Chapter Text
Gotham Coventry
June 13th, Saturday
03:16
Since Gotham existed, the city has never known peace.
Petricor and car emissions scented the air, and the blinking blue and red of GCPD cop cars distorted the scene, drawing the attention of a few curious civilians milling about early enough to catch sight of it, stopped only by yellow tape and the tired-looking officers guarding it. At the epicenter of the crime stood a stocky forty-eight-year-old man with a folded umbrella tucked in the crook of his left arm, fidgeting with an unlit cigar in his right. Approaching from the man's left, Commissioner James 'Jim' Gordon—an older, but more lean-muscled, ginger man—nodded in greeting, "Detective Bullock."
The alleyway the two men stood in was a narrow walkway between a series of apartment complexes, each complex somewhere between three and six stories tall, with locked doors and barred windows lining the sides of the alleyway. At a glance, one would assume nothing of the sight, trash strewn across the uneven walkway, choppy noise from the neighbor's broken window air conditioner; even the water running in the gutters after the recent rainstorm is all par for the course. Though, if you just look up..
"Scarlet Winston, a resident from the complex to our left, second floor, was on her way to work when she noticed web-like shadows on the pavement floor, and well..." Detective Harvey Bullock gestured towards the tops of the roofs. It was hard to see it without the morning light, but after Gordon pulled out his flashlight and pointed it upwards at full beam, the slightest shimmer appeared; revealing an intricately woven gossamer structure that stretched across the tops of the buildings. A beautiful sight, if not for the mystery that the webs presented. Connected to the buildings, the webbing was at its thickest, each strand as thick as a clenched fist; wrapped around solid objects like patio railings, or splayed against the brick of the building like the webs were trying to dig roots. Near the middle, the silk pattern thinned out somewhat before thickening again directly in the center, where the silk draped downwards like a stalagmite, only to be abruptly frayed at the end.
“Miss Winston saw a cocooned mass hanging from the middle of the web. Once we arrived, we managed to cut it down using a controlled flame and a serrated blade, but it still took the team nearly an hour to get through.” Detective Bullock finished off, holding his cigar by his teeth for a moment to grab at a notepad in his coat pocket, flipping back a couple of pages before finding what he was searching for. Grabbing his cigar again, he continued back to his summary report, “We only just sent off a sample of the webbing to forensics, but at this point, all the tests we are taking now are more of a formality at this point. Like all the other reports related to this, the webbing has always been organic in nature, and the cocooned animals have had their organs and other innards sucked dry after being liquefied, leaving the animals in a preserved, almost mummified-like state."
“Never let it be said that Gotham is boring,” Gordon Huffed, tilting his head back to study the weaving better, then looking at Bullock from the corner of his eye. “So, another incident where some poor raccoon or someone's pet gets turned into a midnight snack. Any luck with cameras or witness testimonies? I find it hard to believe this happened in a residential area, and no one saw or heard anything.”
Bullock grimaced, shifting on his feet slightly, “City cameras have never been reliable, and with the rain pour that occurred all night, we’d be lucky to see shadows. I have Officer Merindez, Kelope, and Lee going door-to-door to gain any witness testimonies; and, if we’re lucky, maybe some security footage caught from the residents' own systems.”
“We’ll need a warrant to gain access to civilian camera footage, Harvey,” Gordon sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose, readjusting his glasses once finished. “As much as I’d like to figure this out, getting a court order for every camera that only might’ve seen what happened at a slightly better quality than city cameras—and all for a bunch of dead animals—might be a bit too much right now.”
Looking pensive and weary, Bullock turned around and began moving out of the alleyway, back to where the mass of GCPD vehicles is parked, “Then you might wanna see this, Commissioner, because it was no animal strung up this time.”
While three cop cars lined the perimeter of the investigation area, useful for any necessary detainment and warding off civilians, there was also an inner group of vehicles parked closely together. Typically, there were three trucks. The first truck, belonging to the forensic department, which gathers fingerprints, blood samples, and other markers for processing, has already left to take their collected samples to the main lab at GCPD headquarters within the Diamond District. The second truck belonged to paramedics, but with no injured individuals on scene, it stands unneeded unless something escalates. Lastly, the transportation truck is responsible for carrying anything the forensic truck couldn't carry; anywhere from large pieces of evidence to bodies.
Following Detective Bullock to the transport truck, he immediately spotted the custom-made metal container with a non-porous coating to make moving anything cocooned easier—courtesy of a certain benefactor. Inside the truck, besides the container, stood Medicolegal Investigator Lindsey Abraham, a young, soft-faced woman with tired gray eyes and sun-deprived white skin, intently scrolling through a laptop.
