(Edited with Grammarly 11/20/25)
Albert wheezed, lungs working over time to squeeze in even a little bit of extra air into his body. Sweat soaked through his t-shirt, leaving wet stains visible on that overly baggy sweater. Wiping a sleeve over his forehead, he stumbled further down the street. An empty water bottle, crumpled many times over, remained clutched between a vice-like grip. A dry tongue lolled out like a dog, panting and gulping.
If it wasn't obvious, he felt terrible. His feet were sore, his legs like jelly, and he felt like he'd crawled through a desert with not even a drop of water to sate his thirst. A lie or an over exaggeration, he knew.
'Maybe I should've listened to Harley.'
For a while now, he'd been trying to join the blonde on her morning runs….Okay, maybe it was more like she conveniently included his street into her routine, but that was a weak excuse. She had been training both him and Ivy in evasive maneuvers, but it was clear he needed more. He was eating relatively better now, and if he didn't want to pack on the wrong type of weight, then cardio was going to be required.
And this jog, around a couple of blocks, in particular, wasn't new. Sure, he always found himself tired, but this time was something different entirely. They tried something she liked to call thirty-twenty-ten. Thirty seconds of light jogging, twenty seconds of their regular pace, and ten seconds of full-on sprinting. Before starting over again after a short minute break, a walking pace at that point. His body had grown used to their usual pace and distance, fueling his own arrogance.
It had only taken halfway through his sprint that he realized exactly how much he had overestimated himself.
Sure, he didn't pass out or die from it, but she had made things extra clear to make him realize exactly how far he had to go. He'd resisted the urge to chug all his water on the first few rotations, taking only small sips, but by the end of everything, he simply wasn't strong enough not to gulp down all his remaining water in one go. Even, much to his own shame, going so far as to drink all of her water when offered.
He knew there were many people, millions even, in his old world that would literally do anything, no matter how depraved, to share a water bottle with the extremely popular Harley Quinn. From walking through deserts full of glass shards on their bare feet, to sacrificing their firstborn child. But in that moment of fatigue, he honestly couldn't have given less of a care.
After giving him a hardy pat on the back, she walked him all to his street before sending him on his way. That's how he found himself, hobbling down his street. Sweaty, tired, thirsty, and in desperate need of a change of clothes. Socializing wasn't even in his vocabulary right then, but it seemed life, as always, couldn't have given a hoot.
"You look like shit." Angeline, standing tall in a pair of sweatpants and a sweater, looked down at his limping form. Brows furrowed as she took him in, understanding dawning. "Let me guess, just started high-intensity cardio?"
Instead of replying, he merely grunted. Throat far too parched to even begin speaking. An exaggeration he was willing to admit to.
"It sucks." She nodded sagely, shifting a medium-sized wicker basket in her arms. There was no pity in her eyes, only understanding and maybe even a little bit of respect. Falling in step beside him, she continued. "I would say it gets better….but honestly, cardio always sucks. It's needed, though, no matter how much you want to skip it. The only advice I can give is this: don't sit down immediately. Keep walking or lean if you absolutely need to. I don't know the particular law, but when you sit down, you put a lot of strain on your heart. And with how high your heart is probably beating right now, you'll probably pass out."
"...Thanks." He bit back an annoyed retort, knowing full well that snapping suddenly wasn't going to help him. Instead, he took in steady breaths. Already felt his heart begin to beat lighter. Going from a jack rabbit thumping against his chest to more like a steady but slow rhythm. It was an explanation mirrored pretty succinctly by his other blonde friend...just a lot less colorful. But even through that haze of fatigue, his eyes couldn't help but lock onto the neatly wrapped basket filled with brightly colored fruit. "Wha-what's with the fruit basket?"
"…." She narrowed her eyes at him, assessing his stance. Obviously, trying to suss something out before finally answering. "My mom asked me to deliver this to you, said it was a way for her to show her 'appreciation'… Which is strange because she normally isn't the gift-giving type. Sure, if it's Michael, Steve, or Marcy, she won't hesitate, but that's because she has known them for a few years now. She worries about gold diggers...so how in the world did you get her to like you so fast?!"
'What's her game?' Albert had only spoken to Mrs. Gramercy a total of two times already, and he already got the notion that she wouldn't do anything for no apparent reason. It didn't fit. His mind spun as he tried to unravel this spider's web he found himself in. 'Is she testing me to see if I'll keep quiet? Trying to form a wedge between me and her daughter? Or is she really just showing her appreciation?'
That last part was laughably naive. Everything she did had a price tag attached, no matter how well hidden. It probably was a test of sorts. A line in the sand between the two of them. Was he Angeline's friend or her mother's person? There would be some ramifications for not telling her exactly what was going on, in particular, the idea that he was some plant from the councilwomen, a minder to keep an eye on them. And that in itself would cut him from a future powerhouse capable of, apparently, going beyond peak-human in terms of physical capabilities.
