Chapter Text
I watched as raindrops raced down the window of the beat-up taxi. Eyes heavy with exhaustion but I knew I couldn’t rest. Not yet. They were still looking for me, I just knew. It was a stupid, rash decision but it was one I had to make. I might’ve never had another chance to escape. I had no choice. I never have a choice.
A light cough broke me out of my thoughts. Startled, I scanned my surroundings again.
“We’re here. You gonna pay now or not?”
Slowly, I relaxed my tense muscles a bit. I finally arrived. With silent grace, I pulled out some cash and handed it to the cab driver. He took it without a word and started counting the bills. Once again by myself, I pulled my two, rather small bags to me and stepped out.
The rain was cool on my skin, providing a momentary distraction as a thought crossed my mind. When was the last time I felt rain? I made my way up the stairs and into the rather shitty apartment building. The office was to the left, stairs to the right, dingy, old elevator down the hall. I had made note of the fire escapes on the sides of the building as I walked in. Sighing, I felt a bit of relief. Multiple exits, good.
A gentle knock on the door summoned a short, older woman with what would have been a kind face in another place. Here in Gotham, however, she looked suspicious and weary of my presence and I heard the click of the safety on a gun before she opened the door. I felt a sick sense of joy as I realized I’d fit right in this city with all the other folks unable to stop scrutinizing and distrusting every shadow.
“Name.”
Her voice was scratchy with years of smoking yet had a gentle purr to it, somehow. Her deep, husky voice felt like a long forgotten memory of peace. It almost made me relax for a moment.
“[Name].”
She squinted at me for a moment before peeking her head out and looking around. Her sharp, bespectacled eyes scrutinized the hallway and glared at the door for a few seconds before she seemed to be satisfied and leaned back, opening the door for me a bit.
“Come in, let’s make this quick, yeah?”
I nodded and stepped inside. The office wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to fit three, large filing cabinets and a rather sizable desk. The older woman passed me and rounded the desk, depositing herself in the chair behind it and bringing her hands up to rest on the surface. My eyes zeroed in on the handgun in her right hand, still waiting to bury a bullet into someone. I wasn’t sure what model it was, but I could guess that it took 9mm. Enough to hurt and enough to kill, but still survivable if shot in the right spot.
I looked back up at her and her face seemed to age even more. She looked tired, exhausted even, like she’d seen and done too much and didn’t have the fight in her anymore. Her wrinkled hands slid a small stack of papers over to me and she leaned back a bit in her chair.
“Read it or don’t, I don’t give a shit. Rent is $250 first of the month, first payment will be $350. Don’t bring any bullshit here and I won’t care how you get the money, got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded.
“Good. Your room is on the 6th floor. Mailboxes on the first floor, down the hall a bit and to the right. Only room left on the floor. 606. Here’s the key, keep the papers, bottom three need signed.”
Her boney hand held out a small keyring with two keys on it. I shuffled the papers until I had the three in question and quickly made a scribble that vaguely resembled my name and slid them back over to her. I grabbed the keys and the papers before bidding her a good night and rushing to the elevator.
It was old. Old enough to still have the metal cage thing that opens along with the doors. I pulled back the metal gate and hopped in, pushing the 6th floor button. The rattling and creaking made a symphony of impending ruin, threatening to give way and send me plummeting back to the bottom floor. It was strangely calming. The grinding of metal sounded like a promise of momentary reprieve, of protection and safety no matter how temporary. The hallway on the 6th floor was bathed in a dim, yellowed light, aged by more than just the passage of time.
The door to apartment 606 looked like all the others, scratched and stained, sturdy yet ready to crumble to dust. I rolled my eyes at the graffiti on the door, turning the number to 666. No matter what city I went to, teenagers would always be the same, finding the same numbers humorous. Turning the key in the lock, I carefully pushed open the door to my new temporary “home” and flicked on the lights.
