Red and blue lights flashed through the shattered stained-glass windows.
In this neighborhood, you were lucky if an ambulance showed up within twenty minutes. The East End wasn't exactly a priority for city services. Most times, patrol officers ended up driving victims to the hospital themselves because waiting for a bus meant watching people bleed out.
Three minutes was unheard of.
The ambulance screeched to a stop outside, the engine still running. Two figures emerged, both wearing standard EMT uniforms: dark blue pants, light blue shirts with patches, and medical bags slung over their shoulders. They moved quickly, pulling a collapsible stretcher from the back of the vehicle.
They entered the church, their eyes sweeping across the devastation. Their gazes passed over the dissolving demon corpses, the crater, the bullet holes and blood spatter, barely lingering on any of it. Then they locked onto the girl immediately, moving toward.
"Victim's here!" one of them called out.
Marco and Darnell instinctively stepped aside, giving them room to work. The two EMTs set down their equipment and knelt beside the girl.
"Vitals?" one asked.
The other reached for the girl's shoulder, preparing to roll her over onto her back.
"Wait!" Marco's rifle came up, finger resting on the trigger guard. "What the hell are you doing?"
The EMT froze mid-motion, his gloved hand still hovering over the girl's shoulder. He looked up, and Marco saw his eyes above the mask... calm. Too calm.
"Officer, we need to assess her injuries and get her stabilized for transport to the hospital," the man said.
"Assess her injuries by rolling over a blast victim who might have spinal damage?" Marco's grip tightened on his weapon. "You didn't even bring a cervical collar. You're going to flip her like that? What kind of half-assed EMT training did you get?"
Darnell caught on immediately. His shotgun came up, and he took two steps back, cutting off the EMTs' line of retreat toward the door. The muzzle dipped slightly, covering both men.
"Yeah, man, there's a procedure for this shit. First you do scene assessment, then... uh... what comes next? Captain?"
Marco didn't take his eyes off the two men. "C-spine stabilization. Airway check. Baseline vitals. Then you move the patient."
The two EMTs exchanged a glance.
"You're being overly suspicious," the first man said, slowly rising to his feet. "Time is critical. We need to transport her immediately."
"I said no." Marco's rifle centered on the man's chest. "You're going to stay right where you are and wait for more units to arrive. Slowly remove your masks and caps. Then move to the wall. Hands visible."
The two men didn't argue. In perfect synchronization, they slowly raised their hands in a gesture of compliance.
But Marco saw the micro-shifts in their body language. The way their weight settled onto the balls of their feet, the slight tensing of muscles beneath their uniforms, and the fractional turn of their shoulders.
They were about to move.
"DO IT!" one of them shouted.
Their raised hands snapped downward, and blades materialized in their palms. They exploded into motion.
"FU—!"
Darnell barely got half a curse out before the assassin was on him. The knife came in fast. He jerked his shotgun up.
CLANG!
The blade bit deep into the Remington's barrel, leaving a scored groove in the metal. The impact jarred him backward, and before he could recover, the assassin's other arm came around in an elbow strike aimed at his temple.
The second assassin closed on Marco. His knife flicked up in a rising slash aimed at Marco's wrist tendons, while his other hand clawed forward for the throat.
Marco sidestepped. The rifle slipped from his hands, dropping toward the floor. His right hand snapped to his hip and drew the 1911. The pistol came up smoothly and pressed against the assassin's forehead before the man could even understand what had happened.
The assassin felt the cold kiss of the muzzle against his skin.
BANG!
The muzzle flash was a brief, violent bloom of orange fire. The .45 ACP round tore through the assassin's forehead and blew out the back of his skull. The body crumpled to the ground.
Marco caught his falling rifle with his free hand, the 1911 still smoking in the other. The whole thing had taken maybe half a second. He let out a breath, adrenaline singing through his veins.
The Lightning Draw was useful as hell, but it had limitations. It only activated when someone attacked him directly, no good for covering a partner or engaging multiple targets. And once he drew, he had to holster the weapon again before it would work a second time. The system called it a "cooldown period." He called it a pain in the ass.
He raised his rifle and squeezed off a controlled burst at the other assassin. But the man had already sensed things going sideways. His partner's death had been too fast. He abandoned his attack on Darnell, yanked two small spheres from his belt, and slammed them onto the floor.
BOOM!
Thick white smoke erupted in a choking cloud, flooding the church's entrance hall. It stank of burnt plastic, and it spread with unnatural speed.
"Cough... not this shit!" Darnell hacked, stumbling backward, eyes watering. He fired his shotgun blindly in the direction he thought the assassin had gone.
BOOM!
The blast tore chunks out of the wall, but Marco knew it was a miss.
