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Apologies for not being able to make a new thread before the other one got closed by the Archive.

COVER ART:
Credits for this piece go to: RedWisp (please feel free to plug any socials you have if you want to advertise.)

If you want to be used as the Thread Cover-Art in the future just post whatever GCBC Related Art you make in the thread and I'll save it for later use. I keep all art that gets submitted and appreciate it tons.

NEW READERS:

Catch up on the story here: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=DetectQM

Attached picture is your current perk list.

RETURNING READERS:

Welcome back, thanks for playing <3

>>5960920
For the record...
>"I got into this work to help people. That doesn't stop when I'm off the clock, there are plenty of others in the Department who feel the same way."
but also
>"You want to know what's in it for me? You know a little something about my meta ability, right? How I see and hear all the shit that goes on in Gotham? The good, and also the bad? Well maybe, for my own sake as much as everyone else's I'd like it if there was a little more good and LOT less bad. You want to know what's in it for me? Well, there you go, kid: a good night's rest, and the knowledge that if I let my guard down and go daydreaming, I can expect to see something nice."
Now, you want to make sure you don't end up like Ted Grant or some Gotham Knights quarterback at the end of their career? taking care of family means taking care of yourself, too.

>>5960937
+1

>>5960920
>"I got into this work to help people. That doesn't stop when I'm off the clock, there are plenty of others in the Department who feel the same way."

>>5960937
>>5960957
>>5961035

"I got into this work to help people, That doesn't stop when I'm off the clock, there are plenty of others in the Department who feel the same way."

Caesar takes your words in with a skeptical raised brow.

You sigh. He's just a kid, he doesn't understand how someone could be motivated by more than themselves or their family, you need to just lay it all flat for him.

"That's not everything though." You say, breaking the brief silence and sliding back into the chair.

"You want to know what's in it for me personally? You only know a bit about my meta-abilities, right?"

"I know you like 'talk' to the city or something. Know things about it, the people in it."

"More than that, I see and hear everything that goes on in Gotham. All the shit happening in this city gets put straight into my head. Constantly."

"Are you for real? You can't like control it?"

"I can quiet it down, for the longest time the only thing I had access to was a the volume and that doesn't stop the sensations."

"Sensations?"

You nod, finding it surprisingly hard to swallow. This is the first time since you were a child that you actually explained this to someone.
"Sometimes I'll feel a cold wind, only I'm indoors, or I feel a spreading heat over my stomach and then see on the news someone was shot in the gut in the Narrows. I learned to keep my guard up though and if I really focus on ignoring it, the voices become more like whispers or a conversation in another room. The sensations are more like goosebumps or a muscle spasm or something and they only get through when it's serious."

"How long have you been like this, DL?"

"My whole life." You say with a bitter laugh. "That's why for my own sake I want to make this place a something better. Hell, maybe, for my own sake as much as everyone else's I'd like it if there was a little more good and LOT less bad." Your voice picks up speed and you find yourself gesticulating wildly. "You want to know what's in it for me? Well, there you go, kid: a good night's rest, and the knowledge that if I let my guard down and go daydreaming, I can expect to see something nice for once."

You lean back in your seat and let a low long exhale loose. Your relief from unloading immediately replaced with shame when you look at Caesar's scared and confused face.
"Shit, Caesar. I'm sorry-" You start before he cuts you off with a hand.

"Hay que imponer nuestra voluntad a nuestras debilidades." He mumbles, before looking up at you. "That's a quote, some rich fuck he liked or something, he told me it everytime I told him I was afraid of something."

You stay silent and let Caesar take his time to get out whatever he needs to. It only takes a few seconds before he rises from his seat.
"I'm sorry, DL. You've done a lot to help my folks and..well I've been a dick. Because I was scared, but I need to act like a man."

He avoids your eyes as he speaks but you can hear it in his voice. He gets it now.

"It shouldn't be long before your mom gets home, is your sister fine being alone?"

"She's used to it." He says with a tinge of weariness in his voice.

"Right. We can wait for your mom to get back if you'd like."

"It'll be fine, DL. You have your policia outside watching the place."

He steps away and cups his hand over his mouth.

"IZZY! I'm going out for a bit, tell Mom I went with DL." He hollers through the apartment.

From the room with the music you hear her shout back.
"Get me something sweet!"

"Sure thing." He calls back before looking at you. "She isn't gonna remember, don't sweat it."

You shrug and head outside, Caesar following shortly behind you after grabbing a hoodie and covering up a bit. You get him settled in your passenger seat and give the plain clothes a heads up. Before long you and Caesar are on the road, heading right back to where you had just come from.

"Once we cross the river it'll be safe to take your hood down, until then keep it up and just stay low or lay back until I let you know."

"Whatever you say, jefe."

You both settle into a comfortable silence as you head for the river.

>Any more questions/comments for Caesar?
>Skip to the doctor
>Write-In(?)

Sorry for awkward updates right now, page placement forced me to make a new thread in a weird spot.

>>5961115
>buy her cookies or sweets near the hospital. Maybe a muffin

>>5961171
+1

>>5961171
+1
Ask Caesar what she likes. Get one for him too. And another for yourself, it’s been a stressful two hours.

>>5961200
>>5961171
+1. Or, shit, do we have any snacks from the Neighborhood Watch brunch? Share some of that. mayeb one fo Mom's cannoli?

>>5961171
>>5961176
>>5961200
>>5961264

The scenery changes slowly as you pass back over the River towards Burnside once more. The pale greys and blacks of Gotham fade into muted greens and smattering of orange, red, and yellow. Caesar pulls his hood down and stares out the window.

"First time outside the city?"

He nods, keeping his eyes on the moving smear of color that speeds by.
"Are we close to the hospital?"

"Well it 's not a hospital exactly, it's more like a beefy Urgent Care, but that's what I always called it. The people out here don't want to have to head into the city for a broken arm or something. They'll have the equipment to check you out."

"So you've been there?"

"Once or twice, when I was a kid. My parent's didn't like taking me to Gotham General. Too big for me, made the Shivers worse."

Caesar doesn't speak, he just silently takes in what you say and lets his eyes drift back to everything that flies by.

"If my memory is right and they haven't changed anything, there's also a little bakery down the street from it, we can grab your sister some cookies or a muffin or something."

"She likes Jelly Doughnuts, or stuff with fruit in it."

"They might have a strawberry cake or something then, think about what you want too."

"I'm getting something?"

"Well it would be a little cruel of me to drag you out here and not let you get something. Plus I want something too and it'll look better if you order with me." You joke.

"I don't really eat dessert or nothing like that."

"Too tough for some cake?"

"Nah it ain't that, just if we got the money for dessert and stuff I'd rather my mom and Izzy have some. My dad used to take me to get Churros from a cart in Robinson Park though, so I guess cinnamon and sugar something?"

"Just take a look when we get there, I got you."

=======

You both step through the doors of the clinic to a room completely devoid of anyone other than a receptionist who is deeply absorbed in whatever she has playing on her phone. You frown and look over the rows of empty chairs, not even the mounted television in the corner is on. The place has a stillness to it, like talking would shatter the air itself, still you open your mouth.

"Excuse me, do you guys have room for a walk in?"

The receptionist glances up from her phone and a free hand snatches a sheet of paper and puts it on the counter in front of her, she then snags a pen with a plastic sunflower taped to it and tosses it haphazardly to the same spot.

"Fill that out." She says without giving you a glance.

"Sure, thanks." You mumble, grabbing the pen and getting to work filling out whatever details you can and having Caesar fill in for himself the symptoms section. You spin the page around and set the pen down with a faint clack. The receptionist takes the paper and slides it further down the counter before tapping a button on a small tan board, all without looking up, she jerks a thumb towards the door on the opposite end of the counter.

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"The Doctor will come check out your sheet in a moment." She says with a bored lilt to her voice.

You open your mouth to question her when the doors fly open and a familiar old man steps through the doors. From his coat pocket dangles a pair of Purple Tinted Star-Shaped Sunglasses.

"Doc Thorne?" You ask.

He smiles widely at you and steps past the paperwork to put his hands on your shoulders as he looks you up and down.
"Good lord, look at you, son. Call me Bradley or Brad, I haven't seen you in years."

"I didn't think you'd still be working here, Doc. I'm surprised you're still..."

"Licensed? Alive?" He asks with a barking laugh.

"Practicing." You say reassuringly. "You aren't old enough to stop just yet though, eh?"

"Definitely not, I actually just saw your father the other day. They mentioned you were back in the city again but really in the heart of it, never thought you'd step in here." His eyes shift over to Caesar and he slips his glasses from his pocket and slides them on before extending a hand. "Especially not with your son, handsome boy, must get it from his mother. Nice to meet you, son."

Caesar ignores the sharp laughter of the doctor and shakes his hand once.
"I'm not his kid, DL and I are friends."

Dr.Thorne stops his laughter and wipes an eye as he grabs the sheet from the counter.
"I know you aren't his, Caesar. I was just pulling his chain. Now let's take a look at this."

He lowers the sunglasses to the tip of his nose as he reads over the sheet.
"Come on back, we'll get you squared away. You too, Mark. I could use a hand from you."

"Uh, shouldn't a nurse handle that?"

"I'm not cutting the boy open, Mark. Just figured he'd be more comfortable with you around, but if you'd rather wait out here and enjoy the.." His gaze lingers on the receptionist. "Conversation. Then feel free. But I'll be running him through a scan and then doing a routine check up, could take a little bit and I get lonely when I have to monitor a scan alone." He chuckles again.

You feel your arm hairs raise and for a moment you smell that same disinfectant you spent days wallowing in as a child. Shivers or childhood trauma? A classic game for you.

>"I'll stay in the waiting room. You'll be fine Caesar, it's just a quick scan and probably an exam."
>"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc."
>"I'll come back with you guys, don't wanna leave Caesar alone, it's his first time outside the city."

Secondary Vote (if you go back):
>Ask Dr.Thorne about the clinic, it used to be packed and he had a full staff of nurses and even a few other doctors. What happened?
>Ask Dr.Thorne about the receptionist, you remember an older lady with blonde curls when you were younger.
>Ask Dr.Thorne about Caesar's condition while he's in the scan, more than just his recent injuries. What's his overall health?
>Write-In

>>5961762
>"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc."
>Ask Dr.Thorne about the receptionist, you remember an older lady with blonde curls when you were younger.

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If the QM or players are interested at all interested, I'd like to cordially incite you to (and Officer DeLucia) to participate in that greatest of /qst/ community events, the official crossover husbando/waifu (or king & queen) contest!

Taking nominees now, and for the next five days.

>>5961634

>>5961770
I'm flattered and accept, I'll wait to post in your thread until later when I have my home IP Address instead of my shifting mobile one.

>>5961762
>"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc."
>Ask Dr. Thorne about Caesar's condition while he's in the scan, more than just his recent injuries. What's his overall health?
>Ask Dr. Thorne about when last he saw your father. Was it just a random thing or did he swing by for an examination?

>>5961762
>>"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc."
>>Ask Dr.Thorne about the clinic, it used to be packed and he had a full staff of nurses and even a few other doctors. What happened?

>>5961762
>"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc."
>Ask Dr.Thorne about the receptionist, you remember an older lady with blonde curls when you were younger.

>>5961765
>>5961814
>>5961825
>>5961838

"I'll come back with you guys, wouldn't want you to get lonely doc." You tell him with a playful tap on the shoulder.

It's minute but you catch it, Caesar's shoulders shifting ever so slightly in relief. Dr.Thorne's laugh echoes off the empty walls of reception as the three of you head back. You find yourself having to catch your breath at moments as memories bubble and blend with the whispers of Gotham, dulled but far from silent, even being across the river. You focus on your breathing as you walk and focus on what's in front of you, each room you pass seems bare bones and you spot more than a few rooms and offices that are completely empty. Dr.Thorne guides you both into a room and steps in closing the door behind him.

"So, according to the paper you went through this a few days ago. Really wish you had come in sooner." He says as he gets gloves and a thin pen-light as he taps an exam table for Caesar to hop up.

"Why do you wear the glasses?" He asks, as Thorne delicately pulls beneath his eye and shines the light in.

"Style. You like em?"

Caesar shrugs, Thorne moves to the other eye.

"It's an acquired taste I get it. But I've been doing it since I was giving the Officer check ups."

He peeks over his shoulder at you and follows up.
"Your dad told me you got into the GCPD, congratulations."

"Speaking of, when you saw him last was everything alright or was it just one of those random things you swing by a clinic for."

He snaps off the gloves and tosses them in a spotless trashbin.
"Well, Officer DeLucia. I'm sure you can appreciate my legal restraints when it comes to discussing patients."

"Of course." You say quickly.

"Don't worry, son. Your father is strong as an ox, his smoking aside, he's perfectly healthy for a man his age." He turns to Caesar and jerks his head. "Hop up. We're gonna take a walk down to the MRI, we only have the one so it's lucky for you that business is slow today"

You both follow his lead as he heads down the hallways, more space means more memories, one memory in particular sticks out to you.

"Doc, who's the new receptionist? I remember a lady when I came around, the one with the curls."

"Helen? She left about uh..six or so years ago. Couldn't afford to keep her sadly."

"Ah." You say not really knowing how else to respond. Thankfully Thorne was always a talker and he fills the space you leave. \

"New girl is Veronica, she's the niece of a friend and works for cheap. He wanted her to get some real job experience and I needed someone to let me know when patients were in. She doesn't have Helen's way with people but she gets the job done at the least and that's all I can really ask for."

He opens a swinging door and leads you into the darkened MRI room, a flick of the switch and the room hums to life with a flash of sterile lighting. Caesar groans and squints.

"Another good reason for the glasses, eh champ?" Thorne says.

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Caesar fills a small plastic container with his belongings one of which is a thin chain you never noticed before, tucked beneath his shirt collar. A silver portrait of a saint dangles from the center as he gently sets it in along with a cell phone and some coins.

"Good man, go ahead and lay down on this table, I'm gonna turn the lights down and we'll get you in there."

"You gonna stay in here, DL?" Caesar asks, his tough exterior shaken by the idea of getting into that cramped tube.

"I'll be in the observation room with the Doc, I hated going in these things too when I was a kid."

"It ain't like that." He protests.

"Yeah, it ain't like that." Thorne interjects pressing the box into your hands. "Caesar is a tough guy, he just needs to make sure he has a ride home after this. Right?"

Caesar nods his head and jumps onto the bed.
"I've never done this before though so, any tips?"

"Just stay still and we'll have you out of this thing in no time, champ. Really important you stay still though, you need anything just talk to us."

Caesar takes a breath and lies on his back, Thorne nods you towards the door of the control room and hits a switch that slowly dims the lights of the room. You grab a seat and look over the monitors and then you hear it. The hum of the MRI kicking on, you shudder as you feel that crushing pressure in your chest you used to get. You shake it off, nothing you haven't already gotten over. The door opens and Thorne steps in, tapping a few keys in rapid succession until the screens erupt in dim blue light and reveal a slowly shifting image. He slides the glasses off and leaves them next to his keyboard.

