Gotham: Year One

industrious · 08-24-2010, 07:25 PM

It starts with channel surfing. Four people, their choices made, their minds fixed upon a course of action decide to act. The city was broken, a dying giant, thrashing as it was brought to the ground. Gotham had always had a seedy reputation, but now, in this time and place, gangs and violence and corruption were at an all-time high. Newspapers and muckrakers seized upon the city, ironically calling it “The Gotham Renaissance,” the epoch of organized crime in the country.

And as the players sit in front of screens, they flick through the channels, as they wait for the night.

It’s going to be a full moon tonight, ladies and gentlemen, with lows in the…//…Come with me if you want to live…//…The latest Bank robbery has the Federal government up in arms; District Attorney Harvey Dent has accused the First Bank of Gotham of aiding and abetting criminals, and of money laundering. This robbery has been the six this year…//…That’s all folks!...//…Mayor Oswald Cobblepot savagely attacked the mob during a press conference, and has announced the formation of a new anti-Mob unit. Cobblepot himself has been accused of Mob connections, most recently during the…//…Turning to the financial sector, Wayne Enterprises resisted the latest attempt at a hostile takeover by the Metropolis-based LexCorp, announcing their new Chairman and CEO today, one Ra’s Al-Ghul…

The headlines were useless. Carefully scripted to appear sensational, and yet simultaneously vague enough that nobody could do a thing to stop the events. The crawl across the bottom of the screen, however, told a different story. Three cops injured in raid at The Signal. The Signal was a known to be a favorite hangout of Carmine Falcone’s men. And the police department was, for the most part, bought and paid for by Falcone. Very interesting. Worth investigating, even.

Katherine Walker

Watching tv in the break room of the old building that your precinct was housed in, Ms. Walker knew exactly which cops were involved. Gordon, Bullock, and Montoya. And almost on cue, enter Detective Gordon, dressed as usual in his horrible throwback of a trenchcoat and glasses. His arm was in a cast, and there were several horrible looking bruises on his face. Typical Gordon. Always trying to do the right thing. Even if it killed him.
He grunts a greeting as he fumbles at the coffee machine.

doliest · 08-24-2010, 08:16 PM

Michael Walker
He sat, hunched over in the alley he'd made his home since his last Walk down the streets. He'd lit the nearest trash can after removing the newspaper near the top about the raid. The fire would stay strong for a long time, while his donation cup lay beside him, his two guns well hidden inside his jacket. He was hard to find, if you weren't friends with the rest of the homeless in the Narrows. To the frightened, the undefended,to, in some cases, the unhinged, he was a savior. A protector sent from the Heavens. They would never give him up, not that anyone ever asked them. To everyone who didn't follow the path that desired vengeance they could not attain, he was a shadow, a tall tale. To those that did, he was easy to find, just ask the anyone, and they could send you on your way.

Sojobo · 08-25-2010, 01:38 PM

There was a dazzling smile on Matt Hagen's face.

It was big and therefore warming, but not so big that it came off as an affectation. It reached his eyes and made his fans and well-wishers glad that they had a chance to meet him.

"Thank you, everyone, thank you so much, I'm so glad you liked the show. But after this last one," he said, autographing a fan's Dream's Year theatrical soundtrack, "I really need to, you know, get some sleep!" It was a corny pun, since the musical's catchiest - if most banal - number was "Can't Get No Sleep," but it got everyone tittering, and after a small chorus of laughter and compliments, the backstagers drifted from his door and over to Gottfried Stanglers', who puffed with theatrical frustration at their appearance.

"Plague me no more," came Gotty's plea of mock frustration as Hagen shut his changing room door. Better that he field the fans tonight; he deserved it. He was at the top of his game tonight, whereas Hagen had things other than theater on his mind.

Finally, he was alone. His smile faded, as easily and naturally as he had originally put it up. He locked the door.

The headlines had bothered him, planted a seed of suspicion in his mind that demanded his attention, but the damn show had to go on. Hagen hated being interrupted from his work, his real work, but he knew part of it was keeping up appearances, and so the show went on, even as his mind clanked away at the new turn of events. But now he was free, free to drop the facade.

His face fell away, leaving a featureless, wet clay expanse that rippled from small air bubbles working their way to the surface. It was like his earthen face was gently simmering, his purpose burning away at his core.

Time to work.

The Signal. A raid. Three cops hurt. Who at Gotham PD would even care, and why would Falcone let that ever grace the interwebs? And Wayne Enterprises... he trusted them as much as he trusted Falcone. So who was this R'as Al-Ghul fellow? Sounded foreign, and Hagen had learned not to trust foreigners.

