Hub City!

Friday September 1st
6:00am Local Time

It was a grim day in Hub City; most days in Hub were pretty grim and today was no exception. The morning air was thick with a morning fog, cold and damp enough that passing cars ran their windshield wipers. The weather forecast was optimistic at least, with the morning overcast due to burn off by mid-day though temperatures weren’t set to get up above sixty all day, and it was already sixty-five degrees outside. It was going to be a brisk day.

---

Friday September 1st
6:25-7:00am Local Time
Paradise Lane: Hero Alley

The car door shut with appropriate apathy as Detective O’Neil dismounted his twenty year-old dust brown sedan. He flicked up the collar on his overcoat and tucked himself into it trying to stave off the morning chill as he trudged through the street toward the crime scene.

The redheaded Finn grinned as the curmudgeon of Erik O’Neil approached. “Hey O’Neil; it’s nice to see you this morning. Guess we’re working together on this one, well we got a real crazy one today.”

“Alright, what the hell am I doing down here Finn? This is Hundred Territory, like way deep Hundred Territory. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever been here Hundred Territory. Well at least not on a job.” Erik dully looked around, his hands well locked inside his pockets.

Finn vigorously rubbed his own hands together to keep his fingers warm, despite the latex gloves covering them. “Come here for a little midnight Olympics eh O’Neil? Heh? Heh?” He nudged his partner in the ribs. Erik was less amused. “Anyway… the vic-chick is here in the alley.”

“Are they ever anywhere else?” Erik followed the artificially energetic Mathew. The redhead chuckled.

“That’s a good one, but nawh. Girl’s a professional a…” Finn had to check the paperwork for her name. “Donna Martin, no listed address or employment, not a surprise for a girl workin’ down here…” He sighed softly, before smirking. “It’s no small wonder she ended up dead, living like she did.” Detective Finn chuckled lightly.

O’Neil raised an eyebrow. Finn gestured for him to look under the sheet covering their victim. O’Neil’s eyebrows rose. “Huh, well. Wasn’t aware the Justice League was in town. Is that her neck?” He dropped the sheet back in place.

“Yeah, M.E. says whomever got her squeezed and-or yanked so tight he dislocated three of her vertebra. Little excessive if you ask me.” Finn chuckled lightly leaning back against one of the alley’s brick walls. “So, thoughts?”

“If more superheroes wore pants, we wouldn’t be investigating a dead hooker dressed like Wonder Woman.” O’Neil answered, almost serious, as he lit up a few cigarettes. Erik took a long drag before looking around softly. “Witnesses?”

“El Zilcho. Another girl called it in, but thus far she’s the only one talking to us. Everybody else is too scared.” Finn replied with a shrug, raising the back of a hand to his mouth covering a yawn. He excused himself to step back to his patrol car, pulling his snuff tin from his pocket along the way.

O’Neil just yawned. It was going to be a long day.

---

Friday September 1st
8:00-8:32am Local Time
Seaside Acres: Salazar Residence

The alarm blared, well beeped, incessantly and Erik Salazar seriously considered destroying it for a moment, but instead he just slapped his hand down on top and fumbled about looking for the off button. He ended up having to actually hoist himself halfway out of bed before finding it, and by that point he was pretty committed to getting up and besides; it was the first of the month. So he greeted the world with a shaggy yawn and a dragging gait into his shower to begin his morning ritual.

One hair washing, teeth brushing, and arm-pit deodorizing later Erik was much more awake and ready to begin his day. He pulled on some boxers threw on a blue t-shirt from his floor, it looked clean enough, paired it with blue jeans from his closet and snagged his cellphone, wallet, keys and handgun; tucking it in the back of his waistband before throwing on his standard black blazer and heading downstairs. He needed breakfast.

Doctor Salazar was already in the kitchen when his son came jaunting down the stairs. They exchanged a silent look of recognition as the doctor sipped his morning coffee, a bowl of milk & cereal sitting untouched in front of him as he leafed through the morning paper, the news was bad. The news was always bad in Hub. “You’re up early.”

“It’s the first of the month.” Erik answered dryly, cracking the refrigerator and fixing himself a short glass of orange juice.

“Ah, that’s right Mandragora has you and your girlfriends doing that thing for him. Well be careful out there will you? It’s a rough city.” Mr. Salazar set his paper down to look his son in the face. Marley was underwhelmed.

“Don’t worry about it, first off they’re not my girlfriends, if anything they’re my muscle, and second, I know it’s a rough city, that’s why I have this.” Erik removed the engraved pistol from behind his back waving it about with a clear disregard for the fact that it was loaded before holstering it back in his waistband and downing his orange juice. “Anyway I gotta get going, I’ve gotta pick up the girls up so we can hit the town. I was gonna take the sedan cool?” He was already on his way out the door as he offered his father a half-hearted wave goodbye.

“You don’t want breakfast?” Dr. Salazar called back, leaning around the table to get a gander of his son as he approached the front door.

“Nawh, I’ll hit the deli with the girls, later!”

---

Friday September 1st
8:00-9:03am Local Time
Downtown: Didrikson Residence

“Alicia!”

“Urg?” Alicia just rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, trying to muffle the sound of her mother’s seeking. It didn’t work Mrs. Didrikson was through her door in another minute.

“Alicia! Get out of bed!” Mrs. Didrikson had her hands on her hips and was fully prepared to pry her daughter out from between the bed sheets if she had to. She probably could too.

“Urg…” Alicia lifted her head from her pillow and looked over to her mother with palpable dread. “Mom, it’s Friday. Lemme sleep in.” She buried her head beneath her pillow.

Her mother whipped the bed sheets of her and gave her an impatient smack on the foreleg. “Come on, get up, it’s the first of the month and you know that that means. That nice Salazar boy is going to be here any minute to pick you up.” Mrs. Didrikson busied herself cleaning up after her daughter, picking up discarded shirts, pants, underwear, and piling them into a chair.

Alicia peaked out from beneath her pillow to check the time. “Mom, it’s eight in the morning… even the crackheads aren’t up yet.” She dropped the pillow back on top of her head.

“Crackheads aren’t my daughter, and they’re not mob enforcer’s either. Now get up.” She sat on the edge of Alicia’s bed patted her daughter on the leg again.

“Ugh.” Alicia didn’t move. Her mother pinched her thigh. “Ack!” Alicia’s head shot up with start. Her mother smirked and rose from the edge of the bed heading back out to make breakfast.

“Now don’t go back to sleep. If you’re not up when I come back in fifteen minutes I’m getting ice water and dumping it on you.” She would too. Her daughter was up, begrudgingly.

Alicia drowsily picked out her outfit for the day off purple blouse, and a pair of ass-hugging blue jeans, and then made her way to the bathroom down the hall, performing her own morning ritual. She showered, brushed her hair & teeth, blow dried and tied up her hair, got dressed, and found her way to the kitchen just in time for her mother’s breakfast; omelets and bacon. The table conversation was trivial and space, between heaping bites as Alicia shoveled food into her mouth.

“Dad up?” Alicia managed to get out through a mouthful of bacon.

“Up and out, headed to the store early to beat the morning rush.” Her mother answered, watching the next round of bacon sizzle and pop on the stove.

Alicia nodded her head back, swallowing her mouthful at the same time. “You headin’ out after breakfast?”

“Yeah, I was going to cook up the rest of this bacon and bring it down to your father. So be sure not to eat it all.” Mrs. Didrikson smirked to her daughter back over one shoulder. Alicia had a new strip of bacon protruding from her lips, she smiled back, and then her phone chimed.

“Op, that’s gonna be Marley.” Alicia hopped up from the table and scurried back down the hall to her bedroom. It took a minute, but she found her phone in the pants she’d worn yesterday. She’d gotten a text; it was from Marley alright.


Alicia grabbed her coat, throwing it on over her shoulders and quickly snagged her brass knuckles from their place on her nightstand, her taser from its place in her dresser, her knife from its place on top of her dresser and, after a minute, found her gun beneath a pair of blue jeans in her dirty clothes chair. “Hey Maw, I’m headin’ out! Marley’s here.” She called back to the kitchen, before ducking back for another few strips of bacon, for the road.

“Alright, tell him I said hi.”

---

Friday September 1st
7:30-9:00am Local Time
Downtown: Karen Stevenson’s Apartment

The alarm went off and was promptly turned off as Karen shifted out from beneath the bed sheets. She gave a dull yawn before sweeping her bangs back out of her face and setting her feet on the floor. Another dull yawn and she had traversed the distance between her bedroom and kitchen. Karen cracked her fridge open and pulled the milk from the door, pouring a glass and a bowl, before retrieving the cereal box from the counter and adding its contents to the bowl. She took both and sat on her couch flicking on the news as she ate.

It was the same old news. Someone got killed, someone got acquitted. There were a few ‘feel good’ pieces, three of which weren’t featured in Hub, one of which came out of Gotham for how depressing that was, then an actual news story about some new religious group trying to clean up Stern's End, good luck with that, and a scarcely disguised commercial for The Barracuda Club masquerading as a report on ‘Hub City’s Newest Hot Spot.’

Then it was time for, whatever came on after The News; Karen didn’t know, she just knew that it was time for her shower. So, after depositing her dirty dishes in the sink, she went back into her bedroom, made her bed and laid out her outfit for the day, a nice black & white suit with a black tie. Off to the shower, hot, she brushed her teeth while she waited for the water to warm. She scrubbed her hair down and then left it to dry with a towel around it while she dressed.

Erik hadn’t contacted her by the time her hair was dry so she passed it by prepping her pistol. She dismantled it, cleaned the barrel, changed out the ammunition for fresh rounds; bullets didn’t really go bad but if they were improperly stored they could dry-fire or even misfire. It was good to get this sort of thing done when you could.

---

Friday September 1st
7:30-9:00 Local Time
Seaside Acres: Mandragora Residence

“Edgar? Edgar are you up yet?” Steven ‘The Whale’ Mandragora called up the stairs to his son, standing in his less than modest kitchen preparing a sack lunch for his boy and a breakfast shake for himself. “Nathan would you be a dear and check on little Edgar, he’ll miss breakfast if he doesn’t get up soon.” The massive man turned to the dapper gentleman in lurking in the doorway.

“Yeah sure.” The Sea Snake replied with a half-hearted shrug, departing the doorway to hike up the stairs. “Yo, kid. Your dad says get up!” He hollered up the stairs even as he climbed them.

Mandragora just smirked, humming to himself lightly as he hit the puree button on his blender and watched the contents quickly liquefy. The noise may have been sufficient to wake the dead, let alone his son who was just upstairs.

Nathan knocked on Edgar’s door. “Edgar, time to get up.” He turned the lock enough to crack the door, and then just sort of toed it open a few inches. “Kid?”

Edgar opened the door the rest of the way, standing neat and dressed in Seaside School’s uniform. “I’m ready Mr. Samuelsson.” Edgar snagged his book bag from its place by the door.

Nathan shrugged. “Okay, well, breakfast.” He nodded his head toward the stairs, and the two started off in an awkward silence, he didn’t really know how to talk to the boss’s kid; his own school experience had been… less scholastic than he expected Edgar’s was.

“Ah, Edgar, there you are my boy. I was almost afraid you were going to miss breakfast.” Mandragora smirked back over one of his colossal shoulders as his boy hopped up to sit at the kitchen table. Nathan returned to lingering in the doorway his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m fine Papa, just another headache.” Edgar responded with proper poise.

