayal then we got introduced to him at his peak insanity. Sounds like he got whisked off to help huntress before he could try and strangle Luthor in his own office.
>>
>>6105116
+1

This might actually be the messiest version of Hotham I’ve ever seen depicted, in any plot. Excluding No Man’s Land, I guess.
>>
>>6105113
>"You're right, Grey and Hawthorne are already losing focus. Worrying about things that aren't case critical.. maybe it's best they don't know until we confirm.

Honestly I don't think this is real. If you send a kill order to an incarcerated felon you don't use your official letterhead, that'd just be ridiculous.
>>
>>6105132
+1
>>
Interesting that Question talks about hubris and ego, then states that he feels he's the only one that can stop Superman from offing Luthor.
>>
>>6105113
Changing my vote from >>6105133 to backing >>6105116 but bring up what >>6105132 said
>If you send a kill order to an incarcerated felon you don't use your official letterhead, that'd just be ridiculous.
BUT I have an addition if acceptable:
>grab lighter and a plate
>grab paper and pen
>take a breath
>"Fuck it. Q, I need your take on what I'm about to show you."
>proceed to draw the entire fucking schizoboard >>6103110
>burn it to ashes and wash down the sink when done
Call it infectious personality. Call it kindred spirits. Call it two men on the cliff's edge. But we NEED to do this
>>
>>6103110
Also draw a line from Gorchakov to Penguin, that guy Kent saw them together at the poker table that one day
>>
>>6105134
Guess he's not so far removed from that level of crazy, do you think he still plans to throttle Luthor to death after this whole SIM thing blows over and he beats the shit out of Shiva?
>>
Something else that worth noting is that since we apear to have an "original" print, we should be able to use the microdot serial encoding that printers embed into all print-jobs to be able to reverse lookup which printer printed the page, and thus who printed the invitation so gives us a further lead to chase up.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Microdot#Modern_usage
>>
On one hand I want to let Q have this one, since it seems like he'll have fun (and for the real possibility this is just a manufactured distraction). On the other hand we did promise Hawthorne we wouldn't hide important stuff.
>>
>>6105161
Can't we do both? Tell Hawthorne and Gray (plus Kimble) all this new info, then have Question pursue the kill order lead while we have eyes on SIM and stopping the green light
>>
>>6105166
There is no way these guys will leave something like this to Q.
>>
>>6105136
+1

>>6105113
>>
>>6105136
Just blame it on Q and keep it. Only batman would see through it
>>
>>6105113
I can't really decide between the two options, but I'll be supporting showing him the schizoboard here >>6105136 whatever way the vote goes. If that's alright with the QM, that is.
>>
>>6105116
+1

Maybe throw in the old Sherlock line of "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth" with the addendum of "We cannot properly judge the impossible or improbable with incomplete information" or something similar.

Maybe bring up the idea that the more people that have access to the information, the less likely the sole person who has it is the one to get killed if we can't stop it in time, allowing the remainder to pass it on to Gordon, Batman, or someone similar. Should we bring up having cancer as well for this? A "If we survive this hit, I might still die, so want others to be clued in just in case"?
>>
>>6105116
>>6105126
>>6105136
>>6105289
>>6105409
>>6105486

You stare at the paper as a maelstrom of thoughts churning in your head make it near impossible to focus on any one thought. You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. Letting out a slow sigh you focus on your breathe and the sensations of your body. Of your gut.

"Not taking chances on this, Q. We tell them."

"Just make sure you don't split your focus." Question relents easily.

"I don't know if it will. It could be connected to everything somehow. If I leave this out we may miss a crucial piece of information that'll lead to us solving the entire thing. Everyone needs the details because it doesn't split our focus, it widens our view. That's when someone might see the big picture behind it all.."

"Well spoken, I concede to your argument." Question relents easily.

"Thanks, Q. Besides.. I don't think this is real."

"A red herring?"

"Something like that. Just a gut feeling, you don't get this far and then send a kill order to an incarcerated felon on official letterhead. It's.. ridiculous honestly."

"Unless it's a double bluff. The real direction planted as a misdirection. Still worth looking into, I say."

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." You state, staring at the scraps.

"Conan Doyle." Question replies with a note of approval in his voice. "Well read, Officer?"

"Abundance of freetime as a child." You reply, still unable to silence the jumble of thoughts in your head. An idea comes to you and you sigh.

"Question."

"Hm?"

"I need your pen and a lighter if you have one."

He retrieves what you requested from his deep coat pockets as you rise and head to the front door locking the deadbolt. Looking back you see Question laser focused on you with a serious expression.

"Expecting to be interrupted?"

"I just don't want Hawthorne and Grey walking and seeing this, they already think I might be going crazy." You reply as you sit with the pen and paper and begin sketching. A small box in the center at first, the silhouette of a man and a question mark as his face.

'CALC'

"A thought board.." Question whispers.

"GCPD calls em crazy walls. No offense."

"None taken."

You sketch and connect through ink and focus you expel everything sticking to the walls of your conscious mind onto the sheet. SIM and his link to Mandragora, Gorchakov, The Penguin linking that group of the old ruling class of Gotham back to the center where more lines fire off. Firebug, a likely dead-end. A mercenary being paid in revenge, unlikely to be involved in the deeper plans. Scarecrow, his lab, his toxin, his 'Queen' all unknowns. But whatever his role it seems to be multi-faceted.

"Officer, may I?" Question asks, leaning across and holding a hand out for the pen. You oblige and pass it.
>>
"Thank you. Look at Anarky and what do you see?" He asks. "Another pawn seemingly targeting Wayne? Like Firebug? But both sides are underwhelming, fodder armies with disposable troops or in Firebug's case a lone operator. The Anarkists went after Wayne and Firebug went after Dent at the museum. One to capture, one to kill. Did you ever ask the question why Firebug was in that alley?"

"It was a flush out. The gas would have forced Dent outside while the inside operators at Anarky grabbed Wayne."

"Dent would have been flushed to the same back alley where you helped Dent escape, if he hadn't run into you in the alley that lead to the rear of the building."

"He'd have killed everyone.." You whisper, remembering the scarce back security. Officers so rattled they didn't question receiving orders from a rookie. "That's why Anarky planned to escape through the back.. Firebug was clearing their escape."

"Then the follow up attack at the ceremony while Wayne and Dent were on stage together. Without Anarky's manpower the second attempt went worse than the prior, maybe he was acting off script.."

He draws a line from Wayne cutting through Calc and directly into Dent. He stares harshly at the paper, his face the picture of pure focus. He cracks a small grin and draws a crown on Dent and Wayne.

"The kings of Gotham.."

He whispers.

"You think the entire thing revolves around them?"

"I think it's the likeliest theory we have."

"It makes sense.. Dent is kind of like the body. He's the one officially in charge of Gotham. He makes the policies and keeps the blood flowing. But Wayne, nothing happens in this city on a large scale without him, he's the soul. Wayne Enterprises keeps us afloat while Dent works on the internals of the city and sets us up for the long term."

"And if Gotham is successful in the long term then Wayne Enterprises benefits too." Question concludes. His fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Quite the convenient deal for both of them."

"But if Wayne and Dent are the goal then why isn't he going after them with more? Why buy all this land over town just to flip it or abandon it? I just feel like we're missing something big."

"And how does it connect to your dreams?" Question asks, just as serious.

"Oh, I don't really- I was just going on autopilot you don't have to-"

"Who is this lady in red? Could she be mystical in nature?"

"Mystic- like magic? Like abracadabra magic?"

"I believe it would be pronounced arbadacarba." He states dryly.

Before you have a chance to ask him what that guttural noise he just uttered was you hear a muffled bang followed by a slightly less muffled:

"GOD-DAMNIT."

"Hawthorne's back." You whisper shout, sprinting from the couch with your 'crazy page' in your hand.

"Rook, open the damn door before I spill Hot and Sour Soup all over my damn self." Hawthorne gripes through the door. The knob ratlting.

"One second, sir!" You shout as you flick the lighter and watch the corner curl and catch.
>>
You drop the smoking mass of blackened burning paper into your sink, spraying the ashes down your drain. Before sprinting to the door and pull it open.

Immediately Hawthorne's large frame brushes you aside as he hobble sprints to your kitchen counter to drop an armful of brown paper bags and soup containers. His face red as he turns over his shoulder and glares at you. From behind you hear a light crunching and see Grey walk in with an open fortune cookie in his hands.

"You two high schoolers on your first date? Don't want mom coming home early?" He asks with a chuckle.

"No!" You reply quickly moving to shut the door and re-lock it. "Question and I just discovered something that might be a little... big."

Grey raises his eyebrows and gestures.

"Grab some food then, you can tell us while we eat."

You turn and reacquire the death stare.

"Didn't think to help me out, rook?"

"You had it under control." Grey chimes in.

"Yeah. Because you wouldn't carry a damn thing." He grumbles, pulling various boxes of noodles and rice and meat from the paper bags.

"I was going to, but then my fortune told me 'your greatest strength lies in others' so I took it as a sign."

"I'll show you a goddamn sign.." Hawthorne mumbles. "Here take this."

He chucks another fortune cookie into Grey's chest.

"You didn't want it?" You ask.

"If I wanted to eat cookies I'd join the girl scouts. I got you Hot and Sour Soup and some spring rolls. I figured if I gave you liquid you wouldn't be able to inhale it like you usually do."

You chuckle and shrug.

"Does the masked yahoo really not want anything?" Hawthorne asks from the kitchen as he forks out a mound of chow mein on a plate, doing his best to ignore Grey.

"I'll check."

You step away and walk back to the coffee table, this entire time Question has been silent and hunched over. His hands working quickly to put line to line and give you more to work with. The top half of the entire Gotham Crest is visible now, no denying it at this point.

"You want to get a bite, Q? I know you have a thing with MSG but you maybe you could make an exception? We're gonna fill em in while we eat."

"No thank you, Officer. Really, thank you." He looks up and you see his eyes dart over your shoulders. "But I do think you should tell them about your thought map."

You lean close and whisper.
"I told you, they worry about me enough. I do not need them thinking I'm crazy right now."

"The best way to prove you aren't crazy is to prove you're right." He counters. "Your map widened my view like you said."

You glance over your shoulder and see Grey loading a few pieces of glazed chicken into a bowl with rice. He seems much more relaxed than when he left. But he's already worried about the influence Question is having on you, maybe this isn't the time..

>Include your 'Crazy Wall' when filling them in.
>"No Q, this really would split their focus."
>"I'll tell Hawthorne later, but that's it."
>Write-in
>>
>>6105611
>Include your 'Crazy Wall' when filling them in.
Isn't it a legitimate tool that detectives use often?
>>
>>6105612
+1
Le sigh
"In for a penny in for a pound"
>>
>>6105611
>Include your 'Crazy Wall' when filling them in.
>>
>>6105611
>But he's already worried about the influence Question is having on you, maybe this isn't the time..
Mark is SO getting banned from speaking to question ever again, lmao. Imagine leaving the kid together with the weird guy for like 40 minutes and coming back to see them both assembling a schizo board. Actually the idea is so funny I had to draw it. Oddly enough this is a second time I draw a "schizo board reaction" pic for a quest on /qst/. Seems like a pattern.

Shame I didn't pick up on "the plan was to get everyone out back so firebug can kill 'em all", I really should have after the anarkist in prison told us that his escape plan was from the back. That's why Calc send the kill order out, all the anarkists who knew about scarecrow's involvement were supposed to die right there, and now he's trying to clean up. But now we know. We gotta his the lab adress fast, maybe tell Reiner? If the lab is already cleaned up we'll have to dive with shivers to get anything. It's our speed vs Calc's ability to clean up his tracks. And we're supposed to be doing a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT INVESTIGATION AAAAAAA

Ok, we can't go to the lab now, we're supposed to be catching Gorchakov. But police is a big force, we gotta get other people on it. Grey is a detective, right? As in the job. He can get people on it, tell Reiner. We're not a lone vigilante after all.

>Include your 'Crazy Wall' when filling them in. BUT remove all supernatural stuff.
I only included dream parts for the sake of being thorough, we probably shouldn't tell Hawthorne and Grey we talk to the lady in our dreams.
>Then instantly pivot to "well, nevermind all that, we have a mole to catch and a hard time limit, haha"
>>
>>6105737
Can't we go after Calc and Blackgate aftee the green light is off?
>>
>>6105612
>>6105626
>>6105638
>>6105737
Let’s just say we saw people do these sorts of things in media, like television and video games. Detectives probably do charts like these all the time. As long as we don’t mention the Psychonauts Milkman Conspiracy level or Pepe Silvia out loud, we’ll be fine.

Or Bioshock, but that one was correct.
>>
>>6105743
Perhaps we could say that "the Crazy Wall" wasn't our first choice, but we haven't learned of any better informal options just yet.

Like, we'd know of a formal structure that you'd put into a report, but we haven't exactly gotten enough together for the formal structure that would call for just yet.

>>6105737
>I only included dream parts for the sake of being thorough, we probably shouldn't tell Hawthorne and Grey we talk to the lady in our dreams.
Agreed, though I say that we indirectly include it with Dream Lady, The End of Gotham, and the link between us and SIM all getting a single entry of "Supernatural Shivers Bullshit". The Something Underground will also link into it because of how limited the information is. After all, pretty much the only concrete stuff that we've gotten on that is:
>There is a Box somewhere underground.
>That Box has something to do with a really big and dangerous thing that will happen.
>Moving the Box will make it worse.
Kinda not enough intel to really do anything, especially with a different and more certain deadline floating around.
>>
>>6105611
>Include your 'Crazy Wall' when filling them in.
>Leave out the magic/super shit for now
>>
>>6105737
I fucking love it.
>>
>>6105612
>>6105626
>>6105638
>>6105737
>>6105927

"Fine." You hiss. "But I'm leaving out the dream shit, I shouldn't have even told you."

