L'horloge du jour était en panne à la vitesse de la mélasse un jour froid. Chaque bruit est devenu très apparent pour les deux occupant la voiture à l'époque alors qu'ils attendaient Chance. La corbeille étant passée à travers par une personne sur leur chance, crépite et pops d'un feu de cloque assis au bord d'une allée, Trent n'aimait pas combien de temps cela prenait.
"Si nous n'amenons pas ce bâtard écureuil ici bientôt, nous allons commencer à avoir des gens qui s'intéressent à la voiture." La tête bobant de la fenêtre à la fenêtre pour s'assurer qu'il ne manquait personne s'approchant de la voiture. "Tueur facile. Je suis sûr que Chance sera de retour bientôt..."
"Conduisez!"
La porte a claqué derrière lui en fouettant le sac de drogue sur le siège arrière. "Avez-vous un peu raccroché là-bas?" Lisa essayait de demander avant de se faire couper avec un autre exigeant "Drive!" Déplacez-vous maintenant et posez des questions plus tard, elle devina. En faisant sauter la vieille berline Lincoln en voiture, elle a claqué la pédale d'essence et ils étaient partis. La chance était raide, tendue, les veines qui sortaient de son cou devinrent encore plus visibles une fois que son masque fut fouetté au sol. Tout ce que ses amis pouvaient faire, c'était le regarder souffrir.
"Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé là-bas, mec?" L'esprit de Trent a commencé à courir. Il y avait des flics qui fuyaient, n'est-ce pas? Merde, ils nous suivent peut-être! Non, peut-être que d'autres voyous étaient là? Deux visages, peut-être? Je ne fais que tisser des absurdités en ce moment. Aucune réponse ne viendra. Sa seule réponse était une main déterminée étant poussée dans sa poche à la recherche de quelque chose. Peut-être une pilule pour se rafraîchir les nerfs.
Un papier. Un putain de papier a été déplié et Chance a commencé à le scanner. Tout son accent a été mis sur ces noms et numéros de téléphone il semblerait. C'était un vieil annuaire d'employés qui était assez facile pour lui de trouver sur sa sortie "Donnez-moi quelque chose, quelque chose, quelque chose!" tremblant dans une rage indéniable alors qu'il étendait le papier avec une pop audible!. "C'est ma salope juste là!"
À ce moment, Lisa et Trent sont restées silencieuses. Avec un train de pensée et eux à grande vitesse pour rentrer à la maison, ils l'ont juste laissé décompresser. Ils espéraient donc que leur silence l'aiderait à rentrer en voiture.
Ils s'arrêtèrent alors qu'ils rentraient chez eux près de Port Adams. Chance est entrée dans la maison et est allée directement pour l'ordinateur. Une ruée de vent et des clics ont été entendus comme le vieux morceau de jonque allumé. Des portes crépitantes ont été entendues derrière lui alors que les deux autres ont apporté le sac de médicaments directement vers la porte du sous-sol pour commencer à les organiser pour la distribution.
Allez, donne-moi quelque chose de google. Qu'est-ce que ce sadique s'appelait? Dr Richard L. Klineman. Très bien, allons-y.
Idéalement, un hôpital sera peuplé avec son nom et je peux chercher sa maison à partir de là. Attendez? Tu dois te moquer de moi! Fists claquer dans la table quand les mots sont tombés sur l'écran. "Dr Klineman à nouveau avec une autre collecte de fonds pour sa pratique de soins pédiatriques! Cet enfoiré de mère!" Les yeux de Chance ont choisi l'histoire d'un coup à l'autre. Les blindages étaient levés et le monde s'est tu avec lui. Tout ce qu'il entendait, c'était le battement de son cœur, car il alimentait sa rage avec l'énergie dont il avait besoin pour s'épanouir.
"Gotham Gazette vous êtes la voix des gens que je vous dis." Ces mots sont tombés en phase avec le bas de l'article où l'information sur la maison du bon médecin était assise. Il est plus que probable qu'il soit parti pour quelqu'un qui voulait envoyer des dons, de l'aide, ou pour tout ce qu'il savait merci à des gens qui n'étaient pas au courant du passé de ce démon.
En haut-est
Je sais que je l'ai brûlé la dernière fois, mais c'est... oui hun... tout droit hun je te verrai quand tu rentreras à la maison alors... j'aime... le téléphone est devenu silencieux alors qu'elle l'a raccroché. Klineman laissa sortir un long soupir de chagrin alors que l'eau commença à se déverser sur le poêle à partir de la casserole chaude. Merde! Pourquoi ce soir?! Pourquoi? fouettant le tiroir ouvert pour attraper quelques porte-pots, il a essayé d'enlever le pot du poêle aussi vite qu'il le pouvait. Ça ne s'est pas si bien passé pour le Docteur que l'eau a brûlé l'enfer vivant de sa main. Avec un cri, il a fait bouger le pot.
