Gotham: Year One

[DeafnotDumb]

Very calmly, Katherine turns and shoots the other, unarmed man in the leg. She looks at Luigi. "He got shot resisting arrest. Shut up unless you want to do the same."

Her face is cold as stone and the voice comes from a far place away. It's uncertain just how she's operating but it doesn't promise to be good for Luigi. The cop points her gun at his head and stares him straight in the eyes. "Talk."

[Sophistemon]

Lock-Up

"Catwoman." He thinks for a while. "It suits you." There is a brief pause. "You can call me Lock-Up. It's as fitting a name as any, I suppose." He ignores her comment about Lucius. "I have reason to believe that Ra's al-Ghul is in bed with Carmine Falcone, who has secret supporters among the more corrupt elements of the city's government. I was attempting to apprehend Joe Chill on the roof, earlier, but the sniper killed him before I could learn anything. I did manage to defeat and imprison a more personal assassin, who works for Ra's. More accurately, he worships the man like a god and was willing to kill himself so as to prevent me from learning of his involvement." He doesn't chuckle, but she can see his smile behind the mask. "I managed to convince him otherwise." He stops to read her reaction. "What I'm most interested in was your conversation with al-Ghul. What happened up there?"

[industrious]

Assassin

"All right."

He throws his hands in the air, and feigns a bow. Or tries to, anyway. It's hard to be arrogant when you've been kneecapped.

"No need for any more violence today, Officer."

[Terron]

Luigi relates all the events, since last night to Katherine Walker. He mentions he knew this guy, an assassin from the mob, who now is there to kill both Montoya and himself.

[industrious]

Assassin

"I know my rights. I ain't saying nothing until I get a lawyer."

Some of his arrogance is creeping back, now that Walker isn't pointing the gun at him.

"And call the other cops, lady. I don't want to bleed out, and I don't want to have to sue you for police brutality. Letting a guy sit here and suffer like this, honestly. I expected better from Gotham's finest."

[DeafnotDumb]

Katherine very calmly looks at the phone and then at Montoya's body and then at the assassin. She smiles in a way that is absolutely terrifying and squats down in front of him, barely moving apart from her breathing.

"I don't think understand even a little. No Lawyer'll touch you." She shakes her head at some very distantly amusing thought. "You killed a cop. In this town, even in this town, especially in this town, do you know what that gets you? Even us cockroaches of the Gotham Police need to have something to look down and spit on, and that's cop-killers. Those who hurt or betray, unprovoked, those you are working with. You can beat up a cop, you can get them in an accident, you can scare them off the force and get away with it a little, but you don't kill one of us." The smile is on her face, and it still looks a bit mad. She giggles, and places her hand above the leg wound, but doesn't do anything to it. "Frankly, I don't have to do anything but lock you in a cell. The cops there will do the rest for me. We're Gotham's Finest. Welcome to our jungle."

She laughs with a broken throat and then gets up and walks over to the phone and places her hand on it. "Now, I can call the ambulance and maybe get you a nice protected cell where you'll survive in one piece for when you are there, but that's if you'll squeal. Now. And then." She puts her hand on the edge of the table and grips it harder than anyone has ever done before. "So talk. Now."

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Intimidation: [roll0]

[industrious]

Assassin

"All...right. I'll talk."

The man tries(and fails) to drag himself to a more comfortable position.

"You know who this guy is?" he asks, pointing at Luigi. "He was the number two hitman in the mob until a few months ago. Second only to the Smiler. Then, the boss had him work bodyguard for one of his favorite lieutenants. That lieutenant was put in charge of testing a new drug, one that's going to make the mob even more money then you can believe. Unfortunately, the guy forgot to pay off Vice, got raided. The drug exploded-it's volatile when not processed. We thought Luigi was dead. Turns out it wasn't."

He's breathing shallowly now, gasping for air.

"It's...good...stuff. Better...high...anything I've...done. Different. Special. Ask...Luigi...feels..."

He slumps into unconsciousness, the blood loss now too much.

[DeafnotDumb]

Katherine dials the ambulance, pauses as the phone rings, and then picks the gun up and hands it to Luigi. She motions towards the assassin with her head. "Feel free." She said. "Whatever you wish. But be quick about it, and tell me about this drug he was talking about afterwards."

With that done, she turns to order the ambulance.