"Seems like a nice kid." He says as he taps a few more keys.

"He is, just needs a little guidance."

"That right? What's his whole deal?"

"What do you mean?"

He hits one more key and the image splits into 3 different ones, all slowly shifting, turning to you he shrugs.
"I mean he's a kid who obviously is living a bit of a rough life, definitely into some trouble himself, and he's brought into a clinic that's out of the way by an off duty or plain clothes cop. That wouldn't raise flags for you?"

"It's a long story."

"You should know better than anyone how long these things can take." He says leaning back in his seat folding his hands. "It's been forever since I've seen you last, son. Just curious what has you dragging a kid like that up here."

>Explain everything, how you first met, how you stepped in to protect him from anarky, and how he's in your witsec program now. He's bound by HIPPA after-all.
>"Not much to tell doc, you know how it is, people in Gotham need help and it's my job to help em. Nothing more."
>"He kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city. I got a soft spot for him."
>"He's important to a case I'm working, I need to keep him healthy and comfortable until I can close this thing after that I guess we go our own ways."
>Write-In

>>5961888
>"He's important to a case I'm working, I need to keep him healthy and comfortable until I can close this thing after that I guess we go our own ways."
None of his backstory is protected health information. HIPPA does jack shit here. I trust the doc but it's best to keep things close

>>5961888
>"He's important to a case I'm working, I need to keep him healthy and comfortable until I can close this thing after that I guess we go our own ways."
>"He kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city. I got a soft spot for him."

>>5961888
>"He's important to a case I'm working, I need to keep him healthy and comfortable until I can close this thing after that I guess we go our own ways."
>"He kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city. I got a soft spot for him."

>>5961888
>"He kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city. I got a soft spot for him."
>He needs a ride and doesnt want his mom to know he got roughed up

Update will be late tonight, but it will come.

>>5961888
>"He kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city. I got a soft spot for him."
>"He's helping me out with a case, though. That's how we met. Can't tell you more than that."

>>5962547
>>5961952
>>5961968

"He's important to a case I'm working on. I need to keep him healthy and comfortable until I can close this thing after that I guess we go our own ways." You say matter-of-factly.

Thorne gives you a side-glance and then turns back to his monitors.
"Purely business then. Understood."

You stare through the dimmed glass at Caesar's dirty sneakers, soles worn thin from constant roaming, the laces chewed and frayed on the ends from being stepped on countless times, and you sigh quietly to yourself.
"Maybe he kinda reminds me of myself, in a weird way, or maybe he just reminds me of the city."

"So not all business after all, eh Officer?"

You shrug.
"I got a soft spot for him, he's a good kid, he just needs a little guidance."

Thorne simply smiles in the glow of the screen and busies himself with marking down various things of note from the scans. You try to get an idea of what's happening but, of course, to you it all looks like nonsense so you grab a seat and get comfortable...

=======

"Alright, Caesar." Thorne says scribbling aggressively on a small sheet. "This is a prescription for a low level pain killer, your ribs are going to be sore for a while but there isn't anything indicating a break or fracture. If your vision issues get any worse or hang around longer than a few more days I'd go see a Optometrist, the injury may have given you an astigmatism of some sort."

Caesar looks panicked for a moment before Thorne holds up a hand.
"It's minor, son, right now we can assume it's temporary. I'd avoid any further knocks to the head however, you got pretty lucky this time."

Caesar nods and takes the prescription slip.
"Thank you, Doctor."

"Of course, stay safe out there."
Thorne gives you a pointed look and you nod. Putting a hand on Caesar's shoulder.

"Let's get you home, it's nearly four already."

You both head to the car and climb back in.
"Not so bad, eh Caesar?" you ask him, seeing that once you're outside he seems to loosen up a bit.

"Not a fan of hospitals." He mumbles, stuffing the paper from the doctor into his pocket.

"Me neither." You tell him truthfully as you fire up the engine. "Don't crumple that paper too much, we're gonna hand it to one of the Wit-Sec officers and they'll handle picking up the meds for you."

"You trust that guy?"

"He was always nice to me when I was young, he's a little eccentric huh?"

"More than a little, that place was dead. Gave me bad vibes."

"Hard times I guess, but I've never really seen anything like that either."

You give the old clinic one final look as you reverse out of the lot and make your way back into the heart of Gotham.

A brief stop at 'Flour Power Bakery' nets you a thin cellophane baggie. A strawberry shortcake cupcake sits at Caesar's feet in a tiny box, he munches on a twisted doughnut dusted in sugar and cinnamon as you pass some of the little natural scenery. As you reach the bridge a sea of tail-lights make you sigh deeply, city tourists coming out to see the leaves change, you give Caesar a glance.

"Toss your hood up, we'll be here a minute."

He grunts in response spewing some sugar crystals on your dash, you respond by grabbing your own Boston Cream and enjoying a sweet snack in the standstill.

========

The sun sits on the horizon of the city like a fluorescent orange speedbump against the curtain of gray clouds. Caesar sit's slumped against your side window with his hood up, snoring slightly. You smile and think back on how tired you'd be after hospital trips. Your car eases to a stop as you park it by the front stairs of the apartment complex, you do your best to avoid acknowledging the plain clothes as you pop open the door, the car dings gently as you open the driver side door and the dome lights flicking on cause Caesar to stir.

"Fuck.." he mumbles.

"Welcome home."

"Eugh, what time is it?"

You click your phone.
"Five, we hit some traffic on the bridge. You fell asleep pretty quick."

He groans in response as he opens the door and steps out, looking at you over the roof of the car, as he holds the bag and cupcake box limply in a free hand.
"You wanna come in?"

You raise your eyebrows a little surprised.
"I think your mom is already home."

He shakes his head.
"No shit, DL. She's probably cooking dinner already. You want some? She said she had to make you something sometime as a thank you anyways."

You rub the back of your neck and glance at the slowly lowering sun.

>"Sure, I could eat."
>"I can't, but I'll walk you to the door. Make sure you get in safe."
>"Sorry, Caesar. I have some business to handle that can't wait." (lie)
>"I don't think that would be really appropriate, you're all witnesses in a case I'm working. The department probably wouldn't be too happy about fraternizing."
>Write-In

>>5962634
>"Sure, I could eat."
I'm curious.

>>5962698
+1
What IS she cooking in there?

>>5962634
>"Sure, I could eat."

>>5962634
>"Sure, I could eat."

>>5962634
>>"Sure, I could eat."

>>5962634
>"Sure, I could eat."

>>5962698
>>5962704
>>5962735
>>5962749
>>5963459
>>5963477


You smile and feel a gentle rumble in your stomach.
"Sure, I could eat."

Caesar gives you a single nod while coming around from the car and heads for the stairs.
"Vamos then." He calls back over his shoulder. You're forced to jog to keep up as he sprints the stairs heading for the top floor. When you finally crest the last platform you see he's already inside and left the door cracked, from inside you're hit with the wafting aroma of spices and cooking meat, your stomach grumbles again but louder as you approach the door. Stepping inside you hear a flurry of Spanish as Caesar and his mother talk, her hands turn and pull at his face as she inspects the bruising, looks like he was hiding his run in with those college boys from his mother too.

You awkwardly clear your throat and she turns to you, standing up and approaching with her hands folded.
"I'm so sorry, Officer." she starts. You hold up a hand and stop her.

"No need to apologize, I came to visit and thought he should get checked out. No big deal."

"And the boys who did this?"

"They'll be handled, assault should be taken seriously especially against a minor."
She rubs her hands nervously.
"We don't want any problems, Caesar shouldn't have been there anyways, you really don't have to bother yourself-"

"Ma'am, it's okay really. It's my job."

She smiles lightly.
"Thank you, for taking him to a doctor and for everything. Helping us. Helping me."

"Really, it's okay." You insist holding up a hand.

She nervously stammers and rubs her hands together.
"If you were hungry, I was just about to finish up some Pozole.."

You blink a few times waiting for her to finish her sentence when Caesar interjects.
"You're invited to Dinner, Dl. Officially."

You flick your eyes back to his mother and she nods.
"Just as a way to pay you back, for your kindness."

You smile and nod towards the kitchen.
"My grandmother would haunt me if I turned down a homecooked meal, manners from the old country and what not."

She smiles brightly and steps to the kitchen gesturing to a seat.
"Then please, make yourself at home."

You sit down next to Caesar's sister who holds her cupcake box tightly to her chest at the table.

"Having dessert first?"

"I'm not allowed yet, so I have to make sure nobody steals it."

"Smart." You quip, settling into your seat and taking in their space more. Despite having not been here long the place already feels well lived in, though maybe that's just Gotham housing, pictures litter most surfaces. Showing what looked to be a very happy family, you can only wonder what kind of trouble his father got in. From all the pictures you see he seems to be a good father at the least, never a photo without a wide smile on Caesar's face or his own.

Your thoughts are disrupted by a bowl being placed in front of you and a large plate of steaming tortilla laid in the center of the table, homemade from the looks of it, Caesar's mother looks at you and nods to the tortillas.

"I finally unpacked my press, decided to put it to use."

"Well it looks delicious Mrs..." you let it trail off as you realize you don't even know her name.

"Welles, Bianca Welles."

"It looks fantastic, thank you for the food, Mrs.Welles"

She simply smiles and takes her own seat, turning her head over her shoulder and calling back in sharp spanish. The word's you pick up are Caesar and Andele. He eventually shows up in more casual clothing, a pair of basketball shorts and a Gotham Knights T-Shirt.

"You ever play ball for the high school?"

He shakes his head.
"Nah, I play at the park though." he pauses for a moment. "I did I guess, probably will when we get out of here."

"Cheer up, Mijo. Before long you may be off to college, so let your mama enjoy the time she has with you." Bianca coos as she pinches his cheek, an action Caesar accepts begrudgingly.

Your bowl is filled with the delicious looking stew, the smell of roasted peppers and pork emanate from the rising steam, you grab a spoon and almost out of an old habit shoot a glance at Bianca. You set your spoon down delicately as you see she is sitting with eyes closed, holding Caesar and Isabelle's hands, whispering a small prayer in spanish. You close your eyes and recite what your grandparents used to say, a little something to stay close to them even now that they're gone.

You open your eyes and Caesar leans forward grabbing a handful of tortilla, his mother looks at you and smiles.
"Please, eat."

You need no more motivation than that as you dig in. As you eat you think, the silence of this dinner nagging at you a touch, you're used to loud family discussion but everyone here eats so quietly. Maybe you should start the conversation?

>Stay silent and eat your dinner.
>"So, Mrs.Welles, forgive me if this is too personal. But when is Mr.Welles going to be getting home?"
>"So Bianca, what brought your family to Gotham? Or are you a native?"
>"How is WitSec treating you? Are you guys getting everything you need? Anything I could do to help?"
>Write-In

>>5963563
>Stay silent and eat your dinner.
When in Rome.

>>5963563
>>Stay silent and eat your dinner.
It could be that we are the thing harshing the vibe. Or it could just be that they just ain't that kinda family. Hopefully it isn't too spicy for us!

>inb4 roll for spice tolerance

>>5963563
>Stay silent and eat your dinner.

File: MomsPozole.jpg (51 KB, 420x451)

51 KB JPG

>>5963617
>>5963625
>>5963634

You decide maybe it's best not to talk just because of your own sort of discomfort and just focus on enjoying the meal, a warm hearty stew with juicy pieces of roasted braised pork in a spicy broth, it's been a long while since you had a real homecooked meal.

"So, Mijo." Caesar's mom starts casually. "How did you get this job, Isabelle was telling me about?"

Caesar glares at his sister but she avoids the brunt of the damage by concerning herself with dunking a tortilla into the broth and keeping her eyes down.

"It's not a big deal, mama, I just pick up some fruit and go sell it. It's just for some extra money."

"Oh you 'pick it up'? Who from?"

"Pedro.." He says unconvincingly waving his spoon around. "From the Nature-Mart."

"Mhm.." She says quietly before folding her arms. "Are you stealing the fruit, mijo?"

He drops his spoon.
"Mama."

"Answer me."

Caesar looks to you with an exasperated expression.

"Don't look at him, answer me Caesar." She reiterates, her accent growing stronger.

He swings his head towards her, his eyes dull and evasive.
"I don't know. They fall off a truck and-"

His mother laughs once sharply.
"They fall of a truck? Quieres terminar como tu padre? Huh?"

"Mama, I need the money. Nobody is getting hurt it's fruit they are gonna throw out anyways!"

Bianca closes her fingers on one hand and looks to you. You look to Caesar. Isabelle looks to grab another tortilla.
"Maybe you'll listen to Officer Delucia, that even if you 'need money' you can't do this sort of thing, Mijo. What do you even need the money for?"

"Nothing.."

"Nothing? Mijo, you got hurt because you're out doing things you shouldn't be. I raised you better than this." She looks to you and gestures towards him.

"Tell him, tell him what's going to happen if he keeps this up."

You awkwardly swallow your soup and let out a spluttering cough, as you wipe at your mouth with a napkin you at least get a moment to consider your response to all this.

>"I actually, uh, have something that I am late for. Thank you for dinner but I should really be going."
>"Mrs.Welles, as far as I'm concerned this is a family issue. I don't really think I should be weighing in here."
>"Caesar, your mom is right. Any other cop who catches you with stolen property, even fruit, is gonna haul you in. It's too risky."
>"Maybe you should cut him a little slack? He's only doing it to put money on your husband's books. His hearts in the right place he just needs to make better choices."
>Write-In

>>5963769
>>"Maybe you should cut him a little slack? He's only doing it to put money on your husband's books. His hearts in the right place he just needs to make better choices."

>>5963793
+1
Caesar has never not once said, suggested, or implied otherwise. He's doing all this for his dad and his family, and he's been upfront about it every time

>>5963769
>"Maybe you should cut him a little slack? He's only doing it to put money on your husband's books. His hearts in the right place he just needs to make better choices."
That said...
>"Caesar, your mom is right. Any other cop who catches you with stolen property, even fruit, is gonna haul you in. It's too risky."

>>5963769
>>5963851
+1

>>5963769
Changing vote from >>5963847 to backing >>5963851
There's gotta be plenty of legit ways to do this

>>5963851
+1

>>5963851
+1

>>5963769
>>Write-In "If it really is otherwise going to go to waste, you should try and petition for it as a charitable action. Not only would it prevent any other cops from getting on your case and harassing you, but it would look good on any future applications you might make."

>>5964508
supporting

From chill family moments to uncomfortable family moments in record time.

>>5963851
+1

>>5963769
Not all GCPD are oft touches like us. Some of them will see a former gang-banger selling dubiously-acquired fruit without a permit and makes some snap judgements, with unfortunate results. We aren't telling anyone what to do here, exactly, or at least I'D rather not... But if they want our opinion as a cop...

>>5963851
>>5963871
>>5963874
>>5964222
>>5964223
>>5966271

You set your napkin down and clear your throat a final time.

