You let yourself sink into your seat and lower your window letting cool near winter air flow in. It's refreshing in more ways than one, the future is undecided but you have your faith and it will sustain you. Through this and whatever else will come. Your faith and your friends. You settle into your seat and watch as the sun dips beneath the clouds and finally graces the city with a cover of golden light as it disappears beneath the horizon. You recline your seat and stare into the golden hues, this is nice...

=====

The lights of Blue Brass illuminate the night as a light shower of ice cold rain sprinkles down, the neon making each drop shine like a gem. They dance coldly over your skin like the pins and needles of a sleeping limb. You smooth your hair back as you step through the door and give a wave to Jimmy behind the bar as your other hand lifts the sports bag.

"Ay Jimmy, you got a safe place I can keep this while I'm here? Case sensitive so I don't wanna risk anything."

"Can put it in the back room for you. Poker table is set up for the weekend so the room is off limits, that work?"

"It's perfect, thanks Jim."

After securing the bag and watching Jimmy lock the door to the back parlor you grab a stool and a beer and wait for the crowd to trickle in. You don't have to wait long, within a half hour you see a familiar face grinning at you. A couple of them actually.

"Ah you got me a beer!" Kimble bellows with a wide smile nodding to your half drank bottle. "You're a cop, you wanna nurse something then work at a hospital. Jimmy, line of mugs?"

Jimmy nods and steps away to begin filling glasses as Hawthorne steps past Kimble and gives you a firm nod.

"Just so y'know that mug doesn't count towards your debt."

"Didn't think it would." You glance past him and smile. "And you even pulled Gray out of his files."

"Files you helped pad. Blame yourself." Gray says with a smile beneath tired eyes. "Lots of fruit on those trees, it's some good work. Wish you could lend a hand."

"Well... Might be able to do that sooner than you think."

"So I've heard." He says with equal vagueness. "I'll buy a round to celebrate early, cause I know you'll get it done."

"His doesn't count either." Hawthorne says leaning in before looking up to Gray. "I'll still drink it though."

"I'd be shocked if you didn't, you penny pinching bastard." Gray says with a smile.

"Where's uh, Banks at?" You ask Kimble.

"Coming but he's gonna be late." He answers over his shoulder as he starts to receive and dole out drinks to each of you. "Dipshit didn't bring a set of civvies so he had to run home, means he's gonna get caught up talking to the old ball and chain. The plight of the soon to be wedded."

"Hmm." Hawthorne rumbles before sipping his beer. "Mendez know you consider marriage a plight?"

"What? No. What's it matter?"

"Girls like her probably wanna get married, have a bunch of rugrats running around."

"I'm sure. She tell you that?" Kimble asks sarcastically.

"No, but of course she does. She's... y'know." He gestures vaguely with his mug.

"I know what?" Kimble asks.

"Here we go." Gray mumbles expectantly as he passes you a cold mug.

"Y'know... she's Mexican or uh, Latina. Whatever they go by now." Hawthorne says.

You groan and Gray shakes his head.

"What?" Hawthorne asks.

"Dude." Kimble says simply, shaking his own head.

"Hey now, I didn't mean it in a bad way. If anything I respect em for it. They work hard." He leans over and pokes a bony elbow into Kimble's side. "They play hard."

"You're gross, old man." Kimble says but he says it through a laugh. "Here I was thinking you saw her like a daughter after helping her come up back in the day."

"Oh I do, same way I see you. Isn't it an old man's right to want some grandkids." He chuckles dryly.

"Well maybe you can relay that message to your own kid and leave me out of it. Mendez and I are still early days y'know? Feeling it out."

"Aren't you meeting her parents?" You ask, wiping foam from your lip.

"Oh is that so?" Hawthorne says with exaggerated surprise.

"Thanks, Mark." Kimble groans. "Hawthorne, why aren’t you on his case? He's got a girlfriend too, say something weird about her. Even it up."

"I like her. She doesn't take shit." Hawthorne says simply, extending his glass for a toast with you.

"This is bullshit, man." Kimble pouts. "I'd say something about your marriage but I actually highly respect your husband."

He raises his mug to Gray and winks.

"You have jokes?" Gray asks with raised brows. "Mark, you ever hear about why Kimble keeps a shaved head? Cause it isn't nostalgia for the army."

"Oh?" You lean in.

"Okay, okay. I overstepped, let's relax a bit." Kimble pleads. "And also, stop teaming up on me. Ya bastards."

"Speaking of your girl, how is she?" Hawthorne asks.

"Good. We've both been pretty busy lately but I'm hoping to make up for it once I finally get things put to bed."

"A good plan." Gray chimes in. "Until you get the next big one. And one after that. And after that. They sneak up on you like that."

"Maybe, but honestly I'm just waiting for things to calm down a bit. Not even in true blues yet and I've already been put in a coma, shot a guy, and nearly got dropped off a blimp smack dab over Coventry. Could use some peace for a bit after all this."

"Picked the wrong city then." Kimble says.

"Hear hear." Hawthorne chants. "That's why we love her. Never a dull moment."

You all drink from your mugs in silence and set them down drained, foam clinging to the glass.

"Jimmy. Another round, pale ale. Kid's tab." Hawthorne says slapping you on the shoulder.

As Jimmy sweeps away your mugs and gets another round going the conversation lulls naturally...

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

>"So Gray, about that fruit? Hawthorne said you picked up the college kid who was robbing the GU Chem Lab?"
>"Kimble, I met a friend of yours not too long ago. Leo? He runs the surplus store over in Little Italy. Eccentric guy."
>"So Hawthorne and I met an urban legend today… The Rat King.”
>”I do actually wanna know why Kimble has his head shaved. I really did think it was nostalgia.”
>Write-In

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

Welcome back everyone! Apologies for the break line in the update above this one but thankfully that should be the last of my formatting errors for a while now that I think I solved my range ban issue. It also seemed some people had issues seeing the call for a roll along with their votes, if there's any way I can make that more noticeable for you guys in the future let me know. With that out of the way a quick thanks to everyone still following and thanks as well to those who are catching up or have caught up, I appreciate every reader and every vote.

Previous threads can be found here: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gotham%20City%20Beat%20Cop%20Quest

Picrel is a shorthand list of your abilities.

If you have any questions just let me know. I hope you enjoy the bar segments as much as I enjoy writing them, until next time; see you soon.

>>6445158
>"So Gray, about that fruit? Hawthorne said you picked up the college kid who was robbing the GU Chem Lab?"
I am actually quite curious how that shook out. Anyways, if you want people with poor reading comprehension to see something, formatting it in bold bright red capital letters is one way to do it. Blunt, but it seems to work well enough.

>>6445158
>"So Gray, about that fruit? Hawthorne said you picked up the college kid who was robbing the GU Chem Lab?"

>>6445158
Glad to hear things have shaped up IT wise, QM.

>"Kimble, I met a friend of yours not too long ago. Leo? He runs the surplus store over in Little Italy. Eccentric guy."

Let's start light.

>>6445158
>"So Gray, about that fruit? Hawthorne said you picked up the college kid who was robbing the GU Chem Lab?"
Right, was looking forward to an update on this. Some of our better policework of late.

>>6445158
>"Kimble, I met a friend of yours not too long ago. Leo? He runs the surplus store over in Little Italy. Eccentric guy."
>"I just might go back sometime and see if he still has the dummy landmine for sale, stick it under my windowsill as a break-in deterrence."

>>6445198
+1

>>6445161
>>6445165
>>6445198
>>6445201

"So Gray, about that fruit?" You begin, catching a sliding mug and passing it along to him. "Hawthorne said you picked up the college kid who was robbing the GU Chem Lab?"

"Mhmm." He hums through dense suds. "It was some good work you all did, Hawthorne's friend in traffic got us in on the traffic cams and they got nice pretty pictures of everyone leaving the meet up."

"Boring as hell, by the way. Wish you were there." Kimble chimes in from the rim of his own glass.

"It was only boring for him because I didn't entertain his 'tradition' of listening to mindless bubblegum bullshit." Hawthorne growled.

"Two hours of pure silence, Mark. Just the sound of him slurping up coffee. Like a horse."

"And the suffering was worth it, wasn't it?" Grey asks him. "We got the other plates, ID'd his collaborators and it was simple from there. Record logs at the chem plant showed the receptionist was going into the admin offices after hours and dropping one or two barrels from the store logs."

"Add that in with the legwork I put in." Hawthorne interjects. "The missing inventory at the school was enough to let the Dean have us peek at the badge in logs. Janitor badge was used late in the AMs, only thing is this Janitor had already reported the badge missing and had gotten another that same day."

"And they didn't think to deactivate the other one?" You ask.

"I'm getting there. They didn't have time, it got turned in before the school day even ended. CCTV showed something bulky being held up to the door and... presto." Grey waggles his fingers. "RFID Cloner, the tech version of pressing a key in putty."

"So what'd you do from there?"

"Got a warrant for the university parking lot specifically, routine security check was the official reason and that's an easy ask. Then we got the Dean to call an all hands meeting and fill that parking lot right up for us." Gray smiles now, clearly proud of himself. "Then it was easy as finding his license plate and going through the car with a fine tooth comb. He had cut open the bottom of his driver seat and stuffed it up in there, amateurs never hide their 'tools' at home. Everyone is scared of the cops kicking in their door..."

"But most of em think their car is a safe haven." Hawthorne finishes. "Just drive the speed limit and don't carry drugs or explosives that K9 can find and it's hard to find a good reason to tear a car up like that. One that a judge will like anyways."

"Seriously? Just like that?"

"Just like that." Grey offers with an air of finality. "Most cases don't wrap up flashy, Mark. They just... stop being your problem and then they end. The kid you managed to nab in the tunnels under the lab? He stopped being my problem damn quick, feds swooped in on him hard, case wrapped up but whatever is gonna happen to him? I may never find out."

"What about the brother? Raul?"

"We brought in Raul, because of your vision we got the exact truck they used so it wasn't hard to paint a clear link. Chemical residue matching the missing barrels from the chem plant, his and his friend's fingerprints, traffic camera data from the nights we saw the badge reader being used. All of that together gave us enough pressure on the other ones we picked up. Talked em into giving us more droplets of information to work with and eventually we had enough to start figuring out who we actually needed to be making deals with. Only one holding out now is the older brother. Raul."

"Really? His brother is looking down the barrel of terror charges, we caught him fleeing the lab. I saw him load the truck in my vision."

"This Raul kid." Grey begins then takes a long sip before shaking his head. "He's a law student."

Dual groans from Hawthorne and Kimble as they match Grey's gesture. Shaking their heads as well.

"What's the big deal?" You ask.

"Big deal is law students are fucking ballbusters." Hawthorne says. "Took a class and feel like they're ready to be Matlock."

"The kid IS pretty sharp. I can't lie, I picked that up from my chat with him. But he's still stupid where it counts, which is probably what Anarky wanted him for."

"Stupid where it counts?"

"He's making himself a martyr. All the people we flipped point to him as the next step for answers and he's set on being a plug in the drain. Claims your visions violate the 4th Amendment."

"That's bullshit." You scoff, only to then sip nervously and follow up with; "Right?"

Grey offers you a shrug.

"Joys of being the first." He says simply. "Regardless, he's putting it all on himself. Trying to take full responsibility and lessen the sentences for everyone else."

"That's what makes law students the worst. They know the letter of the law but not how it actually plays out." Hawthorne says. "That whole clique? They're fucked. Nothing that kid says is gonna change things."

"So does that mean we did it? Scarecrow is shut down?" You ask.

"They picked up Scarecrow and Scream Queen-" Grey stops midsentence and puts up a palm. "Don't ask. That's what they called her when they picked her up, I didn't choose it."

"They meaning ARGUS?"

"Yup. They were real interested in that suit Crane was stuck in, he was still catatonic when they carted him out. Took all the vials with em too, fought tooth and nail and the best I could get them to agree to was loaning us a redacted lab report on the chemical breakdown from swabs we took. It was still enough to put the truck with the kid's prints AT the lab."

"You said loaning it? Are they taking over the case?"

"Hah. No. Same song and dance we've heard every time some meta-villain or whacko pops up. An ARGUS spook comes by to take away his toys." Hawthorne grunts. "A matter of 'national security' means we gotta hand em and their toys over."

"So... what? We just don't get to take a run at him anymore? Figure it all out?"

"Also don't forget, you're still a rookie. A beat cop." Hawthorne adds on. "Nobody is gonna give two squirts of piss about your need for closure unless you got friends who're willing to spill it over a beer."

"Damn." You say quietly. "I don't know why I never really thought about it but I just assumed... I don't know. That it would be cleaner, I guess."

"Yeah well. None of us fucking like it, but we gotta deal with it. What I wouldn't give to know what's going on in the Governor's office regarding that worm Quinn." Hawthorne utters. "State funding may have been misappropriated at Blackgate, makes it a federal crime. He's in Trenton right now getting railed out by the IRS if I had to guess."

"But what about everything else? He may as well have blood on his hands for all the people that died, they died because of him. A GUARD died because of him."

"Two different courts. Federal gets first dibs, then we get our turn with conspiracy, abuse of office, tampering with evidence. The list goes on."

"And I tried to make it clear to him that it's a good thing." Grey starts up again, pushing his half finished drink back. "He lacks leverage for the federal charges, for everything state based he can leverage working with Calc and Mandragora to get a better deal with us. But the financial crimes? He's gonna eat that time in full, age he is now he's dying inside."

"In club fuckin' fed." Hawthorne growls. "Too good for em."

"Hear hear." Kimble adds on. "Most recent one for me was Firebug. Mark, Banks, and I got him in cuffs and talking even then just... whoosh. Vanished. ARGUS-napped right from the station. They said they'd be in contact if they learned anything we could use but guess how much I've heard back from em?"

You touch your pointer finger to your thumb and hold up a big fat zero. Kimble nods and clicks his tongue with a wink.

"Bingo." He says. "Man... fuck ARGUS."

"I'll drink to that." You say and raise your own glass before you all drain your cups.

"End of the day." Grey says, placing his glass firmly on the counter, his voice picking up a bit. "We did our jobs. Scarecrow's lab is shut down, the last dregs of Anarky are sitting in holding, nobody who had anything to do with Suzy's death is gonna breathe free air again and Quincy Late's accounts are under enough surveillance to make Orwell cry. The good guys won."

"Not yet." Hawthorne says quietly. "Not quite yet."

All eyes shift to you.

>"We're supposed to be celebrating, let's not waste time on someone who's already arrested and just doesn't know it yet."
>"Was hoping we could talk about that actually... I wanted to run my plan by you guys and see if you had any thoughts."
>"Let's not jinx anything, what we SHOULD be talking about is what sights around Gotham Hawthorne is gonna show his son."
>"I know the Blue Brass is sacred and all but it's still in public and I don't exactly want Banks walking in while I'm talking about 'them' cause they're helping."
>Write-in

>>6446987
>"Was hoping we could talk about that actually... I wanted to run my plan by you guys and see if you had any thoughts."

>>6446987
>"Let's not jinx anything, what we SHOULD be talking about is what sights around Gotham Hawthorne is gonna show his son."
The plan is in motion. Let's not overthink it. Chillax a little!

>>6446987
>”…you guys think ARGUS is planning on doing something similar? And soon?”
>"Was hoping we could talk about that actually... I wanted to run my plan by you guys and see if you had any thoughts."

I guarantee Waller’s going to pull some bullshit to get a psychic mob assassin wrapped around her finger. Forewarned is forearmed.

>>6447040
+1

>>6447040
+1

But we have to ALSO bring up a warning regarding my theory with Dent.

>"Guys, I think Calc is planning something and using Dent. He already has his greasy hands on the whole ARGUS and Blackgate sale, but I have the feeling that he's using Dent's hat to hypnotize him with the help of Thatcher's tech. Do you remember, Hawthorne? He already got some guy to get into the Wayne Manor, how don't we know he's going to use that hat for tomorrow's event and do some wild stuff?"

>>6447040 here. Just remembered this from a bunch of threads back, but has Grey thought about trying to crack Raul more rhetorically by claiming that the chemicals he was transporting would go against the beliefs of anarchism? From what I remember, the anon who brought it up said that a fear toxin would fall more in line with what a fascist government would use, what with anarchism being more about everyone having an opinion, regardless of how dogshit the take, whereas fascism would be all for making a bunch of people scared so that they could push their aganda more.

>>6447071
Methinks Raul is a bit of an accelerationist.

>>6447071
>>6447101
I was that anon, and yeah my point was essentially that fear toxin as a means of mass social control/terrorism runs very contrary to the principles of anarchism and even anarcho-terrorism. Anarchist assassins and illegalists have historically only targeted specific individuals or buildings. A fascist politician may be shot or bombed, a building or factory may be sabotaged or destroyed, the property or figureheads. If we look at figures like Marius Jacob, Clement Duval, the Bonnot Gang, or a contemporary case like Vassilis Palaiokostas (still at large, his memoir is an insanely good read imo), these are all anarchists that felt crime was an acceptable tool for their politics, but they specifically narrow their violence, almost all of them explicitly wrote that they would only harm police, members of the wealthy elite, or oppressive political figures. None of them would even steal from working class people. Even when an anarchist is of a mind that the masses are brainwashed, the goal is to wake them up and the reason for their radicalism is always on the behalf of the 'sheep' that they want to 'save' from a corrupt system. Fascist terrorism on the other end has a tendency to see regular citizens as being traitors and enemies in a very different way, and devalues human life and FREEDOM. Sacrificing and corralling 'sheep' is productive and aligned with the larger totalitarian project, it's also a form of rescue but the collateral damage is much more aligned with the overall philosophy.