[Terron]

"Thanks officer, but I've already killed too many people in my life. I don't deserve to taint my hands with the blood of this porca misseria." Luigi says, as he closes distance with the man. He takes him from the ground and throws him to the wall. "But I'll see him fry in the chair after I give my testimony. Officer Montoya wanted me to do that, and that's why they tried to kill us... The least I can do for her is testify and get these bastards out of the streets." he says, before handing the gun back to Katherine.
"You want to know about the drug? Alright, it was a new steroid, it not only enhanced your physical, but your mental abilities. But it was unreliable. The first subjects were turned into mad killing machines and had to be put down. But what this goon says is not true, my boss got caught, fair and square, and the raid was something of such effectiveness that I've never seen before. I don't like what I did but I was good at it, so trust me, we never saw it coming. I got cornered in the lab, the boss was already dead. I knew I wasn't going to walk out of that one alive, so I randomly took some vials that were still intact and drink them, hopping... I don't know, I was affraid, I didn't even knew what was I doing. As I finished drinking, a cop shot me, straight in the chest. All went black. When I woke up I was in the morgue, two days had past. Somehow my... mind... felt so clear, so... I don't know, aware. It was then when I realized I had messed up my life that I owed the world, that I had done so much bad, and I felt the urgency of making good to compensate. Don't know if it was the drugs, or being 'killed'... I went to hunt down those mobsters I knew, and well, we met back at Gordon's apartment, I was following that man that... changed his face. And that's the story I guess." relates Luigi.

[DeafnotDumb]

"**** this." Katherine says. She places the phone down, call finished, and looks at Luigi. "You will say every word of that and help me get all the evidence I can. Where was this place? Where was this raid?" Her hands are holding onto themselves so tight they might break. Her voice is starting to get louder. "What place was it? South Gotham? Were they even police?"

[Terron]

"Sure thing officer, I was going to do it anyways. The laboratories were near Gotham's docks, on the shady area under the main bridge. I can even give you the address: 1574 Dock road N° 34. I don't know what was of the place after the ride, though. If I know the mob as well as I do, I bet there's nothing left now. I think they were police, they were dressed with the Special operation forces uniforms. I can't really Know if they were actual cops, but they seem to be cops for me." replies Luigi. "But calm down, no need to shout, as I said I'll give you all the information you want."

[industrious]

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Alright. I'll start the final issue in my next post. Everybody refreshes hero points, and adds an additional hero point.

Montoya's Apartment

The ambulance arrives and the assassin is taken to the hospital. Before he does, though, Walker goes through his wallet, searching for the man's identity. She finds it on the first paper document she sees; an expired video club card. Marking it down, and tossing the card absently onto the floor, she waves the paramedics to the hospital, and begins to head back to the station with Luigi.

The card rests the floor, and Montoya's lifeblood begins to creep along its edges, rendering the writing illegible. At the bottom, written in an untidy script is the assassins name.

Richard Grayson

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Discuss everything in the OOC thread, not the IC thread.

Also, this is the end of Issue 5: Divergence. Written by industrious, DeafNotDumb, Terron, Sophistemon, and Eurus. Art by Gloria Vasquez.

[industrious]

Six Months Later...

Election Day had been a few months ago, and Gotham had come out to vote. In a stunning landslide, the now former DA, Harvey Dent had been elected Mayor of Gotham, with 54% of the vote. Cobblepot had pushed for recounts, but the Federal Election Commission had refused, leaving the man to his business interests. Few of moral fiber mourned the man's loss.

And today...today was the day when Dent would be sworn in, would become the actual mayor. Town Hall was busy undergoing massive preparations; banners and flags, all the last minute decorations to make the day memorable. The chill of the early January morning was no barrier to the hot dog stands evenly spaced along Gotham's Main Street. Today was a day of new beginnings, the popular sentiment was. Today was a day to change Gotham

Katherine Walker

Today was a day that was royally messing up Walker's schedule. The bugs in the warehouse had picked up nothing save a single sentence: Check for Bugs. Which meant either paranoia on the part of the Mob or an inside leak. And Walker couldn't afford to be too suspicious of her own people, or they'd never get anywhere.

They had made progress; gathering evidence, a slowly mounting pile that would inevitably lead to the Mob being shut down...eventually. It was slow, and it was frustrating, but Walker's team and the woman herself worked hard at it.