The furnishings were basic; a shitty couch, beat up coffee table, an older model TV in surprisingly decent shape, an uncomfortable looking armchair. The fridge was bare and made a quieter buzzing sound than most I had been provided with in the past. The cupboards had a handful of cups and dishes, a small collection of silverware (not real silver of course), a microwave, and a gas stove. The bedroom was better than expected as well, a dresser, closet, nightstand, and a pretty cheap mattress on a wooden bed frame. There were a few sheets and towels in the linen closet in the hallway, I was shocked the small apartment even had one. Of course, the bathroom was rather cramped, probably because of the addition of the closet, but it could be far worse, at least the mirror opened up to a medicine cabinet and there was storage space under the sink.
I nodded approvingly. This was one of the better places I’d been able to get for fairly cheap. Definitely better than Cockroach City in Louisiana, with all the heat, broken utilities, and damn near constant infestations it was one of the worst but not the worst. Not like I could afford to be too picky, however. When you’re looking for cheap, you get cheap.
Setting my bags down on the bed, I decided to settle in for the night and search for a new job tomorrow. If anything, my fake IDs wouldn’t get me a second glance here. Gotta love these shitty, crime-ridden cities. Sure make it easier for folks like me, running from things with no time for questions.
I pulled out my laptop and began searching for jobs that would be able to let me live here for a bit, hopefully. All this moving from place to place can really wear you down after a while, but it also helps you learn where to look for quick cash and who’s less likely to ask questions. After some searching, I found something interesting.
Scrolling past all the odd jobs provided by some of the city’s sleaziest, nestled deep in the webpage, was a listing for a waiter/waitress at a club. Now, at first sight, it sounds like any other position working for any of the criminals here in this dark, grimy city, but looking closer, it was different. Firstly, it specified that this establishment allowed no harassment to the waitstaff straight up. Any patron found in violation would be “swiftly taken care of” by security. Secondly, it was a rather high hourly rate with the addition of keeping all tips received, not splitting tips among the staff on duty at the end of the night, allowing for a bit of extra padding to your pockets. The most interesting part was the name of the “club”, Rogue Ecstacy, with the owner listed as a Mx.V. Curiosity filled my head as I read the job listing over and over. This was so perfect it seemed too good to be true. There was no way this Mx. V or whoever the hell actually gave two shits about their employees, and if they did, why the hell was this posting still up? It all seemed like a trap or scam of sorts, lure people in with a dream opportunity and screw them over big time.
Either way, that was a risk I was willing to take for this kinda cash, so I sent a message expressing interest and shut off my laptop for the night. Laying down on the bed, I leaned over and turned off the lamp on the nightstand.
I woke up with a start, sweating and panting as my hands clawed at the sheets, eyes darting around wildly to scan my surroundings. No one here to drag me back. No one here to harm me. No one here but me.
My heart began to slow as I took deep breaths, holding them for a few seconds before releasing. I faintly remember someone teaching me how to breathe like this to calm down, their face and voice nothing but vague approximations of what they probably were. I reached for the nightstand, picking up my phone to check the time.
3:18 AM looked back at me. I could only sigh as I realized tonight would be another night of being up and down, too tense to even relax completely in my sleep. My chest ached slightly as I sat there on the bed, exhausted and unable to sleep. Annoyed, I pushed myself off the bed and left the apartment, locking the door behind me.
I took the stairs up to the roof, itching to feel the cool air on my skin, even if it was most likely a bit wet out from the rain still. Pushing open the door, I took a deep breath and felt peace. Sure, the air was a bit smoggy and had an acidic bite to it, but it was air. I closed my eyes and just let it all soak in. The sirens of police cars, the sounds of scuffles, gunshots in the distance, heavy, labored breathing to my left.
Wait.
I spun to face my left, arms and legs tensed to either fight, escape, or both. When I did, I saw a figure crumpled into a pile, half-leaning against the ledge of the roof. I couldn’t make out much, they seemed to be wearing black boots, pants, and a shirt with some kind of symbol on it underneath a dark jacket. They had some kind of motorcycle helmet on their head but it was busted and cracked. As I studied them, I felt the hair in the back of my neck raise as I noticed the acrid scent of blood, freezing in place as my mind filled with racing thoughts.
The figure and I locked eyes and everything went black.