(Edited with Grammarly on 3/5/2026)
The transport vehicle pumped and jumped regularly on the uneven road, filled to the brim with potholes. Making the already uncomfortable ride even more so. From within, a total of sixteen men and women sat shoulder to shoulder, silent as the grave, as they checked over their gear.
Dressed in bulky dark navy from head to toe, each wearing similar heavy-looking vests which had the word 'Police' emblazoned clearly in white lettering. Black gloves fiddled with the occasional strap or pulled tightly on the black balaclava mask to adjust its place. Most had them placed well below their chins, exposing grizzled and grim faces beneath.
One in particular, with a youthful appearance, perhaps around his mid-twenties, sat looking nearly shell-shocked as he numbly and nervously worked on the same strap for what felt like the millionth time. The constant sound of Velcro being torn apart apparently was too much for the already tense environment.
"Captain." Another policeman, slightly older, maybe in his early thirties, with brown hair cut low and a pair of dark brown eyes that glared at the nervous man. "Get your rookie, he's making me nervous."
"Cut 'em some slack, Romeo." An absolute beast of a man snapped, his large frame leaning forward on his knees as he absently put away a small photo back into his breast pocket. Skin as thick as leather, wrinkled and worn with a frown nearly etched into his flesh. Possessing a shock of salt and pepper hair cut low to the scalp. Hard blue eyes flickered up to Romeo and the rookie in question, that frown turning up into a grin. Exposing rows of slightly yellowed teeth and a lone gold tooth on his left side. "Besides, if he wasn't here, you would've been the 'rookie'."
Not biting the bait, the man only scoffed before dropping his head back down to stare off into the floor with that same thousand-yard stare.
"Sorry, sir," The rookie bowed his head, still fiddling with an errant strap. Probably more conscious of the heavy sub-machine gun hanging from straps across their bodies, everyone there had been hammered with the importance of gun safety, not just on their training day but also even right before this mission had slid across their desks. "I'll try to keep it down."
"No." The captain shook his head, leaning back with an audible creak from the steel bench below. "The best way to deal with nerves ain't to just bottle them up inside. That'll get you killed in our line of work...and I don't want a dead rookie on my conscience. Brief me."
"...Sir?" The rookie looked at him with some hesitation, clear on his face, even going so far as to turn his head every which way in hopes of some of his colleagues bearing even a modicum of pity for his plight. Unsurprising that not even a single head nor gaze locked with his. Seeing no help in sight, he turned back to the captain. "But, but sir, you-"
"Act like I wasn't leading that briefing." The lump of grit and muscle grinned, probably meant to be something reassuring, but to anyone else it just looked like a grimace or sneer. "Act like I was some useless schmuck not even paying attention, pretend I skipped out on the briefing to tussle with a head secretary or something. Speaking about her, she's a real looker, ain't she?"
"…." Pretty wasn't what the rookie would use to describe the portly middle-aged woman, kind, yes, in a motherly way, but in no way would he ever find her attractive. Those frumpy clothes and thick-rimmed glasses didn't help any. Despite that, going against the word of his superior even in this minor way felt like an absolute death sentence. "Ye-"
"That's his wife, by the way." Another officer, finally showing some sympathy, sighed in resignation. Maybe the levity of the situation worked to loosen their tightly coiled muscles. "The captain's a natural braggart. He just loves to hear people compliment his wife...despite Susan scolding him."
"She loves it just as much as I do." The captain grinned, a boyish thing that didn't quite match his grizzled and aged appearance. "Su's just a bit shy. But still, explain it to me like I skipped out to see my wife before heading out."
"Yes-yes, sir!" The rookie paused for a breath, digging through his memories as he tried to extract as much as possible. "We received information that reopened a cold missing person case, one Jacqueline Hyde. Age eight years old at the time of her disappearance, which was approximately six months ago, from Downtown Gotham Elementary. At first, her disappearance was chalked up to a runaway due to the multiple statements taken from the staff at the time."
"After receiving an anonymous tip, we found out that those statements were false. It came out that the principal, a man by the name of Johnathan Bricker, knew of the kidnapping and purposefully made efforts to cover it up."