Besides. It was Gotham. It was never going to be easy.

Lyle Bolton

The warehouse that was the Slammer was getting crowded. Mostly with low-level thugs, a few low-ranking Mob members. And Salah, who still hadn't given up on trying to kill himself.

But when you don't bother with the law, the results can be quite impressive. No lawyers to defend them, no jury to acquit them; just judgment. And then punishment.

The Smiler

It's time.

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Everyone else, feel free to make your own entrances. You should all be in the Town Square by the end of it.

Also, I'm planning on this being a "silent" issue until Harvey speaks. So nothing in quotes please-talking should be done implicitly. Literally show, don't tell.

[DeafnotDumb]

Walker's hand reached for the phone, as it had many times these last months. Favours to collect, informants to call, people to yell at- the list had been endless. If the department didn't reimburse her in some way for the bills she'd racked up, she would find some way to get her revenge. Preferrably involving the Loeb, his trousers and some weasels.

Her hand clamped around the plastic and stopped as she considered who to call. No, that wasn't quite right. Her hand had stopped because she'd remembered the last time she'd spoken to Gordon over this, asking, pleading for information and getting none. She'd remembered his reaction too, and the state she'd made of her appartment afterwards. There were still glass stains in the carpet someplace, and four fewer pictures on the mantlepiece.

Katherine swore. Get over it, girl, she said to herself. She knew Gordon and her team was worried about her these days, as if she was the one that had the problem, not Montoya. She was just a stupid bint who couldn't stop herself from getting capped. Just get over it.

Thankfully, there were distractions plenty, including this latest one. The first thing to do was find out how the lay of the land was, and to see if the leak, should their be one, and come from the police. Confronting her own team was insanity, but there were still hundreds of other corrupt cops looking for a quick break around who might have done something. First thing first, check if the department at large knew what her taskforce was really about, and then check how deep that information had gone.

She dialed a number. This time, it picked up on the first ring, because they'd gotten used to being called by her. "Major." She said. "Gotham's just decided to **** on me again. Can you tell me what people are saying about my taskforce, and how much they know is going on? I could use some clues as to how an information leek - I mean leak - got out."

[Bruendor_Cavescout]

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross wrote that there are five stages that humans go through when they deal with grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Not everyone goes through them in that order, but most experience at least two of them.

As dawn broke on this cold winter day, a woman arose from her bed, the soft sheets wrinkled and tangled from a night of dreamless and restless sleep. It had been a long six months for her. She stretched, headed to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face, and headed back into her room to begin her morning calesthentics, flipping on her television to watch Vicki Vale's reporting on the historic speech that Mayor-elect Harvey Dent would be giving later that day.

Denial. Three lives, ended by gunfire. One life, ended twice now by loss. This can't be happening. How can it keep happening?

As she ran on the treadmill, she watched Ms. Vale report on the events leading to the upset of Mayor Cobblepot - how Cobblepot's strongly negative campaign ads may have ended up harming his campaign in the long run, and how the former D.A. kept to his message of cleaning up the corruption that ran rampant throughout Gotham. The treadmill moved and a punishing pace, and the woman kept pace, her toned body sweating from the workout. Her clothes were damp with her perspiration, and her legs began to burn from the running, but she kept pushing through the pain to run for an hour.

Depression. Solace found at the bottom of a bottle. Nothing mattered anymore. Gotham is the place that dreams go to die. Might as well numb the pain that is life with alcohol and sex and anything to keep from feeling again. That's how this town gets you - it makes you care. Then it takes everything away.

At last, she turned off the treadmill and headed to her weight training machines. The next half hour was spent on those metal beasts, starting out light but moving up to a weight designed to push her limits. The television chattered as she worked her toned muscles, gritting her teeth against the strain. Ms. Vale laughed with her cohost du jour, and they talked about the historic election a few months back, when Gotham rose up to declare that they too believed in Harvey Dent. The people had spoken, and change was in the air.

Anger. Why me, God? Why have You singled me out to suffer like Job? How can You keep taking and taking and never give back? What do You want from me? Why won't You give me an answer?

