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The badge's cool metal feels smooth against your fingertips. The chilled damp air of the basement flows in and out of your nose smoothly and slowly the scent around you shifts from mildew and old detergents into Linen with undertones of wet garbage. The almost eerie silence of the basement gives way to a slowly growing rumble of rain on metal. You keep your eyes closed and let your muscles relax as you slowly and naturally shift into a new posture. Straight back, chin down. An unease grows in your stomach, a sour knot tightening and releasing in pulses. The twisted cousin of butterflies.
A thin layer of moisture forms between your fingers and the shield clutched in your hand. You feel a spreading dampness over your shoulders and forearms and as you open your eyes you find yourself staring at a familiar door, but beyond it, instead of dust and loose trash, neon signs blink in the face of a black Gotham night.
'PAWN, SILVER AND GOLD!'
You turn your head slowly and recognize the toothpick gnawing face of Gorchakov. The neon reflects off his oiled hair as he checks a small black pager clipped to his waist.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?" You find yourself asking, anxiety plucking at your vocal chords.
"You gotta relax, partner." Gorchakov chuckles as he types out a message on a cheap flip phone. "My ticket got stamped recently, I'm moving up to detective any day now and you're still in the minor leagues. You tryna walk a beat forever?"
"No, sir. I just.." The words trail off. The knot tightens. This doesn't feel right.
"You're just scared of some slangers, I get it. You're right, we should get out of here. Let em do their work." He scoffs as he stuffs the phone into his jacket.
"I'm not afraid, I just think it would be better if we calle-"
"No. No, I hear you loud and clear. You LIKE getting paid nickels to kill your back and deal with scumbags all day." He approaches the shop and yanks on the door. "Please, Madam. Hop in, let me make sure you get home safe."
Your hand flies out and pushes the door from his grasp. He holds up two hands and steps back laughing.
"He does have balls!"
"Fuck you, Charlie." You mutter, you feel a flutter of something. Fear?
"That's more like it." He approaches you and cups your face. "Keep that attitude up and you'll be joining me before you know it."
