I took a bite of my ice cream sandwich and simply savored the sight.
The tense atmosphere from the robbery had finally dissipated, and laughter once again filled the air. Free ice cream really was the secret ingredient to joy.
The park was even more boisterous than before.
Although that probably had more to do with the new attraction than the ice cream.
Before the Ventriloquist's henchmen left, I'd ordered them to tie up the four sauced-up and beaten villains.
Sitting in the center of the grass, the defeated forms of Kite Man, Crazy Quilt, Condiment King, and the Ventriloquist had been strung up for all to see in their terribly saucy glory. Crazy Quilt and Condiment King had somehow gotten stuck in some weird inverse tango position. Kite Man had landed during the ensuing sauce struggle and ended up pinned beneath both of them.
The henchmen had shoved the Ventriloquist on top.
Overall, despite the sheer impossibility of it, the four villains and the mountain of sauce somehow managed to look like a completely fucked-up sandwich. I'd even made sure to stick the bastard's puppet in at an angle like a toothpick with an olive.
Truly, my artistic skills were without compare.
[Feat Achieved! Sauced, Served, and Shamed]
[+1 Gold Gacha Ticket]
I grinned. The day just kept getting better and better.
[Rolling Gold Gacha Ticket]
[Terrifying Presence]
|Rare Trait|
You are terrifying. Children cry near you, and grown men piss their pants in front of you. When you want to, you appear less like a man and more like a sadistic force of nature.
Huh. Useful.
I obviously couldn't try it out right now, unfortunately.
The sound of giggling grabbed my attention, and I looked up to see the various kids and teens doing their solemn Gotham duty of being little shits.
One kid was forming mudballs and handing them out to a bunch of other brats. They then proceeded to take potshots at the giant villain sandwich. A couple of other teens were just recording the whole thing or snapping photos.
As they should. Fuck these guys.
I'd never worked for any of them specifically, but even if they were less notorious, that didn't make them any better bosses than the rest of Gotham's kooks.
"Shouldn't you do something?"
I turned and found the redhead girl in the wheelchair alongside her friends. She was shooting me a strange look, which, well, fair enough. What I'd done was pretty strange. It would've been weirder if she'd taken it in stride.
"You're right." I nodded at her, then called out, "Hey, kid. Pass one here!"
The little boy, knee-deep in mud, shrugged at me and tossed a mudball. I caught it with my left hand and looked down at the ice cream sandwich in my right.
Then I had a brilliant idea and smooshed the two together.
Now then... where to aim.
"Urgh..." The Ventriloquist was slowly coming to from his beating.
Perfect.
I wound up and threw it with all my might.
Maybe it was my throwing and shooting skill boosting my hand-eye coordination, or maybe it was just plain old luck, but the bastard looked up at exactly the wrong time, and the shot landed perfectly in his mouth.
"Bullseye!"
The various kids cheered at the Ventriloquist mud sandwich.
I dusted off my hands and turned toward the girls with a grin. The redhead and the blonde were both staring at me like I'd lost my mind, although I could catch the ghost of a smile on the black-haired girl's face.
Unfortunately, my chance for a pithy one-liner was never meant to be.
"Excuse me. Can you all step back, please?"
I looked up to see a man floating above the ground.
He wore a black T-shirt with an emblazoned red S at its center, the kind everyone in the world recognized. Not the big man himself, but Superboy was still more than super enough for any Gothamite. The various children around us instantly flocked to him.
Welp. That was my signal to skedaddle.
"Are you Jean Valjean?"
"Yes..." I turned and came face-to-face with two cops. "...Never met him."
One was a black-haired woman, the other a broader man wearing a fedora.
She raised a badge. "Renee Montoya, and this is my partner, Harvey Bullock. We have a warrant for your arrest."
Well, shit.
"I'm not saying I'm him, but may I ask what the charges are?"
"A bench warrant has been signed and notarized after a clerical error was recently discovered in City Hall's documentation. Three years ago, you missed a court date for a parking ticket," Officer Bullock grunted, his voice thick with disbelief.
Oh.
I was being set up.
"Just to reiterate, I'm being arrested for failing to appear over a parking ticket?" I felt a little offended that this was the best they could come up with.
Like… come on! I'm a crime boss, and they couldn't even pin a better crime on me than missing court?
The snort from Officer Bullock seemed to agree with me.
Officer Montoya just shot a glare at the older man before sighing. "Will you submit to arrest?"
Not surprising, considering the number of toes I'd stepped on, but still, wasn't this a little too amateurish? This couldn't be the zombie assassin guys or the Religion of Crime. It was way too mundane.
How the hell did they expect normal cops to catch me?
Really, it was only because of the coincidence...
I glanced back at the superhero currently carrying the four villains toward a police van.
He turned and shot a glance back at me.
Hmmm.