Hagen needed to learn more.

The rest of his stage costume turned to pale clay and sucked gently back into his body as he strolled over to his laptop computer. He brought up his contacts database, picked up his phone. There were a lot of people he needed to talk to, a lot of rats that needed stirring, but the night was young.

He dialed the first number.

Spoiler

industrious · 08-25-2010, 04:48 PM

Agent Clay

Three police officers had attempted to arrest a mid-level boss in the Falcone Crime Syndicate. They had managed to produce a warrant, and had, in fact, gathered substantial evidence against the figure. Joe Chill had been drinking his usual when the incident happened. Unfortunately for Detectives Bullock, Montoya, and Gordon, he had backup. Cops. The three had been overwhelmed, beaten to a pulp, and sent running. Their evidence was likely at the bottom of Gotham Harbor.

This hadn't been the first time the three had tried something like this. They were idealists, trying to be honest cops, decent people. It didn't work in Gotham. They were only permitted to live because frankly, it amused the Mob to keep them alive. They couldn't do any damage the way things were.

As for Mr. Al Ghul...Hagen's contacts come up mostly blank. He had owned several oil fields in Saudi Arabia, a tech startup in Israel, and a pair of research institutes in Jordan. There wasn't much else on him.

kpenguin · 08-26-2010, 12:09 AM

Hush

"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.

Spoiler

industrious · 08-26-2010, 12:46 AM

((In Addition to the above information))

Gordon had moved to a smaller apartment in the past six months. His wife had died from a rare blood disease, and Gordon was now a widower. Mob activity was not suspected in her death; she had a friend who had traveled to Africa. He was left alone, raising his budding teenaged daughter. And trying to do the right thing.

Montoya's address was unknown, but in an odd move for an honest cop on a detective's salary, was seen to frequent a relatively upscale restaurant on at least a weekly basis.

As for Bullock...his address was practically at the edge of the Narrows. He was universally recognized as a slob. And while his area wasn't swimming in affluence, Elliot was quick to notice several doughnut shops in the block around his apartment. Bullock wasn't the idiot his appearance seemed to indicate.

DeafnotDumb · 08-26-2010, 12:04 PM

Katherine Walker

"So they've finally kicked you down to join us, Gordon?" Jeers from the few other deadbeats and debris here joined hers, targeted at the recently embarrassed police officer. Gordon had never really held the power that his rank said he did at the best of times, and after his most recent fiasco nobody was scared about incurring his wrath. The Lieutenant was too bloody stoic for that anyway, and even she hadn't liked him - he was almost too honest, somehow. It got on her nerves.

Katherine looked at the television as she ran down the short list of the two officers who had dared support their idiotic messiah in his latest idiotic venture. Bullock was an idiot, Motoya too soft-limped and yet they were walking around with their jobs and bodies mostly intact. By all rights they should've been stuck in the Pawn office with her.

(People said Carmine had connections with the Mayor. Heavy connections).

It rankled that they were still there.

The cop slid her stick aimlessly across the ground. The scraping sound reminded her of the cane in her house, the mocking gift from that freak of a man. He'd known she couldn't do anything to her, so he'd given her a goddamn swordstick. A weapon. It was an open taunt.

(She'd already gone out by night, hadn't she? She could do a better job.)

Soon she'd have to go downstairs and start filing form B127 again, and again and again until the clock hand hit five and she was free to go. Stuck down there with the other rejects and cops with dead jobs.

Goddamn that.

Katherine turned to face Gordon, not caring what the other police in the room might think. Her job was dead in the water anyway. "What the hell were you thinking, Lieutenant? Did you really have enough evidence to make it stick? This is Gotham. What the hell could make it work?"

industrious · 08-26-2010, 12:43 PM

Katherine Walker

The coffee pot nearly slips from his fingers as Gordon fumbles with his cast. He manages to pour maybe half a cup. The Lieutenant stares at a pair of beat cops by one of the more battered tables. They leave. On his first week in, after being transferred from Chicago, he had taken down his corrupt partner, beating him so badly that the man had to take early retirement. And while he didn't look particularly threatening today, that memory was still used to scare newer cops.

He beckons Katherine to sit down, and then Walker gets a good look at the older man. He looks...tired. He's only in his late forties, but his hair's almost completely gray. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his trenchcoat doesn't look to have been cleaned in a while. His wife had died six months ago from an illness, and he had to raise his teenaged daughter. A man can only take so much.