Pausing to be clear that I do NOT to derail this quest with /pol/slop!!!! I really don't feel strongly about this stuff or want to debate. I am just stating things that are more or less accepted facts, no value judgments here!

All that said, I think that if he is a True Believer in anarchy, even as a staunch radical, Mark can make some inroads by pointing out the very real contradictions in his ideology and actions. I think some other anons have already mentioned, and I certainly believe myself, that Anarky is a smokescreen Calculator is using to weaponize dumb, expendable kids for his larger scheme. The whole thing benefits his scheme. One more mask for GPD to chase. The crooks in question are college kids which encourages authorities to use a lighter touch. The kids are highly motivated because it's ideological for them. If we can make the kids believe they are being used (and MAYBE they aren't, but... Really seems like) it'll be easier to get what we need.

>>6446986
>Claims your visions violate the 4th Amendment
Ehhh. Kind of. Then again, Mark can't get a warrant for a vision, because he can't entirely control what the vision will show him. I think the search warrant has to be specific?
Smartphones violate the 4th Amendment constantly anyway. Mark will be fine.
>>6446987
>>"We're supposed to be celebrating, let's not waste time on someone who's already arrested and just doesn't know it yet."
A little overconfidence, just a bit.
Plus, how in the world would SIM(a normal guy with cool visions) escape Mark, Constantine, Question and Huntress? Huntress especially. This quest didn't go for enough in-quest time for her to go soft, so she's still batwoman material.

>>6447005
>>6447040
>>6447044
>>6447049

"Was actually hoping we could talk about that actually... I wanted to run my plan by you guys and see if you had any thoughts. Though..." You trail off again, an incessant thought prodding at you. "After listening to you guys talk, do you think ARGUS is planning on doing something similar? Maybe even soon?"

"Do something similar?" Kimble echoes. "What, like take Rogers from us when you bring him in?"

"It'd follow their pattern." Hawthorne says, his gravely voice contemplative. "Meta-Human means they'll wanna scoop him up, just like all the others since Dent started working with em."

"That too, Dent worries me. Well. Maybe not Dent himself but I feel like he's..." The word eludes you until an icy fingernail drags down your spine. Somewhere in Gotham a student's fingers linger over a piece of carved wood on a checkered board. "Like a pawn. Like the Anarkists and Mandragora."

"Hm." Grey hums quietly but you see the way his eyes dilate despite his sight being fixed on the deflating remnants of beer foam. "Keep talking."

"Well just... I had a dream where I think my Shivers seeped in. I saw that stupid hat he's always wearing in it. What if that hat had the same tech that Tetch makes? The same kind that got Mr. Pepeti to break into Wayne Manor?"

"We were there when the hat got handed over." Hawthorne says, leaning forward on his elbows now. "Sweeped and didn't find anything, all the other hats we've picked up have a mess of wires and... and uh..."

"Diodes." Kimble offer.

"Yeah, sure." Hawthorne says. "You thinking they saved the good stuff for the mayor?"

"I don't know. I just know I have a bad feeling about it. You notice anything off, Kimble? Grey? You guys have been working around the Hall recently, right?"

"He did come and visit the Honor Guard practice." Kimble says, his own face thoughtful now too. "Didn't seem weird to me, thanked me and Banks again for the alley and for doing Honor Guard in the first place. Promised us he was working with Gordon to make sure there wasn't a repeat of the last time we shared a stage."

"Funny way of keeping that promise, moving the event up and putting us in a fuckin tailspin." Hawthorne spits.

"Yeah but that isn't exactly out of character for Dent. Also, no cap."

"He wasn't wearing a hat?" You ask.

"Nope. Didn't see one."

"He DID wear that old campaign hat of his for a few days though." Grey says to nobody in particular. "Course we don't know what he does at home or in private but every TV spot or anytime he was outside he'd have that hat."

"Maybe he's just a self absorbed prick looking to relive an old classic. He pulls this 'Dent in Crime' schtick and then pushes Gordon to push cops like DeLucia here into wrapping up a big case so he can put it in the pile to point at." Hawthorne talks until his mouth grimaces with the taste of something sour. "Fucking hate politicians."

"Do we know anything about the Tetch tech, Grey?"

"Entire department is juggling, Mark. This is something we'd pass onto Barbara normally but she's on loan to the QRT. Best I've gotten from our own techs is that it's just what he was using the last time we got him but beefed up with a better delivery system due to those wires and patches sending the signals directly. Makes it harder to break em from the trance. He'd need the hat on consistently for it to affect him."

"Explains why it took getting shot to wake Papeti up then." You mumble. "Just... keep an eye out. Maybe put in a word with Gordon or Reiner?"

"I'll do my best." Grey says with a nod before giving his empty cup a pointed look.

You take the hint.

"Jimmy, get us another round? Thank you." You ask before leaning back on the bar again. "Sorry for getting distracted."

"Don't be. If you were anyone else I'd tell you to keep your bad feelings to your diary." Hawthorne says, gratefully accepting his third beer and raising it to you with a wink. "But anyone else isn't screwy in the head like you are. Now, tell us your plan to deal with Rogers."

"I'm gonna say words, well one word, that will make you want to ask me questions but you just gotta trust me on it, alright?"

They all lean in a bit closer.

"We're gonna meet outside the city, should be no powers for either of us.... and we're gonna meet a magician." Every eyebrow raises but you push forward. "He can connect Rogers with his mom's spirit, if she's willing, and this is important because Vic's Shakes speak to him with her voice. I think he's been led astray either from whatever it was that almost put me down on Halloween or just his shitty life traumatizing him into being a nutjob. He's weak, emotionally and psychologically, so I think if I shatter the illusion it might break him too. Perfect world he collapses into tears or goes catatonic for a bit, I cuff him up and bring him in."

"So the clowns are for when that doesn't work out." Hawthorne says.

"Clowns?" Grey asks.

"Faceless and Pokey." Hawthorne replies steadily, Grey rolls his eyes but otherwise keeps his distaste to himself.

"They're there for if he bolts early or... yeah, the mom thing not working. Grey, I see your face and I already told Huntress no puncturing at all. No leg shots. Nothing. She's gonna flatten the tire of whatever he drives in, then even if he bolts he won't get far."

"Mmm." Kimble grunts mid-sip. "Nah man, you can go pretty far on a single flat. You should use a strip, or I guess she should make one that works for her crossbow."

"Make one?" Grey asks him.

"Yeah, couldn't be that hard to just get a line on it. I gotta assume she has grapple cable, thread it with nails or needles or whatever like a caltrop then pow! Shoots out and sticks into a tree or something. I dunno. Then he pops all four of em pulling out and that's gonna make driving a real bitch."

"Huh. I guess I'll keep that in mind." You mutter.

"What about the ace defective?" Hawthorne asks. "What's he doing to help out?"

"Covering the backdoor in case he doesn't go for the car. That and sweeping the place tonight, putting that paranoia to good use."

"Yeah well... little fucker hits harder than he looks. If Rogers goes out the back he's gonna get his block taken off, BUT that's never gonna happen cause my trainee is gonna make sure if Rogers breaks for it that you put one right in his leg, right?" Hawthorne jokes.

"Trying to avoid any extra wounding if we can actually."

"Boy scout." Kimble ribs gently.

"I figured as much, you want the arrest." Suddenly Hawthorne's eyes spark. "You uh... You weren't gonna take a cruiser were you?"

"Would kinda defeat the purpose of an ambush, no?"

"Yeah but in your ideal scenario you mentioned you still gotta haul him back."

"Yeah?"

"What if he snaps out of it? Wakes up from that coma or whatever and decides he doesn't like the magic show you put on for him? Or maybe he fakes the little breakdown just to get the jump on YOU. No cruiser means no grate and the last place you want a suspect is your fucking backseat... believe me." He takes a deep swig and grits his teeth. "Learned that the hard way when he put a fucking knife on me."

"Which is exactly what makes me worried about you dealing with him with those masks." Grey tacks on.

"Yeah well, ‘those masks’ have been pretty helpful so far, so it’s gonna be that way."

"You said you were meeting outside of town right?" Hawthorne asks. "How long to get back to city limits?"

"Not long at all, it's literally JUST outside the limits. Maybe five minutes? Ten tops."

"Close enough we could be waiting to offer support." Kimble says, obviously picking up on what Hawthorne is thinking.

"Support?"

"Well, I guess it'd be more of a hot swap. You get into city limits and we meet you with a cruiser, nothing more official about his arrest than taking him through the sallyport in your shop." Kimble says. "Plus, and this is the part the old man isn't saying, it means we're close by if anything goes tits up. Also can't hurt to play extra safe and swap him over to something more secure."

"We wait until you're out of the city to even set it up." Hawthorne adds. "No risk of his Shakes or Shudders that way. Minimizes the time you gotta be in an enclosed space with someone not fully restrained."

>"Or... I put him in my trunk. Pretty sure Huntress and Q are experienced enough with that to lend me a hand."
>"I appreciate the concern but you guys have your jobs to do, which is being cops, I'll bring extra cuffs and give him the Gorchakov treatment if it makes you feel better."
>"Honestly, it would make me feel better knowing I'd have you guys waiting to help me down the home stretch. With my luck anything that goes wrong WOULD happen on the drive to the station. Set up on the exit to Brown Bridge, we can transfer him there."
>"We can do that if it makes you guys relax a bit, you seem more worried about this than I am. But only one of you needs to be there, don't need the entire gang for one guy." (Who?)
>Write-In

>>6447380
>>"Honestly, it would make me feel better knowing I'd have you guys waiting to help me down the home stretch. With my luck anything that goes wrong WOULD happen on the drive to the station. Set up on the exit to Brown Bridge, we can transfer him there."
Good thinking guys

File: 9fjgt867vkib1.jpg (27 KB, 600x419)

27 KB JPG

>>6447380
>"Honestly, it would make me feel better knowing I'd have you guys waiting to help me down the home stretch. With my luck anything that goes wrong WOULD happen on the drive to the station. Set up on the exit to Brown Bridge, we can transfer him there."
Would it be a violation of his rights if we just wrapped him up in an obscene amount of duct tape before the hand off?

>>6447394
Kek!

>>6447380
>"We can do that if it makes you guys relax a bit, you seem more worried about this than I am. But only one of you needs to be there, don't need the entire gang for one guy."
I think Kimble is best suited to wrestle a hitman if it comes down to it, no offense to the others.

>>6447408
+1
More cop presence might trigger his Shakes en route to the bar outside city limits. One shouldn't be too dangerous

>>6447436
Could just tell them all, or the one, to not get into position until after the meet is set to take place. Could even write down where we want them to post up on a note, in an envelope, and tell them not to open it until they know we're outside of city limits. We could even write three options, shuffle them, then neither Mark nor the officers will know where the cruiser is gonna be waiting (other than that it'll be close), and we can text for confirmation once we leave the bar (or if shit goes sideways). Even if Vic somehow uses Shakes to deduce parts of what's going on, he would only be able to see possibilities, since they won't know where they're going until he is out of range to use his power. Is this overly convoluted?

>>6447380
>"We can do that if it makes you guys relax a bit, you seem more worried about this than I am. But only one of you needs to be there, don't need the entire gang for one guy."

Kimble

>>6447438
If Vic deduces a trap at all, he just won't show.

>>6447538
>>6447408
>>6447436

"We can do that if it makes you guys relax a bit, you seem more worried about this than I am. But only one of you needs to be there, don't need the entire gang for one guy." You tell them.

"Who's the lucky girl?" Hawthorne asks.

"Kimble." You say after thinking it over for a few seconds. "If I need someone to wrestle a psychic hitman I think he's best for the job. No offense."

"None tak-" Hawthorne doesn't even get it out before Kimble clamps a hand on his shoulder.

"Suck it, old man." He laughs. "The future is now."

"You're not gonna have a future if you don't get your hand offa me." Hawthorne snips.

"Don't be mad because Mark and I are entering a new era. An era where the disciple overcomes his master." He punctuates his sentence by pressing his fist into an open palm and giving you a deep bow.

"What the fuck have you been watching that's got you talking like this?" Grey laughs.

"36th Chamber, original VHS too. Got it from a buddy of mine." His eyes light up and he holds up a finger. "I actually forgot something, I brought it for you, Mark."

He doesn't elaborate or entertain any questions. He simply jogs off past you and through the front door.

"Kimble is uh... animated tonight, huh?" You comment.

"It's called being a lightweight, all the muscle doesn't soak up booze too well." Grey says.

"Eh, it's called being a dumbass." Hawthorne grunts before leaning close to you. "You can be honest with us, rook. It's because you know Grey and I are the better cops, isn't it? Don't wanna deprive the GCPD of us."

"Exactly right, sir." You give him with a smile.

Within a minute the door opens back up and Kimble stands in the inky black rectangle with a grocery bag dangling from one hand and his arm draped around the neck of Anthony Banks, you can't help but notice the edge of a grimace on his face as Kimble hangs his arm heavy around his neck.

"Look what I found outside." Kimble shouts, jostling Banks before guiding him into the bar. "Jimmy, catch him up?"

He joins your motley crew clogging the long polished bar top and claims a stool.

"Sorry, I had to get out of that damn costume." Banks mutters, accepting a mug with a nod of thanks to Jimmy. "The collar is too stiff, rubs up against my neck..."

"They starch the hell out of those things." Kimble says nodding along before raising his grocery bag. "But monkey suits aside, I have something you need Mark. Seeing as you have most of tomorrow to yourself I figured you could occupy yourself and learn a little from REAL policemen."

He dips his hand in the bag and pulls out a thick cardboard block. Blue and grey he sets it down and rotates it to face you.

'THE WIRE'

"Complete collection." Kimble says lightly tapping the top. "Closest thing to legit there is when it comes to shows about the job, the guy behind it was-"

"A police reporter with the Baltimore PD." Grey, Hawthorne, and even Banks chime in.

"Oh, that sounds interesting." You say genuinely. "So it's a show about cops, like Law and Order?"

"Law and Order has nothing on The Wire man." Kimble gushes. "You ever hear 'if you come at the king, you best not miss' before?"

You nod.

"The Wire." He says simply tapping the box again. "It doesn't just follow cops either, follows the 'soldiers' on the street too. Gives you perspective."

"It is pretty good." Banks adds. "Kimble made me watch it too."

"Nobody MADE you do anything." Kimble corrects. "I just suggested and you had the good judgment to listen. Like you will, right Mark?"

"Uh... Yeah. I mean I like TV as much as the next guy. I guess." You say awkwardly.

"This isn't JUST a TV show, DeLucia. It's culture." He downs his drink and puts it aside as he pulls the boxset close to his side.

As he launches into a tirade about the virtues and wisdom watching The Wire will instill upon you, Hawthorne leans over to Grey and whispers.

"I remember back when we'd talk about women, sports, the local crime lords we were gonna bust." He shifts his gaze to Kimble, now slightly red in the face holding the boxset in two hands inches from your face. "And now this."

Grey chuckles to himself.

"The future is now." He pauses a beat and tacks on. "Old man."

Hawthorne smiles to his old friend and shakes his head before sighing.

"Kimble!" He barks. "Quit your yapping, use your fat mouth to drink another beer or eat some peanuts or something."

"Or... shots." Kimble proposes.

Two groans in sync emanate from Hawthorne and Grey.

"No." Grey says simply.

"We drink liquor and I spend all day tomorrow with a headache and no rookie to take it out on. Nope." Hawthorne adds.

"I could use something a little strong." Banks says with a nod. "Not like we work tomorrow."

"Exactly! You and I don't have shit but some more marching practice in the afternoon. Mark here is off all day and he doesn't a life outside of work. And to top it off we have..." He gestures to Grey and Hawthorne. "Designated drivers. Whaddya say, Mark? It's two to two."

>"Ah fuck it. Fine, but you're paying. I'm already on the hook to Hawthorne."
>"One shot. I don't have much to do tomorrow but I don't wanna spend any of my day hungover."
>"I'm with Grey and Hawthorne on this one, beer will do me just fine."
>Write-In

>>6447671
>"I'm with Grey and Hawthorne on this one, beer will do me just fine."
Nuh uh. The final fight is tomorrow and I don't wanna fuck it up. Save the shots for AFTER we put Vic behind bars

>>6447671
>>"I'm with Grey and Hawthorne on this one, beer will do me just fine."
*Sip*

>>6447671
>"I'm with Grey and Hawthorne on this one, beer will do me just fine."
"Well, maybe for a nightcap..."
"Hey Jimmy? You ever make a French Connection? One part cognac, one part amaretto, poured into an old fashioned with ice."
"I should've ordered this after delivering Gorchakov."

>>6447671
>"I'm with Grey and Hawthorne on this one, beer will do me just fine."
We're on skeleton defense.

>>6447671
>"I'm with Grey and Hawthorne on this one, beer will do me just fine."

Celebrate when it’s over

>>6447671
>"I'm with Grey and Hawthorne on this one, beer will do me just fine."
Just wait until Mark realizes that all the hard police work and modern organized crime in The Wire are just a vehicle for commentary on corruption and systemic dysfunction. That or it all bounces off him, media literacy is nobody's strong suit these days.