"Maybe you should cut him a little slack? He's only doing it to put money on your husband's books. His hearts in the right place he just needs to make better choices." You start, her eyebrows lift in shock and before Caesar can point to you and declare victory in this argument you hold up a hand towards him. "That being said, Caesar, your mom is right. Any other cop who catches you with stolen property, even fruit, is gonna haul you in. It's too risky."

The table remains silent for a few moments, Isabelle looks at you with wide eyes before shifting them between her brother and mother. Caesar's mother breaks the silence.

"You're doing this for your father?" Her voice is quiet, but there's something behind it that makes you feel like you said something you shouldn't have. Caesar closes his eyes for a second and looks up, something in his eyes.

"Well you weren't. Someone still has to let him know we care."

"Caesar." Bianca says calmly, quietly, and slow. "You do not understand things as much as you think you do."

"Well nobody explains shit to me, I'm nearly eighteen now ma, things have changed I can help now."

"Caesar.." She says exasperated, like this is a conversation had many times over.

You open your mouth to say something, anything but Caesar locks eyes with you and speaks first.
"And you, DL, all this shit about better choices? That kind of talk might work on Coventry coños but I they didn't make good choices, they only HAD good choices, I'm just doing the best I can." As he finishes he stands up sending his chair scuttling backwards before retreating down the hall to the room that once held soft music.

You blink a few times and shift your eyes over to Bianca, she stares dully at the table, you feel a pang somewhere in your chest and a wave of cold washes over you. Isabelle seems uncomfortably used to this sort of thing as she simply continues eating her dinner and sneaking her cake a few desiring looks. A familiar cramping comes as your stomach knots up and lies heavy while your appetite leaves you. An awkward silence permeates the entire room as you flounder for the next thing to do.

>"I'll show myself out, I think. Let you handle the parenting."
>"Maybe I should go talk to him? Easier a friend than a parent, right?"
>"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Feels like this isn't a new topic."
>"What's the situation with his Dad like? Are you two not on good terms?"
>Write-in

>>5966707
>"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Feels like this isn't a new topic."
As I've said before, nobody likes nosy psychics getting into their own stuff. If we start probing, they'll assume we're using Shivers on them, even if it's just our intuition.

>>5966710
+1

>>5966707
>>5966710
+1
Yeah. Not quite our business even if we want good for Caesar.

>>5966710
>>5966712
>>5966775

You push your bowl forward and fold your hands.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Feels like this isn't a new topic."

"It's not." She says abruptly, her face a barely hidden mask of frustration. You just hold your hands up.

"Understood, nobody likes nosy psychic getting into their business."

"It's not like that, it's just.." She sighs looking to Isabelle. "Izzy, take your brother his dinner, you can finish eating in the room with him."

The little girl needs no further prodding as she hops up from the table, abandoning her bowl and picking up Caesar's, in her free hand the small cupcake box is clutched against her body. When you hear the door down the hall click, Bianca lets out a weary sigh.

"I love Caesar's father.." She says, immediately bringing heat to your face.

"Right.." You say, not sure where this is even going.

"I told Caesar after you sent him home the first time you two met, that running around in the streets with men like Anarky wasn't acceptable and I told him.." She pauses. "You're going to think I'm a terrible mother, but I told him actions have consequences. The same conversation I've had a hundred times with him, only this time he threw in my face that 'Dad taught him that when he went to jail' and I was so frustrated. I had just gotten a call that our visit was canceled again because of a fight his father got in, all this time and he was just so much like his dad, I just snapped. I told him until his Father could prove that he could behave himself that I wasn't going to send him anymore money. That I wasn't going to give him take anymore until he or Caesar could prove to me.."

She breaks her sentence off early, eyes shining with a thin layer of tears, one small bundle breaks free and leaves a smudge in her make-up.

"Bianca, I'm very sorry for the situation you're in. Having to deal with raising a family while entangled in all of this mess with Anarky. It can't be easy." You speak gently, the words of your crisis management instructor ringing in your head.

She sniffs once and blinks away the excess liquid.
"No, I'm sorry. I should not be dumping this on you, you've already done a lot for my children already, Officer."

"Raising kids can't be easy, especially in this city, my parents went through hell with me but now that I'm older I can look back on everything they did for me and understand it. Sometimes all it takes to change our perspective is time."

"I feel like I don't even understand half the things I do myself. I just try to do what's best for them."

She looks down the hall and you see the bottom lip begin to quiver, perhaps it's time to go and let her work this out herself. You gently stand from the table and she looks to you.

"Your food was delicious, thank you for having me." You tell her politely.

"Of course, I'm sorry it ended on such a sour note."

You wave a hand.
"I've had days end far worse than this, believe me."

You step away from the table and into the small hallway. You cast a glance at the closed bedroom door and frown, hopefully Caesar turns out alright at the end of all this, a second glance at a clock reveals it is definitely time to go home. The sting is tomorrow.

Your hand turns the knob quietly and you slip through the door with as little noise as you can, no need to bring Caesar out for a goodbye when he's steaming. A clank and clatter of dishes from the kitchen draw your attention, between the slit of the door and frame you spot Bianca cleaning up.

"Buenas noches, Officer DeLucia." She tells you.

>Say nothing back, just smile and nod.
>"Go talk to him later, he'll appreciate it."
>"You should call the Prison, with your husband on board maybe Caesar will ease up."
>Write-In

>>5966796
>>Write-In
"Your children and husband are lucky to have you. Good night, Ma'am."

>>5966796
>>Say nothing back, just smile and nod.

>>5966799
+1
Poor woman, what a shit show.

>>5966799
+1

>>5966796

>>5966799
+1

>>5966799
>>5966932
>>5967058
>>5967323

"Your children and husband are lucky to have you, ma'am." You say quietly as you close the door, the last thing you see is the expression break and the glimmering tears fall freely before the latch clicks and you find yourself standing alone in the hall of the apartment complex. You let out a long drawn out sigh and close your eyes for a moment, maybe those neighbors aren't so out of place after all, you slowly open your eyes and head down the stairs with only the echo of your footsteps with you. You feel strangely alone in this moment.

Stepping out onto the street you catch the Plain Clothes at shift change. An Officer makes eye contact with you and gives you a nod with a knowing grin, you grimace knowing what it means, a problem for tomorrow because right now you're exhausted. Your drive home is quiet, even Gotham seems to be keeping it's voice down for once, it's almost as if the city itself seems to be holding it's breath until it sees how tomorrow shakes out or maybe you're just reading too much into things. Distractions cast away nothing keeps your mind of what is sure to be a dangerous operation, early in your career as well, your overthinking is cut short by finally arriving home. You park, head inside, and enter your apartment the same as any other day. Once inside you get a beer and hit the couch to try and distract yourself.

"...indications of massive flooding in..."

"...UN Peacekeeping forces are calling for a ceasefire between..."

"...National Championships hosted at the STAR Stadium this winter, will Victor Stone be able to carry..."

Flip, sip, flip, sip, on repeat. Nothing you go by catches your interest as your mind continues to wander into what could be. Could this be your last night in your apartment? Your last beer? You've done good work so far but nothing like this, a bitter part of you thinks of Issac and his PR department, how perfectly tragic it would be for an up and coming police officer dying early in his career before he could do all the good he had planned. That would push papers, that would drive sympathy for City Hall and the GCPD.

"Fuck." You say out loud to yourself setting the bottle down on the table and rubbing your eyes. You feel yourself entering the same sort of spiral you'd endure as a child the night before a new operation, or medication, or therapy. You lean back into the soft backing of your couch and close your eyes.

You breath in slowly and hold it, three seconds and no longer, then you exhale. You focus on your body starting at the fingertips, the way they feel ever so slightly warmer than the rest of you and the faint vibration you can feel in them, before moving on to your toes and then inward. Slowly using your breathing techniques and the meditation techniques of John and Nia you slowly relax your arms and then your legs until you finally feel that knot in your stomach uncurling. Your head lulls backwards and you just focus on the breaths.

File: Big G.jpg (82 KB, 459x521)

82 KB JPG

You drift into peaceful black solitude, the whispers of the city far from your mind, you're only disturbed when an orange glow begins creeping in from the corners of your vision. You risk a fluttering opening of your eye and find it assaulted by harsh sunlight, the feeling of dried sticky saliva on your cheek suddenly becoming noticeable as your head shoots up and you wipe at the crusty streak with a free hand. You blink a few times looking around the apartment, a brilliant sunrise punches through your window and gives the entire room an angelic glow, a sunny morning in Gotham. Anywhere else that may be considered a good omen. You panic and snatch your phone off the table to check the time, the hand gripping your heart finally relaxes as you see the time is actually 20 minutes before you usually get up anyways.

You make use of the time by finally losing yesterdays clothes and taking a shower hot enough to boil eggs. Your closet holds the clothes you had worn for the rehearsal at the station, a nice comfortable dress shirt tucked into creased black slacks, you change quickly and get yourself a tall glass of orange juice before grabbing the keys.

Stepping into the station you don't need inside information to know something big is happening, the commander's office sits empty, most of the Officers have their heads down focused on work. There's no additional chatter today, no jokes or coffee runs, everyone seems to be completely focused on whatever their assignments may be. Turning the corner into the Detective's Block you see why that is, a handful of Detectives from the precinct along with Sergeants stand in the War Room and in the center of them is Jim Gordon and Commander Reiner. A small box by the door holds a collection of cell phones and a sign taped to the glass reads simply:

'Place phone in bin upon entry.'

You enter the room quietly as you can but it doesn't stop most of the eyes in the room shifting to you. Gordon and Reiner maintain their gaze on Grey's Whiteboard. Kimble steps out from crowd when he sees you, only then do Reiner and Gordan give you a glance, the Commissioner's hand taps his shoulder and he leans in to tell him something. Despite the silence of the room you don't hear a word, behind Kimble you can see Hawthorne and Grey standing with folded arms, their eyes on you. They both give small nods. Gordon finishes speaking to Kimble and then raises his voice.

"Everyone clear out, get a coffee and something to eat, we come back in ten. Remember you are not permitted to access any phones or devices with an internet connection. If we find out anyone attempts to contact outside sources then loss of your pension and badge will be the least of your problems."

He claps once and everyone begins to filter out past you, mumbled hellos and a few kind words are given as the twelve or so men leave the room. Gordon makes eye contact with you and gives you a warm smile from under his moustache before also stepping out.

All who remain in the room are you, Kimble, Hawthorne, and Grey. The room smells like a mixture of at least four different colognes. Kimble approaches you with a stern look on his face.

"You're nervous." He states.

"A little, but it's that obvious?"

"No, you'd just be a moron if you weren't and I know you're far from stupid."

"Thank you, sir?"

He sighs, pulling out a chair and gesturing for you to sit.

"I was told to give it to you straight, so I am, no bush beating or pussy footing." He says.

"Understood, sir. Hit me."

"Before I say it, I just want to let you know that we have faith in you and nobody is questioning your capability as an Officer."

Hawthorne groans.
"You just said you weren't gonna dilly-dally, say your piece already Kimble."

He turns with flared nostrils to say something back but you see him deflate.
"Yes, sir."

Kimble looks at you with a stone expression and eyes that almost pierce as deep as Hawthorne's while he speaks the next words:
"Mark, are you sure you can go through with this?"

"What? Of cour-"

A firm hand stops you.
"I know you have been preparing mentally, physically, and...psychically I guess. But it's different when it's right in front of you. You are going to be walking into a room full of men who have killed before. Women, children, cops, nothing is off limit to these people and you are going to be sticking your face directly in front of them. If they find out who you are before the meeting is over..."

"They'll kill you." Hawthorne growls from the corner. "They'll stick you or shoot you or drag you down to those sewers."

"We have men in the sewers don't we?"

"Yes, but not a full map. Your visitors below had you pull back early and we couldn't get another group to head back down. The foreman refused, said he'd go again in a week or so."

Your stomach drops.

"So when they get into the sewers it could still not work out, all we've done is tip fortune in our favor." Hawthorne finishes.

"Mark, I need you to tell me you understand all the risks. That you could die or worse in there, because once you step in you'll be completely alone."

"I understand that." You say.

Kimble goes still in a way that looks like he isn't breathing.
"Then I'm ordering you as your Training Officer that if you think even a bit that you can't handle this, Officer DeLucia, you will tell me right now. You tell me right now and I call the whole thing off, we do our original plan of kicking in the door and hoping the sewer sweep teams catch em as they run."

Grey and Hawthorne watch you with sharp analytical eyes, their faces betraying no emotion.

>"I can do it."
>"I don't know if I can do it, sir. I'm sorry."
>Look to Hawthorne for guidance.
>Look to Grey for his opinion.
>Write-In

Fat Update: I'm gonna leave this one up for a while so you guys can discuss but we are finally here, the Sting begins in earnest.

Feel free to let me know your thoughts going into this event.

Good Luck

>>5967738
>>"I can do it."
>>Write-In
"I should probably get my will in order first though."

>>5967738
>"I can do it."

>>5967748
Kek, good one.

>>5967763
It is a legit concern. Especially if we havnt already done up one since it shows we acknowledge the risks involved and are going in even though we know that things can go wrong and we not make it out alive.

>>5967738
>"I can do it."

>>5967748
+1

>>5967748
+1

>>5967738
>"I can do it."
Drop an envelope that lists what to do in case i die
I assume people who work in dangerous jobs have a will or contact x people upon death

>>5967848
If you have no preferred heirs or charities or anything, and don't mind your valuables just going to next-of-kin, you don't really need one.

>>5967748
We got a batman phone

If there's anything that'll put us at ease, it's knowing batman has our ass covered.

Though once Gordon probably already let the bat family in on this

>>5967748
>>5967763
>>5967970
>>5967983
>>5968104

You swallow and force a smile with a chuckle.
"I can do it, should probably get a will in order first though."

Kimble's face doesn't move an inch, not even a flicker, as he stares into you.
"There are times to be funny and this ain't one. I refuse to take sending you in there lightly, never have and never will, I care about the men under my command."

You sit straight and feel a heat in your face.
"Yes, sir." You say quietly, embarrassed.

"He isn't entirely wrong, Kimble." Hawthorne says from behind him. He steps up to a filing cabinet by the whiteboard and digs through before producing a white sheet of paper and a folder.

"What are you doing?" Kimble asks, his voice exhausted.

"Giving him what he asked for, the kid want's to leave a last will? Last words? He can jot em down."

He stops to grab a stapler and bring it with him on his approach to you. The paper and folder are slapped down in front of you and Hawthorne hands you a pen from his pocket.
"If you're good to go, then say so. Write down whatever you want, or write nothing, whatever you need to do so you can go into this with a clear head. When you wrap up staple it inside the folder and we'll only open it if something goes bad. You get me?"

"Yes, sir. I can do this." You say, Hawthorne's words filling you with a resolve you lacked before.

"Then write. We'll give you some time." He pats Kimble gently on the shoulder as Grey steps by to hold the door open for them.

"Come on, Kimble. Let's get you something to drink."

The door clicks closed and you sit alone in the war room with nothing but a blank sheet and a cheap blue pen in your hand. You stare at the page and think...

