A short experimental piece—the original premise for the Eighth Legion, Konrad Curze's story in Gotham.
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Gotham was always raining. The air in the East End mixed rainwater, sea wind, and the pungent stench drifting over from chemical plants. The poorly maintained sewer system left the streets flooded with filthy standing water. Needles, used condoms, plastic food wrappers, cigarette butts, and other trash collected wherever the current slowed. Equally filthy neon signs and the feeble light spilling from street-facing windows barely illuminated the streets. There were rarely pedestrians here. Other than idiots from out of town who did not know the score, no one walked the East End streets at this hour.
Dr. Leslie Thompkins hurried through the flooded streets with an umbrella in one hand and a medical kit in the other. The hem of her white clinic coat had been stained a translucent blackish gray by splashing dirty water, and she could practically smell the reek of the stagnant puddles. She stood out. Every criminal could smell weakness on her. Dr. Leslie Thompkins did not consider herself some country bumpkin. She knew how dangerous the East End was—the name alone made the wealthy financiers of Downtown Island and the Diamond District frown, while Gotham's city government preferred to ignore everything that happened here. The East End was the poorest and dirtiest place in all of Gotham. Guns and drugs ran rampant, sexual violence and prostitution never ceased, and every lit window might represent an illegal transaction in progress.
Perhaps weapons. Perhaps drugs. Perhaps people.
Dr. Leslie Thompkins was not an idiot. Many of those who came to her clinic for help were criminals, addicts, and homeless people—the boundaries between those three identities were not especially clear. Many were repeat offenders. Almost every day, she