(no subject)
For Detective Harper Reid, a 'night off' in Gotham didn't exist. It just didn't. There was always some earth-shattering event taking place that demanded her to be on her hands and knees, crawling through blood and picking in carpets for hair follicles that not even God himself could identify. She resolved, for once, to enjoy her night; still, the club was out of her area of expertise. People, everywhere. And she felt achingly exposed, without the weight of her usual jacket, and the comforting press of the shoulder-holster’s leather straps into her skin.
One always underestimated the sense of security packing a firearm brought. Cursing her lack of forethought, the woman cut a beeline for the bar, muttering gruff apologies to the bodies jostled along her path of escape-- suffocating.
God damn, she should have just kept working over the Daily Case evidence.
One always underestimated the sense of security packing a firearm brought. Cursing her lack of forethought, the woman cut a beeline for the bar, muttering gruff apologies to the bodies jostled along her path of escape-- suffocating.
God damn, she should have just kept working over the Daily Case evidence.