Gotham, a city ruled by crime and corruption, dark and gloomy, its citizens are afraid when the sun sets, for crime never sleeps. But a monster reigns over the night, a shadowy creature, a creature that will make anyone feel fear, for fear is this b...
I climb the building keeping me firm so I don't fall. I'm near the window, seeing Jefferson Skeevers sitting, sniffing cocaine while talking to his lawyer.
-You have to keep quiet. If you say something, you know you're going to fuck you. It's going to fly shit by your side.
-I'm aware —answers more worried about smelling the dust on the wooden table.
-You're not listening. They've already called you to testify, you will, but with a closed beak—the short-haired woman gets up going to the door—arrange a decent outfit, don't go stinky to marijuana and brush her teeth.
- fine babe, don't worry.
-And not your perverted smile to the girls.
-That's cool. How about that?—solds a forced smile.
-Don't ruin everything—the woman opens the door and leaves.
Jefferson focuses again on smelling the powder. I go through the window, without him noticing. When your eyes dare to move to my side, I drop it on the table, breaking the wooden object. I hold him by the neck, standing on top of him, squeeze enough so that he can't scream or call for help. From your pocket, remove a revolver, quickly secure, breaking your hand.
-You can't run away from me...—I cause more pain in your broken hand and crushing your other arm with my foot. It's totally helpless and useless, a scared dog in the middle of the storm — the bullets don't hurt me... Nothing hurts me. But I know the pain... Ah, I know the pain... —your eyes widen in despair—... And I know how to share the pain very well—my shadow begins to take it, covering your body—and sometimes, I share the pain with people like you...
- AAAAAAAHHH!!!
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POV GORDON
I arrive at work by going to my office. I leave my coat on the chair and sit down. I drink some of the coffee I brought on the way.
- Lieutenant, he wants to talk to you — a policeman appears at the foot of my door.
- who?
Suddenly, Jefferson enters the room, standing with his hands in his pocket, with his head down. He wears a big coat, with sunglasses and a hat covering him, looking like clothing that he wears when he has a hangover.
-I want to give my statement. I'm going to deliver the Flass—I get up quickly in a hurry pointing to the policeman.
-Call the prosecutor's office here, don't tell the commissioner anything!
-Yes, sir —he's running away.
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