Gotham: Panic Attack

Doe Eyes

'What the hell?' I rasp, trying to grate clean air into my lungs - if clean air can be defined as pretty much marijuana in a gaseous form.
'You just saw the Ghost. I saw the truck leave, and I knew that that was what would have happened. Sorry?' Shrugs Donna, as if the horrific hallucinogenic gas attack that I'd just endured was no big deal.

'What the f*** Donna? Are you serious!' I jump up with this statement, and pretty much throw Donna's comforting arms off my shoulders in order to be capable of storming the hell out of the stoner-lair. With one last breath of the sadly-addictive plant, I slam the door and wrap a black cardigan around my cold shoulders.

Whilst smugly enjoying the fresh morning air, my feet traverse the terrain on a beeline to the GCPD. Of course I'm briefly distracted by some kind of a flickering red glow emanating from the windows of Blackfire Cathedral, though I do not have time to investigate the Cathedral.
Who even names their church 'Blackfire'?

With just a little spike of fear, I wipe some sort of black residue out of my hair; and then splat the horrid little globule onto the pavement.
'Don't worry Ed,' I think 'there's plenty more where that came from'. The red light from the church tinges my heels, illuminating the black slime and making it glow a bizarre blue colour. Huh. That might be relevant.

With a huff of relief, I drag my shambling body through the gates of the precinct, and sit down in the waiting-room area that really just consists of three small chairs. Someone sits down next to me, and taps me on the shoulder.
It appears to be my mother. I smile when she draws me into a hug.
'It's gonna be fine, sweet flower.' She breathes into my hair, and kisses me softly on my forehead. I close my eyes - feeling sleepy, and then I open them with a jolt when the texture of her arms suddenly changes into something that presumably neither me nor anyone else ever wants to feel: the embrace of wet, skinless flesh.

I turn, and put the sticky figure in a terrified headlock; and stare at the thing that seemed to be my mother. It was Jane from before. She ogled up at me with those awful raw eyes, and then smiled with bleeding teeth.
Everything goes black as pitch, and unconsciousness liberates me from the waking nightmare.

My heart thrusts itself out of my chest about 15 minutes later, and I find a small; semi balding man with rounded spectacles and a little grey moustache staring down at me, clutching a defibrillator like it's a ventriloquist puppet.

Staring groggily up at the ceiling, Ed's face also joins Mr Wesker in my line of vision.
'Hello.' I smile - feeling high on heart attack.   

'You... suffered mild cardiac arrest, Violet. Are you sure that you want to speak round about now? I'm sure that Ed will make me get you a magazine if you want one!' Begrudgingly moans Wesker. At this remark it is quite obvious that Ed just had an idea, and so tells Wesker to go and get a magazine.
'Can you see? Hear?' Asks Ed, sitting me up gently.
'Yes. But I think there's something seriously wrong with me.' I reply; shaking my head to clear it of the stench of electrified thoughts.