(Edited with Grammarly on 2/12/2026)
"Breaking news!"
One of many screens behind stainless glass flickered from whatever infomercial that had been trying its damnedest to catch the eye of passing pedestrians with wild antics, only to then spew out a 'never seen before' deal and how it was a 'limited' time only offer, all the while flashing a phone number in bright texts.
In their place stood a traditionally attractive woman in a fine and stylized business suit. A light orange blouse today with a tan overcoat atop, classic fall color that matched perfectly with her head full of fiery crimson curls, tumbling down both of her shoulders. Bright green looked at the camera, as if she was staring directly into the viewer's soul. Red, painted lips forced into a grim line.
She was a woman who wouldn't just turn heads from her appearance alone; no, there was a magnetism about her. Something that made their ears perk up, something that made people WANT to listen to her. She could be funny, somber, or just outright crude, and it still wouldn't matter. When she spoke, there would always be an audience.
And that didn't change now.
The natural flow of traffic slowed, people breaking off into tightly packed groups. Every passing eye, like a moth to flame, only to take a moment before shoving in close enough to listen. Soon, more screens from different storefronts also flickered to the redhead's image. Forestalling the brawl that would surely occur.
"This just in with Vicki Vale!" Unlike her usual cheer, that enthusiasm that had made her one of the most popular news reporters in Gotham was still present. But morphed into something different. Something sharp. Angry. Furious in fact, but held back by a professional mask that barely held a snarl. "Behind us is Downtown Gotham Elementary School, home to every parent's worst nightmare. A place of learning, a place that parents shouldn't have any worries about leaving their kids, a place that WE have trusted to keep our kids safe and to make sure they're properly educated for a better tomorrow. From our sources, we have found that this wasn't the case."
Low murmuring could be heard from nearby, people of all ages looking amongst each other as collective unease passed between them. Surely they knew of the darkness here in Gotham, but most parents tried their hardest to keep it away from their kids. And probably, some of them had just gotten done dropping them off at school. But now, here was that same school being plastered across the news?
Even now, some more active morning risers began to push themselves through the crowd. A desperate, nearly instinctual protectiveness bubbled up to the surface, and surprisingly, people actually didn't mind getting shoved aside and only stepped out of their way after seeing them force themselves through the densely packed crowd.
"Half a year ago, a young girl by the name of Jacqueline went missing in the middle of a school day." Her well-manicured hand waved to the gated building, flashing red and blue lights from police cars off in the distance, in stark contrast to the rather peaceful neighborhood. Even from this far back, a near countless number of faces could be seen up close on the far off windows, each looking down at the scene below. "And this matter was covered up. This incident wasn't properly reported, and it was all chalked up to the young girl just 'wandering' off."
She scoffed, looking right about ready to spit if not for the camera shoved in her face. Fingers going up to air quote near the end. The excuse was flimsy at best and shady at worst.
"In their defense, multiple teachers have gone on actual record to say that this student was known to wander during school hours." If anything, the incredulity on her face only grew. And the murmurs began to grow. Kids wandered, that's true, but if this were an actual pattern, she would've known the bounds not to cross. Outright leaving school to play hooky wasn't out of the question...for middle and high schoolers during the peak of their rebellious years. Not someone that young. "But if that wasn't bad enough, we have been informed that this staff here didn't report the disappearance until well after five o'clock. Five people! From eleven to five! Six whole hours they sat on this while she remained missing! And you would think that maybe some of them had a conscience to call the police, but no! They only did so when her rightfully concerned and enraged father acted in the same way any parent would be expected to act in this situation! And if you thought these… 'teachers' had the nerve to tell the truth, then you would be sadly mistaken!"
"And at the head of this snake? The puppet master pulling the strings? None other than the principal himself… Well, ex-principal now. Thank god. Actually, here he is now." The camera moved off to the side, keeping the red head's side profile well in view as a pair of officers practically dragged a bedraggled-looking man. A well-tailored suit that had been freshly ironed that day practically hung open, button-up shirt undone, wrinkles forcing themselves deep into the rolls of flesh, flashing the entire city right then. He appeared to be saying something, twisting and turning to try to reason or threaten the somber officers who only pushed him further despite the protests. In one sudden wrench, an ill-advised escape attempt that failed, and all of a sudden, something blonde in color went flying through the air. Slamming ineffectually against another officer. Focusing further, a clump of hair connected to what appeared to be a skin-toned plastic cap. Up the view went, capturing the shiny dome surrounded by thinning blonde hair.
