𝖂𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖞𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖘 : JEROME VALESKA

" Ⓐ "

As she climbs the forty-ninth staircase of the Monico, Rose Carter regrets nothing more than implementing one of America's best security systems on her tower. Aside from maybe making it so tall. Still, her security codes and fingerprint access remains valid so at least whatever knucklehead at the top hasn't remembered to change those yet.

From what she's seen so far, the GCPD is keeping a lid on her crimes. By some luck, possibly due to a lack of evidence, the city has no clue what she's done. So without the worry of an active manhunt, she can prioritise the USB in her pocket.

Rose treats the device with the assumption that it's bugged. By who, she doesn't know. If the GCPD find her first, she'll at least make it out alive. If whoever sent those hitmen does, she might not have a chance. The first time, they'd sent one man, the second, three. They won't waste more time being underprepared. This is Gotham. She won't be surprised if they bring a 15th century mortar for the hell of it.

She plugs the drive into her computer, glancing over her shoulder, before clicking Files on the pop up menu.

Indian Hill.

Blood running cold, she watches the scroll bar shrink as at least a hundred videos load into place. They're all labelled the same way, with the word Patient in all caps followed by a random number.

Rose clicks on the first, jumping as sound blares from her speakers. Though startled, she leans closer, struggling to make out the black dot on the screen. As the camera focuses, she sees a table and a boy sitting on top of it. The footage glitches as it loads but there's no doubt he's in pain. Between bursts of white noise, she can make out the sound of someone sobbing but when a man in black walks into the room, the audio mutes. A dozen more, each wearing black wool balaclavas march after him. As the first grabs the boy by his right bicep, he kicks his foot up, wrapping his legs around the man's neck and pulling him off his feet. He moves like a blur. Within literal seconds, the boy alone stands in a circle of twitching bodies.

His face is red with exhaustion, veins bulging as he leans back onto the table, hands raised defensively. A man in a white lab coat runs into the room, his eyes wide with shock and a yellow taser attached to his belt. But when the boy convulses, it's clear the scientist means no harm. He beckons for a doctor but in the blink of an eye, the child has been reduced to a pool of slime. The man collapses at his side, rubbing the palms of his hands down his face before turning to look at the camera.

Rose's breath hitches.

That's her father.

TRIAL 3090: Failure

And the screen goes black.

Like the boy, she presses her clammy palms onto the table, easing her breath.

Heart racing, she tugs on the USB when something catches her eye. In black ink, written so dark she's surprised she didn't notice earlier, is the number 35.

With a knot in her stomach, she removes her hand from the drive and sifts through the list. When she finds the video, it takes her almost a minute to click inside. A minute of gathering her nerves.

A minute too long.

"Rose Carter. Put your hands up. Turn around, slowly."

Rose stares at Gordon's reflection in the monitor.

"Mr Gordon please I only need a minute."

She refuses to turn away, her eyes fixed on the video as it loads.

"Hands."

His gun fixed on her, he edges closer, peering at the computer before moving for the USB. On instinct, her hand clamps down on his wrist. Realising she has no choice but to fight, she forces his gun hand away, eyes widening as he fires. He tugs her back by the hair and she knocks her elbow into his neck, grappling with the flash drive. As the gun goes flying, she shoves the USB into her jeans pocket and darts toward her bedroom. By the time he stands up, she's vanished down the secret stairwell.