"Don't be ashamed-"

"Shut the fuck up." You cut him off before turning and calling to Hawthorne. "He doesn't want anything."

"Don't let that stop you from enjoying your meal." Question follows up. "Just don't come crying to me when your blood type changes."

"I'd ask you to explain." Hawthorne says through a mouthful of fried rice. "But I don't really give a shit."

====

You lean back, letting out a steady breath as you lean on the counter, a small stack of empty containers in front of you. Hawthorne puts a plate in your sink and gives it a courtesy spray.

"So you think the letterhead is a false lead?"

"Gut feeling on it, feels dumb."

"Agreed." Grey adds, picking between his teeth with a small pick. "Dent's put away people ding smarter shit than this by a mile."

"Exactly what I said earlier, I just.. I have something else to show you guys." You start cautiously.

"Go ahead, kid. Shoot." Hawthorne says.

"Just.. it's a legitimate tool. Keep that in mind. It wasn't exactly my first choice of format but it makes sense."

You grab another sheet and sigh deeply.

"So it starts with Calc."

====

As you draw the final line that connects Wayne to Dent to Calc you finish your presentation.

"Basically we think the Anarkist hits going on now were meant to cover up Scarecrow's involvement with the attempts on Dent adn Wayne both. Which means Calc isn't done with him yet."

As you say your final words you drop the pen dramatically and take a step back to allow Grey and Hawthorne to lean over and take it in. Hawthorne's eyes scan the chart and he looks to Grey slowly.

"We leave him alone with 'Grassy Knoll' for 40 minutes and come back to this?"

"It's good information." Grey replies quietly, his eyes shining with that familiar analytical glint.

"It's a crazy wall!"

"It's a thought-map. Only beat walkers and door kickers call it that, the actual Detectives know how useful it is."

"Indeed." Question chimes in without looking.

Grey rolls his eyes but says nothing.

"Just maybe change the format if you wanna bring this to Gordon or Reiner, just my two cents." Hawthorne says putting his hands up.

"Whaddya think?" You ask. "This shake anything loose for you? I'm still working on theories for.. these." You lean in and tap. "The properties. The point of it all.."

Grey just stares silently, then he begins to nod.
"I've got a theory.. Crackpot." He calls. Question lifts his head from his work, his face the picture of calm.

"Yes, detective?"

"C'mere." Grey lets out through an irritated huff. "I want to hear what you think about this."

You share a look with Hawthorne who, himself, looks surprised by the request. Without any ceremony Question rises and approaches the island counter. As he reaches it you notice his eyes lock with Grey, a look crosses his face. Pain? You feel a chill spread across your nape.
>>
Question slows his steps, stopping short before the counter.

"Excuse me." He mumbles politely, turning and reaching inside his coat.

You hear a familiar hiss and watch his arms go through the motions, sealing the edges if whatever he uses to make that mask. He turns around again, his face hidden once again.

"Apologies, I can think better this way."

Grey furrows a brow but moves on.

"You both think that Wayne and Dent are the end goals here. But what if you're only half right?"

"Go on."

"Wayne and Dent could be the last targets. But what's the motive?" He turns to you. "Motive gives a context to every action. Anyone can stumble into proving someone did something. But unless you can understand WHY they did it, you'll never start to see the full picture."

"You're implying Wayne and Dent aren't the motivation. Their capture or death is motivated by something else..." Question says confidently, his voice somehow more familiar when heard through missing lips.

"Mark put it perfectly. The city relies on both of these men. But I only think one of them need to BE the man. Bruce Wayne. If he goes Wayne Enterprises goes along with him. If Wayne Enterprises goes..."

"Gotham would be ruined. More than half the city does some kind of work connected to Wayne-Tech or Wayne-Waste Management, it's practically holding up the economy." Hawthorne chimes in.

"Exactly why your Blackgate Penitentiary may be getting sold to ARGUS. And why Bruce Wayne is putting so much time into his side projects in the city." Question starts, his voice in a low feverish pitch that continues to raise as he goes. "Museums, Theaters, Concert Halls, He's building a cultural center to compete with New York. Dent works to monetize and compartmentalize the seediest parts of Gotham's underbelly, keeping it at arm's length from the city itself but still making money off of it in the process. Wayne's businesses and investments set the infrastructure. Dent's shady dealings lead to a prison-for-profit money trail and gives a Federal law enforcement agency an HQ right outside the city.. the drop in crime will lead to an increase in population. The local economy hits the ground running with City Hall funded and operated shows, installations, BROADWAY PRODUCTIONS. Meanwhile Dent gets to revel in the glory of saving Gotham and Bruce Wayne..." His voice trails off as he reaches the grand conclusion. He freezes almost entirely. You feel something... click. But like a name on the tip of your tongue you can't focus on what 'it' is.

Grey starring with an intensity, his eyes conveying a total concentration on Questions word, whispers.

"Bruce Wayne secures his legacy in Gotham."

"Do you really think Wayne would be okay with funding the city off a federal for-profit prison?" You ask quietly. "The stuff the inmates told us in there. We know it's getting nasty in there and it'll only get worse."

"I don't know." Hawthorne says quietly, his own pensive expression showing the age around his eyes.
>>
"We'll debate the morals of Bruce Wayne later." Grey steps in, bringing focus back to the task at hand. "Unfortunately, Question touched on something there. Dent and Wayne are the two backbones of Gotham but there's a difference. Harvey Dent isn't important in this scheme because he's Harvey Dent. He's important because he's the mayor. If he died, we just elect a new one. And his deals? His work in progress would continue."

"The mayor only got those deals from being close friends with Wayne. Not that anyone is complaining, the city's seeing benefits already." Hawthorne adds.

"Exactly. Gotham City is on the rise, Bruce Wayne is approaching that crest into 50. Around that time you start to.. you start to think about dying." Grey blinks a few times and continues. "More than dying, you think about how things will be without you around. How things'll change. For a normal guy that takes the form of saving up for the kid's, making sure your will sets them up, clearing your debts. But Bruce Wayne is an orphan, no immediate family, no children, only Gotham. If we figured that Gotham dies with him you can bet someone on his company board has said the same thing."

"So you think Calc is looking to capitalize on what Gotham will be." You ask.

"Let me finish. My theory for the properties is simple. Money."

"You think this is about money?" Hawthorne asks.

"I don't think it's about money. I think they NEED money. I had a buddy in Homicide, saw too much and needed a break, transferred over to Fraud and White Collar. He brought a case up to me because it linked to an old homicide, some loan shark killing a guy on a patch of unbought land, that same crime scene was actually bought by some sleazy club guy. Said he was interested in Gotham so he buys the land and pulls a business loan for all sorts of shit. He flipped the property back to the original buyer, just took 20% of what he paid initially but vanished with at least twice that in bank loans belonging to a company that didn't exist."

"Loan fraud?" You ask confused.

"Loan fucking fraud. If you're some richy rich motherfucker and you clearly don't care about the law!"

"Ease up, Grey." Hawthorne whispers.

"I'm fine, Mitch. Mark, think about it. This guy has shown us he has the resources and the brains to make fake identities. This identity is hiding under the wave of construction from all these projects from City Hall and Wayne and just adding his 'new businesses' to the list that grows by the quarter." He plants his finger firmly on the Thought-Map and continues. "He applies for every loan, grant, and assistance he can. Pockets the money and then moves to the next site, some of them he keeps for laundering the loaned cash. The only question is for what?"

He freezes and stares into your eyes.

"What? Tell me."

"You tell me. You have the pieces, prove to me you can do this."
>>
>"The money is an investment, Calc puts someone in the Mayor's spot after Dent's gone. The stockpile of money is funding for bribes, re-election, and to tempt Wayne to switch partners."
>"The money is the motive. This is all about cash, redirecting the prison pipeline, piggybacking off Wayne's efforts. It's all meant to line his pockets."
>"The money is just a tool. Like Wayne or Dent it isn't ABOUT the money. It's about what the money can do for them. The amount of cash could pull in crowds of assassins, gangbangers, or worse. It could fund a war against the GCPD. It could take Gotham back to the 60's when the gangs were on top. Just in time to reap the benefits."
>"The money is about control. It's a tool to control the thing that's the real beating heart of Gotham. Wayne Enterprises. When Dent hurts, Gotham hurts, and when Gotham hurts, Wayne Enterprises hurts. Lowering stock prices, get enough of those and you get some level of authority over the company. Which gives you authority over Gotham."
>Write-In

=INVESTIGATION VOTE=

If you have any questions, need reminders, or want clarification. Please ask, I'll answer you honestly however I will also only give you information Mark would know or could reasonably suspect. (No Batman = Bruce Wayne moment in front of your Work Dad sorry.) I also HEAVILY encourage write-ins for this section and general discussion between each other. But I include these votes because I know not everybody wants to write a manifesto, if you do however feel free to use these voting options as jumping off points for your own theories.

I also don't fully confirm the correct answer is in any of the choices I've presented. But I don't fully deny it either. See you soon.
>>
Not a vote, but before I pass out, I want to pose a question to yall. Who stands to benefit the most from Bruce dying? Who would inherit majority power in Wayne Enterprises? I think its a bid for corporate control more than anything else, personally. Gotham is stationary, but W.E. can have a far greater reach.
>>
>>6105737
Before I forget. Saved.

This is really funny to me, I love it. Thank you, anon.
>>
>>6106152
What I wanna know is how is this going to help stop the green light? Are we on a whole other plotline here and ignoring Mandragora?
>>
>>6106161
>CALC
>"Long thin fingers twist and rotate until all colors fall into line, first a row, then a full side, until all is uniform. Squabbling and opposing colors brought into line by a grand design of faux hues. For the end of this design shows no mesh of colors working in unison, the design is grey."
How does it relate here?
>>
>>6106161
The point of the prison visit was to learn about the mail/investigate what Officer Kent could have sent on Gorchakov's behalf. Your answer to that will come when question finishes piecing the letter. To assist in kicking the legs out from under him.

At the moment you guys are just kind of unrolling the map of whatever this is in the meantime. It is a lot of off (main) topic dialogue, to be fair to your point, so I get it.
>>
>>6106149
>"The money is about control. It's a tool to control the thing that's the real beating heart of Gotham. Wayne Enterprises. When Dent hurts, Gotham hurts, and when Gotham hurts, Wayne Enterprises hurts. Lowering stock prices, get enough of those and you get some level of authority over the company. Which gives you authority over Gotham."

This would be a good time to tell Hawthorn and Grey about what the Shivers told us about Calc. The visions have been accurate in the past, and it’s solid evidence in favor of this theory.

>"Long thin fingers twist and rotate until all colors fall into line, first a row, then a full side, until all is uniform. Squabbling and opposing colors brought into line by a grand design of faux hues. For the end of this design shows no mesh of colors working in unison, the design is grey."
>>
>>6106162
Perfect Order. Calc wants to turn Gotham into a perfect little machine. Everything in a box. Everything controlled. Everything predictable and calculated.
>>
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>>6106252
Yeah, but if we’re remembering that weird box thing we dreamt of when Mandragora punched us in our noodle, Calc’s either using something that’s not his for his goal of perfect order, or worse, was given it to use on behalf of someone, either knowingly or not. And while I am absolutely not a hardcore DC guy, I do remember that there’s these box things that could be a huge issue…
>>
>>6106161
We should refocus on that ASAP, but let's not ignore this, either.

>>6106252
>>6106312
Arranging evrything into perfect, tyrannical order under a single will sure SOUNDS like it could be The Anti-Life Equation...

But we don't know that. However, I think we should ask Q to set us up a playdate with a JLA member who might be able to interpret our dreams. Jones again?

>>6106149
>"The money is about control. It's a tool to control the thing that's the real beating heart of Gotham. Wayne Enterprises. When Dent hurts, Gotham hurts, and when Gotham hurts, Wayne Enterprises hurts. Lowering stock prices, get enough of those and you get some level of authority over the company. Which gives you authority over Gotham."
>Ask Question about another meeting woth Jones to discuss the box and lady in red
>>
>>6106149
Looking back at the criminal headss meeting, I wonder how many companies involved in the prison reconstruction are actually Calc's/Cobblepot's.
>>
>>6106370
I meant to link to
>>6106152
>>
>>6106163
Thanks for clarifying OP

>>6106186
+1
>>
Delay in schedule so I am leaving this up a little longer for more votes but right now it's leaning towards:

>"The money is about control. It's a tool to control the thing that's the real beating heart of Gotham. Wayne Enterprises. When Dent hurts, Gotham hurts, and when Gotham hurts, Wayne Enterprises hurts. Lowering stock prices, get enough of those and you get some level of authority over the company. Which gives you authority over Gotham."

Update tomorrow unless I get a free moment at home today. Apologies, things are settling though so we'll be back to uninterrupted soon.
>>
>>6106149
+1 this >>6106186
>>
What the fuck is Bruce doing? Is he really so trusting of Dent he hasn't looked into anything he's doing? The museums and public stuff for the city is cool and all but I fail to see how it really helps.