Like a button had been switched, the man began to flail fervently against his restraints. Belligerent, unintelligible screams reached the mic.
"Johnathan Bricker, a forty-two-year-old man." Vicki narrated, waltzing forward like a predator smelling split blood. Sensing weakness in the air itself, pouncing without even a shred of mercy. "A husband and father himself, covered up the disappearance of a child that was in fact the same age as his own daughter! And for what? Why do all this when it would've been better for everyone involved just to report the incident? That, folks, is exactly what we're going to find out today."
As the pair briskly made their way over to the tussling trio, a comical sight that only further grew in hilarity as the look of abject terror across Johnathan's face took up the entirety of the screen. At least, it would have if not for the growing surge of parents now violently forcing themselves out of the crowd. Whatever remnants of hesitation they might've had now gone in a puff of dust as they saw the face of some of their kid's principal live on television.
Just as the cameraman and news reporter were within spitting distance of them, another pair of officers interposed themselves. Stern, faced with a hint of warning, their large figures blocked the way resolutely. But if a simple obstruction were enough to stop Vicki Vale, then she wouldn't be the prime reporter in Gotham.
"Johnathan Bricker!" She called out, almost jumping onto the pair of police officers as she tried to shove a microphone close enough to catch anything from the fifteen to twenty feet between them. "Why do all this? Have you forsaken your own duty! What about the trust the parents of Gotham placed in you?! Are you involved with the kidnappers?! Is this all just how you traffic children?! How many other disappearances have you covered up?!"
"Get off me!" Bricker shouted desperately, shoving back against the restrictive grasp holding him in place. Wild blue eyes swiveled into the camera, pasty skin turning even paler as the series of accusations hit him all at once. The smart thing to do here was to simply stop resisting and get into the patrol car while waiting for his lawyer to sort all this out…but a principal being accused of orchestrating a kidnapping was too big a statement to let go. Once that narrative hit the news, this would probably be his only time to actually correct anything before it settled into the derby known as public opinion. "You're hurting me! When my lawyers- but no! I am not in any way connected to any sort of trafficking ring! I-"
But that was all he could force out before the pair of officers now worked in conjunction and wrenched him up and away. And with both of them working together, the ex-principal stood no chance. Kicking and screaming, throwing any semblance of decorum out the window.
"Does the GCPD have a statement for the people?" With her target now being forced into a patrol vehicle, she turned to one of the officers blocking her way. Shoving the mic clear in his face, which paled, and lips began to flap uselessly. Eyes bugling and a visible bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
"No comment." The other officer, clearly older and more experienced, leaned a hair closer to the mic, tanking the attention for his partner. "Just know we are investigating this issue and are reopening this missing person case."
"You heard him here, folks!" The camera suddenly swirled around, capturing Vale standing off to the side with a small but pleading expression on her face. Holding up a small missing person flier close to the lens, she continued. "Her father, Russel, hasn't stopped looking for her for all this time! Going from store to store, leaving these fliers for anyone who pitied him even a bit. Standing outside for long hours and forcing them into the hands of all those within reach. But no matter how dedicated he might be, he is only one person. Please, as fellow citizens of Gotham, keep an eye out for this little girl here. And if you've seen anything, anything at all! Even if you chalked it up to a mere trick of the eye. Please, please call this number down below. Let us come together as a community and reunite Jacqueline with her loved ones!"
Something clearly caught her eye, as seen by how those green orbs narrowed into mere slits.
"Ah! There goes the homeroom teacher! Let's see what she has to say…"
'Wish I could say I feel bad for you.' A young man shook his head, turning and breaking away from the thinning crowd. Hiking up the collar, he tightened the trench coat around himself just to keep some of the warmth closer to his body. Wind blew harshly against him, causing his brown locks to flow in the breeze.