>>6447876
I’m pretty sure their job in Gotham has already made that point clear to them.

If anything they’ll find all the grime comfortable because it reminds them of their lives.

>>6447719
>>6447720
>>6447730

"I'm with Grey and Hawthorne on this one, beer will do me just fine. I'm off but I got a long day ahead tomorrow." You say raising your glass slightly.

"I forgot you're actually sixty in a twenty-something costume." Kimble pokes with a good natured grin.

"Eat shit." You reply casually.

Kimble laughs and hooks his arm around Banks' shoulder again, his arm brushing roughly against the angry taut burn scar, you notice a flash of a grimace before he schools it.

"It was your idea, so you buy, right?" He asks, shrugging his shoulder slightly to shift the massive arm away from his sensitive flesh.

"Absolutely. I owe you more than a few, I had my doubts about you at first. But you've proven to be solid as they come." Kimble smiles brightly and thumps Banks on the back with a powerful hand. Another twitch of suppressed pain.

"Tell Jimmy to get us some bottles of Joe's Pale, too. My tab." You add in.

Kimble nods and heads further down the bar to get Jimmy's attention. Banks looks to you.

"How's planning for the Bachelor Camping Trip going?"

"Good, Kimble is on board so I'm gonna put the weight of getting all the equipment together on him."

"Smart. He probably had plenty of stuff sitting around to bring."

"Also I couldn't help but notice you gritting your teeth a bit, how're you feeling? Your injury bothering you?"

"Injury." He snorts. "It's cool, Mark. You can say burn, I'm a burn victim. It is what it is."

"Alright then, how's the burn? It hurt?"

"Nope, doesn't really hurt anymore, it did for a while but something about the nerves... I dunno, doctor said it's not likely that I'm gonna regain full feeling. I don't really notice the cold or heat there anymore either."

As he speaks he touches the base of where his neck and shoulder meet. Angry red skin with some light streaks of his skin tone pushing through, ridges of flesh drawn together by heat keep the skin taut and unnaturally smooth in sections. He traces it gently from his shoulder, up the side of his neck until he reaches the base of his shriveled earlobe where his fingers curl back into his palm and he rests his hands on the bar top. A few streaks of a duller pink reach for it but never encroach on his face which looks particularly young at this moment as he stares at himself in the polished wooden surface.

Somewhere in Gotham a small pale business card with yellowing edges lies discarded in a drainage ditch outside GCPD Precinct One. Only one word remains legible through the dirt and smeared ink: Critical. The rain tonight lifts it and carries it away like a ring buoy on an ocean current with nobody clinging on. Perhaps they were already rescued... perhaps they have already drowned.

"It is what it is." He repeats. "Thank you though, you're always looking out for me but I don't want you to feel like you have to."

"I don't feel that way at all, it's just what a good friend does." You offer simply.

>>6447854
>>6447858
>>6447876

Kimble shambles back over with two shot glasses brimming with pale yellow liquid stopping your chat in its tracks.

"Lemon drop for my fellow brother in arms." He says setting it in front of Banks. "Decided to start off with something that tastes good and then we can swap to vodka whenever we stop caring about taste."

Banks takes his and puckers his lips slightly before huffing.

"Bit sour."

"You can take it." Kimble tells him after downing his own shot with no reaction. "You took a shotgun to the chest, you'll be alright."

"That about the time you started to think I was solid?"

"It was the first inkling." Kimble replies, waving to Jimmy for the next set.

You watch them get another small row of shots and patiently wait for Jimmy to set you up with three bottles before seeing that Grey and Hawthorne have moved to a table just a few feet away. They both dig in a bowl of sunflower seeds and spit the husks into empty pint glasses as they watch you lazily. Hawthorne nods to you as you approach with three bottles.

"First installment of your debt payment, Rook." Hawthorne chortles. "Frick and Frack having their shots?"

"Mhmm. Lemon drops."

"Pussies." Hawthorne mumbles. "You remember when we'd hit the bars after a big win, Grey?"

"I remember you liked Irish Mist more than you liked paying for it." Grey replies, his eyes glimmer. They almost seem youthful as he steeps in the memory.

"Mmm, yeah." Hawthorne hums. "It was great however you wanted it. Straight up, on ice, with a coke and a lime..."

"In your coffee at nine in the morning." Grey tacks on.

"Only on the days I had a hangover from drinking too much of the stuff the night before." He turns to you and points a finger. "Never more than a splash in one cup either. Plus I never drove on those mornings."

"You never drove period." Grey fires back. "You hated driving."

"Wait, Kimble told me Hawthorne LOVED to be behind the wheel. He was protective of it."

"Mark eh-" Hawthorne begins sheepishly.

"Oh you did it to him too, huh?" Grey chuckles. "Son, Mitch Hawthorne doesn't like to drive ANYTHING that isn't his car. All those years working together and I could count on one hand the amount of times he drove the patrol car."

"But..." You trail off.

"He gave Kimble the same spiel about it, drove for the first day or two and then tossed him the keys." Grey laughs and lowers his voice and puts a truckload of faux-gravel into it. "Don't fuck up, rookie. I'm giving you a chance here."

Hawthorne offers you a shrug and Grey starts a long draft from his bottle.

"I can't believe it." You mumble. "Hawthorne is a passenger princess."

A spray of beer foam comes from Grey as the table is dotted with flecks of beer. Hawthorne simply stares at you, his tongue probing his inner cheek as he nods slowly.

"I'm gonna remember this." He says quietly, almost lost beneath Grey’s laughter. "The dog suit and this. I'll remember."

"Don't worry, Mark. His bark is worse than his bite." Grey says between guffaws before he devolves into a bit of a coughing fit that he stifles with the wad of napkins he’d grabbed to mop up his spilt beer.

Hawthorne watches with poorly hidden concern as Grey stands up, still coughing slightly, and waves a hand.

"I need a... just a second... Wrong pipe." He clears his throat and pulls the napkins away fully, something hardens in his eyes after he glances down at it. Crushing the paper in his hand he still struggles to fully catch his breath. "I'll be right back, gonna grab some fresh air for a second."

He walks off before you or Hawthorne can say anything and tosses the wad into a trash bin by the door before slipping past the next batch of cops wandering in. Hawthorne stares ahead and sighs.

"Dumb bastard is sick but decides to catch a breather in the freezing rain..." Something about the way he says the word 'sick' makes the hair on your neck stand up. He doesn't know how right he is.

Behind you at the bar Banks and Kimble start to get louder as they have some sort of argument. Hawthorne settles in his chair still watching the door. You...

>Stay seated at the table. "Sir, I uh... I think there's something you need to know about Grey."
>Stand up and head for the door. "I'm gonna go check on him, make sure he doesn't give himself pneumonia."
>Stand up and head for the bar. "I'll be right back, I gotta check on 'frick and frack' over there.
>Write-In

>>6449373
>Stand up and head for the door. "I'm gonna go check on him, make sure he doesn't give himself pneumonia."
Not really our story to tell, but that doesn't mean we just leave him high and dry.

>>6449373
>Stand up and head for the door. "I'm gonna go check on him, make sure he doesn't give himself pneumonia."
>"Meanwhile check on Kimble and Banks. The least we need is for them to be thrown out for fighting or something"

>>6449373
>Stand up and head for the door. "I'm gonna go check on him, make sure he doesn't give himself pneumonia."
He should tell Hawthorne, but it would feel wrong to tell Hawthorne on his behalf.

>>6449373
Backing >>6449384
Hawthorne handles Kimble and Banks (especially Kimble; I don't want to put more pressure on Banks). Mark goes for Grey.
>pulls the napkins away fully, something hardens in his eyes after he glances down at it. Crushing the paper in his hand
I bet it's blood
>Somewhere in Gotham a small pale business card with yellowing edges lies discarded in a drainage ditch outside GCPD Precinct One. Only one word remains legible through the dirt and smeared ink: Critical. The rain tonight lifts it and carries it away like a ring buoy on an ocean current with nobody clinging on. Perhaps they were already rescued... perhaps they have already drowned.
Godlike Shivers paragraph as usual OP. I do wonder what more can we do to possibly help Banks' mental state and avoid him going Two-Face

>>6449373
Seconding >>6449384
Yeah, agree that Hawthorne needs to know, but it has to come from Grey, not us.

>>6449380
>>6449384
>>6449408
>>6449423

You slide your drink back and rise from your chair.

"I'm gonna go check on him, make sure he doesn't give himself pneumonia."

From behind you Kimble's volume increases another notch. You glance back and despite the handful of minutes there's already a growing tower of nestled shot glasses.

"It was for CHARITY bro! It HAS to look close!" He hollers.

"Could you check on them in the mean time? The last thing we need is them being thrown out for fighting or something."

"Eh, it won't get that far. Kimble's a passionate dumbass, he gets on some topic and he'll debate it for hours." Hawthorne grunts as he stands up. "Probably just another stupid hypothetical or something about a movie."

"Either way, maybe get him to chill out? Jimmy is starting to stare."

Behind the bar Jimmy stands stiff, his well manicured moustache twitching slightly as he polishes a shaker with a small cloth. His eyes locked on Kimble and his polishing becoming more and more... urgent the longer the argument drags on.

You give Hawthorne a good luck nod and head out. The rain greets you instantly, thin streams pour off the edge of the awning that overhangs the front door. Grey sits perched on the edge of faded brick, one hand on his knee and another clutching a small handkerchief. He raises his eyes to you and you can tell the moment your gazes connect that he knows that you know.

"No use trying to hide something from a psychic, huh?" He says weakly before clearing his throat again to try and get more strength into his voice. "Though, it's not exactly subtle right now."

"Where is it?" You ask quietly.

"Lungs." He replies bluntly. "Call it NSCLC, typically it's one of the more survivable ones."

"Typically?"

"If they catch it early it's just surgery. Usually. IF they catch it early. They didn't for me."

"How? I mean didn't a doctor pick up on this?"

"Mitch and I grew up Narrow Rats, Mark." Grey says, his voice going hoarse near the end before he lifts it back to full strength. "No money means no doctors. Then when we got into the GCPD it was under Loeb and he could give a shit about the health of his officers."

"But there's mandatory physicals tha-"

"That he fudged. Had a dirty doctor rubber stamp the department so it'd keep the books clean at a glance. Explains all the-" He cuts himself off with a wet cough before spitting a dark glob onto the pavement where the rain whisks it away. "Explains all the fat asses and nutjobs I came up with."

"You didn't get checked out when Gordon took over?"

"Gordon taking over was chaos. He was burning out the roots of every inept, dirty, or disloyal cop he could get a hold of. Getting rid of all those people? Gotta replace em... The officers who made it through the purge were asked to go get checked out in our own time while the new blood got vetted by the new doc. Only, Hawthorne and I didn't." He gets a rueful smile and a far-away look in his eye. "We were still young enough to think we were invincible. Figured it was fine if we got lost in the shuffle, had better things to do. If only."

"Is it..." You trail off, the word is like poison on your tongue.

"Terminal? Yeah, kid. But I won't go down for a long time."

"You're in treatment then? Chemo and all that?"

"Pills. I take pills. They slow things down, ease it up. I'm usually better than this, it's just the stress that makes it act up."

"Wha-" You bluster. "Pills? JUST pills? And easing it up? How the hell do you ease up terminal, Grey!?"

"First thing. You lower your voice." Grey says firmly, you feel heat creep to your face. "Secondly, I got a good prognosis as far as terminal goes. Good genes or something. Doctor said I’ve got years left before things start to get really rough. Thirdly. I don't want chemo. I don't want it. I don't want to worry about if a fever'll kill me because my immune system is burnt out, I don't wanna lose my strength until I'm trapped in a recliner with a... with a quilt! With my brain so fucking cloudy I'd be lucky if I could solve jigsaw puzzle. I'm not gonna give up who I am just so I can put off what's gonna happen anyways. I'm a detective. Until I go."

"You're not just a detective, you're my friend too. Shit, you're Hawthorne's best friend, does he even know?"

"He's just as observant as the both of us, Mark. He knows. He's just not the type to say something about it, stubborn that way."

"You and him both. You should still talk to him about it, how long are you gonna go around pretending like you don't hock up blood?"

"I said, it only gets like this when I'm stressed. All the extra work with this circus and I haven't been sleeping much..." He trails off and you see him deflate a bit as shame colors his expression. "Probably doesn't help that I fell off the wagon. Had a few smokes today. Take the edge off a bit. Stupid."

You want to be mad but you can't summon the energy. So instead you just shake your head and lean against the wall with him.

"I still think you should tell Hawthorne. Just so it's in the open, if you tell him I told you this he'll kick my ass. But he represses shit hard and the first thing on his mind when he finally decided to open up and try to connect with his son again was regret that it took so long. You're both gonna regret this if you don't acknowledge it, Grey."

"Yeah... I'm already feeling that now with you looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm fragile."

"Well you've been so secretive about it, what am I supposed to think? You could always clear it up for me."

He sighs heavily. Tired eyes watch a cascade of rain water that pours off the awning. He doesn't say anything for a while, you don't disturb him, you know the look in his eyes. He's thinking.

"I was given a pretty generous estimate of ten to twelve years about a year back. I got some anaplastic something, I wasn't listening. Some gene that makes me more resilient, usually only found in people who haven't touched a pack in their lives. Doc said it was a 5% chance. The pills could maybe buy me another two to three on top of that... but the last quarter is gonna be when the decline hits. I'm old, probably gonna die before I'm seventy. Which isn't bad right?" He looks up at you now. "That's not a bad run. Plus I'm leaving things better than I found em."

"What are you gonna do when the decline starts? Tough it out?"

"I'll still be able to work, I'll be hooked up to a tank probably but I could do admin..." His eyes spark and he straightens up a bit. "Y'know how I told you Gordon was gonna restructure the detective ranks?"

"Yeah?"

"What I didn't tell you... was that he all but outright told me that I'd be heading up the detectives when he finishes. The whole division. A few years ago I'd have said no, do what Mitch is doing and cling to the streets... to the action as long as I could. But if I'm gonna end up huffing oxygen through a plastic tube then maybe it wouldn't be so bad to still be involved."

"Wow... That's, that's fantastic Grey. Gordon is definitely picking the right guy for the job. I think you'd be stupid not to take the job."

"Talk nicer to me, I'm dying."

You try to force a chuckle but it just ends up sounding like something is caught in your throat.

"Ah, I'm sorry." He says. "It's just bittersweet is all. A chance to really start putting in the work to change things from the top down and I'll be on a timer. But maybe you could help me."

"Help you how?"

"Help me by being someone I can trust to keep the work up when I'm gone. It'd make it more sweet than bitter if, when I take over as Head Detective, after a year or two... or three of you working a beat. I could get you assigned as a detective. Homicide, arson, vice, all-rounder. Whatever you wanted."

"Grey, you don-"

"This isn't because we're buddies, if that's what you're gonna say. When I look at you I see a lot of potential, you have a gift and I don't mean your Shivers." He reaches out and pokes you in the stomach. "You've got the gut for this. Sharp eyes. Quick mind. Cherry on top is you aren't an arrogant asshole about it."

His voice is almost back to normal as he pushes himself off the brick and stands straight.

"All this is to say that I think going any track other than detective would be a waste of your talent. So I'll talk to Mitch and give it to him just like I told you. But in return I want you to work for me. Deal?"

He holds out a hand that only faintly tremors now.

>"Deal. I'll cut my teeth on patrol for as long as it takes and when you think I'm ready to move up, I'll be ready."
>"I promise, I'll think about it. But that's all I can promise."
>"I can't promise anything, Grey. I wish I could but we don't know how the future is gonna play out. Three years is a long time."
>"I'll make that promise if you promise me that when you're behind a desk and call me up. You'll reconsider chemo."
>Write-In

>>6449624
>"Deal. I'll cut my teeth on patrol for as long as it takes and when you think I'm ready to move up, I'll be ready."
>"I have to say, I also got interested with that special team I worked with when catching the Scarecrow. Have there ever been someone who has worked with two different departments?"

I like the idea of Mark working for a special forces focused on dealing with the villains bullshit in Gotham, but being a detective also has its own charm

>>6449624
>"If you can promise me that Banks gets a shot at detective too when we've both cut our teeth, then it's a deal."
>"Long story short, he's testifying against Gorchakov in court and worried about getting shit-canned for flipping on a fellow officer. I made him a deal to get him to go through with it. He gets iced out, I'm right there with him, walking the beat."
Grey's gotta know about this if he's going through all this effort just to groom us for a position under him as a Detective.
>>6449634
They can just ask us to come along. If we get the right certifications, we can even participate in their raids.

>>6449649
+1

>>6449624
I'll change my vote >>6449634 to support >>6449649

File: 1785956851525.png (1.03 MB, 792x1019)

1.03 MB PNG

>>6449609
>"It was for CHARITY bro! It HAS to look close!"
Kek!

>>6449624
>"If you can promise me that Banks gets a shot at detective too when we've both cut our teeth, then it's a deal."
>"Long story short, he's testifying against Gorchakov in court and worried about getting shit-canned for flipping on a fellow officer. I made him a deal to get him to go through with it. He gets iced out, I'm right there with him, walking the beat."
+1 to >>6449649

>>6449649
+1

>>6449649
>>6449675
>>6449676
>>6449722
>>6449745

"If you can promise me that Banks gets a shot at detective too when we've both cut our teeth, then it's a deal." You offer him after a few moments of thinking on it.