"Right bastards if you ask me." The captain replied grimly, acting as the peanut gallery that would normally fill in the silence between breaths. "Always knew that slimeball was rotten to the core. Knew it the moment I met him during a police ball...But ignore me, continue."
"Right...uh, despite this, our teams weren't able to begin recovering the lost footage before late last night, we received a call about gunshots heard in a relatively quiet neighborhood. There, two suspects were arrested. A severely injured man, Elliot Steward, and Mateo Hughes. An ambulance was called, and while being detained, Hughes confessed to being the kidnapper we were looking for. Went into extreme detail on the clothes Hyde wore during her kidnapping and spoke also of a blonde girl being present as well… A detail not released to the general population. He told us who they sold Hyde to. An organization called The Gray Gardens is a collection of smaller, unaffiliated gangs that primarily deal in narcotics, arms deals, and human trafficking. And just an hour ago, we received information on where they might be headquartered. We're being sent to rescue any survivors, capture all members and co-conspirators present, and break them up."
"Good, you got the gist." The larger man nodded in support. "Because this is your first mission, you'll be paired up with Dens over there."
Off to the far end of the small enclosure, a lanky but athletic man could be seen. All frowns and harsh lines etched across his exposed forehead. Brown eyes as hard and cold as stone. But unlike the rest, his frame was still like a wild cat crouching in wait for their time to strike. Glancing at them, the masked nodded in assent before going back to stare off blankly in space.
"He'll keep you safe." The vehicle slowly slowed to a complete stop, and soon that giant of a man stood hunched in the small space. He threw that mask over the upper half of his face and strapped a black helmet in place. "Look alive, boys and girls, you have four minutes, and it's go time. You know you're pairs."
Just as he finished, the doors slammed open. Filling the metal transport with a gust of chilly wind. And not even a moment later, the giant stepped out into the dark streets of Gotham.
The rookie fumbled with his helmet and equipment, tightening his gloves, sliding that mask back over his face, and yanking tightly on any loose straps. But it seemed even with his admitted impressive speed, he was overtaken by a steady supply of navy blue clothed figures marching out like soldiers ready for war.
Silently, under the quiet gaze from his other half, the rookie stepped out into the frigid air of early morning. Before even the earliest of risers dared to poke their heads out, they were met with a hubbub of activity. From all around, multiple nondescript vehicles lined up from either side of the street, no flashing red and blue lights to speak of. Even their own van was nothing more than a plain gray model.
Detectives and heavily armed policemen stood grimly, most of their gazes locked onto something off in the distance. Dens shoved him softly, pointing silently to the half of the SWAT team splitting off to the south, and soon followed in step. The rookie could feel his heart beating loudly in his ears, sweat already dripping down his temple as he stumbled forward.
***
"Bullock." The beast of a man nodded as he stood side by side with a man appearing even grimmer and more unkempt than he often was. Dressed in that same ragged trench coat that hid the heavily wrinkled shirt, the portly fellow probably thought he could use to hide that messy appearance...who was he kidding? Harvey was probably the last man on this planet to really give a damn about his appearance. "Got a spare?"
"Koch." Bullock gazed down at the nub of a cigarette in hand, grunting once before taking another hit. "No. Susan would kill me if she knew I gave you one."
"She won't know." But instead of replying, the detective only sent him a look. A deadpanned thing that emphasized the heavy bags underneath his eyes. That soul-deep weariness mixed with that general annoyance he probably always felt. Koch, seeing this, only raised his hands with a sheepish but still out of place expression across his severe face. "Maybe I won't take one, been trying to quit lately. Don't want to ruin my progress."
"Right."
As though to mock him, Bullock blew a heavy plume into the crisp night air. But other than that, he didn't acknowledge the giant further and just gazed off into the distance with that same perpetual frown on full display.
"That's your...what? Eighth one so far?" The captain could easily see the nearly dozen butts squashed underfoot, some of which still possessed a few glimmering embers.
"Stop acting like my wife."