“Hmm… Well, after school today we’ll have to stop by Doctor Salazar’s and see if he can’t give you something for those.” Steven smiled warmly to his son before turning toward their pantry. “Now, what shall we have for breakfast today? Fruit Rings? Frosted Bits? Wheat Minis?”

“I don’t want to bother him Papa.” Edgar looked to his lap and shuffled his feet against each other, before looking up with a grin. “Fruit Rings please Papa!”

“Fruit Rings it is then.” Mandragora smiled to his son, fetching down a bowl, the box of cereal and a carton of milk, combining them all in proper portion before adding a spoon and setting it in front of his son. “Eat quickly now or you’ll be late for school.” Edgar went straight to eating in cereal while his father poured the thick greenish-grey mixture of his breakfast shake into a glass and began sipping at it. “You sure you won’t have something Nathan? I feel a simply dreadful host eating here in front of you while you stand there and starve.”

“No thanks Mr. Mandragora Sir. I ate before I came over.” Sea Snake Samuelsson raised a hand to dissuade his employer from feeding him. He hadn’t really eaten, he just wasn’t hungry; or entirely comfortable having breakfast with his boss and his family.

“Ah, very well then.” Steven answered with a short shrug and returned to sipping at his breakfast smoothie until his son had finished his bowl. Mandragora handed Edgar a napkin, who promptly used it to wipe the milk from his face while his father cleared his place, taking the bowl from in front of him, rinsing it out in the sink and then setting it in the empty dishwasher before returning to his smoothie.

“Papa, can I watch cartoons until it’s time for school?” Edgar asked sheepishly.

“I’m not sure Edgar can you?” Mandragora grinned.

Edgar rolled his eyes. “May I Papa?”

Steven chuckled lightly. “Oh, I suppose so, just be ready to leave in twenty minutes.” He watched as his son scurried off to the den to watch his morning cartoons, leaving the two mobsters alone in the same room. Mandragora sipped his breakfast smoothie.

Nathan shifted to lean against the other side of the doorway he lingered in. “So, boss…”

“In a minute Nathan.” Mandragora raised a colossal finger, downing the rest of his smoothie in a few gritty chugs. “Ah, there.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and set to washing out the glass.

“So boss.” Samuelsson took that as his cue to begin. “There was another murder last night.”

“You’ll have to be more specific my boy. This is Hub, there’s always some murder.” Mandragora had to smirk a little. He already knew what Nathan was going to say.

“This one was down Paradise way. Donna, one of our girls, the others found her this morning, strangled.” Nathan actually leaned off the wall and stepped into the room to give his report, rattling off what he knew from memory.

“Damn. That’s the second girl we’ve lose this week. What are we doing to prevent this?” Steven was grinding his teeth as he scrubbed out his drinking glass.

“Well we’ve called in the cops. We know whoever’s doing this isn’t on our side so there’s no problem there, and the cops know better than to go busting anyone on our payroll for prostitution, but we pay them not to do their jobs; can’t really complain when their rusty.”

“Do they have any leads at all?”

“Coworkers saw her with some kid earlier last night, but by all reports he was more fan-boy than homicidal maniac, couldn’t even look the girls in the eye, and Donna was one of those costume-doms, did the best Wonder Girl imitation this side of Central.” Mandragora gave Nathan a look, he coughed into his sleeve. “What I’m sayin’ is that she wouldn’t go down easy. Whoever this is ain’t some kid. We’re lookin’ for a freak.”

Mandragora growled. “Listen here, I don’t care if it’s an eight year-old girl killing these women. I don’t like people dying under my employ you hear me? Tell the HCPD to get off their collective asses and find whoever this is, they find him, and when they do you call Walter and Byrne, and you tell them I want this man broken in half.” The White Whale took a deep breath, and unclenched his fists. “Now if you excuse me. I have to get my son to school. Edgar, Edgar it’s time to leave.” And then walked off toward the living room to fetch his son, and drive him to school.

---

Spoiler:

Spoiler:

Friday September 1st 
6:00-7:00am Local Time
Uptown

A redhead peered out the tinted window of a bus with four letter curse words etched into the panes with knives. Gang signs and death notes, she felt the coolness of the glass against her forehead. She could tell outside would be nice and moist. Underneath her buttoned up velvet coat and black skinny jeans rested bullet proof armor with technology that was keeping her alive above water. Rhode closed her eyes; she had come a long way from home. She couldn't help notice the streets were fairly clean save for a club or two, but then again, it was early in the morning for first impressions. 

Rhode wanted to feel like she wasn't one of Oracle's cronies, but she couldn't shake the feeling since she's got a list of chores she has to do for her while she was touring Hub. Yes. She is a tourist. Rhode had visited Flint Michigan and just came out of Gotham, though she was pretty well acquainted with the city that belonged to the Dark Knight, she felt it necessary not to leave it out. 

She surveyed the bus around her, Rhode was pretty much alone, and any stop in Hub was about as good as any other. She pulled the string requesting for a stop, grabbed her bag from under her seat, and hopped out into the moist air. Taking a deep breath, she loved it already. 

---

Friday September 1st 
8:00-8:30am Local Time
Stern's End Slum- Fox's Residence

Eyes open, open for the last three hours, Arthur Fox has never gotten use to sleeping in the run down run down building. He wasn't sure what wakes him up at night, it could be the rats, but he wasn't positive it was something that trivial. Seeing what little sun was rising through the thick fog and ominous clouds, he sat up and climbed out of bed. The lights outside his room were flickering, his mother was out there trying to make breakfast. The fire would never start, the refrigerator would always lose power in the middle of the night, rendering their milk spoiled, and still, she wanted to fill her boy's stomach with something. It was never as discouraging as she had thought. 

"Mom." 

Mrs. Fox looked up at Arthur as she tried to get the stove going, she held a match over the gas that was cutting in and out. 

"Almost got it dear,"
"It's okay mom, I'm not hungry."
"No, I insist."

Arthur looked down and took a chair, it wasn't like he could stop her, and she didn't have to go to work in another hour. She would leave eventually, drive over to Paradise Lane and wait some tables, leaving him to finish up his schooling. When she would come back from work, bringing left overs late at night they would eat in silence. Like every night. But tonight was going to be different for Arthur at least. He watched her in silence, as she prayed under her breath for the stove to start up. 

"Is Azalea coming over today?" His mother asked as the clicking of the stove's sporadic gas filled the room's ambience. 

"Yeah, she's coming over. Off day." Arthur replied. 

"Good... Good..."

Friday, September 1st
6:06-7:50AM Local Time
Downtown



The pitch dark of the dank tunnel pulled in close, a veritable labyrinth of curves and uneven paths. The sloppy scurrying of tiny feet could be heard amongst the cold darkness, scattering one way then turning around towards the thudding ‘slucking’ noise of boots on muck. Misji couldn’t help but take comfort in the familiar things as she trudged through the pitch.


It was all dirt and clay and the smell of something rancid yet distinctly fungal. It was safe, though a bit too dark. A flick of her wrist lit the claustrophobic tunnel with sporadic green light. The flames washed over her hand, clinging to her finger tips like honey.


The snuffing figure of Esiasch sat hunched at the crossroads of four tunnels, his wedge shaped head tilted back as he scented out the clean air verses the old and stale. His hackles were raised, he could feel the angry aura of something dead licking at their heels. He was eager to get Misji and himself out of these wretched tunnels. His large, marble shaped eyes swiveled towards the witch girl, who had just managed to smear grey mud across her cheek and over her upper lip.


Scoffing the rat let out a shrill bark before turning to scurry down the tunnel to his left. The air was less foul that way and if he squinted he could just make out a column of light at the farthest end.


Misji followed dutifully, coughing and sneezing every now and then as the dense air was filled with nodes of debris. Upon following her rat down the left most tunnel she too could make out the distant pale light, and even her dull nose could make out the smell of morn. Though it was not like she had ever smelled it before, she was used to the dark, earthy smells. This smelled like something too big for her to fathom.


The two of them moved quickly. Esiasch, for the sake of getting the hell away from the horrid feeling and smell of dead behind him; and Misji because something peculiar was tugging at her center, luring her forward though fear pierced down into the tunnel along with the light. Misji felt the tunnel grow tighter the closer she got to the stream of light, until she was crawling on her knees and Esiasch was crawling under her belly.


When she reached the porthole to the world above she waited a moment, her teeth digging into the flesh of her tongue as her wide eyes gawked out at the bleary grey above.


She’d never seen the sky before, though she marveled at it there was no true resonance of it within her. She’d never had a sky to worry over, so seeing one now had yet to strike amazement. Tired of hesitating, the witch girl grabbed the scruff of her chuffing familiar and placed him on her bosom; not moving until she felt his heavy body curl over her shoulder and his feet cling to her clothing. They were both a muddy, disgusting mess, but surely no one would be offended if she explained why.


Misji clawed her way up the tight tunnel exit, Esiasch whispering complaints in her ear as his heavy body wrapped itself from one shoulder to the other. It got narrow, her boots slipped on the mucky channel before her head was at the maw of the hole. She could see sparse grass and gravel around the lip of the hole, her fingers scrambling in it to get a firm hold before she pulled Esiasch and herself out.


Wet, muddy and exhausted; the witch girl panted as she tugged herself fully out of the tunnel. Falling onto her side, she wrapped her arms around the equally exhausted rodent and closed her eyes.






“….I know…..”

---

Friday, September 1st
8:50-9:00 AM Local Time
Downtown

Azalea got out of the shower and dried herself off. Peering at the time, she figured she had enough time and was no longer in a rush. Opening up her wardrobe, she moved several garments aside and picked a loosely woven sweatshirt and zipped it up against her still damp frame. Before she closed the doors, she looked at the suits that were hanging ominously next to the rest of her clothing. Part of her still couldn't believe what she was doing, she could be in Central City on the forensics team, instead she's with her boyfriend in possibly the worst city in North America, playing superhero. Azalea had tried to convince Arthur to make enough money to move out, but he was determined to stay, he was determined to be a vigilante. She was regretting the decision, but figured she was so deep into it, that there was no point in turning back. The two had been training for months, and tonight was the night. Azalea thought they should wait for a couple more years, but Arthur seemed to be getting impatient. The night would most likely be just practice anyway, it wasn't like they were planning on overthrowing the mob this quickly. She figured they won't even see much action tonight.

Azalea popped open a jar of peanut butter, spread it over a slice of bread and headed downstairs from her apartment, the sandwich tucked into her watering mouth while she fixed her sweatshirt. The cool breeze slapped her face as she walked into the war torn streets of Hub City. Looking around at the drunkards just going to sleep, and others going to work, or school. Her tired eyes forced themselves to stay open, as the quiet streets could surprise her at any time. She lived fairly close to Arthur, so she didn't see the need to drive to down to him. The gas prices were ridiculous. Whenever she started regretting the decision she made, she intended to remind him of the sacrifices that she had to make for him, and chances are he was going to treat her like the princess she was. She loved that.

Friday, September 1
7:30am- 8am
Will and Trav's apartment

Nothing quite warms you on a cold morning like the first cigarette of the day, taking a long drag of that necessary smoke and letting it out in a slow, deliberate huff. William peered out the grimy, slightly fogged window of the ramshackle apartment he and his roommate Travis called home. The gold light of the slowly rising sun, somewhat shaded by the smog of the city, washed over his face. He listened to the radio blast the same old news- someone blah blah blah in an alley where blah blah blah some club blah blah.... some trash, 'nuther day. With an unconcerned movement, he reached over and flipped off the radio on his semi- functional alarm clock.

