In which a vigilante has to find the killer of her bosses and the only people she can trust are two Detectives and an Assistant District Attorney. All of this while helping the butler, Alfred Pennyworth, take care of young Bruce Wayne.
|| Gotham Sea...
"Legends are slippery little things. For the glory that coats them hides the pain, suffering and death that spun them".
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Oliver Evans took another gulp out of his bottle of cheap whiskey. The final one too. He needed to go down to the liquor store, but it was late and the store was already closed. Oliver cursed under his breath. He needed more alcohol if he was to get through the day. That was how he counted days now. By the bottles that he drank. His life was a freaking Bon Jovi song.
The man with fading blond hair that reached just past his shoulders tied it in a ponytail at the bottom of his head. Then he touched the two scars on the side of his neck where a boy, no older than twenty-two, had attacked him with a stapler. Oliver touched those scars every night before tucking himself in the makeshift bed he had made for himself in the abandoned orphanage of Gotham City. Not very glamorous, but he couldn't afford anything better.
Suddenly, he felt something, or someone grab him from behind. Whoever it was had an arm around his neck and a gloved hand over his nose and mouth. He couldn't breathe. And he thought that was the end. There in the darkness of the orphanage, drug addicts passed out in the next room. He struggled against his attacker, but it was no use and soon darkness took over his mind.
Oliver didn't know if it took hours or just a few seconds. He didn't even know if he was dead or alive. All he knew was that he was waking up, but maybe he was about to wake up in hell, where he knew he truly belonged.
But when he woke up, he found himself on a rooftop. Well, not exactly on the rooftop. He was hanging upside down by said rooftop.
"Fuck!" Oliver cursed in panic. "Fuck, fuck, fuck". He struggled against the rope wrapped around his right ankle like a boa constrictor snake.
That's when he saw a figure not too far away, but he couldn't recognize any detail on the person. Not in all that darkness. It stood next to a giant signpost. Underneath that sign was a sort of pulley with a rope noose stuck on it. That rope kept him in place with no means to defend himself. He didn't know, but that same pulley had been used by Professor Gerald Crane to scare one of his victims right before he killed him.
"Hey, you!" Oliver called with a hoarse voice that he barely recognized as his own. "Get me out of here! Hey! You deaf?"
"I heard you just fine," the muffled voice of a woman was heard.
"Then get me out of here," he ordered, getting fed up.
The figure walked up to him slowly. He finally saw who it was. He wished he hadn't.
"You," Oliver said, a tinge of fear in his voice.
"Me," replied the female vigilante standing before him. She sounded angry. Angrier than he had heard she was.