The peaceful routine his life had fallen into was more akin to torture, something he wouldn't even wish on his worst enemy. Albert honestly thought he would actually feel better after that pseudo-divination session; just knowing his quarry was still within city limits should've given him peace of mind. But, like a thirsty man in the desert, just that small drop of information was nowhere near enough to sate him. He wanted more. Needed more and with an exceedingly more desperate drive, he even actively wandered the streets at night just for the off chance he might accidentally find something, anything of note.
But to no one's surprise, not even his own, it was probably better to try and find a needle in a room-sized haystack.
Even now, he was facing the consequences of yet another fruitless night search. Dragging his exhausted body atop a pair of terribly sore feet, feeling a constant stabbing pain in the middle of his forehead, and looking out through a pair of red-rimmed, bleary eyes. Nearby people were now nothing more than blurry shapes with a persistent 'fuzz' around their edges. Combine that with a parched throat and a near-continuous grumbling belly, all he wanted to do right about then was chug a large bottle of water, force food down his gullet until he felt like puking, and collapse into bed for the next couple of hours.
'Or until Sundae wants to eat.'
Anyone who ever had a cat understood a pretty simple fact, when a cat wasn't fed on time they it a point to make it everyone's problem. Whether that meant him dealing with little 'surprises' at the foot of his door, or ear-piercing yowling that made it impossible to get even a lick of sleep. And if he ever got the genius idea to just leave food outside, he would almost certainly find it flipped upside down with its contents just everywhere. She required...no demanded her wet food to be stored cold and warmed up in the microwave for exactly five seconds. And of course, it needed to be topped with a light sprinkling of kibble.
Just trying to get out, dry food never worked out very well, and he felt like she was at first lulling him into a false sense of security before she made her feeding habits known. And now, with her source of good feeding reserved, there was no way she was going to resort to whatever her past habits were.
"Watch it!" A sudden force from the side almost made him spin like a top, a dull pain shattering his rather fond thoughts, and looking up, he locked gazes with an average-sized man appearing to be in his late twenties. A scruffy beard here, a heavily wrinkled shirt there, and with that bit of bedhead going on up top, it was clear he was either on his way home or to work. Work, probably, if the comb in hand was anything to go by. The man got a good look at him, saw the sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and began to frantically pat down his pockets. Probably making sure his wallet and keys were still where they were supposed to be. After making extra sure, the man scowled and pushed past him. But not before letting out a barely audible murmur. "Fucking druggies."
'Do I really look that bad?'Albert drowsily thought, taking a look in a nearby shop and finding out, yes. Yes, he did look that bad. Honestly, he looked a bit like how he did when he first came to this new life. Pale with a sunken and hollow expression on full display. With heavily dilated eyes and lips visibly cracking at the seams, he really did appear as if he just off a pretty intense high. Even now, he could feel a pretty intense glare coming his way through the glass, a bakery owner probably none too pleased to see some drugged-out kid hanging out front and 'scaring' the customers away. Ignoring them, he continued on his way. 'I guess I'll take my business elsewhere.'
And elsewhere, for him meant the next bakery several storefronts away. A small shop with nothing but an elevated edge and an overhead roof that covered up a good portion of the sidewalk. Behind both bulletproof glass and bars, a gruff and visibly yawning man could be seen leaning up on the other side. A small menu tapped from inside.
A brief interaction, a dollar slipped into the small flap, and a warm bag was quickly shoved back out. Unwrapping the brown paper, the smell of something cheesy and buttery hit him instantly. A mix of fried eggs, seared sausage links, bacon, and melted American cheese all wrapped up in a fluffy and crispy roll. Snatching up the, sadly, chained bottle from nearby, he dabbed a red and eye-watering sauce onto it. That first bite...oh god, that first bite was something to die for.
Not even trying to hold back the moan, he let it out loud and proud. The savoriness of the sausage and bacon, the crunchy fried egg, and yolk that oozed into the roll. Don't even get him started on the stark and bold flavor of the cheese. Combine that with the slight but satisfying burning sensation he felt around his lips, he just couldn't help it.
