(AN: You lose)
Gotham City one of the worst places to ever exist.
People knew that.
Yet they stayed the same; there were many questions as to why they did.
Most people believe that it was due to money, which was as good a reason as any.
Moving places is expensive and there aren’t many opportunities in Gotham that would give that kind of capital.
People just became trapped, the poor districts of Gotham were cheap but expensive enough It made saving hard.
It also didn’t help that energy companies were particularly ruthless during winter.
If it weren’t for foundations like the Bruce Wayne foundation and The keeping the lights on the initiative.
A lot of people would simply freeze to death during winter.
A lot of people found Gotham was like a black hole.
Maybe you could get away with skirting around the edges staying for a few days.
But if you get caught, you’ll never escape.
But Eric Davis had a different opinion.
Eric Davis, a man that stood just above 6ft; rough looking skin that seemed perpetually infected.
He worked for Iron Row.
He was one of the main enforces, he dealt with problems that were bound to get messy, and he loved every second of his job.
Because he knew the truth.
He knew the truth about Gotham.
Everyone in the city was a sinner, they were all in hell that was why no one could leave.
Because God was punishing them, only a few would be granted salvation, and that was those who managed to leave and go back on the path that God has laid out for them.
The rest of them stayed in this hell, forever torn away from the plan, God had for them.
But that was why he was here, it was his job to make sure the sinners prayed for forgiveness.
It was the reason God placed him here, sometimes he could even hear the Almighty whispering in his ear.
He had even give him a gift to use upon the sinners.
One he plan to use the great effect.
When he was done with the task, the boss had given him.
Eric didn’t know why the boss cared so much.
Creedence was a disease, a disgusting parasite that added nothing to the gang.
He was a sinner that needed to repent, yet every opportunity Eric gave him he declined.
It angered Eric just thinking about it.
As he tightened his fist, a small bus of flame erupted from his palms.
The Lord’s holy fire.
One the city will bathe in it.
But first, he had a job to do.
Eric moved out of the alleyway he was hiding in and moved across the street towards the alley that Creedence had been killed in.
It still had police tape surrounding it, but there were no police officers.
He had made sure that when he blew up the bakery a few blocks away.
He casually walked under the police tape and started looking around, the moment he did his senses were assaulted by the smell of burnt flesh, a smell he knew quite well.
He focused on his sense of smell; by doing this he managed to focus on Creedence.
Despite being burnt and his body not even being present, Eric was still able to get his scent from the residuals in the air.
But Creedence wasn’t what he was looking for.
As he kept on moving around the alleyway whilst sniffing, he disregarded various smells.
Some he recognised as police officers he had come into contact with, others he didn’t recognise but disregarded them as they were around the same age as those he did recognise.
He paused.
*Sniff*
*Sniff*
*Sniff*
There it was on the wall, blood and it didn’t belong to Creedence.
He didn’t recognise the scent, but he knew for sure that it was around the same time Creedence was in the alley.
A wide smile spread across Eric’s face, he had his man he was sure of it.
But unfortunately, unless he just managed to run into him by chance he wouldn’t be able to pick him up.
Which meant he’d need to do more investigating.
There were quite a few windows that looked into the alley he would just search them one by one until someone told him something.
Eric moved out of the alleyway and then into the fast building.
He could’ve waited until night as there was always a chance of someone calling Gotham PD, but during the night is when the Bat came out; the biggest Sinner of them all.
The crowned Prince of Gotham.
If hell existed it was Gotham, and if the devil existed it was the Dark Knight.
Even the thought of the Caped Crusader angered Eric, he tried to cleanse the man before but ended up in hospital.
His faith was too weak then, but now it’s much stronger and the next time he meets the Bat he would cleanse him as God wills it.
For now he would do as he was told and find out who killed Creedence.
Breaking through the front door of an apartment building in this part of town child’s play.
Once he was inside, he manoeuvered himself to the first apartment that overlooked the alleyway.
He knocked on the door politely, while taking his Bible out of his jacket.
He heard footsteps inside the apartment, they came towards the door and stopped, he then heard them walk away.
‘Another sinner…’ Eric thought before he placed a kiss on his Bible and put it back in his jacket.
He then moved back for a moment before rushing forward and kicking the door open.
Wood splintered across the ground as the door slammed open, a loud scream could be heard from within the apartment.
Eric ignored it and walked inside and straight towards the woman who had ignored him and their Lord.