"Banks?"

"It's a whole thing." You say. "Long story short, he's testifying against Gorchakov in court and worried about getting shit-canned for flipping on a fellow officer. I made him a deal to get him to go through with it. He gets iced out, I'm right there with him, walking the beat."

"Really?" Grey chuckles a bit, then stops himself before another coughing fit takes over. "He's not wrong there's gonna be some friction for him. Especially among the old guard, the ones who sign the promotion papers. But it isn't a sure thing, it'll be a minefield but if he's lucky his papers will land in front of the right people. The ones who doesn't see being good and being loyal as mutually exclusive."

"So he could get promotions kicked all the same? He just has to hope he gets lucky?"

"It's not fair." Grey concedes. "But it's how things are for the time being, our union is strong and that makes it hard to remove someone for being an ass when they haven't broken any guidelines."

You sigh and nod. He's telling the truth but it doesn't make it any less irritating. Grey studies you for a moment and groans.

"Alright look. IF Banks can show me he's got what it takes to be a detective AND if he does well on a few test cases where I ask for him... He can skip the line with you. But I'm not lowering my standards because he's your friend."

"Fair, completely fair. He's a good officer, I don't think he'll fail to meet your criteria."

"Maybe. But in the meantime, don't tell him."

"Sorry?"

"Don't tell Banks what I offered you and don't tell him he's included. If you tell him know you might be setting him up for a lot of disappointment if it turns out only one of you gets the call." He sighs. "Besides, I don't want him to TRY and be a good detective. I want to see if he'd be a good fit on his own. I'm not Kimble or Hawthorne, I'm not trying to mold anyone or build them up. I just recognize talent when I see it, I'll give him a fair shot to prove to me he has it. That's the deal."

He extends his hand again and you meet it.

"All I'm asking for is a fair chance for him, I know you'll do that."

Grey smiles and gives you a nod after a firm handshake, his strength now returned, he sticks his hands into a pocket and thinks for a moment before pulling out a crumpled box and passing it off to you.

"Take the temptation from me, would ya?"

You take the box and glance down at it.

"American Spirits?"

"It's what my dad smoked." He says simply.

You both head for the door, Grey ahead of you but as he holds it open you stop on the threshold. Between the crashing of raindrops on brick and metal, under the thundering drumroll of it on the awning, you hear the whine of a jet engine. Following an unspoken command you crane your head slightly.

Far above Gotham, a 747 departing from Archie Goodwin International. It's destination unknown. Gliding along the curtain of grey and black, only the blinking light of it's tail allowing you to track it slowly. Something about it feels... strange. Like you're losing something. As if you were watching something you deeply desired fade into obscurity. Your ears burn and your mind reaches out without your order, snaking and coiling, your Shivers make your muscles jump and twitch beneath the skin as you get lost staring at this plane...

"Mark?" Grey asks from behind you, but his voice sounds distant. You're still climbing. Closer and closer yet yo ufeel your Shivers growing weaker, slower, the further they extend from the city...

==IF YOU GO FOR THE 2ND AND 3RD VOTE OPTIONS PLEASE INCLUDE A D100 ROLL, EVEN IF YOU ARE ONLY +1'ING SOMETHING ROLL SOME DAMN DICE==

>Shake yourself out of this stupor. "Sorry Grey, just... had a weird feeling is all."
>Push yourself. You know city-limit sets the range of your power but you never stopped to consider just how far up is considered Gotham.
>Keep letting your Shivers run naturally. This isn't new but it's the most lucid you've felt when your Shivers decided to push for something. Just let it happen.
>Write-in

Rolled 29 (1d100)

>>6449887
>Murmur "Reach for the sky..."
>Mutter "The sky's the limit..."
>Push yourself. You know city-limit sets the range of your power but you never stopped to consider just how far up is considered Gotham.

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>6449887
>Push yourself. You know city-limit sets the range of your power but you never stopped to consider just how far up is considered Gotham.

Rolled 43 (1d100)

>>6449887
>Push yourself. You know city-limit sets the range of your power but you never stopped to consider just how far up is considered Gotham.
Roll the dice he said... It'll be fine he said...

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>6449887
>>Keep letting your Shivers run naturally. This isn't new but it's the most lucid you've felt when your Shivers decided to push for something. Just let it happen.

Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>6449887
Let's ride it out naturally

>>6449887
>"You're not going anywhere..."
>Push yourself. You know city-limit sets the range of your power but you never stopped to consider just how far up is considered Gotham.

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>6449941
Oops, Rollin

Rolled 44 (1d100)

>>6449887
>Push yourself. You know city-limit sets the range of your power but you never stopped to consider just how far up is considered Gotham.

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>6449887
>Keep letting your Shivers run naturally. This isn't new but it's the most lucid you've felt when your Shivers decided to push for something. Just let it happen.

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>6449887
>Push yourself. You know city-limit sets the range of your power but you never stopped to consider just how far up is considered Gotham.

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>6449887

>>6449887 #
>Keep letting your Shivers run naturally. This isn't new but it's the most lucid you've felt when your Shivers decided to push for something. Just let it happen.

Rolled 12, 87, 31 = 130 (3d100)

>>6449888
>>6449898
>>6449910

A faint pulse at the wrist of invisible arms that reach ever higher.

"Reach for the sky..." You hear a whisper behind you.

You ignore it and Grey both, the sliver of light from the bar vanishing with a soft thud as the door closes. Shivers licks at the bottom of the plane like licking flame. Muffled muted sounds from inside are coated in the deafening roar of engines.

You push.

An aluminum coffin drifts like a marionette with it's puppeteer obscured by black-gray show curtains that it has yet to breach. You feel the bed of your fingernails burn with the pain of being torn away from your hands, cold metal under your palms and acrid fuel stinging your nose.

But you push.

The blinking light of the tail mirrored within the belly of the same beast. Numbers flicker before you, the same shade of red that haunts your subconscious for reasons you can't recall. You can't make them out, a crimson halo surrounding each of them, but you still make out the flickering light on the end. Changing. Shifting.

You give a final push.

Clean recycled air. The scent of a hundred different homes. The smell of... gin? Juniper berry with a harsh edge. A woman toys with a cube with a menagerie of colors on all sides, she spins it aimlessly as she sips at her drink, a perfectly manicured nail rotating it slowly.

"How can I help you, ma'am?" A voice in your right ear startles you.

"Another Gin and Tonic, please?" A voice in your left ear, familiar but... off.

"Absolutely." The clattering of bottles and crinkling plastic. "Is this your first time in First Class?"

"It is. My boss is paying for it, he told me to order as much as I'd like."

"That's generous." The right voice chirps. You hear the crackling of ice as it soaks in liquid. "Sounds like a good boss to have."

"He is." The left voice answers simply.

Then you see it again, that cube being slowly rotated by a lazy finger.

"He's an interesting guy, loves to solve problems." The left voice continues before you taste so faintly the bitter tang of tonic. "It's perfect, thank you. How long will the flight be again? It was a bit of a rush to get me on a flight and he handled it all."

"Seven hours, give or take." The right voice replies cheerfully. "If you need anything at all during that time just go ahead and buzz us miss..."

"It's actually-"

The tether snaps. Like tow line pulled too far it recoils and you feel it snap against your forehead leaving a wet trail that slowly creeps to the bridge of your nose. You blink, your vision clear again and take a step back before another bulbous droplet falls off the edge of the awning. You groan quietly as pain blossoms in your skull, only as strong and brief as a brain freeze. You let out a slow breath through the nose and the pain goes with it.

"You good?" Grey asks, his eyes focused but not concerned.

"Yep. Just uh... some plane I don't know. My shivers just chased after it."

"Does anything hurt?"

>>6449942
>>6449970
>>6450007

"No actually, it was just like... an ice cream headache or something for a second."

"Better than bleeding out of your face, that's for sure. No wandering around either."

"Maybe if I had wings I would've." You muse quietly, still dwelling on everything you saw.

"Well let's get you back inside before you start chasing cars. C'mon." He opens the door and ushers you in.

The warmth of the bar settles on you like an old blanket and the site of Hawthorne standing on the far end of the bar, quarter in hand, head craning as he searches for an angle. He pulls his arm back and tosses it like a dart. A long gentle arc has the quarter land squarely to the side of the glass and the assembly of other officers who gathered to watch groan.

"Son of a bitch... Stupid fucking-" Hawthorne mutters as he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a crumpled twenty before offering it to Kimble who takes it with a smile.

"I had a lot of time to get good at bullshit, old man." He says, his voice sluggish.

Hawthorne waves him off and grumbles, giving you a nod as he steps away from the bar.

"Thought you'd ran away." He says, groaning as he drops back into his seat.

"Nope, just had a bit of a shivers thing outside. Nothing major, just weird. How're they?" You point over to Kimble who now holds the twenty in front of Banks' face. Both of them smiling widely.

"They're like children, you just gotta distract em."

"What was all the commotion about?"

Hawthorne drains the last of his likely warm beer and stares at you deadpan.

"Who's faster? Superman? Or the Flash?"

"That was it?" Grey asks.

"Children." Hawthorne says again with finality. "Grown fuckin children."

You catch a glance from Grey in the corner of your eye. You turn and he gives you a shallow nod.

"Gotta make good on our deal." He says quietly before directing his attention to Hawthorne. "Mitch, you got a second to talk?"

"Long as it comes with a new drink."

"We can make that happen." Grey replies with a bittersweet smile, gesturing to the bar with his head.

You check your phone. It's only just starting to get into the night, you could stay a bit longer... but you're sober enough to drive and the thought of tomorrow pushes the idea.

>Call it a night now, Grey and Hawthorne probably won't be up for much more and you don't feel like babysitting 'frick' and 'frack'.
>Stay a bit longer, the more you can relax before tomorrow the better. You could even get started on that boxset that Kimble gifted you.
>Write-In(?)

>>6451438
>Stay a bit longer, the more you can relax before tomorrow the better. You could even get started on that boxset that Kimble gifted you.
What's the harm?

>>6451438
>Stay a bit longer, the more you can relax before tomorrow the better.
>See if we can glean something more from the city after we get home
This moment we have with our friends is precious, but if a shiver surfaced like for an event so far away, at the very edge of the city, that there must be some significance to it. At the least we should add it to our notes/journal.

>>6451438
>Stay a bit longer, the more you can relax before tomorrow the better. You could even get started on that boxset that Kimble gifted you.

>>6451438
>Call it a night now, Grey and Hawthorne probably won't be up for much more and you don't feel like babysitting 'frick' and 'frack'.
Until our nemesis is dealt with, I don't want to leave his mom's skeleton unattended any longer than necessary.

>>6451436
Okay autists. Who could that woman have been?
>Something about it feels... strange. Like you're losing something. As if you were watching something you deeply desired fade into obscurity.

>>6451438
>Call it a night now, Grey and Hawthorne probably won't be up for much more and you don't feel like babysitting 'frick' and 'frack'.
Eyes on the prize

>>6451438
>Call it a night now, Grey and Hawthorne probably won't be up for much more and you don't feel like babysitting 'frick' and 'frack'.
Let's have some words with God.

>>6451438
>Call it a night now, Grey and Hawthorne probably won't be up for much more and you don't feel like babysitting 'frick' and 'frack'.
Maybe make a gin and tonic at home and put it under Mark nose so he can try to find the psychic tether again.

>>6451523
>>6451630
>>6451632
>>6451642

Gotta keep your eyes on the prize. Everyone is off in their own corners, Grey and Hawthorne with both their expressions carved from stone. Kimble and Banks thick as thieves smiling. Judging by the mime act Kimble is putting on they're regaling a crowd of uniforms about the alley or the attack on the medal event.

But you can't get your mind off of that plane. You approach the bar and give Jimmy a wave to flag him down.

"Closing tab?"

"Yeah I am, but before I close out could you ring me up for a gin and tonic?"

He raises a brow sharply and you see him start to analyze you with surprising proficiency. You hold up a hand.

"Not gonna drink it before driving. I just wanna... smell it."

"You're gonna pay full price for a cocktail to smell it?"

"You could drink it yourself after. Call it a tip?" You joke lightly.

"It's your money, coming right up." He offers a casual shrug and you watch him pluck a bottle from the shelf before clearing your throat.

"Uh, does that brand have juniper berries?" You ask.

"They gotta. It's like bourbon, there's full on guidelines for it to be legally considered bourbon like it has to be made in the states and it has to be a certain proof yada yada. Gin is the same way, it's gotta have juniper berry in it or it isn't gin." He speaks as easily as he pours, a few ounces of gin, a squeeze from a lime and a quick pour of tonic before he sets it in front of you. "Gonna save the garnish since you aren't drinking it."

"Fair enough." You reply, handing him your debit card.

Taking the cool glass you hold it just beneath your nose and breathe deeply and slowly in. Any conscious thought you push away and just let the scent linger as you try to pull two frayed pieces of rope together and with another deep whiff you breathe out and with it comes:

"It's actually Doctor."

"What was that?" Jimmy asks you, sliding a receipt towards you.

"Not sure. But I'm gonna sleep on it. Here I'll trade you." You slide him the glass as you take the receipt and sign it. "You deserve a drink for dealing with them."

"Trust me, I've dealt with far worse. The backroom is unlocked if you wanna grab your bag."

"Will do, take it easy Jimmy."

You head to the back and check the contents, still safe and sound, you close it up and slip out the door. An Irish goodbye.
=====

You step into your apartment dripping from the rain that has turned into a full on storm. You were always told thunderstorms couldn't happen in Winter but your soaked through clothes are evidence to the contrary. You gently rest the sports bag on your bed as you start a hot shower to purge the chill that permeates down to your bones now. Your phone buzzes and a text pops up on the screen from Grey.

"Thanks."

You smile and toss it to your bed as you step into the shower and try to wash away the remnants of what may have been the longest day you've had. But you know this is only the tip of the iceberg, the city is a magnet for trouble and despite that you still hope your career is long enough that you get to confront as much as possible. Help as much as possible. Soap runs in foamy rivers down your arm, you watch the lines bend and break off, it reminds you of the subway lines. The more the hot water needles into your weary muscles the more you think about this city. The idea of going out past those limits tomorrow sounds as appealing as stepping out of this shower right into the thundering cold. But you have to. More than that you want to. You've stacked the deck in your favor considerably but things like Vic Zsasz have a way of scurrying their way out of trouble, you're confident you've drawn a tight net and even more confident that anyone who could find a hole in it would be Q. The missing monocular from your backseat gave you the hint he was following through with his promises of being thorough. The water shifts over time from steaming hot to lukewarm on the verge of cold. You shut it off and step out of your own head as well as the shower.

Dressed and feeling drowsy you dig through your closet looking for an old gift from your father before you went to college. In the very back in a cardboard box of stuff you haven't touched since you moved in prior to the academy you pull out an old dvd player your father 'gifted' you before you moved away when really he just wanted to off-load some outdated junk. You smile at the memory of you both bickering over it while your mother drove you to the airport. You tuck it under your arm and get it set up in your living room before peeling back the wet plastic bag holding Kimble's precious boxset. You pop the disk in and settle onto the couch.

'So, your boys name is what?'

'Snot.'

'You called the guy Snot?'

You chuckle quietly, pulling a thin blanket over yourself.

"Not any dumber than Quebec." You mumble to yourself before settling in and watching with heavy eyes.

Heavy eyes that eventually begin to droop. The last words you hear before sleep overtakes you are;

'This America, man.'

In the inky blackness of your mind, a new show begins. Somewhere in Gotham a policeman lies on an old sofa, bathed in the blue light of a television screen, warmed by more than radiators and sewn cotton. His mind host to what some would call a parasite and others a grand purpose. But a mind nonetheless and a mind at rest, will dream.

You dream of...

>Great predatory beasts, iron bars, and invisible electric currents.
>Burning alcohol, heated arguments, and long swept ashes.
>Patterns of solid color that shift mechanically with earth rumbling force. Suddenly stilled.
>A stranger with grey skin wrapped in a flowing green cloak standing among concrete teeth that jut from the earth.
>Write-In

>>6451839
>A stranger with grey skin wrapped in a flowing green cloak standing among concrete teeth that jut from the earth.
I have no idea who this might be.

>>6451848
>I have no idea who this might be.
Strike that, had to get the noggin joggin' before it hit me.

>>6451839
>Patterns of solid color that shift mechanically with earth rumbling force. Suddenly stilled.
So much for your grand Rubix cube huh Calc? We're closing in... we're gonna get ya...!

>>6451839
>Patterns of solid color that shift mechanically with earth rumbling force. Suddenly stilled.
I'm so happy that the gin and tonic gambit paid off.

So Calc's mystery helper is a female doctor flying first class out of Gotham on a seven or eight hour trip ordering a couple of gin and tonics on the flight, all on his dime. That's got to winnow down the suspect list for both of our detective pals.

>>6451839
>Patterns of solid color that shift mechanically with earth rumbling force. Suddenly stilled.

>>6451941
We pass that onto the others on the case and we stay on target to pin SIM down

>>6451954
We're sealing that case shut tomorrow. It's okay to keep our eye open for other links for cases.

Actually... Maybe we should call up Dr. Kandy for an update to our scheduled appointment?

