A short. [self rated T+]

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thephantomstranger

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So I'm not the kind who normally does this, write fan-fiction, but I figured I'd give it a go. I was lucky to think of an idea that I could type out before trying to refine. I usually find some specific aspect of a story's themes that edge out the use of another person's characters. That's not meant as an insult against anyone who writes fan-fiction so much as me saying I can't do it normally. Oh right the story. Here's a short story about Gotham:

Rating: T+
Also Gotham and Batman are owned by DC.

A criminal, of the repentant kind, takes his first free steps into the arguably not so free Gotham City. With an almost dream like fervor and not but a nickel to his name he enters the very innards of the always dying community. He finds himself a shelter filled with the long dead. The signs of crime and victimization lay at his feet, taunting and teasing. He chants within his mind that he'll rid himself of this city in the morning. Focusing in on the ceiling over his head he marvels at his fortune, he begins to drift from consciousness with dreams of sane living.

Footsteps. Such meager sounding ones would be deemed trivial in any other ear but for him the sound was thunderous. He knew the sound of his former partner for he had known him his whole life. From their childhood to now his friend was commonly regarded with little merit due to the small presence he commanded. Yet this man, hopeful for a future beyond Gotham, knew better. He knew how impossibly sly his friend was, he was neither bombastic or introverted, he called no attention to himself nor made himself a target through visible weakness. The criminal's friend was an expert at going unnoticed, of quietly whispering in your ear without you hearing, he was the criminal's only friend.

"So...I heard you were free..."

He was scanning him, studying the state of his mark. The criminal knew this, had grown accustomed to it, yet did not want to handle it. The criminal creaks his back up, his feet down, and his face to his friend. With smile he gives a response.

"Not just outta prison, I'm getting out of Gotham."

"What?"

The tone was a false sense of curiosity, beneath it lay a sense of disgust. The man saw through the false display of curiosity from his friend and he dropped his smile.

"You heard me."

"So your leaving me here?"

The visage drops and the criminal is shocked to see his friend be so blunt even though he had wished for it. He quickly counters with idealism.

"Why not come along?"

Cold laughter bubbles up at the throat and then is held back effortlessly.

"Why should I leave Gotham? I have it made, we have it made!"

"Living in jail is having it made?"

"Your out now though."

The ground creaks and scrapes as the man fidgets around ever so slightly, searching for a retort.

"...and later?"

"Later what?"

"The next time I end up in jail?"

"You wont"

"I will."

"Not if you listen to me!"

For a second the man's friend raises his voice, for a second he feels something slipping.

"I did."

"When?"

"You told me when I should leave and from what door, then I had a police issue taser stuffed in my face."

The man's friend has hit a hard stop, his face becomes flush read. He does not fell shame or embarrassment only something slipping, something falling, crashing, escaping. The man's friend fidgets and shakes, the ground creaks and scrapes beneath him. He looks around, eyes darting across the many homeless around them, his eyes snap back to the criminal.

"Who else will keep Batman away?"

Now the criminal is irritated, his friend seemed desperate.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why hasn't he ever came out the shadows and smacked us around? I've kept us under his radar."

The man's friend winds up his next words, like a composer delivering a crescendo.

"Without me he'll hunt you!"

Yet the crazed ramblings hit the three letter word able to topple whole nations.

"Why?"

"Why? you've been through the system that's why! Now that you've been sent through the blender of their databases and crap he'll know you exist!"

He takes a breath as the criminal looks on in awe of the desperation.

"The Batman is relentless! He doesn't discern between shades of grey, all he ever does is beat up guys like us!"

The man gets up, walking away from his friend.

"Where the hell are you going? Get back here!"

The man walks into the brisk night with a scowl hanging over him. Part of him knew that his friend would not leave Gotham, he had grown attached to his way of doing things. He didn't yet feel the tightening binds of prison, even if he did it was doubtful it would make much impression. He had hoped that he could get some sort of rest, to pursue escape in the mourning, yet he could not sit and be berated by what was left of his friend. He'd rather risk the most dangerous hours of Gotham then face the half eaten carcass of what was once a sane man. The hour always seems to hang at midnight in Gotham, when the hunt starts, when morality starts to dwindle, when the nature of man is shown in horrifying clarity.

As the man walks he takes in the sounds of debauchery. A garbage lid topples over, dealers speak with their targets, rats scurry along, heavy cloth flutters in the wind. Out of the corner of the man's eye he can see the blurred shapes of light become shadow and back to light. It is indescribably unnatural in it's timing, setting the man on edge as if a spider crawled along his neck. His head jerks around in vain, the sight is gone but the feeling rises. The top of the man's head feels the harsh temperatures of an icy stare.

The man, in an irrational panic, ducks into an alley way. Dust kicks up at the man''s feet and the smoke undulates into a thick smog. He feels that someone is watching him, not upon the rooftops, someone is right in front of him. He can't see him, he could probably reach out and touch him...if he were made of sterner stuff. His nerves twist and his teeth grit as the motion of the smog and the flow of the air give way to the machinations of his stalker. He cannot yet see him yet he can feel the air be pushed and pulled by motion. The man is not a fool, he can follow what is about to happen to himself. All his dreams of the future shatter towards his feet and his eyes shut.

A meager sound let's out. A hammer pulls back. Something grazes his ear.

He lives. The eyes of a confused man snap open. He is met with an icy stare and bat like features. He stares directly into the eyes without pupils for what seem like an hour. He then notices that the stare is not meant for him. Then something falls to the ground, behind him. His head twists back in reaction. A piece of metal pierces into a hand, the hand of the man's friend. At his feet is the half eaten carcass of his hopes, his last resort, his last modicum of control upon his friend. The gun lay disabled and the Batman disappears.