But on the flip side, crossing Mrs. Gramercy also wouldn't be ideal. She already showed a mere strand of her political power in Gotham, and he really didn't want to be on the other end of that particular stick. It would put him under a lot more pressure until he eventually decided to do something drastic to get it all to stop. Which again would put him on the opposing side of a supernaturally enhanced human.
Instead, it was simply better to achieve a middle ground. Achieving both goals to keep Angeline from being involved in a criminal case and to keep their burgeoning friendship intact.
"I can't tell you a lot." Albert slowed to a near crawl, mind working carefully to avoid letting anything slip. "But during one of my recent cases, I found something a lot hotter than I assumed. I wasn't able to handle it without getting myself 'disappeared', and I came to your mother to deal with it. If she got it to the right people, it's probably going to be a high-profile criminal case. That's all I can tell you."
The blonde was silent for a moment, her blue eyes looking off into the distance. Deep in thought, she only nodded some time later. Just long enough for his home to be well within sight.
"I can understand that. Now I feel stupid. You know, when she asked me to deliver this to you, I thought this was her way of exposing the fact that you're a mole or something. That you're on her payroll. If she had just told me, I wouldn't have been expecting the worst! My mom doesn't know when to leave this political bullshit at the Town Hall." She bit her lip, words forced out with a sigh of defeat. "She….I won't make excuses; I messed up and assumed the worst, so for that, I am sorry. Did you sign anything? Please tell me you didn't."
"I didn't sign anything." He wouldn't have done that anyway; having his name attached to that case in any way was a disaster waiting to happen. And if she had tried to get him to do so, he would've taken his chances going to Gordon himself. Or try to get a hold of Batman in some way. "My silence is more for my own protection than anything else. Hold up."
Rummaging around in his pocket, he pulled out his key and unlocked the glass door. Swinging it open, he walked into a rather cool and empty building. White tiled flooring, a singular desk positioned right in the middle of the floor, with a total of three office chairs around its edges. But for once, it no longer looked so barren. There were posters, five in total, taped to the walls. Some were of fantasy creatures, landscapes, or a noir-style detective.
"Marcy told me this place looked like a scary movie waiting to happen." Angeline craned her head around every which way as she made herself at home. Walking over before kicking one of the office chairs out, she placed down the basket and took a seat. Or at least she tried, frowning, the blonde reached underneath her and pulled out a pair of rather pointy-looking dice. Inky black in color and shaped like a pyramid. "What in the hell? Are these traps for robbers or something?"
"Oh, there they are." Albert felt a bit relieved to see that small object; he'd thought either Harley or Ivy had accidentally scooped his die up with theirs...okay, maybe not so accidental with the blonde. "Thought I lost that one, could you just leave it on the table? I'll be back. Do you want anything?"
"What do you got?" She rolled the die and watched with some interest as it clacked across the wooden surface. And once it stopped, it did another roll.
"Water it is."
Making his way deeper into the building, he turned into the small break room, turned kitchen. There in the sink, a few dishes lay soaking from the night before. Pushed off for future him to deal with in the morning. Ignoring that, he threw his old bottle into the nearby trash can and opened the beat-up looking fridge and pulled out two fresh bottles of water. All the while, he could hear the dice clatter repeatedly for a few more times before she must've gotten bored. Just as his eyes were roaming through his fridge, looking for something easy to eat, his guest called out to him.
"Hey-uh!" She sounded a bit unsure and maybe even surprised. "I think your cat wants to be let in!"
'My cat?'
Now it was his turn to be confused, and after closing the fridge door, he briskly walked back over to see what in the world she was talking about. Placing the twin bottles down, he actually got a look at 'his' cat in question.
There, at the foot of his glass door, was a midnight black. It's form lean and dangerous, like that of a predator. Those large yellow eyes looked up at him with what looked to be human levels of annoyance. A lone scar ran over the side of its head and ended just under its chin.
"How in the world…"
He knew this cat quite well; she'd been in the bunker during the lockdown but had quickly disappeared into the Gotham backstreets just as soon as it ended. Sure, he tried to keep an eye out for her over these last weeks or months, but this was a big city. And there were a lot of stray animals just out and about. Honestly, he never really thought he would ever see her again.
Taking a few steps forward, he opened the door a hair, and she primly picked something up before walking in like she owned the place. Those large eyes swept over the sparse building before dashing over and hopping up onto the table.
"When did you get a cat?" Angeline eyed the creature wearily, reaching a hand out. Or at least tried, before the feline looked down imperiously upon her. As though daring her to try and face the consequences. It was safe to say she retracted. "You really shouldn't just let it wander around outside when you leave, it could get lost or hurt or something. Also, where's its collar?"