Klineman a jeté les morceaux de tissu au sol et a fléchi sa main. En se dirigeant vers son inclinateur préféré, il s'est penché sur le dos et a essayé de respirer facilement. Les histoires seraient wiz par l'écran de la télévision des mêmes histoires anciennes de Gotham. La police poursuit ça, vol qui, victime potentielle de meurtre ici, bague de drogue cassée là-bas, peut-être qu'on doit enfin sortir de cette ville. Il semble toujours osé avec des dégénérés à chaque coin. Sa main traînait sous la table basse pour qu'il puisse pêcher un magazine de mode. Au moins, les mécaniciens n'avaient pas l'esprit fou que vous deviez comprendre. Les problèmes peuvent normalement être retracés d'un support à l'autre et boom, le problème pourrait être mis en évidence. Cars ne lui a pas dit qu'il était une coquille peu profonde de ce qu'il était autrefois. Les camions ne craignaient pas sous l'échappement qu'il était un pauvre amant pisse. Merde, Klineman avait besoin d'un verre.
Laphroaig quart de fût, maintenant c'était un choix solide. Cette saveur fumée ferait son esprit droit en le ramenant à quelques fois sa femme et lui allait camper quand ils ont commencé à sortir ensemble. Assis autour du feu, regardant les étoiles s'envoler, on pourrait dire qu'ils vivaient dans la voie facile.
Cette putain de télé aurait d'autres projets pour lui. Poking dans le sous-texte sombre à ses souvenirs avec lui entendant des extraits d'histoires d'actualités. "Cette télé pourrait faire une pause un peu, tu ne penses pas?" il se disait à lui-même comme il a atteint pour la télécommande.
"Nah Doc, je n'ai pas encore regardé cette histoire. Laisse-le rouler un peu plus longtemps"
Klineman a gelé. Quand on parle au vent, il ne s'attend pas exactement à une réponse. Surtout d'une voix masculine dans une maison qu'il n'a partagé qu'avec une femme. Une dernière lueur émanant de ce feu longtemps passé serait dans son esprit. Il serait étouffé par une douleur émoussée, féroce, explosant de son temple créé par le stock de fesses d'un pistolet.
Name: Lucas Williams
Alias: Chance
Age: 27



Physical description: Utilizing a background in Judo and Boxing he has kept a lean physique most of his life. Chance stands at around six foot even thanks to his Merrell combat boots. His clothing of choice in his line of work is a grey spandex top, a snake skin pattern tactical pistol over strap, grey 5.11 cargo pants, and air force blue Merrel's. With so many mysterious folk in this day and age he chose to don a mask as well. An off white full mask that has a couple of spades spread out on it was his choice. Thinking a playing card theme would go nice with the Alias he fell into.
Abilities: Through years of utilization he has been able to understand his "gift". Hand to hand threats that approach him in an abrupt manner will trigger his "sixth sense" of sorts and give him the ability to react accordingly. This has been able to give him the edge in several fights over the years. However, a noticeable pain comes with the initiation of this ability. Once his body has reacted to the blow his brain sends a shock through his nervous system. It would seem the medication didn't necessarily take away his migraines all together, but more so redirected them. His muscles seize momentarily as control of his body leaves this "medicinally" induced force and returns back to his control. It has definitely left him more cautious over the years to abrupt welcomes from others.
History: "Order in the court! We are here to finally put to rest the case of 16 year old Lucas Williams who has been accused of two accounts of murder in the 1st degree." Judge Faden placed his gavel back down as his eyes fell on the young boy. With a long breath releasing from the Judges mouth he directed his attention to the attorney appointed over Lucas. "Anything else you would like to bring in defense before we issue our final judgement?"
We all know where this goes. A young boy thrown into the face of distress, chaos, and darkness under pretenses locked in shadow. Mark and Elizabeth Williams were murdered in cold blood, just like several cases handled early that month. Different people from around Gotham were being dropped like flies, but unlike other cases being handled at the moment local detectives were able to find a knot that tied all of these threads together. When unraveled and laid out the thread spelled "Lucas". First, an English teacher from Gotham City High was gunned down in an alley. Secondly, a judo teacher's body was recovered from the side of the river just outside of the city. Finally, we have his parents knocking on Heaven's door.