>Bruce is nearly 50
Nightwing is a full grown man so maybe this shouldn't surprise me as much as it does. I didn't read him as in his late 40's at all in the earlier threads.
>>
>"Motive gives a context to every action. Anyone can stumble into proving someone did something. But unless you can understand WHY they did it, you'll never start to see the full picture."
Sorry Grey, turn out I'm pretty stupid. No idea what Calc is playing at. All I see is guesswork. Can do the process of elimination though.
1) Might be option 1 actually, the re-election. He did try to off Dent there and then. Being elected means authority over gotham. For some reason he wants that I guess?
2) It's not just the money because that'd be too easy and also why bother with assasinations and terrorism.
3) No way he wants the "fun times" back. His final design is gray after all.
4) Also might be 4. Controlling Wayne Enterprises is the second way of getting control over gotham. Again, no idea why he wants that.
So uhh..
>>6106149
>write-in
>Both 1 and 4 for complete control over the city. For some reason.
That's be so incredibly big though. "Conquer Gotham" is such a crazy scope.
>>6106818
Well we don't actully know if they are even working together. Grey says he thinks they do.
>>
>>6106917
I’m pretty sure that Calc is a pseudonym for whoever is currently using the Father Box.

In my (incredibly brief) research, the Father Box can grant its user perfect understanding. It would be next to impossible to pull this convoluted plan together otherwise.

Going from that, it would make sense that a person granted omniscient knowledge would eventually convince themselves that they are the “most capable” of running the show. This would lead them to use that knowledge to take control.

Unbeknownst to this mere mortal, the Father Box is actually just using them to cause chaos. So Calc is either a megalomaniac who’s being played like a fiddle… or it’s literally just the Father Box using a pseudonym.

I’m surprised that Mark hasn’t made the connection between his conversation with Lady Gotham and the terrible feeling he gets whenever someone mentions boxes. She literally dropped references to a cube.

We need to rope Q in on this. All Mark and Co. can do is chip away at Calc’s power base. There’s no way some beat cops are going to get a shot at the heart of this monster.
>>
>>6106939
>I’m pretty sure that Calc is a pseudonym for whoever is currently using the Father Box.
…you didn’t forget that Calc, AKA Cal Quincy Late, is just a pseudonym for the Calculator, right? Or are you saying that our Calc and him are actually different people?
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>>6106939
Huh. Well shit, thanks for the info. I didn't know about father box at all, only mother one.
>There’s no way some beat cops are going to get a shot at the heart of this monster.
Why not? Some smart guy with eldrich alien box vs S.W.A.T. (derected by Marks and Co.'s investigation efforts) would be very in spirit for this quest. Q is just a guy too, he's just wearing a cool trench coat.
Real talk, when we get in-character evidence of how big this whole thing is, it's going straight to Gordon, Batman and JL. Well, gordon won't hear us before we finish that one mole bust we staked our career at. Could call bats I suppose. Even right now.
>>6106945
Wait, wft, he is a real guy. Even has a rubic's cube motif going. Not knowing things about wider DC while being in this quest is such a trip. I thought Calc was QM's OC (Can still be I suppose)
>>
>>6106945
Who the fuck is Calculator?
I know next to nothing about DC. I’ve never even heard of Question before this quest. I just assumed he was original.

Hell, with how many liberties QM took with Dent, every character may as well be original for all we know.
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>>6107140
>Who the fuck is Calculator?
Obscure Batman villain. >>6106953’s picture is a more modern incarnation, and apparently has become one of Huntress’s rogues. The picture I have here is his original 70’s version.
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>>6107140
He invented an adaptive weapon/force-field and sued it to best heroes on his second meeting, while stealing items at the calculated peak of their market vlaue, and after it got beaten he switched gears to be a behind-the-scenes information and technology broker to more hands-on villains.
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>>6106685
>>6106730
>>6106917

"The money is about control. It's a tool to control the thing that's the real beating heart of Gotham. Wayne Enterprises. When Dent hurts, Gotham hurts, and when Gotham hurts, Wayne Enterprises hurts. Lowering stock prices, get enough of those and you get some level of authority over the company. Which gives you authority over Gotham." You start.

Grey nods, his eyes encouraging.

"You're almost there, Mark. Is that the whole of it?"

"I don't think it is.. It's not like Dent was targeted on accident or just collateral. He could have just pulled a dozen attacks in the city to rattle the same cages at City Hall yet went out of his way to find someone with a grudge against Dent to do this. He WANTS Dent gone, he needs the Hall and Wayne Tower.."

"He wants Gotham." Question says quietly, breaking from whatever silence he was steeped in before. "He wants to head Gotham, financially and politically.. with Luthor considering a run for president maybe others are coming to the same conclusions."

"What conclusion?" You ask.

"That there's types of power even Superman couldn't win against.. power over innocent people. Innocent lives."

"Lex Luthor running for- you mean you're basing your theory off rumors?"

"Open your eyes, Detective. Think about it, why WOULDN'T he run? If he realized it then others will too. The only way to combat the League is to put them in a position where they can only lose. You hold the people you're supposed to serve as shields and if the League ever broke for even a second and removed them personally. Well think about it, a prominent league member kills the 'democratically elected' leader of a nation. How long after that do you think the rest of the world starts to think if they'll be next.."

Grey waves his arms and shakes his head.

"I'm not listening to your Crop Circle, Lizard-people, bullshit right now."

"The piece fits!"

"Do you seriously believe the things this guy says? He's deranged, Mark." Grey pleads turning to you.

"Question has-" You start, before Question interrupts you.

"Mark isn't likely to improve under your tutelage, your investigative standards are too rigid and traditional."

"I'll fuckin-"

A booming voice silences the bickering.

"ENOUGH." Hawthorne roars. "Are we not supposed to be worrying about the fucking GREEN LIGHT on us? Is that not what the entire point of you being here is?" He points a crooked finger at Question.

Question is silent for a moment before nodding gently.
"You're right. I should be focusing my energy on assembling your documents."

"Then fucking do it."

Question holds his eyeless stare but turns and returns to the couch, he sits quietly and begins to sort and arrange once more.

"And you." Hawthorne whispers quietly to Grey. "We fucking talked about this, put your ego in a box and focus on helping us fix this mess."

"My ego?" Grey whispers venomously. "I am trying to teach this young man-"
>>
"To be a good Detective. When he isn't even a cop yet. I know this shit with Mandragora has you stressed-"

"That's not what's causing me stress, Mitch." Grey starts, his voice crackling and going hoarse as he stifles a cough.

Hawthorne frowns and offers and arm. Grey takes it but grips tightly as he continues.

"What's stressing me out is that you're still acting like we're twenty-five.." He says breathlessly. Hand rubbing his chest slowly. You feel yourself like you can't catch your breath. "I'm sorry, kid. I wanted to play nice, but I just.. I can't work with him."

"You don't have to. If we need Question for something we'll handle it without you, you can keep a clear separation."

"Little late for that.." Grey mumbles.

"Well regardless it's through that cook we managed to get as far as we have. We can't change how we got here so let's focus on where we go moving forward. For you it won't be anywhere near those two."

Grey opens his mouth to protest but sighs weakly. He waves a hand at Hawthorne and lets out a final cough before his breathing sounds less wheezing. You glance to Question and despite the whisper shouting he doesn't seem at all concerned with their chat.

"Sit down." Hawthorne says, grabbing a stool and passing it over. Grey shakily sits down and takes a few controlled breaths before he's able to clear his throat. he looks up to you.

"I'm sorry, Mark. I should have.. I'm sorry for raising my voice in your home."

"It's fine, Grey. I get it, we're all tense and tired. This whole thing is starting to seem a lot bigger than we thought."

"Are you scared?"

You shrug.

"Does it matter? It's the job, if we're scared then we do it scared."

You see his expression lighten and his eyes shift to Question then back to you.

"For what it's worth, I liked your theory before it became about poisoning the world against the Justice League." He says with a familiar smile. "You really do have a knack for the work."

"Yeah, well let him learn to control his beat before you start sizing him up for a cubicle. He's got a couple years on his feet before he makes that call."

"Right." Grey says simply, an unspoken disturbance between them.

Hawthorne walks off, sighing and rubbing his hands together like he's cold. He looks out the window.

You blink.

Two young boys crouch in a filthy alley way. They both laugh and giggle, putting on brave faces despite the gnawing anxiety in their stomachs. They were about to do something bad. The lankier of the two pulls out a dented and muddied pack of cigarettes, the smell reminds you of sundays and dusk. He pulls a crinkled pale stick from the pack and puts the end in his mouth. He lifts an old plastic lighter and flicks the wheel sending flint and flame upwards.

You blink back as Grey rises from his seat. Phone in hand.

"I'm expected back at the precinct soon, have to give the Commander a report on your prison trip."

"He's following our case?"
>>
"You didn't hear it from me. He's just asking me to keep him in the loop on anything you two ask me for." His eyes flicker again to Question then back to you. "I'll keep it work related."

You go to say something but he turns from you, heading towards the door. You can't help but feel it, the thick tension in the air between everyone and you can't help but feel the desire to try and clear some of it or at least settle your own nerves. It's still some time until Question is done with his part of the job but not so long you couldn't stick it out.

>Catch Grey outside for a chat, ask him what's got him coiled so tight? Is working with Question really this unsavory to him?
>Ask Hawthorne to step aside and talk, he said "We talked about this" did something happen while they were out?
>Sit down and chat with Question. Is it too much to ask that he maybe keep some of his theories to himself? Or at least make an effort to make working with him easier?"
>Grab a beer and a seat, everyone is in their own heads right now. The situation just got so much larger, it's only natural to need some time to take it in. (Skip to when Document is assembled.)

AN:

Since we missed a day, I want to do one of those 'Canon Cut-Away but not from Mark's POV' moments like we had way earlier in the quest. Something to give you guys a little more perspective..

I hope you guys dig it. It'll come at an odd hour.
>>
>Catch Grey outside for a chat, ask him what's got him coiled so tight? Is working with Question really this unsavory to him?

you know that whole loan fraud thing makes me wonder if Gorchakov is a triggerman for one and i wonder if cop related shootings and deaths are being used to lower property values down that someones buying up
>>
>>6107341
+1
>>
>>6107341
+1
>>
>>6107339
>>Catch Grey outside for a chat, ask him what's got him coiled so tight? Is working with Question really this unsavory to him?

For the canon cutaway, could we get batman pov? I enjoy those the most
>>
>>6107549
+1

Also yes to the Batman cutaway, I want to see how much seething he has to us finding the bug in our home.


Also question, QM: do we know what’s been the biggest and most recent public (or at least known to police) Batman caper ? (E.g save two boats of prisoners and civilians recently). I want the public temperature about Batman
>>
>>6107563
Also a realization: why have we not used our shivers on the doohicky Batman gave us? We could find out some info about 1) if it has more bugs 2) get a scoop about Batman’s tech.


Worst case scenario- we ask Question to sweep it for bugs if he hasn’t already
>>
>>6107339
>>Grab a beer and a seat, everyone is in their own heads right now. The situation just got so much larger, it's only natural to need some time to take it in. (Skip to when Document is assembled.)
Talking about feelings? Sign me right out.
And since I'm a contrarian today, I'd take a huntress PoV. What's her big plan now that she did a 180 at the finish line with mandragora?
>>6107563
I doubt bats is "seething". I'd expect something like "Bummer. Oh it's Q, haven't seen this guy in a while"
>>
>>6107211
If this guy is smart enough to predict the stock market why does he need to steal anything at all lol
>>
>>6107339
>Catch Grey outside for a chat, ask him what's got him coiled so tight? Is working with Question really this unsavory to him?

Kind of a shame that Q microwaved the direct communication channel we had with Batman.
>>
>>6107613
>Kind of a shame that Q microwaved the direct communication channel we had with Batman.
We still have the big red button though
>>
>>6107549
+1 to both of these.

Maybe could make a throwaway line to Q before we go out? Something like "Could you focus future speculation on Gotham? People like you may be able to go basically anywhere, but the rest of us here are limited to just here by jurisdiction outside of certain circumstances."

Effectively, advising him to scale the conspiracy level to what the person he's talking to can act upon rather than a full blast of the highest levels. Won't save any Justice League guys, but might help him talk to some more local level people.
>>
>>6107549
+1 the Batman interlude
>>
>>6107612
Because all villains are fucked in the head
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>>6107690
I like this anon's idea too, please include that if possible
>>
>>6107339
>Sit down and chat with Question. Ask fro a chat with Detective Jones.
This is above our paygrade but the Red Lady bullshit needs special handling while we focus on the green light.

>Canon cutaway
Martian Manhunter would be kino.
>>
>>6107549
>>6107563
>>6107690

Batman was the plan, worry not.
>>
==== Somewhere Beneath Gotham.====

A faint pulsing beep echoes off smooth eroded stalactites, a dull green cutting into the shroud of light blue already cast over the rest of the dark metal that surrounded it. A small monitor held a full green bar and a blinking word.

'SCAN COMPLETE'

A silk gloved finger presses a series of keys and steps away as every screen is filled with differing data. Frequencies, raw sound files, wavelength comparisons. An elderly man with a tight trimmed moustache takes an expectant few steps backwards as somewhere from deep in the stretching tunnels that spot this cavern a low roaring is heard. The sound builds until it's near deafening and then suddenly all noise ceases to be, the only indication the source hadn't vanished being a still nearing set of headlights as it pulls to a slow and gentle stop on a steel circle. Machinery whirs as the vehicle is loaded into the center of the room, where it's cockpit style top pops open with a hiss of pressurized air. The man inside, clad in black and grey, slowly rises from his seat and steps down. Pulling his hood along with it.

"Welcome home, Master Bruce." Alfred speaks in a polite tone, but with an undertone of displeasure.

"The scan is complete?" Batman asks, pulling the jet black cowl from his head. The lightly glowing white lenses fading out.

"It was complete an hour ago, as I told you."

"I had business." He answers curtly.

He drops into his chair and turns his tired, reddened, eyes to the monitors above. His eyes scan quickly and sharply, the more he reads the deeper the frown on his face gets.