>Write something down. (Write what?)
>Write Nothing.
>Write-In(?)

Apologies for the lateness of this, work obligations and yadda yadda. Hopefully the rest of my week won't be so demanding.

>>5968644
>>Write something down. (Write what?)

This being the last will and testament of Mark Delucia. I name my father, Nonno Delucia as executor of my remaining estate.

In the event of my death, I would have [10%] of my assets to be bequeathed to Ms Bianca Wells, to help in the care of her children. [20%] to the GCPD Survivors and Family Fund to aid others lost in the line of duty. To Commissioner Gordon, I leave 1 (one) unmarked briefcase located in my apartment. The rest I leave to my parents as I will no longer be around.

Signed,
Mark Delucia

-------------

To My Mom and Pop,

This isnt exactly how I thought we might say goodbye but then how is any. I'm sorry that I have to leave you two behind first.I believe in Gotham, that she can be a better place with the help of good people. I died doing a job I believe in, doing what I love. I'll be going ahead first and god willing we will see each other again.

Your loving son.

-------------

To Kimble and Hawthorne,

I entered this operation willingly, knowing the risks but also knowing what its success would mean. I'm sorry it ended this way but accidents do happen and I know we all did all we could. I was privileged and honored to serve under two of the finest instructors of the GCPD. Thank you for all that you have done for me. I'll have to leave the rest to you.

Officer Delucia

>>5968644
>My psychic abilities let me know things that i should not. The true identity of batman is ..(illegible scrawl)..

>>5968664

I like it, just a note though.
Mark's father is named Mario, Nonno is a term of endearment in Italian for Grandfathers.

>>5968688
Is his middle/nickname Jumpman?

>>5968688
>>5968664
+1

>>5968664
I'd add Grey to the final "Thanks for the mentorship" tally maybe, but otherwise it looks good.

>>5968664
+1
Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

>>5968688
Whoops. lmao. i trust you'll fix it then.

>>5968823
Yea, probably a good idea.

>>5968664
supporting

>>5968664
>>5968819
>>5968823
>>5968860
>>5969264


You pick up the pen and start scrawling.

"...name my father, Mario DeLucia as executor..."
You think about the brunch with your parents this morning, the things your father said swimming in your head as you write. His pride in you, your mother's acceptance of you no matter what, and the peace they both brought you despite a turbulent youth. You clear your throat and move on.

"...10% of any assets beqeuthed to Ms.Bianca Welles..."
Caesar, he's still on your mind, troubled but a good kid underneath the grime of the city. You have a nose for these kinds of things you like to think, regardless they're only in the mess they are now because you convinced Caesar to walk from the gang, at your core you can't help but feel slightly responsible for him and his family.

"...20% to the GCPD Survivors and Family Fund..."
Dent, despite his poor first impression on you, has the trust of this city and the people within it. His dedication to reforming the GCPD included a benefit for officers who put themselves in the line of fire for civilians. It wouldn't be a bad thing to have your legacy provide for some of your brothers in blue even if you aren't around to see it.

You look it over and suddenly another thought strikes you, the tucked and hidden briefcase in your apartment. Such a thing would raise a lot of questions, and you fear what some people's assumptions may be. Batman gave you that case but if you were to die it should go to someone
"..To Commissioner Gordon, I leave one unmarked briefcase located in my apartment..."

You look over the top and nod, but reading over the first line again, you can't help but feel the need to just say a little more.
"To My Mom and Pop,

This isnt exactly how I thought we might say goodbye but then how is any. I'm sorry that I have to leave you two behind first.I believe in Gotham, that she can be a better place with the help of good people. I died doing a job I believe in, doing what I love. I'll be going ahead first and god willing we will see each other again.

Your loving son."

You look up from the sheet and past the glass door of the War Room, Kimble leans against a cooler with obvious stress on his face. Hawthorne and Grey stand in front of him with big exaggerated hand movements and smiles. He gives a reluctant grin and waves them away, the scene brings a smile to your face and you pen one last thing.


To Kimble, Hawthorne, Grey.

I entered this operation willingly, knowing the risks but also knowing what its success would mean. I'm sorry it ended this way but accidents do happen and I know we all did all we could. I was privileged and honored to serve under two of the finest instructors of the GCPD. Thank you for all that you have done for me. I'll have to leave the rest to you.

Officer Delucia.

You close the file and surround it's edges with a fence of silver staples, perfectly sealed and hopefully the need to open it will never come. Looking back up you see Hawthorne in the middle of another silent story, the only crease to your brow comes when you see him mime having two fangs like a cobra, Kimble puts a hand on his forehead and shakes it while laughing. You step out of the room and their attention snaps back to you.

"Get it all out, Rook?" Hawthorne asks.

You look down to the folder in your hand and actually do feel lighter, like all your worries will be handled no matter what happens, you smile and hand it over to Hawthorne.

"Yes sir, I'm ready."

He smiles and gives you a nod.
"I believe you." He says quietly.

"Me too, anything happens and I'll be in there to get your back." Kimble says with a resolute look in his eyes.

"I trust you, sir. Let's get these fucking guys."

"Well spoken." Grey says with a clap on your shoulder. "But there are some final preparations, Gordon and the Commander have been clear that as our lead horse you control the pace of this, when they come back we're going to discuss the final plan and it'll be the last chance for us to bring anything up."

"Sure, so it's just me speaking up?"

"Anyone can, but you have the most hands on experience with this due to your ability, not to mention you were our boots on the ground in the sewers."

"Basically, Rook. You need to rack your brain and see if you've missed anything, any details or information that could be useful to the operation." Hawthorne interjects. "Not to say we think you missed anything or are withholding, it's just important that you take a second to check yourself before going in."

You nod but feel that familiar cramp in your gut followed by a growing warmth in your head as you focus on anything you may have missed or could clue everyone in on...

>Any last second information or clues you want to bring up?
>"I think I've given everything relevant, that I know of, to the case already."
>Write-In

This is a chance for the analysts among you to check previous threads/conversations, or even ask me clarifying questions if you'd like, this isn't me telling you that you did miss something, just an opportunity to bring things up now that may have slipped or you didn't have the chance to mention.

>>5969305
>"Did we ever confirm what that gizmo we found back at the store was? Whatever it is, the sewers might have more than a few installed."
>"Any rumblings of metas that might be working with the families attending the meeting? Wouldn't be unheard of for somebody to hire some superpowered muscle for protection during the meeting."
>"What equipment is the team in the sewers rolling with? I just wanna know whether or not I should expect a gas chamber if I'm down there."
>"Be honest, do I actually look the part of a career criminal?"

>>5969305
>"Did we ever confirm what that gizmo we found back at the store was? Whatever it is, the sewers might have more than a few installed."
>"SIM is a mob hitman, sort of, right? Do we have profiles on meta enforcers who might be there? Even if it's not him, it'd be good to know what abilities I should be prepared for."

>>5969340
Kimble is in the room with us. How much does he know about the SIM case? I'm very leery on bringing him up until I know for sure his own info on this. No +1 from me without that

>>5969321
I'll +1 this for the time being

>>5969321
+1

>>5969321
>>5969467
>>5969513

"Did we ever confirm what that gizmo was that I found in the store?" You ask Grey, he nods to Kimble.

"I checked it out with Bomb Squad, IED rigged to blow through a simple one charge wire rig."

"I get you, but you should probably dumb it down for Rook to understand it." Hawthorne says with a sly wink to you.

Kimble either doesn't notice or doesn't care, his focus lies solely on his own memory.
"It's pretty much your normal Motion Sensor that you get online with one bonus, additional temperature sensors to avoid accidental triggers you need movement and a heat register before it goes, it was rigged with a small canister of fluid and a sprinkler head. The entire thing was put together by hand, carefully, and the set payload was Napalm."

"Firebug?"

He shrugs.
"Whoever did it had experience with ordinance and probably chemistry experience on top of it. The housing itself wasn't anything too special, that motion detector can be found online."

"You mentioned seeing a similar looking box in the sewers didn't you?" Grey says.

"I did, it was just before we hit those strangers who were down there, but those boxes looked different they didn't have the modifications from what I could see."

"Think there's a connection?"

"Never accept coincidence as an answer until all other possibilities are worn out. Right?"

Hawthorne groans.
"Little cliché even for you, Grey."

Grey only shrugs.
"When a genius speaks people can't help but listen."

Hawthorne replies with a vulgar gesture before smiling warmly and turning to you.
"So you think whoever planted that rigged sensor at the store probably rigged some in the sewers?"

"I think it's worth putting out to Officers to watch themselves, keep an eye out for any of these black boxes."

Grey scrawls on a small notepad.
"Good start, anything else?"

"Any chance I'm not the only meta in the room? It isn't unheard of for people to hire Meta-Muscle."

"Our intel doesn't have any known Meta-Associates on record, guys like Maroni and Falcone seem to lean away from that sort of thing, the outliers are Cobblepot and Mandragora."

"Any of them expected at the meet? I don't want to be walking into a telepath or something."

"Sorry, Mark. Penguin has a list of powered associates a mile long so we can speculate all day but the end result is the same: We don't know."

You sigh, that doesn't make you feel any better but then again you were never going to be comfortable on this assignment in the first place. You've made your peace with that.

"Then I guess it would be nice to know what everyone in the sewers is running around with, if I go down with them to keep my cover I just want a heads up if they're gonna be flooding the place with gas."

"Uniforms will be armed with the standard sidearm and a few of them will be packing long guns, shotguns with less than lethal rounds, and Kimble will be coming through with Tactical from the front. Breachers will be packing tear gas so plug your nose, I guess."

Kimble chimes in.
"You were gassed out in basic, weren't you? You'll be fine."

"I also took a hit from a stun gun in the academy but that doesn't mean I want to do it again."

"I mean, if it helps sell your cover."

Grey sets down the notepad and looks to you.
"This has deviated pretty far from 'things you'd like to tell us' and become more of asking questions so I may as well just ask now if you have anything else."

You mull it over for a moment and can't really draw anything else up right now, the nerves and the city have your mind in a nice little cloud, you make a mental note to meditate before actually going in. You notice everyone staring at you expectantly as you mill through your thoughts.

"I guess the only thing I have left to ask is...do I look the part of a career criminal? Be honest."

Hawthorne remains completely silent. Grey simply smirks and shakes his head. Kimble however looks over you pensively.

"I'd arrest you." He says finally.

"Thanks.."

=====

After a few more minutes people begin to trickle back into the space, ending with Gordon and Reiner who close the door behind them. Grey hands the Commander a slip of paper and steps away. Reiner reads it and nods to himself, slipping it in his pocket.

"Alright men, get seated and take notes, we won't be going over this again." Gordon begins. "Since this precinct is under the leadership of Commander Reiner here, I'll hand over the floor to him."

"Thank you, Commissioner. Sergeants take special note, you'll be leading our men in the sewers, I have some new information from you brought to us by Officer DeLucia so listen closely....

=====

The meeting retreads old ground for you, but you watch as these men who sit several ranks above you listen intently to your reports, warnings, and insights taking them all as gospel coming from the mouth of Commander Reiner. Grey and Hawthorne are occasionally called upon to offer some clarifying information or lend an opinion while you and Kimble remain silent. Eventually the meeting draws to a close and men begin to file out to gather their men.

As everyone leaves you find yourself almost unwilling to get up from the chair, the looming reality of the danger still weighing on you slightly, Hawthorne, Grey, and Kimble are beckoned out of the room by Reiner. They step out and you close your eyes, slowly breathing you settle your mind following John's instructions, you feel the knot in your gut loosen.

A blob starts to appear in your mind, a pale yellow circle barely perceptible in the shadow, slowly a symbol appears in it's center. The symbol of The Batman.

Your eyes fly open and you find yourself staring into the well worn loafers of Commissioner Gordon.

"Taking a break huh? I can't blame you. I like to enjoy a cup of coffee alone before anything big, gives me time to think, settles my nerves."

You rush to stand up only to catch a hand on your shoulder.
"Easy son, you don't answer to me right now. Settle whatever it is you have going on with yourself."

"I'm alright, just doing some breathing exercises."

"Those are effective. Do you go all in on Meditation?"

"Sometimes, you meditate?"

"No no, but a friend of mine does. Learned from real flesh and blood Yogi's in Delhi, none of this tele-conferencing with fellas from San Diego." He laughs then clears his throat. "No offense if that's how you picked it up."

"No, sir. I also picked it up from a friend. A detective from another city."

"It's good to have worldly friends when we're rooted in one place. Don't you think?"

"Absolutely sir."

"Sometimes we have to be careful though, sometimes our friends distract us from who we really are."

"I'm sorry?"

"People say that children are impressionable but I think it goes for everyone, anyone in an early stage of something unknown is like a piece of wet clay, easily shaped by the hands of those around them. It's why I started the Training officer program, so that the good men and women of this department could pass along their views and their mindset to new blood. Change the system from inside."

"Hawthorne and Kimble have been great teachers, sir."

He laughs.
"Tell that to Commander Reiner, it's only by his recommendation that they got the opportunity. He's a good judge of character, and I think that shows in his officers. But even I'm not immune to influence, especially influence from friends. But it's important for an officer to always keep in mind the values of this city and to uphold the oath you took when you first picked up a badge."

"Of course, Commissioner. But, why are you bringing this up?"

"Friend of a friend asked me to check in on you and I'd be a damn hypocrite if I didn't, do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, son?"

>"Yes, sir. I understand."
>"No, sir. I really don't."
>"Sometimes an outside perspective is necessary though, don't you agree?"
>"All due respect, Commissioner I think our mutual friend should keep to his own business. He's been slipping lately."
>Write-In

>>5970123
>>"Yes, sir. I understand."
>>"Sometimes an outside perspective is necessary though, don't you agree?"

Our role is that of a public servant and we must remember that we are always accountable for our actions. Always we've also been working on the side with the Question and Huntress after all. So we do understand.

>>5970137
+1

>>5970123
>>5970137
+1

>>5970137
+1 as well.

>>5970123
>>5969340 is me.

>>5970123
>"Yes, sir. I understand."
>"Sometimes an outside perspective is necessary though, don't you agree?"
>"Not gonna lie though, I'm a little perplexed he didn't just check in on me personally. He's in town, ain't he?"
It's a genuine question. For as much as he does so with us, Batman doesn't have a reputation for going through other people for this sorta thing.

>>5970377
I suspect he's worried our Shivers will reveal his identity.

>>5970396
I figure that much was obvious. I'm only asking the question now because, in-character, it's perfectly reasonable. The Dark Knight isn't known to pussyfoot around anybody, much less cops.

>>5970137
>>5970190
>>5970310
>>5970323
>>5970377

"Yes sir, I understand. Sometimes an outside perspective is necessary though, don't you agree?"

"At times." He says quietly. "But it's important for an Officer in my GCPD to trust himself and his fellow officers above anyone else."

"A lesson learned from our friend?"

He laughs.
"I tweaked it a little, but yeah."

"I can't lie, I'm a little perplexed he didn't just check in with me personally. He's in town, ain't he?"