He quickly tossed on a shirt as he finished inhaling the remainder of his cigarette. Call it something in the air or whatnot, but he had an itch to be out and about, even at this unholy hour. Or he could've been partying WAY too hard last night had that twitch you often get after a long night of nothing. He slung on his jacket, stuffed it with his usual small arsenal of weapons, and headed for the door to the hunk of crap apartment him and his roommate Travis called home. He considered asking him to join, but the ever so faint tang of freshly soldered steel and the absence of his shoes indicated that he had already headed out for his first delivery of the day, some gun or other for some dude or whatnot. Whatever, a job is a job. He headed out the door, hoping SOMETHING was going on somewhere...

Friday, September 1
7:50am- 7:55am
Hub streets

The cold air stun Travis's face as he bolted down the street, the box containing today's delivery slung under his left arm. The other apartment he was delivering to wasn't too far from where him and his partner were bunking out, but the alarm clock never went off and he wasn't about to have his first late delivery on his record be on such a local delivery. He bolted down the streets towards the building, panting like a tired dog as he stubbornly refused to let up his pace and catch a breath. Good thing it was so early, or he would've probably run over a dozen people today. (And, in the process, probably have gotten into several fights and hampered his delivery time even more)

He hardly even recalled entering the stairwell and practically flying up the stairwell like Batman himself was after him, and it wasn't until he nearly ran headlong into some old guy that he stopped his mad rush to catch a break and look at his watch. '7:55, still got five more minutes to spare. That damn near killed me, last time go out partying with Will that late again!' he said in his head as he trotted up to his client's door, name was Cogen or something like that. He straightened himself out and knocked on the door...

Friday September 1st
6:00-7:30am
Downtown- Offices of Richard Occult, Private Investigator

Vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

“Oh dear sweet merciful god what is it now!” Richard Occult was jerked out from a sound, if liquor induced slumber atop his desk as, one floor up, his secretary, Susan, started up what was probably a vacuum cleaner, but sounded to him more like a jet engine. The Ghost Detective clutched his head and groaned planting his forehead firmly down against the surface of his desk, blindly groping across the surface for the bottle of bourbon he’d been conversing with last night.

He ended up clearing a good half dozen dead bottle off his desk, knocking them to the floor, before he realized that the bottle he was looking for was in his lap between his legs, upside down and more depressingly, empty. “Aw damnit…” Richard muttered to himself, pushing up from his desk to glare down at his lap. He stood up and left the empty bourbon bottle to join the others collecting beneath his desk. A couple of roaches scurried up to lick out what they could find from the new treat. “Susan! Susan!” The vacuum didn’t stop. “Susan! I’m going out to get some breakfast! You want anything?!” The vacuum continued without response. “Right.” Occult muttered into his collar.

He searched deftly for his hat and orb, finding the former on the hat rack and the later in the top drawer of his desk, checked the lock on his cupboard, dusty, but as firm as the day he’d bought it… though he couldn’t remember when that was, and then brushed off the clothes he’d slept in. He smelled like, well, like he’d bathed in bourbon, which he very well might have given that he’d found the bottle upside down, he couldn’t remember; his head hurt, In any event it was better than smelling like he hadn’t bathed at all in… what was today Friday, that’d make it a solid week. Of course it was hardly his fault; they’d turned off his water.

His orb was placed in his overcoat pocket, his hat was shoved down on his head and his front door was opened as he greeted the world with the sour expression common with drunkards who woke up without any liquor. He pushed the brim of his hat down a little and started out on his journey to the liquor store. Damn the sun was bright; it didn’t seem like it really needed to be that bright. He pushed his hat down a little more.

---

Friday September 1st
6:30-7:45am
Downtown- Cogen Residence

The television was off, the lights were on, the dining table was cleared, and covered in bits and pieces of Saul’s pistol. There was a box of ammunition sitting next to him, next to that there was a bottle of gun oil and a box of cotton swabs. He was cleaning his gun, but he wasn’t giving it his full attention. His mind was elsewhere, the firearm was just there to keep his hands busy, to give him something to focus his nervous energy on.

His hands were steady; they tended to do that when he got nervous. Some people shook when they worried, he didn’t. When Saul worried he got, uncomfortably aware of his surroundings. It had always served him well, let him know who’s waistline was heavy with a handgun, who’s fist was curled in preparation for a fight, or who had their back foot tilted the away from him so they could start off running at the first sign of trouble. At the moment it was telling him which bits of metal had sulfuric build up on them, which areas were just a little too course as the cotton swab in his hand brushed over them.

His gun was clean; it had probably been clean when he’d started cleaning it. He hardly ever used the thing; bullet holes had an annoying tendency to kill people and that wasn’t his job. His job was to scare people, sometimes to hurt them. He’d never actually kill anyone, not that he knew of anyway.

He didn’t like his job. He suspected that most people didn’t like their jobs; but for him it was different. His job was to hurt people. Now don’t get him wrong, it’s not like he was a bleeding heart or anything. No when it came to hurting people he didn’t pull his punches, and frankly, most of the people he hurt had it coming anyway; gamblers who got in too deep or idiots who tried to rip off the mob, sometimes a combination of the two. They deserved a few knocks to the head, maybe a broken nose or cracked rib. At least that was what he always told himself.

It was just that; he didn’t like that his job existed. Saul knew that it was probably just one of those things. He was muscle; there would always be jobs for strong guys hurting weaker guys for richer guys, but he had a daughter to think about. He didn’t like thinking about her, or more specifically her future. It worried him. Hub City didn’t exactly have a lot of opportunities for a girl like her, with a father like him.

He was destined to live and die in violence; saw that now. It was in his blood, but he didn’t want than for Darcy. He wanted her to be safe, protected. He wanted to pick her up and carry her away from the blood and violence of this city. He wanted to give her everything. But he wasn’t strong enough, and so he worried.

He worried about her, about what could happen to her, about what would happen to her, about what she might have to do if something happened to him. They weren’t doing great as it was, and his job was dangerous. If something happened to him… he didn’t know what they’d do. His boss certainly wasn’t the kind to help them out if he got hurt, Mr. Monroe might, he seemed like a good man, as good a man as they got in Hub, but he’d only met him a couple of times, and he couldn’t go asking for a handout. He was too damn proud. Maybe if he picked up some more jobs.

He looked at the reassembled barrel of his pistol. Maybe he could become a hired gun, the pay would be better if he actually killed people; more risk too though, the people he beat on weren’t normally armed with anything more than a two-by-four, people who had hitmen sent after them tended to be armed with guns. Saul turned his pistol over in his hands. If he died Darcy would be alone… He couldn’t do that to her. There had to be something else.

He could steal the money, become a professional thief. It wouldn’t take much. One good heist, maybe a bank, or a jewelry store, one good heist and he could take her away; they could get out of Hub… but he’d need a gang to take on a bank, and at least a couple extra guys to take on a jewelry store, and the old gang wasn’t talking to him anymore. Plus; he’d probably need to get Mr. Monroe, or maybe even Mr. Mandragora to sign off on anything that big going down in Hub.

Saul ran his hand through his waning hair and sighed. Sometimes he really wished Francis was still around.

“Ah well.” He stood up, setting his gun in the back of his waistband. “First of the month.” He wondered if they had anything to eat.

---

Friday September 1st
7:30-8:00am
Downtown- Didrikson Tobacco & Liquor

Wesley Fermin raised his flask to his lips with one hand and narrowly avoided the rear bumper of the car in front of him with the other. “God damn homosexuals; get the dick outta your ass and drive…” He muttered into the mouth of his flask, tipping it back and growling as nothing dripped onto his tongue. “Mother fuckin’ hell.” He scanned the street, slowing down and nearly causing the car behind him to rear end up. They honked. “Go back to India ya terrorist son’oabitch!” He shook his fist back at them and pulled over to the side of the road, kicking open his car door and slamming it back behind him. He clicked the button on his keychain. His car beeped and he cursed the air for being so cold.

Mayor Fermin lifted his collar up over his neck and walked across the street, cars skidding to a halt rather than running over him, a few cursed or honked at him he didn’t pay them any mind. His flask was dry, the universe was wrong.

The door to Didrikson Liquor jingled. Doctor Occult tilted his hat up looking around for the aisle with the bourbon. He winced at the din coming from the street outside. Leave it Hub for even the cars to honk at him when he had the mother of all headaches. He needed liquor, liquor would make the world right again.

Wesley cursed at the jingling of the damned jingly bells hanging above the liquor store door, why did those things always have to be do fucking cheery? The mayor went straight up to the counter and slammed his flask down on it. “Fill ‘er up, an’ don’t gimme none of that water’d down crap. Gimme…” Oh what did he want to drink. “Whisky, somethin’ strong, at least five years old.”

Mr. Didrikson smiled back. “Sure thing.” Fermin glowered as the larger man took the flask from the counter and disappeared with it.

“An’ don’t go stealin’ my flask either! Ya commi son ‘obitch…” Mayor Fermin shoved his hands into his pockets, glaring at the five or six men standing around the liquor store, there was a line forming behind him. “Goddamn boozehounds, ya’ll are what’s wrong with this world…” He muttered beneath his breath ruffling and turning back toward the counter. “If ya’ll cared about somethin’ other than yer next drink, maybe th’ world would be a better place…”

Mr. Didrikson returned a moment later. “Fifty-two seventy-five please.” He smiled back to Wesley, and got a glare for his trouble.

“Damn Jews, always raisin’ the price o’ liquor… Like killin’ our lord wa’n’t good ‘nough for ‘em…” Mr. Fermin rummaged around in his pockets, pulled out his wallet and handed over three twenties. He took a swig from his flask as he waited for his change. “Hmm, not bad… Hebes always do ‘ave the best booze…” He got his change, counted it, and then took another swig. “Hrhm. Thanks, and uh, Vote Fermin…” He turned to leave, taking another swig before falling into the driver's seat.

“The elections for Mayor aren’t…” Mr. Didrikson was cut off by the jingling of the from door. He shrugged and turned his attention to the gentleman in the overcoat buying six bottles of bourbon.

Friday September 1st
7:10-7:11 am Local Time
Uptown

Rhode had been walking down a straight path south, she stopped in front of a building called the Barracuda Club. Rhode smirked, placed her hands in her pants pockets, turned away and kept walking south. On and off she had been wondering what to do so early in the morning, she felt like she should first find a place to stay for a couple of nights to get away from the crime-ridden streets, not that she was scared; she was confident that she could carry $500 cash in her purse. It wasn't much in her currency back home, but a few golden coins could get her pretty damn far. Her royal purple velvet coat wasn't cheap, and her designer jeans and alligator skin italian shoes added up to over $1500 not including her necklaces. She dressed like this on purpose. Gotham held the record of 21 minutes before she was stuck up at gunpoint. It had been 10 minutes so far, and she just kept walking. Soaking up the air.

Rhode reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her cell phone, she was wondering what time it was in Gotham. She was wondering if Oracle was awake. With her you could never tell, maybe she was on some case staying up late the night before, maybe she was leveling up on some online video game, or maybe she decided that she wanted to treat herself to some jazz and tea and fell asleep early. She just knew that she never had a routine, and she hated contacting her, but she wanted to get her chores over with so she could enjoy the city. Scrolling through her contacts there wasn't many. Only Birds who liked her enough.

Putting the phone up to her ear; refusing to use her earpiece on purpose. The dial tone rang once. Twice...