>>6451839
>A stranger with grey skin wrapped in a flowing green cloak standing among concrete teeth that jut from the earth.
Oh shit, The Specter?

>>6451839
>A stranger with grey skin wrapped in a flowing green cloak standing among concrete teeth that jut from the earth.

>>6451994
Nah nah, Darkseid.

>>6452051
Nope. You're thinking of Doctor Doom. Darkseid's wearing blue-black or purple.

Also, I'll switch my vote here >>6451941 to
>A stranger with grey skin wrapped in a flowing green cloak standing among concrete teeth that jut from the earth.

>>6451839
Changing vote from >>6451878 to
>A stranger with grey skin wrapped in a flowing green cloak standing among concrete teeth that jut from the earth.

File: 1000027929.png (652 KB, 588x524)

652 KB PNG

>>6451848
>>6451994
>>6452025
>>6452063
>>6452090

The scent of ozone, sharp and pointed, stirs you from your sleep. Your vision is bleary and your body unnaturally light as you open your eyes to a swirling purple and green cosmos above you. Stars dotted along sweeping spirals of blue and black like diamond studs.

You blink.

But the celestial mural remains. Unrelentingly beautiful to the point of being hypnotizing but you pull your eyes from it regardless. You roll to the side with a groan and feel your face press into grass and moist earth as you push yourself up to your knees. Glancing around you realize you know this place.

"The graveyard?" You mumble.

Slowly turning in place you realize you can't see beyond its bounds. Thick pale fog keeps you caged inside with only the sky above you free and clear. But you are not alone. You freeze when you see... him? It? A stranger with grey skin that peeks from beneath a flowing green cloak, their head bowed slightly as if trying to make out the inscription on the faded tombstone before them. You don't know what compels you to act against the primal fear that makes your heart slam like gunshots in your ears but you move forward regardless.

"Hello?" You ask, your voice vanishing the moment your lips close.

There's no reply. You try to crane your neck to get a better look at the face beneath the hood but no matter the angle or steps you take to try and get a glimpse you can never see more than a sliver of the pale skin hiding in the shadow of that cowl.

"Who are you?" You ask.

"You know me." The entity responds, though the voice feels like it originates in your mind. Just like...

"Shivers?"

"No." The cloaked figure straightens and rises to an imposing height, dull emerald gleams just below the first layer of darkness. "I am the rain who's water once drowned this earth. I am the lightning that strikes the heart of sin. I am the thunder that drowns out the cacophony of evil that speaks to the soul of every mortal man."

It turns to face you. A simple act that drives your knees into the dirt as they buckle.

"You have sinned." It speaks gravely.

You try to speak but your lungs spasm as you try to draw breath. Still you manage to eek out a humble acquiescence.

"Yes."

It steps closer and you feel your body sink deeper into the earth as if a mighty force pressed down upon your shoulders.

"You have consorted with powers beyond your understanding. Witchcraft."

"Yes." You admit again.

Another step.

"You have contemplated delivering justice. Not His, but your own."

"Yes." You whisper.

"You have prayed for forgiveness before committing acts that you knew would require it. Yet you went forth instead of abandoning such paths."

"Yes." Your head hangs low, a tear drops off the tip of your nose.

It stands just before you now. Massive yet light enough to not even depress the soft earth it stands on.

"Lift your head and ask me what you believe you wish to know."

The weight dissipates and you let out a shuddering breath that you weren't even aware you had been holding.

"Are you here to judge me?" You ask quietly, looking up at this monolith from the dirt.

"No. I am here to tell you, you must choose."

"Choose what?" The question slips out before you can stop it.

"The fate of your soul." It answers simply before raising a massive boot and holding it above you. "For His wrath is infinite."

You close your eyes and grit your teeth when you feel the shadow above you retract.

"However, so is His mercy." The voice booms.

You open your eyes and see, instead of a boot, a hand held out to you. You accept it though it feels as if you were holding nothing at all, drawn to your feet by a magnetic force.

"You... You said the fate of my soul?" You ask, standing on weak legs.

"Yes. The murderer you hunt. He believes he is chosen by God."

"He does..." You verify warily.

"What do you think?"

"He's wrong."

"How do you know?" It asks bluntly.

"I can't imagine God telling someone to..." You trail off but the hood dips slightly, pushing you to speak freely. "I can't imagine God would tell someone to cut up prostitutes or kill children."

"You are familiar with the story of Abraham and Isaac." It states. Not a question.

"I am.” You admit. “But I still think Vic's wrong. He needs to be stopped."

"And this need is so great you would turn to powers that are not His? You would risk your soul to save the mortal shells of those who may already be condemned?"

"Nobody is condemned, not yet. Forgiveness is always..." It lifts its head and fixes two glowing green eyes upon you. You can feel where his gaze lands like sunlight honed through a magnifying glass.

"Some are condemned. Some souls are so steeped in the oily blackness of evil that nothing can wash the stain of sin from them."

You know what you want to say but your tongue fights you. Everything in your body tells you that this is not an entity you debate with. Everything in you tells you to run. To stop speaking. To meekly accept whatever it is you are told. But you can't.

"If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him, and if he sins against you seven times in the day, and turns to you seven times, saying, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive him." You manage to get out.

"You speak as if his sins are against only you. You have struggled, Mark DeLucia, with what it is you must do when you find him. To exert wrath or mercy. But I ask you. Is it your place to offer forgiveness on behalf of others?"

>"No. But it's my place to decide what kind of man I'll be when we meet. If he asks for mercy, for the chance to repent, then I'll give it to him."
>"The alternative would be killing him and snuffing out any chance to seek that repentance."
>"No, it's not my place. But I could stop him from ever hurting someone again... I just don't know if I can."
>"Maybe forgiveness comes after for him... Maybe he'll get a chance to repent without me giving him the chance to ever hurt someone again."
>"I've been so focused on saving him specifically that I haven't really thought about how many people would be saved if he was just... gone."
>Write-In (Recommend)


I hope you guys enjoy this section, I had a lot of fun writing it. I've enjoyed this moral struggle you guys have created with your votes and comments. Please let me know what you think not only of the scene but also how I wrote The Spectre, if you arent familiar with the character I suggest the Ostrander run from the early 90's as well as Final Crisis: Revelations (which includes Montoya as The Question).

As always, thanks for reading along and I hope you all are enjoying where we are and where we're heading. I'll see you soon.

>>6452197
>"No. But it's my place to decide what kind of man I'll be when we meet. If he asks for mercy, for the chance to repent, then I'll give it to him."
It's not our place to judge; that is up to God, and the jury. We're no vigilante.
Love your writing, looking forward to next time!

>>6452197
>"No. But it's my place to decide what kind of man I'll be when we meet. If he asks for mercy, for the chance to repent, then I'll give it to him."
I was going to write-in, but this gets the sentiment across just fine. Judgement is up to a court of his peers and the big man up top, not us.

>>6452197
>"No. But it's my place to decide what kind of man I'll be when we meet. If he asks for mercy, for the chance to repent, then I'll give it to him."
We want to save his SOUL, not his freedom. The victims will get justice, not revenge, if Mark can help it. And reconciling souls with God is what He wants, and it isn't mutually exclusive with apprehending and punishing a killer. Spectre... Have you read Paul? Outline for me one time where he mentions eternal damnation? I can show you multiple places where the scripture states that the Lord is here to Save the COSMOS, and Vic is still one (very small) part of that.

>>6452197
>"No. But it's my place to decide what kind of man I'll be when we meet. If he asks for mercy, for the chance to repent, then I'll give it to him."

Additionally:
>I won’t respond to evil by indulging in it myself. One compromise leads to another. I have a long time left in Gotham, Vic’s is almost up. I can’t let one piece of garbage affect how I treat people down the line.

>>6452244
+1
Mark is the cop, the man of the earthly law. But even earthly law is made-up by the humans and people who live in it. Laws can change and be disregarded provided it is necessary. That's how it is. If Vic gets his earth-shattering revelation that he was being duped by Darkseid for most of his life and he was just a pawn, then it's his choice whether he wants to go out swinging like a zealot or accept his sins and surrender to arrest.

>>6452197

>"No. But it's my place to decide what kind of man I'll be when we meet. If he asks for mercy, for the chance to repent, then I'll give it to him."

>>6452240
>Have you read Paul?
The Specter is not very good at being an angel, and has been stuck in what you might call a "TO program" of his own since before Christ.

>>6452264
Yeah, honestly I think he's just trying to rattle our cage, honestly.

>>6452264
If this guy emits such aura as a TO, what does that imply for real non-training ones?

File: Screenshot_20260813_14431(...).jpg (544 KB, 1074x1504)

544 KB JPG

>>6452334

>>6452197
>"No. But it's my place to decide what kind of man I'll be when we meet. If he asks for mercy, for the chance to repent, then I'll give it to him."
>"If the only thing I end up giving him is the chance to make a decision with his own free will, without his influencer to guide him wrongly, then I will have to take comfort in that."

>>6452387
Actually, lemme edit that second bit...
>"If the only thing I end up giving him is the chance to make a decision with his own free will, without his influencer to guide him, then regardless of him choosing good or ill, I will have to take comfort in that.

>Calc flies some doctor *out* of the city
That's.. good I think? Better out than in.
>>6452197
Well, this specter guy is preachy and and annoying. Fuck him. I do agree with the fact that SIM should be killed.
>Write-In: "I've invented many reasons not to kill him, while the real one is that I don't want to feel bad about myself for making a potentially wrong decision. Court will decide the fate of his life, god will decide the fate of his soul. I just work here."
Mark seems to have a hard on for supporting the *current power structure*, so court must be the ultimate source of justice in his mind.

>>6452559
>Mark seems to have a hard on for supporting the *current power structure*, so court must be the ultimate source of justice in his mind.
I'm gonna have to disagree. I think Mark's more concerned with the people that are subject to the current power structure and make up the courts, not the systems themselves. While he may most certainly function as a violent actor of the state, his motivations still lie with the people, whether it be protecting them, serving them, or holding himself and others accountable to them.

>>6452559
>Mark seems to have a hard on for supporting the *current power structure*, so court must be the ultimate source of justice in his mind.
I really don't see it that way desu. His amnesty for Rat-King and going way, way, WAY out of his way to give Vic a shot at reconciling with God when even Batman or Superman would probably just throw his crazy ass in prison are both recent examples of him practicing a radical Christian love in both a society and occupation that are decidedly very un-Christian in how they treat criminals. I think he is incredibly brave for how he deploys mercy in situations where it would be a lot easier and safer to do what most cops would do and shoot the bad guy. He could really end up changing Gotham for the better in huge ways one day if he keeps it up.

>>6452561
>>6452566
I'm in agreement with these anons. Mark doesn't seem to care that much about the power structure, judging by how he treats Mayor Dent and Bruce Wayne. I've seen him more as a humanist, helping out his neighbors with their problems as best he can in his role as a public servant, more "Bottom-Up" than "Top-Down".

>>6452559
It's less about the courts being infallible or "inventing reasons" and more about following a very direct and compassionate form of Christian mercy, coupled with believing that metas, aliens, and other mask-and-cape types shouldn't form a natural elite over everyone else without being accountable.

>>6452199
>>6452207
>>6452240
>>6452244

You sit on your answer for a moment. The being in front of you makes no indication of impatience or any other emotion, really. It simply waits. The wait is short-lived however, you know who you are and who you aren't. You're not a judge or a priest. You can't decide the fate of a man's future or his soul, you can only help your neighbor. Even when you hate him.

"No. It's not my place to accept anything on behalf of others. But it's my place to decide what kind of man I'll be when we meet. If he asks for mercy, for the chance to repent, then I'll give it to him."

"Even when such a chance presents an option for greater evil?" It asks dispassionately.

"I won't respond to evil by indulging in it. One compromise leads to another and I have a long time left in Gotham while Vic's is almost up." You straighten yourself further despite the squeezing pressure of the air around you. "I refuse to let one piece of garbage change how I treat people down the line."

You force yourself to look the stranger in the eyes, it hurts, not quite like staring into the sun but nearly. Your eyes well with tears from the heat of his dueling stare but you force yourself to keep your eyes open and make it known: you won't let your convictions simply be words. After a few seconds, when the edges of your vision start to darken, the stranger turns his back on you and says only one thing.

"Good."

Blinking away the lingering sting in your eyes you watch as the hood dips slightly. The gaze beneath landing on the gravestone that you first saw him standing before. Etched into the stone are familiar words.

'Giuseppe Nicola DeLucia - Ad Finem Fidelis’

You swallow, the taste of almond and cherry blossoms in your mouth as a warmth spreads in your chest. You feel that same heat as before, when you were held under a scrutinizing glower, but it's lessened now. It feels like the sun on the back of your neck, draping itself over your shoulders like a delicate cloak that manages to sink past your muscles and into the bone. You aren't sure how you know, but your time here is coming to an end. You'll have to wake up soon.

>"Before I go... my grandfather. He's okay right? He... he made it?"
>"I have to ask, shit I've been asking my whole life... Why was I born like this?"
>"Can you tell me who you are now? Who you really are?"
>"Why did you come to talk to me? Am I special? Am I meant for more than what I'm doing now?"
>Stand silently with the stranger and enjoy the warmth.
>Write-in

A few (You)s short due to "spam protection" Apologies about the brevity with this update. I actually got another small gig for some writing and I burnt myself out a bit over the weekend. Greater strides will be made in the coming updates, thanks for your patience. Thank you as well for the really beautiful discussion on Mark and his expression of faith through action, it was very cool to read. See you soon.

>>6453813
>>"Can you tell me who you are now? Who you really are?"
The thunder and brimstone are enough ID for most people, but a detective never takes anything at face value, least of all from mystery men.

>>6453813
>"Can you tell me who you are now? Who you really are?"

>>6453813
>"Can you tell me who you are now? Who you really are?"

>>6453813
>"Can you tell me who you are now? Who you really are?

>>6453813
>"Can you tell me who you are now? Who you really are?"

>>6453813
>Is there any truth to what Vic has been saying?

>>6453813
>"Before I go... my grandfather. He's okay right? He... he made it?"

>>6453828
>>6453866
>>6453870
>>6453900
>>6453940

You stand there for a few seconds allowing yourself to bask in the warmth. But you can't help but look to the being next to you, its eyes no longer a searing green and instead now sit at a dull glow, his grey face chiseled and not so dissimilar from stone angels that perch on headstones around you. The question comes easier than you thought it would as your fear and awe seem to fade away.

"Can you tell me who you are now? Who you really are?"

There's silence for a moment before it turns its head to meet your eyes, face devoid of emotion. You can't help but get a chill from its uncanny stillness, not even the faint movements of breathing visible. He reminds you so much of the Red Lady.

"The face you look at now once went by the name of Jim Corrigan. Though now I am mainly referred to as 'The Spectre' by mortals." It finally answers.

"The face I look at now? Are you not really Jim Corrigan then?"

"I am and I am not." It answers cryptically.

"Then you haven't answered my question, who are YOU?"

"Hm." It growls quietly. As if your question disturbs it, finally stirring up some sort of emotion. But it quickly fades as it simply states: "Aztar."

"And am I allowed to ask what yo-"

"You know." It states again. "You knew the moment you saw me."

The Spectre turns to face you fully now.

"Mark DeLucia, remember this conversation and remember your answers to my questions. In the coming months you will be tried, your faith and your resolve will be tested. Succeed and there will be no reward for you save for the knowledge that you have shouldered an impossible weight and the chance to continue holding that burden. However, should your flesh be lacking but your faith endure still, you will have the reward promised to all His faithful. This is His plan." You go to speak but a single raised finger silences you. "I already know your concerns. Fear not the stain of sin from your actions thus far. Fear not further sullying from your soul from actions planned in the dusk to come. Follow the steps you have laid out for yourself and know that when you are finished. You are forgiven. This amnesty will not extend past then."

The arm raises and you feel the forefinger press into your forehead.

"Rise."

Then you blink.

Sunlight filters in through your window as your eyes snap open, a thin sheen of sweat covers your body as you sit up and whip your head around. You're still on the couch, the TV still playing. You reach out blindly still blinking away sleep, your mind already racing with thoughts. You shut the tv off and run your hands over your face and through your soaked hair. That felt far too real to be a dream but it couldn't have been anything else... Maybe a new kind of vision from Shivers? You sit up, catching your reflection in the dark screen of the television. There's a mark on your head.

"What the..."

You reach up to your forehead and lightly rub at the dark spot bringing your hand in front of your eyes you rub your forefinger and thumb together, leaving a grey smear.

"Ash." You mumble to yourself.

Your back collides with the cushion as you fall back and stare up at the ceiling wondering if someone on high is looking back at this very moment. Not any crazier than John's tumor removal but for now, better placed in the back of your mind. You remember the words clearly and you'll follow them, focus on stopping Vic and withstanding whatever the job or life throws at you.

=====

A fresh shower to rinse the sweat and ash and a fresh cup of coffee help to erase the last vestiges of sleep still lingering. You double check on the remains and leave them on your bed before snagging your phone from the charger and lighting up the screen to a batch of missed texts. A few texts of absolute gibberish from Banks and Kimble both riddled with spelling errors.

You snort and move to the next batch, interestingly enough there's one from Q.

"Sent you something for your birthday, left it on the welcome mat. Your key is still under it."