“Behold, I stand at the door and knock.
If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.”
“Revelation 3:20.”
The woman walked backwards into the living room as she kept her eyes on Eric, she kept screaming for help but deep inside she knew it was useless.
This was Gotham and screams like this were a daily occurrence.
“The Lord came knocking to you, and yet you ignored his call, you ignored his prophet who was in the middle of doing his duty,” Eric spat out.
“PLEASE HELP ME!!!” The woman screamed even louder.
“SILENCE WENCH!!!” Eric’s screamed back.
The woman quieted down, the fear she felt making her throat close up.
Though despite being unable to talk she still managed to move back.
Eric moved closer to her, with slow steps that left very little sound in their wake.
“W-What, d-d-do you w-w-want,” she finally managed to stutter out as the icy cold grip of fear grasped her heart.
Eric raised his hand and an otherworldly light seemed to emit from his hands.
It was a pure white light that was almost blinding to look at.
“And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil.
For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed.”
The woman couldn’t back up anymore she hit the wall.
Now all she could do was stand there and look as Eric got closer and closer.
“As one gathers silver and bronze and iron and lead and tin into a furnace, to blow the fire on it in order to melt it, so I will gather you in my anger and in my wrath, and I will put you in and melt you.”
Eric held his hand up directly in front of her.
She could feel the heat coming from his palms, and a strange revolting smell that she could only imagine came from Eric himself.
“Judgement has come upon you sinner, now look into gods holy light and be judged!” Eric screeched.
The woman started to cough violently as the light intensified.
That cough soon turned into a scream as she felt an unbearable burning pain across her body; on every inhale the burning sensation seemed to invade her lungs and it felt as if she were being burned inside out.
Eric stood there in judgement as he watched the first parts of the woman’s skin melt off.
She fell to the floor still screaming, all her nerve endings were on fire, it truly felt as if she were submerged within the lakes of hell.
Eventually her screaming stopped as her vocal cords either tore or burned; not long after that she went still.
Eric put his hand down and the bright light from his palm died down.
He turned away from the woman and walked into the centre of the room before kneeling down.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be Thy name.
I have sent another sinner into Your embrace.
Let it be known—
She stood before Your holy light,
And was found wanting.
By fire, by steel, by judgment made flesh,
Her sins are no more.
Not by my will, but Thine.
I am but the vessel,
Your hand made real in a world of filth.
Cleanse what remains.
Purify what follows.
And let the wicked see what waits beyond the veil.
Amen.”
He then paused as if he heard something.
Eric looked up and strained his ears.
“…Yes…
I hear You.”
He nodded slowly, eyes wide, lips parting as if receiving words directly into his soul.
“I— I know, my Lord.
I acted too quickly.
I was overcome…
Yes.
Yes, I remember.
You told me to question her.
To discover the demon responsible for murdering Creedence.”
His voice trembled.
He dropped to his knees, bowing his head low to the ground.
“Your wisdom humbles me, Father.
You are right in all things.
I let my hand move before Your voice was done speaking.
Forgive me.
Please, forgive Your unworthy servant.”
He spread his arms wide, as if offering himself to be struck down.
“I am dust beneath Your feet, Lord.
Your will be done—only Your will.
Not mine.
Never mine.
I will listen better.
I swear it.
I will hear You next time, I will wait.
I will wait for Your word alone.”
His eyes brimmed with tears as he looked back up toward the unseen presence.
“Thank You…
for correcting me.
Thank You for Your mercy.
I am nothing without You.”
Eric then stood up and turned to the girl, in his heart, he hoped she was alive.
If so, he could fulfil God’s plan.
He moved over towards her and sat down.
He held his fingers to her neck and checked her pulse; she still had a slow heartbeat.
“She is still alive, Lord,” he’s spoke in a quiet whisper.
He put his hand over her face and held it there for a moment.
He held it there for a while before she suddenly opened her eyes, she looked around for a moment before she started to scream in pain.
The burns across her body were more painful than she had ever experienced, and while no noise came out of her mouth when she screamed, it was easy to tell she was suffering. New chapters come out on g.com first.
“Be silent sinner, and speak of the event that took place outside in the alleyway,” Eric tried to say, but the woman was clearly not listening, her eyes closed and her mouth was open, silence continuous emanating from it.
“Speak and God shall relieve your suffering child,” Eric said again trying to encourage to woman.
But it seemed to be in vain.
Eric didn’t even think the woman was aware he was there.