"Please. I'm a happily married man...But seriously, Harvey, what's got your panties in a twist?" Waving his hand around to the near army of officers keeping a clear distance away from the pair, as though there was some invisible line none of them dared to cross. "You got them spooked, and you look like you're going to go all bad cop on someone."
"…." Flicking the now thoroughly done butt, the portly man reached into his inner pocket and pulled out yet another stick before flicking a match. A lone flame bloomed to life, dancing across its reddened and catching. Inhaling deeply, he exhaled with enough force to cause his shoulders to slump a hair. "I don't like it."
"It?" Most of the people there were older; if they weren't parents themselves, then they were for damn sure uncles or aunts. Maybe there were even a few grandparents in their midst. So it made sense that this whole incident triggered that parental instinct within all of them, especially when literal children were involved. Koch was pretty sure plenty of them wanted to go in all guns blazing and take down this Gray Gardens without waiting around feeling like a bunch of chumps. Despite that, he had worked with this detective for over ten years now. This wasn't the normal chain-smoking man who could smoke an entire pack in a day. There was no conscious effort on his part; those cigarette butts would've been tossed out well before they ever reached the two-thirds mark. Not to the stubby nubs littering the ground now.
"…" Inhaling once more, Bullock didn't even take a second puff before exhaling and flicking the nearly brand-new cigarette to join the growing pile. Yeah, something was itching at his nerves. "I don't like this."
He waved towards the mass of grim-faced officers, some of whom quickly looked away as those calloused hands motioned towards them. Ducking their heads back as though to pretend like they weren't trying to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"All this...makes me feel like we're playing to someone else's tune!" Now that the detective had gotten going, there was no stopping him. "We're pawns in some game someone's playing. We're getting led around by the nose by some goddamn ghost, and there's nothing we can do about it."
"At least we're doing some good here." Koch tried to soothe his friend; that sensation of losing control was never a good feeling. Especially not now, when those walls that had been close to crushing them from all sides had finally disappeared with the sudden rise of their new commissioner. And just when they were finally free from under the constant oversight of a corrupt higher-up, here came this whole situation. And this felt eerily familiar to how things were for years. Cases full of half-truths and false testimonies, being led around nearly blind as information was purposefully held from them. Feeling as if he was being jerked around from one fire to another. But unlike then, they were actually being used to nip a problem in the bud before it had a real chance to bloom. "We get the victims out of here first, and then we can worry about hunting this ghost. Deal?"
"…." Bullock didn't really look anymore convinced, but still he reached into his pocket and pulled out a roughly folded document. Shoving it into the large man's hands, he withdrew yet another cigarette and lit it ablaze. "Here's your warrant, got it from a very, very angry judge just ten minutes ago. You're good to go."
"Excellent." Looking it over, he speed read through the warrant. Noting down the hastily scrawled signature and stamp near the bottom before grinning savagely. Pulling a strap, he pulled out a solid black device with a small antenna poking out. "We got the green light, give 'em hell."
***
"GCPD!"
Multiple authoritative voices slammed out from all over the massive warehouse, followed by the continuous booms of doors being kicked off their hinges. Flashing, bright lights strong enough to disorient and blind cut through the rather relaxed atmosphere. Heavy boots stomped without a care on fine red carpets. Tracking mud and sludge, but of course, there were more important things to worry about.
Twin guards, muscles jammed into suits a size too small, didn't have nearly enough time to react to the wave of force. A heavy kick to the middle of one's stomach bowled him over, knocking the gun from out of his reach before a frigidly cold barrel was jammed into his chest. Eyes shut tight in pain, from both the blinding light and the growing bruise. Above him, a lanky man dressed in dark clothes quickly subdued him. Turning him around to crawl on his belly while slapping on a pair of handcuffs with a bit too much force. Yanking hard on his arms, putting more pressure on his shoulder blades, forcing a yelp out of him.
The rookie...well, his entrance wasn't so grand. Instead, he barely had enough time to point in the remaining guard's direction before four more SWAT members stormed the room, pushing around him like a stream. Menace just oozing off them in heavy waves as they quickly pounced. And before long, the small scuffle ended with a total of six separate guards being roughly handcuffed, faces eating dirt.