Welcome mat? You stride across your apartment and open your front door. On a new mat you see a dented cardboard box with a stained shipping label to an address in... China Town? You close your eyes and sigh. He got this from the trash. You pop the barely holding tape and see the goggles you had lent him, that explains the present but... You kneel and slide the box behind you into your apartment and peel the mat up from the floor to see a thin stack of papers. Typewriter font neatly lines the pages and the final is a hand drawn diagram. You let the mat fall and step back inside.

Question's report is detailed. It includes estimates for getting to the roadhouse from Gotham and getting back. An exact mile mark for where city limits end. Every door and window accounted for. It's almost obsessive in its depth while still remaining concise and clear. The final page lists "alterations" he made to the roadhouse overnight with Huntress' help. The cellar door to Batman's cache is covered in branches and dirt, the rear door to the roadhouse nailed shut with old boards they pried from the floors, windows covered and latched with old wooden shutters that were nearly rusted frozen inside. He's taken it all off your plate. If he wasn't so... unique he'd be one hell of a detective. The final page is a detailed drawing of the building with all of his additions marked out and at the bottom in large red letters it states clearly:

'BURN AFTER READING'

You chuckle. His eccentricities are really starting to grow on you. Then with a pain in your stomach you remember you have one more thing to check. The burner from SIM is thankfully only harboring one message and a short one.

'See you tonight. Midnight.'

You set it down and pour yourself another cup, the fog of the graveyard still clinging to you. Settling down you start to think out your day, any last second preparations you may need and a few things on your own internal checklist you need to decide on...
================================
Two votes.

>Any last second preparations you want to get done before tonight? (Purchases, talking/meeting anyone, etc. Write-In)

Do you bring your back-up weapon?
>Bring your back-up revolver, you aren't going into this unarmed. Even if it risks spooking him.
>Bring your back-up revolver but leave it in your car when you arrive.
>Don't bring your revolver, Huntress, Question, and John will all be there. If anything happens you trust you'll be covered.

File: waynefamilydinner.png (462 KB, 640x629)

462 KB PNG

>>6454154
>Pray. Not for forgiveness or for the night's work to be easy, but for the strength to hold fast to your convictions when the time comes.
>Hit up Allison and your parents and make an arrangement for a nice dinner one of these days. While they may already be acquainted, it wouldn't hurt for them to get to know each other while you're not laid up in a hospital bed.
>Bring your back-up revolver, you aren't going into this unarmed. Even if it risks spooking him.
If we don't give Mama DeLucia a chance to break out the fine china, who will?

>>6454162
+1

>>6454162
+1

And I wanna add
>Memorize and burn Q's report
It isn'tbad to be careful

>>6454162
>>6454210
+1 both

>>6454154
>Hit up Allison and your parents and make an arrangement for a nice dinner one of these days. While they may already be acquainted, it wouldn't hurt for them to get to know each other while you're not laid up in a hospital bed.
I like this idea a lot.

>Memorize and burn Q's report
At least as best we can.

>Don't bring your revolver, Huntress, Question, and John will all be there. If anything happens you trust you'll be covered.
Nothing to set off his Shakes before the trap is ready to spring.

>>6454153
Changing vote from >>6454211 to
>Don't bring your revolver, Huntress, Question, and John will all be there. If anything happens you trust you'll be covered.

>>6454162
+1
Pray to Dismas

>>6454154
>>6454162 +1
>Don't bring your revolver, Huntress, Question, and John will all be there. If anything happens you trust you'll be covered.
Knife is fine, though.

>>6454210
>>6454211
>>6454285
>>6454359

Picking up your phone again you hit the quick-dial and set it speaker as you keep looking over Question's report. Identifying the key information and committing it to memory. There's a click as the phone picks up.

"Mark? What's wrong?" Your mom's voice comes through the phone.

"Nothing's wrong, Ma." You chuckle. "I was just calling because dad and I talked before about maybe bringing back Sunday dinners and I was thinking maybe this Sunday I could bring Allison over? Let you guys finally get to know each other over something other than hospital food."

"Oh that'd be wonderful!" She gushes. "Does she like pasta?"

"Who doesn't?" You ask, flipping the page.

"You never know with girls like her, she's so skinny..."

"Mom..." You groan.

"I didn't say anything bad! Skinny is the style these days and all the gluten-free and the kino-"

"Keto, ma."

"So many people dieting now, your father never bought into that. He always liked me with meat on my bones." She chuckles as you grimace.

"Sunday dinner is a yes then?" You cut through her stream of consciousness before it gets even more uncomfortable.

"Absolutely, honey. Just let me know a time and I'll have everything ready. Does she do spicy? Your father just ordered a jar of Calabrian chilies and you know how he is with his spice."

"I'll ask her when I call."

"You haven't called her yet?"

"Why would I have called her when I didn't even know if you guys were free Sunday?"

"Mark, we're old." She says wryly. "We have Church and that's about it. Look, you're probably busy, I'll just call her."

"You have her number? Why?"

"God forbid I wanna check in on you. You're so busy with work you can hardly call so before we left the hospital we exchanged numbers, just in case..." She trails off but you can almost hear the end of the sentence; 'Just in case anything else happens to you'.

"I know, mom. I have been really busy, I have a big case. Bigger than a rookie should have but I think I'll be done with it soon. I'll try to call more too."

"I don't wanna bother you, honey. I know your job is important, I just worry is all, I always worry about you."

"I know..." You echo absently, your eyes staring at the bold red text on the final page. "You really gonna call Allison? I got a couple things to do and-"

"I'll call her, see what she likes."

"Alright, just make sure she knows it was my idea, yeah?"

"Of course, of course. I love you."

"Love you too, mom. Tell dad I say so too. Bye."

The call ends and you pull your eyes away from the thin packet to look at the dimming screen before it cuts off fully. She always had a way of making you feel guilty without even meaning to. You pocket your phone and pop a drawer for a lighter as you cross your apartment and open the window to your fire escape.

Cold winter air and the vague sickly sweet smell of garbage wafts through the alley like a funnel.

>>6454162
>>6454195

You step out onto the old metal-staircase and listen to the metal rattle against itself and bounce off the brick walls. Below you watch a homeless man rapidly gather up a blanket and something resembling a pillow as he trundles deeper into the alley away from the street. You watch him go while your forearms pimple from the sudden cold air. You don't bother rubbing them, you won't be out here long. You give the paper one final look over and silently quiz yourself on it's contents, checking your answers as you go. Which windows have the slats, which doors are barred, the general time you'll take to get back into Gotham proper. When you're sure you have it all locked away you fold the stack in half, then again, then one more time until it's a tight square. You take the lighter to the edge and watch as the corner blackens and an orange ring begins to consume it, the flame rising and letting off grey-white smoke.

"He's making me just as crazy as him." You mumble to yourself. "Shit, I'm even talking to myself."

You hold the burning wad until you feel it start to lick at your fingertips at which point you let it flutter to the ground, leaving trails of smoke and flecks of twisting writhing ash chasing behind it. You watch until it consumes itself fully. Light grey flakes of it twitching from heat and wind, with a gentle nudge you smear it over the rusted grate floor and watch it rain down before dissolving in shallow pools of rain water from last night. You close your eyes and you feel it.

Somewhere in Gotham, a man bites into a bagel and warm butter coats his tongue as he savors the ritual. His daily bread. A woman holds the hand of a little girl, both of them confused and alone. But together. Dirty rainwater circles drains creating a whirlpool that fills the sewers where a family of hundreds huddle for warmth above the rising tide. Then your eyes open and you feel light.

Stepping back inside you focus on the practical. Going unarmed is a risk you can't exactly take, not only will you be stuck in close quarters but you've seen just how proficient with a knife Vic is. He's taken on men larger than him before and come out on top, not to mention the lessons from the academy on knife wielding subjects drilling one fact into you: nobody walks away from a knife fight without some kind of cut. A few minutes later and you're sat back on your couch, the coffee table strewn with screwdrivers, brushes, paper towels, and pieces of your gifted .38 Snub. You clean meticulously, checking springs, making sure everything is in perfect condition. You won't leave anything to chance if you can help it. The process takes a while but it's almost meditative. Overboard? Absolutely. But you know yourself well enough to know you need to keep busy with something or you'll get in your own head. So instead you focus on the oil and the gentle scrubbing of a brush inside the chamber. You recently switched to keeping it tucked in the small of your back so you also run a few drills, drawing and aiming, making sure your thumb is already in motion to cock the hammer.

Over and over. Draw and pull, sight, squeeze just enough to gently ride the hammer forward with your thumb. Replace and reset. Like clockwork. You get your nonno's knife, the canvas sheath holding the perfect loop for strapping it to an arm or a bag. You continue to go over Q's notes mentally, speaking it aloud to yourself quietly, sending Kimble a text telling him exactly when to expect you and to consider it an emergency if he doesn't hear from you within ten minutes past. You can't stop yourself from pacing, time whittling away as you practice, recite, and generally just keep yourself busy with anything you can. You even de-lace a hiking boot and spend the time getting the length right to tie the knife to your calf, you test a few pants seeing which ones you can hike the leg up fastest. Then you run that drill over and over as well, letting the sun arc. Letting the sunlight dim and watching the city lights come alive through the dim glow that invades the dark alley you look over.

Time ticks onward and brings night closer. Every glance at the clock bringing your heart back up to speed. Eventually you have to force yourself to stop checking altogether.

You head into your room and open your nightstand drawer, pulling out the old bible you were sent off to school with. Your fingers drag across the rough textured cover and the pages flit beneath your thumb like silk as you thumb through it, reading highlighted passages and scrawled margins in familiar shaky penmanship. When you reach the end you see the fading message written in marker from long before you were even born.

'MATTHEW 5:9'

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God." You say quietly. Always one of his favorites, maybe it even inspired you as a child to go towards this job subliminally.

You gently get to one knee and bow your head, hands clasped around this ancient book and you feel that warmth blossoming in your chest again as you speak quietly.

"God, give me strength. Not just tonight but for all nights, even the darkest yet to come. Give me the strength to maintain my faith no matter how I'm tested. Allow me the will to hold tight my convictions. And please, give me the strength to be a peacemaker. Amen."

You sit in silence for a bit after that. Eyes closed and taking slow deep breaths, there's still tension and anxiety inside but you can take it. You have to. It's a few hours early but you could head for the roadhouse now, have an early meet up with Question and Huntress just to touch on everything one last time...

>Head out early, Question and Huntress won't be there yet but you won't have to wait long. That and you could use the fresh air.
>Stick to the schedule, you'll leave an hour before as planned and arrive just a bit before or after Vic.
>Write-In(?)


Posting via my phone is going to give me a brain aneurism. Apologies if anything got wonky, at one point it told me my maximum limit was 2000 characters? Just weird all around. Regardless, I hope you like this and I'm excited to finally reach this point. I hope you guys are too, see you soon.

>>6454532
>Stick to the schedule, you'll leave an hour before as planned and arrive just a bit before or after Vic.

>>6454532
>Stick to the schedule, you'll leave an hour before as planned and arrive just a bit before or after Vic.
The plan is a good one, lets not change and disturb anything unnecessarily.

>>6454532
>Stick to the schedule, you'll leave an hour before as planned and arrive just a bit before or after Vic.

No deviations, don’t want to tip off Vic.

>>6454532
>Stick to the schedule, you'll leave an hour before as planned and arrive just a bit before or after Vic.
It helps us keep the others on track too

>>6454532
>Stick to the schedule, you'll leave an hour before as planned and arrive just a bit before or after Vic.

>>6454532
>Stick to the schedule
Speaking of, what about Constantine? Have we made sure he'll be there?

>>6454532
>Stick to the schedule

>>6455124
He will if he wants Catwoman's magic shotgun.

>>6455224
>Constantine giving Catwoman his "magic shotgun"
Hehehehe

>>6454543
>>6454550
>>6454605
>>6454606

You put your hands on your knees and go to push yourself up... but instead just let your head fall forward onto the edge of the bed. You need to stick to the schedule, trust in your plan, stop thinking so much. You'll leave an hour before and if you're lucky both you and Vic should show up at the same time. You just have to wait.

Crossed legs and slow even breathing. You visualize the building, pulling on Question's blueprint and your own memory, you walk through it and put Vic and John in place like actors on the stage of your mind palace. You let your memory be fluid and close windows and bar doors before running through it. You picture the card burning, a smear of your blood over the smug hooded face of the magician printed on it. You imagine Vic's face. What he might do or say. You think of counter arguments for statements and answers for questions yet to be asked. You get so lost in meditation and attempts at prediction that the buzzing in your pocket almost feels like a cattle prod that jolts you from your inky plotting.

Your alarm. You've been zoned out for a couple hours despite it only feeling like maybe one, if that. You stand and your knees ache slightly as they uncurl from beneath you. Silencing the phone you replace your bible in the nightstand drawer and gently grasp the handles of the bag. For a split second as you lift it the bag feels like it's full of lead. But only for a second. You carefully hold it at your side and flick your bedroom light off as your march towards the front door and into a very long or a very short night.

>>6454670
>>6455124
>>6455182

The street is surprisingly dead. Usually there's always a few stragglers, the homeless and the double shifters, but the stillness is almost eerie. Outside the bubble of your street you still hear traffic and police sirens that echo through like a death rattle. The closer you get to your car the more you catch a horrible scent like piss and the same sickly stink of garbage from your alley. You pop your passenger door and nestle the bag in the seat before heading back around to the driver's and going to sit. It's only when you're already on the way down you notice something that evaded your occupied mind. That smell. That disgusting funk. It isn't getting better, it's getting worse... no. Closer.

Your moment you hit your driver's seat a mound of cloth rises from your backseat. Your hand flies to the small of your back but a needle-like prick against your neck stops you. You shift your eyes to the mirror and see a ratty hat and familiar gleaming black beads beneath it.

"Don't freak out. It's me." Vic whispers. "Close your door."

Your fingers caress the crosshatch pattern on the grip of your revolver but Hawthorne's words echo somewhere behind the panic.

'The last place you want a suspect is your fucking backseat... believe me.'

You pull away and grip the door instead, pulling it closed and sealing yourself in.

"You're armed." Vic comments dryly.

"So are you."

"Yeah..." He breathes quietly. "It's been a rough couple of days. I've had this... bad feeling. Really bad. Can hardly keep anything down. Can't sleep."

You shift your head as you feel the pressure lighten, but you aren't stupid enough to even think of making a move. You look in the mirror more clearly. He's dirty, the smell is enough indication of that, but he's also pale and sweaty.

"Are you... Were you in my alley this morning?"

"I've been camping out by your place for a while. I feel like the rest of the GCPD is on to where I've been staying recently. I figured I could rough it for a bit, keep an eye out for you. Somebody came by your apartment. Red head fella and a lady. Gave me that same sort of bad feeling."

"Probably because they broke the night vision I bought off them. They were dropping it off."

"Right..." He mumbles, his eyes are flit around like a small bird. Like he's high. Finally he sighs.

"So. What's in the bag?"

>Tell him the truth.
>"Supplies for the ritual. The priest had me get all sorts of stuff, said to be careful with it."
>"None of your business, Vic. You're behind me with a knife, man. Kinda defeats the purpose of me trying to earn your trust."
>Write-In

File: Spoiler Image (51 KB, 1000x1000)

51 KB JPG

>>6456073
>tell the truth

"Whats in the bag"
"YOUR MOM"
AYY LMAO GOTTEM!

>>6456073
>Tell him the truth.
Not the time for a family picnic unfortunately

>>6456073
We should probably state the purpose of it before dropping the fact it's his mother's remains
Something like:
>"The medium through which the magician will try to contact your mother; her remains."

>>6456073
>Tell him the truth.
I figure the truth would rattle him long enough to forget any plans he had while we drive to the spot.

>>6456073
>Tell him the truth.

“I’ll sleep under your window to calm myself down.” This is why you have no friends.

>>6456073
>"The medium through which the magician will try to contact your mother; her remains."

>>6456155
He has us. :)

>>6456073
>Tell him the truth.
"Joe."
"Joe who?"

>>6456073
>>6456073 #
>"The medium through which the magician will try to contact your mother; her remains."

Dontsayyourmom dontsayyourmom dontsayyourmom dontsayyourmom.

>>6456090
>>6456092
>>6456100
>>6456140
>>6456155

You sigh. No point lying now and despite how much you'd love to see the look on his face from a blunt answer this is not the time to get smarmy with him.

"The medium that the priest needs to contact your mother."

You see his eyes widen slightly in the rearview.

"Her remains. I found her, Vic. She's gonna be put to rest."

There's a sort of wet click that comes from the back of his slack jaw. Streetlights reflect in his dampening eyes, like black pearls resting in shallow brine. He swallows whatever word he was choking on and nods, blinking away the moisture he manages to speak.

"We should go."

You don't argue and carefully fish the key from your pocket before starting the car up and pulling away from the curb. Your eyes flicker in the rear view as you hear the shifting of cloth. Vic peels away the dirty rags he cloaked himself in. Ironically beneath the filthy layers is a plain grey t-shirt with the GCPD logo on the breast, the same shirt you got in the academy for the physical exams.

"Kept the workout shirt from the department?" You ask as casually as you can, your hands twisting on the wheel as you take the on-ramp.

"Huh?" He asks almost absently. "Oh. Yeah I dunno, I just had it around. Wasn't paying attention, I guess."

