April Yang and Dick Grayson share deep-rooted connections to Gotham, even if they prefer not to give them much thought and keep their emotions to themselves. When Dick turns up in Devon City, where April works towards becoming a surgeon, she inevita...
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You can do this, April. You can do this, just focus on walking straight and keeping the gun up. That's not Fiona's gun, that's my gun. Oh, hell, why'd I bring my gun here? Now Fiona's gonna know I have it. I better hide it... No, definitely not. Heard a creak. Why does it feel so weird to hold it? Jesus, I really should check on it more often, I don't even know if it'll work... Hey, that's something I recognize! Syringes, scalpels, saws, plastic bags— saws. What'd they need saws for? Surely not to... Actually I'm not going to pursue that, I'll keep walking. One step two steps three steps, shit! Cool, cool, that was just me in the reflection, what a save. No, not a save, I look like a wet weasel. Maybe not a weasel, I could pass as a wet sloth. Now, where were we... Ah, yeah, the blood on the walls. Fantastic. More stairs, great. Good cardio, not that I need any of it with running around the hospital like a maniac. Also, whilst we're on the subject, I'll probably get suspended after exceeding the lunch brake time by an hour. For now. If I get stabbed it may be more. Cool, cool, cool... coolio... coolers. No. Stop. Please. Go back to the serious topic, April. Oof, great, now I sounded like my father. Maybe like mom, too... Oh, fuck, an empty room with a sizeable chest in the middle. Wonder what that could be,
Comforted by conversations with herself, April could've been possibly prepared for what she was about to discover on the inside. Not only did the people leave the building behind looking horrifyingly gruesome, but also this. A chest that's size could've contained an average human body. As April's whole body tensed with lifting the lid and she prayed she wouldn't drop it on her fingers in the nearing future, she was forced by her instincts to quickly withdraw, letting the lid slap back shut and the thud being sent across the entire street.
She knew it was a bad place to stay. Even more so to stay in one place, but for now her safety didn't matter. What mattered were the body parts carefully stacked in the chest as to make the most out of its space. Some already being eaten by larvas, some still sipping not even a day old blood. There was no screaming on April's part—it was possible she even forgot how to do so. She shivered, she stared, stilled, mumbled, but not shrieked.
Where was the gun now? She also didn't know. She forgot it even existed in the first place.
"We call it the mystery box," someone from behind her said, and with each word April felt that someone was getting closer. "Gimbo switches what's inside every Tuesday, it's a really important event." The man's arm, which he'd have to fully extend in order to even reach April's elbows, he now placed eerily on top of her collar bone, the sensation only describable as a snake making its way around a victim's throat. "How do you feel about becoming the star of this week's mystery box, huh?"
Run.
Run.
And run she did, or at least managed to for a split second. April's momentum was cut short by the big man's strike, and she fell onto the wobbly wooden planks like she was a child's doll.