"Clear!"
Dens called out, before a pair of officers entered the cleared entrance with guns drawn. Nodding once to the team, they turned to the subdued thugs who seemed to just be coming out of their state of confusion with a dawn sense of horror.
Looming over them, the officers began to drone on and on.
"You have a right to remain silent." The first intoned, and even with his limited experience, the rookie could easily fill in the blanks. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provide-"
"Go fuck yourself, pig!" One, far braver than the rest, sneered openly. Face full of harsh lines and vivid scars, a rather nasty tattoo scrawled across his neck. A prison tat from the uneven, almost wispy appearance to the ink. And to make his displeasure known, he even raised his upper body high enough and spat a fat wad onto the pants of a nearby officer.
In that split instance, a SWAT member blurred forward. Heavy boot slamming into the unruly thug's shoulder with enough force to hear a barely audible crunch. And just like that, the bravado fled just as quickly as it came. Turning him into nothing but a blubbering and whimpering mess.
The rookie knew this same scene was breaking out from all over that building, probably more if the screams and shouts were anything to go by. Maybe he should've felt bad for the plain display of police brutality, a clear example of excessive force...but honestly, knowing the sorts of people these thugs were, he honestly couldn't feel anything but a cold disgust. Out of all the jobs in this city, jobs that would've easily taken on ex-convicts, they'd still decided to involve themselves in this dark corner of humanity.
Quickly finishing up, the officers began to unceremoniously link the criminals together, lining them up like ducks in a row and prodding them out of the door with nothing more than a respectful nod to the team. After leaving them, Dens held up three fingers, and almost instantly, the other members broke off into pairs and stormed into the nearby rooms. Breaking down doors and yelling out orders, screams could be heard. Shrieks of fright and pain being met by heavy, meaty thumps,
Only then, dazed as he was, did the youngest member follow after what was essentially his babysitter on this mission. That lanky frame pressed in tight to a nearby door, those same soulless orbs looking into his as fingers dropped in a silent countdown.
Steeling his own nerves, he nodded and gripped his weapon more firmly. Pulling upon the endless drills and lessons hammered into his body. Years of blood, sweat, and tears. Of lost nights of sleep and failed relationships.
On one, he leapt forward. Drawing upon all the force he could muster and slammed his own heavy boot into the door. He'd expected there to be some form of resistance, something that justified the amount of strength he imbued into that kick. Instead, the door came flying open with ease. Almost as if it wasn't even there, but the recoil proved that false. From his heel up to his hip, a dull ache settled within his bones.
Instead of letting that stop him, he gritted his teeth and scanned the small room. A beam of concentrated light zoomed over every little detail; anything that twitched got a second look. The room in question wasn't very large, with not even a poster to liven up the place. Possessing only a single notable feature, which was more than enough to send a chill down his spine.
Up against the far corner of the room, a soiled and misshapen mattress lay. No bed-frame nor even sheets, just an off-white bed with a few stains of brown and black. From above, on an exposed pipe, a pair of handcuffs dangled. The combination coming together to form a grim and sickening picture.
"C-clear!"
He hated himself just then, almost as much as he started to hate this damn organization, as his voice cracked. It couldn't be helped. Seeing photos of tragedy was one thing, but having this up close...it was just different in a way no one could ever prepare him for.
Dens peered over his shoulder, poking his head and thoroughly scanning the sickening room. Before he pointed over to something he honestly wished he hadn't. There, on the complete opposite side of the mattress, a lone tripod stood. It's top empty, but it was clear what was supposed to be present and what exactly it was used for.
Bile, thick and hot, welled up from within his gullet. Skin growing a few shades paler, he had no choice but take a step back out of that accursed room. And soon, his partner closed the door back up before nodding on down to the next room.
This process went on for what felt like a lifetime. An eternity of being forced to come face to face with the darkest aspects of humanity, forced to have his mind reconstruct scenes from context clues and minute details. And as for the rooms that weren't empty?… Those at least gave a face to the evil. Men and women, both appearing as normal as could be caught in extremely compromising positions. Either sitting with their bits out as they watched something not even seen in horror movies, entangled with a restrained person, or trying to quickly break free from a woozy-looking person who appeared as if they had no idea exactly where they were or even who they were.
