Gotham: Panic Attack

The Curse of Gotham City

'What's up with this Ghost?' I ask, though then promptly stop my voice from continuing to do so when I see the kids' reactions. The girl with the red hair actually runs off.
Selina sits down next to me, and reaches up to place her hand on my shoulder. I turn to look at her and just manage to squeeze out a little laugh.
'Why's everyone so spooked about the Ghost?' I ask, trying to smile despite the stench of cortisol and heroin in this apartment.
'He's just something that people don't normally talk about - is all.' She replies.

Suddenly, the nightshade girl presses herself against my shoulder and says slowly and calmly:
'I've seen him. One night.' In a thickly-spread accent like a noblewoman.

I'm instantly interested. 'What did he look like? Did you see his face?' I poke through her brain, hoping to find something that wasn't a descriptive piece about the smell of gin.

Thank god, she actually starts to speak. 'He was a skeleton! Like a monster. Under the bed...' She practically spat out the words. 'But I was too brave to be scared.' She smiles. 'He scares everyone else. Not me!' With that last statement, she makes a little explosion gesture with her hands.
When she does so, I notice that there's smidgeons of blackish sludge underneath her nails. I recognise this material as the same 'poison' that apparently was the cause of death for the man in Benny's Station.

At least I have a living witness. Not 100% sure how sane she is, though never mind.

'What's that?' I ask, grabbing her hand and placing it down on my lap. 'What? Oh, that?' She replies, and starts picking the sludge out of her nails.
She then looks at me with something noticeably close to confusion.
'I dunno. It's just... stuff I guess?' She says, taking a look at it as a random shiver jams down her spine.

I wince for a second when this woman pulls one of her nails backwards, and scrapes the slime off the raw flesh underneath. She doesn't even seem to feel the inevitable pain from this act. With a girlish smile, she hands me a little test tube filled with the material.
'Thanks scientist!' She smirks, rubbing her bleeding hand.
'Errmm. Okay? Where did you get the test t- never mind.' I say in semi-horrified confusion before pocketing the tube.

Next stop: GCPD.

With a little inkling of an idea, I turn back to the nightshade woman.
'Would you mind coming to the GCPD and working with a sketch artist?' I say, once again holding her bloodied hand in mine.
'I-I-I don't want to talk to cops.' She says, stammering mildly.
'Don't sweat it. I have cops who won't talk.' I grin, and gesture to her to follow me whilst stepping from the window.

30 Minutes Later

I hammer on the little, brazen door at the back of the GCPD's precinct.
'Gordon!' Screeches me, stood in the cold light outside the building in the dark; with nightshade girl just behind me.
The door opens with a little chink, and a short man with thinning hair answers. Not Gordon. Shit.
'Hello? Are you junkies or something?' He says with not even a tiny little twinge of any humanising emotion.
'No. We need to speak to Gordon.' Replies nightshade from behind me, making me jump slightly with her scarily calm voice.

'Very well.' Announces the man who's name-tag tells me that he's called Mr Wesker.

With a breath of fresh air, me and nightshade walk in from the cold streets outside - and make fast progress in waiting for Gordon to come and meet us.
The mild mannered detective eventually manages to pull himself away from the masterful conversationalist that is Harvey Bullock, and sits down between me and nightshade.

I wordlessly hand him the vial of liquid. He looks at it in confusion, and then calls out for Edward Nygma.