shatterverse | (no subject)

It had begun during rush hour, in the very centre of Gotham. Blinding circles of white, opening above the heads of the people, sending waves of terror and fear through the commuters and the businessmen.

Blinding openings, the sky itself tearing apart --

-- but nothing had come through.

Nothing, save a wave of cold air and a damp, cold, spreading sense of fear.

The first case had been only moments later. A woman in the street had screamed, seized up, jerked convulsively -- and fallen.

It had been reported on every station. Famous actress fallen into unbreakable coma -- actress in vegetative state -- family mourns --

The second and third cases, the same. The tenth, just a name. The twentieth, just a number.

The hundredth, just a statistic.

The eight hundredth -- the fifteen hundredth -- the four thousandth --

The rate of infection grew exponentially, and rapidly. The streets of Gotham fell quiet. People were afraid to leave their homes. There were those who tried to run.

The sickness struck them in their cars as they left.

And everywhere, the mist grew thicker and thicker, until even in the height of noon the streets were shrouded in damp white fog.

"It's a town of the living dead," Ariella had said, clinging to Jim's shoulder. "They're all alive still, Jim, that's what makes it so bad..."

He'd held her and patted her shoulder, mourned with her, and then -- on the ninth day, when he went in to wake her and found her hanging from her ceiling, lost to despair -- he buried her.

And moved on.

The city still needed him; the city still needed everyone it could get.

On the twelfth day he made a feeble attempt at rounding up a group to escape. They met pale-faced and shaking, and two more seized and jerked and fell into comas while they stood talking; that was the end of that.

Everything stopped. The city was silent, except sometimes for a scream, or the sound of sobbing.

Holed up in the clocktower, Jim had entirely given up hope.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jim takes a moment to take stock of himself, frowning.

"...yeah. Is it just me, or is it warmer in here, too?"

He cranes to look behind them.

The mist appears to be following them.

Erin thought about it for a second and continued pushing the speed on the car. "Maybe it's an environmental thing. Like slow acting nerve gas or something. What's the fastest way out of here?"

Jim nods, craning back, frowning in thought.

"That doesn't explain why it'd attack people trying to use major roads. Fastest way out is over the Trigate bridge, but look, I've seen too many people try that way. If we're gonna make it out, we've gotta be fast, but we can't go the major roads."

He's startlingly animated, now, gruff and furious and fast-spoken while he tries to work out the problem.

"And if there's anyone still -- well, still conscious -- we need to get them out of here, too. Now we know that it can be outrun."

"I don't have anything that would track people still concious," Erin said frowning at the scanners. "Any idea where we could start?"

"Make noise," Jim suggests, still frowning. "That's what brought me out. I don't think anyone's still ... God, I hope there's something we can do for the -- sleeping people. It's horrific."

"Then let's pick a spot and see what we can do," Erin said taking the car down lower. "That thing over there? It's the PA for the car. Crank the dial all the way to the right and you'd have to be deaf to hear us."

Jim leans over to inspect it, and grins.

"Wonder what I've gotta do to get a setup like this in my patrol car?"

"From what you've told me? I think you have to wait a couple hundred years," Erin smirked as she pushed the car down so it was hovering over the city. "All right, Gordon. Let's see how you do with public service announcements."

He smirks back, starting to shiver again as they slow down and the cold creeps back in.

"ATTENTION, PEOPLE OF GOTHAM. THIS IS AN EVACUATION. REPEAT, THIS IS AN EVACUATION. EXIT YOUR HOMES IN AN ORDERLY MANNER."

Stunning amounts of nothing occur. Followed by some more nothing, and then, just for a change, by a feral cat racing down the street and lunging into another house.

There's blood on its paws; Jim doesn't want to think about what food the animals of the city have been surviving on.

When his voice starts to get hoarse, he offers Erin the PA, without much hope. The mist is thick again.

Despite the environmental controls in the car, Erin could swear it was getting chilly. She took the PA from Jim and put it away as she gunned the engine.

"I don't think that's a good sign, Gordon."

"Have to say, I agree."

He looks out at the foggy streets and shakes his head, grimly.

"Goes against the grain to leave Gotham. Especially in a time like this."

Erin pushed the engine a little more as she headed towards the outskirts of town. "Then don't think of it as leaving. Think of it as trying to find a cure for whatever it is and coming back to save the place."

He nods, grim and drawn, and leans back against the seat.