Her weight training finished, she headed into the hardwood-floored room she used to practice her boxing. They wanted to teach her "self-defense" in school, but the boys were learning the sweet science. Despite her desire, course curriculums forbade her from taking that class, so one of her first actions after she left school was to hire a former women's boxing league champion to train her. She gloved up and began working out on the punching bag, working out her aggressions with the heavy bag, jabbing at its midsection, faking a headshot and then striking in the kidneys. She ducked, she weaved, she struck at the bag when she saw its openings. She moved to the speedbag, striking at it over and over again, first at a medium pace, but building up to a frightening flurry of blows. She tuned out the television's inane chatter as she listened to the rhythm of the bag. Finally, she gave it a final strike, and it rattled in its fastening as she panted, winded from her morning workout.

Bargaining. I'd give anything to trade places. Lord knows I have so much I could give. But He's made it abundantly clear He only wants to see me suffer. Gotham is a town that punishes the innocent and rewards the guilty. God holds no sway here - it is Sodom. It is Gomorrah.

She hit the showers, and let the hot water cascade over her aching muscles. She ran her hands through her short, sweat-slicked hair, cleaning up from her exertion. She let the water wash away her pain, her grime, her weariness and just let her be. Eventually, after quite some time in the steamy water, she finished, and at last began to go through what little personal grooming she tended to. Little make-up - just a light dusting of foundation. No jewelry, not even earrings. She pulled on a light blouse and a pair of well-tailored slacks. She ran a bit of hair product through her short scarlet locks, just enough to keep it from having a mind of its own. She strapped on her shoes, a comfortable pair of expensive-looking boots, and headed downstairs.

Acceptance. They're dead. I'm not. I will not accept that they had to die like this. They all deserved much better than they got. I'm tired of what this town thinks it can take from its citizens. I'm tired of a Gotham where both justice and injustice come from the barrel of a gun. I'm tired of it all, and I'm not going to let this keep happening. i don't know if I believe in Harvey Dent, but I believe it's time I do something about this.

[industrious]

???

Last night had been different though. A dream that came suddenly and vividly; the moment head met pillow, she had been ensnared by it.

The inauguration wouldn't happen for a few hours, but she decided to head out, anyway. She already had one of the best seats there. But still. She felt like going early for some reason.

Walker

Walker hasn't been sleeping well, for a multitude of reasons. Stress, another loss, her job...and that damn recurring dream that stalked her almost every night.

"Walker?"

Major sounds harassed, busy.

"Listen, I don't know what the hell you're doing in IA-your taskforce is all hush-hush. But I can guess, and if I can, others certainly can."

Fumbling on the other line.

"Look, I have to get ready for the inauguration; dress uniform and everything. You do too, Lieutenant-we have to provide security and public relations and everything today. And I think I've gained a few since the last time I had to put this on."

Click.

The Dream

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The Dream came suddenly; from the instant head met pillow the whirlwind of images began. A city in ruins, not just a city but a palace, with halls made from possibilities and gates crafted of horn and ivory. A naked man with hair the exact shade of twilight knelt within a circle, shivering inside a glass cage. Then a leather drawstring pouch, locked within a safe and stored away in a warehouse on the South Side of Gotham, it's contents incredibly precious...

It ended in a library, where the books opened to blank pages. And a tall man with pointed ears in a tweed suit fumbled for one last volume before offering it to you.

Please, he says. You have to help.

[Sophistemon]

Lock-Up

It was a beautiful thing, his prison. A gleaming, state of the art facility that had been carefully designed - by yours truly - to maximize efficiency over comfort, function over form. He was proud of it. Proud that his inmates spent most of their time in quiet contemplation. Proud that Salah, his suicidal first, had been so perfectly restrained, so expertly hobbled, that he had to struggle just to blink. He'd worked in other Gotham prisons, before discovering his Purpose. He'd seen the luxuries allowed to the scum that were interred there. Television. Radio. Warm food. Sunlight. Companionship.

Here, in the Slammer, their only luxury was a thin, watery gruel which, while nutritious, was served cold. Here, a prisoner's only companion was the sound of his own breath and the beating of his wicked heart. Here they had no books, no magazines, no distractions of any kind. They had only the four walls of their cell, their beds and their toilets. Following his adventures with Salah he had decided to have everything padded. Gray, featureless padding.

Some of them had descended into animalism, rocking back and forth of the floor, clutching their knees to their chest, muttering nonsense. This was good. They had been forced to confront the depths of their own evil and had succumbed to it. Those who broke were then left, securely bound, on the steps of Gotham PD. He doubted that they would ever again cause any pain to another human being. God help them if they did, because he would not.