Gordon shrugs.
"Keeping tabs on him is like putting a leash on smoke, not much point to it. For what it's worth he mentioned you had some...grievances about how you'd been contacted in the past."

Your face grows red as it dawns on you that the Commissioner of the GCPD may know all about your rant at the Road House.
"Ha, yes sir."

He sighs and pulls his glasses from his face. Looking at you with eyes that are both hard yet comforting, like he can see straight through you but isn't judging, he gestures to the board and speaks quietly.

"Your focus should be on the Sting right now, our friend is around and he offered to handle this for us but I turned him down."

"What? Why?"

"Because this city needs to see that we can still be the ones who protect them, that we can still strike at crime while remaining in the light, and failing all of that. We have a back up plan."

You remain silent, the weight of his words starting to settle on your shoulders, you look up to him again and his glasses rest again on the tip of his nose.

"You're our representative today, Officer DeLucia. Don't let us down." He offers a weathered hand and you grasp it. His grip is shockingly powerful as you give a firm shake.

A cold draft strikes you, somewhere in the Amusement Mile on the north end of Gotham there lies a small pile of rotten soaked rope, you shudder and your vision retracts. Drifting back past the tall chain-link fence you see the slowly spinning tire of a wheelchair, it's spokes speckled with rust from the bitter sea air. Flickering from the blunted point of old barbed wire is a single swatch of clothing. An old Hawaiian Shirt.

You blink and find yourself looking into the concerned eyes of Commissioner Gordon.
"Are you focused, Officer?"

"Trying, sir."

"Take your time now to get ready then, we head out in ten to meet with Maroni." He says as he stands, dusting off his slacks. You just give him a silent nod and return to your meditations.

The unmarked car comes to a stop in the parking lot of a Gotham Gas and Fuel, you look outside and can remember your first shift as if it had happened yesterday. A sleek black town car sits idling in wait for you, a shady silhouette awaits you in the back seat.

You run your hand over your waist and feel the pistol tucked into your belt, a wiggle of your foot and you barely feel the snub nose attached to your ankle, hopefully they'll be satisfied with your main piece. You sigh and slip into your persona.

Mark DeLucia: Dirty Cop.

You step out of the car, trying to ooze sleaze from every pore, taking a moment to fix your oiled hair in a car window. A driver steps out and pops the backdoor, you recognize him as the lanky goon who stopped you and Kimble at the door of the restaurant. You slide into the backseat and find yourself in a thick miasma of faux-designer cologne.

"Officer." Maroni says smugly.

"Maroni." You reply.

"I think you mean, 'Boss' it would do you well to remember your manners. It's the bread and butter of our world."

"Excuse me?"

"You need to learn the language of respect if you want anyone to believe you're an associate of mine."

"Is that right?"

"Look at my driver. You think he calls me anything other than Boss or Sir? If he called me Maroni or, god forbid, Sal? Whaddya think would happen to him?"

You remain silent and stare him down, weighing his words against your pride.

"We ain't going nowhere till you show me you get it, it ain't just your ass on the line here. So call me Boss and show me that you can follow instructions." He leans back against his seat and looks at you expectantly.

>"Of course, Boss. I'll make sure nobody thinks anything is up."
>"Yes, Sir."
>"Well I'm not your employee, I'm a cop. Being a dirty cop doesn't mean I need to kiss your ass."
>"Focus on staying out of jail and I'll worry about the police work, Maroni. How about that?"
>"I'll call you whatever I want, it's only because of the GCPD that you're even getting to breathe free air, don't push it."
>Write-In

>>5972560
>"Yes, Boss."
He's the fucking scum of the Earth, he gets no more than this.
I would have gone for "Yes, Sir", but I feel like he's a stickler for the specifics.

>>5972576
>>"Yes, Sir."
+1

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>>5972553
>A cold draft strikes you, somewhere in the Amusement Mile on the north end of Gotham there lies a small pile of rotten soaked rope, you shudder and your vision retracts. Drifting back past the tall chain-link fence you see the slowly spinning tire of a wheelchair, it's spokes speckled with rust from the bitter sea air. Flickering from the blunted point of old barbed wire is a single swatch of clothing. An old Hawaiian Shirt.
Oh. Oh no.

>>5972560
>>5972576
>+1
Yeah I'll back this. Even if I want to put his face through the window next to his fat fucking head. I hope they break his knees when they apprehend him "gently".

>>5972560
>"Yes, Boss."
>"But I'm not your lackey, I'm a cop. Being a dirty cop doesn't mean I need to kiss your ass."
My assumption is that we act like we're hired by him, but overselling it might also raise suspicion.

>>5972553
>somewhere in the Amusement Mile on the north end of Gotham there lies a small pile of rotten soaked rope
>An old Hawaiian Shirt
I guess we're not shooting Batgirl in the knee.

>>5972576
+1

>>5972560
"Yes, Sir."

>>5972604
There's always other Batgirls, but good luck plugging Cassie Cain in the knee or anywhere else.

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>>5972608
>spoiler
Ain't much I'm not willing to lose chasing a dream like that.

>>5972614
Virginity? Wouldst thou give up your wizard powers, anon?

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349 KB GIF

>>5972630

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49 KB JPG

>>5972576
>>5972599
>>5972601
>>5972603
>>5972604
>>5972608

"Yes, Boss." You say, trying not to let your disgust for Maroni seep into your tone.

"Good boy, see how easy that was?" He says with a wide toothed smile.

You briefly see a vision of you putting his smug head through the window behind him, one of the rare times it's your own mind and not shivers, but instead of acting on it you swallow your temper and let your eyes linger out the window.

"Hey, numb nuts. We stopped talking, that means you drive now." Maroni says tapping his knuckle against the back of the driver's skull.

"Yes sir, Mr.Maroni." He replies meekly.

=======

The town car rumbles to a stop, most of the drive Maroni couldn't stop himself from yapping on and on about how this meeting was going to set him up to run it all, you never thought the sight of The Tobacconist's would be a relief to you. You go to step out and a firm hand grabs your arm.

"You think you get out before the Boss does?" Maroni asks, a threatening undertone to his voice.

You yank the arm away violently, an act which clears the look from the old mobster's face, turning to him you speak low and aggressive.

"I'm not your lackey, Maroni, I'm a cop. Being a dirty cop doesn't mean I need to kiss your ass either, it means you pay me and I help you. I'm not overselling for the sake of your ego."

His eyes still hold a spark of passive defiance but the rest of his body assumes passive body language.
"Of course, Officer. Just trying to make the plan work as best as it can."

You grumble as you open the door and step out, making a show of straightening and brushing off your shirt while your eyes scan the parking lot. A small collection of cars, some classic and others more modern luxury types, dot the empty lot. You feel a chill go up your spine. You miss your chance to look into the feeling as a slap on the back shocks you back to the moment, Maroni holds out a suit jacket which you take and shove into the arms of his witless driver, you shake your head and take a final breath to quiet the voices. You need your senses focused on this building and not the City right now.

Maroni leads the way to the door, you keep behind him and even employ some of the GCPD VIP protection protocol you learned prior to the Museum assignment. You keep to his back focusing on flank angles and your rear, trusting ever so slightly, that his sense of self preservation would lead to Maroni warning you of any threats to the front. As the driver cracks the front door you're hit with a wave of tobacco and vanilla. Stepping inside the main floor is filled with personal stages, poles with a mirror sheen going up to the ceiling, old leather armchairs, and side tables with intricate looking lighters adorning the centers.

"Cigar, sir?" A voice from the dark interior startles you as you flick your eyes forward. An older gentleman in tuxedo complete with tails holds a wooden box open before Maroni.

Your eyes begin to adjust to the dark and cool lighting of the Tobacconist Club and you see the more intricate details. Glass containers over vintage pieces of Gotham City history, old yellowed photographs, and newspaper clippings sit in gold frames behind the bar. A clicking draws your eye again as the man in the Tux lights up a freshly selected cigar.

"Any for your compatriot, Mr.Maroni, sir?" He asks, angling the box in your direction.

Maroni slaps it shut with a weak backhand while shaking his head.
"He's here for business, not pleasure. I'm here for both. Any refreshments?"

The man in the Tux simply bows his head and gestures with a long arm.
"In the conference room, sir. Please feel free to select any of our bottles from the bar as well, it's all on the house."

Maroni looks over his shoulder and raises his eyebrows, the same cocksure grin on his face.
"See, kid. The language of respect."

You keep a stone face and wait for Maroni to finish milking the royal treatment for every last freebie he can. After nearly ten minutes of perusing the both of you are led to a back room, it's entry nothing more than a set of beads on thin chains, Maroni steps through but you find yourself stopped with a hand on the shoulder.

"Very sorry sir, but the director of this event was quite clear, only the heads are to go in without additional screening. If you would?" He asks while gesturing to your arms.

You sigh and raise your arms, making no effort to disguise the annoyance that had been steadily building.
"Do what you have to do, I have a piece on my hip tucked into the belt."

"Thank you sir, but I am obliged to check you regardless."

The man's hands deftly and gently glide along you, firm enough to feel anything out of place but light enough to not leave a wrinkle behind on your shirt. This guy is good. He finds and withdraws your pistol, a loaner from the evidence lock up, he ejects the magazine before pocketing it and pulls the rack to eject a single remaining round which he catches in his free hand.

"If you would like we offer weapon cleaning while you have your meeting, no additional charge of course."

"No need, I barely use the thing." You say, if he's sharp enough to know it needs cleaning then he likely won't miss the absent firing pin.

He simply nods and sets the gun and all it's accessories into a small standing brass bowl. You look back and see others with similar contents. He sets the stand aside and resumes his search, his hands now going down your leg, this is when nerves start to chew at you. The ankle holster is a tight fit but not so tight he'd consider it anything but abnormal. You swallow and try to keep an annoyed but unbothered attitude but as he get's closer to your ankle you feel your face start to prickle.

"Where the fuck is my bodyguard!?" You hear belted out from the room. The Tuxedo'd Attendant stands up and pokes a head through the curtains.

"I was just finishing his search, Mr.Maroni."

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40 KB PNG

"Then finish it for fuck's sake and bring us a champagne, four glasses, and something small to snack on. Like olives!" He calls back.

You and the Attendant share a look and you shake your head.
"If I didn't need the money.." You mumble.

He gives you a sympathetic smile and shrugs.
"Work is work, sir."

You look into the room and roll your eyes.
"Let me help you carry some of that mess so they don't get any louder. I've heard Maroni when he's REALLY angry and it ain't pretty."

"I can handle it, sir. I assure you."

"I insist, let's get this meeting going so we can both get out of here huh?" You nudge the man and walk towards to bar top, he follows after you asking in hushed tones that you not bring this up to his own boss and quietly thanking you. You breathe a silent sigh of relief and enter the meeting room with an ice bucket, some glasses, and a revolver.

His eyes. It's the first thing you notice about him. Mandragora in the flesh sits at a circular table, green felt and ring stains from drinks long drank decorate it's surface next to old flakey stencils of Texas Hold Em rules, he's even bigger in person than the files said. Six foot five and nearly 300 pounds with ghostly white skin, and those eyes. You feel a shiver and your arm hairs brush against the soft inner sleeve of your dress shirt. Around the table sits Mandragora, Maroni, Falcone, and Oswald Cobblepot. You blink a few times standing in place until a voice breaks you out of your stupor.

"Are you going to hand that over, or are we going to have to take it from you?"
Mandragora addresses you directly in a vaguely european accent, his dead eyes watching you flounder as a smile spreads over his lightly blue lips.

"Sorry.." You say quietly setting the ice bucket and champagne down in the center of the table.

"No trouble at all, dear boy." Cobblepot says, quite politely, as he leans forward grabbing at the bottle's neck. You can't help but notice his hands are grotesquely mutilated leaving only 3 large chunks of flesh with half embedded fingernails in the tips. You pull your eyes away before you offend.

"Your bodyguard seems a little green, Maroni. Not just around the gills." Mandragora continues, still looking you over like a choice cut of steak.

"That's cause he's a cop." Maroni quips through a mouthful of olives and gin.

Falcone gives you a bit of side eye but doesn't move. Cobblepot and Maroni continue enjoying their refreshments and Mandragora has a glint in his eye as he looks at you now. On the fringes of the room you see the other bodyguards, draped in designer suits and cheap jewelry, they tense waiting for what comes next, though you can't help but notice one of them remains completely still as he lounges against a vintage jukebox twirling a matchstick in his mouth. Mandragora slowly rises from the table and looks you up and down.

"You don't seem the type of man who's for sale, what's your price?"

"Too rich for your blood, GCPD is a blood bath now with the 'Police the Police' shit that Dent is pushing." Maroni chimes in, a little too desperately, he swallows an olive roughly and speaks up in the same tone. "Why don't we just get this meeting going huh? Forget about that guy for a second and let's do business."

Falcone throws up a hand.
"That's what I said fifteen minutes ago when you hadn't shown up yet."

"Bite me." Maroni fires back.

"I got something worse than a bite planned for you." Falcone states while sticking a hand in his coat.

THWACK!

A sharp crack breaks both of their focus as Cobblepot slams an umbrella onto the table harshly.

"I believe, as the one who called this meeting, when we start is my call and so to is it my choice to count someone tardy."

Both the men look to one another and then slowly back to Cobblepot.

"Yeah, no problem." Maroni states.

"Take all the time you need to wet your beak." Falcone remarks.

"Steven, wrap up your questioning."

Mandragora gives a wave of apology and replies politely:
"Of course, Oswald. I simply wanted to know what makes a man abandon an oath." His gaze returns to you and his voice lowers. "So, Officer? What's your price?"

>"Cash, a lot of it. I got sick parents, rent, food, and all of that on a Cop's salary? I don't think so."
>"Only got into the department because Mr.Maroni wanted me too, my family is Old Gotham we remember how things were back in the day. Better than what's going on now."
>"Revenge, Batman put my older brother in a full body cast and I want to put a bullet in him. Two people who meet him the most are mobsters and cops, so I work for both."
>"None of your business, fatso, I'm not here to hold up the meeting so pretend I ain't even here."
>Write-In

>>5972763
>>Write-In
>"What do you think? Leverage. Kind of price you can only get once. And he got it."
Vague, but realistic enough. A touchy subject. Something that gives us a reason to be rankled by persistent questioning.

>>5972767
+1

>>5972767
Ditto

>>5972767
+1
Moms hospital bills ain’t gonna pay themselves. Nor will that vicious cocaine tab we keep running up.

>>5972767
+1

>>5972767
+1

>>5972767
+1. Good one anon!

>>5972763

>>5972763
>>Write-In
>"What do you think? Leverage. Kind of price you can only get once. And he got it."

+1
I like having the actual option directly stated in my posts.

>>5972763
>>5972767
+1

>>5972767
>>5972780
>>5972790
>>5972858
>>5972872
>>5972881
>>5972899
>>5973002
>>5973016

The language of respect. You're being tested here because of Maroni's fat mouth, you harness that annoyance and let it bubble up as you reply to Mandragora with a lifted chin.

