Gotham: Panic Attack

Rags to Riches

A grouchy butler thumps down a steaming plate of pancakes on the miniature table on the landing of the our house. One rasher of bacon, and butter, kept cold, in an icy silver dish.

I followed the smell of breakfast out of my nest, rubbing my eyes from absolutely zero sleep the night before. It didn't help that Winn knew my secret. And it certainly didn't help that there was chemical warfare on the streets right now.

When I looked up to greet my sleep-logged eyes with the delicious eye candy of pancakes, I was instead rewarded by Winn staring at me - with eyes as insanely incongruous as the Rubik's Cube that he was holding. He smiled warmly, like he did every morning; but then his face turned to steel and he slammed down a photograph on the table in front of me.

This was a photo of a pale skinned, insanely thin, man with red hair. He wore a close blue jacket and ballet tights. Stage lights illuminated his skeletally smiling, dimpled face. A bold red circle had been drawn around the figure - who was among several more ballerinas - by Winn.

My face turns almost as pale as the ballerina's, and I yell furiously at Winn to tell me where he's getting all of this information. How had he found the Ragdoll?

Upon my screaming, his hand clasps a Rubik's Cube in his pocket and starts frantically playing with the toy. Sweat rolls down his brow, but I don't have time for sympathy. I do, however, have time for sociopathy. They're roughly the same thing, right?

He stared at the ground, and tells me that he was watching the news on the computer that he found. Apparently the Ragdoll in the room is Peter Merkell Jr, a budding athlete for the Gotham Ballet Academy.

I smile at Winn, and pull him into a hug - he's found me my Ragdoll. Ragdoll's skills make sense now. This guy's a ballerina. I never would have guessed.

It's time that I gave Mr Merkell a visit.

Winn grabs the single rasher of bacon atop the leaning tower of pancakes, and starts nibbling on the corner of the meat like a little rodent or something. He smiles with his classic puppy eyes and then scuttles back into his bedroom with a collection of happy chirrups.

I trot back into my consecutive room, and tug the white mask back over my head. I quickly say 'bye' to Winn through the window outside the building that I can see into his room from. He waves happily, and sort-of-attempts to blow a kiss.

I'm going to ballet school. I need actually thought that I'd be saying that, though I bet my Mum's overjoyed.

My feet do their almost automatic dances across the rooftops and spire and fences - taking me leaping through the urban jungle like a jaguar. The white cloak billows out behind me, and I nearly have time to smile before something wraps around my foot.

I skid and scream as I'm dragged off the roof and land at the feet of someone wearing a long yellow coat and red neckerchief. A large-rimmed had adorns my kidnappers face, and he smiles from beneath its darkness.
'Hello vigilante! My name's Jack Ryder, what's yours?' He smiles, gesturing to a collection of press cameras behind him.

'Ah crap.' I mutter.