He spent his days in the gym, carefully working the muscles of his body, honing them to the perfect balance that exists between strength and agility, speed and power. In the evenings he worked his mind, studying a variety of subjects from criminology to chemistry, everything that he felt he might need in his crusade against injustice. It was slow going. He was not a stupid man by any stretch of the imagination, but neither was he a super-genius like Fox or the bald-headed scientist that lived in Metropolis.

And at night? At night he patrolled the streets of Gotham like a predator, lunging from the shadows to dispense swift, unrelenting justice upon those that preyed upon the innocent. His was a hard life, and he had few luxuries of his own, but it sustained him and he was content. And always, always did he keep his eyes on the end goal, the ones he wanted most for his collection of crooks: Falcone and his cronies, Cobblepot and the other corrupt buereaucrats of Gotham City. And at the top of it, Ra's al-Ghul, who had usurped a throne that had belonged rightfully to Lucius Fox, who had perverted the name of Wayne and associated it with something criminal.

He would lock them up, every one of them. There would be justice.

Tonight, he was in the Town Square.

[Bruendor_Cavescout]

???

As she descended the graceful arcing stairs that led from the second floor to the hall below, she contemplated the vivid dream of last night. It all seemed so frighteningly real, from the impossible structures of the city-palace, to the pale man with jet-black hair. The strange man in tweed with his angular features, pointed nose and elfin ears all seemed hauntingly familiar, even though she had never seen them in her life. She remembered the smooth leather that bound the volume, the smell of the pages. She opened the book. Its contents horrified her.

Her father called up to her, which shook her from her reverie. She had stopped on the landing halfway down without realizing it as she daydreamed, and she shook the cobwebs of the dream from her mind. She nodded to her father, and then headed back upstairs - maybe it was keeping the television on in the background, but Dent's inauguration seemed very important to her now, and she needed to dress for the part she would play there. A half hour later, she was wearing much more elegant clothing and had donned far more extensive makeup. Though she was far more hardbodied than most of the women that would be attending, she knew how to play the part of a pretty face. Her mascara accentuated her brilliant emerald eyes, and she had chosen to wear a long red dress that showed little skin below her cleavage. She carried a designer purse, and an idle thought turned her to the nightstand by her bed. There was something precious to her in there, something that she wondered if this was the day she would need it. She shook the thought from her mind - she was heading to a political function, and she would be surrounded by police.

A political function for a candidate unpopular to the scum that control Gotham. Surrounded by Gotham's "finest." Half of them are corrupt, the other half are too weak and helpless to do anything.

She frowned, and removed the pistol from the nightstand. It was heavy in her hand, and her gut wrenched with a mix of emotions as she gripped the handle: fear, anticipation, finality. She padded her purse to hide the telltale signs of the M1911 from cursory inspection, and came to a single conclusion: she'd have to insist about being let in through the back to avoid metal detectors. Once again, she headed downstairs, this time free from the memory of the previous night's dream. She kissed her father upon his cheek at the door, and got into the limousine waiting for her outside. She watched the scenery pass her by as the car headed into Old Gotham as it made its way towards City Hall.

[DeafnotDumb]

Katherine Walker

Walker opens her mouth - to insult the Major, or thank him, even she doesn't know - when the phone shuts off with a click. Well, the bastard was right about one thing. She had to get suited up for the Inauguration, like it or not: despite the fact that she had far too much work to do that she'd just preffer to be doing, not turning up would look to suspisous, especially with some bastards talking about how she should be 'let off' the force after the stress of her fri- fellow cop's death. Not now, not ever, could she allow an excuse like that to stop her justice, her revenge.

Just one thing to do before she suited up. Her team were still a bit on the ground, and might know something. Getting out of her office, Katherine made her way to the cramped department that they'd been working in for the last six months - a curse and a blessing, respectively for the lack of space and the privacy it offered. Essen's already covered the board in some insane mind-map of connections and lines that presumably makes sense to her: Katherine got a glimpse of that understanding the last time the officer explained it to her, but like before it sumerged as soon as Essen started adding yet more links and materials to it. Perhaps it would be a work of modern art soon, Katherine considered, or something to marvel at and admire.

