Gotham: Panic Attack

Paranormal Activity

'You heard me! This money goes to the people! I'm the new Red Hood, motherf*ckers!' Yelled a man not even wearing said Red Hood, and instead just prancing around atop the counter of a defenceless corner shop. He flaunted a gun around, and accidentally fired it into the face of the shopkeeper.
With a spray of red blood all over his unhooded face, he screeched with a kind-of delighted horror. His trembling hand dropped the gun and takes all of the money from the register.

Pulling a black balaclava over his bloodstained face - Dickie ran from the murder scene out onto the raining streets of Gotham City. Realising that the rain will clear away the remnants of the atrocity that he'd just perpetrated - he yanked the sticky hood off his face and held it out for the rain to hide the evidence for him.

The red dripped and flowed down the gutters, down into the sewers to feed the killer crocs. He ran his fingers through his hair with a smiling cackle, and then ran with ecstatic glee into an alleyway; where he started frantically counting his glorious dollars.
A bellowing roar screeched out from behind him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in cold fear...

He shivered as felt movement behind him churn up water from the puddles onto his shins, and begin it soaking into his clothes like the blood of those that Dickie had just killed.
With an exhilarated, adrenal breath - he swivelled to face whatever it was that was behind him.

Dead eyes stared at him from the cabin of a massive, black truck. The driver was physically decaying, but the vehicle was picking up speed continually. Dickie barely had time to scream before the massive thing's front buffer smashed into his ribcage, simultaneously breaking the ribcage in question and collapsing both of his lungs.

With a petrified cough, he attempted to move. The tyres crunched over his feet - he tried to scream but no sound would come out. In his last moment, he turned to look at the corpse driving the truck. That man definitely wasn't alive, and now neither was Dickie.

The ghost vehicle sped out of the alley, tyres flicking red blood all over the streets. It turned swiftly, and grated itself along the road straight into a blockade of panicking police officers.

With a momental crash, the phantom vehicle came to a halt - and one of the braver officers reached out to open the door. He was rewarded with the stench of death. The shrivelled corpse driving this truck has been dead for months.
'What the hell...?' He groaned, shaking the blood off his uniform.

'GCPD! Come out with your hands up or else we will shoot!' Yell three more cops, going towards the back of the truck to find out what it was carrying.
When the tugged the sticky doors to the (somewhat enlarged) hearse open, they would only find crate after crate of money. No other driver.
One of the officers fired into the back of the truck in confusion - probably hoping that he'd strike an invisible criminal - but instead the bullet ricocheted and killed him instantly.

The remaining two policemen took a gasping breath in when what they assumed was toxic gas started to ooze out of the back of the vehicle. A thick, black smog billowed and laughed between their forms.

Both of the men had never felt so terrified in their lives. And they were Gotham cops. Bones clanked and clicked around in the cloud, and red eyes drifted around like a visage of hell itself.

They gasped as cold, bony hands clapped shut around their necks - and now that their mouths were open the black smog billowed down their throats like a macabre waterfall.