The English teacher, Miss Hatcher, was known for having a terrible relationship with the young Williams boy. Upon further research into their interactions they found out she was filing for his expulsion on account of his constant misbehavior at school. The Judo Teacher, Mr. Darius, would toss him into the fire in every training session. From embarrassing him in front of the class, for his crass behavior, to almost knocking the boy out on several occasion. The bond they shared was laced with animosity. Finally, his parents. For reasons unknown to him he had been thrown into these weird medical trials by them. Sure, he had intense migraines, but why couldn't he just go to the damn hospital like "normal" kids his age? Nooooooo, his father had to find another cheap route to accomplish a simple task. At least they gave him a local psychologist to monitor his mental state. These migraines would weigh on him in regards to his "anger issues". Which made the psychologist even more necessary.
The Elliot medical foundation was offering a volunteer study on a new medication that could have the potential to cure migraines permanently. With all great trials though, have the potential for a few hiccups every now and again. Hiccups may be a poor choice of words. A few dead teenagers pushed under the rug may have earned a word with more severity behind it. The drug was having an adverse affect on those children in particular by pushing those migraines into overdrive. Essentially, they fried their brains. When you signed the dotted line though, that little bit of information wasn't listed in the fine print.
Lucas began his trials at 15 years old. With his birthday only a month away his mother was naturally wishing for a miracle. Well, she was wishing for a miracle when she wasn't looking at the bottom of a bottle. First she has to deal with a husband who doesn't resemble the man she said "I do" too and now a son whose anger episodes rival a freight train with the breaks blown out. If this "miracle" drug pulled through, she would only have to deal with half the pain. You want a miracle Elizabeth? Well, you are gonna get something close.
The trial was over, Lucas walked out to see his family and, at first, it seemed nothing was wrong. That was exactly the initial miracle. Nothing was wrong anymore. Months would pass and no migraine would grace his brain. God shined bright on those last few months the Williams family had together. Until the day finally came that sent him on a journey into Gotham's underground to try and find a piece for himself. That day was rang off with two thunderous sounds.
Bang, Bang
Two shots, Two bodies, and a distraught son. It all went by in a whirlwind. By the time Lucas had realized what had happened the assailant already hightailed it out of there. Where do we go from here? A court room that is where. Which brings us to the spot we began with, only a few months before his 17th birthday at this point. A defense built up by Medical money we come to find out with a little bit of digging. A judge bought out by local thugs so his moral compass was spinning in circles. It wasn't Lucas vs. his parents that day in court. It was the Lucas vs. the entire underground at this point. Why?! What had he done?!
The gavel crashed on that day and sent Lucas straight into the arms of a Youth correctional facility. That is when things began to get clearer over the years. Sure, he was seen by a doctor in attempts to "correct" his mentality. Utilizing different medical practices to unlock the core issues that lay in his brain. What a fucking great cover. This wasn't a damn correctional facility. It was a monitoring facility on the successful test subjects from the Elliot Foundation. Those bastards were trying to figure out why Lucas didn't die that day. With the cat scan x-rays from the day of his successful trial they had a bag full of curiosity to go with it.
With scan in hand, the doctors were in awe that the drug didn't enhance his migraines like the others. The drug seemed to have altered the young boys very mind. They would be insane not to figure out what the drug did do to Lucas! Oh, and they got their answer. During a normal day of scheduled tests on the boy an orderly went to strap him in and send him on his way to the gauntlet of doctors. Lucas did not react as per usual that day. The orderly reached their hand out and he grabbed his wrist perfectly and flipped him over him into the wall. Shock would stretch over the boys face and body. Once he shook it off he muttered, "What the fuck...how did I see..." and then stopped as he looked up and noticed freedom was knocking. 19 year old Lucas jumped to his feet and crept out into the hall. Bobbing and weaving from trash can to gurney while making his way out the front door.
"...I saw his hand...before his hand got to me." He looked down at himself as though staring at a stranger. The one thing he did notice on this enigma that was his body was his patient gown. "Shit," he said aloud as he took off for an alley way. I need to find some clothes now before I get spotted thinking to himself as he scanned the local stores. Thankfully, a clothing outlet was locked up for the night that he may be able to...oh shit. Three thugs had stormed across the road toward the store, eyes searching back and forth as they began to break in. If he remained quiet, he should be able to snag a few clothes and not get seen.