"hey, everyone." She said. "I gotta go suit up for the offical mayor thing, because I'm gonna be missed otherwise. Don't want to draw attention like that, not to me. You all are excused from it if you think you can get away with it, lucky sods." The policewoman still almost smiled. It would be something of a sasifaction, if even a shallow one, to see this as something of a revenge that she had against Cobblepot and his like. To think that her actions might have been the ones to start all this, or at least help... "Anyway, before I'm enjoying my day, just let me ask if there's anything new. We all know what the bugs picked up, sweet nothing, so tell me if your eyes have picked up anything so far - or get me if they pick up something important later. Even if I'm at Dent's big day."

She pauses, and remembers to properly smile for the first time since that bitch's death. "Good work, people." She said. "It's been a great bit of a load. Let's see if we can't make it go a bit further, you lazy bastards."

As she looks upon her team, she almost thinks of an owl-haired man and his imprisoned master, but forgets to. It's been slipping through her mind these past few days, like fingers swirling through the sand.

[Terron]

Prison had been hard. Too many enemies, too many people he knew, to many links and binds to his past. Surprisingly, the few attempts to finish his life were well planed, and the mobster had to use all his wits and skill to get out of them.
But finally, his sentence was over, he was again free to wander the streets of Gotham, and now, his new beginning would be clear, a brand new start. He had paid his debt to society.
And what better way to celebrate with himself the fact of having become a normal citizen than go to the new mayor's inauguration.
With his long black coat, and his obvious Italian appearance, Luigi sits on a bench, outside the convention hall.

[industrious]

Town Square

The inauguration was as much a celebration as it was a political formality. Streets were blocked off for a parade; various local children's choirs sang the national anthem, and the marching band's instruments all looked freshly polished. The atmosphere was one of hope and optimism, the common wisdom was that this was a turning point in Gotham's history.

Finally, as the clock struck 1:30, and the final musical performer had stepped off the podium, Harvey Dent swore his oath of office, and became Gotham's newest Mayor. The crowd was silent as he faced them, cleared his throat, and began his speech.

"I speak today not just for myself. I speak today not just for those who voted for me. I speak today not just for the rich and powerful. I speak today, for all of Gotham."

"For the past two years, people have talked of a 'Gotham Renaissance.' They spoke of it, not as a time that we came together and created a better society, but as a time where we are at are lowest. Where we stand in fear of organized crime. Where we shun the police. Where we distrust our fellow citizens and keep to ourselves."

"Well I speak now for Gotham, and I tell you that that time shall be no more. It is always darkest before dawn; and this day is indeed dark. But we cannot live in fear. We cannot be cowards. We must, instead, look to the future. We must live in hope; we must have faith in our ability to carve a better future for ourselves. Only then can we truly create a true Gotham Renaissance. Only then can we truly be proud of our achievements."

"There are those who seek to stop this from happening. There are those who want you to remain cowards, to remain cowering in the night. And I am tired of cowering. I am here because you believe in me to create a new Gotham, one free of fear and corruption. I am here because we are tired of being fed the same line about how change is impossible, or that it will come slowly. Now. Now is the time to act. Now is the time to create this new Gotham. And though they may try to stop me, they will never..."

Bang.

The bullet takes Harvey on the left side of his face, sending him tumbling to the ground. Katherine is close enough to see the wound turn white hot, further burning and corroding his visage.

And where the crowd gathered in anticipation of a show of defiance, they now scatter in a frenzied panic. Police guards twist and turn, searching for the weapon, searching for the shooter. They try to maintain order, but the mob is now fleeing in all directions.

Only a select few are in the right space to see the shooter. Only a few. Their gaze lands on a all-too familiar warehouse less than a mile away. And on the rooftop of that warehouse, the Smiler racks another round into his sniper rifle, lips curling upwards in a grin.

[DeafnotDumb]

Katherine Walker

The cop knows that in a few minutes her leg is going to pay back blessed hell for what she's just put it through. But for a few frantic moments, the sheer adrenaline rushing through her system has offset any of the pain she'd otherwise experience. It's a small blessing.

On the rooftop, there's a grin that she can't wait to smash in, or perhaps make permanent with this sword of hers. The cane's under her fingers, and gripped tight, although the gun somehow fell out of her holster during her flight: another piece of bad luck to add to a bad luck day.

