"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?"

File: Gorchy.jpg (13 KB, 255x243)

13 KB JPG

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

File: TheWoman.jpg (140 KB, 736x1308)

140 KB JPG

>>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.

File: ValGarcia.png (81 KB, 264x272)

81 KB PNG

"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

File: Portrait_physical-instrument.png (1.12 MB, 720x1000)

1.12 MB PNG

>>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

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>>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.