It seems the devil had already claimed her soul and all he could do was send her the rest of the way.
Holding his hand up again, he pointed it in front of her face and slowly the screaming stopped and the woman went still once more.
Eric stood up and dusted off his hands.
“It seems like we’ll need to check another apartment.”
_____________________________________
Renee Montoya stood at the machine and watched as the dark liquid spilled from the spout into her cup.
The cup vibrated slightly on the metal grate beneath it, catching the vshaking of the slow drip that came at the end.
She didn’t move, not even when the machine let out a short beep to signal it was done.
The beans used in the brew had started in Brazil.
They were grown in rows across a sloping farm in the countryside, picked by hand and thrown into baskets, sorted by grade, then sent to a nearby facility where they were dried and packed into burlap sacks.
Those sacks were loaded into crates, and the crates were stacked in the back of a shipping truck.
The truck drove for miles to a port, where they were moved onto a container ship.
The ship crossed the Atlantic Ocean.
It stopped once for customs checks, then continued up the eastern seaboard until it reached a dockyard outside Gotham.
The container was offloaded, sent to a roasting facility on the edge of the city, where the beans were heated, ground, packaged, and vacuum-sealed.
Those packages were boxed, stamped, and sent to a regional warehouse.
They sat on metal shelving for eight days before being marked for distribution.
One box went to a grocery store, another to a specialty café downtown.
One was directed to a bulk supplier contracted with Gotham Police Department.
It was delivered along with other cafeteria stock—napkins, plastic forks, powdered creamer, and paper cups.
The staff unboxed it without reading the label, emptied the grounds into a plastic bin, and stored it beside the filters.
This morning, one of the cafeteria workers had scooped from that bin and poured the grounds into the machine.
They pressed a button and walked away.
Now it was in her cup.
Renee Montoya picked it up, lifted it to her mouth, and drank without hesitation.
She swallowed.
She didn’t blink.
“Still tastes like absolute garbage,” she said, before pouring it down the sink and leaving the cup there.
“Better hope Bullock has got me something better,” she muttered as she walked out of the cafeteria and back towards her desk.
It had been nearly two days since the new murder case had been dropped on her lap and she had just gotten the autopsy results of the murder victim.
Though calling him a victim was a bit of a stretch, he had a rap sheet a mile long and honestly the world was a better place without him.
However she still had a job to do, though looking at it, this wasn’t going to be easy.
Renee sat down at her desk and flipped open the autopsy file.
_____________________________
AUTOPSY REPORT
File ID: GPD-2008-0826-U
Subject: Creedence Upshaw
Sex: Male
Age: 36
Height: 6’1″
Weight: 203 lbs
Location of Recovery: East End alley
Examiner: Dr.
Joseph Arnett
Case Assigned: Detective R.
Montoya, Detective H.
Bullock
⸻
SUMMARY FINDINGS
Multiple fractures across both hands — knuckles, proximal phalanges, metacarpals
Cranial trauma: Depressed skull fracture, left parietal lobe, with cerebral hemorrhaging
Cause of death: Blunt force trauma to the head
Secondary trauma:
3rd-degree burns over approximately 68% of the body surface
Not consistent with immediate cause of death
Burns appear post-mortem; likely intentional
Toxicology Report:
Blood shows severely elevated levels of epinephrine (adrenaline) — 12x the typical fatal threshold
Note: This level of adrenaline would typically induce cardiac arrest in a healthy subject.
Subject showed no signs of heart failure prior to cranial trauma
No foreign DNA recovered
No defensive wounds inconsistent with closed-fist striking
No bullet or stab wounds
Burn damage obscured most dermal identifiers
Fingertips damaged to the point of eliminating usable prints
⸻
Renee flipped past the pages of organ weights and liver discoloration.
She paused at the photograph inserts, barely glanced, then went back to the meat of it.
The knuckle fractures stood out first.
Both hands.
Not clean breaks; stress patterns suggested they were sustained through blunt trauma, likely from landing punches.
Not blocking them.
“So he was swinging,” she muttered.
She flipped forward.
Skull fracture.
One good hit.
No signs of hesitation.
Smashed his head against the wall, must’ve taken incredible force.
The burns came after.
Intense enough to ruin any trace evidence.
Nothing under the nails, no saliva, no hair, no skin from the attacker.
Fire took care of that.
A fast job.
Probably gas or accelerant.
Covered the body in it, torched it, and walked.