'Harley would kill me for betraying Sal like this.' And he even had to admit that this wasn't anywhere near as good as Sal's Bodega, but... no one would know, right? He hadn't eaten all night, and as long as he got rid of the evidence before he entered his usual part of town, it should be fine. 'I'll just be sure to brush my teeth extra well today.'
That's just how the next couple of minutes went, with him scarfing everything down like a man possessed. Not even sparing the crumbs or the hot sauce soaking the paper itself. Looking over at the thoroughly disturbed man, who looked like he just seen something foul and unnerving, the teen was honestly weighing the odds of buying another. It was satisfying, but he could still feel that rumbling deep within himself. He could for sure pound away at another two, no three probably. And just as he was prepared to do exactly that, a soft buzzing could be felt from his pocket.
Freezing in place, he eventually fished it out and hesitantly looked at the caller ID.
'Not Harley.'
Just as suddenly as that tension eased from his body, there were times he honestly thought the blonde had a sixth sense when it came to food. As usual, whenever he was hungry and getting ready to pop over to the local Thai place for some grub, she was suspiciously always either nearby or calling him just then.
"Hello?"
"We got a hit." The familiar voice didn't try to make idle chit-chat. And just as suddenly, that small moment of satisfaction fled from him. Wrapper thrown unceremoniously in a nearby trash can, and without a second thought, he took off running. That food acted as a sudden surge of energy that further propelled his rapidly beating heart.
***
The smell of piss, vomit, and stale, cheap booze filled the air. Overhead lights flickered constantly, but if anyone actually gave a damn, they didn't let themselves be known. The building itself wasn't anything large or special, really. Just large enough to have a fourth of it be taken up by a wall-to-wall-sized bar with a few stools, a series of tables, and a singular pool table that had a total of three men playing. Crumpled wads of cash lay tossed aside, but in view of the three.
It didn't matter that the bartender had told them plenty of times to take that gambling shit outside. What was he going to do? Kick them out? This place didn't pull in nearly enough money to be so willing to chase off paying customers.
Besides, they usually always made sure to slide him a big tip at the end of the night anyway. So if it meant looking the other way as the two regularly fleeced some poor schmuck just to keep the lights on, then so be it.
"Thash's bullshish!" One of the men, visibly drunk and slurring heavily on his words, swayed uncertainly on his feet as he clutched desperately to the pool table in question. Shaggy black locks framed his long face, which, even while inheritable, still scowled openly. "You hash shree balls lefsh! Where did shey go?!"
"You're drunk foo~." One of the other men, this one larger than both of them in terms of height and weight, leaned heavily in a nearby chair, smoking on a small bud that blazed to light. Wearing a black wife-beater shirt that exposed arms covered from shoulder to elbow in tattoos. A woman, demonized and howling in anger, lay frozen in ink. As if this creature had been sealed by his skin itself and was itching to break free to cause undo carnage on the world itself. Brown hair slicked up to highlight a square jaw and hard brown eyes. Despite how cold they might've appeared, a mocking nature could be seen in them. Letting out another plume of eye-watering smoke as he laughed openly. "You probably saw double, you shoulda stopped after that fifth bottle. Now look at you. Didn't take you for a fucking light weight."
"I'm nosh a fucking lishweigsh!" The drunk fumed, swaying more aggressively on the table. No longer caring for the game. "Shree isn't double of shwo! You fucking cheated! I know you did!"
"I beat you fair and square." A smaller man, skinnier and nowhere near as tall as the other two, stood off to the side. Chalking the pool cue off with practiced ease. His greasy blonde hair was tied up into a high ponytail, framing a thin face and larger-than-average brown eyes. A small smirk played at his lips that he didn't even try to hide. "It's not my fault you decided to get piss drunk before this. But I'm a fair man, I'll play you again. Let's go double or nothing. Win, and you get your money back, but lose...We can talk about that later. What do you say, are you game?"
"Fuck you!" The drunk threw his cue down and looked ready to lounge at the smaller man, only for the brunette to get between them. For a moment, that didn't seem like it was enough to stop him, but whatever clarity that might've remained in those strangely clear eyes flickered from one to the other. Probably saw the open sneers and jeers, saw their willingness to inflict great harm on his person and thought better of it. "No, fuck you. I'm done...Have fun."