Cuffs were slapped on, beatings dished out to the occasional outspoken filth stain. Victims were slowly being sent out in a steady procession of misery with a few sobs of relief and heartfelt thanks. With each passing moment, with every face seared into his mind, something was stripped away from him. A softer, more naive part of himself that had remained completely unaware of exactly how this curse sentience truly was. How someone, who pumped blood the same way he did, who breathed just the same, could do these acts of evil upon another. And for what? To sate some sadistic urge within them? To feel powerful in a society that stripped away every sense of control? None of it mattered to him, no excuse their lawyers could scrounge up in a court of law. He knew what he saw that night, and most of these...monsters deserved to be buried under the prison. So that even in death, their souls will be forced to remain to serve out the rest of their sentences.
Maybe...maybe his granny was wrong after all. Not everyone deserved mercy. Love thy neighbor, right? In what world could that proverb be true with these goddamn deviants wandering around?
He didn't realize when it happened, but eventually, after clearing yet another room, more SWAT members had joined their little sweep. Two separate teams met up with barely even a nod of recognition, growing from six to twelve. Pairs combined, forming quads. But soon, even that faded into a blur of depravity.
But just as he could feel himself growing numb by the second, something shook things loose.
They'd just been prepared to break down yet another door, four dark-clothed figures standing around ready to give whoever was inside absolute hell. Until it opened by itself and someone came stumbling out.
A figure of thin frame and sunken skin, pale as a sheet of paper and appearing as if even the lightest breeze would knock her over. With long and poorly taken care of blonde hair that fell to her knees, acting as a curtain to a bruised face and nearly purple nose. Light freckles dusted her shallow cheeks, bloodshot, brown eyes the size of dinner plates looked onto the small team of heavily armed officers with a slightly dazed look about her.
Just as he prepared to step forward to apprehend the skeleton of a woman, Dens put his arm out. And only now did the rookie look down and notice. In her right hand, clenched tightly in a near-death grip, a bloody floor tiling sharpened to a jagged edge, wrapped tightly in what appeared to be some sort of garment. All across her front, soaking through her hair and the torn remains of her clothing was a sticky and dark crimson liquid.
"The chil-children…."
Peering behind her, he could clearly see a dimly lit room with a rather luxurious-looking bed, which lay, of course, a thoroughly dead man with a gut so large it made spotting whatever expression he made in death impossible to see. But from the dripping makeshift weapon, and the obscene amounts of ichor covering the entire room, so much so that she was even leaving behind bloody footprints in her wake.
"You need to come with-"
One of the SWAT members tried to grab the obviously abused woman, but just seeing and hearing a male's voice must've been too much for her as she swayed on her feet before slipping out of his grip.
"Stay away from me!" The woman hissed, but it sounded more like a sob, waving her weapon around. More of a warning than anything else. But even that bit of lucidity faded from her as the knife dropped out of her trembling fingers and she nearly fully collapsed against the door frame. Quick as could be, one of the female officers reached forward and gently caught her.
"Listen." The officer soothed, pulling down her mask to expose a forced, reassuring smile. "We're with GCPD. You need to come with us, you're safe now. We'll get you in an ambulance, get you checked out, and in a hospital bed before you know it."
"I-I can't l-leave." The woman whispered, weakly trying and failing to push her away. Cracked lips forming words barely loud enough for them to hear. "Not-not without t-the children...I w-won't leave them."
"Where are they?"
The rookie wasn't sure what to be more surprised about. The fact that he spoke up or heard his own voice just then, it didn't sound like him at all. Rough and raspy, like he'd just gotten done gargling gravel. Flinching at his voice, she nonetheless looked up at him. And for a split instant, not enough to even span a heartbeat, lucidity pierced through the drug-induced fog.
