"Poverty is the parent of revolution and crime,"
whispers Thomas Elliot as he stalks down a broken alleyway.
Here was the heart of the disease, the meal upon which the contagion feasted. So long as there were slums, so long as there were those clutching loosely to life, there would be those who would exploit it.
Sometimes, Elliot wondered if his time were better spent with charities than with purse snatchers. But then, Bruce's parents spent their time with charities too and look what good it brought them.
And so, his face wrapped in surgical bandages, Elliot would be the scalpel to remove to cancer. He had seen enough broken bones, bashed faces, bloodied lungs in the emergency room. If he succeeded, there would be less of them. If he succeeded, the cries of pain and terror that filled the night would fall to a hush.
Tonight, he followed a lead. Three officers had raided The Signal. Three tried to bring justice to Falcone's men. Naive, idealistic, stupid.
Just the type of friends he needed.
He needed to find out what happened at the Signal, why it was raided, who these cops were, and where he could find them.