"What do you think? Leverage. Kind of price you can only get once." You emphasize your point by pointing to Maroni who awkwardly looks to you with another olive between his fingers. "And he's got it."

Mandragora nods as his eyes glide to Maroni.
"Truly unfortunate, Officer. Maybe after this meeting a more beneficial agreement could be reached."

"Woah! What's the big idea?" Maroni says spewing olive juices.

Mandragora's eyebrows flick up and the smile vanishes. Maroni clears his throat and the two of them have a stare down, the only sound in the room is Falcone's groaning and the wet smacking of Cobblepot's lips as he pulls small smoked anchovies from the platter and swallows them in a gulp before delicately patting the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"I believe I am ready to begin." He says quietly, folding his deformed hands over his stomach. Mandragora breaks off the stare and returns his eyes to you.

"After this meeting we'll speak, I could have use for another Officer of the GCPD."

Something in the way he speaks sends jolts of electricity down your back. You simply nod and take a step back towards the edge of the room as Mandragora turns away and saddles a woefully undersized chair.

"Finally. The social club is over and now we talk division." Falcone says.

"Division?" Cobblepot asks him before chuckling to himself. "You make me wonder if you even read my invitation."

"I didn't have to. I can read between the lines, Penguin." He spits the last words and you see Cobblepot bristle but his composure remains steady.

"Illuminate me." His words cold.

"You send Pino to drop this shit off, Bertinelli's were part of the big three in this city." He pauses and scoffs before jutting a thumb at Mandragora. "At least before Moby Dick here got a hold of em, you brought them to heel and by sending Pino you got to put across two messages at once. That you wanted me here, and that the old power structure was gone, that someone who used to be in a family that was on top is your whipping boy now. So I already know what the next part of this is."

Cobblepot pulls his umbrella from its resting place against the table, he strokes the nylon material with a malformed finger.
"Which is?"

"The usual, fall in line or die, you may try and give Maroni and I a carrot by telling us we can keep our old turf and keep making money as long as we kick up a piece right?"

"You mistake me for something I am not. The actions you described are those of a common criminal, little more than a thug with planning skills. I am a business man, Mr. Falcone, and I bring you here not to stick my hands in your proverbial pie."

"Then what's the point of this?"

"To make money, so very much of it, and to earn it all legally."

Falcone barks laughter, he slaps his knee and looks to Maroni who's eyes are firmly locked on the umbrella.
"Go legit? You call a sit down because what you want me on the board of directors for the Iceberg Lounge 2?"

Penguins hand tightens around the umbrella. Mandragora smiles and shakes his head.
"I wouldn't bring up that name if I were you, Oswald is still sensitive about the loss of his club."

"Well it's a good thing you aren't me or my money would be tied up in Big Belly Burger."

Maroni finally speaks up, his voice quiet and nervous.

"Carm, that's enough. Let's just hear em out maybe."

Falcone scoffs once more and leans back in his chair with folded arms.
"Sure, make me your sales pitch, Penguin."

Cobblepot takes a moment to sigh and pat his umbrella, gathering his thoughts, before ultimately pulling out a sheet of paper and tossing it to the center of the table. From your position it's hard to see but it looks like a standard bank statement.

"That sheet lists more than fifteen businesses owned within Gotham city limits. You may already recognize a few of the names."

Falcone snatches up the paper and his eyes travel over it rapidly as he intakes the numbers.
"What the fuck." he states before slapping the paper in front of Maroni who follows suit.

"What in the goddamn.." He mumbles.

"I'm glad you can truly read as well as you promised, Mr. Falcone. That's only the beginning of our plan as well."

"You're ripping us off." Maroni says almost to himself.

"Blame yourselves. You've become so accustomed to feeding on scraps that you couldn't recognize a banquet even if it was under your nose. The businesses that pay you a paltry protection fee are turning record profits under new management, yet you were so absorbed in playing Godfather that you didn't even notice to charge more." Mandragora chimes in. "This is the flaw with the old ways, you both hang your hats on respect and territory, and the unwritten rules. Cosa Nostra. Oswald and I have decided to follow a new code, Dent's tax code."

Your ears perk up.

"You can't just take something that has been mine since before you were-" Falcone begins.

THWACK!

"Choose your words carefully, Mr. Falcone. Respect is not at the forefront of our operation like yours but I can run these businesses with or without you."

"So if we say no, you're gonna whack us?" Maroni asks, his eyebrows furrowed and the bank statement clutched tightly in his fist.

Your eyes flick up to a vintage clock on the wall, the debrief put the entry team at a half hour after your entry, time is running short and Falcone's objections and this back and forth are burning your clock to learn whatever you can.

>Interject and try to defuse the situation between Maroni, Falcone, and Cobblepot. (Say what?)
>Keep silent, no need to call any attention to yourself. Worse comes to worse you'll just have to do what you can with what little you're hearing.
>Write-In

>Maroni who's eyes are firmly locked on the umbrella.
>Maroni finally speaks up, his voice quiet and nervous.
>"What in the goddamn.." He mumbles.
>"You're ripping us off." Maroni says almost to himself.
>Maroni asks, his eyebrows furrowed and the bank statement clutched tightly in his fist.
Is the knowledge of the imminent sting getting to him? How is Maroni so cowed here after all the bluster and bravado he showed? Could we do something, anything at all here to get him some edge back? Or do we stay quiet and act the good little dirty cop bodyguard?

>>5973356
This entire show is Oswald and Mandragora vs Falcone. Maroni's barely talking or giving input to matter. We can leverage Mandragora's interest in Mark to say something, or pull the Maroni right-hand move somehow. Talking to Falcone or Oswald will be a massive breach and get suspicious eyes on us. That's a no-go

>>5973356
Maroni IS the weakest mobster at the table, which is why we chose him to flip. He probably also knows (seemingly better than Falcone) that Penguin has a habit of arming his umbrellas. Playing with his umbrella while Falcone is mocking him is the equivalent of polishing a rifle while making meaningful eye contact.

>>5973353
>Interject and try to defuse the situation between Maroni, Falcone, and Cobblepot. (Say what?)
"So you two, Cobblepot and Mandragora, you're splitting all this even-stevens? Sorry, sorry... I'm just a little surprised, since as far as I know, Cobblepot's way more, you know..."
(Maybe Mandragora will brag a little to impress upon us what a big swinging dick he is?)

>>5973353
>Interject and try to defuse the situation between Maroni, Falcone, and Cobblepot. (Say what?)
>"Boss, if I may interject, offing you or mister Falcone would be bad for business. Either of you go under, there's gonna be reprisals and vacuums to fill. Either way, that spells a string of murders if not a full blown gang war."
>"My department can't just look the other way at that point, and if we sniff out a tax scheme, that means the feds WILL get involved. As soon as the IRS comes knocking, it's over."

>>5973353
>Keep silent, no need to call any attention to yourself. Worse comes to worse you'll just have to do what you can with what little you're hearing.
We're meant to be the dumb muscle not Macaroni's personal diplomat. Best not to risk it.

>>5973353
>>Write-In
*small cough into hand* "Pardon boss. As your bodyguard, they at least wouldnt shoot us here. Too much a danger of a stray bullet catching one of them. And if the number are as great as your reaction said, they only need to outspend and push us out if we refuse, legally if they are to be believed."

>>5973372
>>5973375
>>5973381

You let out a small cough pointedly into the palm of your hand. Eyes dart your direction and everyone let's their words hang still in the air. You stare into Maroni's eyes and try to force him to get it, that you may have an out for him.

"You got something to say?" He asks aggressively, directing his attitude at you alone.

You awkwardly clear your throat.
"Sorry boss, as your bodyguard I just think we should maybe cool down a touch."

"So you think they're gonna whack us too?"

"No, boss. First of all I mean this room is a little small for a shoot-out." Your first line hits, Maroni, Falcone, and Cobblepot shift their vision and minds to the surrounding room. Mandragora keeps his eyes glued on you, a smirk playing on his lips. "They'd probably just settle for pushing you guys out with cash the legal way."

"Who fuckin asked?" Falcone spits towards you. "Put a muzzle on your pet cop, Maroni."

Mandragora holds up a meaty hand and holds it to Falcone, you can see his simmering rage just under the surface but he goes quiet all the same.
"I'd like to hear the perspective of a GCPD Officer, I don't know about you Oswald but it's proven valuable already."

Cobblepot shrugs. You take that as a sign to continue.
"Well it makes sense, you kill either of them and it creates a vacuum which leads to fighting for turf or status if not a full out gang war, if things go belly up then the department can't just look the other way at that point, and if they sniff out a tax scheme, that means the feds WILL get involved. As soon as the IRS comes knocking, it's over."

"It seems your bodyguard has a better grasp on the situation than you do, Maroni. Maybe we should be offering this deal to him." Mandragora says. Maroni flashes you a look and all you see behind it is malice, luckily his self preservation beats out his vindictive nature and he resigns himself to his seat with a huff.

"Put him in my place and he wouldn't last a day, this city would eat him alive. I've been running corners and making money since before he was a spark in his father's eye."

Cobblepot seems to consider the words and nods.
"That is true, both you and Falcone have been operating in Gotham longer than anyone left standing, your tenure with the city is part of the reason we wanted to bring you in. Our silent partner is seeking someone with intricate knowledge of the city, you two are the natural choices."

Falcone nods pridefully.
"Silent partner, that a fancy word for boss?"

"He is the brains behind the operation alongside myself."

"And? Did he get the flu or something? Why is he not here?"

"He isn't one for in person visitation, but rest assured he is attending this meeting all the same." Cobblepot nods to a corner and everyone's eyes shift to see a small black box resting on a shelf among poker chips and decks of cards. The same style of box you saw before but with a thin cable running from it up into the ceiling.

Falcone's tongue prods his inner cheek before he leans forward and snatches the paper back from Maroni.

"So you're telling me we could be making double what we pull in now if we go in with you, provide our 'services' to your asocial boss?"

"More like triple your profits, entirely legally as well. Eventually at least."

"So it ain't a done deal?" Maroni chimes in.

"It is soon to be, we are waiting on two very specific things to happen, when our criteria is met we will be able to operate within the bounds of the law while still making record profit."

"And what is it you have left to handle?"

"A private matter, unless of course you are agreeing to enter into this venture?"

"Do we got a choice?" Maroni asks casting a look to Falcone.

"We always got a choice, Sal. But no good ones this time around, we say no and we get squeezed dry. Say yes and we hitch ourselves to these freakshow's wagon."

Penguins grip tightens once more but his face remains the epitome of calm, Mandragora looks nearly bored to tears with his eyes on the clock. You check it yourself and gulp. The raid will kick off in less than ten minutes. Both men sit in silence for a few moments, Cobblepot busies himself with a fresh glass of champagne and Mandragora sighs heavily.

"I think we go in, Carm." Maroni says gently.

Falcone just responds with a grunt.

"All we got waiting for us if we keep up what we do now is some territory they'll buy up anyways, staff with their own guards, powered ones probably since Cobblepot there is linked up with em."

"Fuck." Falcone says quietly. "FUCK." He repeats letting a foot fly into the base of the table. Glasses rattle and liquid sloshes but Mandragora and Cobblepot fail to react. "Take Maroni if you want, but I ain't handing my turf over to a guy I can't even see."

"Is that so?" Cobblepot asks slowly turning the umbrella's point to Falcone's chest.

Both men enter a long silence as they hold stare into one another. The tension is broken by a buzzing.

"That's mine, apologies." Mandragora says holding up a hand and pulling a small device from his breast pocket. Your stomach drops like it was filled with rocks and you take an involuntary inhale when you see him produce a cell phone, the exact same as the one SIM had given you for your late night talks. He flips the, in his hand's, comically small, top and presses it to his ear. His eyebrow raises and he looks to Cobblepot.

"Looks like we'll be finishing this conversation on the move." He says simply snapping the phone shut before squeezing his fist tightly, the sounds of crunching plastic barely muffled. "My mole has informed me an order just went through dispatch to breach the club in three minutes."

Eyes turn to you and you hold up your hands.
"I didn't know shit about this, I'm just paying off my debt."

"Then you won't take this personally, we need something to occupy them while we leave." Mandragora states as he rises from his seat pulling back his massive arm. Oh fuck.

"Woah what the fuck!" Maroni calls out.

"No better distraction than a wounded officer where he doesn't belong." Cobblepot says nonchalantly as he clicks a button beneath the dealer table. You hear mechanical sliding and the sound of something metal clanging, what it is exactly you don't know since you're a little pre-occupied right now.

The words barely register to you as you watch a fist the size of a softball come at you.

>Eat the punch, just focus everything you have on staying conscious. Every word you can catch will help.
>Try to avoid the punch, it'll piss him off but the more time he spends with this the more likely the breach team catches them in the confusion.
>Make a break for the bead door, odds are they won't bother chasing you. Though they could still shoot you.
>Make a break for whatever Cobblepot just opened, if you're right and it leads into the sewers all you have to do is drop in and hope your knees survive.
>Drop to a knee and try to draw from your ankle holster, it isn't elegant but you just need to be faster than he is.
>Write-in

>>5973522
>>Eat the punch, just focus everything you have on staying conscious. Every word you can catch will help.
try to diminish the impact as much as possible. Im afraid if we dodge, we will get shot

>>5973522
>>Eat the punch, just focus everything you have on staying conscious. Every word you can catch will help.
>Write-in
But dodge the first blow and stall for a little bit.
"Wait, WAIT. I get it but... Don't hit too hard please, I still want to recognise my family."

We'll delay him slightly dodging the punch and talking a little but that'll we'll stand still and tank the next means he'll not be too upset.

Also, its important to try and move ourselves while dodging that blow so that our back in facing the camera we saw. We want to get thrown into it and 'accidentally' crush it. Otherwise whats going to happen is that our boys are gonna rush in and call out in a manner that its clear we're here to set them up.

>>5973522
>>Eat the punch, just focus everything you have on staying conscious. Every word you can catch will help.
Lean back and turn with it. And set that jaw or you'll lose some tongue. It'll hurt but hopefully we'll bounce instead of break.

I hope Mark has taken his judo-adjacent cop-grappling training seriously and does his break-falls regularly. Cause he's about to eat some floor kek

>>5973531
That's pretty clever too. Imagine letting yourself get rocked across a room just to bodyslam a router. Truly a madlad. No one would see it coming.

That mole needs to be hunted down after this. God this is the second time.

>>5973522
>Try to dodge it long enough to speak to them. "Hold on a minute, if we want to occupy them then just let me bar the doors! And while you guys amscray, I can handcuff myself to a chair. That way my position in the GCPD won't be completely compromised when they find me, and I still have my wits about me to tell them some convincing lies."

>>5973533
+1
Roll with it

>>5973531
>>5973533
>>5973566

Looks like we are going to attempt to buy a little time and line up a sell into a camera that would make WWE proud.

I need three rolls of a 1d100, taking the middle-most roll. I'll get the number and then write out the update tonight at the usual time.

