11:13 AM, March 12th
Kasimir Castle, Gotham City
It was quiet, almost too quiet for a city like Gotham. No place here remained untouched by the hustle and bustle in the day, or the low rumble of corruption at night – and of course where one stopped and the other began often bled into each other, as the city and crime never slept. Yet here in the pitch black of a certain room not a sound was made, the air itself seemingly still, the movements of the others in the buildings unheard through the thick walls. The only real noise was the quiet, rhythmic breathing of the lone occupant.
BEEP.A slight twitch of the fingers was the first movement, before they curled into a fist, refined muscles tensing with the motion.
BEEP.The low rumble that emerged deep from the chest of the single person reverberated, but couldn’t pierce the bubble the infernal beeping left behind. A grey-blue eye shot open and the gaze quickly landed on the device beside them, narrowing in a silent challenge.
BEEP.Throwing the sheets back on her bed Zoey finally deigned fit to sit up, rolling her shoulders and muscles rippling with the motion. Her teeth were grit together as she eyed her phone, the light coming off it the only illumination in the otherwise blacked out room. Her blackout curtains kept the billionaire’s erratic sleep schedule maintained whenever she finally crawled beneath the silk, sometimes days in between each rest period.
No, crime really didn’t sleep.
With a final huff of irritation the redhead’s long fingers picked up the phone to see who had texted her. It was no surprise seeing that it was “JJ” who had sent a quick succession of three texts in a row, since Zoey’s phone was on vibrate for all but a few numbers. Plus, who else knew the best way to get a sleep deprived and slightly hungover Zoey out of bed quickly? A slight huff exited the woman’s lips but her thumb was already pressed into the fingerprint scanner, opening the lock screen on the slim phone.
“Get up.”
“Drink your coffee.”
“I have news.”Well, at least it wasn’t the first time Zoey would be working on little sleep.
The fact that Jasper told Zoey to get her coffee first was a simple tip off that, although the news was probably important, it could wait half an hour. So it was that the tired Kasimir trudged into her dining in just her pyjama pants and a crumpled night shirt. It was no surprise the long table was empty aside from a single steaming coffee and a plate of food, a pile of mail beside them. Even years after Jasper moved on from being her personal assistant she still had the number to alert her head chef when the morning monster was roused, and the only occupant of the house who would be sharing breakfast with her was long gone, as he should be. It wasn’t a rare thing that they missed each other on weekday mornings. She
was up until six last night. It wasn’t a particularly hard night, just
active, especially with the police preoccupied with a recent prisoner escape just over a week ago. It seemed to be a never ending tidal wave of corruption and crime, the rise of magic brimming through the city not helping in recent months, a constant fight just to keep the line drawn in the sand-
This coffee was fantastic, was that french vanilla? Classic.
It was half a cup of coffee and a few rashers of bacon before Zoey finally found her steel-blue gaze drifting to the pile of mail beside her. A slight sigh escaped the billionaire seeing the first piece, a rather elegant and stylized green invitation, no doubt to one of Sunday’s St. Patrick’s Day get togethers. Why couldn’t the families just let her dye her innards green off themed booze in peace? But no, images had to be maintained, connections upheld, nevermind the fact that Zoey
knew a certain vigilante would have to be out that night; nothing like lowered inhibitions and a party atmosphere as its own perfect cocktail of chaos.
A rather unladylike snort managed to weasel its way out of the redhead, and she brushed the invitation to the side. She’d see who it was from later, she really wasn’t in the mood at the moment. The next piece of mail, however, had Zoey freezing in place seeing the return address listed on the simple, plain white envelope.
Blackrock Prison.
It wasn’t the first time Zoey got a piece of mail from there, even all this time after she had moved from Blackrock. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time this year! When she was younger she’d tear them up, then end up mournfully picking up the pieces and shoving them into a drawer unread. Now a days she was mature enough to at least read what was written, though the amount of times she wrote back could be counted on one hand. Slowly the tensed muscles relaxed and another quiet, resigned sigh left her lips as Zoey used the mail opener left on the table to retrieve the hand written letter inside. She still froze up like that, every time for at least a split second as the memories she tried in vain to quash came rushing back.
Like all the others it followed the same pattern, ignoring how she never replied. How was she doing, has she met anyone, don’t let such-and-such’s upstart runt try to intimidate her at the annual such-and-such party. It was actually only within the past couple years that the letters took a dramatic change. First it was he was proud of her for adopting, then when was he going to meet his grandson, and today when was he going to take the Kasimir name...
First of all, no. Second of all, she was beginning to suspect her father was subscribed to one or more of the Gotham tabloids. Which, really, a grudging bravo for getting them to deliver all the way to Blackrock Prison on the west coast. Resisting the urge to just crumple up the paper Zoey instead very carefully folded it and stuffed the letter back inside before tossing it back on the table. She’d put it with the others when she was done eating and got to hear whatever was so important from Jasper. Speaking of which...
“
Watered. What’s going on?” The phone didn’t even leave Zoey’s hand before it beeped once more, the message obviously having been waiting to be sent from the other end.