Should I test my luck against Superboy? Gary and Stu were back at the base, and Simmy was seemingly nowhere...
Hidden among the park's trees, I caught sight of her small face floating for just a fraction of a second before she shook her head.
...Ahhh, well, fuck it.
First time for everything.
"Sure." I grinned and held my hands out toward the two surprised officers.
As they tentatively cuffed me, I shot the trio of girls one last smile. They looked even more shocked than the cops.
"If you ever wanna hang out, just ask for me at the Iceberg Lounge!"
Now… let's see what they've got planned.
—
GCPD headquarters was a familiar sight for me, ironically enough.
You don't work in the circles I do without getting familiar with the place. While I'd never gotten more than a slap on the wrist myself, bailing friends out or simply keeping an eye on the station was almost rote duty for henchmen and goons alike in Gotham.
So I could say with complete confidence that the station was not supposed to look like this.
I leaned against the bars of the jail cell and looked around at the various empty desks.
My banging on the bars for the last ten minutes had gotten no one's attention, so I eventually sat back down in the very conspicuously empty cell. After the two officers had brought me in, several "emergencies" had apparently caused the other occupants to be moved. A few minutes after that, the officers themselves had rushed out for something.
They really couldn't have made it any more obvious, could they?
It almost would've felt like something out of a horror movie, an empty station and all, but with Volition in my head, I felt more distaste at how sloppy the whole thing was than any real fear.
Although I did have to wonder if this was less incompetence and more my own luck at work.
A soft chorus filled my ears.
"Took you long enough." I looked up at the small form of Simmy. I didn't bother questioning what she was doing here or how she'd gotten in.
A low note rolled through the air, somehow conveying an eye roll, as a phone floated into my hand. Its screen showed a camera feed with what looked like a pair of cops standing in some kind of armory.
I raised the volume.
"This is a stupid fucking idea. We can't just kill him in the precinct. We should just wait," a younger voice said.
"Don't pussy out now. You saw how much they're paying us to take this brat. Enough for ten fucking lifetimes. Grow some balls," the older voice snapped, sounding more panicked than confident. "Not like we've got much choice. Their freaking assassin got caught in traffic!"
"Will it even work? Wasn't he a meta...?"
"Just take a shotgun and shoot him! This isn't fucking rocket science, Tom!"
The older man shoved the gun into the other cop's hands and stormed off. His partner quickly followed after him.
Wow.
This really was a hack job.
"Did you stop the assassin?"
Simmy gave a soft hum of agreement.
"Atta girl." I patted Simmy on the head. "Now... what are we gonna do about these fuckers?"
Killing cops, even obviously corrupt cops, was going to be a pain in the ass. I could've had Simmy just slap them down, but why waste an opportunity like this?
I needed someone to take this for a test run.
"Simmy, get me some speakers." I grinned.
—
Jim rarely got any breaks. Being the Commissioner of Gotham kept him busy by default.
It was a rare thing for him to get any time to himself, but thankfully, today had been one of those days.
No scum to chase. No crazy murderers to deal with. Even the Caped Crusader had told Jim to enjoy his day off.
But of all the blasted times to forget his wallet, it had to be today.
"In and out," he muttered to himself. "No cases, no helping anybody, no nothing. I'm grabbing my wallet, going home, and cracking open a beer."
His keys opened the back door to the precinct, and he strode toward his office. Thankfully, the hallway seemed empty, so he retrieved his wallet without any hassle.
"Heh. Quiet day. Too lucky..."
Jim paused.
When in the blasted goddamn last decade had a Gotham precinct ever been quiet?
His instincts started blaring. Jim drew his gun and moved through the halls at a run. Just like he feared, the place was empty.
His mind went into overdrive as he tried to figure out how this had happened.
Joker? No. He would've gassed the place, and there would've been bodies.
Mad Hatter? With his messed-up hypnosis, maybe.
Jim kept his gun raised as he swept the area.
"AHHHHH!"
His gun snapped toward the scream.
Goddammit!
Jim took off as fast as he could, and the closer he got, the more he could hear screams mixed in with music.
As he rounded the corner, he raised his gun. "Freeze—"
But instead of a murder scene, he was met with something perhaps even more bizarre.
"Young man, young man, there's no need to feel down.
Young man, young man, get yourself off the ground."
The music filled the air, but Jim's eyes were drawn straight to the man dancing inside the cell.
Wasn't that the new crime boss?
What in God's name...
Two of his officers were sprawled on the ground, pissing themselves and crying like babies as they stared at the man.
"It's fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.!"
He danced, shaping the letters.
"AHHHH!"
The officers writhed and wept as if they were being murdered.
Jim just stood there and stared.
He really should've fucking stayed home.
***
Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices.
I have advanced chapters on my Pa tre on/daisyberry if you wanna read ahead.