In Gotham, you can die at the drop of a hat.
One day you can just be walking on the side of the street and next you have been shot in the head for the forty dollars you made scraping shit out of the fast food toilet.
Chances are they will never catch your killer either.
It does not matter if you are good or bad, it does not matter what political party you support, it does not matter what religion you are.
Everyone in Gotham gets equally shit on.
There is no such thing as good luck.
There is only not having bad luck.
Ethan knew all of this and yet it did not stop the anger that had started to bubble up inside him from erupting, in the form of him bashing a metal pipe against a dumpster.
Despite the injuries he carried.
Artemis did not say anything as she watched him do so, this was the first time she had ever seen him display even a hint of emotion, and a voice in her head told her it would be unwise to interrupt whatever crisis he was going through.
Ethan smashed the metal harder, again and again, the pipe cracking against the dumpster with a loud hollow sound.
Everything had been perfect.
Everything had gone according to plan for at least mostly.
In a month or so when he had found a meta ability that could manipulate memories he would have been free, he would have gotten away with murder and several other heinous crimes.
But now all of that had just come crashing down, the house of cards he had built crumbled and all it had taken was one variable that he had not accounted for.
Iron Row.
Iron fucking Row.
Even thinking of the gang made his blood boil to the point where he wondered if he had some sort of mental affliction.
It was not surprising to be angry.
But to be this angry was strange, he had to resort to bashing things like a damn monkey just to make sure the anger did not affect his higher thinking.
As exhilarating as this new emotion was, he knew he could not afford to keep delving into his baser instincts.
There was also the fact that Artemis was calling his name and he had ignored her for long enough.
“Ethan,” she shouted, and she tried to grab him.
“Stop, Ethan, please,” she added, and Ethan finally obliged as he turned around to face her.
His chest rose and fell slower.
His grip loosened.
The pipe dropped from his hand and hit the ground with a dull sound.
“I apologise for that, Artemis,” he said.
“I struggled to control my temper.”
She stared at him.
Her face was tight and pale.
“Who were those people?” Artemis asked.
Ethan thought for a moment on what to tell her, though he needn’t think long, as he knew Artemis wasn’t stupid, and he also knew that based on the trajectory of how things were currently going she’d easily find out he was lying. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping(.)com.
“Iron Row,” Ethan replied as he limped slightly over to an overturned trash can and sat on it.
“My parents bought from them a lot and were in debt…
it seems that they decided it was time to collect.” He tried to show some emotion at that point, but it was an impossible task; it would’ve been like asking him to show emotion for the gang members who had just shot at him.
Artemis’ eyes widened.
“You mean…” she said tentatively.
Ethan nodded.
“They’re both dead,” he replied.
Her face shifted in a way he did not recognize at first, it took him a moment to understand that it was shock trying to settle into grief, that it was grief trying to surface in a controlled way.
“I…
I am so sorry,” Artemis said, as she stepped closer even though she did not touch him.
“I did not know it was that bad.
I knew they were bad people but I did not think…”
She stopped herself, the silence that followed felt heavy in a way that she could feel but he could only observe.
“You do not need to be sorry,” Ethan said, while his hands rested loosely on his knees.
“I will be fine.”
She looked at him like she wanted to argue, but she could not, since she did not know how to respond to someone who spoke about it without any change in tone.
“Why did they attack you?” she asked quietly.
“If they were just there to collect.”
He looked away for a second, then back to her.
“I caught them in the act,” he replied, he made sure his voice stayed level.
“They were not expecting anyone to be home, I came back early.
They panicked.
I reacted.
Things escalated.”
Her brow lowered slightly at that, though only for a moment.
“And the others?” she asked.
“Why there were more of them.”
“I assume they had backup nearby,” Ethan answered, while he kept his gaze steady.
“That kind of group does not work alone.”
She nodded slowly, accepting the answer, did not press him further.
There was a pause after that, where neither of them spoke, the city noise felt distant and unimportant compared to the small corner where they both stood.
After a moment she spoke again. Get faster updates on g.com.
“What do we do now?” Artemis asked, her voice was softer.
Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded wad of cash, held it out toward her with a steady hand, while his leg shifted slightly as the pain in his side reminded him that his body had limits.
“You are going to make yourself scarce for one night,” he said, while his eyes stayed on her.
“You are going to get a hotel room and you are not going to come back here until it has blown over, you are not going to tell anyone where you went, you are not going to take your phone out in public.”
She looked at the money, then back at him.
“I cannot just leave you here,” Artemis said, her shoulders tightened.
“You can and you should,” Ethan replied, his voice stayed calm while the urgency sat underneath it, he kept speaking without pausing.
“You were seen with me earlier today, if anyone connects you to what happened, they could connect you to the building and find your mom.”
She hesitated for a moment before letting out a loud sigh, then slowly took the money.
“I do not like this,” she said.
“I do not need you to like it,” Ethan replied.
“If you want your mother to be safe then it’s necessary.”
She studied him for a few more seconds, then nodded.
“Alright,” she said.
He found it strange that she accepted it so easily, part of him expected resistance that never came especially since she was so close with her mother, though he did not comment on it and just narrowed it down to him getting a lucky break.
She looked at him again.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
He folded his hands together loosely, and looked out toward the street.
“I am going to do the only thing I can do,” he replied.
There was only one real option left in front of him.
A direct link had now been made between him and Iron Row, there was no version of this situation that did not end with questions being asked, bodies being found, reports being filed.
His parents would be discovered soon, when they were, people would ask where he had been, why men from a large gang had been inside a broken apartment that belonged to two addicts, why they had died and why an entire hit squad had attacked the building to try and kill him.
If he tried to disappear, he would look guilty.
He was backed into a corner and the only move that gave him control of the narrative was the move that put him in a position he hated more than any other.
He had to call the police.
He had to tell them what happened.
He had to let them bring him in.
That was the only choice that did not collapse the house of cards he’d built entirely.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone.
He stared at the screen for a long time, then he began to dial.
(AN: All do that planning just to end up having to call the police.
Womp womp.)
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