2010-08-26, 05:18 PM
Re: Gotham: Year One
The sun has long set, and midnight approaches. It's a cold night, and the cloudless sky makes the moon shine full and bright against the dark. Slowly, a ship pulls into the harbor; it's one of Cobblepot's. Gotham Shipping is painted on its prow.
Gotham Harbor isn't the Narrows, but it's close. Refuse and waste litter the streets, and the docks are filthy with grime and mold. A homeless man lies slumped over on a trashcan.
Walker can hear a car approach. Big one, too. She can tell it will have blacked out windows.
It's remarkable how few people really notice the homeless. Among the Narrows, and across the lower end of Gotham's population, they are everywhere, and virtually invisible. And when they look to you as a savior, it is amazing what can be accomplished.
They had told you about this shipment, about this pier. Many of your flock were already addicted to drugs, seeking relief from their wretched lives. A new one would keep them spiraling downwards, unable to lift themselves up. And Chill had a reputation.
So you went to the docks, and as another bum, was invisible. And a young woman in a trenchcoat waits for something.
Standing atop one of the buildings overlooking the Pier, Hush waits for the deal. His contacts had been most useful; a man who he had saved provided the details. Bullock had been beaten badly by the Mob; he had been forced into the ER, and Elliot "accidentally" had switched the papers needed to take his case.
The detective was boastful and cocky, but that was what the young surgeon needed. Hearing about the wretched scum of Gotham and the drug dealing going on under their noses was exactly what he had needed.
He can tell that the woman below is police; her badge was visible at this high an angle. And everybody knew that there were very few honest cops in Gotham. Another bought cop for the Falcone family. Another infection to cure.
They had found more information on Al-Ghul. Apparently, he had a shipment of some sort coming in. High technology, or something. Pier Thirty-Nine. Or was it Seven...?