“If you’re looking for Clarence, I’ve already sent him off with the three officers gaining witness statements,” Miss Abraham murmured, eyes not leaving the laptop, “Abby is collecting photos and Hasan finishing triple checks on physical evidence, so I don't care how long you think we’re taking, Nickolas, our jobs are not something that can be rushed—” finally taking her eyes off her laptop to look at her visitors, Miss Abraham cut off her words and give an apologetic smile, “Oh, sorry. Commissioner Gordon and Detective Bullock, I thought you two were someone else.”
“It’s quite all right, Miss Abraham.” Gordon soothed, sending a polite smile at the tired woman.
“Commissioner Gordon and I would like a rundown on everything you have so far,” Bullock commented, rolling his shoulders before finally deciding to stop fidgeting with his cigar, placing it between his teeth one more time, and grabbing his lighter, “If you wouldn't mind.”
Gordon snagged the lighter out of Bullock’s hand before he could use it to light the cigar, tucking it into his coat pocket. Bullock gave the Commissioner a lethal side-eye before huffing in defeat and facing his attention back to the death investigator, who watched them with tired amusement.
“Yeah, sure, but please just call me Lindsey, or Lindy. It’s way too late—” Lindsey checked her watch, “—Or, uh—early, actually, for me to handle any formal address.”
“Alright, Lindsey,” Gordon said, nodding to the container. “What do you have?”
Lindsey gave a nod and gestured for the two men to come onto the truck, grabbing a pair of masks and tossing them to Gordon and Bullocks in silent request, before putting back on her own mask and safety glasses. Once they all have their masks fitted, Lindsey puts on her PPE gloves and unlatches the top of the container, sliding the lid to the side. The cocooned mass was longer than it was wide; at a glance, it could be around six feet and two inches tall, and three-and-a-half feet wide at the thickest area; tapering off at only a foot wide at the bottom and top. .
Lindsey picks up a Teflon-coated tool set and begins to carefully show off her work and evaluations, pressing a fine-tipped scalpel into the webbing and lifting the edges of the material to show the inside, “Getting through the silk without a high-intensity controlled flame was as much of a challenge today as it was all the previous times. You have to go along the grain in order to have the slightest chance of it working with you, almost having to unravel it, rather than cutting it.”
“Thankfully, the previous specimens have given me plenty of practice for this one,” She continued, grabbing a set of long weighted pins from the tool kit, pinning the frayed scraps away from the body inside, allowing better visibility. “I would never have gotten this far this quickly without the additional practice.”
Inside the cocoon was exactly what Gordon expected and not at all what he wanted. Even with Lindsey’s quick work, Gordon couldn’t see more than the body’s face and a partial of the collarbone, but it was enough to grasp what the rest of the body must look like. To say they looked like a shell of a human would be putting it lightly; every inch of the person’s skin looked tightly stretched across their bones like shrink wrap, eyes and mouth dried out and sunken in a permanent look of terror, what little of their hair is wiry and brittle, likely going to tear off when the forensics team begins to pry them out of the silken prison.
“Forensics might have to identify them with their teeth,” Lindsey narrated, gently using a finger to open their mouth to show them off; the set had visible cavities, two metal teeth, and a missing molar. “With what I have, I estimate that they’re male, likely early to late thirties. Cause of death? I suspect they were eaten alive via extra-oral digestion.”
“Like the last specimens, the easiest way for me to access what's inside the cocoons is by starting at the only hole found in the cocoon, this cavity, that—whatever creature this is—created to feed on the animals—and, well…now a person, I suppose,” Lindsey moved her hand away from the victim’s mouth and gestured to where their collarbone meets their neck, pressing against the white gossamer to show a large cavity, with a light, serrated pattern stamped in the flesh around the pit. “Assuming this is in fact another feeding, which I think it is safe to assume, we can also guess that somewhere on the victim’s body is a pair of fang marks where the creature injected its enzyme cocktail to liquefy the victim’s inner organs. Then, through the cavity, drank it out of the victim’s body for digestion.”
“Lovely,” Gordon muttered. “Anything else?”
“In the previous cases, we were able to get a residual sample of its venom, allowing us to see the particular enzymes it uses, so we may be able to get another sample once we have the body further removed from the cocoon,” Lindsey paused, clearly thinking. “Once we get the body identified, obviously notifying their next of kin and such. Currently, though, I have Abby collecting photos of the scene—she should be finishing up now.”