"What do they say?" Alfred asks quietly, the look on Bruce's face making him uneasy.

"The signals don't match. Whatever we caught, it wasn't coming from our box."

"I see. Shall I contact S.T.A.R. Labs and inform them?"

"No." He answers flatly. "The signal doesn't match their records either, the same for Metropolis. If anything changes on their end, I'll know."

"Speaking of, Master Bruce, it seems one of your friendly bugs was discovered."

"Which one?"

"Mark DeLucia's apartment, sir. I have the final moments of the recording here." The old butler leans down and taps a few keys before audio starts filtering through the computer's speakers.

The sound of light squeaking and the clacking and crackling of plastic and dry wall.

"So predictable." The noises of Question's gloves rubbing against the microphone smother the sound but they still manage to hear. "And you called me paranoid and untrusting. Batman."

Another bout of creaking and heavy thuds until Question's voice again rings out.

"Self-Destructed.. better to be safe than sorry. Especially with him."

The next sound is that of a microwave door popping open and closing and then a single beep before the tape ends. Batman stares up at the screen with his brows pulled tightly in. But as Alfred observed him he thought he might have seen a glimmer of some reluctant respect.
>>
"He must be sharp to have gotten one up on you, sir." He prods.

"He was a Leaguer. A self titled 'Detective' who couldn't fathom a world where he wasn't right about everything." Bruce grumbled.

"My word, sir. How ever did you deal with a man like him in a professional setting?"

His ribbing gets a glare from the side. His fingers interlace and he closes his eyes for a moment.

"How's Dick?" He asks quietly.

"Hopefully resting in his room upstairs, though it still hasn't been peaceful. He wanted to speak with you when you returned."

"He's still getting them then? The nightmares? Are they still about.."

"You should ask him yourself, you've been absent for days-"

"I've been working." He replies, standing stiffly. His cloak draping the chair in blackness, his form in the dim light larger and darker than it truly is. "The investigation keeps hitting dead-ends."

"Anarky has gone to ground once again then?"

"I'm starting to doubt he ever came up. I need to get back out there and find out who's using Anarky's name to raise soldiers."

"You can accomplish that tomorrow. After you've have a real meal and speak with Master Dick." Alfred spoke as Batman steps past towards a large steel locker rising from the ground. "Perhaps you could even get a night's sleep of your own. You seem like you need it."

"I'm fine." He speaks firmly. Placing a small handful of foil packets in his belt. "I just needed to restock and check on Dick."

"He'll be so glad to hear that when I tell him how you left before speaking to him."

"Send him home." He says closing the locker and stepping away as it sinks into the ground once again.

"Excuse me?"

"Send Dick back to Bludhaven. Tell him I said I'd take it from here." He pulls the cowl on roughly and the eyes come to life again with a glow.

"He would prefer to hear it from you himself." Alfred pleads.

"He needs to leave. Whatever this is affecting him, it's only doing so while he's in Gotham. Dick is better off away from here until I can handle this."

"All due respect, Master Bruce. But what has you so sure his leaving will be better for him?"

"Because it's been happening to me for weeks now, too. The nightmares. Firebug's finances showed a sudden large deposit a month before the museum attack, a shell company in Australia. On the trip I couldn't sleep a minute."

"The nightmares followed?"

"No. They stopped completely. Whatever this is it's localized to Gotham, send Dick home and draft a message for the League. Gotham is off limits until I say otherwise." He ordered as he ascended the steps.

"Sir, I really do think you should speak to Master Di-"

The roaring of an engine cuts off his words as Batman settles into the familiar seat. The roar dies down as he straps himself in.

"Something bad is coming to Gotham, Alfred. I can feel it. So I have one other thing I need you to do for me."

Alfred, eyes squinted against hot exhaust answers dutifully.

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"When you send Dick home, go with him."
===
>>
Cut away for Batman, hope you guys like it and find the little details you got to be interesting or at least get you thinking about what this could all really be about.

Also interested in general thoughts, as always. We return Sunday night at the usual time. See you soon.
>>
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>Q was right to microwave the bug
Kek
>We're (very slightly) ahead of bats in our Calc investigation
Hell yeah. But also uh oh. We gotta call him. And Reiner.
>Alfred is leaving
Bats is gonna be dead in a week then.
I assume "our box" and "their box" mean JL has the mother boxes contained and it's not them doing the thing? Again, I know little of DC lore.

I don't understand 2 things. 1) Why the hell are both Bat and NW getting the nightmares too. Neither are metas, and NW has been away from gotham for years. And 2) why the hell would Bat declare Gotham off limits to the JL instead of calling everyone in. He *knows* trouble is coming, and his care for gotham is bigger than his ego, why would he gimp his own ability to manage the imcoming crisis?
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>>6107981
I'm not sure but I remember some other Anon from another thread talking about how Gotham had a weird psychic link in a comic with him before? I don't know much about the comics but I think Batman has had doomsday nightmares before in JLU or one of the movies.

My best guess for why he's locking Gotham down is a lack of understanding? He seems to think it's about him or centered on him so he just wants to keep all the collateral (i.e. Friends) out of it as he can while he tries to find out what's going on. Hasn't he also been absent from Gotham for most of the quest? I remember Mark bitched at him about being gone, so maybe this is an overcompensating thing? Feels very emotional for Batman though.
>>
>>6107981
>>6107997
In canon, unless it was changed recently, the fact that Gotham is such a dogwater city is because it's dammed, something that has to do with a sect made by Gotham's elite, and the root comes from some Owl Demon or something like that.

And has it was shown on Mark's dreams, there's something supernatural on everything. Even if Batman nor NW are metahumans or use magic, in the grand scheme of things they're involved because they've turned into "icon" of justice, or at least that's my interpretation.

Heroes like Flash or Superman have unique conditions, but are nowhere near what Batman and the people of Gotham are going through (For example, Flash and the Speed Force is like having a direct connection with a Force of Nature, no conscience, just a gust of wind going forward and Flash is powered by it. Batman/Gotham stuff is like being on a empty void surrounded by those force of nature, but also dealing with eldritch horror like Lovecraft Mythos and also literal demons bringing ruin to everything and everyone in Gotham, that's why someone like Dent is good, but also doomed to fail and fuck everyone up and bringing them down with him)
>>
>>6107997
>>6107981
Mark has noticed that Bruce Wayne has an intense connection to the city via his Shivers, and (at least in soem comic lore) an interdiemsnional bat demon spirit thing sometimes called Barbatos dwells beneath Arkham connects an entire subset of the multiverse via Batmen, with his familiar patterns of existence (ie. common story enats and elements) being the focal point of the city.

>>6108008
This, too. The common theme in most Batman media that acknowledges magic, spirituality, or the multiverse is that Gotham is uniquely, cosmically shitty, and Batman is the eye of that storm, the bukwark against it, or the inevitable product of it.

As for emotionality, Batman may play a stoic grump, but his entire existence is centred on extreme emotionality (MY PARENTS ARE DEEEEAAAD, solemnly brooding on rotops in the rain, dressing up like Zorro because his dad liked Zorro, taking in orphans because he still relates with orphaned children more than people his own age) and a fear of loss, of being taken off-guard or losing control, and especially of death or crime. Golden Age Batman's literal gratest fear under Scarecrow's toxin is being alone. If he thinks calling in back-up could get someone hurt or killed (because he doesn't know what's going on and therefor can't plan contingencies), he might very well try to go it solo. It almost never ends well when he does this in comics, but Batman is prone to fits of irrational panic.
>>
>>6107341
>>6107373
>>6107396
>>6107549
>>6107563
>>6107690
>>6107613

Maybe it was something you saw in his eyes as he turned from you. Maybe it was just a gut feeling telling you to reach out.

"Grey, hold up in the hallway for a second. I got something I wanna run by you."

"Mark, I really have t-"

"It won't take long, we'll finish before we get to the stairs."

He sighs heavily and nods.

"If you insist, c'mon."

"Sure thing, I just gotta.." You trail off as you take a few steps back to Question.

"Q, I'm going to talk to Grey for a second. In the future, I need you to focus your speculation on things that effect Gotham. I know it's hard to scale back once you've seen the 'bigger picture' but the rest of us down here are limited by jurisdiction and our own circumstances."

The empty face stares blankly up at you for a few moments before angling downward. Question's voice is low and calm.

"I understand, Officer. It won't happen again."

"We just need to focus on the things we can act on now, we have to save people who are in our reach already." You pat his shoulder and he nods, wordlessly returning to his task. The page half complete.

You turn to catch up to Grey and see him not-so subtly listening in. He gives you a nod and opens the door stepping into the hall. You accompany him out and the door closes behind you both with a light click.

"Those were good words." He says simply. "He needed em."

"I was actually hoping to have some with you too. I can't help but notice you've been a bit tense."

He scoffs. Beginning his walk to the end of the hall.

"C'mon Grey, don't act like I'm seeing things. Do you really hate Question that much? You can't even work with him for the same goal?"

"It's not about Question or his goals, it's about how he plans on getting to his goal. He's consorted with a wanted murderer, that Huntress lady, he's a criminal hiding behind the word 'vigilante' and because of the Batman that means you get special treatment in Gotham." He shakes his head. "I didn't agree with the Vigilante Act, hell I still don't, but that's not the only thing that has me on edge."

"What else? Is it me?"

His features soften and he shakes his head.

"Not you, son. I don't blame you for any of this, you're doing the best with what you fell into."

"Then Hawthorne?"

His jaw sets and he stops walking. Fighting with some unspoken thought in his mind.

"Just tell me, Grey. It's clearly bothering you."

"Look." He starts. "It's not that Mitch is a bad guy, opposite of that actually, I haven't met anyone as loyal as him. But I've also never met anyone more impulsive, believe it or not this is him mellowed with age. When we were coming up together it seemed like he had his finger in a new pie every week, someone new wanting to kill him or volunteer details. Never enough to do."

"Hm, I can see it."
>>
"Hah, most don't anymore. He cared about it all. no matter how small, never too busy to offer directions. He even ran off hour checks on domestics to keep the male-half on their toes. Things changed, of course, when Suzi passed."

You see the sadness etched into Grey's eyes as he draws on old memories. Your neck tingles and you hear distant sobs and screams, faded and muffled.

"He told me about it, a bomb."

"Yeah." He clears his throat and blinks a few times. "Well if he cared too much before, the bombing changed that, he didn't care about anything. Used all his PTO and spent it all in a bar or at a motel. He didn't want to go home."

"Jesus."

"Eventually he went to Blackgate with a bad hangover and something to settle with the Warden. Some rumors had been circulating and he got word it was him spreading them."

"The warden?"

"He and the Warden.. they have history. Mitch went there to ask if he was really the one behind it. They get into a spat and eventually Mitch finds out why it is he's saying what he's saying. Apparently someone connected to Mandragora came into the prison, he got into some trouble that earned him SHU time for three months. Guy begged them not to, said he could give them some information."

"That would have to go through the police, wouldn't it?"

"It did, AFTER the prison conducted it's own interrogation." He sighs and looks you in the eyes. "The rumor spreading was that Hawthorne had gotten his wife killed after he publicly threatened Mandragora to a reporter. The Warden spread the rumor that it was his fault, that it could have been avoided if he wasn't so obsessed with glory."

"That was the information?"

"GCPD's own confirmed it's veracity. The bombing was added to Mandragora's jacket and suddenly Mitch cared again, but only about Mandragora."

"Mandragora's locked up now, and he's staying that way."

"I know, but I'm worried about Mitch, right now he's in the middle of getting what he's been waiting for. All he has to do is handle this damned green light and it's finally over. But he's in there, with you and Question, drooling over the idea that this could be so much larger than just bringing in a mob boss. His largest priority should be closing the book on Mandragora but it isn't."

"What are you saying? He's dragging this out?"

"No. He wouldn't do anything as stupid as that, he knows you don't play with men like this. But I can't help but feel like maybe he enjoys this, the fact that the more we unravel this the bigger it gets. The idea that his driving force for all these years now isn't over yet. He has another case, another bad guy, another fucking thirty years to give." Grey is spitting his words by the end, his frustration boiling over. As he gets the final words out his shoulders slump and he breathes slowly in and then out again.

"Been holding onto that?"
>>
He lifts his eyes to yours and you feel your muscles grow heavy. Your eyes sting. Your breathing is tight and restricted. More than any other feeling is a crushing force of fatigue. You're tired.

You shudder and groan.
"Ah, Grey.."

"He doesn't have another thirty to give, Mark. Neither do I, shit I don't even have another three."

"No-"

Grey puts a hand on your shoulder and simply shakes his head.

"Mark, please. Let me say what I need to since you've got me spilling my guts."

You nod.

"I'm worried about Mitch because right now he's still working like he's in his prime. But he isn't, neither of us are, he needs me around to remind him that we can't do what we used to do anymore. I think him being with you makes him feel young, like he can keep going. But I also think he's scared of the green light being lifted, of this nearly being over. He doesn't want to risk going back to caring about nothing." Grey stops and sets a foot onto the top step. "You know, he said you remind him of me because you've got a good eye and believe in the rules and order. But you actually remind me of him because you care so damn much and you're attuned to the spirit of the law more than the letter. When this is all over I don't know where he'll find his drive to keep going and seeing him get invested in these things so far beyond our pay level or authority.. It just has me worried that he isn't preparing himself for when it's all said and done. That he's only ever known two extremes. In the end all I can do is wait, wait to see if I can help with what comes after."

Grey stops and gives you a look, sad but you see a kind of lightness in how he carries himself. This was weighing heavy on his mind.

"Thank you, for the conversation, Mark. I actually think I needed it."