Friday, September 1st
7:50-8:20AM Local Time
Down Town


It wasn’t the cool muck chilling her body that brought Misji back into the world of the waking, nor was it the gentle tug of teeth at the fabric of her collar. It was the sun. As mute as it’s heat was due to the cloudy nature of the city, it saturated the blue skinned youth until she was sitting up and blinking blearily out at the world.


Everything was hazy, and her clothes felt heavy, Esiasch slid down her front until he was a heap in her lap, yawning and smacking his lips as he too started to remember where they were.


“Oh Dear-”


The Rats’ attention turned up to his Witch Girl, her black eyes wide and rapidly blinking as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing. Esiasch simply swung his head towards the new sounds and smells, lazily at that, standing up and stretching out his hefty body before crawling off her and towards the distant edge of the field.




“B-b-but! But! Look!”


Misji scrambled to her feet, mud and rubble falling from her in a great spray, spattering Esiasch with the debris. The Rat swung around to glare at the witch with suppressed ire. He loved her, but god she was slow sometimes.




“Oh! I know, but Esiasch….Look at the world! It’s so bright and clean”




Misji marched forward, scooping up her glaring familiar before continuing towards the edge of the field. Away from the scary building that radiated wickedness; it didn’t make her feel too scared, but being underground with the sensations had made it hard for her to focus on other things. Things like that magnetizing pull ebbing in her chest and spreading through to her fingers and toes (which had been curling in her boots since she’d noticed the aura).


“Do you think Mother knows about this place?”




The witch girl snickered at her familiar as her muddy boots finally reached pavement, it was enough to make her pause and stare at the sidewalk before she shrugged at the new terrain and marched onwards, into the dark city. She looked one way than the other before decided that she would simply go left for now.

Friday, September 1st
07:55-08:30am
Downtown – Ham For Your Thoughts? Deli

“Oi, boy.”

Casey stopped spraying sanitizer on the bar for a second and looked over to his boss who was slicing ham. He was a rather large man, with a shiny bald head and trimmed brown beard. A good 30 or so years older than Casey, his face showed signs of age. “Yeah, Dave?”

“Mind turning on the open sign?” he asked while cleaning off his cleaver with his apron and then proceded to bring it down with a loud THUNK, burrowing the tip into the cutting board to keep it in place. “Gotta run to the back to grab the eggs.”

“Sure.” Setting down the spray bottle, he walked over to the front of the store and pulled the chain on the electric sign. “Alright, Dave. We’re now Oper for business.” He called to the back. “Oper?” he responded, his voice muffled a bit. “Wait a second.” Casey turned back to the sign and noticed the ‘n’ wasn’t fully lit. “Dammit, not again.”

Casey clicked the sign off and on again a few ti,es but it still wouldn’t work. “Hurm…” he glanced over his shoulder to see if Dave was back quickly prodded the sign with his fingers, sending a small jolt through it. After flickering a few times, the sign finally read ‘Open’. “There we go.” Casey smiled, picked up his spray bottle and hung it on the string of his apron before walking to the back.

Walking through the kitchen he noticed that Daves wife, Rita, was having trouble reaching something on top of a self, trying to use a mixing spoon to knock it over. “Need some help, Rita?” he asked, sticking his hands in the pockets of the apron. “Does it look like I need help?” she responded in a snarky tone while she tapped the can of Crisco closer to the edge. “Yes.”

“Well don’t go worryin’ about me, son.” She smirked and tapped it harder. “I’ve been able to manage for 22 years now so- OH!”

The can plummeted towards Rita’s had and she would’ve been dealing with a annoying bump if Casey hadn’t stuck out his hand to catch it. He gave her a large grin and held it out to her. “Hmph, I woulda caught it if your head wasn’t blockin’ the light.” She snatched it out of his hands while he continued to grin. “Your face will freeze like that if you don’t stop.”

“I’m sure the ladies won’t mind.” Casey pulled out a carton of cigarettes from his back pocket. “Gonna go have a smoke before the morning rush comes in.” Rita rolled her eyes “You know I don’t like you doing that.” She pointed the wooden spoon at him. “Suckin’ on those things will kill ya one day.”

“Rather be sucking cigs than sucking dicks.” He shrugged and then yelped when Rita rapped him on the knuckles. “Just be back in 5 minutes, or you’ll suckin’ on broken teeth.”

Casey shut the back door closed and took off the bandana he had wrapped around his head before sitting down against the brick wall of the restaurant. Tapping out cigarette from the box, he stuck it in his mouth and flicked his thumb at the end of it. A small spark ignited the end and he took a deep drag. Closing his eyes, he tilted his face upwards and blew smoke up towards the morning sun.

Friday September 1st
7:07-7:11am Local Time
Uptown- Outside the Barracuda Club

Johnny was whistling to himself as he walked around the block. He had a key to the backdoor, he had a key to every door, it was his club; but he liked walking around to the front, opening the big doors before stepping inside to the empty club; chairs up on tables, lights turned off, liquor locked up tighter than a drum. Sure it was silly, and people said it would wear off. But hey, it wasn’t like he had to worry about being mugged. Even downtown people knew who he was; uptown no one was going to so much as look at him twice.

Mr. Bertellia clicked his key in the lock and pushed open the front door to his club. His club; that always tickled him, in a way that even the really good tranquilizers couldn’t duplicate. He looked around outside. There wasn’t a line or anything. It only harshed his vibe a little. Ah but there was someone. Purple coat, tight jeans, nice shoes; decidedly female. Hooker. High price from the looks of her. Jonathan smiled and whistled sharply between his bottom lip and front teeth to get her attention. “’ey sweet cakes. Club’s open; ain’t no Johns ‘ere yet, but you’re welcome to wait. We’re always happy to help keep pretty ladies out of the cold ‘ere at the Barracuda Club.” He sent a big, broad, toothy smile Rhode’s way.

---

Friday September 1st
8:08-8:11am Pacific Time
Gotham City- Oracle’s Nest

The coffee pot had kicked in eight minutes ago; it took its time to steep, but that was fine. Barbara was taking her time too. Okay that was a lie. She was busy; she was always busy. It seemed like there just weren’t enough hours in the day; either something happen on the international circuit that needed her attention or some fresh horror was being released from the revolving door at Arkham; and then she did need to eat at some point. It was always something.

Coffee could serve as a suitable substitute for real food for anyone who’d worn a bat or bird on their chest though; sometimes she wondered if it wasn’t the result of their training, some kind of Tibetan conditioning to survive on nothing but the dew of a gingko leaf, or the ground processed remains of a coffee bean in this case.

Oracle wheeled herself to her computer desk and contently took the handle of her coffee mug, boldly emblazed with the Bat-logo; it was the kind of thing tourists bought at the Gotham Airport, but in her hands it had a sort of charming irony which she happened to enjoy almost as much as the dark brown contents. One sip down and her phone was already ringing; it was going to be one of those days.

Her password was entered at the phone was routed through the desktop. “Oracle here,” it took her a semi-second to check the caller ID. “What is it Rhodes?”

---

Friday September 1st
6:00-7:03am Local Time
Stern’s End Slum- Church of Saint Sebastian

The supplicants of the ministry slowly filed in, tired and yawning; some of them actually laying their heads back and closing their eyes once they took their seat in the pews. It had been a long time since Hub had seen a six AM service.

A blonde woman stood beside the dais. Her arms were neatly folded in front of her. Her hands were tucked delicately into one another and set against her lap. She watched each new body file in and take seat in the rows. She was smiling.

Her foster son sat back in his refuge adjoined to the main building. He had no lights on; the dull morning light crept shyly in through the dust-stained glass inlaid in the windows. He could hear the people filing in, the shuffling of their feet, the weight of their bodies causing the old wood pews to creak as they settled in. A few were exchanging small talk; asking if seats were free. He was counting the souls. Twenty-two when all was settled and quiet; more than last time, his flock was growing. The thought put a toothy smile on Sebastian’s face before he swept up his shawl and stepped out to the dais.

The pale child looked out to the collective, standing silently before them before speaking. “Strife.” His voice was quiet, calm, as tired as those listening to it both felt and looked. “Strife is bitter. Strife is violent. Strife is life.” He caught more fervor as he spoke, and he could see some face looking up with new interest. “Strife is what drives us, what beats us down, and what builds us up. Strife is the knife at your throat and the sword at your side. It can be bad, it can be good, but it is always there. You wake one morning and if there is one thing you can count on, it is that there will be strife in your day. Now; perhaps the lord will be merciful, and perhaps today will be easy, calm, perhaps the worst you’ll be asked to endure is a few misfortunes today; but perhaps not. Perhaps today is the day you will brush with death. Perhaps today is the day you’ll die.” He paused, people were looking at him. They were thinking. It made his mother smile. “But perhaps not. We can never be certain of when we’ll die, of what we’ll see in our lives. But we can be sure that it will be hard, that the world will bring us strife. Life is hard. Life is strife, because that is what our lord intends for us.” His voice was getting louder now.

“Our lord is not cruel. No, he loves us. He loves each and every one of us. And it is because he loves us that he sends strife into our lives.” Sebastian looked down to those in the pews, meeting the eyes of those he could see. There wasn’t a pair who weren’t looking to him. “Strife is not meant to beat us down, but life is meant to be hard. Life is meant to test us. Life is meant to build us up.” He leaned back from the dais; he had been looming over it from ‘Strife is not meant to beat us down.’ “Think of the last time you experienced strife. Real strife. Real, rage inducing, god cursing, fury soaked strife. And think of what you did afterward. Did you, fight, flee, curse, drink? Or did you let that fury fill you up, did you let it sate you, satisfy you, invigorate you? Did you feel it? The pure god-given strength of fury, of strife? Think of it! Think now, of what you could do with that strength, with that strife. Doesn’t it feel as though you could conquer anything? As if you could conquer the very earth itself? Let god’s love fill you. Let god’s strife give to you, the incredible, the undeniable, the un-equitable, strength of strife!” He finished on a grand crescendo, and held his arms out to the sides, his own head tilted back to the heavens. The back row resisted the impulse to stand, the front were not so restrained, and soon the entire church was on their feet. “Go! Brothers, sisters, fathers; mothers. Go forth and greet this cruel, cold, strife-filled world. Greet it with a smile, for you know in your heart of hearts, within your very immortal soul, that strife; is love.”

---

Friday September 1st
8:00-8:01am Local Time
Downtown- Outside Didrikson Tobacco & Liquor

The Ghost Detective popped the top on a fresh bottle of bourbon and washed away the morning stain on his breath with a heavy mouthful of the corn-whiskey. “Ahh…” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and took a deep breath. His teeth stung and he hunched over a little. Damn the air was cold. Still; another swig of bourbon and that chill was gone, the one in his fingertips was even starting to fade. All was right with the world; and he had five more bottles to spare. He was flat broke, but that was beside the point. He had liquor; and he’d find some thug to pick the pocket of after carrying his precious cargo back to the safety of his offices.

It was a short walk. His building was only a few blocks from the liquor store, and then he was back in the warm safety of his office. Richard swung his basket up to set on his desk. The full bottles clanked happily together as the settled and then the Ghost Detective took the bottle in his hand and reclined across his slight sofa. His hat fell off as he craned his head back over the edge of the arm, but he didn’t care. He was going to drink himself back to sleep, and deal with the cruelties of the world when he got up. If he got up; his liver had to give out one of these days.