“
Jack Lessee’s been murdered.”
... Seriously, Jasper could’ve led with that.
12:45 AM, March 13th
East Haven Residential, Hub City
One of the perks to having a childhood friend as a high ranking police officer was that you could be tipped off to important details that occurred when you were sleeping; one of the perks to being a billionaire was a private jet from New Jersey to Illinois before night even fell. Zoey instantly knew who Jasper was talking about, it was hard not to considering the topic of their discussion a week ago when Blackgate Penitentiary was breached. It didn’t take long for her to have a bag packed and boarding her plane for the two hour flight to Illinois, spending the time looking over the precisely recorded footage taken years ago from her own point of view. Well, looking over it and sending at least a warning text to David to not expect her home tonight, and don’t think about skipping school because he was
tired. He’d get the message. The hypocritical message.
Now all that was past, and Zoey ceased to be. Under the darkness of night a shadow moved across Hub City, attracting little attention drifting through the streets or moving across the buildings high above. A legend and a myth wrapped in one graced the city with not even a whisper of their presence, focused on a single destination. Two buildings away from East Haven Residential Grim crouched, a gargoyle high above the streets as she took in the residence enhanced on her goggles’ lens. The home of Police Commissioner Jack Lessee.
Grim had a quiet confidence in themselves, well earned, but it’s said only fools rushed in. That’s what led to the silent perch on another residence, darkened with the late hour to examine East Haven Residential. Looking for patrols, movements, anything that would disrupt her in the middle of her investigation. The left lens of Grim’s goggles were zoomed in with nightvision active, taking in the minute details of the home while the right was lit up in cool blues and the occasional red fleck from a person’s body. She hadn’t even been there five minutes before her plans were already derailed by an approaching figure to the residence. It would’ve only been a slight inconvenience, if it wasn’t for the fact the red fleck of the figure had arrived from the
sky. A second, more normal heat signature joined them in a specific room shortly after.
Even an idiot could guess who the first person was, she had been making waves far beyond her little hometown. The second was a mystery, but didn’t appear to be a threat considering he was standing amicably with the first heat signature. Idly Grim toyed with the idea of waiting the two out, but finally concluded it was wasting even more time. Besides that, what’s-her-name might be useful.
The zoom on her left lens returned to normal magnification, though the nightvision remained. The right remained on heat optics as Grim finally rose to approach. The mixing sights would no doubt be disorientating to most people, but Grim had years of experience with them. It took precious little time to move across the two roofs and into the backyard of the Police Commissioner’s home. She
did take a moment to examine the lock on the window. A slight scorch mark on the lock was present, catalogued, and then wiped away. Not violent enough for her target.
Once inside the night vision function was flicked off as Grim made her way on silent feet to the scene of the crime. There was no one around but the two already acknowledged, and the sleepy presence of the police cars out front, yet it was always better safe than sorry – which kept her heat optics present. Still, Grim didn’t hesitate as her silent steps found her at the door leading to the master bedroom, finally stopping once faced with the two at her crime scene; if the reports were correct a veritable god in the form of a woman... and a man in a trench coat.
Not the weirdest combination Grim was ever faced with.
They were examining the door frame so Grim didn’t even make a token attempt at hiding her presence. Instead, beneath the mask that hid her roaming gaze Grim took in the woman, recording everything she could. Height, costume, hair color, build, even the tone of voice that could be heard faintly as she approached. Grim gave Trenchcoat his own once over, quicker but no less thorough.
To some it may have been frightening, being before someone who had enough power that the crime of a man and wife literally being fried to death was not outside the realm of possibility. It was even likely, to some. After all, Grim could’ve been mistaken on the identity of who was after Lessee, could’ve been standing before an out of control demigod. It could’ve been suicide walking in like this, so brazen and confident, not even remembering the woman’s name, not even attempting to make an entrance that wouldn’t be seen.
Grim was many things however, and a fool wasn’t one of them. Princess over there didn’t do this.
Besides, she looked like a kicked puppy.
And just like that Grim, well, she didn’t
disregard the two of them but she certainly wasn’t paying them anymore attention. Instead her gaze turned to the doorframe, giving it a glance over. The gloved fingers on her right hand rose to brush against a hint of scraped metal on the bent frame, noting that it wasn’t metal from underneath the paint but rather a foreign source scraped off onto it. The images fresh in her mind from the flight over confirmed that it was about the right size for her suspect as well. Stepping away from the frame Grim brushed right passed the two in the room to examine one of the scorch marks on the wall. Familiar. She was confident before, but now, now she was
positive.
A quick press of a small button on the sides of her goggles had a white light emerge. Using the light and keeping from the windows Grim began to examine the floor and walls, looking for any clue that might lead to where he went after this. Almost absently however Grim addressed the two she had so far been ignoring, realizing this wasn’t one of the instances she could keep quiet. They’d be too curious, and she’d get no peace in her investigation. That’s what the voice changer was for, anyway, her words coming out in a low growl.
“This is one of mine. The Electrocutioner.”
