My City Screams [Open]

[Selina Kyle]

The streets of Gotham were never really quiet. Bare in mind there was alot more life in those streets before the earth quake hit, but regardless of what time of day it was, there was always some bit of activity on those streets. The days had changed. Businesses still wern't really operating regularly, there was still too much destruction for that. But their officials had already begun their plans for rebuilding Gotham. Wanted to make the city the great metropolis that it once was. They wanted the city to shine as it did when it was in its Prime. Gotham's 'Prime' Years were a mystery to Selina Kyle, but she was certain they occured decades before she was born.

Gotham at night on the other hand, hadn't really changed much. Well, not if you were used to it at least. For people who were used to the comfort of their Penthouses uptown, the night changed alot. For thosed who thrived during Gotham's nights, things weren't all that different. Just a bit more hectic. Well maybe a little chaotic sometimes. The city was a different place without Batman, even Selina noticed it. People had hope in their Dark Knight, if he was gone, what hope was left?

His disappearence still didn't make sense to her. She knew Batman. She knew Bruce Wayne. He gave up far too much for Gotham, he wouldn't abandon it now. It wasn't in his heart. Well, at least that was the Bruce she knew. The Bruce she wanted to know. But maybe he wasn't that man. Maybe he was the coward who'd take off when things got too rough. It wasn't the outcome she wanted, but it was easier for her heart to assume that. There were alot of possibilities regarding the Dark Knight's fate. He could of been a victim of the distruction, lying with the rest of the missing in a pile of rubble somewhere. It was easier to tell her heart he was a coward than dead. But who was she kidding, the stuff he put up with, the things he'd been through... he was no coward.

A cool wind rushed through the night's air as a faint sigh escaped Catwoman's lips. She needed to push those thoughts out of her head. The woman stood alone on the rooftop of an abandoned appartment building, emerald eyes peering down at the city below. The night didn't need her just yet. The night was still too young for any excitement.

The rooftops of that city served many purposes, Selina had used them far too many times as escape routes, but if you went at the right time they were calming. There was something relaxing about being alone with your mind ten stories above the city that never sleeps. There was an odd sense of quiet about it. A quiet place in that city was impossible to find, especially by night.

Despite its horrors and chaos, Selina always prefered Gotham by the night. She thrived off of it. Maybe it was just because it was what she was used to. Her life was never very 'legitimate'. For too long she had to steal to survive, and that was always easier to do at night. There were always less people watching. And when theft became a habit, something she did for the rush of adrenaline, she started doing other things in the night. Things she felt obliged to do. That city raised her, and for some twisted reason she felt obliged to protect it.

[Dr. Jonathan Crane]

“Like one that on a lonesome road,
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend,
Doth close behind him tread.”

--- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Dr. Jonathan Crane was not afraid to make a habit of walking the streets late at night. He himself had little to fear from what dangers lurked in the dark spaces around the corner or between the alley walls. In darkness dwells the hidden terrors of mankind, and he was himself the very embodiment of that terror.

But he had work to do. With the unfortunate passing of his most recent test subject, his experiments had to be put on hold. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

A young man, no older than eighteen or nineteen, was walking briskly down the quiet streets. Long and lanky, awkward in both build and dress, he reminded the not-so-good doctor of himself at that age. Pity.

Purely by chance, the boy glanced behind him and what he saw terrified him. He could see, silhouetted by the flickering light of a dying streetlamp, the shadowy spectre of a man. Instinctively, he knew that the shadow was following him and, worse, he could feel its malevolent intent. The boy’s heart began to beat faster in his chest as his breath became shallow. Cold sweat wet his brow. Even from here, Dr. Crane almost imagined he could smell the norepinephrine wafting through the still night air. It was intoxicating.

Still, the boy pressed on, only a little more quickly than before. It was as if he thought that, if he didn’t acknowledge the presence, it would leave him be. If he wished hard enough, there would be nothing there. Unfortunately for him, the world doesn’t work like that.

Quite suddenly, he bolted. Dodging through alleys and side streets, he didn’t stop until he was several city blocks from where he had first seen that shadow. At last, he looked around. Seeing nobody, he exhaled loudly. He was safe.

And at that moment, Dr. Jonathan Crane reached around and pressed a rag, soaked in chloroform, against the boy’s mouth. The kid struggled for a few moments, then he dropped like a pole-axed steer.

Dr. Crane dropped a little black bag on the ground and immediately set to work. He pulled up the boy’s sleeve and dabbed just below the upper arm with alcohol. Next he withdrew a needle, filled with a strangely glowing yellow mixture. Squirting it once, he then quickly and cleanly jabbed it into the vein.

With the toxin now coursing through the kid’s system, Crane’s work was done. The boy would wake up soon enough. With any luck, he would have no recollection of the night’s events. Dr. Crane neatly packed everything away and closed his bag. Standing up, he dusted off his suit. Taking the … well, the patient’s arm, he dragged him a little ways away and sat him up against the wall.

With his guinea pig out of harm’s way, there was no need to dawdle. He congratulated himself on a job well done and began to walk away, a spring in his step.