Friday September 1st
7:10-7:11am Local Time 
Uptown

Rhode whipped her hair away as if to say "pass" without flicking him off and flashing her webbed fingers, didn't even glance in club owner's general direction. She didn't mean to be rude, she could have said "Thanks for the offer but you can blow it out your ass." but it was Hub City, she didn't know what to expect from the locals. It's not that she felt that she was above him, though she probably is, Rhode didn't want to deal with anyone unless they held a 9mm pointing at her chest. She felt eccentric; that gave her a warm feeling inside. At the moment she was concerned with the voice in her ear. Barbara and Rhode didn't have the best of relationships, they weren't some dynamic duo, and she found herself in the her team of super powered hotties before she had a real option. She saw Oracle helping her, not the other way around, or at least she tried to. The more time has passed, the more she felt like she was just one of her pawns. Rhode was determined to deter from that notion, calling her for information was another matter. 

"I don't appreciate pet names, Oracle. It's just Rhode, not Rhoddy, Rhodes, Rhodos, R, or Street. I'm not your friend. Don't treat me like one."

She was wondering if she was too harsh, but at the same time, she didn't want to get close to her. It was the last thing she wanted. 

"Oracle, I just arrived in Hub City, you mentioned that there's some reputable magic tutor I can visit while I'm here, name and address would be helpful." Rhode paused and looked behind her, not sure what she was looking for. "There's also some hitlist of yours, you want me to check up on? You're going to have to remind me of names you want me to be looking out for." Rhode was trying to think if she had missed anything, looking at her webbed fingers, counting off in her mind as she meandered in Hub's sidewalks, eyeing street names, burger joints, bars, diners, traffic lights, gas stations, clubs, and grocery stores. Anything could be helpful for future reference. 

"Oh and a good hotel. If there is one in Hub."

Friday, September 1st
8:25-8:40AM
Downtown


Misji batted at the various bits of her attire, trying to brush off the wet mud and clay that covered her. She fussed more with Esiasch than herself though, running her fingers through his sopping fur to dislodge the pebbles and muck that had started to stick his fur together in clumps. If he matted she’d need to find a brush, and she wasn’t even sure if she could.


The Rat snuffed at her, his back feet holding onto the black, mucky fabric covering her belly while the rest of him curled around her right shoulder so that he could cling there and glare menacingly at whatever was behind them. He would curl a lip at anything that moved, showing off his jagged, nasty teeth.


He liked the melancholy air that clung to the metal towers and rock below their feet, but that didn’t mean he trusted its citizens.

”You don’t talk to anybody. You hear me?”

The Witch girl paused from brushing him through with her fingers and scoffed, pouting a bit and tilting her head towards him so its weight would smush him between her shoulder and cheek. He let out a soft squeal of protest and she straightened. Satisfied she had showed him who was boss. Even if he really was much better at being in charge than she was.


“I’ll talk to whomever I please thank you very much”


Esiasch grumbled and clung to her a bit tighter, sneering at the side of her head, she couldn’t see him so he could get away with it. She could be stubborn, it was one of the traits that redeemed her in his eyes; but when it was focused at him he just had to shake his head.

”Suit yourself, you’ll regret it though. We know nothing about this place. It could be dangerous, maybe they still burn witches here”

“Oh—How barbaric!”


Misji stuck out her tongue and crinkled her nose at the notion, before mud got on her tongue and she was sputtering and spitting out the sour dirt. All the while her booted feet had been ambling from the side walk to the darker pavement of the street; she was attracted to the yellow lines at the center of it.


Her familiar chuckled at her sputtering, he cast her a affectionate sideways glance before returning to his vigil of watching her back.


The Witch girl began to follow the yellow dotted traffic lines, putting one boot on down before hoping to the next line with the other. Maybe these lead somewhere, she wasn’t certain but they must have a purpose and the only fit thing she saw to do was try to discover what that was.


She was going to like this city, there was so much she didn’t know yet.

Friday September 1st
8:11-8:12am Pacific Time
Gotham City- Oracle’s Nest

Oracle rolled her eyes. “Ooh Sorry. I must have confused you with the town, with the exact same name.” She smirked to herself. She could give as good as she could get; call her early in the morning all snippy would you… “Hang on.” She took another sip of her coffee and wheeled up closer to her desk. “Alright; you’re in Hub. Well nice to know you made it in one piece. I know the public transit system can be difficult to manage.” Okay maybe that was a little out of line, but she deserved some slack it was still early, particularly for a Bat-clan member.

Another sip of coffee and a deep breath and Barbara was ready to be civil. “Okay, lemme here… League files indicate Dr. Occult’s Offices are at… 1234 Cherry Grove Lane;” She had to double check that to make sure it was the right address; she even looked up the road side map on Google Earth. “Huh, wizards… Looks like that’s Downtown. Where are you now? I can give you directions.” She took a sip of coffee; offhandedly checking up some of her routine surveillance programs as she waited; looked like Joker was still in bed.

---

Friday September 1st
7:11-7:45am Local Time
Uptown- The Barracuda Club

Did that hooker have webbed fingers? Johnny blinked. Either people were into some really weird things these days, or he needed to cut down on the peyote, and considering that he couldn’t remember having any peyote today he put his chips on the perverts and shrugged. To each their own, she wasn’t getting into his club anymore though. He grinned. His club. He always loved that.

The Barracuda popped in past the front doors, actually locking them up behind him. No sense in letting the rabble in before his bouncer got there; although Johnny was of course armed himself. He started with a cocktail. He had the key to the bar; it was his bar after all. He smiled again. Then he turned on the lights, took the tables off chairs, dusted down the bar; technically none of that was his job. He was the owner, his job was to own. But what was the point of owning a club if you couldn’t rhythmically drag a dry rag in a slow circle around a clean bar-counter every once in a while?

---

Friday, September 1st
8:15-8:45AM
Downtown-Hub City Streets

Okay; this was a little embarrassing. She had spent her whole life in Hub City, her whole life on these streets; and now she was lost. In her defense the street sighs were simply impossible to read. She’d actually found one street corner where someone had actually stolen the street sign! Could you imagine? Stealing a street sign; the city certainly wasn’t what it used to be that was for sure.

Okay; maybe her eyesight wasn’t what it had been twenty years ago either. Personally she called it about 90:10, maybe 85:15. Still; her cookies were getting cold. Oh shucks, they were probably already cold. Well maybe the church would have an oven… at the park, the park that she’s supposed to be at in fifteen minutes.

Okay; maybe it was time to swallow her pride and ask directions… In Hub City. As a sixty-year old woman with a plate of two hundred cookies in her backseat… Nope that wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t going to be ridiculed by the same hooligans who had probably stolen the street signs in the first place and made dirty little girls walk around in the middle of the street wearing muddy fur-boas… Wait what? She hadn’t turned down that one street had she? That was all the way on the other side of town.

Mabel Smith slowed her car down to match the trot of the filthy little beggar child walking down the street the same direction she was driving. “E-excuse me, Missy? But would you happen to know the rout to Digger's Field? I’m supposed to be meeting my church group there.”

---

Friday September 1st
9:19-9:30am Local Time
Downtown— Ham For Your Thoughts? Delicatessen

The jingly bell above the front door only rang once, despite the fact that two people entered. The first; Erik ‘Marlin’ Salazar, yawned into his hand as he crossed the threshold into the shop shifting his hand into a half-hearted wave before swinging down into a seat at one of the mini-tables near the door. “Hey Dave; first of the month and you know what that means; time to pay up the regular sum, $250 for one month’s protection. Can I get a sandwich too? I missed breakfast. Something toasted if you could; you guys do that here right?”

The second to enter was Alicia ‘Angelfish’ Didrikson. She just held the door open for her ‘boss’ the young Mr. Salazar and then took a seat across from him, slinging one arm back over the rear of the chair as Marley messed with his phone; texting the third member of his party with the info to meet up at the Deli.

Friday September 1st
7:11-7:12am Local Time
Downtown

Unsure if it was sarcasm or not, she instinctively nodded her head at the public transit system being difficult to manage. Rhode was never sure of what stop she was at because the announcer was muffled, there was gum under the seats, the other passengers were difficult to deal with if she ever had to, and the whole concept of the bus was new to her in general. Why was she on this mental tangent? She supposed she was trying to give Oracle the benefit of the doubt though she really didn't want to. Oracle was a tool. Treat her like one. 

"I'm between 142nd and Rivers. About a block from this large club called Barracuda."

Rivers? Barracuda Club? This was starting to feel like home. If home was a rat infested waste land riddled with murders and prostitutes; at least the establishments and roads—another thing Rhode was getting use to—were all named after sea or water related elements. Maybe there was a large lake nearby which could explain the moisture in the air. Then again, it could be the sewers and lack of an 8:00 sun she wasn't getting.

Friday September 1st
9:32-9:40am Local Time
Downtown— Ham For Your Thoughts? Delicatessen

Ding

The bell brought Casey back to the real world, he had been lost in thought as he scrubbed the dishes. Drying his hands on his apron, he snatched up the order ticket and peered out through the small service window to see who the patron was. The corners of his mouth turned downwards upon seeing who the customers were. During his 4 months of working for Dave and Rita, he had seen these people only a few times, but that didn't mean he didn't know who they were. It was never a good sign whenever they entered this humble deli. Knowing full well not to keep them waiting, Casey stepped over to the grill and began to cook.

Quickly tossing two slices of sourdough into the toaster, he spooned a good amount of butter onto the grill and it rapidly melted. An egg in each hand he cracked them on the edge of the grill and poured the contents on the pool of butter. They immediately began to sizzle, the two yolks melding together, the egg whites bubbling and popping. While the egg fried, Casey pulled a thick ham slice out of the refrigerator and slapped it onto the grill along with the eggs. Spatula in hand, he gave the eggs a flip, the underside already nice and golden, and then prodded the ham around to heat it up. After a few minutes of flipping, pressing and frying, Casey pulled out the toast and piled on the eggs and ham, adding a slice of cheese on top, just the way Rita showed him, before wrapping it up in a clean white paper and stuck a tooth pick through the top. "Order up."

Ding

Friday, September 1st
8:45-8:50AM-Local Time
Downtown- Hub City Streets


Misji had been absent mindedly following the little yellow lines. She would jump and freeze up every time one of the various colored metal boxes drove by, as they were frightening, but not many of them seemed to be around. That is until one pulled up to her.


Esiasch scowled, hackles raising as he eyed the car and it’s occupant. But when the Witch Girl perked up, dirty face breaking out into a big grin, he seemed to calm and go back to simply clinging to her shoulder.


Misji leaned down a bit to look into the window at Mable; she seemed a bit wary of the car and of the old woman. As a matter of fact, the witch girl looked down right startled to see someone so old. But upon hearing the woman ask for directions the initial shock was easily overridden by the desire to help.


“Oh Ma’am. I am afraid I don’t know. Apologies!”


Misji placed her fingers on the ledge of the car window, feeling the rubber and metal between her fingers as she cast a sheepish smile towards the elderly lady.


“But I would surely feel bad not assisting you in some way. Though I do not know this Digger’s Field, is there naught I can do to help you? Perhaps I might assist you in looking if you were to tell me what it is I was looking for?”




Misji gave her familiar a hard nudge with her chin as she maintained her cheery grin. The urge to see inside the car overpowered any manners she might have been trying to utilize. Misji practically stuck her head into the car to try and speak to Mabel, eyes darting about as she looked within.