She tapped the page twice and sat back in her chair.
“Somebody wanted this done quickly but still knew enough to get it done effectively.
No prints, no trace left.”
She scanned the tox screen again.
The adrenaline reading caught her eye.
She leaned forward, frowned, and read it twice.
Twelve times the fatal dose.
That wasn’t a typo.
There was a note from the coroner in the margin.
“Epinephrine levels abnormally elevated.
This should have induced cardiac failure.
No signs of arrest.
Unusual stability in cardiac rhythm.
Consider chemical enhancement or abnormal physiology.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Could be a meta.
They had been popping up much more often these days, though they still weren’t too common.
Hell not even everyone in the police department knew about them.
Creedence could be one of them.
Then again, Creedence was a known junkie.
His rap sheet read like a novel.
Assault.
Burglary.
Arson.
A few scattered narcotics charges.
Could be some new drug.
A booster.
Something that floods the system with adrenaline and burns fast.
Would explain the aggression, the fight, the lack of fear.
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
“Still doesn’t explain who gave it to him.
Or who cleaned it up afterward.” There was no signs of any drug delivery methods in the alleyway, no needles or pills or anything.
Either it didn’t exist or the suspect took it with him.
She reached over and grabbed her notepad, scribbling a few things down:
Fought hard (knuckle fractures)
One heavy blow ended it (skull trauma)
Body torched — cleanup
Epinephrine spike — drugged?
Meta?
She stared at the list for a moment.
Creedence had enemies.
That much was obvious.
But from the autopsy report things just weren’t looking right. New chapters come out on g.com first.
Creedence had 12x the amount of adrenaline a normal human could have, and he was throwing punches that broke his knuckles.
Whoever fought him must’ve been even more of a monster; to be able to handle that he’d need to be.
Either way, someone knew what happened.
And Renee wasn’t going to let them keep it to themselves.
Renee put the for down and then flipped through the stack of witness statements on her desk, dragging her finger along the top of each page as if hoping one would suddenly offer something different.
But they didn’t.
They all read the same way, line after line of useless repetition.
Didn’t see nothin’.
Heard a noise, saw the fire later.
Woke up when the sirens came.
One even said they thought it was just some drunk lighting trash again.
She sighed and leaned forward with her elbows on the desk, and her hands pressing against her forehead.
The buzzing of fluorescent lights overhead didn’t help.
Neither did the loud sound of someone laughing two desks down.
She rubbed her eyes hard with the heels of her palms, then leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
“I need coffee,” she muttered.
“Ask and you shall receive,” came a familiar voice behind her.
She looked up.
Harvey Bullock stood there holding two cardboard coffee cups in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.
He smirked and walked over like he was delivering sacred cargo.
“My hero,” Renee said drearily, reaching for the coffee as he handed it off.
She took a long sip.
“God.
That’s actually decent.”
“Good, ’cause I ain’t makin’ another stop,” he said, plopping the bag onto her desk.
A few glazed doughnuts inside shifted in the crinkled paper.
“Got one for you.
Don’t say I don’t treat my partners right.”
“Mm,” she hummed, sipping again.
Harvey pulled a chair up to the side of her desk and sat down.
“So.
You get anything good outta the meat report?”
She shrugged and handed him the autopsy folder.
“Knuckles were wrecked.
Guy must’ve fought like hell before death.
Skull cracked wide open but we already knew that.
No foreign DNA found.
Seems like whoever did it must’ve been a capable fighter.
Also—” she tapped the file “—he had adrenaline levels that should’ve stopped his heart before he even hit the ground.
But it didn’t.”
“Meta?” Harvey asked.
“Doubt it.
Junkie.
Could’ve been drug-related.
Or someone dosed him for effect.
Either way, I’ve got no concrete angle yet.
No prints, no eyewitnesses, nothing to follow up on.”
“Well,” Harvey said, grinning as he leaned back and reached into his coat, “good thing I’m the man of the hour.”
He produced a sealed evidence bag with a folded piece of dark cloth inside.
“Recognize this?” he said, holding it up like a magician showing off his best trick.
Renee straightened.
“That from the alley?”
“Bingo.
I told you it looked expensive, didn’t I?
Turns out I was right.
High-end fabric, tailored.
Definitely not off-the-rack.
It belonged to a blazer.
And not just any blazer.” He leaned forward and tapped the bag.
“I tracked down the make.
Gotham Academy uniform.