He speaks in a quiet, rasping voice. The bruises on his neck are enough explanation.

"We have to try, Walker. Because that's why we became cops. Why some of us became cops, anyway. And in this city, sometimes that means you hope for a miracle."

Katherine realizes seconds after she asked her question that Gordon obviously had enough evidence. The man was too honest to do something(or try to) halfway. If he tried to arrest a mob boss, he had enough to convict the figure.

"You know why you got reassigned to Pawn and I'm still in Vice? It's for PR; people want to know why we aren't doing enough, they get to hold me up and say, look. Here's our guy. I know that. But I keep trying. Because one day the paperwork will stick, and one day the evidence won't get misfiled, and one day...one day I'll be able to look my daughter in the face and tell her 'we got him.'"

DeafnotDumb · 08-26-2010, 01:26 PM

Katherine is quiet as Gordon speaks. The bruises, the voice, the dedication - they're all just a bit too much like some of the people in her memories. For a moment what the man sounds too familiar to the farewell speech she heard so long ago, and it's a bit too strong. Politics. Jimmy hated politics. It didn't take them long to shut him up. You want your daughter to see you end up like Jimmy? You're probably the most goddamn noble of us, and I know you don't want that."

Katherine slowly lowers herself to the chair with her stick, punctuated with a invitation for her leg to go have intercourse with itself as she sits down. Looking around, she saw quite a few other cops looking at them - the two most dangerous deadbeats at the same table was a curiosity - but none seemed to be in earshot. She still kept her voice low and quick. She spent too long at his table and people would get suspicious. Just get to the point.

"Gordon, Jimmy was goddamn good police, understand? He got more men than you, no matter what he did to do that. And they threw him away like some piece of trash." The last words rose to a snarl and drew additional glances: Katherine modified her voice in response. "I know you have some good information. Let me have it. I want to nail Carmine, and I know how to do it."

Those were probably the wrong words. Even if the book was battered, burned and thrown to the side here, Gordon still obeyed it. She started again. "I know Benito. I know Major. I know Morgan. Unlike you, Gordon, I collected a few favors. You'd be the damned best police here if you'd just relax a bit. " She gazed at him under angry eyes. "But I don't want you involved. I can bring him in, but I'm going to be the one to bring him in, understand? I can call in my favors. And who knows? Maybe you'll get to say those magic words of yours to her.

industrious · 08-26-2010, 03:00 PM

Katherine Walker

Gordon looks to his left, to his right. A few stares, a couple of glares, but nothing too much out of the ordinary. He lowers his voice.

"They took my evidence, but I still know a few things. They're shipping the raw material for some sort of new drug in around midnight. Pier Thirty-Seven. Chill himself is going to be at the deal. I've got Dent working with me, and Judge McGinnis is willing to work a trial. All we need is an arrest."

Gordan slowly rises, and hobbles away from the lounge. Somehow, he still manages to remain dignified while doing so.

DeafnotDumb · 08-26-2010, 03:33 PM

Katherine waits for a bit before leaving the break room, to stop it looking quite so suspicious. When she does, she doesn't go downstairs but heads right for the exit, the angry click-clack of her stick warning everybody of her advance.

It's not like the entire police department will collapse because she didn't fill in a few lost item forms. Somebody else can pick up the slack for her - or let it drop, more likely.

Standing outside in the cold Gotham weather, Katherine hails a taxi and, after a moment's thought, tells it to take her home. There's a bit of trouble getting back as the driver encounters some traffic, but she remains silent as she thinks through her options. There's been a lot of reports in the papers about abductions in situations like this, but Katherine is of the opinion that anyone who tries that on her deserves what they are getting and will be some useful stress relief.

Her house is mostly a mess as usual, but she quickly changes: grabbing the cane, gun, camera, cuffs and all the little things needed for indiscreet missions. The clothes she wears are dark, muted and slightly reminiscent of 1930's PI novels but still not anything to draw undue attention - suited for stealth, but unusual enough for that not to be noticed. After a moment's consideration she takes her badge. This is an arrest, after all.

That done, Katherine places a balaclava into her pocket and checks the clock. There's going to be people there. Recon would be nice.

For her final act, she uses the phone to leave a message for Benito, for backup. She doubts he'll come.

It's a fair bit later at night when a figure can be seen walking close to Pier Thirty-Seven. Those suspicious would say that she was checking the place out.

Spoiler

industrious · 08-26-2010, 05:18 PM

Katherine Walker

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.

Michael Walker

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.

Hush

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.

Agent Clay

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...?