“I also have Hasan sorting and cataloging all the physical evidence—which, beyond the body and the webbing, is very little. So maybe ask him if he found anything interesting?” She shrugged, clearly unconvinced of how much information that would provide for the two men, “Other than that, I sent Clarence off to help with witness statements. Clarence is good with people, and I thought the residents would be more willing to open up to a forensic member than a cop.”
Bullock hummed, tilting his head in understanding, “And what are your next steps, Lindy?”
Lindsey’s eyes crinkled behind her mask, a tired smile, if Gordan had to guess. Grabbing and re-situating the lid back on top of the container, flipping the latches back in place as she responds, “Follow typical routine, my team will secure the body and any collected evidence, bring it back to GCPD base, and put the body in cold storage to await full processing and autopsy by the Coroner. While the Coroner has the first look at the body, your forensics team, in the meantime, will work with the other pieces of evidence.”
“Your team, our team?” Bullock queried, “Why the differentiation? Are you not a part of GCPD?”
“Investigator Lindsey and her team are a part of Bludhaven’s legal forces, not Gotham’s,” Gordon commented before Lindsey could speak. “Given this new situation, and how stretched thin we always have been, Commissioner Margaret Sawyer of Bludhaven was kind enough to lend some of her units until we have better control over this.”
“Ah, I see,” Bullock said, “Thanks for the assistance then, Lindy.”
“Mhm, always happy to help out our sister city, Bullock.” She hummed, taking off her mask and grabbing her tablet again. “Now, do you have any other questions? I need to fill in this initial intake paper and check in with my team.”
“I think you’ve answered as much as we can expect from you tonight, Lindsey,” Gordon said, taking off his own mask alongside Bullock and throwing them in the small waste container. Standing up and giving a firm nod in her direction before stepping out of the transport truck, “Finish up, and hopefully get some rest.”
“You too, sir, as unlikely as that is.” Lindsey joked, making Gordon quirk a smile.
Stepping away from the grouped vehicles, Gordon walked to the sidewalk near the alleyway where the victim was strung up and turned to face the still following Detective Bullock. The two men were still out in the open, but far enough away that no one would be able to accidentally eavesdrop.
“I want my lighter back, Jim.” Bullock Huffed.
“Hand me one of your cigars, and it's yours,” Jim negotiated, making Harvey roll his eyes before taking out a new cigar and tossing it to him. Gordon uses the stolen lighter to ignite his and take a long drag before giving it back to Harvey. “Besides, Harvey, you shouldn’t have tried to smoke it just before we were going to see sensitive evidence. Don’t need the smoke to contaminate anything.”
Lighting his own cigar, Harvey squinted, “Thought you quit?”
“I did,” Blowing out another plume, Jim waved his hand somewhat dismissively, “But I always let myself indulge in either one drink or a cigarette before I contact him.”
Predictably, Harvey tensed and barely bit back a sneer, “We don’t need those masked freaks to help with this.”
“Criminals or not, Harvey, they have their uses,” Jim parroted, used to this song and dance. “Besides, I’m sure they already know as much as well do, at least, this way, we can stay on the same page as them, rather than falling behind.”
“My respect for you, Jim, is one of the only reasons I go along with this, but remember if—”
“—the bats stop serving a purpose, you’ll say ‘I told you so’?” Jim finished, giving the detective a rare smile. Seeing this, Harvey merely shook his head, an ever-so slight twitch of his own lips.
Both men stood in silence for a few minutes in quiet contemplation, listening to the ambience of the city they love and want to protect. Quiet chatter and footfalls of officers and clean-up crews alike, finishing with their individual business and cleaning up the crime scene so it can be used by the public again. Several streets away, the sound of heavy construction can be heard, likely working on rebuilding the residential block of buildings that fell victim to last week's Firefly fire bombings. With the day nearing 05:00, they could even hear the beginnings of the morning dove songs and pigeon coos.
Take away the circumstances surrounding most of those sounds, and it could be considered peaceful.
But again, the city has never known peace, and wouldn’t know what to do with it if it had it.
“Harvey,” Jim started. “You have come a long way from the cop you used to be, and I’m incredibly proud of the leaf you turned over after becoming a detective. Having you by my side as one of my team members is a great honor, and I consider you a trusted friend.”
Narrowing his eyes, Harvey looked Jim up and down suspiciously, “Either you’re about to kneel over at this very moment, Jim, or you’re about to ask me a very disrespectful favor. Cause’ you don’t get mushy for no reason, and I don’t wanna' have to be the one to tell your daughter her daddy’s dead, Jim; she scares me.”
The laugh Jim admits is small but genuine, and makes the smile lines around his mouth and eyes become more defined, proof of the happiness he has in life, regardless of all other strife he carries, “No, I’m not dying today.”