>"Instead of leaving, why don't you just go to Hawthorne and tell him what you told me? Let him know about your worries."
>"Thank you, sir. I hope you end up being wrong about Hawthorne."
>"Thank you, too. But with all due respect I think you're wrong to worry, Hawthorne's gonna be fine. He's gonna have us to help him along."
>"Thank you, you gave me a lot to think about. Maybe I can help him act a bit more cautiously going forward."
>"We should spend more time working the case rather than worrying, the sooner we wrap it up the sooner you see if your worries were warranted."
>Write-In
>>
>>6109226
"You know, when things like age or health are catching up with you, committing to the job as a way to keep going... It isn't the worst thing. Believe me."
Mark would know.
>>
Did we just get two death flags for the price of one?
>>
>>6109333
Gee Mark, how come DetectQM gave you TWO mentor deaths?
>>
>>6109305
I like it, but I feel this is like saying "Naaaah, you're crazy, he's good"

I would say something like
>"The man has nothing except his job. Is his drive, his way to keep going and don't give up, I don't like what you've told me either but I can't think of an alternative. You know him, has there being something he liked outside of being a cop or Suzy?... Maybe that's what he's doing because he doesn't know an alternative, maybe the best you can do is showing him something other to fight for aside from Mandragora. Not other blood-pumping case, but maybe a cause? Golf won't cut it for the old man, but there might be something else that we can show him, and he might be drawn to. The best I can offer is help and making sure that grampa here doesn't slide over the car or throw himself against gangsters like a 80's cop show."
Also
>"But that's enough about Hawthorne... Are you good?"
Perhaps this could help for him to finally open up about his cancer. Because damn, that shit came out of nowhere and it's really hitting him hard, like Mark's.
>>
>>6109339
+1
>>
>>6109339
I'd lean a bit more to this variation:

>"I understand what you mean, but I also think trying to get him to just wrap everything up immediately with Mandragora's arrest would be going too fast. He's had nothing except this job for years. That might be part of why he's latching on so strongly - he's not really sure how he could settle down after this is all over. You know him, has there being something he liked outside of being a cop or Suzy? A hobby he used to do, a charitable cause he was a part of, or something else that he put down but could still get back into? Whatever is out there, it's going to be more nebulous and slower to look in on. Harder to grow attached to. If we can get him interested in something outside of this work, more than he becomes attached to investigating whatever it is, he may be more willing to pass it on to someone else."

I feel like this is a slightly gentler framing of Hawthorne's issues, a hint of implied caution on our part from not wanting to turbo through whatever this potential next case is, and proposing to use it to help wind Hawthorne down.

Maybe if he's still worried about the speed, we can make a joke about we're still supposed to be a trainee. And if he's uncertain about what sorta stuff we could get Hawthorne into...if Youtube or an equivalent exists, maybe we could propose having Hawthorne bitch about inaccuracies in cop shows and movies? There is a decent audience in pros talking about shit like that, but is kinda dependent on what decade equivalent we're in.

Then we follow it up with your:

>"But that's enough about Hawthorne... Are you good?"

If he tries to dodge things, could reveal our own (potential) cancer here?
>>
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>Old man going on overdrive like he's 30 again
Based trope. How old even is hawthorne? 45-55?
>>
>>6109339
>>6109553
>>6109780

"I understand what you mean, I feel the same way about a lot of what you brought up but at the same time I can't see an alternative right now. Trying to get him to just wrap everything up immediately with Mandragora's arrest would be going too fast. He's had nothing except this job for years, it's his drive, that might be part of why he's holding onto this so strongly."

"So it's too late for him?"

"No. But he can't just drop this cold turkey. You know him, was there anything he liked outside of his work or Suzanne? A hobby or something?"

"Shit, ever since we were young the only thing he's been into is trouble. Causing it, stopping it."

"Come on there has to be something, if there wasn't something before we can help him find it. It's gonna be slow to get him in on and even harder to get him to get him attached to it. But if we can find something that fulfills him outside of being a cop, we can get him to a point where he's willing to pass the torch."

"It might be harder than you think, when I told you that he was the one you reminded me of I meant it. Ask yourself even, if you couldn't be a cop anymore what would you do? Would anything do it for you?"

You open your mouth to answer only for it to hang in silence. You slowly close your mouth as thoughts race through your mind, expectations and reality don't usually mix well. But this particular blend. You can't help but laugh a little.

"I've actually been thinking about that myself.. but I also wanted to check in on you. Are you good?"

"Oh kid, don't."

"Hawthorne didn't tell me, just so you know. I saw your pills in a vision. I watched when you were taking in Cobblepot, noticed the symptoms and.. yeah."

He sighs heavily and shrugs wearily. His face is tired.

"I'm alright, as alright as you can be. I'm at peace with everything, got a son in Washington, had a good career, good friends." He smiles slightly, more to himself than anything. "It's been good, I'm not scared of any of this, son."

"How long have you known?"

"Early this year, first month was the hardest. Phone calls, visiting family, it's a weird feeling. Being the one dying but still feeling the need to comfort the people around you as they find out."

"I can imagine." You feel that icy grip around your heart as you think about your own parents. How will they handle it? Could they?

"Don't worry about me, Mark." He says simply. "I had my time to come to grips, my only issue now is hoping I have enough time to handle what I want handled. To give me a little peace of mind."

You try to speak but feel your throat clench and the words stick. You clear your throat.

"If I ever end up being able to help, just say the word."

"I know." He replies quietly. "I'm going to the station. I need to put a report together and speak with Reiner about an inquiry with City Hall."

"An inquiry?"
>>
"About the prison, even without bringing up what you were told, the conditions were enough to warrant some snooping. At least that's the argument I have for Reiner. If he's game we can bring in the DA to discuss a deal for your whistleblower."

"They might be reunited early after all."

"Maybe." Grey says, stressing the word. "Thanks for the talk, Mark. It was kind of you to check on an old man."

You simply smile and nod goodbye. He returns it and you watch as he vanishes around the corner of the landing.

Heading back to the apartment you walk in and see Hawthorne on the couch perched next to Question. A pair of thin glasses in his hand as he stares from above, he turns when he hears the door and beckons you over.

"Skin-head heres really picked up the pace. He finished the first document but there's more, whatever he's got now looks different, But read this."

You furrow your brow at the questionable nickname but lean over the couch between them to read:

"Dear Citizen, we at City Hall have received your request for Community Service and are honored that you would seek to lend a hand in our fine city! However spaces in our programs are limited and competitive, this of course means we must vet any new additions to our program. Before we can approve your application we insist you provide service for a probationary period, make contact with our civilian representative for a meeting and pending the results of your interaction you will hear from us again! Keep in mind, failure to make the meeting will mean your immediate dismissal from the program and an automatic decline of any further requests. Thank you, once more, for reaching out to the Department of Public Service for the city of Gotham.

Contact information for your representative:
- T. Coyle
- Building S
- Ext. 198
- Available 0900-1100 "

You share a look with Hawthorne and he grimaces.

"Name seems familiar."

"Terry Coyle. That extension too."

"Same length as the inmate ID's. This isn't exactly a soft touch."

"More evidence for a red herring, meant to distract us."

"Could also mean the guy behind this is a real stupid SOB, it's worth looking into until we have a better idea of which it is."

"Do we really have the time for that?" You ask tentatively.

His face scrunches and he gives you a long pointed look.

"Time to see if the city is facilitating hits? I think we could make the time."

"I'm just saying, we already have one organization handling hits to deal with. Maybe we should handle them first before picking another fight."

"It's not picking a fight, it's just looking into it. Seeing if this city hall angle holds water, if it doesn't we can drop it."

"And if it does?"

"We do our jobs, unless that's not enough reason for you." He jabs, his voice more confused than anything. "You alright, rook?"
>>
>"I'm fine, just worried about this green light. We can find the time to look into city hall if you think we should."
>"Yeah, I just think we may be spreading ourselves a little thin here. Question, would you be willing to look into this for us?"
>"Not really, you're suggesting we take on ANOTHER secret investigation that hasn't been approved by Gordon or anyone else. We need to be tap dancing on the line, remember?"
>"I'm worried about you, Grey and I were talking and we think you might be.. distracted. It would be best if we focused our energy on Mandragora and move from there."
>Write-In



Just want to say I really like how you guys write Mark in a lot of your write-ins. Very strong character with some solid ideals. You guys make him a pleasure to write in some of these back and forths.

>>
>>6109812
>"Yeah, I just think we may be spreading ourselves a little thin here. Question, would you be willing to look into this for us?"
>>
>>6109865
+1
>>
>>6109810
>"Yeah, I just think we may be spreading ourselves a little thin here. Question, would you be willing to look into this for us?"
But with the part about tap dancing on the line
>>
>Write-In
>"This may be the first one done, but it might not be the most important one for taking down Gorcachov or Mandragora. Kinda feels closer to the broader Calc case right now.
Since we're already tap dancing on the line, I think we should find out what those other pages say, so we don't go chasing after something that will keep us from nailing those two for good."

I feel we kinda want Question to focus on getting the rest of those documents sorted out right now. And with the time and operational pressure we are under, we don't want to run off on the first piece of something we come across ourselves.
>>
>>6109812
>"Yeah, I just think we may be spreading ourselves a little thin here. Question, would you be willing to look into this for us?"
>"This may be the first one done, but it might not be the most important one for taking down Gorcachov or Mandragora. Kinda feels closer to the broader Calc case right now.
>>
>>6109812
>"Yeah, I just think we may be spreading ourselves a little thin here. Question, would you be willing to look into this for us?"
He can loop us back in after we're not getting assassinated, right?
>>
>>6109865
>>6109879
>>6110071
>>6110297
>>6110299

"Yeah, I'm fine." You brush him off. "I just think we may be spreading ourselves a little thin here. Question, would you be willing to look into this for us?"

"You want HIM poking around city hall?" Hawthorne asks.

"I've done it before, easier than you'd think." Question comments.

"I got this." You wave at him and direct him back to his sorting. "Look, is it really a good idea to add more to our plate when we are supposed to be tap dancing the line here? That page was the first Q got put together but it doesn't make it the most important for what we need to do with Gorchakov."

"Yeah, yeah. I hear you, rook." Hawthorne waves at you and sighs. "The idea of getting to piss on the Prison's head sounds pretty nice to me is all."

"I'm not saying we can't, just we need to keep focused is all. Question can loop us back in when we aren't getting assassinated."

"You're talking like I already agreed to let Dick Faceless look into this for us, we can just shelve it until we wrap up."

"And if it is a good lead?"

He frowns in annoyance but you can see in his eyes that your logic clicks with him. As he goes to respond his phone rings. Saved by the bell.

"Ah, shit." He grumbles pulling it free from his pocket. "Commander Reiner, what's the-"

You hear quick speech, Reiner is intense even at his calmest so you struggle to really pick out a tone in his voice.

"He's on his way to the station already, left from us less tha-" He stops. "And me? Sir, I'm benched right now remember. I'm working the cold cases like you asked."

Hawthorne looks to you and his eyes convey a message. Something's wrong.

"Shit. I was there earlier. Son of a bitch.." He says quietly. "I'll get DeLucia and-"

Another flurry.

"Yesterday, we got a lead on our cold case."

"Go ahead." He says before pausing, you see his eye twitch and he grumbles. "Motherfucker."

A final smattering of sound.

"Yes, sir. I get that. I'll tell him and I'll be there soon."

The phone clicks and he stows it, his eyes calm and focused.

"What's wrong?"

"Reiner wants me to come in and supervise a crime scene, apparently they're low on senior officers. An Anonymous caller reported some shady people going in and out of a place in the Narrows. The pawn shop."

"You mean where Free was killed.."

"Yeah." He says solemnly. His face an unreadable rock, he's already in his Sergeant mode. "They sent a patrol car to check it out, they went inside and in the basement.. the found bodies."

"Bodies? How many? Who?"

He holds up a hand.

"All I know is that it's bad. 'Grisly' was the word he used. I also know what he just asked me, apparently there was something written in blood on the wall. Smeared." He looks at his phone and grimaces, turning it to show you that same plain basement wall now slathered in wispy uneven layers of blood dragged to spell:

FREE
>>
"Jesus Christ." You mutter impulsively.

Hawthorne grimaces and nods.

"Won't be long before the Gutter Rat's start spreading the word and news vans show up. It's gonna be a busy scene."

"We should probably hurry then, Question can wrap up with everything while we-"

"Mark-" Hawthorne cuts you off.

"I've actually finished, there were two pages. One being the note and the other... this." Question cuts off Hawthorne's cut-off.

Approaching the page you notice... not much. A majority of the page is blank aside from a smattering of letters about the page in seemingly random places.

I T G R L E H

As your brain starts to work on what this could even start to be, you feel Hawthorne's hand grasp your shoulder.

"Mark, you aren't coming to the crime scene." He rips the band-aid off.

"What? Why not?" You demand.

"Reiner said to leave you at home, he said if I've been doing it right you should be able to handle being alone for an afternoon. He's also not sure if this is the kind of scene you can handle now."

"What!?" You feel your face heating at this insult.

"Just.. relax. It's nothing against you, it's another prod at my teaching. This kind of scene is.. intense. Not just in what's there, I know you've.. hell you've felt worse. But also everything else, being mindful of the press. Mindful of the other Officers from the other precincts, the detectives, the brass. This is the entire circus. It's the kind of thing you need to be eased into."

"But how am I going to learn when I can't go?"

"By working the smaller scenes, taking assignments that work in tandem with the other departments, stuff I should have been encouraging you to do early on instead of.." He groans. "Look, we're on the cusp of doing something really good by taking Mandragora down. If it wasn't for the green light I'd be sharing a beer with you and celebrating the win right now. But Reiner was right about one thing, I haven't done a very good job teaching you shit about what it means to really be a cop, to do the work that isn't exciting."