She was too good a cop to leave instantly, but the mere sight of someone - anyone, she didn't stop to check who - stopping to help Harvey was enough to let her give in to her baser instincts and give chase, like policemen and terriers everywhere. Why didn't that goddamn idiot Harvey prepare? Where was the plexiglass, the security, the cover? She'd assumed that he had thought something out, given that he'd gone this far at least. Well, no more mistake there. He was obviously smart in his own way, but he'd come here partly because of others, like her and his sponsers and Gordon and Montoya and even that Hagen bloke, way back.

There is one good thing - this goddamned warehouse. It looms above her like it never did before as she skids to a stop, panting. After this event, after this, there is no way anyone will stop her coming in with a hankering to look around. She wouldn't even need the bugs, if she did this right. If she was quick, she could do it before Carmine had even a chance to think about clearing this up.

...Unless the bastard had been the one who'd arranged this, and that was why he was checking for bugs here earlier....

Swearing, Katherine considers the building, grips her stick between her hands, and charges in, heading up to the rooftops. If maybe, just maybe, today she had a bit of luck...

Then the Smiler would have bad luck day all to himself, cortesty of her.

[Bruendor_Cavescout]

???

From her seat close to the stage, she feigned a proud smile as Harvey spoke on stage. She could feel the conviction in his soul; his words were not the empty promises of a hardened politician, but the sort of speech that people attributed to the great social revolutionaries. It was then that she realized what others had - people believed in Harvey Dent, not in spite of his idealism, but because of it. They believed in him, and he believed in them.

Belief is a fragile thing. You should know that. All it takes is one moment of doubt to shatter it.

Everything changed in an instant, as it always does. A spray of blood. A loud retort from above and behind. Screams. The woman stood, craning her neck around to see the sniper, a cruel grin upon his face. Panic had begun to hit the crowd, and she took some small comfort that the second shot would not be as simple as the first. Old lessons learned from her father's knee and her second life came back to her in an instant.

He's already loading another round. He's going to fire again, but at who? If this is true asymmetric warfare, those bullets are meant for whoever goes to aid Dent. No other targets of opportunity around here. Police should be able to get Dent to safety.

You assume too much. You assume Dent is alive. You assume the cops aren't in on this. You assume that one of those officers up there isn't going to pull his service pistol and give Dent a few more rounds just to seal the deal.

She grimaced, and clambered up on the stage. She could smell the flesh on his face cooking before she got to him. A policewoman in full dress uniform was already glancing at Harvey.

She may be the one! Keep him safe!

The woman in crimson looked up at the policewoman and shouted, "Get the sniper, officer! I'll get Dent out of the killzone!" She knelt down, using the podium as a degree of cover, and checked Dent for a pulse. Assuming he was still alive, she grabbed him underneath his arms and dragged him behind something large and bulletproof, looking around for anyone with real medical experience.

[Terron]

I couldn't be, it just couldn't be! This was supposed to be the new beginning of Gotham, for him, a peaceful start... And then this! From the park bench he was sitting, Luigi searched for the shooter, and with his expertice in that sort of things, he spotted him, on the roof top of the warehouse. The tiny unmistakeable white puff of a long range rifle.
Hoping that Dent is still alive, and knowing he couldn't do anything about his chances of surviving, Luigi decided to go after the shooter, an so he sprinted quickly towards the warehouse.

[Sophistemon]

Lock-Up

A masked face turns towards the source of the gunshot, ignoring the commotion on the ground below. There's little that he can do for the wounded - his daytime medicinal studies were proceeding slowly - and even less that he can do for the dead. But the assassin, the sniper... there might be something that he can do about that; stop him before he causes even more damage. He stands from his vantage point on a nearby roof and vaults off into space before launching his pneumatic grapple with a paft. His suit, which was designed to evoke in the criminal element an instinctual fear of authority, looks gaudy in the mid-afternoon sun, but he swings by so quickly and keeps enough to the shadows that it makes little difference to the throngs of people below. Moving as quickly as he can, arcing from building to building, the muscles of his arms and upper body taut with the effort, he speeds towards the rifle's retort and the assassin's last known position.

Actions:

Spoiler

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Using the grapple to Swing and moving all out towards the sniper's roof.

[industrious]

???