Pushing past them, they watched him sway in his escape. Neither spared him any attention as he soon departed. When their victim left, the pair looked at each other before erupting into raucous laughter.
"Barney!" The smaller man held up one of the crumpled bills, waving it in the air as he called out to the barkeep. "Get us another round!"
"That was easier than usual." The brunette commented, leaning preciously on two chair legs. A thoughtful expression on his face as he flicked the bud into a nearby ashtray. To him, now that their piggy bank was gone, only now did some things just not add up. Maybe blame it on his childhood spent avoiding the local thugs and getting slapped around by his old man, but that sort of life instilled a sort of sixth sense. A know-how when the coin was coming up heads every time, and that sense was ringing an alarm bell loudly in his head. Something wasn't right here. "Where did you find him again?"
"Saw him coming out with some whore." His companion, probably having grown up not being slapped around and pushed gang for every silver dollar, didn't look bothered in the slightest. He was far too enraptured with straightening out the collection of twenty and fifty-dollar bills to give a rat's ass about anything else. "She must've got him real drunk already, fine thing too. Might swing back around to get me some of that."
"Where?"
That wasn't how sluts worked around here; they didn't just send a client out drunk. A lot of them tried to get them as drunk as possible so they can't get it up and just fall asleep. Only to wake up the next day next to a somewhat beautiful woman acting as if they had the night of their lives, talking about how they 'destroyed' them or how 'good' it was or some other nonsense like that. These idiots, feeling proud, would throw out more money just for stroking their fragile little egos.
Or they would just rob these drunk men and have their druggie pimps or boyfriends toss them out.
Either way, a client wouldn't be allowed to just walk out like that. None of the madams or pimps would allow it.
"It was at that shitty little motel," He looked up from his counting, a look of concentration growing across his thin face. "You know the one, next to that corner store with that old witch of a cashier. The one that wouldn't give me change for a hundred."
"…" Now he knew where this unease was coming from, and without a second thought, he snapped his gaze up to the barkeep, who took a moment too long to look away. Hands nowhere near the bottles of booze and still just mindlessly... no nervously shining the same beer mug for what felt like an hour now. "We gotta go."
"Go, why?" His companion gave him an incredibly confused expression, hands freezing in their work. "We got a round coming, do you think he's gonna come back with some friends?"
"Idiota!"
But just as he was prepared to snatch up the smaller man and flee out the back door, the front door creaked open. And the first person he saw was a tall and athletic woman with dark brown skin and a mane of curly black hair. She wore a pair of tight jeans that hugged her curves, black ankle-height boots, a white shirt with the top few buttons undone, and a leather jacket that ended just halfway past her waist.
The woman wore some light amounts of make-up, highlighting her plump lips in purple and eye shadow that made her brown eyes pop. She was attractive as hell. Someone he probably would've tried tumoring in the sheets with.
But a very visible gun holster resting on her side was enough to tell anyone she wasn't here for pleasure.
And after looking around the empty bar, she nodded to Barney, who wordlessly set down his mug before sending a dull but unapologetic glance their way.
"Madame Clements orders, no hard feelings, fellas. Please don't mess up my bar too much, Willow."
Just like that, the bartender they had known for well over five years disappeared behind a small door behind the bar.
Willow, if that's who this truly was, barely spared them a second glance before stepping aside and letting a much smaller figure step out from behind her. The figure stood even shorter than the blonde, skinnier too if the way that trench coat hung off their shoulders was anything to go by. Wearing pristine white gloves, they clutched a small folder notebook in hand. Possessing a pair of harsh green eyes that peered out from under a curtain of inky black dreads. With a sharp jaw, hollowed cheeks, and harsh lines etched across what was exposed of his forehead, he appeared to be in his late thirties.
Honestly, he looked harmless. Someone not even worth looking at. But when he smiled...when he smiled, a shiver ran down the brunette's spine.
Those eyes...made him feel small. Like he was an ant under a magnifying glass. Curiosity and wonder, but now respect for the life being observed.
"Mateo Hughes." The man nodded at him before turning to Mateo's smaller companion. "And it's safe to say you're Elliot Steward."