Gotham: Panic Attack

Ragdoll Physics

'Move it asshole!' Yells a corpulent policeman out of the window of his festering corpse cart.
'Jesus!' Yelled a ratty little man wearing a long, yellow coat - shouting as if purely in retaliation. Jack Ryder gestured to his film crew to do what the obese cop had ordered them, and they all just sort of scuttled away from the crime scene.

I watched this moments unfolding from a shady alleyway. My hands clutched onto the cold, rusted and rained-on ladder rung, and my feet joined me to the wall just below them. This guy, some dickish journalist that I'd heard on the news, was clearly not relevant: as much as I'd like him to be.

What I was really watching was the body on the pavement. A young woman. Her chest had seemingly physically deflated like a popped balloon, and her skin had turned a sickly yellow colour. I had no clue how the Ragdoll could have done this; but I did have a clue as to his identity.

I move my body up the wall in one foul swoop and take my breath for a minute on the rooftop. Then I start running again. I know where to find the Ragdoll.

I look at the massive parasitic shadow on the horizon called Gather House. My old school. My old prison that drove me up the wall. Literally. Most of my 'special' skills came from there. It also stands to reason that at least some of Ragdoll's skills had been dredged up from that well too.
To be fair, I had seen someone who looked very much like Ragdoll in there yesterday.

'Case closed.' I laugh to myself whilst folding myself through the window of the derelict school and jump back up to my feet to be rewarded by the musty smell of an empty classroom.

I crouch down and taste the air. It definitely smells like no-one's touched this place since me. Rising back up to my full height, I take a observatory glance around the empty room, and then move out of the door into a thin corridor. My hands clutch white batons that I may or may not have stolen from a policeman, and I creep silently through the abandoned building
- searching for the clown.

A shadow inches itself around the corner in front of me, and macabre bells jingle playfully. Cold sweat niggles down my forehead and I realise that I'm actually vaguely scared.

'Screw it.' I grimace, and run at the source of the bells. I scream louder than I've ever screamed when I smack straight into a terrified man holding a phone. A phone that was ringing. With a bell ringtone.

I stare down at the person and realise who it was.
Winn lies unconscious at my feet.