Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

Perchance to Dream

    I emerge from Ed’s workshop to the bustling desk area of the precinct. I’m only halfway to my desk when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around to see Gordon.

“Hey, they need several officers to investigate a warehouse down by the wharf. You better go," his tone is stiff and mechanical, neither with approval nor disdain.

I look over his shoulder and see the cluster of officers by the entrance. This almost looks like a sting operation they’re putting together. Wonder what the situation is?

“Sure,” I agree hesitantly, wondering if Gordon is just trying to send me off to do busy work or is distracting me so he can rummage through my desk.

I head out with the others to my car when an older man in a formal Lieutenant’s suit taps me on the shoulder, “Pardon me, but I’d suppose you’re heading out to the raid on the warehouse.”

“Yes...why?”

He takes off his cap, “I hate to ask, but could you lend me a ride? My cruiser seems to have bust, and all the boys have already left.”

I shrug, “No problem. I’ll drive.”

"Thank you Miss," he's polite, but not timid, his voice with a slight Irish accent, "you're new around the precinct, aren't you? We've never been formally introduced."

"I'm surprised you’ve noticed," I comment, getting into the driver's seat while he takes shotgun.

"Well you see Miss, the name's Lieutenant O'Hara, I oversee all of the daytime officers in the precinct. Yes, Captain Essen might be the boss, but I’m on the ground, trying to organize the boys as best as I can,” he explains.

I nod, “Of course sir. So tell me Lieutenant, what’s the intel on this operation anyway? I was, kind of pulled in at the last minute.”

“Oh, they think they’ve tracked down some psycho who’s been killing people and storing them in the warehouse, nothing special,” he informs nonchalantly.

“Ah.”

We eventually catch up to the other police cars, who’re pulling up to a warehouse situated on the waterfront. Years of exposure to nearby waters have rusted its exterior, and faded its colors to a dark, indiscernible shade.

The officers all immediately draw their weapons and flashlights. I follow them inside, while O’Hara stays outside with a few remaining cops. One of the officers kicks the door open, revealing a laboratory set up within the warehouse.

Concluding the warehouse to be deserted, the officers begin searching the contents of the laboratory. There’s tables full of papers, tubes, and electrical equipment. It looks like something from out of a science fiction movie, with colorful liquids boiling and bubbling on bunsen burners.

“Hey you!” a cop cries out as a mysterious shadow of a man is spotted by a window.

The man takes off, and the officers and I pursue him. We race down through the warehouse’s open rooms, with me keeping up the rear. We corner him to a final room, where a large exposed elevator system leads down to a lower level. The assailant jumps, grabbing onto a hanging rope and descending down into the darkness. The police all stop at the edge of the drop, shining their flashlights down into the open depths below.

“He went down there!” one of them shouts, but none of them dare attempt to use the ropes to slide down, or pursue a suspected killer into the darkness. Gotham’s finest, everyone.

I sigh, pushing my way through the crowd of cops. If no one else is willing to go, guess I have no choice. Shoving to the way to the front of the line, I leap pass the gap, latching onto the rope and swinging to-and-fro.