"She's not my cat." He said carefully, eyes locked not on the grooming cat but on the twin pair of objects lying on the table. A rather beaten and frankly, chewed up business card, HIS business card if the singular eye on its surface was anything to go by, and a heavily crumpled dollar bill. "And I think she's a client."
"A client…?" Her eyes darted down to the objects as well, brow scrunching up in bewilderment. "Are you sure? You're kinda suggesting that this...cat is somehow smart enough to read and know what currency actually is."
"We have a friend who can see ghosts." He didn't exactly know what the cat was, but she had to be something magical or supernatural. And honestly, in the grand scheme of things, it shouldn't have even been seen as all that strange. There were already flying men in tights, caped billionaires fighting crime, shape-shifting aliens with telepathic abilities, and literal mythical gods just out there walking about. So a cat with human-like intelligence shouldn't be too out of place. "You're magically enhanced to what? Olympic-level strength? And there's also wizards floating around."
The cat nodded in agreement. Her claws raked across the plastic wrapping around his fruit basket. Large yellow eyes glaring hungrily at the bright yellow flesh.
"How do you know it's not just some creep transformed into a cat?" The blonde leaned further back, weariness evident on her face. "Do you know how weird it'll be if it just turned out to be some rando?"
She brought up a very interesting point.
"You're not a creep transformed as a cat, right?" As much as it was a common trope in a lot of fantasy stories, in real life, finding out that a cat or dog was actually a human pretending to be one all along...well, it would be very unnerving. He took that back; it would be terrifying. Legends of such creatures, vile sorcerers wearing the skin of animals...yeah, it was better to make extra sure. The last thing he wanted to see was a feline walk on two legs like a human. "Now's your time to fess up."
The black alley cat halted in her pawing, craning back to give him what seemed to be a deadpanned expression, like he was the biggest idiot she'd ever seen. Before she turned back around and swiped her claws through the plastic, catching on the flesh of a banana and tearing it open. From stem to root, exposing the pale innards. And without even a glance back or permission, she began nibbling at it like some sort of royal at court.
Albert only sighed, hands going over and swiping the twin objects up. And almost immediately, a system notification appeared before his inner eye.
'What?! How?!'
[Case Opened: Feline Aid!
Description: An old friend, both proud and mysterious, has come knocking on your door in search of aid. While she can't speak, it couldn't be clear that she ain't no normal feline. But alas, no matter that she might be smarter than the average tabby cat, it doesn't change the fact that she doesn't possess opposable thumbs! Maybe that's why she came to you! Whatever the case, it's up to you to find out!
Requirements: Find out what this kitty wants!
Difficulty: F
Reward: 1 IP and Unknown!]
[Would you like to take on this case?]
[Yes/No]
"…." None of this really made a lot of sense, but he had no idea why he was acting so surprised that a cat was able to trigger his system just like any other client out there. If a ghost could, why not a stray? But did that mean any cat could just come up to him, paw at his pants leg with some money in hand, paw, and just hire him outright? Would he really be buried in an army of yowling cats at all hours of the night? Just the thought of claws scrapping against his door at the dead of midnight because one of the creatures wanted a snack or to chase off some dog or human taking up their sleeping spot. He would never know peace again!
That in itself made him want to automatically turn down the case without giving it a second glance. Cats talked, right? That meant his accepting now would surely set a precedent he really, really loathed the idea of. But for the first time, he actually looked at the cat before him.
She's always been rather skinny, even back then. Something he tried to remedy during their short time together, and the last time he saw her, the cat had a bit more meat on her bones. But now? It was like that had never happened. Probably worse if the way she was eyeing the water bottles was anything to go by.
He'd always been a sucker for animals in clear signs of need, and this wasn't any different. Letting out a breath, Albert stuffed the money into his pocket before turning to the blonde.
"Do you feel like coming with me? I would really appreciate some backup."
***
There were a few places he tried to avoid like the plague. Town Hall, the district attorney's office, and gyms, just to name a few places. But above all, hospitals were the absolute worst. From the sterile, antiseptic air to the pure white tiled floor that easily reflected the overhead lights. That beamed with such intensity that it made sleeping an impossibility. Tying in with the staff of overworked nurses and doctors, who briskly shuffled around the place like zombies souped up on gallons of highly caffeinated coffee.
The good stuff they hid from hard-working policemen like him, swearing up and down it was bad for his heart or something. Hypocrites, the lot of them.
But even with all that, there was still one other reason he hated setting foot into these buildings of false hope and shattered dreams. It was the nearly endless stream of people in need. The sick and injured, of all ages, genders, and ethnicities. Just a massive sea of people, he had no way of actually helping….especially those that avoided his gaze the moment they recognized who he was.
