Gotham: Panic Attack

Ghost Stories

'What're you looking for 'round here, V? Not much to see.' Laughs the Cat, chattily but still with an eau de hostility that no one in this goddamn city seems to be arsed to lack for just one minute.

'Do you know who did this?' I gesture to the arty corpse below me. 'You see them? Any names you'd like to give me?' I add to my inquisition.
'Ooh. You're one of those types, right? Think they're all heroic - they wanna be Mother Panic.' Growls Cat.
I smile slightly at the last sentence, then open my mouth to attempt to speak again - but then I close it again.

Instead of further nattering (I can see that Cat is getting closer and closer by the second to figuring out who I am), I just stare at the street kid plaintively - waiting for her to crack and give me what she saw. Because she did see something. Otherwise she wouldn't be wasting her oxygen here.
'The Ghost did this. That's all I'm saying. Not to be superstitious - but talking about him is dangerous.'
I take a slight step backwards. When I was in Gather House, we used to treat 'Gotham's Ghost' like the bogeyman.

I always thought that he was a myth, meant to scare kids and mobsters into doing the right thing. Now that I thought about it, not that I wanted to think about it, the corpse lined up with how the ghost killed people in the stories.

'And this is related to the Ghost Trucks that people are scared of?' I ask, putting my own fear beside me - staring at the mental brick walls that I'd built myself while in that hellhole Gather House.
'Hmm. Why don't you come in from the cold?!' Smiles Cat, dodging the question skilfully. At this she begins her course across the roofs, leaping and scurrying over pillars and spires and chimneys and rich-kid's pigsties.

I follow her path out of instinct, bounding through the urban jungle.

We stop running when we reach a massive building. It has windows everywhere - and I recognise it as the place where Jim Gordon used to live. Apparently it's been taken over by Gotham Girls now...
Selina folds herself through a crack in a window, and I follow with a pleased grin.
When I breath in the air inside the building - I am greeted by the awful reek of stray kids, alcohol, week-old-cereal, and just a hint of Nutella.

Three people sit on the sofas surrounding a television, most of them around 14 or 15 - one of them is older, but she doesn't really look like she's gonna talk much.
The kids are scary.

One of them has long, red hair and a green jumper. She looks like hell. Another has bright blue hair, and orange-ish eyes. He looks like hell had a night out.
The last one (the oldest) is playing with a purple flower - presumably nightshade - and has a long scar down her left cheek. Hell had a fight.

'Well. Great.' I mutter, and thump my ass down onto the seat next to the nightshade girl. She looks at me, and says something unintelligible in a strong British accent.
'Excellent.' I announce sarcastically, and then turn to Selina.