“No, but you’re right, I have a favor,” Jim said, more seriously, “I need to make sure that whatever is hunting down and eating all these animals, and now a person, is only that, a creature. As much as I know you have been pulling away from all your previous connections, I need a man I can trust to keep an ear out.”
“You want me to reconnect with my criminal ex-coworkers and spy on them.” Harvey summarized, raising an eyebrow at Jim.
“Easy, not so loud,” Jim admonished, doing a quick glance around the area with his eyes only before focusing back on Harvey, “In short, yes. I need to make sure one of the rouges or crime families doesn’t have a tie to whatever is happening. If any information pops up, like if one of the rouges created whatever this thing is, or brought it to Gotham, then I need to know.”
A pause, “Jim, you never ask these things from me. It’s one thing for you to turn a blind eye to those masked menaces, but this is the first I’ve seen you ask one of your own people to dip their fingertips in crime; especially someone with my background.”
“As I’ve said, I’ve come to trust you, and I trust that you doing this won't make you go back to bad habits.” Began Jim, “And, we’ve had weeks of nothing on this case, if allowing you to put a finger on the pulse and telling me what you hear prevents a second death, then I can make this exception too.”
Pursing his lips, Harvey began to nod, “Alright, I’ll reach out and put out a couple of feelers.”
“Thank you, Harvey, that’s all I ask,” Jim sighed, his shoulders dropping from equal parts relief and resignation. Lifting his wrist, he checked his watch, “Can I trust you to make sure everyone else finishes their jobs?”
“Of course, Commissioner, what do you take me for?” Harvey straightened, recognizing Gordon's need to leave from the quick glances he gave to his car, “Have fun with those furry wannabes.”
“As much fun as you’ll have with the clean-up team, I’m sure,” Gordon quirked a smile as he turned away and walked to his car, parked just outside the perimeter of police cars. Giving one last call before he was out of Bollock’s range, “See you next time, Detective Bullock!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Detective Bullock murmured to himself, “See you soon, boss.”
Gotham Coventry
June 12th, Friday
23:37
Jessica Delrick knew she should have taken up on Michael’s offer to pick her up and drive her to the apartment. Honestly, she thought having pepper spray and a gun holstered to her side was more than enough to keep her protected. After all, she’s been shooting at ranges since she could talk, and knew enough self-defense that she would only be worried if she was faced with more than one person.
absentmindedly, Jessica silently thanks whatever deity out there that’s responsible for humans having adrenaline, because surely the crowbar to the jaw would have kept her down on the ground much longer than it did if it weren’t for the rush of fight or flight. Pushing herself forward, Jessica spots the entrance of the alleyway of her typical route to her apartment.
“Come back ‘ere, you bitch!” Shit. Jessica needed to move faster, ignoring her ribs' protests as she books it for the alley.
If you had asked Jessica what she did to piss off this man with such a fragile ego, she would laugh and recount with glee how she told a man off for assuming she was a prostitute and trying to buy her time anyway, despite her initial polite correction. Jessica would tell you about how she called him a ‘fatherless manwhore who would be better off spending his time swinging from a rope than intermingling with society, and how his mother must be so disappointed to have him as her son, if she even stuck around long enough to know how much of a disappointment he would turn out to be’. Granted, Jessica was also willing to admit she might have gone a bit too far with that comment, but she would also ask you to understand that she just got off of two consecutive bar tending shifts at the nastiest club imaginable, where she had to spend sixteen hours being ogled like a fine cut of meat and given the worst pick-up lines possible; so her nerves were a bit…sensitive.
At the very least, her comments shouldn't have been enough for the man to try to kill her! So yeah, Jessica is not laughing now. She held her own at first, enough survival instincts ingrained into her that when he swung the first punch, Jessica barely had to think before dodging, grabbing his wrist in her hand, and pulling him forward to unbalance him, returning her very own curled fist into his solar plexus. Thinking that was finished, and happy with how she handled that, she turned away from the man on the floor, gasping for a breath that couldn't quite come yet—
—and took a crisp crowbar to the jaw.
Turns out the fatherless manwhore had friends, yeah, that was her sign to get the fuck out of dodge.
Lying on the pavement in pain, spitting out blood, and disoriented, as the new jackass with the glorified stick began spewing every insult under the sun. Kicking at her side while she was down with what were definitely steel-toed shoes, kicking until they both heard the sound of a rib bone cracking, motherfucker! Jessica’s only real saving grace—allowing her to run—had been the fact that the guy with the crowbar would. Not. Stop. Talking. And that the fatherless manwhore, despite regaining his breath, has yet to make it back on his feet.