Some covered bruises, others were 'shielded', but it was more held down by people who looked far too nervous for his liking. Sure, some of them tried to appear nonchalant, but he could easily sniff out abusers a mile away.
But above everything, he noticed loved ones cradling their most cherished people closely. Or tapping their foot anxiously as they awaited news that might shatter their entire world. Those who reached for a cigarette out of sheer habit, before thinking better of it.
It was just so easy to see himself in that uncomfortable seat, rocking back and forth as he clutched his daughter close to his chest. Could see easily see that the distant doctor ambled out of that surgery room with a defeated expression on their exhausted face. Hear the bad news slam home into him with the force of a hammer bashing out against an icy plane.
Fists tightening, he resisted the urge to spit on the ground and continued on his way. Sparing the nurse on duty, only a single nod before he turned down the long hall. With some care of the series of gurneys that passed, it was too soon later that he finally came across a familiar placard.
The ICU, Intensive Care Unit. If before he thought the place was full, then this wing was almost entirely packed to the brim. Groaning people lay, heavily bruised and with a few broken bones. Their right wrists were handcuffed to the bed. All of them looked like the rough sort. Gangsters, thugs, enforcers, whatever title suited them best. Ugly but intricate tattoos and clothing that maybe would've caused a few inexperienced cops to look twice.
Those awake looked down at their laps the moment they saw him; the combo of swollen eyes and busted lips made them look so goddamn pitiful. Not enough to let any of them go, of course not. He passed over a total of thirty different beds before stopping in front of a room with two pairs of police officers standing guard.
Looking fresh out of the academy, they even had the nerve to salute him as if he were some sort of higher-up in the military.
"Commissioner-sir!"
The two practically shouted, looking far too eager for his liking. They were loud in fact that it even caused a few tending nurses to send glares their way.
"Keep it down." As much as he hated this place, it still didn't change the fact that he had to respect their rules. There were kids here after all...okay, probably not in this wing of the hospital, but the principle still remained.
"Sorry, sir!" On the right, blonde hair and bushy tail like a golden retriever replied at a more acceptable level. A sheepish grin only further enforced that image. "Won't happen again!"
Shaking his head, he pushed past the two and pushed open the door. Being a bit smaller, the itself was only around the size of a normal-sized bedroom. Large enough to have a bathroom, a few chairs, and a hospital bed close to the window.
"How is he?" Gordon asked, his hard blue eyes roaming over the living bruise lying there. Their chest rising and falling steadily, those medical machines beeping occasionally.
"He'll live." A rather portly but severe-looking man pushed off one of the nearby seats. His button-up shirt was loose and sloppy, red tie left partially undone. A five o'clock shadow was forming across his chin. "Doc says he'll wake up tomorrow morning."
"Good." He nodded and stood by the side of the bed. Taking in the few characteristics of note. Middle-aged, reedy, and thin. And he would bet the whole two bucks in his back pocket that if he opened those swollen lids, he would see a pair of dull brown eyes. A sigh escaped him as his search continued. "Lamont and Zura?"
"They're down the hall," Harvey grunted. Heavy bags under his eyes as well. "Montoya is watching them."
"Goddammit." He felt like lighting a smoke right about then. His team had barely just begun to look over the evidence the council women handed them, and now this happens? Life really loved to kick him where it hurts. "Who did it?"
"We think it's one of the newer vigilantes." The portly man nearly spat that last part out, disdain evident. And frankly, it was a shared feeling. Batman coming out into the light might've done wonders for the crime rate, but it also caused everyone such a massive headache with all these people dressing up in costumes to fight crime. Most of them weren't fighters, and it showed as the station had been flooded with calls of these folks biting off more than they could chew and running to them for safety. But this time...things were far more concerning. Who in the world could take on thirty to forty fully grown men and come out fine? There was only a single person Jim knew that could accomplish this, and he knew there was no way it could be them. "But a lot of them only saw flashes before they knocked out, some mentioned a woman wearing a purple mask. We're hoping to get a full description from one of these three."
"….." He thought for a moment, gnashing his teeth on empty air as this case gained a whole new obstacle. It wasn't every day he was handed both the blade and poison to bring down one of the untouchables here in Gotham. Just from his initial scan over the documents, he knew this was going to be a massive and difficult case to handle. The Shellfords would fight tooth and nail to keep their 'child' out of prison, and that was before he planned on slamming them with their own case to worry about. But now? This vigilante had kicked the hornet's nest before the trap was set. The perp would hide, use his family's connections to go to ground. And that's if she didn't go after Quincy himself. "I want a city-wide search, stat. Get me a list of every visit to the emergency room from last night to this morning. I refuse to believe she got out of this without some injury. They aren't Batman. And I want officers keeping an eye on Mr. VIP at all hours. Whoever this is, I don't believe she didn't shake his name out from them. She'll be going for him next."