"You've taught me plenty, I just.. you, Grey, and Kimble. You guys respect my opinion and we work as more of a team, it's easy to forget I'm low man on the totem pole."

"For now." Hawthorne says with a sad smile. He takes a step back and looks to your side. "I gotta double time it to beat him."

"Beat wh-" You turn looking only to notice that Question's previously occupied space is empty, and the window by your fire escape open.

"He left around the time I brought up the fact it was gonna be a circus."

"What am I supposed to do?" You answer quietly, a stray breeze coming in. You see the shorn edges of the paper pulse with the threat of flight as you firmly put a hand on top of it.

"You're the one who wants to be Detective, rook. While I'm handling this, find out what that other sheet means. It'll keep you busy." He speaks as he walks towards the door.

"How am I supposed to-"
>>
"Figure it out, rook. Consider it your first lesson in being a detective." He responds, donning his hat he strolls out of your door.

"We walk-"

Click.

"We walk the beat.." You finish quietly.

Your eyes stare at the window, you feel the crisp flow of Autumn air stretching it's fingers through the fabric of your shirt. You need to close this window before you spend the rest of the night learning Iranian Carpet Weaving to put it back together. You get your feet squared beneath you, knees tucked, your hands slowly relieving pressure as you lean.. and then you pull them free completely and spring from your position near the floor. Your hand grasping the window and slamming it shut within three seconds.

You close your eyes and sigh.

"Question, you fucking asshole.." You mumble to yourself.

The silence of your apartment is eerie now. As you turn to get to work you feel another draft of air hit the collar of your shirt, it flows over your collar and spills down your back. Tickling every rung of your spinal cord, like a frozen fingernail tracing your nape to the small of your back. You feel a ripple of gooseflesh down your arms as you arch your back and gasp. Shuddering.

You check the table and the scraps remain unmoved, not even an inch. You steady your breath in time for your gut to curdle as a familiar sound comes from your bedroom.

The familiar ringing of a burner phone.

>Answer it.
>Ignore the call.
>Write-in (Mainly for what you want to do in addition to answering or ignoring the call.)
>>
>>6110571
>Answer it.
"Is your end any better than mine?"
>>
>>6110571
>Answer it.
Lighter? Relight? I'm not entirely positive about what it could mean. But if it has heat-reactive ink on the page, we could probably find out by shining a blacklight on it to check nondestructively. Mark has a blacklight, surely?

I T G R L E H.
Hmm...
HIRE - TGL?
Here's all 25 shifts for if this is a Caesar Cipher.

P A N Y S L O
T E R C W P S
E P C N H A D
C N A L F Y B
G R E P J C F
R C P A U N Q
F Q D O I B E
V G T E Y R U
J U H S M F I
A L Y J D W Z
K V I T N G J
S D Q B V O R
D O B M G Z C
X I V G A T W
Y J W H B U X
B M Z K E X A
W H U F Z S V
U F S D X Q T
O Z M X R K N
L W J U O H K
H S F Q K D G
M X K V P I L
Q B O Z T M P
N Y L W Q J M
Z K X I C V Y
>>
>>6110571
>Answer it.

“If anyone I know dies in this clusterfuck, I’m never picking up this phone again. So in exchange for your therapy session, you’re going to give me something good. Just let it fly, and I’ll be the judge of whether it’s enough.”
>>
>>6110571

>>6110581 +1

>>6110618
I worry if we get too brusque and demanding we'll trigger his daddy issues and lose the little bit of trust we need to nab him.
>>
Does this fucker live across the street or something? He always waits to contact us until basically the exact moment we're alone how does he know
>>
>>6111025
He knows where we live, has followed us around and spied on us before, and we have a psychic bond.
>>
>>6110581
>>6110917

You march to your room, your stray thoughts on the letters, the crime scene, Grey, Hawthorne all fade away. The ringing echoes in your ears as you lean down to open the drawer. You grab the phone and it makes your palm tingle. You flip it open and press it to your ear.

"Is your end any better than mine?" You ask, neutrally.

A slow measured breathing is your response, only it isn't measured. It's hidden but at the edges of each breath you hear a ragged shuddering end. Like someone terrified, or excited.

"What's going on?"

"Detective.." The cherub filtered voice whispers speaking it like a prayer. It makes your skin crawl. "Things may have gone better than we hoped.."

"What happened?" You insist.

"Angelo Robustelli is dead." It says flatly.

You close your eyes. He was a criminal but you can't say you wouldn't have preferred a cell over a coffin for Robustelli.

"Did you find your mole?" It continues.

"Gorchakov."

A relieved giggle bubbles from your speakers.

"Very good! That one was a lay-up, to keep us even, though.. I messed that up."

"What? Messed what up? And what'd you mean by 'even'?"

"Even, Detective. I know you aren't a fan of when I.. indulge the voice. Even if it was scum like Ang, I knew I had to put him down.. so I gave in advance of my taking. You jail your GCPD Mole and I get to remove an obstacle. We both get a win."

"This isn't a game, SIM. We aren't playing for points here, we're trying to help you remember? Help BOTH of us."

"You have helped me, Detective. So much more than you even know. That's why I'm sorry."

"Don't fucking do this to me now.." You say, almost to yourself. Frustration mounting.

"I removed Angelo to help you.. but the others. They were for me. I shouldn't have, but it solved another problem for you."

Your blood runs like ice water, every inch of vein seems to clog with snow and slush.

"What did you do?"

"After I killed Angelo, I gutted his little circle of buttonmen. Figurately and then.. well." The voice shakes slightly as it speaks, that ragged edge becoming more noticeable. "The most amazing thing happened, right after I finished. I heard it. A voice, but not the city. This one it felt heavenly to hear, quiet and sweet and warm."

It sighs with pleasure.

"It was their voices. All of them in the air around me, I could feel them. I could hear them. And they told me 'Thank you'. I had spoken to every one of them at one point or another and it wasn't until I heard their last whispers that I feel like I finally heard THEM. I released them. They were trapped. Like I was, like you are."

"Jesus Christ, you killed.. the basement. You staged the bodies in the Narrows.. why. Why there?"

"Fate. I've been hearing that word a lot recently. In my dreams, I hear a woman talking to me about fate, Eurydice."

"A woman told you to go there?" Your attention is rapt but It speaks without even acknowledging you.
>>
"I've been struggling recently." It continues darkly. "More than once, I've held a barrel to my head and thought about it. Wiggling out from under my Father's thumb, the family's thumb, this entire organization. Drastic but certain. For a long time I had no faith." It speaks almost with a religious zeal, a fever you can hear burning in it's voice.

"Listen, I promised you I would help you once this was-"

"And I really want to say thank you for that, Det-. Mark. You were a light when I truly thought my life was the darkest it could be, someone who could understand me. My pain. But these dreams? They've given me a revelation, that understanding and acceptance are two different things. That some sins can not be atoned for with mortal punishment."

"I think you need to calm down, obviously something is going on and I am still willing to help you but I need you to pull yourself together."

"I'm together and I will maintain my faith." It replies with chilling confidence. "I just understand now. You are Cerberus, Mark. The Policeman, The Vigilante, The Man. Your three heads."

He's rambling. He's deranged. He's on the precipice of embracing his insanity if he isn't already immersed in it.

"Anyone who could carry out the green light on you is free now, Mark. Mandragora has no power and your mole has no backing.. I did it for you. A final favor to repay your kindness and patience with me."

"I didn't want this.." You say quietly. "Don't pin this on me."

"Maybe saying I did it 'for you' is a bit misleading. I didn't do it because I thought you'd like it, I did it because it would preserve you. I won't be able to help you anymore from here on.."

"Help me? You think THIS is helping me?"

"I know it helped you." It replies quietly. "I've been gifted with insight. I can see your soul, Mark. You're shackled like everyone else in this hellish city, you aren't like me. But I wish you were."

"And why's that?"

"Because then we wouldn't have to meet in the end."

"In the end?"

"The city's future needs to be decided. The souls of everyone in this cement cage. Will they stay shackled or be set free?"

"You've actually lost it..." You sink to your bed and put your head in your hand.

"I've only just found it. My vision. I can see it all now and I know what I have to do to save Gotham." You hear rustling and shuffling, the muffled sound of a closing car door. "But seeing as this may be our last time speaking for a while I'm in no rush to end our conversation."

You stay silent. Your eyes stare hard and long at a spot on your floor. You feel out of body, cold, and wet.

"I know you have some things to say to me, Mark. Get it out, I don't want anything left unsaid when the end comes."

You try and swallow the bile rising in your throat and address this creature. Even if he's too far gone to wrangle now, he still seems willing to speak with you which means there's information you can wring from his twisted mind.
>>
"Mark?"

"I'm here." You force out. "Just give me a minute.."

(Feel free to vote for up to two, I will be doing more than the top two voted for but I don't want to count votes with 4 answers each in them lol)

>"Earlier you called the voice Eurydice and you called me Cerberus. Why?"
>"You said you heard a new voice, what happened to the old voice? Can you still hear it?"
>"How many did you kill tonight?"
>"Why did you write Free's name on the wall in blood?"
>"Why me? Why does this new voice have such a fascination with me?"
>"You said you were gifted with insight, that you could see souls. What does that mean?"
>"You keep talking about faith. What are you having faith in? The voice?"
>"You said in your dreams you speak with your voice about fate, what's the fate you're expecting?"
>"I know you feel like you've crossed the point of no return, but you can still come back from this. You can let me take you in, if the last voice tormented you imagine what this one is capable of."
>"It was a mistake to ever think you could be reasoned with. Tell that voice to watch over you because if I find you, I swear I'll put a bullet in your head."
>"You have to go somewhere you said, where? Are you leaving Gotham?"
>Write-In (Recommended)



Looking forward to you guys picking through this, especially my schizoid anons who love analysis. Only specific ask of you guys this time is I want to know how you feel about SIM's descent over the course of the story. Your thoughts on his mental state's shift over time (and if I did well portraying it) would be appreciated if you can spare the time. Thanks as always for reading, see you soon.

>>
>>6111114
>"You said you were gifted with insight, that you could see souls. What does that mean?"

>"You said in your dreams you speak with your voice about fate, what's the fate you're expecting?"

Oh no, the box has him. He’s screwed.
>>
>>6111136
I want to bring up the box dreams to him, the vibes we got with Shivers, what he HIMSELF said about the danger right under Gotham. He's being puppeted along and he doesn't even feel it
>>
i've got to brush up on my greek tales before I even try to unfurl whatever his cerberus and euydice comments even mean.
I also agree with bringing up the box from our dreams. Maybe we can save him from going fully insane at the least? If he's not already there
>>
>>6111213
Eurydice is the wife of Orpheus who was trapped deep below ground in the depths of the underworld, who was lost to him when he tried to free her because he looked back and doubted himself.

And Cerberus is the guard dog of the greek underworld, the pet of Hades and Persephone (notably, some archeological studies believe that she's the true power in the underworld because her name dates back far further than Hades's and seemed to have some "do not speak her name" customs floating around. Even in the morninge well known story, it's never said what her domain is, the seasons changing are 100% Demeter, not her.)
>>
>>6111209
He knows enough. If we tell him we dreamed about Gotham being destroyed, he'll say all those people were 'freed'. If we telk him the shape of his new god is cubic, he'll probably start comparing it to the Ark of the Covenant or soemthing. Or Pandora's Box, I guess, given the Greek theme he's got going...

>>6111114
>"You said in your dreams you speak with your voice about fate, what's the fate you're expecting?"
>"Earlier you called the voice Eurydice and you called me Cerberus. Why?"
>>
>>6111114
>"You said you were gifted with insight, that you could see souls. What does that mean?"
>"You said in your dreams you speak with your voice about fate, what's the fate you're expecting?"
>>
>No more green light
Good!
>The sim retard is now unsupervised
Bad.
>Woman in the dreams is talking to him too.
Yeah, idk. Can't trust dream creatures I guess?
The sim retard went off the deep end, but at least he's calm now. The bpd behaviour was actual cancer.

>>6111114
>>Write-in for the empty page
>Heat the page a little. Not sure how, maybe encase it in clear duct tape first?
>>Write-In for SIM
>Thanks for taking the hit order off
>Hang up
It's good to know where we stand with him.
Also, c'mon DetectQM, mark isn't that dumb to think FREE is a name in that context. He literally just said their souls were "trapped" or something like that. I do wander why did he wrote it on the wall with blood, but eh, probably just dramatic flair, not worth asking.
>Only specific ask of you guys this time is I want to know how you feel about SIM's descent over the course of the story.
He went from "annoying guy to kill" to just "a guy to kill". Jokes aside, pretty good job portraying him, guy reads as legitemately ill all the way through. I kind just hated him from the start and now am relieved there is no "redemption arc" for him. Clarity and certainty is good, as he himself says. Maybe now Mark can get some grim resolve, understand that he's gotta kill SIM before he does some more deranged shit. No "keep Joker alive forever so he can kill more people" for me, no thanks.

>>6110587
>Lighter
That's a pretty cool guess. If letters are in random spots, the whole page might be filled with invisible ink except those letters. We really are gotta try heating it up. Gonna feel silly if it's not it, but hey, gotta try everything.
I do wonder how the fuck did question even reassembled an empty page, but I guess he's just that good.
>>
>>6111381
>We really are gotta try heating it up.
Depending on how hot we need to get it, a Hair dryer from next door or, Clothes iron applied to / though a towel / sheet may work.
>>
>>6111381
I don't think we should use a Lighter. That could risk burning the page, and since we are outside of the Prison, we have technology. I'd say to use a blowdryer or heatgun instead.
>>
>>6111464
>Clothes iron applied to / though a towel / sheet may work.
Actual huge brain idea.
Funny if it's not actual invisible ink and I'm just catching whatever Question has.
>>
>>6111381

>Also, c'mon DetectQM, mark isn't that dumb.