Boys’ formal jacket.”
Renee blinked, surprised.
“You’re kidding.”
Harvey grinned wider.
“Nope.
Just call me Harvey Bullock: detective extraordinaire.”
Renee laughed once through her nose and shook her head.
“Alright, hotshot.
Did you follow up on it yet?”
“Nah,” he said, standing.
“I came back to get you.
Figured we’d head over there together.
Kids are still in class.
Principal’s expecting us.”
Renee downed the rest of her coffee, set the cup aside, and stood.
“I’ll get my jacket.”
…
The tires hissed against the wet pavement as the squad car rolled out from the station lot and pulled into Gotham’s late morning traffic.
The sky was overcast, a blanket of gray hanging low enough to graze rooftops, and everything in the city seemed to be running slower than usual.
They passed by boarded-up storefronts, soup kitchens already serving early lines, and corners occupied by men too tired or too doped up to care about the cold.
Inside the car, the heater groaned faintly.
Renee stared out the window for a moment, watching Gotham pass them by, before speaking.
“Did we manage to get anything else off the jacket?”
Harvey shook his head.
“Nah.
Nothing useful.
No blood, no fibers that don’t belong to the blazer itself.
But…” he trailed off as he adjusted the wheel.
“I did hear something interesting from my guy down in the Harbour District.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Apparently Iron Row is mobilising,” he said with slight concern in his voice.
“They’re pushin’ out toward the East End.
Squeezing anyone that might’ve heard anything about what happened to Creedence.”
“Shit.” Renee chewed on her thumbnail, her mind already running through the implications.
Harvey glanced sideways.
“That’s a dirty habit, you know.”
“Fuck off,” she said, without looking at him.
There was silence for a few seconds before she sat back in her seat and let out a slow breath.
“If Iron Row’s making moves like that…
it probably wasn’t gang-related.
At least, that makes it less likely.
They wouldn’t be throwing their weight around like this unless they weren’t sure who did it.”
“I was thinkin’ the same,” Harvey replied.
He brought his cup to his mouth with one hand while steering with the other.
The car swerved slightly across the yellow line.
“Harvey, stay on the fucking road, Jesus!” Renee snapped as she gripped the passenger door with one hand.
“Calm down, I got it, I got it,” he muttered, righting the car and slurping from his coffee like nothing had happened.
Renee kept her eyes on the road for a few seconds just to be sure, then looked back at him.
“Gangs aren’t gonna take Iron Row crossing lines like that.
There’s gonna be movement.
Retaliation, maybe worse.”
“Yeah,” Harvey said with a nod.
“It’s gonna get loud real soon.”
Renee bit her lip, her thoughts turning over everything they knew.
“Creedence must’ve been more important than he looked.
Most crews aren’t the types to light a fire unless someone was pretty high up.”
Harvey shrugged.
“Maybe…
he had a record, yeah, but he’s been quiet lately.
Seems like he settled into mid-level dealing.
Stayed out of the bigger messes.”
“Any reason?”
“Could be anything,” Harvey said as he turned the car left toward Midtown.
“Could be he pissed someone off.
Could be he was making side money no one knew about.
Doesn’t matter now.
He’s dead.”
Renee nodded but stayed quiet.
Her fingers drummed against her thigh.
Her thoughts drifted back to the fabric; the blazer from Gotham Academy.
The idea of someone from that place, a teenager probably, being in that alley with Creedence at that time didn’t sit right.
If the kid was involved, if they were the one who killed him, then things were already fucked.
They’d have to bring him in.
That meant paperwork, press, eyes from all sides, and with the department full of leaks, it wouldn’t take long before someone sold the name to Iron Row.
Then the kid was as good as dead.
Renee couldn’t imagine a student from that school tied up with someone like Creedence Upshaw.
Maybe it was an accident.
Maybe Creedence started it.
Maybe the kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But none of that would matter once his name got out.
The department couldn’t protect him.
They didn’t have the numbers.
Or the loyalty from their own officers.
But on the other hand if they didn’t find the suspect first, there was a real chance a gang war could start.
So if this really was the worst case scenario then they’d end up in a situation where they can either choose the lives of people and offfiers caught in a crossfire in a gang war, or one teenager.
“I hate this job,” she muttered.
“Heh,” Harvey said with a smirk.
“You and me both, Montoya.
You and me both.”
(AN: Hope you enjoyed the chapter, can any of you guess Eric’s meta power?)
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