Detective | ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴛᴍᴀɴ

𝒔 𝒊 𝒙

Jess's vibrant red Converse sneakers trudged through the grisly crime scene, a shiver running down her spine. It was hard to fathom the horrors concealed within this merciless setting. The victim, his face masked by duct tape, sat lifelessly in an armchair. Tufts of hair stuck out in every direction, giving the scene an almost cartoonish, macabre quality.

A brown paper bag covered his left hand, just shy of his expensive watch. The layers of duct tape bore a meticulously written message in the victim's blood: "No more lies." It was sadistic, yet somehow predictable, as if straight out of a cheesy slasher film from the '80s. In those movies, the evil antagonist always killed the babysitter and her boyfriend while they were lost in their lustful escapades. As the detective recalled from her favorite '90s slasher film, "Scream," engaging in sex meant risking your life.

Such knowledge was common, but this wasn't a movie set. It was grim reality, far more prevalent than people realized—especially in a city like Gotham.

Standing at the heart of the crime scene, Jess placed a hand on her hip, trying to block out the clicking of the camera shutters and the hushed whispers of her colleagues. She focused on the scene until a distinct sound of heavy combat boots echoed against the shattered glass on the floor. The detective on the scene didn't flinch at the noise, but it caught Jess's attention.

What made her snap her emerald eyes open was the shadow that engulfed her, turning her into prey in this nightmarish setting. She spun around and found herself face to face with the symbol of a bat. She hadn't expected to encounter him so soon.

She slowly turned her gaze, meeting the empty eyes of the shadow. He was doing it again, piercing her with his sorrow, just as he had the first night they met. All eyes in the room were fixated on the two strangers. She sensed him studying her, reading her like an open book. "You're new," he finally spoke, his voice barely audible.

"You are too," the detective retorted, raising an eyebrow. Bruce felt a surge of tension as she penetrated his stoic facade, just as she had that first night. Those damned green eyes were causing him internal turmoil. Her voice, like honey, struck him right in the gut. "Detective Kent," she introduced herself, extending her hand for a shake. It was a formality her father had instilled in her, a sign of respect—the Batman, however, missed its significance.

He didn't acknowledge her name, simply turning his attention to the man approaching them—a man named Jim Gordon, the first person to genuinely welcome her to the police department. "Looks like you two have a secret admirer," he drawled from behind them. With white latex gloves on her hands, Jess carefully took the small white card from her colleague's hand.

Before furrowing her perfectly shaped brows, she grabbed the note from his hand. The newly formed crease in her brow created a knot that persisted even when she tried to relax her face. The card remained unopened, leaving the detective to uncover its contents herself.

Batman's card read, "To the Batman," while hers read, "To Detective Kent, my sweetheart," accompanied by three eerie little hearts. Detective Jessica Jolene Kent wasn't one to be easily perturbed by anything, but Gotham had a knack for pushing every detective to their limits.