“You think you’re better than my boy, Liam? Huh, you know what we do to ungrateful whores like you? We’ll lemme’ show you, you fuckin’—” There! The perfect chance, as the jackass raised his arms to swing the crowbar across Jessica, he left a very precious part of himself vulnerable, and as luck would have it, Jessica was wearing the perfect, sharp-tipped six-inch heels. Swinging out her leg, Jessica jammed the sharpest part of her heel right in the man's crowned jewels. Then she ripped her shoes off her feet, as the jackass dropped to his knees, and ducked under the fatherless manwhore’s—Jessica refused to call him Liam—arms when he attempted to grab her, and ran down her familiar route towards home.
Though now that Jessica has managed to make it into the alleyway leading to her home, she has come to a very bad realization that she has managed to bring at least one of her attackers close to where she lives. Shit. Ducking into her apartment complex and hiding in her apartment might not work if they’re that determined to get back at her. Should they find out where she lives, they could always come try to find her later, and Jessica did not have the money for an unexpected and abrupt move. Pausing in the middle of the alleyway, Jessica’s hand moved to grip her hidden holster. She’s never taken a life before, and hitting a ranged target is different from hitting a ranged, moving, and living target, with their own lives and thoughts, and maybe family that cares about them…except fatherless manwhore, fuck that guy, honestly.
Skidding to a stop at the entrance of the alley, only—speak of the devil, guess who appeared—looking furious and slightly winded. Heart pounding in Jessica’s throat, she grabbed her gun from her holster and pointed at his chest, shouting, “Don’t come any closer, or I’ll shoot!”
“You think you’re gonn’a shoot me?” The asshole laughed, a manic glint in his eye, slinking forward anyway with a grin that makes Jessica feel like a pinned insect. “Look at you, sweetheart, you’re shakin’!”
Jessica braces herself and places her fingertip on the trigger, slowing down her breathing as much as she can, holding steady, “Last warning!”
“Yeah, no…” He paused, smile dipping for only a second before returning, full of malice, “You’re not gonn’a shoot me. We have somethin’ to talk about, doll, like how you don’ get to treat my pal Mikey and I like that, when all I wanted was to get to know you.”
He took another step forward, only about ten feet away from her now. His smile became smug and leering, “Y’know, I think I oughta teach you a lesson for those unkind words you said to me, show you what your mouth’s really worth, huh?”
“You creep,” Jessica snarled, “Rot in hell!”
“Make me, doll,” He jeered, two more steps forward. “’Cause I'm startin’ to think that guns just for show—!?”
But Jessica didn’t get a chance to pull the trigger, and that Liam ass-wipe couldn’t so much as get a third step near her.
The thing came down upon them too quickly.
Quicker than Jessica’s brain could truly process it, the beast grabbed Liam by the skull and dragged him upwards from the ground. While the night hid any truly detailed features, the silhouette showcased that its body had two distinct human arms and legs, but four long, arachnid appendages that arched from its back, both its right and left pair of appendages climbing the opposite walls of the alley, making the already small passage way seem suffocating in the thing’s presence.
Jessica’s fight or flight has switched promptly to freeze, her limbs completely locked up as she stared at the creature rising higher in between the buildings, Liam struggling in its grasp, using his hand to try to dislodge its grip, to no avail.
“Please! No—Wait, we—I can—No! no, we can figure—figure this out! Please!” Liam pleaded, further contributing to Jessica’s churning stomach. Equal amounts of sympathy and horror filled her veins at the actuality that she was going to watch someone die—she didn't want him to die.
My god, she mentally pleaded, just let him go!
But whatever the creature was—a new rogue, or some type of creature of judgment that had deemed the mortal in its grip unworthy—it did not hear Liam’s or Jessica’s pleas, and Jessica was filled with absolute certainty: if she did not get out of the creature’s sight, she would be next. Only looking long enough to bear, she watched as the thing brought its silhouetted head down to Liam’s neck, and listened to Liam’s cries pitch upwards before tapering off after a few seconds into terrified whimpers and sluggish struggles. Drugged, Jessica rationalizes, must have some kind of venom.
The creature began to move upwards again, dragging the limp form until it reached the top of the roofs, where it began to mess with its wrists, spewing some form of silver strings onto the edges of the roof and sides of the walls. Some kind of web, was this thing some kind of spider hybrid? Jessica shook herself out of the thought and forced her limbs to move, backing away from the creature and only moving when it was facing away from her. Whatever the creature was creating was complex, but it was making fast work of whatever web it was weaving, and Jessica had no idea when she would get a better opportunity.