There's something almost defensive in his tone and your mind plays a faint echo of Makana Kaiwi's final moments and his words: 'Getting clothes that fit is just a little tricky right now.' Is this just something that fit or is there some longing there still? You realize you're losing focus when the rumble strip rattles the car and you pull back between the lines. Vic stares at you from the rearview, his eyes sharper now.

"Fuck." You mumble. "Sorry, just thinking."

"About?"

"What we're about to do. What it's gonna mean."

"Having second thoughts?"

"No." You make an effort to answer quickly, but not too quickly. "I told you before this isn't super easy for me, a lot of scripture and Sunday school I have to make line up with what we'll end up doing. You know?"

"I get it, man." He claps your shoulder from behind, you resist the instinct to flinch. "But you're grandpa was in the army right? He killed people, but it was for the greater good, it was okay. It was war. This is war too just... different."

"Yeah..." You mumble quietly.

Minutes of silence follow as you both drop into a lull. The air is dense and foul, not just in scent but sensation, Vic occasionally catches your eye as he toys with his switchblade causing a glint of orange streetlight to flicker like a dying candle in your periphery.

"I loved her." He says finally.

"Sorry?"

"My mom. I really loved her." Vic's voice is thick in his throat. "She gave me this. She left me alone a lot, probably worried her, so she gave me a knife. Kinda fucked up, no?"

"I don't know. I'm sure she was doing her best." You answer quietly with a shrug.

"Probably." He says unconvinced. "I remember the last thing we talked about."

You keep silent. Whispers from the collage of visions creep over the rim of your ear. You know so much already, maybe even more than him.

"Christmas." He says wistfully. "She asked me what I wanted for Christmas."

"What'd you ask for?" You reply, glancing at the yellow signs that countdown the miles to the end of the bridge. To city limits.

"Wildcat action figure." He laughs after he says it, like it was stupid.

"The vigilante?"

"Mhm. I thought he was the shit. He was tough as nails." He sighs again. "It was dumb, I looked up to him. Wanted to be like him, I had no idea that I had any powers when I was that young so a guy like him. Normal. Just a real badass, I thought I could be like him. Help my mom..."

He trails off but you tug on this particular string.

"Help your mom what?"

"Nothing. That was the whole sentence, just wanted to help her. She uh... She left me a lot because she didn't want to bring customers home, didn't wanna expose me or whatever. Sometimes she'd come back with a split lip or a bruise, clothes torn..." He's distant now, his voice speaking from somewhere in the back of his mind. Like he's narrating a book. "I used to get mad, I thought it was stupid. She gave me a knife to protect myself but couldn't take anything for herself? Makes me feel like an asshole I ever thought that way, put the blame on her... Maybe you're right. Maybe she was just trying her best. Guess we'll know soon."

"We will."

"You have a lot of faith in this priest. You really expect this to work out?"

"I do and I do. He's come through for me before." You say vaguely. But Vic sits up.

"Come through for you how?"

"I uh... had a tumor. A brain tumor, whatever he does whatever his power is or his connection, he removed it."

"You're shitting me."

"No. I saw the scan myself, saw the mass, thought I'd have to give up... everything. Then the night everything exploded at Blackgate I had this... aneurism? Something like that."

"The coma..." He says thoughtfully.

"Yeah. When I woke up they had done new scans and uh... poof. It was gone. That was when he contacted me." You lie, carefully. Drawing out each sentence like it's a painful memory rather than a crafted story. "After our call I was already thinking about it. But then I get home and there's a box with this little... blob in it. It was disgusting, it was... the tumor. Then he stepped out and introduced himself as John. Told me that everything you had shown me was real, that the apocalypse really WAS coming."

"Why did he reach out to you? Why not me?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't say... maybe it was my religion? He was a priest after all."

"Hmph." He grunts, but he nods with it. Acceptance? No. Vindication. "You're too smart of a guy to try passing something that insane off on me... So it's gotta be true."

"You'll see for yourself soon. Then we can figure out how to move forward."

>>6456166
>>6456216
>>6456245


"As partners?" He says, something akin to childlike hope in his voice.

"Partners." You say with bile on the rise, you force a grin and then slip back into silence.

As the final highway sign flies above you, a smear of green and reflective white, you hit your turn signal and shift into the lane that peels off.

'GOTHAM CITY LIMIT, 3 MILES'

The closer you draw to that invisible line the more you can feel the voices of the city and visions past slipping away like sand between fingers. You shudder violently as smoke-like fingertips trail down the nape of your neck and struggle to keep their ghostly touch on you, it reminds you of Allison gently rubbing your back even as you stood up to leave for work. By the time you see the final sign go by, it's already quiet in your head, only this time you feel... alone.

=====

Your tires crunch on loose stone as you slowly pull into the gravel lot, your headlights clipping the edge of the old roadhouse, when you go to put it in park you feel him close behind you again as your skin ripples and the hair on your neck rises up.

"Keep turning, shine your lights over the whole thing."

You acquiesce to the warm breath on the back of your nape that dampens the fine hair into lowering itself. You just pray Huntress and Question have hidden themselves well. You turn the wheel and give the pedal a gentle kiss with the sole of your boot. The lights swing like a stage hand drawing a black curtain, old wood, dark windows, and long dead shubbery. But no sign of Question's beater. No sign of him or Huntress.

Yet.

That word juts out from your brain like a bent nail. You arrived first. He didn't bring a vehicle. What if they step out to greet you? What if they think he bailed? Discomfort bubbles in your stomach threatening to boil into panic as you finish the sweeping glance and park the car.

"Go ahead and get out. Leave your gun in the seat if you don't mind. Last time I'll ask, after this... partners."

You grab the handle to your door and pop it open. Praying silently that your worst fears don't come true. As cool night air rushes into the stagnant interior you...

>Trust in Q and Huntress. They'll stay hidden and wait. Just get out and do as he says, leave the back-up behind. You still have the knife on your calf after all.
>Speak loudly to him as you open the door. "You wanna hold onto my gun or should I just toss it on the seat?" It's not subtle but it'll give Q and Huntress pause.
>"It's on the small of my back, how about I step out with my hands up a bit and you grab it for me. I trust you."
>"I'll leave my gun if you leave your knife. Consider it the first thing we do as partners, I wouldn't have gone this far to screw it up at the finish line, Vic."
>Write-In

>>6456442
>>"I'll leave my gun if you leave your knife. Consider it the first thing we do as partners, I wouldn't have gone this far to screw it up at the finish line, Vic."
Gotta have a little give and take.

>>6456442
>"I'll leave my gun if you leave your knife. Consider it the first thing we do as partners, I wouldn't have gone this far to screw it up at the finish line, Vic."

>>6456442
>"I'll leave my gun if you leave your knife. Consider it the first thing we do as partners, I wouldn't have gone this far to screw it up at the finish line, Vic."
One for one

>>6456442
>"I'll leave my gun if you leave your knife. Consider it the first thing we do as partners, I wouldn't have gone this far to screw it up at the finish line, Vic."

>>6456442
>"I'll leave my gun if you leave your knife. Consider it the first thing we do as partners, I wouldn't have gone this far to screw it up at the finish line, Vic."

>>6456442
>"I'll leave my gun if you leave your knife. Consider it the first thing we do as partners, I wouldn't have gone this far to screw it up at the finish line, Vic."

>>6456490
>>6456495
>>6456522

You glance sideways at Vic between the gap in your headrest. His eyes are locked onto you, pupils wide.

"I'll leave my gun if you leave your knife."

"Mark..." His voice is low and warning but you shake your head and press on.

"Consider it the first thing we do as partners. I wouldn't have gone this far just to screw it up at the finish line, Vic."

He perks up at that word, partners, a pale tongue peeks out over dry lips as he considers your words. The brief swipe turns into a gentle gnawing before his eyes flicker over to that bag and his shoulders release some of that tension.

"Partners... Yeah. Yeah okay, Mark."

"Same time?" You nod at his door and receive a nod in turn.

You both step out slowly, the quiet of the night broken by the screech of your old doors. You take a forefinger and thumb and pull the snub-nosed revolver from it's oiled leather and gingerly hold it above your seat. You give Vic a pointed look and he slowly folds his switch blade into itself and mirrors your actions, after a nod you both let them fall mutedly onto old fabric before stepping away and closing your doors.

"Wanna help me carry her in?" You ask gently. Vic only responds with a weak nod before meekly falling behind you, cloaked in the shadow you cast under the moon.

You pop the passenger door and lift the bag, turning to hand it to him. His hands slide under it, you can see a faint tremble in them as he accepts it. He holds it not like an old sewer-logged sports bag, but something akin to a holy relic judging by the awe in his eyes. He blinks once and a tear that he doesn't bother to swipe away begins a slow crawl down his cheek.

"Where's this priest at? Inside?"

"I have a way to contact him." You say simply. "If you have any doubts about him having powers, they'll go away. Trust me."

You take the lead and gently open the door. Gentle light shines through the slats that cover the windows, suspending dust flecks in space, you give them a casual glance and notice the thin strips of wire that keep them held closed. Just like Q wrote it. You reach out and flick a light switch, letting the click echo before sighing.

"No power, I guess. You didn't bring a flashlight did you?"

"Nuh-uh." Vic grunts, his eyes still glued on the bag only occasionally flicking up to keep himself from tripping over jutting floorboards.

"All good, I'll just..." You trail off and pull your phone out, turning the flashlight on and resting it on the dusty bar top. "Alright. I'm gonna call the priest, you ready?"

You see the fabric of the bag crinkle as his hands clench ever so slightly.

"Yeah. Let's see this magic man."

You dig into your wallet and pull out the tarot, despite the rough treatment typical for most cards in your wallet, it's pristine. You dig in your other pocket for the cheap lighter and sigh before you nibble on the edge of your thumbnail until you taste faint copper.

File: Spoiler Image (2.85 MB, 1254x1254)

2.85 MB PNG

A small smear of blood on its edge and the lighter just beneath it. You rest your thumb on the wheel and remember the words of the pale stranger, Aztar.

Flick.

Sparks fling themselves skyward and the dancing flame comes with it, licking at the white border edge of the tarot to turn it brown, then yellow, and then black.

"John Constantine." You say quietly.

Vic clutches the bag closer to his chest.

"John Constantine." You repeat again a little louder, the flame flaring up a bit and singing your fingertips.

Vic's eyes are lost in the flame.

"John Constantine..." You say again, trailing off instead of finishing what you're thinking.

Don't fuck this up for me.

"Hello, my children." You hear a snide voice say from behind you accompanied with the scent of sulfur and cigarette smoke.

"What the fuck..." Vic says, his eye twitching as he grasps his head with a hand.

"Tsk tsk." John tuts. "Bad luck, lad. Just give it a minute, it'll fade."

You let the final burning corner of the card flutter to the floor before snuffing it with the toe of your boot.

“Father.” You say.

“Bit dark in here, don’t you think?” John muses before clapping twice. “Let there be light.”

Small orbs of pure light form in the dusty rafters above, giving a pale blueish glow to the bar. Vic’s eyes linger up watching them slowly pulse. You notice the hand he had on his head now rests suspiciously close to his waist. He’s still armed most likely, not that you can be surprised with the laces of an old boot holding a knife flush to your calf.

“Thank you for coming, Father. This is the man I told you about, my… friend. Victor.”

“Greetings Victor, I hear you’re the one who was gifted with visions of Gotham’s armageddon.” He says before cocking his head. “Y’seem surprised.”

“No… Mark told me I mean… I’ve seen some strange stuff already. This is just… I didn’t expect you to be British.”

“I put the anglo in Anglo-Saxon, my child.” John says with a sickly sweet smarminess. You give him eyes to cut it out and he seems to take the hint, rolling his eyes and snubbing out his cigarette on the counter.

“You have the bo- the remains?” He asks, pointing to the bag. “We can talk prophecy after I’ve put this wayward soul to rest.”

“Yes, uh Father.” Vic says looking to you for confirmation. You give him a nod and he steps forward, presenting the bag with two hands.

“Give’em ‘ere.” He says, taking the bag and kneeling with it. He does an exaggerated sign of the cross before muttering a few things in latin.

“In nomine patris sui, et stultus filius.” He grumbles before pulling the zipper down and exposing the old bones.

They look gray in the dim light of the orbs. He runs a finger down one and whispers something too low for you to hear. There’s a brief pause as he closes his eyes but when he opens them again he’s nodding.

“It can be done. Just a moment, lad.” He rises and cracks his knuckles.

A wave of his hand causes the bones to lightly float out of the bag and arrange themselves on the ground. Joint to joint. End to end. A full skeleton is formed with the skull coming to a gentle rest at yours and Vic’s feet. His eyes are glued on the hole in the top of the skull and you see a lump slide down his throat as he whispers.

“Oh mom…”

“Now then, Victor. You need to focus for me. Your mum’s bones are only one part of the ritual, you also need her up ‘ere.” He taps his temple. “Think of ‘er. Your favorite memories, how she smelled, how she felt. That and the bones serving as a powerful focus should have her come running to talk to you. Are you ready?”

“Yes, father.” Vic says nervously, his eyes still glued on the skull.

“Show time, copper. Be ready.” John’s voice echoes in your ears but his mouth is closed shut. He gives you a wink and you hear it again. “Telepathy. Neat trick, eh?”

“Oh dearly departed spirit! Hear me!” John calls out-loud now. His hand held steady above the bones. “Hear the sorrowful call of your blood! Hear him and give audience to his cries!”

He looks down at Victor and clears his throat pointedly. Victor jumps slightly and clears his throat.

“Uh, Mom? Mom, it's Vic, I’m here.” He says timidly at first.


“Louder, son. You’re calling out to the spirit world now, you have to put your ‘eart into it. You have to WANT it.”

“Mom please!” Vic yells now. “Please come back! I’m… I’m scared, Mom. Everything is so fucked, it’s been fucked since I got taken away, I just- I NEED YOU.”

A sour pit forms in your stomach. The air feels unnatural and clings to your skin like grease while the lights above dim and surge. John’s brow starts forming beadlets of sweat as his hand starts to shake. The brow furrows and you feel his voice in the back of your head again.

“Something's wrong… The spirit isn’t alone.”

You feel the presence in your mind vanish as John raises another hand. The front door clatters open and the sealed windows shake in their frames.

“I BESEECH YOU SPIRIT. HEED THIS CALL.” Lost beneath the rushing air and pressured air muting most sound you see him mutter to himself. “Shite…”

“Victor?” A voice comes from the air itself, a few feet in front of both you and Vic.

“Mom? MOM!?” Vic shouts, his hands reaching out into the air as if he could grasp the voice by its source. When he finds nothing he reaches back and grasps your forearm in a death grip.

Just then another voice comes. One that makes your heart drop.

“Soldato?” A familiar accented voice comes as well, more subdued and quiet.

“Nonno?” You say without realizing, the words whipped from your mouth by arcane wind. You give John a panicked look and he reads the question in your gaze.

“You bloody idiot!” His voice explodes in your mind. “You’re mucking up the whole ritual, what did you bring here?”

You look around in the turbulence and then your heart drops. The knife. Nonno’s knife. The bible verse before you came. The ritual is leeching off of you too, dueling with Victor’s mother.

“You need to wrangle your thoughts, I can’t keep both here at once. One of them is going to win out.” John’s voice is strained, even psychically you can hear the toll this concentration is taking on him. “For the love of it all, man. Forget your bloody grandfather.”

>Remember the lesson learned by Detective Jones, clear your mind with breathing techniques. Think of nothing at all.
>Replace thoughts of him with the people you have now. Think about Hawthorne and Grey, Kimble and Banks, Allison.
>Immerse yourself in memories of visions you’ve seen through Vic’s eyes. The killings. His abduction. His mother’s suicide. Whatever it takes.
>Wrench your arm free from Vic, maybe breaking contact and getting distance could dispel the spirit.
>It’s the knife, without the knife serving as a focus he should go with it. Pull it off your leg and chuck it to a far corner.
>Do nothing. Maybe your Nonno’s spirit is reaching out because of something important, John himself said the spirits can only come willingly and even then it can only be spirits that aren’t at rest… right?
>Write-In

>>6456914
>It’s the knife, without the knife serving as a focus he should go with it. Pull it off your leg and chuck it to a far corner.
No use hiding it now when it's mucking up the ritual this bad. The truth shall set you free and all that.

>>6456914
>It’s the knife, without the knife serving as a focus he should go with it. Pull it off your leg and chuck it to a far corner.

>>6456918
+1

>>6456914
>>Remember the lesson learned by Detective Jones, clear your mind with breathing techniques. Think of nothing at all.
The thing is, I wanna keep the knife for the potential climactic knife fight. I think if Mark uses J'onn's technique we can cool this off - but if Nonno is not at peace, we probably need to talk to Constantine about doing another one of these some time...

>>6456942
>but if Nonno is not at peace, we probably need to talk to Constantine about doing another one of these some time...
Somehow I don't think Nonno would appreciate us gambling with the fate of our eternal soul just to get in touch with him. If he has unfinished business, he'll stick around, and we can try and work out something that doesn't run the risk of damnation in the meantime.

>>6456942
>>6456948
Honestly? My logic is Nonno will understand the situation somehow. It's better to unfuck the moment now and ditch the knife. If Vic complains, we remind him he has his memento knife from his departed relative, so why can't Mark have his own? It's only fair isn't it? They share similar powers to an extent, why can't they also share having memento knives too? Besides, just hearing each other should be good for both Mark and Nonno, even if it's brief like this.