Too late, they triggered the alarm. "Fuck!" one screamed out as they busted in anyway. Adrenaline could do crazy stuff sometimes. Lucas booked it for the store. The thugs were grabbing anything they could carry from the store while he was snagging the first pieces of clothing he could find. Time was up though. The cherry top could be seen from anywhere in that store. Two local Gotham PD slugs made their way into the store looking around. The fire fight wasn't too far behind. One thug would rush the cops with a bat out while the other two fired shots peppering the silhouettes of where they thought the cops were.
"Gotta go now, gotta go now, gotta go now...," Lucas would encourage himself briefly before taking off. Accidentally smashing down different clothing racks as he tried to rush past the cops. His momentum would be stopped by a third cop coming in from the door way. "Hey you little shit, you better..." was the last word he would utter as Lucas used that cops momentum from the grab to swing him, face first, into the doorway. "How the fuck do I keep doing th..." the shock overcame his body briefly again.
The thugs had dispatched of the other two cops and were making their way out of the store when they approached Luke. "Kid, if you wanna stay out of trouble, you better follow us now." Without missing a beat, he took off with the two thugs and an injured one in tow. This is stupid, this is fucking stupid right?
So stupid, fucking STUPID! he thought to himself slowly realizing that these guys could very well be blood thirsty murderers.
As they rounded another alley and jumped into a four door Caddy, they sped off. Cheers were heard from two as Lucas held pressure on the wounds of the third guy in the back. "You know kid, that was some quick thinking on your part back there. I mean," he let out a chuckle ,"Did you see the fucker's face bounce off the damn door way?! It was like BOOM you're outta here!!" They all let out a chuckle. The young man's eyes shot from one person to the next in the car. Slowly, however, he began to let out a laugh too. A wave from his past experiences were all crashing down on him and now running back to sea. It felt like he could finally breath.
Turns out, the three goons worked for a lower end gang known as the Hoods. They brought he kid into this suburban home just out near the city limits. "Pops, we are back with a hall from this last hit." One would shout into the house as he flipped on some of the down stairs lights. The other able bodied one brought the clothes to the living room area and dropped them into different, pre made, cardboard boxes. Down the stairs you would hear thunderous thumps. Maybe they became more thunderous because of Lucas's adrenaline still running wild. An overweight man of Italian decent, donning a white tank top and sleeping pants met them at the door. "What did I tell you about coming straight back here we...," he took a puff of his cigar and gestured at Lucas, "We running a day care?" The pops name was Vinny Martin, he ran this outfit of sorts.
"Oh! Pops!" one of the thugs ran over and put his arm around me, "Meet our new 'muscle' in training uhhh...what was your name again kid?" Fuck, fuck fuck, what do I tell them? I can't use my real name. I don't know who these people are. However, they did help me...I mean what are the chances that I...chance...CHANCE, "Chance!" he shouted abruptly. Vinny and the thugs were taken back by the shout. Then the fat bastard began to chuckle. "Well if Dean here vouches for your loud mouth, then I guess I gotta give you a shot for a bit don't I?"
They sat down with Vinny, telling them the tale of their chance meeting. Two of the thugs even showed a reenactment of how 'Chance' took out the one cop in front of them. Putting out his cigar he looked over the dinner table at the young man and began to explain. "Look kid, you've got guts. This world ain't as clear cut as we would hope. Gotham will chew you up and spit you out if you let it. I mean, you working for us is a...heh...'Chance' in itself," he laugh at his joke then a serious tone came over him. "Tell me kid. Why do you think we stole those clothes today?"
Chance looked back at the boxes and noticed different words in sharpie written across them. "Boys? Girls...are you guys," turning back toward the group, "stealing for...kids or something?" Vinny shot a grin, "Strange right? A group like us getting our hands dirty in such a manner. Now don't you worry, we get our cut from the right people. However, anything that says 'Gotham' on the side of it's car, we don't show a damn lick of trust." Vinny had made his way over to Chances side, "We kill, kid. We fucking steal, kid. We get ours, kid. However, so do the poor degenerates this city forgot about too. Not all heroes have to wear a cape. But I will be damned if anyone of us bows down to the slimy fucks of this town. Am I making myself clear?"
Chance just nodded
"Alright. Well then tomorrow morning we see where you are at. Get some rest in the attic. Dean, grab the boy some pillow and some sheets." Everyone began to get up and go back to doing their work. Chance thanked everyone for this opportunity at a new life. As he made his way up the stairs Vinny hollered at him. "Hey Kid. I know you can flip people around and nonsense. You ever fired a gun though? You ever boxed?" Chance would just shake his head in return. Vinny nodded, "Well then, tomorrow is gonna be a fun day."