Those brown eyes...they looked almost the same as Dens. Cold and soulless, glassy like a doll's. As if she wouldn't have blinked as she dragged that dagger across his throat. Possessing no joy, no anger, not even sadness, but just a hollow numbness that sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn't help but grip his gun a bit tighter.
But, alas, that look was gone a microsecond later. Leaving behind a mumbling and drooling mind so fractured that all she could do was whisper the same phrase all over again.
"The children...The children...the children…"
With every passing moment, her struggle continued. Actively fighting against her 'captor', a feeble thing, but it still struck at something. The female officer, helpless, looked up to the unspoken leader of their quad. Dens stood off to the side. Arms crossed and looking over at the bloody body, and back down to the mumbling victim.
Whatever he saw made him nod once, and that was all she needed to help the victim to her feet and help her begin shuffling down the hall. Deeper into the building, the quad followed. And from down another hallway, another team joined up with them. Continuing on and on, their numbers growing from eight to sixteen to thirty-two, until there were enough people for the rookie to know that more SWAT had joined the initial force.
From the front, two separate teams walked on either side of the pair. Some members broke off to make quick work of any uncleared rooms, and together they swept through the building like a scythe through wheat.
They continued until the woman shook herself free from her escort and slammed her fists into what appeared to be a normal-looking door, her fingers fumbling for the handle fruitlessly and just resorting to scratching at the surface like a rabid animal. Eventually, they dragged her out of the way as she sobbed loudly. The strength leaving her as the door swung open.
And just as suddenly, weakness flooded through his knees. Stomach falling out from underneath him at the chilling sight before him. Jam-packed like sardines in a can, sitting nearly shoulder to shoulder, tiny heads peered out from behind scrawny teenagers that stood protectively before them. Each teen holding a makeshift weapon or brandishing their fists, eyes blazing with that same desperation the woman showed.
"Lord, have mercy."
He didn't know who whispered that, but he would easily agree with that sentiment. Especially when a flashlight scanned over the thirty-odd kids. All of them looked worse for wear. Wearing ratty old clothes, appearing as thin as could be, and all looking to be as grimy and dirty as if they hadn't bathed in quite a while.
In that heart-stopping moment, everyone was still. Shock filled them; even some of the more veteran members couldn't help but feel completely thrown for a loop. And he was sure they would've stayed like that forever if not for a loud and booming voice striking out at them from behind.
"You're scaring them! Clear out! Now!" Their captain, with not even a hint of that jovial mood, lumbered forward. Flanked on either side by an entire team of paramedics rushing forward. His countenance gloomy and hard as stone. Those harsh lines fell into place as he used his gaze alone to force a good half of them to break off down the hall to do one final sweep of the building. Pushing through the shell-shocked crowd, Koch stood before the near army of children ready to make their final stand. And surprisingly, the giant knelt on one knee. Taking off his helmet and exposed his mature face to them. It was a sorrowful thing, a forced smile etched onto his face as he tried to soothe them. "I'm the captain of GCPD, Koch. And you have some of the bravest young adults I've ever met, good on you for protecting the youngins. We got the bad people who did this to you...I'm sorry we weren't able to get to you sooner, but it's okay now. No one, and I mean no one in this city, on this planet will hurt you again. That I promise, come on. Let's get you all home."
It was quiet for a moment, even more so than before, as those eyes blinked owlishly at the gentle giant before them, and if anyone looked the moment reluctant or suspicious, it had to be the teenagers, but it wasn't them that moved first.
Pushing past the line of teens, a figure used the remainder of their strength to sprint forward before falling into the giant's embrace with a soul-shattering sob. And just like that, the floodgates opened. Kids of all ages came streaming out of the small, cramped room. Either clamping down desperately onto the captain or, when all the spots were taken, turned their attention to nearby SWAT members. Even the teens, after every last child had left behind them, dropped their weapons with tears and snot streaming down their faces as they gripped desperately onto nearby officers.
It was heartbreaking, striking deeply into the rookie's soul. Just seeing all this, having these children cling to him as if to make sure he wasn't some hallucination, made him think back to the multiple people he'd personally slapped handcuffs onto. Maybe...maybe he should've just pulled the trigger.