Curious what you guys make of the meeting, what you heard, what your theories are, etc

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>5973588
Doesn't surprise me Cobblepot wants to go as legit as possible. Mandragora is the real threat here. Those black boxes might be tied to Calc, who is playing multiple sides including Anarky. But a certain Mr. Matches Malone being involved is muddying the waters. What's Bats up to?

Rolled 25 (1d100)

>>5973588
Deus vult, lets goooo.

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Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>5973591
The co-boss is probably Calc, considering it's calculator. Had some easy serves to Cobblepot for ez money and has been handling buildings in the area already.

Which means he might be aware of us individually. We're fairly high profile after saving Dent, so he's probably trying to figure out our angle.

Bats is probably taking advantage of the escape route to target individuals, but none of the bosses are really doing 'anything bad' at the moment. They're technically trying to go legit.

>>5973588
rollan and saving our asses.

>>5973598
>saving our asses.
>>5973588
>taking the middle-most roll
We're stuck with my 38 >>5973591

Hey everyone quick heads up, the update will be late tonight, very sorry but life is life sometimes.



ROLL: 38

DC: 45

RESULT: FAILURE

Update to come.

>>5974105
We are KO'd

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>>5974105
>>5974111
Pic related. Not like it's never happened to him, mind you, kek.

>>5973588
>Theorycrafting
I still think Darkseid or some other Apokaliptan creep might be involved.

>>5974111
Would you rather Mark gets knocked the fuck out and breaks the box

or

Mark is seeing quintuple, conscious, but the box is fine?

>>5974156
The latter. More intel is better long-run.

>>5973591

You throw up your hands, desperate to buy any time.
"Wait, WAIT!" You cry out, to your surprise he seems to hesitate. You take the opportunity to let your mind race.

GCPD is going to be in here any moment, taking a knock here isn't the worst thing in the world but what truly concerns you is that camera, Kimble was already acting protective over you and if he steps in to see you injured he's liable to say something that blows the lid off your cover. You need to take out that camera some how and sadly it seems the only option is with your body.

"Don't hit me too hard please, I still wanna recognize my family when I wake up." You mumble.

You see a brief look pass over Mandragora's face, something like amusement, before he nods. You watch the fist open up and the fingers curl until his massive pale palm is exposed. You gulp and Hawthorne's words come into your brain.

Just after your sparring bout he gave you some pointers..

"You're a half decent wrestler but there's gonna come a point when you get hit in the face, no dodging it in this line of work."

"The punch or the situation?"

"Smart-ass, listen to me would you? This is a lesson from TO to Rookie."

"Sorry, sir."

"Not yet, wait until the next bout. I won't take it easy on you then, but let's focus on the lesson. First thing I learned when I started training for Gotham Gloves as a young man was how to take a punch. Lean back and turn with it. And set that jaw or you'll lose some tongue. It'll hurt but hopefully you'll bounce instead of break."

You blink and see the palm flying in, you lean and turn setting your jaw, in your rush to turn you end up overshooting the mark. You feel a bludgeoning force slam into the back of your head and the last thing you see before it goes black is the wall mounted camera rushing to meet your rapidly approaching head.

Sound is distorted. Your vision swims and you feel a spreading warmth over your forehead. Your eyelids flutter as you move limp resistant arms to prop yourself up only to be brought back to the ground by a sensory flood. The scent of the sewer, a burning pain in your chest, and a sharp pain in your arm. You flounder on the ground slightly as sights of the Amusement mile, an old gymnasium, and a bank of monitors with flashing lights explode through your mind leaving behind a tail of agony akin to a migraine. Your vision holds on the monitor bank and you watch as your own writhing form is grabbed by the shoulders and shaken by a familiar form. Only then does your vision return and the burning pain in your head dies down to a smoldering ache.

"DeLucia? Hey buddy, wake up. GET EMS NOW!" You hear inches away, you try to force words but none come. The camera, your eyes swivel and a minor dent decorates the spot on the wall next to the camera, still untouched and recording you both.

You try again and only a whisper comes.
"..watching..." You cringe again as a pain that makes your eyes roll hits you for a moment.

"Hey don't talk, just stay awake. Get your eyes open for me." Kimble says, he comes into focus now more clearly. A black tactical vest with the letters GCPD emblazoned in stark white underneath his radio, except for the small pink tinge near it's bottom.

You shake your head and try to move your arm, it trembles in response and the headache threatens to surge again with any exaggerated effort.

"Stop moving, brother. Just lie still, you've..." His voice pauses and he clamps his mouth. "You're gonna be okay."

>Keep trying to speak, he needs to know you're being watched.
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.
>The pain is too much, whatever happened when you hit your head it knocked something loose, let go and let Kimble take care of you.
>If your physical body won't respond then you'll reach into Shivers to find whoever is watching this, it just forced itself into your mind so it's not like it can get any worse, right?
>Write-In

>>5974312
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.

>>5974312
>>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.

>>5974312
>The pain is too much, whatever happened when you hit your head it knocked something loose, let go and let Kimble take care of you.

>>5974312
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.

>>5974312
>>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.

>>5974312
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.
Swing your arm from side to side.

>>5974312
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.

>>5974312
>The pain is too much, whatever happened when you hit your head it knocked something loose, let go and let Kimble take care of you.

>>5974312
>Swing your arm, if you can just touch it you can knock it away or draw his attention to it.

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57 KB JPG

>>5974580
>>5974507
>>5974501
>>5974473
>>5974357
>>5974314
>>5974313

You grit your teeth and let your eyes close tightly as you put all the energy you can muster into a roll. You use the momentum to fling your arm up and you feel your knuckle connect with hard plastic that gives against your pressure, knocking it askew, your breath comes ragged as you feel a jolt of red hot pain behind your eyes.

"Jesus, Mark, just lay still and.." Kimble's words trail off, any light would be too much to handle so you keep your eyes closed and trust that he'll understand, you feel a shift in his weight and hear a satisfying crunch as something plastic snaps.

"What the fuck are you up to Mark?" You hear Kimble mutter to himself. The next sounds slam against your sensitive eardrums as he hollers. "Get me an evidence bag cause I got something over here, some wire cutters too, looks like it's wired and going up. Get Detective Grey on the roof of this place."

You finally feel your muscles relax, you did your job, you feel your entire body go pleasantly warm as if submerged in a long awaited bath. As you drift off you hear garbled words that bring you the last bit of peace you need to let go.

"You did good."

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

Your sight returns. That's the only way you can describe what you just experienced, like someone flipped on the lights, much to your surprise there is no follow up pain. You gaze out over a Gotham street, gray and washed out like an old photograph, you don't recognize this place but at the same time you have no sense of being lost. You pull and pinch at your face but you feel nothing but resistance and give. No pain. No sensation. Like a ghost.

"Hello?" You call out, there is no echo despite the emptiness of the city, you feel chillingly alone. You test a few more aspects: Your movement is unimpeded but still limited to that of a normal person so this isn't like your Shivers Flashbacks, buildings and everything else you touch reveal to be solid but devoid of temperature or texture, the sensation of touching them is like pushing solid warm air. You shudder and shake your hand as you step away from the office building you were just groping. Looking up the sky is it's usual ceiling of clouds but curiously they seem frozen in place.

"What the fuck.." You mutter as you ponder your next move.

>This is obviously some strange dream, maybe going back to sleep will take you out of it.
>This has to be Shivers related, try reaching out into this Stilled Gotham and see what it can tell you.
>Whatever this is you won't learn anything standing around, go for a walk around the city. (anywhere specific?)
>Write-In

>>5974856
>Whatever this is you won't learn anything standing around, go for a walk around the city. (anywhere specific?)
Was there someplace the killer said we were going to meet at?

>>5974856
>>This is obviously some strange dream, maybe going back to sleep will take you out of it.

>>5974856
>>Whatever this is you won't learn anything standing around, go for a walk around the city. (anywhere specific?)
Try going home

>>5974856
>>Whatever this is you won't learn anything standing around, go for a walk around the city. (anywhere specific?)
The local burger joint

>>5974856
backing >>5974859

>>5974856
>Whatever this is you won't learn anything standing around, go for a walk around the city. (anywhere specific?)
>The Amusement Mile
Those recent shivers have me thinking something important is at the Amusement Mile.

>>5974859
The killer said he'd text us the location when he was ready to meet.

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>>5974859
>>5974881
>>5974890
>>5974893
>>5974930

Thoughts swirl in your mind but in the center of the storm is one absolute. Whatever this is, you won't learn anything standing around, you need to move and check this strange space out. You set off down the road aimlessly at first since it would be a bit difficult to find your way somewhere when you don't even know where you stand now. You mull over a few locations you want to find and as you reach the corner of the massive building you had touched you turn and run directly into..

Home. Your apartment complex stands before you, your foot that was mid-step now rests on the first step that leads up the stoop, a faint scent tickles your nose until you recoil. You know this smell, burning flesh, looking in it's direction a thin trail of smoke emits from the alley and slowly the volume of the smoke increases making that scent stronger and stronger until you feel bile rising in the back of your throat. You groan as the smoke begins to sting and burn your eyes with a hacking cough and waterlogged eyes you turn the doorknob and step inside, desperate to escape the street, only to find yourself outside again as you blink away the tears invoked just moments ago.

A sign stands tall beside you, at the top is a familiar sign, 'FUN BURGER' it reads. Your head aches and you hear a sound like shorn metal screeching over the city. You look up and see the back door of the building sitting open and a familiar shape leaning sideways in it's frame wearing familiar face paint.

"Banks?" You call out before scolding yourself internally. This is just a dream or a shivers vision, there's no point in talking to anyone here.

"Evening Officer." Banks says to you with a chuckle as he pushes himself off the frame. You remember this, your first day on the job, Kimble's stupid hazing ritual. You turn away and close your eyes, seeing old memories isn't helping you understand anything. As you're focusing you cringe as something solid touches your shoulder for the first time.

"Aw come on, aren't you gonna let me take your order?" You hear a voice taunt from just inches behind your ear. You spin to face the Faux-Banks only to replace the bile caught in your throat with a scream.

Banks stands before you, his left side still clad in clown make-up and Joker goon attire but his right side is terribly deformed. The hand on your shoulder is red and raw with a tight silver band melted and fused to his ring finger, flakes of skin and tissue peel up from him like an old pleather coat while pus bubbles peak from between bits of exposed muscle fiber slowly expanding and contracting as if breathing themselves. Your eyes travel finally to his face where his right eye is a hollow socket half filled with a gelatinous grey orb, the skin surrounding it tight, shiny, and splotchy.

Out of reflex you shove him away and in the time it takes you to blink he goes from the half charred clown to regular old Banks in his full uniform. As he falls back from you his head cracks off the curb and his head lulls to the side. Limp. You stare at him, his wool uniform shirt riddled with tiny ragged holes, for a moment you can't even bring yourself to move.

An explosion from in front of you scares the hell out of you on top of bringing you back to the moment. As you throw up your hands to protect yourself a sensation hits like warm puffs of air striking your chest. You open your eyes from the flinch and see a shadowy figure hovering above Banks body, it's form incomplete. You hear glass behind you clinking at it falls, you look over your shoulder and see the front glass door of a Gas Station falling apart.

"THIS IS 1-ADAM-1, OFFICER KIMBLE. WE HAVE AN OFFICER DOWN, UNCONCIOUS BUT BREATHING. SUBJECT IS ARMED WITH A SHOTGUN AND HELD UP INSIDE GOTHAM GAS AND FUEL ON 13TH. CODE 3, DISPATCH AMBULANCE AND RA TO SCENE." The voice is absolutely Kimble's but despite being only feet away from 'him' it still reaches your ears with the crackling distortion of radio static.

Your head surges again, the pain washing over your eyes and temples like a harsh wave, your entire body starts to feel the pain now as you sink to your knees. Your hands clutch at the side of your head and your fingers scramble against your skin and skull as you resist the urge to pull at your own hair.

"What the fuck is this?" You push through gritted teeth and tears, your spit flies freely from between your lips as you return to an old habit, one that your grandfather insisted upon ever since you were a child. You steel yourself and repeat.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he-" You struggle to get the final words out, speaking as if your lungs were being crushed by two powerful hands, but then something reaches your ears that even through the pain fills you with a bittersweet joy. Your grandfather's voice.

"For the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you, Mark.”

You force your eyes open through the pain and feel it all dissipate at once. You breathe heavily, taking more than a few minutes to gather your wits and energy, your body feels as if it's in a throbbing state of growth and reduction. You let yourself lean back and cool stone meets you touch, spreading a delicate soothing through you. You let your eyes sway in the new dim environment you find yourself in: a hallway.

Your eyes rock to the left to meet two metal doors with blinding white and red coloring, an ambulance? The doors are imbedded into smooth concrete walls that cap the end. Your eyes rock right and meet a different door, this one tall and made of a dark chocolate colored wood and shining gold handle, behind it you can hear sniffing and sniveling almost like that of a child's but something...off.

Using the wall to stabilize yourself you slowly rise and take a few deep breaths. Neither of these doors give you any feeling as far as Shivers go. In fact all the noise you'd grown so used to over the years is gone. It's absence unnoticed in the face of so much stress and uncertainty, coming to the realization now only makes you feel even more naked in the face of this unknown.

Looking up and down, behind or forward, none of it matters. You're trapped in a stone tunnel with two ways out, the doors at either end. You shift an uneasy glance between them and whisper another prayer your Nonno taught you before heading for...

>The Double Ambulance Doors.

>The Fancy Office Door.


Big text wall, really enjoyed writing this segment out and look forward to seeing what you guys decide on. We resume tomorrow at the usual time, feel free to use the between time to ask me any sort of questions or give me feedback. I'll be swapping to my phone so I'll be online and able to respond to you guys for the morning for a couple hours.

>>5975035
>The Double Ambulance Doors.
Those seem to be points we *could have* fucked up but didn't? The gas station, banks' whole thing. I have no idea what any of that means. Mark is just tripping I guess.
I would be such a shit oracle, I can't decipher any of that.

At least I'm caught up now. Funny that we tried so hard to bring the gun into the meeting and it didn't matter at all. Sewer dive didn't seem to matter either. Fucking mole, god damn it. Sorry Gordon, no win for GCPD today.

>>5975075
First of all, thank you for taking the time to catch up. I hope you've been enjoying the story so far. As far as the gun and the sewers, without saying too much, I'll just say this.

Don't write things off as being all for naught just yet.

>>5975035
>The Fancy Office Door.

>>5975035
>The Fancy Office Door.

Nice segment QM. You do these dream sequences well!

>>5975097
The craziest part about it is when he started this quest, the idea of Mark being superpowered definitely wasn't on his mind. Let alone it being Disco Elysium shivers.

DESU, I'm more surprised DC itself didn't take the idea of 'shivers' given Gotham has actual magical/spiritual shit going on

>>5975035
>The Fancy Office Door.

>>5975035
>The Double Ambulance Doors.
Don't go into the light!

>>5975035
>>The Double Ambulance Doors.

Seeing as we have a tie and I have some stuff on a time limit to do irl, I'm gonna leave this up a little longer for any swap votes or tie breakers. Update will come late, when I get back if no tie breaker has been posted I'll just roll.