Spotting her complex’s side entrance fifteen feet to her right, she used whatever courage left in her veins and bolted to the entrance. It wasn’t elegant or quiet, but Jessica was quick. But she knew she wouldn’t be quick enough, that thing scaled up the walls in seconds, it would take nothing for it to grab her in the eight seconds it took to run and unlock the entrance, then lock it behind her.
And yet, when Jessica is huffing and puffing against the door, she discovers that she did make it. Jessica is not still outside, and the creature did not follow her.
“That’s it, fuck this city,” Jessica hiccuped, her adrenaline beginning to crash. “I don’t care how much they gloat, I’m moving back to Ohio.”
Batcave
June 13th, Saturday
16:09
“Don’t make me drug your Zesti, baby bird.”
Dick loves his siblings, he promises, would die for any of his siblings in a heartbeat, truly! But, sometimes (and only sometimes, Dick swears!) he wishes he could wrap them up in a soft cozy blanket, and throw them off a roof. When his siblings refuse to take care of their basic needs, like sleeping, eating, or wrapping their wounds. When his siblings decide the mission is more important then they’re health, allowing themselves to take more hits than they should have, or risks they never should have needed to. All of these behaviors and more make Dick want to bundle up his family and throttle them with a rolled-up newspaper like disobedient dogs.
And the worst offenders, the ones responsible the most if Dick gains early gray hairs or—oh god—early balding, are Damian, Jason, and…
“Tim, the screen is not going to change just ‘cause you glare at it hard enough.”
“If I run one more test,” Tim muttered, knees pressing against his chest as he perched at the batcomputer, “Maybe a radio—”
“Nothing you don't already know about the case will show up; fewer tests, more sleep.” Dick soothed, running the pad of his thumb on the crease created by his scrunched eyebrows, distracting him from the screens, “Look, birdy. 'B and Robin are currently talking to Jim, so any information we have on the new case that we haven’t figured out ourselves will have to come from them.”
Tim sighed, leaning his head against the chair. “This is the first time that this entity killed a person, Dick, that sets a precedent we don’t want. One that I can’t let occur.”
Dick hummed, “I can’t convince you to at least take a nap?”
“Sorry, Dick,” Tim said, giving him an ever-so-slightly loopy smile that was not apologetic at all, “But after a couple more things at least, after all, I still haven’t gotten the compiled public and civilian surveillance footage from Babs quite yet to comb through.”
“Hm,” Dick smiled, “Yeah, that won’t fly. Hey-ah, Babs! You're thinking, what I’m thinking?”
A green icon appeared on one of the smaller screens to the bottom right of the batcomputer, Barbara Gordon’s camera showing her face a moment later, taking over the whole small screen. As usual, she was in front of her desk, the watchtower filling the background, nursing a white mug of instant coffee with her patented, almost permanently calm expression, and slightly amused tilt of her lips.
“Wait, hey now!” Tim protested, clearly catching on to what Dick was planning.
“Our favorite Red Robin has been awake for over 26 hours, Babs, and refuses to take a break.” Dick tattled, catching his little brother’s attempt to cover his mouth, turning the attack back on Tim but putting him in a headlock and rubbing his knuckles across Tim’s scalp. “Maybe we should initiate the good old ‘Sleeping Finch’ protocol, yeah? Force Tim to at least get 4 hours of—Gah!”
In Dick’s hubris, he forgot that Tim is very willing to bite, and gave Tim easy access to his arm through the headlock.
“Go away, you blue feathered devil,” Tim hissed, sticking his tongue out at Dick before huffing, “Don’t you have your own city to bother?”
“I don’t know, Dick,” Barbara hummed, leaning back into her chair, her thumb absentmindedly fidgeting with her cup handle, “That protocol was created for you when you were Robin, not for Tim. How many hours of sleep did you get recently?”
He pouted at Barbara, “Let's not get so caught up in the details, Babs. My relationship with sleep is not what we’re discussing today—”
“Because if we had to discuss how often you stay up, your arguments would fall apart, you hypocrite!”
Dick pinched Tim, continuing in his finest British accent, “—Tim is but a baby, you see—”
“I turn twenty-one in like a month!” Tim gawked.
“Silence, small fetus!” Dick sushed his baby brother, “He is but a baby, Barbara! How is he supposed to develop properly without proper sleep? The horror!”
“Truly terrible,” Barbara nodded, hiding her smile with a well-timed coffee sip. “I suppose we should correct this at once, then, shouldn't we?”
“Both of you are bigger thespians than Jason,” Tim grumbled, batting away Dick’s attempt to boop his nose. “Which is saying something, since last week I saw him arguing with a mechanic about the shitty grease job he did on Jason's bike.”
