Gotham: Panic Attack

Metronome

Tick Tock. Tick. Tock.

The man breathed out, surrounded by his timepieces. It was amazing how they worked - every last one of them made a tiny little noise as the monumental structure that was a single second rolled past his body. The countdown to the end of this man's life had lost another minute.
There was no time to lose.

Tick Tock. Tick. Tock.

Another figure practically dragged himself down the rain-drenched street. A hood covered his face; backed up by a mask to complete his cloaking. Jack Ryder was a man with something to hide. A little Walkman in his pocket played Witchdoctor in a slowed down voice, and he continued to totter and creep his way home.

Tick Tock. Tick. Tock.

One person was here there to witness Jack's escape from the morgue. Selina Kyle stared in wonder at the undead reporter. She alone had seen what he looked like now, and the bizarreness of the sight could rival Ivy Pepper. At least this guy wasn't as creepy. She slunk through the building-top canopy, following this creeper.
She'd seen it all now.

Tick Tock. Tick. Tock.

'No! I can't go into there! I'm not mad!' Spat and hissed Linda, roaring furiously at the white suits that clasped her by the shoulders and walked her backwards into a cell. They buckled up a straight jacket around her, and fitted her with a gas mask to prevent her from poisoning any of the staff members. Linda was behind bars in Arkham. She wouldn't hurt anyone anymore.

Tick Tock. Tick. Tock.

'What've we got here?' Asked Detective Bullock, turning back around to face Gordon after shooing off a small crowd of con-insurance-men from the street around them.
Those idiots were probably the only poor sods that were stupid enough to go anywhere near this crime scene with a metal pole, or a proton pack. The entire city was in a state of hysteria over these attacks. 'Ghost trucks' - was what they called them.
Something to do with a vehicle driven by a long-dead corpse.

Bullock thought that most of this was further fat to make the fatcats fatter, but this was his first encounter with one of the corpses left as the aftermath of one of these 'incidents'. A body, of some political figure in mob politics, was left on the pavement - grey and skeletal.
At least they knew where these attacks were targeted. It's just nobody had any clue how they were pulled off.
Harvey didn't believe in ghosts: and he wasn't about to start now...

Tick Tock. Tick. Tock.

'Hello. Do you like riddles? No? Anyhow - it was never likely that you would, but never mind. I'm talking to myself again aren't I? That's weird Ed.' Chattered Edward Nygma into a mirror, whilst fiddling obsessively with a little bit of putty that he'd shaped into a question mark.
He was about to meet his new assistant. God knows why the captain had thought that that was a good idea.
When the man came through the door to Edward's office - he was briefly stunned by the sheer amount of articles and newspapers pinned to the walls.

Ed had, of course, taken it upon himself to solve the Ghost Truck case.

His assistant was named Arnold Wesker. A meek little man of diminutive stature, and heavily thinning hair. Ed's shoulders visibly fell, and his face followed. 'Oh. You're old! Anyway. Nice to meet you Arnie. Can I call you Arnie? Are you related to Mr Shwarzenneger?' Laughed Ed timidly, with a twinge of painfully visible anxiety.
'No.' Said Mr Wesker with a blunt, offended monotone that could have beaten someone to death.

Ed promptly turned away from Wesker and completely deleted the scary man from his brain.

Tick Tock. Tick. Tock.