Would I really be a QM if I didn't give you the chance to run down a dead end in a vote once in a while?
>>
Update will be pushed back some hours. At the least this gives more people a chance to add in before the update, so take the chance if you haven't.
>>
OP? You okay buddy?
>>
>>6111807
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfupTXz_L6g
Bro u good?
>>
I'm here. Things progressed faster than I though, so there was a delay. My apologies, going forward my schedule should be relatively stable now.

Update soon.
>>
>>6111136
>>6111282
>>6111255

Your dry mouth sticks, a silent protest from your own body maybe, but your mind forces your sticking lips to split. You need to learn something from this.

"You said you were gifted with insight, that you could see souls. What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I see the soul now, in people's eyes, the truth of their life can't be hidden in their eyes. I can see their suffering."

"You think they're suffering?"

"I know they are, and it's my duty to free them."

"Is this part of your fate? You said in your dreams the voice speaks with you about fate, what exactly are you expecting?"

"A rapture. A tithe." It whispers. "Only instead of souls ascending to where they belong they'll be.. siphoned. More like traded."

"And where do you come into that? What's your fate?"

"I am the faithful. I know the truth and what I can do to lessen the cost. The more souls I free, the lesser the tribute. It's the only way they can be free of Gotham's influence."

"You're one to talk. You yourself told me about the danger under Gotham, that crater. The moon. I dreamt of some.. box or cube deep under the city and my own voice, my Shivers, they tell me this thing is evil.. that-"

"That it can be stopped? Either by you or with some assistance?"

You remain silent. How much can he see with his own Shivers? How much does he already know?

"That's the only regret, Mark. That my eyes were opened and yours weren't. That you're still leashed by this city."

"Leashed, I'm assuming that's in regard to me being Cerberus. What did you mean by that? Why did you refer to your voice as Eurydice?"

"Because it's apt, I guess." The voice says quietly. "Eurydice.. one day she stepped on a snake, it's bite was fatal and her soul went to the underworld. But her husband, Orpheus, sought after her. Determined to bring her back to the lands of the living, he entered the underworld and acquired his bride. But in order to leave with her he had to make a deal: Walk ahead of his wife and not look back. He had only the sound of her voice as evidence she followed, a test of trust."

"I remember this one now. He fails, he turns around and she's taken back into hell. So are you Orpheus then?"

"Something like that, but I intend to hold onto my faith until the very end."

"I fail to see where I fit in then."

"Cerberus, the faithful hound that minds the doors to the underworld. I seek to lead souls out and you seek to stop me, it seemed the most fitting, we're almost living in an epic."

"This isn't a story, it's real life. You understand that, I know you do."

"You're right about that, this isn't a story. Which is why we don't need to be enemies, we're simply men with different approaches to the same problem."

You feel your face heat. Your hand clenches around the phone and you hear agonizing creaks of plastic casing. You swallow and whisper quietly.

"Different approaches? You're a fucking murderer."
>>
"I could say the same to you at the end of this. In trying to save everyone you won't save even one. I'm just trying to save everyone I can while I can and at the end right before it's all over I'll free myself."

"What!?" You spit, he's deranged. "You'll kill yourself?"

"Exactly, take solace in that. If you beat the odds and succeed then I'll pay the ultimate price for what I did.." You hear and engine turn over and the rush of the AC, a wave of warm rolls over your arms.

"Please. You're out from under your father now, you're just replacing his authority over you with the Voice's. He raised you to be a killer but you can still stop yourself before it's too late, before you become what he made you."

The other line is silent for a few moments. The only indication of someone there being light breathing. After several seconds it speaks again.

"With freedom comes the chance to finally make my own decisions. Right or wrong, I finally get to be the one who decides, they're my choices to make. That's why I respect that you have your own to make. To chase me down, waste the time you have left chasing a man who's already decided when he'll die, or to turn your energy towards solving what's to come? I don't want to be your enemy, but if you want to hunt me, to kill me, or imprison me then I'll respect your choices, after all it's only because of you that I'm free to make mine."

"This isn't on me.. You chose this." You tell him, but something inside your gut makes you wonder. Something sour and churning.

"I did. You only see the big picture and it makes you grab beyond your reach, but I know I can only save a few. But I'll save as many as I can regardless." It says simply. "I have to go now, Mark. This may be the last time we speak. Thank you, again."

"And thank you." You whisper menacingly. "For clearing that green light and giving me the room to focus on what's really important. To go after what matters."

"I hope you do, Detective. I hope you do."
>>
You snap the phone closed without another word. You let an arm hang loosely by your side and spread your palm across the cool sheets, slowly lowering yourself. The phone thumps onto the bedside table as you toss it and put your face into your hand, slowly running it back through your hair. The dim light of your room only serves to make you feel more isolated. You think he's insane but at the same time these dreams of destruction, those red lights, and that woman in your dreams.

Your mind races as you try to understand any of this, as you pick through evidence that's ethereal, dreams and gut feelings. If you're almost considering it truth then why wouldn't he? Maybe he's the source of it, you share similar abilities after all. Maybe the sickness in his mind is leaking into the city itself, changing the relationship you have with it? You think back to that cellar door, bulging and dented iron. You sigh and lean back, letting your muscles relax as your mind drifts between possibilities. It feels overwhelming, maybe it would be better to pass this along to someone else..

>Use the silver briefcase. The Batman has saved the city before, you wish it could be the GCPD to make things right but this is out of their depth.
>Plan to see Gordon, this is out of your league and overwhelming. This needs to be handled by someone used to making choices, a real leader. Gordon will know what to do, if this is something the city can do alone;
>You're feeding into this delusion, you need to finish what you started with Gorchakov and Mandragora. Then you can decide what to do about your dreams.
>Write-In



I have the votes for trying heat on the paper, don't worry. That will come after this.

>>
>>6113781
>You're feeding into this delusion, you need to finish what you started with Gorchakov and Mandragora. Then you can decide what to do about your dreams
Gorchakov needs to go down. Only then can we focus on whatever THIS shit is about
>>
>>6113781
>>You're feeding into this delusion, you need to finish what you started with Gorchakov and Mandragora. Then you can decide what to do about your dreams.
best we put him down
>>
>>6113781
>You're feeding into this delusion, you need to finish what you started with Gorchakov and Mandragora. Then you can decide what to do about your dreams.
>>
>>6113781
Oh shit, we gotta get to him before he kills himself. So WE can kill him. With our own goddamn hands.

Okay, danger assessment, what CAN he do? He has shivers, but he's just a guy with a knife. The whole "soul" thing sounds deranged and wasn't worth asking. He's a serial killer, yes, but i don't think he can actually nuke Gotham with magic or anything like that.
If we go by "Never trust dream creatures, use shivers to find evidence, not as evidence itself" logic, then we don't have much to report. Higher ups already know there's a theatric serial killer on the loose, what's with the blood writing. We don't have shit besides his ramblings which sound pretty useless to me. TLDR: just work, giving into the madness isn't gonna help.
>>6113781
>>Write-In
>Call(Or text) Hawthorne and Grey. Tell them the retard is loose, the green light is off and the basement was his doing. Then go back to work on Gorchakov.
Hawthorne and Gray should be able to pass the info to someone in the force. We never told Raynor we're chatting with the serial killer, right? If we did and I'm remembering wrong, just tell Raynor straight up then.
I would actually call Batman to help, but I don't want him to capture SIM. I want him dead.
>>
>>6113781
>>Use the silver briefcase. The Batman has saved the city before, you wish it could be the GCPD to make things right but this is out of their depth.
I want him to deal with whatever mass casualty event he has planned while we take down gorkachov and mandragora.
>>
>>6113809
>>6113864
>>6113892
>>6113894

No. You aren't going to feed into this, not right now at least, you need to focus on finishing what you started with Gorchakov and Mandragora.

You waste no time retrieving your phone and sending a text to Hawthorne and Grey both:

"The Basement was SIM, the green light is off, vics are Mandragora's buttonmen, he's off the chain now. No more contact."

You hit send and wander back into the living room, pacing as you pass your phone anxiously between hands. Your brain is still scrambling to put all the pieces together. Meanwhile the whispers of the city claw the inside of your head. You close your eyes and breathe slowly, the familiar ritual bringing a sense of calm over you and a clarity to your mind. You have a job to do, focus on the job. Your mind drifts to the paper, the letters on it. You visualize them and focus, letting the whispering voices fade further and further back as you set your mind to the task in front of you.

I T G R L E H

A scrambled code maybe, seems a bit simple but never rule anything out until you're sure. It only takes a few seconds for the word to come together. Lighter? Maybe meaning to burn the note.. or maybe. You stand and grab a towel and an iron from your closet, this is the one time Mom was right about needing this thing, you head back to the table and kneel down. You remember a trick you learned as a kid, a way to use lemon juice as an invisible ink, you place the towel over top. Making sure only a thin layer of fabric protects the paper, careful to not disturb the shreds you slowly and methodically move the iron from top to bottom. Occasionally holding it in a particular area, a low heat means it's slow going but the repetition and monotony helps you to quiet your mind and just focus in near silence. A welcome reprieve. As you finish your tenth pass over your phone buzzes with a new message. From Hawthorne.

"He's next then. We'll talk specifics tomorrow morning. Scene is a shit show, work on that paper and take the afternoon."

You set the phone down and frown. You glance back at the note and lift the corner of a towel, you see some discoloration but not enough yet. You set the iron down and get back to work. Your mind drifts to other things, you have all afternoon to do something.

>Call Banks, you need to see if he's on-board with getting Gorchakov as soon as you can.
>Call Allison, she was a good distraction and a good time before and you could definitely use another now.
>Call your Dad, the stress of all this has you yearning for some of that wisdom your Dad always keeps hidden away.
>Finish this paper and then get settled in. Some beer and some cable television, the best way to pretend things are fine.
>Do something else (write-in)
>>
>>6114359
>Call Banks, you need to see if he's on-board with getting Gorchakov as soon as you can
Keep it together
>>
>>6114359
>Finish this paper and then get settled in. Some beer and some cable television, the best way to pretend things are fine.

How long has it been since Mark has had a break… again?
>>
>>6114359
>>Finish this paper and then get settled in. Some beer and some cable television, the best way to pretend things are fine.

I T G R L E H
H I T L E R (G)
>>
>>6114359
>Call Allison, she was a good distraction and a good time before and you could definitely use another now.
If she's a yapper then we're in luck, she can just tell us whatever. Should be soothing enough.
>>
>>6114394
>>6114614

The more you try to think of something to occupy your time the more you feel tired. The long steady swipes of the iron keep you occupied but your mind still drifts, when you lift the towel and see now some more solid coloring you find yourself relieved to have something a little more concrete to focus on.

The once empty page is now filled with a sloppy text, letters formed by droplets and blobs, otherwise it's decently concise.

"Zeke. I know you're reading this because I made sure the code was simple enough even your dumbass could figure it out. Whatever he's asking you to do you need to do someone else while you're at it.

McCloud. If you fuck this up, you're dead. You know why.

Finish burning this shit after you read it too, don't be a fucking moron."

You can't help but scoff and shake your head. Guess he didn't make it simple enough, or maybe this guy really is a moron. A fact that makes you wonder why he'd be Calc's assassin on the inside, assuming of course that other letter didn't go to multiple inmates. You press the pieces together as tight as you can and get a picture on your phone, sending it to Question, Hawthorne, and Grey. You lean back and let out a long breath as you stare down at the page, McCloud.. the Officer struck you as a bit of a hard-ass and it wasn't just due to the bone he had to pick with Hawthorne. The moment you showed any resistance he was quick to try and push you around, could this be as simple as some prisoner revenge? Maybe he'd pushed a few of them too far. Or maybe this is just another moving piece in Calc's puzzle. The more you try and untangle all the new strings you've found the more it frustrates you. You close your eyes and feel it again, that fatigue set deep into your bones, you're tired beyond the point of sleep helping. Hawthorne gave you the afternoon off, you aren't in a position to do anything but worry so why not try to use the time to relax. What you need right now is a break, a real one, so when you open your eyes and they settle on a remote you only have one thought.

Fuck it.

You blink.

"C'mere, Mark." Your dad whispers, patting a spot next to him on the sofa.

You slink towards him, wrapped in a blanket and with puffy tired eyes. You wriggle your way into the space beside him as he looks down at you, his face only illuminated by the glow of the TV.

"Can't sleep?" He asks.

You shake your head.

"Nervous?"

"Yeah.." You whisper, not wanting to break the peace and stillness of night.

"Don't be, your tests looked good last time. This time won't be any different."

"Are you sure?"

"Would I tell you that if I wasn't?" He asks. He studies your face for a moment and his smile loses some of it's luster, he reaches forward wrapping one of his massive arms around you and pulling you close. "C'mere, how about I show you my secret for whenever you get nervous."

You nod and pull the blanket closer, enjoying the warmth and safety.
>>
"Whenever there's something going on and you can't do nothing about it but worry, put on a movie or pick up a book."

You crane your head to him from your cocoon and he affirms what he said with a nod.

"I mean it. There are so many stories you can get lost in out there, some are even real stories, like the ones Nonno tells sometimes. But I think nothing clears your head more than getting in someone else's head. Seeing something from someone else's point of view. Even if it's just a story, it keeps your brain occupied."