Friday September 1st
8:00-8:02am Local Time
Downtown- Cogen Residence

Saul was slightly startled by his daughter’s impromptu hug, but it put a smile on his face regardless and the world-weary man laid his hand atop Darcy’s head, patting her softly before stepping out of the embrace. “Good morning Darie, you’re up early.” He stepped around his daughter heading for the refrigerator, cracking it open before grimacing into the frosty container, distressed by its emptiness. He closed it and checked the wall clock for the time, just past eight. “What’d you say we go out for breakfast? I mean, if you don’t have plans.” He forced a heartfelt smile, and looked for his wallet. He’d have enough money for a breakfast out with his daughter, right?

---

Friday September 1st
8:11-8:12am Pacific Time
Gotham City- Oracle’s Nest

Barbara’s keyboard rattled as she plugged in the streets. “142nd and Rivers.” She sipped her coffee as she waited for her map of the city to render. Stupid cloud cover kept her satellites from getting a good look; okay technically they weren’t hers but she was using them; either way she was forced to third party maps. “Looks like you’ll want to take Rivers, that’ll pretty much take you straight down to downtown. If you pass 18th street you’ve gone too far. You’ll want to turn down 25th street, right if you’re coming from where you’re at. Occult’s place is a big redbrick building, about five stories from the looks of it.” She clicked and the ‘street view’ turned around to look around the corner Occult’s office sat on. “It’ll be on the corner of 25th and Possum.” They named a street Possum street?

---

Friday September 1st
9:32-9:45am Local Time
Downtown— Ham For Your Thoughts? Delicatessen

“Yeah, no problem—“ Marley covered his mouth as a yawn interrupted his sentence. “Take your time man, just ya’know; pay up or we burn the place down.” The young gangster leaned back in his chair setting it up on two legs as he put his feet up on the table in front of him and pulled his phone into his lap, clicking away at it as he busied himself texting the third member of his team. He seemed rather bored with the whole thing; of course this was just the first stop on a long line of businesses they had to extort before the day was over. He’d feel better after he’d eaten.


“You want anything?” Erik looked up to Anglia as she leaned back against the wall behind him. She shook her head. “Alright.” He pocketed his phone and set his hand behind his head, rocking back and forth on the chair’s two legs until he nearly fell. Anglia lifted one leg to catch the back of his chair with her knee & thigh. Erik decided to keep all four on the ground afterward. “Hey, do you guys sell sodas here?”

“Yeah, we’ve got Pepsi-brans in the cooler.” Dan, already removing money from the register, nodded his head toward the drink-cooling display on the side of the store. “You planning on paying for any of this?”

“No not really.” Marley’s response was greeted with a disapproving but resigned huff from the deli owner, even as the mob-son removed a lemon-lime soda from the case popping it open and downing a good third moments after obtaining it. He gave a relieved sigh and returned to his seat.

Ding

The son of the Swordfish looked up as just as he was raising his drink to his lips a second time the chime above the door sounded. He expected to see his third team member, however rather than the plain rather short Stingray, what greeted him was the King Crab Tony Dechinko. “Hey I know you, Doc’s kid right? Marlin.” The brawny man smiled.

“Uh, yeah.” Erik sipped his soda. “You’re Tony right? One of the big bosses, I’ve seen you around. Shouldn’t you be at the club?”

“Eh, I missed breakfast and this place has the best jalapeno and ham subs in the city; besides Johnny’s place doesn’t really get hopping till after noon anyway.” Dechinko walked up to the counter, easily peering over the Plexiglas barrier separating customers and cooks. “’ey fweet service.” He laid a hand on the counter and scanned the building for the owner, it didn’t take him ten seconds to find him. “Hey man, can I get a ham & jalapeno sub with like, lettuce and spicy cheese and bell peppers, and maybe some of those little green peppers you normally get with pizzas? On whatever kind of bread you got fresh.”

“You gonna pay for yours or be like the kid and figure you should get it for free?” Then owner asked grudgingly, scribbling the order down on a piece of notepad.

“Free.” Tony simple smirked. “It is the first of the month after all. That’s not going to be a problem is it?” And then suddenly the large man’s lighthearted tone shifted into something decidedly heavier. He leaned himself back and laid a set of brass knuckles on the counter.

“No, of course not.” The owner answered rancorously, grinding his teeth as he headed into the back, both to hand off the new order and retrieve the previous one. “I fuckin’ hate the first of the month.” He growled bitterly beneath his breath.

The King Crab smile and replaced the knuckles to his backpocket. “What’re you talking about? I love the first of the month. It’s like Christmas except without having to pretend you don’t hate your family in order to get the free stuff.” He turned his back to the deli-workers, leaning himself up against the counter to face his comrades. “Hey, you kid hit that bakery uptown yet?”

Erik looked up as he was addressed; even if it was as ‘kid.’ “Nawh, we’re just getting started, this is the first place. Why?” The owner walked around and hand-delivered his sandwich, along with a wad of twenties, Erik set the money on the table and started eating with a gluttonous mouthful. He was hungry.

“They’ve had this cake in their front window for the past couple of days. It’s been haunting me. If I don’t get a slice before it’s gone I’m gonna be regretting it for weeks.”

“Jalapenos and cake before ten in the morning? What’s your stomach made out of?” Alicia actually spoke up, still ceremonially placed against the wall, just next to the front door. Not behind it mind you, if someone busted in she wanted to be able to get to them without having to go through the, probably reinforced, front door of the delicatessen.

Tony just laughed, grandly and deeply. “Hey this ain’t nothing. Back when I was your age I could eat cake and cake for breakfast and chase it down with a bottle of bourbon and a case of beer.” He sighed contently, sitting back on the edge of the deli-counter beside the cash register. “Can’t do that anymore though…” It was the wear of age.

---

Friday September 1st
7:00-8:00am Local Time
Uptown- Hotel Room of “Patty Parker”

Catalina munched on a stick of beef jerky from the mini-bar. It was overpriced and probably not a very good breakfast, but hey she had to eat something she was pushing sixteen hours without sleep. Surveillance was always a pain in the ass, even when she was cop she hated pulling the short straw and getting stuck in a surveillance van with three smelly guys and half a techno-nerd’s wet dream worth of gadgetry, all of which; if memory served, seemed to have the singular purpose of making the back of the van as hot as mechanically possible.

Granted the accommodations were better now that she was on her own. It wasn’t a four star room, but she’d yet to see one cockroach bigger than a .45 the minibar was well stocked, or at least it had been before she’d started eating everything, and the staff didn’t ask questions when a single woman in her thirties checked in with more than her weights worth of luggage. Though to be fair she had tried to play up the ‘call girl’ role; no one really asked questions of hookers in Hub, everyone knew whose protection they were under.

Plus the concierge had been most helpful in putting her in contact with someone to ‘get her what she needed.’ He had no doubt expected drugs, or maybe—apparatuses, given that most of her bags did make metal clinking noises when shifted, but it turned out he was equally helpful in getting her a long distance wind-monitoring laser. Not exactly an easy to come by item even among those who could get their hands on military grade gear.

It would come in handy encase she needed to shoot someone. Say someone across the street, with big teeth; someone named Johnny Barracuda. Okay; she wasn’t actually here to shoot anyone. The Barracuda club was one of the biggest mob, well, hubs, in Hub City and she liked having it under surveillance, but if the opportunity to, say; shoot Steven Mandragora in the head, were to present itself she wasn’t going to pass it up just because there were no good wind monitors anywhere on the street bellow, Hub really needed some more trees, or at least some trees that actually had leaves on them.

She’d finished off the last of the jerky. Sooner or later Tarantula would actually have to get some food, but she’d gotten comfortable; seated on her rear between the hotel bed and the street-facing windows, a rather small, for her anyway, barreled rifle set up across the night stand, which she’d pushed up against the window, and the window ceil, with just the tip sticking out past the glass. The radiator was at her feet, which meant that she didn’t have to endure the cold coming from outside despite the crack in the window for her rifle barrel, and she had view clear enough to see the webbed fingers on the hooker Johnny was talking to. Everything was a fetish these days. She tried not to let it get to her.

Though when there was a knock at her door it did dawn on her that answering the door in her full uniform, minus her boots she’d taken them off to warm her feet at some point the previous night; might be just a little suspicious looking. She should probably also conceal the rifle pointed out the window, the shotgun two machine pistols ten inch and six inch knives on the bed as well as the crate of grenades next to the mortar in the corner.

She folded the top sheet from the bed up over her arsenal, grabbed one of her bags of actual clothing and threw it on top of the grenade crate in the corner, half-covering the mortar with some of her shirts, and then pulled on the hotel’s bathrobe before answering the door. She tried to make sure the fluffy white thing covered her entirely, tucking it in tight around her bust, wrapping it firmly around her hips, and pulling off her costume’s gloves with her teeth before finally peeking through the peep hole and answering the door to what appeared to be a delivery boy. “Hey.”

---

Friday September 1st
8:50-8:55am Local Time
Downtown- Hub City Streets

Mabel felt just awful, of course the filthy little street urchin didn’t know the park by name, why the poor thing probably couldn’t even read. Okay that was a little presumptive, but she did appear to be cuddling a rat—she supposed it was the street-equivalent of a puppy. “Oh, well. It’s a park, so you know… big open grass area, trees, I think there used to be a little playground on it, but it has been a while since I visited…” She tried to remember the last time she’d been to Digger’s Field. She couldn’t actually remembering having ever gone. How about that, lived in Hub all her life and never once visited the park?

Well it was a good thing the church was cleaning it up then wasn’t it? “My church group is supposed to be organizing a cleanup today. We bought flowers and trees, and I think little Jimmy is taking off work to help with the labor and such…” The old dame blinked a few times, trying to get her eyes to focus on the young girl. She looked positively blue, poor thing must be freezing to death out in the cold. “I-I say, you look cold dear. What say you hop in and help me find this park hmm? There’s a cookie in it for you, maybe even two.” It seemed the least she could do, give the kid a chance at some nice warm car heat, maybe give her something good to eat. Cookies were hardly a meal but who knew, Mrs. Sebastian might have something she could give the kid to snack on. She seemed like the over protective type to always carry snacks for her kid.

---

Friday September 1st
8:45-8:55am Local Time
Stern’s End- Digger’s Field Park-North End

A shovel broke the soil, though it was not without protest. The earth was cold and hard, and frankly not so much earth as it was densely compacted sand with the occasional plant root that he would swear had some kind of super-power; and not just because it managed to grow in Digger’s Field, they were also really difficult to cut with a shovel. “Damnit!” Jeffery cursed, he’d hit his foot again. It hurt.

“You okay?” Mr. McKnight laid down his own shovel to step over to check the boy. It didn’t look like he’d broken the shoe.

“Yeah.” Jeffry was balancing on one foot, massaging his toes through his boot. “But I’m gonna lose a toe if this keeps up, that the third time in an hour.”

“You should’ve worn steel-toed boots.” Jeremy swung the pickaxe, pick side down, into the compacted top-soil, breaking it up quite nicely, despite the objections of the local plants’ root systems.

“I don’t own steel-toed boots.” Jeffery gripped, putting his weight back on his ‘injured’ foot, testing his toes out lightly. They seemed fine, but he’d swear there was going to be a bruise tomorrow.

“Well then you should buy a pair.” Jeremy braced his, steel-toed, boot up near the head of the pickaxe and pulled as hard as he could, ripping up a good section of earth alongside a tangled mess of dead, or at least brown, roots.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jeffery rolled his eyes. “Is there another pickaxe? These shovels are worthless.”