Marco grabbed Darnell's arm and yanked him back. Engaging in the smoke was suicide. Through the haze, he heard glass shattering deeper in the church. Then came the sound of impact, followed by the whir of a grappling hook deploying.
The smoke began to clear, drawn out through the shattered windows by the wind. As visibility returned, he swept the area with his rifle, finger on the trigger.
The church was empty.
The assassin was gone. So was the dead one's body, Batman must have taken both. The only thing left on the floor was the girl, still unconscious.
Silence settled over the church once more, broken only by Marco and Darnell's breathing.
In the distance, sirens wailed. Backup was finally arriving. Right on Gotham Standard Time.
Darnell lowered his shotgun, hands shaking slightly from adrenaline.
"You've seen that move before?" Marco asked. "You said, 'not this shit,' like you'd seen it before."
"Yeah, of course." Darnell gave him an odd look. "You never watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? That's classic ninja smoke bomb bullshit. Every bad guy pulls that crap when they're losing."
He paused, then shook his head.
"But damn. That was some Clint Eastwood shit you just pulled. I didn't even see you draw."
---
Gotham General Hospital, two hours later...
Marco sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair next to the bed, watching the girl who'd nearly gotten them all killed.
She was awake now. Propped up against pillows, wearing a blue-and-white striped hospital gown. Her short hair was messy, her skin still unnaturally pale.
She looked at him without speaking.
Darnell leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying to look non-threatening.
"How are you feeling?" Marco asked. "Doctors said you're stable. You got lucky."
The girl's gaze shifted to him, focusing slowly. Her eyelashes fluttered once. She didn't answer, just gave a small nod.
"Do you remember what happened? When we found you at the church, there were... well, some pretty weird things around you."
The girl's hands tightened on the bedsheet beneath her. After a long silence, she spoke, "They followed me."
"They?" Marco exchanged a glance with Darnell. "Those demons? Why were they after you?"
"Because I left home." Her voice dropped even lower. "My father was furious."
Marco and Darnell looked at each other. On the surface, it sounded like a runaway situation. Except for the part about interdimensional demons trying to drag her back.
"Your father," Marco said carefully. "What does he do? Is he involved with those things somehow?"
The girl's head snapped up, and for a brief moment, something flickered in her eyes. "He commands much darkness. He doesn't allow me to escape."
The way she said it made Marco frown inwardly.
"Okay." He changed direction. "What's your name? We can't just call you 'kid,' right?"
The girl hesitated. Finally, she said, "Raven."
"Raven?" Darnell spoke up from the doorway. "That's pretty cool. Like the bird."
Raven didn't acknowledge the comment. She just looked at them.
"Alright, Raven," Marco said, trying to sound reassuring. "Where are you from? Do you have family here in Gotham? Friends?"
"Azarath." She said it like it should mean something. "That place is already destroyed by demons."
Based on what he'd seen today, he was willing to believe her. This wasn't some abused kid making up stories.
"Today..." Raven continued. "It was you who stopped them?"
"More or less. We fired many shots." Marco shrugged, not mentioning Batman's cleanup. "Afterward, two men pretending to be paramedics tried to take you. Do you know who sent them?"
Raven's pupils contracted slightly. "Father's followers. Or others who seek to use me." She seemed unwilling to elaborate. "This place... It isn't safe, is it? I can feel it... Pain and chaos everywhere."
"Wow, kid, you really nailed it," Darnell couldn't help saying. "Welcome to Gotham, the most exciting city in America. Hell, maybe the world."
Marco shot him a look that said shut up. He turned back to Raven.
"I don't know where you're from, who your father is, or why demons are chasing you. But you're in Gotham now. You're a minor, and you're clearly in serious danger. We need further information if we're going to help you. Or at least keep you from getting dragged into another shitstorm like what happened at that church."
Raven listened quietly. She shook her head slowly.
"You can't help me. My existence is a disaster. My emotions draw hunters. Eventually, either I'm taken back, or everything around me is destroyed."
The way she said it was deeply unsettling. Like she was describing weather, not her own potential death or the death of everyone around her.
"Hey, don't write yourself off so fast," Marco said firmly. "Even in Gotham, handing a minor over to a father who sounds like he's running some kind of demonic cult isn't on the table. Not in my precinct."
"Yeah, kid, have a little faith in yourself," Darnell added, gesturing between himself and Marco. "We both came from pretty shitty homes. And look, we still ended up as cops."
Raven's gaze shifted between them. Then, quietly, she asked, "Are you sure that didn't just make things worse?"
Marco opened his mouth to respond, then stopped.
Darnell let out a surprised laugh. "Damn. You don't pull punches, do you?"