You turn quietly to the screen, old commercials coming to an end and a black and white film overtaking the screen.

"Are you nervous too?" You ask quietly. "Is that why you're watching a movie?"

"Nah, this one is just a favorite of mine." He lies softly as his hand gives your shoulder an affirming squeeze. "You wanna watch with me? We can go to bed after."

"Mhm." You nod and lean in to rest your head on his chest. His strong heartbeat acting as a metronome.

"It's a classic but it's still good. It's called The Maltese Falcon.." As he begins to explain you already feel your eyelids slowly being pulled down. So does he, but he doesn't mind.

You blink.

The remote in your hand is smooth and cool. You smile at the old memory and click the set on, lowering the volume a little you get up from your seat. Remembering another store of wisdom from your father. It isn't a real movie without drinks and a snack. A cold beer and a small bowl of microwave popcorn later you flick off the lights and settle into your sofa. The iron, now off and cooled, serves as a great paperweight to secure the shreds. You sigh content and start flipping.

"...x Luthor continues to deny any plans for a presidential bid but stock analysists suggest.."

Nope.

"...I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all."

Not that.

"..sly scene in The Narrows this afternoon, Police have released the number of victims which currently sits at si-"

You slam the menu button and let out a stream of frustrated breath. A long draft from your bottle soothes you as you stare at the blue and grey TV schedule as it slides block by block through each program. Eventually you decide on...

>Se7en
>Training Day
>Marley & Me
>300
>Phone Booth
>Write-In


I hope that scene was as comfy to read as it was to write, the fact "Get a beet and watch some TV" won makes me chuckle a little bit but I'm glad we now get to canonically decide a movie Mark likes. Choose well because you never know how it could impact the story..
>>
>>6115056
>>Se7en
>>
>>6115056
>>Write-In
Back to the future
>>
>>6115056
>>Write-In
>Uncle Buck
A happy family film.
>>
>>6115056
I feel like this was just a clever way to bring up movies you like so I'm going to suggest the same.

>Deep Blue Sea
>>
>>6115056
Fuck it I'll suggest one I like too
>Shutter Island
>>
>>6115056
>MST3K's Mitchell
>>
>>6115065
This, we want something relaxing.
>>
>>6115056
>>>Write-In
>>Uncle Buck
Genuinely one of the best movies made.
>>
>>6115056
>Full Metal Jacket
>>
>>6115191
I'll switch to Uncle Buck for classic Candy.
>>
>>6115065
+1
Some 80’s cheese is just what the doctor ordered.

And nothing to do with policing!
>>
>>6115056
>Write-in
O Brother, Where Art Thou?
>>
>>6115490
A cultured choice.
>>
>>6115065
+1 this
>>
>>6115056
Back to the Future
>>
>>6115567
>>6115522
>>6115251
>>6115065

You enter the channel numbers and watch the screen jump, from a spreadsheet of blue and grey to a familiar flick in your house.

"...when this baby hits 88 miles per hour... you're gonna see some serious shit..." You missed a little bit but you've seen it enough to not care, your Nonno loved this movie apparently. According to your dad he was taken to see it in theaters more than four times, you smile as the memory of your dad hitting the air guitar for the prom scene plays in your mind. You sigh content and settle into place.

The movie goes on and you whittle down your popcorn as you wash away the buttery salt with a few refreshing beers. For the first time in a long time you manage to enjoy some alone time, the whispers of Gotham at a surprisingly low volume only heard in the brief moments of silence in dialogue, before long the film ends.. as the credits roll check your look out the window and see that despite sundown not being long ago the sky outside is pitch black. It's border encroached by the glow of streetlamps and passing headlights. You stand slowly and toss your empty bowl in the sink and your bottle in the trash, as you consider what to do next you hear from the television.

"Up Next: Back to The Future II"

You smile and open the fridge for a fresh drink. Who can say no to a marathon after all?

=====

As the final credits of Back to the Future III play, it's light reflecting off the glass of three bottles, your head slumps to the side as a small snore goes through the silence of the apartment. For the first time in a long time you manage to fall into a peaceful sleep, dreaming not of Red Lady's and falling moons. But of times spent with family.

=====

A loud ringing forces your eyes open, the world blurry and confusing, as you sit up you feel the dry layer of saliva on the corner of your mouth and brush it away in a daze. Your hand swings in an arc to find your phone but only collides with bottlenecks.

"Oh fuck off." You mumble as you wipe your eyes with your free hand and continue slapping at your table until it finally lands on the cool glass of your phone.. just as you miss the call.

You sit up and widen your eyes, giving a few good blinks to fully wake yourself. The screen shows:

'Missed Call: A. Banks.'
'1 Voicemail'
'1 Text Message'

You tap the screen and navigate to your texts as the voicemail plays.

"Hey, DeLucia. It's Banks, I was just calling because I happened to be up early and was hoping to catch you before you went into work. Hoping we could talk about that thing you mentioned, call me back."

You smile. You knew he'd come around. Moving onto the text message you see it's from Question at about.. 3am?

"Information on BG, came by to speak but you were asleep, took the supplies with me. We should meet."

You look up from your phone and see the coffee table bare of any paper shreds, looking up a little further you see the window beyond it once again wide open.
>>
"I'm gonna kill this asshole." You grumble as you stretch your tense legs out.

Your muscles ache satisfyingly and your drowsiness is already fading. You stand slowly and take in a breath of crisp autumn air, only slightly accented by the usual Gotham garbage notes, and as you look around the world is still.. beautiful. The delicate light, the way your curtain moves, and the wind blows delicate ripples through it. It seems whatever changed with your perception might be around longer than you may have thought. You remind yourself about Hawthorne's words, not letting yourself get lost in your own thoughts.

You move into a hot shower and start getting ready, you woke up earlier than normal but it tracks considering you don't even remember falling asleep early, as you wash the final remnants of the night before from your face you consider what to do first in the day. The green light is off and so is a weight from your shoulders, the invisible clock at the least being extended to whenever SIM decides the apocalypse is nigh. You have some time to take now and enjoy this breathing room, Question certainly took the initiative on looking into Blackgate and to find something so soon? Either he found something really good or he's just really good. You do feel like you owe it to Grey and Hawthorne to wrap this business with Gorchakov as soon as possible however. With 2 Witnesses willing to testify his abuse of power, three if you can try to get Cobblepot to flip, and your own vision. You may have enough to take to Reiner and push for the investigation to be made public and for proper charges to be set up. At least then it wouldn't be just you and Hawthorne doing the leg work.

As you turn the hot water off and step out to get into uniform you decide on..

>Meeting with Banks, Question is more of a "dark alley" type as opposed to a greasy diner.
>Meeting with Question, if he found something and didn't text it to you then it must be big. Then again he could just be playing it safe through the phones.
>Write-In
>>
>>6115659
>>Meeting with Banks, Question is more of a "dark alley" type as opposed to a greasy diner.
>>
>>6115659
>>Meeting with Banks, Question is more of a "dark alley" type as opposed to a greasy diner.
I'm too stupid to multi task. We're working on Gorchakov. We need Banks for Gorchakov. We already got pictures of all the documents sent, having the originals would help though.
>Write-in
>Text question "please keep the documents safe, I'm gonna need them as soon as I finish working on my current case, that happens to be very time sensitive"
>>
>>6115679
+1
>>
>>6115679
+1
>>
>>6115679
+1
>>
>>6115679
+1 to this.

>>6115659
>Meeting with Banks, Question is more of a "dark alley" type as opposed to a greasy diner.
+
>Text Q
>>
>>6115659
>>Meeting with Banks, Question is more of a "dark alley" type as opposed to a greasy diner.
>>
>>6115667
>>6115679
>>6115683
>>6115719
>>6115789
>>6115811
>>6116266


You feel like getting an early start today and Q doesn't strike you as the type to prefer a local diner over a dark alley, and you need something greasy to start today off. You do take the time to reply to his message with one of your own however.

"Keep the docs safe, I'm almost wrapped on what I'm working now and then I'll need them."

You hit send and pull on that familiar wool uniform as you dial Banks back.

"Hey Banks, I got your voicemail. You wanna grab breakfast?"

=====

"Black Coffee, Egg, Bacon, and Cheese on Texas toast. Scrambled." You recite, a long time favorite.

"Just the coffee for me, thank you." Banks tells the waitress politely. She nods and walks off to a steaming pot of coffee.

"So, you wanted to talk about 'that thing'?"

"Yeah. I talked with Susanne and well." He pulls a manila folder from his lap and slides it to you. "I'm in, but I have a few conditions."

You frown, the coffee is set and you both quietly thank her as you take a tentative sip.

"Such as?"

"I won't testify in open court. I want the full wit-sec treatment. My testimony will be recorded in private with the judge and Gordon, it can be presented in court that way."

"Banks.. the defense is going to tear that to shreds. They can't cross examine you, which means they can't discredit what you're saying but you also aren't there to push back on any way they spin it. You won't be able to clarify ANYTHING after submitting your testimony."

"I know that. But I also know it would insulate me from any... retaliation from the department."

"Banks.."

"I know it hurts your case, but I talked to Susanne and she made some really good points. I can't just ignore my own wellbeing because I want to help you out. If I don't look out for myself then I won't even have the chance to look out for others later on."

You try to formulate an answer but find yourself struggling to organize your thoughts. Banks is the only one with direct testimony of Gorchakov ordering illegal acts from his partners. Kent only saw some shady dealings and meetings, nothing concrete. Without him being there how his testimony is taken is a coin flip.

Thankfully before you speak the waitress returns with a plate of your food and you're given a few seconds of silence as you politely nod her away and think of what to say next.

>Accept it, this is Banks' choice and if this is his price for speaking out then you'll take it.
>"People are dying Banks. We can't risk him walking away from this scot-free."
>"You should take more time to think this over, you're protecting yourself at the cost of the case. Is that what you became a cop for? To cover your own ass?"
>Write-In (Recommended)

Early update today, will do one at the same time as normal if we get enough votes. Pulling myself out of this rut whether I like it or not, so thank you guys for being a very enjoyable distraction. I liked seeing the movies you love.
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>>6116274
>"I understand where you're coming fro, Bank, and I wouldn't have framed this as your choice just to try to take it away from you when you make the one I don't like. I also know you're no coward, and that you've put your life on the line plenty in the past. You don't owe anyone anything. But Banks... Man, this IS the job. being a cop is, by definition, not about looking out for yourself. It can't be. Just my two cents. Gorchakov is a murderer."
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>>6116274
>>"I understand where you're coming fro, Bank, and I wouldn't have framed this as your choice just to try to take it away from you when you make the one I don't like. I also know you're no coward, and that you've put your life on the line plenty in the past. You don't owe anyone anything. But Banks... Man, this IS the job. being a cop is, by definition, not about looking out for yourself. It can't be. Just my two cents. Gorchakov is a murderer."
Going to copy here, this is a good writein.
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>>6116274
I support this post here>>6116291

Side (and batshit insane) idea to throw out here: what if we could arrange a cape like huntress or Q to protect him in exchange for the testimony. Even more ambitious and last resort idea: leverage working for Batman as his town GPS in exchange for him of all people protecting Banks until he's un-person'd FAR from gotham [us using that one device he gave us to reach out to him]
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>>6116274
>>6116291
Pretty much this.
>Accept it, this is Banks' choice and if this is his price for speaking out then you'll take it.
>Tell Banks "sucks balls for my case, but it's your choice"
>Also tell him Gorchakov literally killed his previous errand boy.

We have to get penguin to flip now I guess. Hey, failing this quest wouldn't be *the worst*. We'd just stay the beat cop forever lol.
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>>6116291
>>6116346
+1
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>>6116346
+1
If this all goes totally to shit we can just give Huntress our own green light.

If we still need info from Gorchy then we can have her black-bag him and take him to an abandoned warehouse. Then after pulling out his fingernails, we can just shoot him.
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>>6116393
>gets rejected once
>fuck it, vigilantism, kidnapping and torture
based
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>>6116395
I say that maybe we could tell Banks to hold on, and see if we can make Penguin to turn on Gor, and if we get him, maybe there's no need for him to testify at all because we already have the testimony with a direct link with him who saw everything.

basically tell him to stay on hold, we do our work and see how it turns out. After all, I'm sure there's multiple accounts of either cops, agents or even rooks talking of how prideful Penguin is (or maybe Mark already catched on it before), so we know how to manipulate him better. I can't remember if Penguin saw us in the meeting, or if it's safe for us to interrogate him, letting be known that we led the sting, and put on us a huge target for playing them all like a fiddle. Still, if we can do it we can play the somewhat gullible, somewhat clueless rookie and stroke his ego so he can cooperate. Still, I'm sure he's going to ask for a lot of shit in return that we won't like, at which point we have to consider if the cost if enough to pay or if we go to banks and accepts his conditions.
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>>6116291
Supporting
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May wanna get a new thread OP
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>>6117800
You're posting from my browser, you fuckin goon.

Please disregard, update at the usual time tonight.
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>>6116346
>We'd just stay the beat cop forever lol.
Or die of cancer, or when whatever is under teh city goes kaboom or summons a horde of parademons or whatever.

>>6117800
>>6117807
Kek, got a friend over?
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>>6117812
An old friend yep, if you remember seeing a Ranger's Apprentice quest a while back he was the one who ran (and flaked) that.
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>>6117831
Never played it, but sounds neat. We're on Page 10 now, though. Might want to archive.
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>>6116291
>>6116328
>>6116345
>>6116346
>>6116367
>>6116393
>>6117061

Locked in, New thread coming and I'll link it here before archiving.
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NEW THREAD HERE:
>>6118483



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