>>5975035
>>The Fancy Office Door.

>>5975742

>>5975229 is me, and I'll flip to
>The Fancy Office Door
We'll probably be fine... Right??

>>5975035
>The Double Ambulance Doors.

>>5975035
>>The Fancy Office Door.

Didnt vote at first since im leaning back and enjoy the dream acid trip ride.

Amber-Lamps:
>>5975075
>>5975229
>>5975391
>>5975745


The Office:
>>5975082
>>5975097
>>5975190
>>5975743
>>5975744
>>5975746

The sniffling and sobs from behind the Oak door makes your stomach contract but something about them draws you in, they sound so...frail.

The door is already opened when you reach it, less than an inch of clear space between the door and it's frame, you put two fingers through and slowly pull it towards you. The door glides silently as the light behind you creeps into the room, slowly like spilt liquid spreading over tile, you take a step in as a hazy shape comes into focus.

"Hello?" You ask quietly to the curled form in the corner. It rattles violently in response to your words.

"Leave me alone." It replies back. The voice goes in and out of audible volume as it speaks, as though you were communicating through a radio.

"Holy shit, you can hear me. Where are we?"

"Please, I did what you said leave me alone.."

"Huh? Hey can you actually hear me? Hello!?" You call out while waving hands in front of him.

"What, what the fuck do you want.." It laments, the front of it's body stays curled inwards.

"Hey!" You call, your frustration bubbling over as you reach out and grab at the human shaped mass of mist; the familiar warm but ethereal resistance stops you.

"Aghh! Stop it, leave me alone, I don't want too!" The mass begs as it contorts and spasms. You pull your hand back rapidly in shock and guilt starts to settle on you. Did you do this? Or is this just another illusion of wherever you are? You take a few steps back and whisper an apology.

"Hey, hey I'm sorry. Can you just tell me if you can hear me? Just wave your hands or something."

The pitiful cloud man continues to writhe in place as it's breathing stabilizes. It speaks to you no longer, instead using it's small stubby arms to pull itself away towards a close wall where you see some shimmering shape beginning to take form. The closer he gets the more it comes into shape as a dresser or something similar.

>This is a waste of time, whatever this is it's just another illusion. Leave.
>Follow the strange form, maybe it'll show you something when it reaches where it's going.
>Enough of this, grab the mist man and force him to answer you.
>Write-In

>>5975892
>>Follow the strange form, maybe it'll show you something when it reaches where it's going.

>>5975892
>Follow the strange form, maybe it'll show you something when it reaches where it's going.

>>5975892
>Write-In
>Let him hide in a dresser if he wants
>"Allright then, keep your secrets, ghost person. Hope you get better."
>Leave him be and go look around

>>5975892
>Follow the strange form, maybe it'll show you something when it reaches where it's going
This is SIM isn't it

>>5975907
+1

>>5975892
>Follow the strange form, maybe it'll show you something when it reaches where it's going

No update tonight, sorry.

>>5975898
>>5975902
>>5975958
>>5975980
>>5975990

You watch the strange form drift across the floor, smooth and easy despite the short distance, never ceasing it's movement even once. It reaches the large piece of furniture and the blob-like appendage that must be it's arm snakes into a drawer. The drawer itself doesn't move but you hear the noise, the gliding of tiny wheel on metal rails and the thunk of them reaching the end of their track, you watch as it pulls something from the ether. You see it, something small and rectangular, barely coming into view as it interacts with the shimmering mass' hand.

"Please. Please. Please." You hear it whimper. Until eventually it releases a wail alongside a sudden furious movement. You hear vibrations far away, as if you dropped a stone down a deep well, it echoes for a few moments but the sound eventually fades away to nothing. You look back to the figure and see it frozen now, it's more "human" aspects hidden by whatever pose it's taken, looking more like a blob than any sort of person. Whispers come from it but no matter how close you get or how intently you listen; there's nothing you can do to make out the words.

A sudden pain strikes your wrist, sharp and pinching, as the pain fades you feel a consistent pressure settle. You run a hand around the space and feel the slightest indent in your flesh; you don't have long to ponder the thought as a firm rumbling shakes the entire room. Long stretches of flashing light arc into the room. Yellow. Red. White. Rapidly shifting. You creep towards the door you took to get in, confident that whatever you could learn in this room has been learnt. You cast one glance back at the creature and feel a pang of pity before you step through the door back into the flashing lights that consume the hall.

The Double Ambulance Doors sear your eyes as the lights surrounding the edges work in tandem. As you get closer the light gets brighter and more intense until you set a hand on the long skinny handle and finally feel something solid and firm against your touch. You take a breath and yank as hard as you can...

The screaming of a siren pierces the fog surrounding your brain and you feel your hand tighten around the cool metal you had grasped just moments before but as you pull your hand away to touch your aching head your hand stops abruptly and the pain around your wrist strikes again. You chance a peek through barely parted eyelids only to see a pair of chrome hand-cuffs keeping you restrained to the cot that you lie on now.

You take a few breaths and let the swimming feeling of vertigo wash over you, some high pitched beeps sound off and a man next to you speaks.

"He's waking up?"

You groan and shake your trapped hand.

"Sir, please just try to calm down. You've been out for a while now, uh is there any way you can say some words for me? What day is it?"

You struggle to align your thoughts in the haze of pain and whatever drugs they've pushed into you. You summon the will to force your lips into position and ask...

>"Where's Hawthorne?"
>"Where's Kimble?"
>"Where's Grey?"
>"It's Friday, right?"
>Write-In

>>5978836
>"It's Friday, right?"
>"Where's Kimble?"

>>5978836
>>Write-In
“Yeah I can say some words for you and I’m sure it’s Friday or if it midnight Saturday

>>5978836
>"It's Friday, right?"

>>5978836
>"It's Friday, right?"
>"Why am I cuffed?"

>>5978836
>>"Where's Hawthorne?"

>>5978836
>"It's Friday, right?"
>"Where's Kimble?"

>>5978836
>>Write-In
Start speaking italian

Rolled 35, 51, 87 = 173 (3d100)

>>5978853
>>5978888
>>5978891
>>5978896
>>5978925

Your head pounds and throbs but you still test the waters with some slurred and mumbled curses in Italian, a secret lesson your grandfather gave you in your youth, upon seeing the medic's concerned face you blink a few times and spit it out in English.

"It's Friday, right? Or at the latest a little after midnight Saturday?"

The medic sighs relieved and nods, but something about him still seems as if he'd seen a ghost.
"It's Friday still, we have you on the way to Gotham General. You had us pretty shook."

You blink in the face of sterile lighting and tug on your railing.
"It was just a punch, no biggie."

The medic shakes his head.
"You were out cold for..." He checks his watch and you once again rattle the chain of your handcuff. "Going on twenty-two minutes, now. All due respect you should be a vegetable right now."

"It was less like being unconscious and more like being asleep. Speaking of respect would ya?" You hold up your restrained hand and the Medic slaps his forehead.

"Of course, I'm so sorry. Officer Kimble left the key with me. Something about preserving your cover." He digs through his pockets and withdraws the familiar cylinder before freeing you from your iron handshake.

"Speaking of, where is Kimble, and why is a trip to Gotham Gen costing us this much time?"

His face pales and he swallows hard. You furrow your brow.
"What's going on?"

"We've been kept out of the loop for the most part, but whatever you guys were getting up to, a hornet's nest got kicked somewhere. Whoever you guys pulled up for isn't going without a fight, him or his friends."

"What!?"
You try to sit up and feel a rush of nausea strike you like a bat to the head. A firm hand on your shoulder guides you back to lying down.

"Don't move. We sedated you because uh well. You LOOKED like you were seizing, but your vitals stayed constant. We don't know what damage could be hiding in your head and that's not even considering the blunt trauma you just suffered."

Your breathing grows heavy as panic creeps into your chest. You close your eyes and take a solitary breath in, settling the sensation and gripping your nerves, this is no time to panic. Not yet.

"How bad was it?"

His frown leans to the side until you grab his wrist and give him your best Hawthorne stare. He relents.
"We have three more ambulances en route, they're in a holding pattern on the edge of the area until we get the all clear. Traffic is dead in the water and Gotham drivers don't even move for police or firetrucks." He casts you another worried glance. "It's a miracle that the delay in treatment didn't go worse for you."

"Any 10-53?"

He stays silent.

"Are there any Officers down?" You ask with more intensity as you lean up on an elbow.

"Relax, look there's been a few calls but we don't know anything. We can't get in, we won't know until this all wraps up. So you just need to lay back and try to take it easy for now."

File: Spoiler Image (78 KB, 736x1030)

78 KB JPG

Rolled 87, 90, 50 = 227 (3d100)

You grit your teeth and try to force yourself up again, this time the vertigo and light-headedness come much more gently but are still present. The medic grunts and furrows his brow, finally raising his own voice.

"Officer, I get that out there you probably are used to doing things your way, but when you're in the back of this ambulance I am your commissioner, mayor, shit. I'm Batman as far as you're concerned. You cannot be active right now and if you aren't going to listen to me then I'll have to administer a sedative."

You pause and shoot him a glance. The look in his eye tells you he means it, your eyes shift low and he's empty handed. Wherever this sedative is he'd have to reach, prep, and still get his hands on you to administer it. A vision flashes in your brain, Kimble clutching a gut wound as he bleeds out on the sidewalk, just your own worries or shivers? In this state you can't tell. Fear wraps itself around your spinal cord and slowly climbs up, using your vertebrae for rungs, you try to shake it but no amount of lip stiffening is going to change the fact.

You're afraid.

>Grit your teeth and make a break for it, if you've been in dead traffic odd's are that you can commandeer a vehicle or even just hoof it back to provide some support.
>Lay down and close your eyes. You're still so tired, stress and strain have drained your muscles of their strength. Whatever is happening you just need to trust in your fellow Officers.
>Bargain, this Medic can be reasoned with. He's firm now but maybe if you lighten your touch he could take you back, even having an ambulance on scene could make a world of difference for the wounded. (Say anything specific?)
>Write-In

>>5979023
>>Bargain, this Medic can be reasoned with. He's firm now but maybe if you lighten your touch he could take you back, even having an ambulance on scene could make a world of difference for the wounded. (Say anything specific?)
If we ain't moving maybe we should stick nearby. I'll sit tight but the medical supplies in here could save someone instead of being stuck in traffic
Use shivers?

>>5979023
>>Bargain, this Medic can be reasoned with. He's firm now but maybe if you lighten your touch he could take you back, even having an ambulance on scene could make a world of difference for the wounded. (Say anything specific?)

>>5979023
>Bargain, this Medic can be reasoned with. He's firm now but maybe if you lighten your touch he could take you back, even having an ambulance on scene could make a world of difference for the wounded. (Say anything specific?)
>>Write-In
Explain how our powers work to an extent. It's on record we have them. We don't have full control and it puts us in a vision state. Sometimes it has us wander around, sometimes it keeps us in sleep.

Our vitals stayed stable because the knockout put us in one of those states. We're privy to information the others probably need to know about and our engagement is necessary.

>>5979024
>>5979033
>>5979159

Looks like we are leaning towards this. That update came in a little late so I'll leave it for a sec for the usual voters to pop their head in.

In the meantime can I get 1d100, best of three for....reasons.

Rolled 24 (1d100)

>>5979459

Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>5979459
lesssgooooo

Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>5979459

>>5979464
>>5979024
>>5979033
>>5979159

You take a moment to collect yourself, worry and frustration were bubbling into your voice, this guy was just doing his job. Being aggressive or defiant would just get him to further dig in his heels, he's just doing his job. That's when it clicks. His job.

"You know anything about me?"

He sighs.
"No matter your rank or position in the department, it isn't gonna get you special treatment."

"I'm nobody special, just a rookie actually, but I'm a Meta-Human."

His eyebrows shoot up.
"You? You're the Meta Cop that's been in the paper?"

You can't help but smirk.
"Exactly. My ability lets me have a sort of...ESP. But it's only local."

"ESP, like psychics? Being a meta would explain the durability to be out that long, maybe."

"My powers can put me into something like a trance but that isn't important right now, I took an oath to help Gotham as best I can and I can do that not by being in the action but even if you can just park us close by. If we ain't moving maybe we should stick nearby. I'll sit tight but the medical supplies in here could save someone instead of sitting here in traffic."

His mouth screws up and he frowns as he thinks over your words. His job. You need to press the last little bit.

"You took an oath too didn't you? To help to injured and sick. Neither of us are accomplishing anything where we are now, the things I can sense are going to be vital. Please." You plead to him hoping to sway his decision. After a few seconds of silence he crouches from his seat and meanders to a metallic slot in the front.

"Turn us around, get as close as you can to the barricade and let dispatch know we're setting up to receive lightly wounded officers and civilians. Anyone else will have to catch a ride with one of the other units holding back."

You hear the bass of the voice responding but can't make out any words, you're confident there's no disagreement because at the end of the day everyone in this ambulance has the same goal.

After some irritating finessing the ambulance manages to get turned around and you're finally allowed to sit up by yourself. The Medic offers a hand to shake.

"Robert Green." He states.

You grasp it and give it a weak pump.
"Mark DeLucia. Pleased to meet you Rob."

You feel his grip tighten as he turns your hand over in place and opens a drawer.
"I prefer Bobby." He says nonchalantly as he pulls out a bit of packaging. "And while you can sit up, I'm not gonna leave you high and dry. Gonna push some fluids and try to give you back some color. Plus it'll keep you from running off on me, on account of the needle and all." He gives you a goofy grin and you sigh nodding your head.

"Yeah I get it, don't worry. I'm not gonna try anything."

You let out a sharp gasp but remain stock-still as the needle pierces your arm but it's nothing you haven't dealt with before. You make a fist a few times until you feel the cooling flow around the crook of your elbow. You let your head fall back and rest against the wall of the ambulance as you make your return. Your eyes close and you slow your breathing, starting your meditation, and letting the voice of Gotham come back to you. Surprisingly you don't have an issue summoning Shivers up, it floods your brain, you gasp and try to focus your mind on..

>Kimble, tough as he is you're worried about him. That entire street seemed like it was in Mandragora's pocket.
>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.
>Grey, he wasn't part of the breach team but if the entire neighborhood started getting rowdy then he could still be in danger.
>Write-In


ROLL: 63
DC:25
RESULT: PASS

>>5979629
>>Kimble, tough as he is you're worried about him. That entire street seemed like it was in Mandragora's pocket.

>>5979629
>>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.
Kimble and Grey are big boys. If we can get a beat on Mandragora, we might be able to make up for causing a small riot.

>>5979629
>>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.

>>5979629
WHEW, close one on that DC.

>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.

>>5979629
>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him
WHITE WHALE
HOLY GRAIL

>>5979629
>>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.

>>5979695
Just for you, anon. And Huntress.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpoAcXu65TM

>>5979629
>>Mandragora, anything could have happened after you went unconscious. Your first priority should be getting a pin on him.

Here’s to hoping that Huntress takes advantage of the chaos and just sticks the fat fuck.