The alley was silent now. The crowd of homeless figures slowly dispersed, murmuring prayers, curses, and disbelief. Nolan stayed behind. He stood with his back against the brick wall, staring down the alley where they'd loaded Sherry into a van to take her too Dr. Thompkins. Blood still streaked the concrete.
The night hung heavy with guilt.
Footsteps approached. Nolan tensed, his eyes snapping toward a figure stepping out from the shadows of a side alley. A man in a ratty gray coat with missing teeth and hands that twitched from the cold held something carefully wrapped in cloth.
"Yo boss?"
Nolan stepped forward. "Yeah."
The man glanced around, then offered him the wrapped bundle. Nolan took it and pulled the cloth back. A pistol. A Glock 19. Clean. Maintained.
"Where'd you get this?" Nolan asked.
The man shrugged. "You know how it is. We don't always get paid in bills. Sometimes they hand us other things. Useful things. We pass 'em around."
Nolan gave a short, bitter nod. He slid the weapon under his coat. "Thanks."
He paced the alley. His chest was tight. His hand twitched, fingers brushing against the burner phones in his jacket. Then, slowly, he pulled out his personal one. His real one. The one with actual contacts. The one labeled Penguin hovered beneath his thumb.
He didn't press it.
Not yet.
Not for this.
His thumb hovered then the burner in his left pocket buzzed.
He answered instantly. "Talk."
A scratchy voice came through, panting and tense. "We found her. We found the girl."
Nolan froze. "Where?"
"Someone spotted a girl getting stuffed in a van. Gray. Unmarked. They're heading south outta Gotham. Toward Metropolis. They didn't see where exactly just that they were movin' fast."
Nolan's heartbeat exploded.
"Who saw it?" he barked.
"Cliff down on Bleaker Street. Said he saw a guy slam the door on the kid called it in through one of the drop phones."
"You got anyone nearby with a van?"
The voice on the line paused. "Hold on."
Muffled voices. Yelling. Then the voice came back. "Yeah. Tuck and Ronnie. They're already moving, got a van three blocks up."
Nolan's mind went cold, clinical, "Good. Follow the bastards. Keep distance until you're close. Then ram 'em. Force 'em off the road. If you lose 'em, don't bother calling again."
"Yes, sir."
The call ended.
Nolan stood there in the alley, breathing heavy. The city swirled around him. Trash blowing. Sirens in the distance. Cold wind pulling at his coat.
Inside the van tearing down the road out of Gotham, the girl stirred.
Her head throbbed.
Throbbed.
Then seared.
She gasped and clutched her temples. The man driving the van shouted at someone in the back. "She's waking up!"
Another man turned. "Knock her out again—!"
The van swerved as the girl screamed. The metal doors rattled. Lights inside flickered for a second and she was quickly tranquillized again.
"Man, she better be worth the trouble." One of the men grumbled
"She is, remember why we are doing this we can't be exposed. Apparently she's a strong telepath accidentally got a look into all of our operations."
"It's a shame she's just a girl but, we gotta deliver."
Suddenly the drivers window was lit up with high beams, "Oh shi-"
CRUNCH
Steel crumpled. Glass shattered.
The gray van shrieked across the asphalt, spinning sideways into the guardrail. Sparks exploded as metal scraped metal, and the sound echoed across the empty road.
The black van screeched to a halt, tires smoking.
Inside the gray van, chaos. One of the men had hit his head on the dash. The other was crawling toward the girl, dazed and bleeding. She was unconscious, slumped against the side, but alive.
Ronnie was already out of the black van, crowbar in hand, boots pounding across the pavement.
Tuck flung open the driver's door and followed.
"Grab them all!" Ronnie yelled
***
The kidnappers woke groggily, heads pounding, eyes adjusting to the flickering fluorescent light above them. Cold concrete met their backs. Metal dug into their wrists and ankles thick chains, bolted into the floor. One of them cursed and jerked against his restraints, pain flaring up his arm. The other blinked blearily, blood crusted over one temple.
They were in a room that smelled of bleach, cigarette smoke, and dust clearly repurposed, but not abandoned. One of the many safe houses scattered across Gotham, kept off the grid by the people who truly lived in the shadows. A small space heater hummed quietly in the corner, casting a low red glow against the stained walls.
Across the room, the girl sat on a cot, wrapped in a blanket. A quiet, older woman was tending to her wiping the dried blood from her temple, checking her pupils. Her eyes flicked around the unfamiliar room, confusion tightening in her throat.
"Where… where's my grandmother?" she asked.
"You're safe now," the woman said softly, trying to reassure her. "Everything's okay. You're safe."
"I want to see her," the girl whispered.
A tremor ran through her head, like something pressing against her skull from the inside. She flinched, hand going to her forehead, wincing. The room darkened at the edges of her vision and she glanced at the door.
The door creaked open.
Nolan stepped inside.
He was breathing heavy like he'd sprinted all the way there. He stopped in the doorway, chest rising and falling, his eyes locking on the girl.
Relief hit his face like a tidal wave. His whole body seemed to sink with the weight of it.
"That's her," he said hoarsely, to the room at large. "That's Sherry's granddaughter."
He turned to two of the homeless people still standing by the walls. "Get her to the Doc. Get her to Sherry. Now. Go."
They nodded without hesitation. One of them helped the girl up gently while the other grabbed their coat. She tried to ask questions, but the older woman hushed her softly again.
"You're okay now," she said once more. "Your grandmother's alive. She's waiting for you."
They led her out, her footsteps light, uncertain. The door shut behind them, and the safehouse grew quiet again.
Just Nolan.
And the two men chained to the floor.
They were conscious now fully aware of who stood before them.
One tried to laugh, a wheezing sound that caught in his throat. "You're not a cop," he said. "You think you can get away with this? Our bosses will kill you and the girl!"
Nolan didn't answer.
The voices stirred inside his mind, rippling to life.
'Rethink this.'
'Let me do it instead,' Quentin offered, calm. 'We don't need to get your hands dirty—'
'It's not worth it,' the fighter said. 'There are better ways to handle this. I can easily do the job Nolan'
"Shut up," Nolan muttered, not looking at them.
The chains rattled lightly.
He stepped forward.
'Nolan—'
"Shut up," he said again, louder this time.
"Holy shit this guys crazy!" One of the kidnappers said as he tried everything to get out of his chains
His hand was steady now. The Glock 19 felt cold and firm in his grip. The same one he'd been given in the alley, the same one he asked for.
He stopped just in front of the first man. Their eyes locked.
The voices didn't beg anymore. They just… waited.
Nolan's own voice dropped low.
"You always told me to grow up," he said. "To accept the consequences of my actions."
He raised the pistol.
"Well."
Click.
"Here's me accepting them."
Bang.
The first man slumped instantly, deadweight dragging the chain taut.
The second screamed, trying to pull away, "Fuck man we can pay you!"
Bang.
Silence.
Blood pooled across the concrete floor.
Nolan stared down at the bodies for a moment. Just a moment.
Then he turned, slowly, and walked back toward the door.
No more voices.
Just breath. Just footsteps.
And outside Gotham, waiting.