“I bought three.” Mr. McKnight set his weight on his own shovel pulling up a nice wedge of clay. “So—” He did a quick survey of the group; Jeremy, Jeffery and himself were out here digging up the old weeds to make room for the plants they were putting in, Ted, Kendrick and Alex were over digging holes for the new trees he’d bought, and the girls were busy planting the flower bed. He didn’t see Sebastian or his mother. “—looks like there should be a couple left; they should be in the back of Jerry’s truck.”

“Right.” Jeffery, stabbed his shovel into the earth and made a bee line for the pickup Jeremy had generously volunteered to carry the plants and equipment Mr. McKnight was paying for. His shovel didn’t go in a full inch and promptly fell over as soon as he let go of it.

---

Friday September 1st
8:45-8:55am Local Time
Stern’s End-Digger’s Field Park- South End

Three men, boys really, not one of them could’ve been out of his twenties, were lounging about the park, one; spiked hair with the tips dyed bright green, a nose ring to put a bull to shame, and a brown paper bag that wasn’t fooling anyone regarding its contents was lounging about in one of the old stone benches smoking a joint. His associates, a rather scraggly looking youth in a green t-shirt that nearly reached his knees, and a third boy who’s fashion choices wavered somewhere between ‘urban youth’ and ‘I live in a trailer with my grandmother’ were passing one both the bottle and the marijuana cigarette back and forth from one another while regaling themselves with stories of the English class they’d probably only ever been to a total of five times, cumulatively.

“Sinners!” Sebastian threw his arms out to either side, fluttering his prayer shawl dramatically. The three stoners stared. “Consume not that which dulls the sense and bleaks the mind; for if you not know the savior when he stands before you, then truly you are a soul worthy of pity.” The self-proclaimed saint approached them, arms still spread.

“Kay…” The one in the green shirt managed while the other two stared.

“Yeah, we’ll keep that in mind.” The one with the spiked hair took the joint from the one in the wife-beater and sat up, taking a long and deliberate drag, before blowing the smoke up toward Sebastian’s face. It didn’t reach him, but the intent was clear. “You can go back to the crazy house.” Sebastian frowned.

“Do you not care for the preservation of your immortal soul?” The pale child lowered his arms and looked at them as if they’d just said they hated baby animals and had supported Sarah Palin.

“Nawh, not really man.” The one in the wife-beater took the brown paper bag from the green t-shirt.

“I see…” Sebastian frowned harder. “Then you are truly lost, and must be saved.” He smirked.

There was a blunt clang and the one with spiked hair fell forward off the bench. The back of his head was bloody. Mrs. Blood was standing behind the bench with a freshly bloodied shovel. “What the f*ck dude?!” Green T-shirt proclaimed just as Sebastian set himself upon wife-beater, there was a damp crunch and he saw the albino-child’s teeth go into his friend’s neck before he just took off running. He didn’t look back.

“Eat up honey; you’ve got a big day ahead of you and you’ll need your strength.” Susana Blood smiled, as she watched her adopted son drain the life from two young pot-heads. “We’ll bury the bodies when you’re done.”

Friday September 1st
7:12-9:17am Local Time
Uptown

Rhode nodded, of course Oracle couldn't see her... Well maybe with her technology she could, but Rhode never knew. She felt that Oracle was her personal eye in the sky. That was beside the point, "Acknowledged, Oracle." Rhode told her, eyes darting around the streets. "I'll call you again if anything happens. Rhode out." She felt good as put her phone in her pants pocket and pocketed her hands into her coat pockets to hide her hands, and walked down River Street. 

Looking at all the street signs, making sure she wouldn't miss her mark, Rhode wandered down the empty streets, several citizens were out; she wondered what they thought of her. Maybe she was dressed too nicely for the likes of Hub City, maybe they thought she was some famous person walking down their streets. She wondered what some of their sneers meant. Looking down at the time, Rhode realized it was far too early for a mugging. It had been over thirty minutes since she arrived in Hub City. Figuring that Gotham couldn't be the only city that would hold up to  its reputation of crime in the streets, night time would be a better option to try this experiment. She would have to do this again after she found a hotel to stay at. 

Damn. 

She had forgotten to get that information from Oracle. Maybe this Doctor knew a good place to stay at. Rhode couldn't help but picture Occult in her mind; wise elderly man with a long silver beard, a sash, long Chinese robes, and a shaven head. His office would be decorated with magic books, charms, and the aroma would masked by incense. A smile crept up at the thought of it, she never really learned an extensive amount of magic in Atlantis, and to get tutored by a prestigious Earthly magic would be exciting. 

It seemed as of every street had a different smell, and each smell held its own unique personality. There would be the stench of liquor, heavy. She would know. Her suit generates the moisture in the air and into her body, if there was too much alcohol in the air, she could tell the difference. Rhode has an acute sense of balance, not only the type of balance when walking on a high wire, but physiological balance as well. She not only smells the alcohol, she tastes it. And it tasted horrible.

---

Friday September 1st
9:19-9:41am Local Time 
Stern's End Slum- Fox's Residence

Azalea was let into her boyfriend's apartment. It was musty, the air was thick and she was tempted to cough. She went over to the nearest window and cracked it open. 

"I'm sorry, I'm more use to the smell than you are I suppose." Arthur said. He just said things, it was never as if he actually had any concern in his voice. His British accent made up for it in Azalea's mind though, and that's all she could manage from him. He's been acting strange. "Yeah it's alright Arty. Had breakfast I see? Where's your mom?" Azalea inquired. 

"She left not twenty minutes ago, you want me to fix you something?" He asked. 

"Sure, if you can. I won't mind." Azalea said walking around and sitting at the kitchen table. He was dressed nicely, he always was. But the only thing that caught her attention was a journal, closed on a counter. She moved over to it, and opened it up, flipping through the pages.

Arthur Fox wrote:
Arthur Fox's Journal
August 26, 2012

Death in the alley in Paradise Lane, someone is picking off hookers. No one will miss her. Can't say it couldn't happen to anyone better. Walking in these streets makes me sick, my stomach literally can't hold it all in. Retribution has been long overdue. Soon. 

August 29, 2012

Azalea came over today, we've been planning together to run these streets and the cleansing of these lost souls. Couldn't have done this without her. I witness a mugging on Possum Street and do nothing. By the time I'm done with Downtown, criminals will think twice before stabbing for a cell phone. They will think long and hard, and of they make the wrong choice they will no longer have hands to steal with. 

September 1, 2012

Another death in Paradise Lane, beginning to worry about my mother. She is no hooker, as far as I know, but she works in that district. I

The book closed on its own, Azalea looked up. "Arthur what the hell is this?" She asked, he fists placed above her hips. 

"That's strictly personal."
"Arthur, you have to let me read this."
"No."
"How do I know you're not going crazy?"
"Azalea, you know I'm not crazy."
"No I don't. Why do you think I came here?"
"Because you're lovely, and-"
"Because I'm worried about you. Your mental health!"
"Again, you know my mental state of mind is stronger than that. Now listen, puppet, just calm down alright? We'll talk about my journals later. I promise. Tonight is a big night. First of the month."

Azalea crossed her arms as Arthur set a plate in front of her, it was a cold cut sandwich with toasted buns, thin slice of tomato, lettuce, hold the mayo. He knew her inside out. 

"Alright. Later."

---

Friday September 1st
9:40-9:43
Downtown- Offices of Richard Occult, Private Investigator

Knocking on the door to the Private Eye, Rhode was confused. She thought he was a specialist in the art of magic, and she was sure she had the right place. She followed Oracle's instructions to the letter. No one was answering, Rhode was getting impatient. She knocked again and began to wait for just a little bit longer before she opened the door to let herself in. 

That taste of alcohol in the air? It was stronger than ever in the closed area of the office. The place was a mess, she was wondering of she was looking for a different Occult. The first thing she notices was a drunk sleeping on a sofa. "Excuse me." she said to him not even wanting to approach him. He was too deep in sleep. "Excuse me! Do you know when Dr. Occult will return?" she screamed at him. Still nothing. She held her nose as she advanced on the drunk. She began nudging him with her foot in an attempt to wake him. 

[I deleted my prior post due to not noticing several details in TDG's prior post. Instead of revising it and leaving it in the middle of the page, I figured I'd just start again]

~8
Leaving cogen residence

Travis had left a note on the door of the Cogens- he had other deliveries and places to be, he'd just attempt the delivery later. He thoought for a moment he'd heard someone call out for him, but he turned around and didn't see anybody headed in his direction, so he figured he'd best get on the ball- his next delivery was some silencers to a Patty something or other...

8:05
Catalina's hotel room

Still gasping for air like a fish out of water, Travis had bolted for the hotel like a cheetah on speed- again, he had no intention of running late and tarnishing his good record. He took a quick breath, gained his composure, and knocked on the door. He quickly picked out the delivery from the bundle of boxes he had tucked under his arm, and waited patiently until she answered.

He was, of course, a little surprised when whom he assumed to be his customer was clad in, as far as he could tell, just a bathrobe, but teenage minds and all that. He quickly put on his business face and pointed the box at her- it contained silencers, some of his more popular pieces of work. "Hello. Take it this is yours, ma'am?" He inquired. As he waited for a reply, he couldn't help but clance inside at all of the mess- he'd been around the block in this city once or twice and recognized distinctive shapes and boxes, but he knew to just keep his mouth shut. Besides, he'd done the same thing once or twice in his time when unexpected guests- or the cops- should show up.

9:20
streets uptown

It hadn't been the most exciting city recently- once or twice, William wondered if he should take that old bounty hunter's advice and move on to a city with more excitement- before him and Travis moved into their current residence, the place was rented out by some bigshot in a suit of armor and his daughter, said he was headed to Gotham city or something like that. Apparently, the freaks there all had wacky gimmicks and made the competition all the more interesting. Maybe some day he'd get the money to scoot out to Bludhaven or follow to Gotham.

But he was here now, another decisiuon for another time. As he took his leisure down the streets, he couldn't help but notice a... unique person. Between the webbed fingers and the big gauntlet thing, he couldn't help but take a second look. She had a look on her face like she was standing downwind of a sumo bath-house, so naturally his curiosity was piqued, until he came to the decision that she'd probably notice him so he figured on just at least saying something. "Ain't seen you around here. New talent?" He asked. He figured she could either be one of those religion nuckleheads or the church psychos- or a local bargirl- so he figured on scoping on the competition if nothing else...

Friday September 1st
8:55-8:58am Local Time
Downtown- Hub City Streets


Playground? Park? Those were unfamiliar things but she caught the word play; and that was something she knew. She perked up a bit, interested in this Digger’s Field. Especially if finding it might help this kindly older lady, she looked like she might drift away if the wind blew too hard.


“Madam, I would love to go with you to assist in finding—Did you say cookie?”


Misji’s eye grew wide, she practically leaned her entire upper torso into the care. If she had been determined to help little ol’ Mabel before, she was downright salivating to do it now. The witch girl pulled herself out of the window, still clutching onto the window rim as she eyed Esiasch.


The heft rat looked at her, his own excitement evident in the loud snuffling sound he was making. His whiskers twitching as he regarded Mabel again before letting out a sigh.




With that confirmation, the witch child yipped and nodded down at Mabel with barely contained excitement .


“What are we waiting for? Madam! Let us seek out this Digger’s Field!”

