Part 13: The Detective and the Child:
[X]Find Bolluck: Maybe you can talk to Detective Bullock, and make sure you can… maybe get saved by him, and the GCPD… as much of a long shot as that could be.
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Harvey Bullock sat in a dingy diner near the orphanage, the kind of place that smelled like stale coffee and frying grease. The cracked vinyl seats and flickering neon sign screamed "last resort," but for Bullock, it was just another Tuesday. He shoveled food into his mouth like it was the first real meal he'd had in days. For all the grime and grime-adjacent atmosphere, the diner felt safe—or as safe as a mostly corrupt cop could make it in Gotham City.
As you entered, the bell above the door jingled weakly, and you saw him at the far corner booth. He wasn't alone. Sitting across from him was a man who wasn't his partner and certainly wasn't a cop. The stranger had a sharp suit and sharper eyes, the kind that could cut through a room without trying. Not a common criminal, either—no, this was someone different.
"I told you, Bullock," the man said, his voice low and venomous. "You need to deal with that idiot partner of yours."
The sound of his voice made you pause mid-step. It wasn't fear that stopped you but something deeper, more visceral. In your mind, Icarus stirred, his laughter curling like smoke in your thoughts.
"That voice," Icarus said, almost purring. "Oh, brother, let's see what we're made of."
You frowned, your jaw tightening. "No," you muttered under your breath.
Bullock's reply, though not directed at you, came out just as curt. "I'm eating. Come back when I'm not surrounded by people watching me talk to you like an idiot. And yeah, I might not like Jim Gordon, but dammit, there are rules we have to follow."
"Rules," the man sneered, leaning back in his chair. "Your rules mean nothing. Gordon is a liability. He's caused more trouble than he's worth, and I don't care if he's just an inconvenience to you."
Bullock stabbed his fork into his plate with a sharp clang. "You better watch your back," the detective growled, not looking up.
The man stood, smoothing down his suit. "Don't worry about my back, Bulluck."
"It's Bullock, you moron," Harvey snapped, finally looking up from his plate. "Now, get lost, and let me eat in peace."
The man turned, his gaze sweeping the diner before landing on you. He paused, his lips curving into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't go looking for a cop to save you, kid," he said with a mockingly sweet tone.
You met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm sure a mobster would be much better."
The smile faltered for a split second, and his eyes narrowed. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the diner, leaving a trail of unease in his wake.
"Detective Bulluck," you said, stepping closer to his booth.
"It's Bullock, you—" He looked up, and his expression shifted to recognition. "Adam? What the hell are you doing here?"
The sharpness in his tone didn't mask the underlying concern. It was rare, in Gotham, to hear someone sound genuinely worried—and rarer still for it to come from Harvey Bullock.
"I need you to look at this." You slid the files across the sticky diner table, your hand trembling slightly as you pushed them toward him. Detective Bullock stared at the folder for a moment, then reluctantly opened it.
As he read, his expression darkened with each passing second. The lines on his face deepened, his jaw clenched, and he finally swore under his breath, "Jesus Christ." He slapped the folder shut and looked at you, his eyes a mix of anger and disbelief. "Where the hell did you get this?"
"Stole it from the Matron's office," you said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I was getting suspicious—figured there had to be a reason I wasn't getting any interviews for new parents." It wasn't the whole truth, but in Gotham, truth was subjective at best.
Bullock's frown deepened as he drummed his fingers on the folder. "Kid, this—this is written in blood and ink. If I show this to anyone, I'm dead. And you? You're dead, too."
You met his glare with a calm smile, one that masked the storm brewing inside you. Icarus was laughing, but saying nothing. "I don't believe that. I just need help."
"Help?" Bullock barked a humorless laugh. "You think I can help? You've just handed me my own death warrant." He leaned back in his seat, adjusting his hat nervously. "Maroni isn't someone you fight, kid. He's someone you hide from. You piss him off, and he'll kill anyone who's ever been in the same room as you. Doesn't matter if it's today, tomorrow, or ten years from now—he'll find you."
"Yeah, maybe," you said, shrugging. "But that's just because no one's really fought back before."
Bullock leaned forward, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Everyone who fights Maroni dies. Don't be stupid. You're just a kid. What the hell do you think you're gonna do? Walk up to him and ask him nicely to stop being a homicidal maniac?"
You didn't flinch. "Not this time," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the fire building in your chest.
Bullock stared at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of doubt. "How the hell are you planning to do that?" he asked, gesturing at the folder. "This—this piece of paper? It doesn't prove anything except that you're going to get adopted. Maybe by someone who's planning to use you as cannon fodder in a gang war, sure, but now that you've seen this? They might not even give you that chance. They could take you out tomorrow. So tell me, what's the big plan, huh?"
You leaned forward, matching his intensity. "This paper proves I'm a pawn in their game. And pawns don't win unless they make it to the other side of the board."
"Cute metaphor," Bullock said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But pawns don't usually live long enough to see the end of the game."
"Then I'll make it. I don't care what it takes," you said, your voice cold and resolute. "I know what they're planning, and that gives me a chance to stop it. Maybe I'm just a kid, but if I don't stand up to them now, then when? Someone has to try, and if no one else will, then it'll be me."
Bullock groaned, running a hand down his face. "You're gonna get yourself killed, kid."
"Maybe," you admitted. "But at least I'll go down trying."
Bullock was silent for a moment. "What's the plan kid?"
What will you be?:
[] The Phantom Thief: You'll steal from the corrupt, expose their secrets, and turn Gotham's shadows against them, all while leaving behind a mark that inspires rebellion.
[] The Detective: Through wit and observation, you'll uncover the city's darkest truths, piecing together the web of lies to bring justice to the forgotten and oppressed.
[] The Magician: With charm, cunning, and a touch of the impossible, you'll manipulate Gotham's chaos, creating miracles where others see only despair.
[] The Hero: You'll stand as a beacon of hope, leading by example, inspiring others to rise above their fears and reclaim Gotham from the darkness.
[] The Vigilante: Justice will be served on your terms, in the alleys and rooftops of Gotham, where fear and force are your tools against its villains.
[]Write in
AN: enjoy.