DeafnotDumb · 08-26-2010, 05:57 PM

Katherine had already picked out a hiding spot, some shadowed alcove where somebody could skulk and not be spotted - at least, if they knew how to work with the shadows and the city till they were one.

Katherine knew.

As she settled into the secret little compartment, the cop took out her camera and clicked a picture of the ship's name and waited for the car to arrive. If she could get even more proof, then she could send the bastard down a couple more years - or better yet, exchange it for some way to strike back at the bastard mayor who ruled this city.

Spoiler

Sojobo · 08-26-2010, 06:24 PM

Agent Clay

The other end of the phone went dead. Hagen gently pulled the phone from his "ear;" it had stuck to his head, and receiver made a wet sucking sound as it left it. Well, that was an interesting tidbit of info... he'd thank Hassad for it later.

R'as Al-Ghul...

Hagen distrusted big business and the greed that it bred, and he hated them more than he did Falcone and the mob. You always knew what you were dealing with with them. They were petty criminals with big guns in nice suits. But the corporations... you never knew what they had their hands in. Political manipulation. Warmongering. Terrorism. Dangerous science. Their power and their mask of legitimacy made them a threat far beyond anything the mob could ever be.

And Wayne Enterprises was huge in Gotham. Yes, what happened at The Signal warranted follow-up, but this Al-Ghul fellow had to be checked up on. A high tech shipment coming in... this could be interesting.

Too bad Hassad hadn't been clear on exactly which Pier it would be at... Pier Thirty Seven or Thirty Nine. Well, the night was young, he could hit them both, starting with Thirty Seven.

Hagen's face and body rippled and changed: his face, ordinary; his clothes, plain. It'd be the first of many skins he'd wear tonight.

He left through a window, stage right, heading toward the Pier.

doliest · 08-26-2010, 07:22 PM

Michael
Disgusting men would meet tonight, all of them guilty in God's eyes for the sin of greed. Greed that led them to pollute his people and kill so many. They had been judged; now it was time to administer the sentence. He waited, not hiding because no one cares about a bum. No one cares that he leans against a wall, his hand ready to draw his gun, not that he needed it yet. He watches the woman, and keeps his eyes open for anything suspicious. Ready. Until she disappears into the shadows. Hm. She wasn't on his list yet.

Spoiler

kpenguin · 08-26-2010, 07:25 PM

Spoiler

Hush watches the woman as she enters the shadows... and disappears. He squints. His eyes were good. An inattentive gaze on the surgical table could spell death for a patient.

But... she was gone. Out of sight.

She had a badge. Either she was here on a stakeout or knew about the drug deal and didn't want to get in its way.

He would deal with her later. For now, he waited and watched.

Notice - (1d20+10)[18]

industrious · 08-26-2010, 10:16 PM

Time passes. The moon sets in the sky, and watch hands turn to midnight.

The small freighter, paint peeling off its sides, docks at the pier. A black SUV, with tinted windows(technically illegal, but who would enforce that law?) rolls up, and Joe Chill exits, accompanied as usual by four burly-looking gorillas in suits and machine pistols. A semi-trailer truck follows behind. The shipment is a large one, apparently.

A sailor from the docks exits, and shakes hands with Chill. The mob boss isn't a particularly large man, though he does have a sort of wiry strength in his movements. The sailor, on the other hand, is a brute, plain and simple; muscles equal to the mob leader's bodyguards jut from his forearms.

Words are exchanged, and cargo, in plain wooden crates, begins to be carried by four subordinates. If there is a time for action, it is now.

doliest · 08-26-2010, 10:29 PM

Michael Walker
Michael draws his gun reflexively, firing it at Chill before the man has time to realize it was going to happen. It was the way he usually dealt with sinners like him; they didn't even know they were going to die before they did.

Spoiler

industrious · 08-26-2010, 10:38 PM

Having rushed his sole free shot, Michael's bullet goes wide, hitting instead the window of Chill's SUV. And thus is the element of surprise lost. Orders are barked, cover is taken, and sailors and bodyguards alike ready arms and secure positions.

Spoiler

DeafnotDumb · 08-27-2010, 05:29 AM

Katherine quickly clicked away a couple of photos as Chill and his meet shook hands - if the latter was registered as a criminal, that could be useful evidence - and dropped the camera back into her pocket when a shot sounded out.

What the-

The cop muffled a curse as she quickly pulled the balaclava over her head. Chill's her target, and she wants him alive. Her hand grips her cane as she lifts it from the ground while her eyes plot out a route to him.