Barbara perked up, “Is that where he said ‘To grease or not to grease’?”
Tim smirked, “Yeah, what a nerd.”
“Man,” Dick frowned, “I miss all the fun stuff.”
[BATCAVE : SOUTH ENTRANCE STATUS - OPEN]
[CONFIRMED ARRIVAL OF : BM01 AND R05]
[BATCAVE : SOUTH ENTRANCE STATUS - CLOSED]
[BATCAVE : SOUTH ENTRANCE STATUS - SECURE]
“Looks like ‘B and Dami will be here in a couple of minutes to give us their updates,” Tim singsonged, looking up at Dick with a shit eating grim only former Robins were capable of, “Guess that means I have to stay up and hear what they have to say.”
“You’re such a little shit.” This time, Tim wasn't fast enough to escape the almighty nose boop.
“What are little brothers for?” Tim pushed away from the batcomputer, and how he didn’t collapse on the floor from exhaustion, Dick may never know.
Following Tim to the Batmobile docking bay, the two brothers felt the Batmobile arrive before they saw it. Screaming down the underground tunnel, the Batmobile took a tight, precarious turn into the docking bay before coming to a jarring halt. With Bruce driving like that all the time, it was a wonder how Dick and the rest of his siblings didn’t crash even more cars when Bruce taught them to drive. After a slight pause once the vehicle stopped, two figures came out of the Batmobile. Robin, who looked as unruffled by the dramatic entrance as usual, walked from the docking bay and towards his two older brothers. The much more intimidating form of their dad, dressed in his black suit and long pointed ears, was approaching like a wraith behind Robin.
“Hi Dami,” Dick greeted, smiling widely at the not-so-littlest bat, and—gosh—Dick can’t let himself think of how much the kid has grown, only fifteen and he’s already got two inches on Tim. Nearly three.
“Richard, Timothy,” Damian greeted, somewhat stiffly. Shouldering past the two others, making a beeline straight for the changing rooms. Dick snorted; Damian must be tired for him to want to change the moment he returns…If only he could get Tim to recognize his own exhaustion as Damian did.
“Bruce,” Tim greeted this time, a hop in his step as their dad moved for the batcomputer, rather than choosing to change right away, “So what did Jim update you on? Anything new? Have they identified the body? What are the witness reports? Have we found any information that narrows down what the entity looks like? Or if it was brought here on purpose? Created, maybe? I wanted to look over all of the footage we were able to collect, but Babs hasn’t sent it through yet, so instead I was—”
“Red Robin,” Batman looked at Tim, then a quick glance at Dick, before an ever-so slight loosening around his ever-present Batman-patented scowl. “Tim…when have you last slept?”
“Not you too, ‘B!”
“Over 26 hours ago, ’B.” It was Barbara’s turn to tattle, smirking into the camera and watching Tim glare daggers at her through the monitor.
“It’s fine, 'B I’ll go to bed soon, but you can’t expect me to sleep when you’re holding all this new potential information.” Tim waved his hands around, gesturing in his excitement to make a point.
Batman pulled out a USB stick and inserted it into the batcomputer, “I’ll tell you what Gordon spoke to me about, but I'd better hear from Alfred that you truly went to sleep afterwards, or I'll have the batcomputer locked down from you for a full twenty-four hours, understand?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“You never were a scout.” Batman deadpanned.
“The USB is clean,” Barbara commented, the sounds of her typing being picked up by her microphone. “Allowing the contents to be accessed…now.”
A small beep, then:
[STATUS : NEW CONTENTS CLEARED AND ARE NOW PERMISSIBLE TO ACCESS]
Batman tapped a button on the keyboard, bringing up an assortment of pictures and digitized statement reports. The first two images Batman brought up were a side-by-side, one with a male in his early thirties, scruffy brown hair and freckled face, with faded abrasion scars around his eyebrows and chin. The other photo was…
“Holy mummification, Batman.” Dick breathed, the attempted humor falling flat at the sight of this man alive and relatively healthy, compared to the dried-out husk he was made into.
“Liam Nesling, caucasian male, aged thirty-two years old, never married, never kept a job longer than a year, sent to prison at age twenty-three for aggravated assault for six years, got out after three years with good behavior,” a pause, “Like with previous feedings, the forensic team found a bite mark where the entity's enzymes entered the victim, and a cavity where the entity fed off from. The bite mark was located at the back of the neck, closer to the spine, and the cavity was found on the victim’s front where the collarbone meets the neck.” Batman began reporting, swiping past the two pictures, and brought up a few written witness testimonies, “Witness testimonies are fairly consistent: between 23:00 and 01:00, neighbors heard sounds of a distress coming from both a feminine and masculine voice, a couple in one of the complexes reported they heard the feminine voice threatening to shoot, but that no actual gunshots had gone off.”