Dent's breathing, albeit shallowly. And less than ten seconds after she gets him behind a marble statue of Lady Justice, the paramedics arrive, and she is quickly rushed away in a flurry of practiced movements that only Gotham could have produced. Most EMTs in the city had seen more bullet wounds than the average trauma surgeon.

With Dent being loaded onto an ambulance, she heads for the warehouse herself.

The Smiler

He notices Bolton swinging towards him, takes aim once more...and his shot instead of hitting Lock-Up in the chest, clips the cord the vigilante is using to swing on, and sends the man tumbling to the ground near the warehouse perimeter gate. The wind sails out of Bolton's lungs, but he's otherwise unhurt.

Spoiler

Show

Both of you get a hero point for DM fiat. Sorry if I'm railroading a bit, but this is the finale, and you don't get to skip to the final boss without the mooks.

Warehouse

The ware house is surrounded by a chain-link fence and gate, and is guarded by at least ten men. Seeing the various characters approach them, they load their weapons, and prepare for battle.

Spoiler

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Roll initiative in the OOC thread. All of you.

[Terron]

Luigi tries to go around the building and approach silently form the back part.

[industrious]

Luigi

There is only a single front gate, and there are security cameras around the perimeter. While there aren't any guards currently at the back, that doesn't mean they aren't going to come very soon.

[Bruendor_Cavescout]

???

With Dent secured by the paramedics, the woman afforded herself a moment's respite. She looked down at her hands, stained crimson by Dent's lifeblood. A second shot alerted her to the continued threat, and she looked to see who the sniper had struck at. She was momentarily stunned to see a man plummet to earth, but a small part of her was relieved that the shot wasn't aimed at another public figure.

Poor little rich girl. Are you going to sit on the sidelines, as you have your whole life? Or are you finally going to make a difference? Are you going to finally draw a line in the sand?

She raced from her cover behind the statuary and grabbed her large purse. She returned to her hiding place for a brief moment to pull several things out of it. The first was a small knife, little more than a box cutter. She frowned as she looked down at the expensive dress she wore. She quickly cut the dress right above the knees, tearing away the satin to remove a good two feet or so from her ensemble.

Need to be able to move. The dress is too restrictive. I trust Versace will understand.

Her rough hemwork done, she stuffed the extra material back into her purse, while removing a few more items. A long red weatherbeaten trenchcoat to conceal her dress, a large pair of sunglasses that would hide her emerald eyes and some of her face, a scarf to cover her mouth and disguise her chin, and a head scarf to cover her hair. The pistol was also removed, and tucked into a pocket of her trenchcoat. She threw her purse somewhere out of the way and concealed, and bolted for the warehouse.

Another mile run. Feels like I'm back in basic. Except this course is live-fire. Serpentine, don't give the sniper a good angle. Duck for cover.

She sprinted towards the warehouse, noticing that she was beginning to catch up with the officer who had originally moved to help Dent. She noted the woman's limp, and wondered if she'd need to assist there. A dozen low-lives, the sort found in any of the grungy dives in Gotham's underworld, were pulling sidearms, knives and chains. She spotted one that was aiming a pistol at the officer, and gritted her teeth in anger beneath her scarf. "No," she said coldly as she reached out, grabbing the arm holding the gun and spoiling his aim. "You're not killing anyone today. Today, you regret all the choices you made to make it to this moment." She aimed a right cross against his jaw, the force strong enough to break bone and knock out teeth from sockets.

[DeafnotDumb]

Katherine Walker

"Oh, ****." Katherine says eloquently, and spends her time fumbling for her gun - which is a shame, because she's left it lying on the streets of Gotham somewhere and wastes a lot of frenized movement searching for something that isn't there when this woman comes out of nowhere and just saves her life.

Seriously, what is it with all the trenchcoats recently? It's almost like there's some themed party around that she's not invited to.

When it's do or die, it's not much bravery to simply do. The cop doubts that these are the kind of guys to do something so kind as let her live if she surrenders, and she couldn't look Montoya in the eye (not that she could anyway, damn her) if she simply gave up now. She grabs her stick, hears it rattle, and decides to leave the metal undrawn for now. She's saving that for the Smiler, a special treat just for him. These guys might not deserve death, just maybe, even in Gotham.

Grunting in pain, she jumps towards the nearest crook and reaches for her stick, cursing desperately.