09:00 Fedtrak train #649, Central City to Gotham City
He was naked, but for the mask, and couldn't move. His wrists were lashed to bedposts with what looked like red silk neckties. Ellen Dolan straddled his chest in a curve-hugging confection of leather and lace, her blond page-boy falling across her face as she bent to her task. The ice was unbelievably cold; so cold it burned. "Don't you dare make a sound, Denny Colt. Daddy'll hear," she breathily murmured as she and the ice slid inexorably down his torso...
The train hit a spot of rough track and Denny lurched awake when his head slammed against the window. The last threads of his dream left his kakhi slacks uncomfortably tight, and the black polo stuck with the sweat on his chest. He adjusted himself and looked out at the morning. Gotham City rose up around Denny like progressively taller gravestones-- farmland barns, suburban pre-fab mansions, industrial warehouses, and finally the monolithic towers of Downtown. The train shook through the sprawl three stories above street level, and still Denny couldn't see more than a few gray snatches of sky. Central City was by no means small, but Gotham easily put it to shame. This town was clearly older, and the arcane melded with the modern in uneasy truce.
Denny scratched his right ankle under his khakis, missing the weight of his revolver. Getting even a train ticket was headache enough for a dead man, gun licenses were right out. He was reticent to leave Central City. Whispers of some heavy mover called the Octopus were getting louder, but the Joker was a far more tangible threat, and Colt's research said that the madman would return to his home turf. Denny left his partner, Ebony White, to keep an eye on Central City and an ear to the ground, and he'd kept the prepaid cellphone Ebony'd given him Just In Case. He was comfortable leaving the kid in contact with Commissioner Dolan, but not the rest of the CCPD, so the ersatz cabbie was more or less on his own.
So the Spirit had come to Gotham. His train pulled into Gotham Central Stations, and he retrieved the big aluminum suitcase carrying the only suit he owned. Somewhere in this sprawling concrete wilderness was the Joker, and more importantly, a cold shower.
The train hit a spot of rough track and Denny lurched awake when his head slammed against the window. The last threads of his dream left his kakhi slacks uncomfortably tight, and the black polo stuck with the sweat on his chest. He adjusted himself and looked out at the morning. Gotham City rose up around Denny like progressively taller gravestones-- farmland barns, suburban pre-fab mansions, industrial warehouses, and finally the monolithic towers of Downtown. The train shook through the sprawl three stories above street level, and still Denny couldn't see more than a few gray snatches of sky. Central City was by no means small, but Gotham easily put it to shame. This town was clearly older, and the arcane melded with the modern in uneasy truce.
Denny scratched his right ankle under his khakis, missing the weight of his revolver. Getting even a train ticket was headache enough for a dead man, gun licenses were right out. He was reticent to leave Central City. Whispers of some heavy mover called the Octopus were getting louder, but the Joker was a far more tangible threat, and Colt's research said that the madman would return to his home turf. Denny left his partner, Ebony White, to keep an eye on Central City and an ear to the ground, and he'd kept the prepaid cellphone Ebony'd given him Just In Case. He was comfortable leaving the kid in contact with Commissioner Dolan, but not the rest of the CCPD, so the ersatz cabbie was more or less on his own.
So the Spirit had come to Gotham. His train pulled into Gotham Central Stations, and he retrieved the big aluminum suitcase carrying the only suit he owned. Somewhere in this sprawling concrete wilderness was the Joker, and more importantly, a cold shower.