“That’s not particularly helpful, in regard to the creature,” Tim mused, “Though I suppose you wouldn’t be telling us this if you didn’t have a point.”
Batman gives Tim a side eye, “Feeling impatient, Red Robin?”
“No, no, please, go ahead.” Tim waved him on. “I’m the pinnacle of patience.”
“Hrm.” Though clearly not believing him, Batman swiped to two new photos. A man and a woman, with the man also looking to be in mid-early thirties with tanned skin, mid-length blonde hair, and a short goatee, with a decent burn scar across his left cheekbone. The woman appeared to be in her late twenties, with mixed-race skin, tight curly shoulder-length hair, and kind brown eyes. She had no distinct scars or other identifying markers. Gesturing to the male first, Batman continued, “Mike Riesling, Caucasian male, age thirty-five years old, works at the ‘Gotham Steel + Ore’ foundry, and while he has no convictions, his neighbors have reported him seven times in one year under suspicion of domestic abuse towards his now ex-wife, Velma Sully.”
“Good on the woman for leaving.” Dick absently commented, motioning to the woman’s picture, “Is that his ex-wife?”
“No,” Batman denied, “That's Jessica Delrick, age twenty-four, moved to Gotham from the township of Jewett, Ohio, and works a paid internship at Wayne Enterprises—”
“She’s one of ours?” Dick blinked, looking interested.
“Yes.” Batman paused, “Jessica works a paid internship while she works towards her master's at Gotham University in biomedical science. During the weekends, she works as an off-the-books bartender at a 24/7 privately owned club called ‘Tender’s Choice’, a club that's infamous for its employee turnover rate due to the assault the workers experience from customers.”
“But, I make sure our interns are paid enough, ‘B,” Tim stressed, looking like he was about to start pacing. “Even with college fees, there wouldn’t be a need for her to look for extra side jobs, especially jobs with a high assault rate.”
Batman nodded, “I looked through her financial records, the money she receives from the internship is covering her utilities, rent, and school, along with bills and insurance, as would be expected. However, the off-the-books money she gets from bar tending gets sent back to her mother in Jewett. She sends the physical money through an envelope, rather than putting the money into her bank account; a good way to not get tracked, but her family has no problem cashing it into the bank, and creating unexplained upticks in their income and where they’re receiving cash.”
“Jessica has a sister,” He continued, “Anna Delrick, who has intense and progressive multiple sclerosis; it would be safe to assume the extra cash is to help her family take care of her and her needs. I have already drafted a plan to ensure Jessica’s family has enough to take care of Anna, so that Jessica won't feel the need to provide. I just need you to push it through the company, Tim.”
“Done,” Tim approved, “Just send it over.”
Turning back to the board, Batman gestured to both Jessica Delrick and Mike Riesling, “Mike Riesling is a documented long-time friend of Liam Nesling, with their main weekend spots being the Tender’s Choice, the same place that Jessica works.” a small pause, “June 12th is the last night Liam was documented as alive, inside that club with Mike, indoor surveillance caught Liam following Jessica outside as she left her shift at 22:45. Then, sometime between 23:00 and 01:00, there were sounds of distress from a feminine and masculine voice, threats of gunshots, but no trigger actually being pulled, and somewhere in that, Liam being killed and cocooned almost directly across from Jessica’s complex.”
“You think Jessica might have had something to do with his death?” Tim asks.
“No,” Damian’s voice appeared behind Tim, causing him to startle slightly, “We think she saw his murder, and the entity behind it.”
“We need to put a bell on you, Dami,” Tim grumbled.
Damien smirked, “Or maybe you need to renew your skills, Timothy, your old age isn’t a justification to fall behind.”
“What does Jessica’s witness statement detail?” Dick jumped in before his two brothers could derail the rundown with increasingly creative insults, “If she saw it, surely she would have said something.”
Damien scowled, “According to Gordon, Delrick declined to comment on the matter.”
“Which is why,” Batman interjected, “One of us will be visiting her; she turned away the police, we’ll see if she tries to turn away the bats.”
“Sounds good, just lemme grab my suit—” Tim started, before being abruptly grabbed by Dick.
“Hrn.”
“Absolutely not, Timothy!”
“Sorry, baby bird,” Dick squeezes him with a smile, “It’s nap time for you!”
“This family is a prison.”