With all this chaos, who's going to notice her?

kpenguin · 08-27-2010, 01:08 PM

There he was, Chill. One of Falcone's bosses. Scum. Filth. Contagion.

Now, how to go about curing the di-

*bang! bang!*

The copper? No, this was a new player. It seems Elliot was not the only concerned citizen here.

"Evils draw men together", he whispers as he takes aim at Chill. If the battle was already joined, no harm in entering now.

Spoiler

doliest · 08-27-2010, 03:36 PM

Michael Walker
Michael raises his gun, pointing it once more at Chill, "God has ordered your judgment, Chill, and I am the instrument of your trial." He fires at Chill once more. He doesn't care about the other players, not yet; Chill was his target.

Spoiler

industrious · 08-27-2010, 10:09 PM

Chill stumbles back as the bullet hits him.

Spoiler

Unfortunately for Walker, the damage is merely cosmetic; the bullet, while buried deeply into the crime bosses Kevlar-lined jacket, hadn't penetrated skin.

The nearby sailors, on the other hand, each draw sidearms, and the ones closest to the truck take cover behind the vehicles. Tracing the bullet path back, they lean out, and fire back at the Saint of the Streets. The smell of cordite and the steady crack of weapons fire fill the air.

Spoiler

doliest · 08-27-2010, 10:23 PM

Michael Walker
The Saint of the Streets ducks and rolls with the best of them, but despite that, two of the bullets still slam into him.

One bullet seems to simply fly into his trench coat for little effect, the other, however, slams him hard in the chest, as he seems to lose himself and begins staggering.

Spoiler

industrious · 08-27-2010, 11:19 PM

The dart sails from Hush's gun with a whimper, scarcely heard over the thunder of gunfire. The surgeon's hands are steady as he pulls the trigger, sinking deep into Chill's bicep, it's payload entering the man's bloodstream. His face lolls, and he seems almost to drop to the floor, but shaking his head, albeit woozily, he lurches upright. Or at least, vaguely upright.

"****ing drugs. Who the **** dosed me?"

Spoiler

DeafnotDumb · 08-28-2010, 06:20 PM

Katherine's not sure why Chill's suddenly so doozy, or why all his guards are right now shooting at someplace that is not her, but she's not going to waste such a opportunity.

Dashing like a madwoman, the cop breaks cover and grabs Chill around the throat with her elbow, dragging him along and using him to protect her body from the guns of his bodyguards. As she tightens her grip along his windpipe so he's gasping, she snarls next to his ear. "Chill, call off your goons or I'll snap your goddamn neck. Your choice."

Spoiler

industrious · 08-28-2010, 06:26 PM

Spoiler

Chill struggles against the crippled cop's hold, but to no avail. He's strong, he's been trained, but he's out of practice. He was the Gotham version of the American Dream, working his way up from petty thug to minor boss. And along the way, charisma and connections became more important than technique or thumb-breaking.

Still, this is Gotham, and Chill isn't fazed by the threat.

"Really, lady? Take a ****ing number. You kill me, my boys kill you. And since I ain't dead yet, you want me for something. A job? Territory? Drop the act, let me go, and we can discuss this like gentlemen. And broad."

kpenguin · 08-29-2010, 01:19 AM

Spoiler

Hush's eyes widen as the woman came from the shadows and grappled with Chill. Drugged or not, wrestling with someone like Chill was an impressive task for someone so petite.

He keeps his tranq gun aimed at Chill. He wanted to see what the cop wanted to do with the mob boss, but if Chill broke the hold, another dart would fly swiftly at his neck.

Spoiler

DeafnotDumb · 08-29-2010, 06:33 AM

Spoiler

Katherine muttered something under her breath and pulled her arm tighter across the crook's throat, using her free hand to jam her cane into the small of his back, throwing the weight of her body behind the attack.

"Very funny, you bastard. Let's get you out of here, huh?" Katherine moves backwards away from the fight, banking on the fact that the bodyguards seem ironically more intent on shooting elsewhere than protecting their boss to hid her.

If she could get to a quiet place, then she could truly get to work.

Spoiler

industrious · 08-29-2010, 09:06 PM

((Not Katherine's turn yet.))

Several of the bodyguards turn their fire towards Hush, while a pair of them point their pistols at Katherine. They aren't shooting yet, but it's just a matter of time.

Spoiler

3. [roll]1d20+1[/spoiler][/spoiler]

DC 13 Toughness saves for each hit.
[/spoiler]

Chill himself struggles against Katherine's hold, attempting to wriggle free. While doing so, his jacket slips off.

Spoiler