Constantine is right. We need to stick to the fucking plan as much as possible while it's still good

>>6456914
>Trust your grandfather. Focus harder on him. There's a reason he is here.

>>6456918
>>6456938
>>6456941

You don't waste anytime. It's the knife, serving as a focus, you need to get rid of it while you can. Vic's fist clenches harder on your arm as he watches with a mixture of pure awe and confusion, you drop to a knee and yank your pants leg up to expose the old canvas sheath. You don't bother gripping the handle and instead grab the entire sheath and tear it off of your leg, snapping the strings that held it as you lob it into the distance. It thuds heavily against rotten wood and skids to a stop in the blue half-light of the orbs.

The sound breaks Vic's attention from the ritual in front of him and when his eyes lock on the discarded weapon his face crumples with betrayal.

"Mark? No... No no... Why?"

"Oi! Vic, your mother! Focus on the ritual." John shouts, his voice less strained. Tossing the knife must have helped.

"We were supposed to be partners." Vic says again, the grip on your arm getting even tighter.

"Mummy's boy! She's almost here!" John says again. "Just wait a bloody minute before you- Oh bollocks.."

John's voice is lost to the wind as something... new comes from the twisting maelstrom. A faint deep laugh. You swivel your head and see dirt and dust kicked up by the gusts twist into the vague shape of your grandfather. It smiles insidiously before the space where the eyes would be turn a too familiar shade of red and the mirage dissipates. You look up at Vic and see a thin line of blood trickling from his nose and the eye above it has a dull flickering red light in it.

"Someone else is 'ere,! Inside of him!" John shouts like a sea captain being tossed wave to wave. "But I'm almost done, if you can just..."

He trails off as he plants his feet and holds his hands wide. Mumbling under his breath you see mist forming around his mouth and the air around his hands grows hazy and distorted. You feel your hair stand on end and the crackle of static begins to roll underneath all the noise.

Vic's hand releases you as he stumbles back, one half of his face contorted in rage and leaking blood while the other is frightened with tears streaming freely.

"I don't... Mom?" He grimaces and lets out a growl. "Ah... Mark, you're fucking... fucking DEAD."

But despite the pure rage he seems caught between watching the slowly gathering form above the bones and stepping towards you with a clenched fist.

"Gonna gut you... you fucking- Gotta... I'm not... Mark, run." His voice fluctuates between that of a child and a deep rasping gravel that almost seems to lay over his normal voice.

He takes a stumbling step towards the discarded blade, his head whipping over his shoulder like a feral animal but his eyes dart between you and the bones. Eyes alternating between bloodlust and longing.

>Tackle him to the ground and restrain him in a bear hug. You just need to keep him still long enough for John to finish the ritual, whatever this is will pass when his mom reveals herself.
>Let him go, he's fighting it already and slowing himself down. Focus on protecting John if Vic gives in to whatever this is.
>You're outside of city limits but that doesn't mean you don't still have your Shivers. Vic once shared a vision with you, maybe you can do the same to him? Get a hold on him and focus, pour everything you have into it, open the floodgates.
>Sprint to the front door and kick it open, you need help. Call out for Huntress and Question.
>Write-In

[ROLL A 1D100 WITH YOUR VOTE, EVEN IF ONLY +1'ing]

Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>6457220
>You're outside of city limits but that doesn't mean you don't still have your Shivers. Vic once shared a vision with you, maybe you can do the same to him? Get a hold on him and focus, pour everything you have into it, open the floodgates (to his mom).

File: ByersDevlin2004-01-09.jpg (467 KB, 1113x920)

467 KB JPG

Rolled 48 (1d100)

>>6457220
>Tackle him to the ground and restrain him in a bear hug. You just need to keep him still long enough for John to finish the ritual, whatever this is will pass when his mom reveals herself.
He might be possessed, but he's in no condition to fight after living rough the last few weeks. We can take him.

Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>6457220
>Tackle him to the ground and restrain him in a bear hug. You just need to keep him still long enough for John to finish the ritual, whatever this is will pass when his mom reveals herself.
Keep it together, stick to the plan!

If we hit a three vote consensus (with rolls) I should be able to get another update out tonight. Consider it a bonus since I'll have to take a break here very soon from updating due to some family shenanigans. (All is well on that front, just obligations I have to handle.)

Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>6457220
>Tackle him to the ground and restrain him in a bear hug. You just need to keep him still long enough for John to finish the ritual, whatever this is will pass when his mom reveals herself.
Fuck it we ball

Rolled 46, 65, 14 = 125 (3d100)

>>6457222
>>6457230
>>6457288

Thy will be done.

-65 to 88-
========

No time for thinking. The plan is motion and you aren't letting it go down the drain. Possessed or not you noticed it on the drive, he's frail and underfed, been living on the street instead of his hideouts, and the topper for you is a simple fact. You've already put him on his ass once before.

You push yourself up from your kneeling position directly into a spear tackle that hits his ribs like a sack of bricks. You drive your shoulder and lift before putting your weight forward and slamming him into the ground reminiscent of Ray-Ray's Halloween slam. The air you force from his lungs brings with it a mist of blood that seeps from his mouth and he begins to thrash violently beneath you like a coyote struggling against the snare. His hand comes around and you raise a forearm to block it, but he hooks it like a whip with his shoulder giving a wet pop as he overextends himself violently to connect a closed fist with the side of your head. Sound explodes in one ear until it's reduced to a one tone ringing that underlines the madness surrounding you. He rolls to his stomach and crawls on hands and knees towards the knife.

"Control the hands..." You mumble, ignoring the swell of your ear you pursue.

This is a brawl, no room for honor or protocol here. You manage to push yourself up to your feet and charge forward grasping the back of his filthy shirt collar. He bucks and rears but you grip the cloth like a houndmaster holding back a dog of war, the fabric ripping as you try to bring him to heel. His hands leave the ground as the shirt begins to rip fully and you take the chance to dash in, sliding your hands beneath his armpits and locking the fingers at the base of his nape in a full nelson. A grunt of exertion comes out as you whip his entire body around to bear witness to the feminine form you can clearly make out in the pillar of undulating dust and debris just feet above the remains. Vic doesn't let up, lashing out with his legs and trying to throw his whole weight into breaking free.

"IT'S NEARLY DONE." John shouts. "I NEED HER NAME!"

Vic goes into a true frenzy, any words lost in an incoherent gnashing of teeth as we wildly swings his head trying to bite at your forearms. Seeing his failure he whips his head backwards and you hear a faint crunch and an explosion of purple-yellow light as tears blur your eyes and warm liquid drips off the point of your chin... But you don't lose focus, drawing breath through your mouth you scream over the cacophony.

"LAURETTA!"

John wastes no time.

"HEAR ME LAURETTA. HEAR YOUR SON VICTOR. FEEL HIS PAIN AS HE FEELS YOURS. BRING YOURSELF TO BEAR. I BESEECH YOU, REVEAL YOURSELF!"

Then it all goes silent. Any scraps of wood, dust, or fabric that were being ferried by John's arcane winds clatter to the ground or float away harmlessly. The slow pulsing of the lights also ceases as it gets back to a state of steady luminescence.

Vic throws his head back again but this time you've woven your fingers behind the back of his skull and keep his chin firmly planted in his chest. He roars in a voice not his own, though you recognize him speaking beneath it in unison.

"YOU WILL REGRET THIS! YOU WILL REGRET TURNING FROM ME, WORM. INSIGNIFICANT PEON. AGHHHH!"

With a final wrathful scream a torrent of blood laced bile fires from Vic's mouth soaking his pants and the floor alike. You feel him go limp in your arms, groaning weakly as you ease him to his knees. Looking ahead you see the pale apparition, lacking the finer details but matching the silhouette of Lauretta Zsasz as you'd seen her for the first time months ago.

"Victor?" A whisper floats through the air, cold on the draft.

Another groan at first. Then you feel his head try to lift, you allow it but don't let go.

"Mom? Mommy?" His voice is like a child's, scratched dull with rage and acid.

The ghostly figure glides across the room without a sound. Behind her you see John lean against the bartop and roughly pull off the priest's collar before fishing for a cigarette. The spirit stops before you both and extends a translucent hand that gently cups his chin and lifts his half-lidded eyes to her. She looks at you and you hear another disembodied voice within your mind.

"Release him." Calm and soothing.

You let your arms fall away as you take a step off to the side before bringing a finger to your crooked nose. It comes away red and slick but looking at it gives you a sense of pride.

"Mom... I never thought I'd see you again. You're so... young." Vic laughs dryly, consumed with awe and a fatigue that permeates his entire being.

She kneels to be on his level, her hands wrap around his neck and she rests her head in the crook of his shoulder. A shuddering sob comes out as Victor leans into her in return. They pull back and lock eyes, a silent conversation that leads Victor to spill more tears.

"It's been so hard... he- he took me. He made me this... monster. I never wanted to do it, Mom. I never wanted-" He stops suddenly. "What?"

The ghostly hand trails down from his chin and pulls at the massive tear in his shirt. Peeling the filthy rag aside and revealing a tapestry of lines carved into his flesh. Only one seems fresh, you don't know how but you can tell it belongs to Kaiwi, the spot just now scabbing over.

"No." He says once. Then forcefully again. "No these aren't... They're memorials, so I never forget the people I've saved."

Another pause as the specter tilts its head.

"From the apocalypse. The- The MOON. You showed me that the-" He stops and begins to tremble. "What do you mean? You... YOU! It sounded just like you, just like this, the visions and..."

He slams his fists on the ground.

"No no no. No it WAS you it sounded JUST like you, you apologized for leaving me and… and-. It had to be you..." He trails off staring into her eyes.

A gentle hand caresses his cheek and he whimpers.

"Why did I do all this then? Why was I chosen?" The answer he silently receives makes his shoulders buckle and his head hang heavy. "It's my fault. I wasn't strong enough. Again."

Whatever he hears makes him shake his head.

"No. Not human. Not anymore. I'm sorry, mom. I'm so fucking sorry."

Lauretta comes into clearer focus now as she kneels beside him, rubbing his back. You can make out the details of her face now, the glimmer in her eyes and the sadness etched on her face.

"I know you have to go." He cranes his head to look at you. "I have to go too."

She leans in and presses her lips to his cheek and offers him a whisper in his ear.

"God I love you, Mom. You were the best. I'm sorry I didn't-" He swallows harshly. "I'm sorry I let you down."

The phantom pulls away from him and looks to you now. She smiles a bittersweet grin and you feel her trust in you like the warmth of an open oven. It even distracts you from the stinging in your nose. She glides backwards slowly as Vic cries into the floor and once she's above her bones she begins to fade into the air itself. John steps forward from the bar with his cigarette half-ash already, he puts it between two fingers and makes the sign of the cross leaving a trail of smoke that creates the same symbol in air.

"Now I lay you to rest, Lauretta Zsasz, and commit your spirit to what comes next." He punctuates it with a light puff of air that sends the smokey cross forward where it collides with her form and both dissipate into nothing.

John looks at you and lets the cigarette fall to the floor where he snubs it. He gives Vic a half glance before looking up at you.

"We're square then. I expect to 'ave the details on my property by tomorrow."

"You'll have it John, I'll leave it for you under my doormat. No need to say goodbye."

"Bold of you t'assume I would." John says with a sideways grin. "This was fun though, eh? Ta."

You blink and he's already gone. You bear the passing headache with gritted teeth. Magic... maybe it's for the best if you never mess with it again.

You reach down into your boot for another old trick. Plastic zip-ties. Vic stays a shuddering mess on the floor, from the look of it there's no fight in him anymore. You put a hand on his shoulder and he ceases his sniveling to nod.

"Guess it's time I face the music? Huh, Mark?"

He doesn't resist as you gently put his hands behind his back and zip them together tightly. You hook an arm under his and lift him to his feet as you head for the front door...

>"Victor Zsasz, you're under arrest for multiple counts of murder, including murders in connection to the crime syndicate headed by Stephen Mandragora. Additionally you are under arrest for assault on a police officer, kidnapping, unlawful confinement, and conspiracy to commit murder..."
>"What did she say to you before she left?"
>"I'm sorry, Vic. Maybe in another life we really could have been partners."
>"I finally got you, you son of a bitch, I win. The GCPD wins."
>Write-In


tl;dr Quest Hiatus until 09/03. Author notes and elaboration below. Thank you for reading along.
=====

There it is guys, an excellent plan, a good roll, and a lot of prep leading to this moment. I am very pleased personally with this and I hope you are too. If you remember from a while ago my brother was getting married and it is now time for me to drive down to him and help him pack up everything from his place so he can move. Take the time to do a victory lap and celebrate because it's not over yet. SIM may finally be in bonds but his story hasn't ended yet and Calc is still out there somewhere. As always I am also a little self-conscious about how I write action scenes as a more character and spoken dialogue writer so I'd love any feedback on the fight itself too.

I really can't thank you guys enough for reading along and I think before the year is out I will be finished with this Quest and ready to start prep on the next after a break. I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter closing. As always, I'll see you soon.
-Secret vote-
>What do you think is the 'theme' of this quest? What 'message' does this story give you?

>>6457315
>"What did she say to you before she left?"
Then
>"Victor Zsasz, you're under arrest for multiple counts of murder, including murders in connection to the crime syndicate headed by Stephen Mandragora. Additionally you are under arrest for assault on a police officer, kidnapping, unlawful confinement, and conspiracy to commit murder..."

>Secret vote
It is about how love and humility can redeem the world, how someone with the opportunity to exert control and authority can be a vessel for justice and forgiveness, which means that we all can, even when we are tempted to be something else (as we often are), it's about the inverse of that old saying about one bad apple at the police department - one good man can save worlds and improve everyone around him

>>6457322
+1

>>6457315
>"What did she say to you before she left?"
Then
>"Victor Zsasz, you're under arrest for multiple counts of murder, including murders in connection to the crime syndicate headed by Stephen Mandragora. Additionally you are under arrest for assault on a police officer, kidnapping, unlawful confinement, and conspiracy to commit murder..."

Congrats to your brother, QM!
To me, the theme is about what it means to serve and protect people, not just individuals but their hearts and souls, and what it means to be a part of a community, a department, a city, and a wider world. To be a part of the whole, synecdoche style.

>>6457315
>"What did she say to you before she left?"
>"At the very least, you've learned you were misled. And now that you know, you can start your way back to her."
>"Now to make this official..."
>"Victor Zsasz, you're under arrest for multiple counts of murder, including murders in connection to the crime syndicate headed by Stephen Mandragora. Additionally you are under arrest for assault on a police officer, kidnapping, unlawful confinement, and conspiracy to commit murder..."

>Secret vote
What being a person of faith actually means.

>>6457315
>"What did she say to you before she left?"

Then

>"Victor Zsasz, you're under arrest for multiple counts of murder, including murders in connection to the crime syndicate headed by Stephen Mandragora. Additionally you are under arrest for assault on a police officer, kidnapping, unlawful confinement, and conspiracy to commit murder..."

I mean we kinda have to do that.

OP this kicked ass. It was a good move to surprise us with Vic’s early introduction in the car after all the careful planning. The actual scene was a great payoff to Vic’s already wavering resolve that Mark planted forever ago.

I must confess to enjoying the Calc conspiracy slightly more and very much look forward to it taking center stage.

Tell your brother congrats on behalf of us anons and keep up the good work.

>>6457315
>"Victor Zsasz, you're under arrest for multiple counts of murder, including murders in connection to the crime syndicate headed by Stephen Mandragora. Additionally you are under arrest for assault on a police officer, kidnapping, unlawful confinement, and conspiracy to commit murder..."
>"Vic, for what it's worth, this isn't the end of things. You can get help. Trust me, it's there for people like us, even if it might not look that way."

>Secret Vote
You're really putting me on the spot with this one, you know that? I think accountability, why it's important and how it is (and isn't) assured, is one of the big ones. Then you have the exploration of ideals and principles and how they often conflict with reality, which is something I feel made for a lot of great character moments as the quest has gone on. As for messaging, I'll have to get back to you on that. I've yet to really think about what you might be trying to impart specifically with your right, not consciously at least.

>>6457315
>What do you think is the 'theme' of this quest? What 'message' does this story give you?
That Disco Elysium is a cool game, duh

>>6457315
>"Victor Zsasz, you're under arrest for multiple counts of murder, including murders in connection to the crime syndicate headed by Stephen Mandragora. Additionally you are under arrest for assault on a police officer, kidnapping, unlawful confinement, and conspiracy to commit murder..."
>"I'm sorry, Vic. Maybe in another life we really could have been partners."
>"Whatever made you do all this, we need to find it and put a stop to it. No one is beyond redemption, Vic. Help us find the source, help us put all those souls to rest.
>"What did she say to you before she left?"
... maybe we still could be partners, is some sense. He should know more than we do about the entity, having interacted with it for so long.

>>6457560
>maybe we still could be partners, is some sense
I really want us to talk to him Clarice and Hannibal style only he doesn't want to be evil. He is still gonna have his Shakes.

>>6457573
>He is still gonna have his Shakes.
On that note, it might be advisable to try and get him incarcerated anywhere besides Blackgate and Arkham. The massive amounts of bad juju in either institution in conjunction with his lifelong attunement to Gotham puts him at serious risk of relapsing, assuming he wants to reform himself in the first place I mean.