Friday September 1st
8:10-8:11am Local Time
Downtown- Cogen Residence

Saul put an arm over his daughter’s shoulder while she still stood in their doorway, hanging is hand over one shoulder while smiling to her over the other. “Who was it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, snatching the adhesive note off the door and scanning it. Was he waiting for a package? Maybe, it was hard to keep track of these things; then again, maybe it was Darcy’s. If it was he instantly decided he didn’t want to know what she would be ordering from; wherever you ordered the sort of things he didn’t want to know about and crumped the note in his fist, throwing it over his own shoulder back into the apartment.

“Ah well, doesn’t matter. Where did you wanna have breakfast? We can have anythin’ you want.” As long as it wasn’t too expensive.

---

Friday September 1st
8:05-8:06am Local Time
Uptown- Hotel Room of “Patty Parker”

Catalina tilted her head to look down at the package, looked about the a little small to be the long distance wind-monitoring laser, they were normally just tech-heavy boxes anyway, though these days it seemed like everything techy was shrinking faster than Ray Palmer. “Ah, yeah. Thanks.” She took the package and turned her back, kicking the door to let it swing closed, or at least mostly closed, behind her. Her fingers were already digging into the brown paper of the anonymous box when it dawned on her. “’ey niño; do I owe you for delivery?” She couldn’t remember if she’d paid upon order, of if the concierge had pocketed what was supposed to go to the craftsman.

---

Friday September 1st
8:58-9:00am Local Time
Downtown- Hub City Streets

The old woman beamed, smirking slightly beneath her heavy coke bottle glasses. “Why yes. I made a whole bunch, around eight dozen. I was going to give it to the kids helping clean up the park, but I don’t think they would mind sharing with a nice little girl like you.” She grinned, nodding to herself, the kids from Church were good kids, some of them a little, frustrated, but all of them good and besides, who could object to giving a couple of cookies to a poor little orphaned beggar child and her only friend in the world—a rat.

“Well hop on in deary, between the two of us we’re sure to find it!” The creaky old woman leaned over the passenger’s seat, prying at the door handle before it finally popped free and the passenger’s door cracked open. She stayed leaned over reaching into the back seat with both hands to carefully pick up a plate of nearly two dozen oatmeal and macadamia cookies, clear plastic wrap draped over them to keep them fresh. The cookies were already cold, but hey; they were still cookies. “You can have this plate here.” She set the plate in the passenger’s seat. “An’ feel free to have as many as you like.” Mabel felt good, giving the poor little abused orphaned unwashed beggar child something decent to eat, even if that was just cookies.

---

Friday September 1st
9:40-9:43
Downtown- Offices of Richard Occult, Private Investigator

Occult’s foot twitched as his door was opened, but he just turned his head to one side and clutched the empty bottle of bourbon in against his chest. He smacked his lips a little and rolled his free hand up over his face as footsteps padded through his building. Probably just Susan his secretary; she had that annoying habit of being around when he was passed out someplace. Then someone was talking, asking for Dr. Occult.

Richard rolled onto his side and muttered “mnotadoctorr” half asleep, hoping it would make whomever go away. Then something poked him. He swatted at it. It didn’t stop. He sat up and looked around, peering through haze-filled vision to behold a young redheaded woman, finely dressed and standing in his office smelling of the ocean. His first thought was that this was how noir detective films generally started. His second thought was spoken aloud while he rubbed the fuzz from his eyes. “Those things never end well for the detective.”

Friday September 1st
9:43-9:44
Downtown- Offices of Richard Occult, Private Investigator

Rhode coughed, the alcohol level in the air was astronomical, she was squinting. Was it thicker here? It had to have been. She was getting nowhere with the drunk, he was babbling nonsense. She figured she couldn't get any information from him, and if he did know anything, he probably won't be able to help in his drunken stupor. She was questioning the drunk subconsciously, why would this prestigious magic leave his office unlocked? Only for drunks without a cardboard box to shelter themselves in to trash the place.

She was looking around the office, looking at pictures. Faces, people who she didn't know or probably want to know. Then to her surprise there was the drunk, shaking hands with a man in a suit. Didn't know who it was, but she easily put two and two together. Somewhere in Gotham, the Oracle was laughing.

"I'm going to kill you, Oracle."

Friday September 1st
9:44-9:51am Local Time
Downtown— Ham For Your Thoughts?

Casey kicked the bathroom door shut behind him and hooked his apron back around his neck. As he tied it tight around his waist, he walked through the kitchen door and came face to face with Dave. He was holding another ticket order out to him. Caseys eye brows furrowed as he snatched it outta the old mans hand. "Those guys are bad dude's, Dave." he said, scanning the ticket. "Wish you would stand up to them. I could help you if you want..." He had not yet revealed to Dave and Rita that he had superpowers. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, he just didn't want to put them in danger. Though, if push comes to shove with the fellows in the other room, he had a feeling that he might have no choice.

Dave's silence was all Casey got. Sighing, he complied and turned to make the sandwich. "Aren't you gonna wash your hands?" Casey heard Dave ask. A sly grin spread across Casey's stubbled mug as he continued to layer the sandwich, spreading the restaurants secret sauce on top and handing it to Dave. "Better get it out there, not sure how much longer they'll wait till they start getting restless."

Friday September 1st

9:00-9:04AM Local Time

Downtown -Hub City Street


Misji hurriedly rushed around to the other side of the car, nearly smacking her head on the window fram as she pulled out from the driver’s side. Esiasch’s head bobbed up and down sporadically as the witch girl practically danced to the passenger’s side of the car.


The Croatoan paused only for a moment, gazing nervously into the car; it was strange and seemed potentially dangerous. But then the elderly woman put cookies down on the seat and the girl was scrambling in to get at the tasty treat. It was not common knowledge in the mortal veil, but every witch person knew the way to a Croatoan’s heart was through sweets.


Misji plucked the plate up gently, her rat already crawling up and around her shoulder so that his belly pressed into the back of her head. His tiny hands scrabbling at the plastic as his witch child gingerly sat down in the car seat. She sat rigidly, using one hand to poke at the car door before finding the handle and slowly closing it. She looked nervous, her eyes darting to Mabel, offering a wary smile before a dirty rat hand shoved a quarter of a cookie between her lips.


Misji made a stranger gargling noise before scarfing up the sweet baked good. Her eyes going wide before she turned to Mabel, hand reaching for a cookie around her ravenous familiar who had slid off her to sit on the plate. Mouth full she garbled out at Mabel.


“The’se are de’ishious!”


Crumbs flew out of her mouth, falling all over the front of her dress, her lap and Esiasch.

Friday September 1st
9:44-9:45
Downtown- Offices of Richard Occult, Private Investigator

Richard Occult rolled his feet to the floor, one hand up holding his head, putting pressure on an eye to relieve the throbbing pain behind it while his other hand searched for the liquor-store bag besides his feet. He found one of the fresh bottles of bourbon and brought it up to his lap. The Ghost Detective fought the cap of the liquor as he looked his uninvited guest over. She had said something about an Oracle; “Oracles, unhelpful bitches; can see the future, but do they ever try an’ do anythin’ about it?” Occult grumbled beneath his breath.

Red hair, pale skin, tall for a woman; kinda. She smelled like she bathed in salt water, her posture betrayed her military experience; very ridged. Add to that her slight accent and noticeable aura. “Atlantian am I right?” He finally managed to uncork his fresh bottle of liquor. “You want a drink? Your kinds gotta keep themselves wet right? You’ll have to be pretty thirsty; we’ve gotta be a good two hundred miles from the nearest ocean, an’ I wouldn’t swim in Hub waters if my ass was on fire.” He tossed back a healthy gulp of bourbon before offering it to the bottle to his guest.

---

Friday September 1st
8:10-8:11am Local Time
Downtown- Cogen Residence

“Anyplace you want kiddo.” Saul smirked slightly. “Just lemme make sure I’ve got everything and we’ll get going okay?” He patted his daughter on the shoulder and ducked back into the apartment. He had his wallet, fifty—fifty-six dollars, enough for a light breakfast for the two of them. He had his cellphone, half charge; enough for the day at least, he’d have to remember to plug it in whenever he got home, and he had his handgun, nine rounds, just encase things go out of hand; though he didn’t want to put his daughter in any more danger than he had to, in Hub, it was always better safe than sorry.

“Alright; all set. Let’s get going.” He smiled to Darcy.

---

Friday September 1st
9:51-9:54am Local Time
Downtown— Ham For Your Thoughts?

“So ‘ell me kid,” Tony cracked open the Deli’s drink-cooler and picked himself out an orange soda. He popped the cap with his bare hands and didn’t bother to even look like he was going to pay for it. “What all you got planned for the day? I’m headin’ over to the club after I grab some cake and junk, you gonna come hang?”

Erik “Marlin” Salazar shrugged from his seat at the table. “I don’t know, depends on how much trouble the locals give us; there’s been a couple of places that, if I remember right, have been giving us a little trouble, had to give out extensions and what-not.”

“Damn, you give out extensions when you’re collecting protection money? Where’d you learn to be a mobster?” Tony chugged back a good third of his soda. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an orange-drink.

“I didn’t learn to be a mobster.” Erik was quick to retort. “But if you burn down the business on the first missed payment, then it’s not like you’re going to come back and get money from then later. Only real reason to strike out is to make sure people know you will; people here know the drill well enough we don’t have to bloody things up at the first sight of trouble.” He was smarter than he looked, not that anyone in the organization would give him the time of day.

Tony looked impressed at least; as he finished off his soda, and then took another as if that’s what they were there for. “Huh, never thought of it like that. I normally just broke whomever’s knees whenever they gave me any trouble.”

Alicia smirked at that. “That’s what I’m here for.” She grinned pointing back to herself with her thumb.

“Oh yeah?” Tony smirked to the young girl. “Think you’re a little toughie huh?” He took a few steps toward the wall Alicia leaned against, and propped on arm up against it himself; leaning over her. “How about you and me go a few rounds sometime?” He popped the cap on his fresh drink with his teeth.

“Think you can take me, big boy?” Alicia smirked back to him, and then pointed her tazer at his crotch. “I’d like to see you try.”

Whatever Tony had to say in retort, was barred by the jingling of the deli doorway as the third member of Marley’s team entered, Karen “Stingray” Stevenson. “Hey, you two ready to do this?”

---

Friday September 1st
9:00-9:05am Local Time
Downtown- Hub City Streets

“Buckle your seatbelt dearie.” Mabel said with a smile as Misji figured out how to close her car door, though without waiting for the soiled little girl to actually do as instructed she pressed her foot down on the accelerator and drove down the block.

The old woman beamed over to the young girl; between glances at the street, she was trying not to run people over after all. “Glad you like them love; I used oatmeal and macadamia nuts, so I hope you don’t have any nut allergies.” She didn’t really expect the beggar girl to have any allergies. She expected beggar children with allergies would tend to die; also those with diabetes and other things which would make eating food a luxury. She did smile as the young girl; and her rat, seemed to be enjoying the baked goods though.

“Now,” Mabel turned her attention back to the street in front of her. “We’re looking for a large green—well, maybe brownish park, so keep your eyes open for trees and grass and that sort of stuff…” assuming there was actually any of those things in Digger’s Field. “Oh, and the rest of my church group should be there; so if you see a bunch of delightful young people cleaning up the area, that will likely be them… oh you’ll just love the Church group, you know our pastor; Saint Sebastian, he’s not much order than you I don’t think.” She nodded to herself, leaning over her steering wheel to try and see what the street signs said. “Oh but he’s just the most darling of things; does that say Jackson or Stanley Avenue?”