I tighten my belt in the loops of my high-waisted jeans and slip my long faux leather coat over my dark gray crew neck T-shirt. The final touch to my outfit is a black fedora, to match my jacket and my boots. Chain bracelets around my wrists make me look just that much less sophisticated, which is the desired effect. It's necessary for me to ressemble what is considered to be the typical Gothamite: a criminal. Undeniably, outlaws come in all shapes and sizes, but the places I frequent crawl with seemingly unlawful individuals. And I need to blend in. My goal when I snoop around the less recommended hangouts around town is definitely not to get noticed or, worse, approached. My purpose is to gather as much information as I can. I can only allow myself to pull stunts like I did with Jackson yesterday if I have it on relatively reliable authority that a patient deserves to escape judicial punishment. The system is flawed. Not entirely, but sufficiently that I sometimes help people escape sentences or jail time. Of course, I cannot act this way in good conscience without knowing what is going on in the backstreets.

Tonight, my destination is the Cock-and-Bull nightclub. It is owned by one of the region's most notorious gangsters. He calls himself The Bull, hence the name of the nightclub. Following his father's untimely death, The Bull began leading his late genitor's dreaded street gang: The Voiceless Beasts. He simultaneously inherited most of the gang's famous hangouts, including their main headquarters: the Cock-and-Bull. Undoubtedly, some locations present more risk than others. I have been sneaking around like this for a significant amount of time now, though, and I take risks whenever it's necessary. I like it, too. I'd be lying if I pretended not to enjoy the adrenaline boost. There is always more to gain from renown spots and their visitors, regardless of their dangerous quality.

As I park my car near the establishment - close enough to access it easily, but not too close that it could get vandalized or stolen -, I think about my parents. If they saw me here this evening, they would most likely assume that I have truly lost my values and that I am nothing but a wayward child, completely depraved and stripped of any chance for salvation. I am being a tad dramatic, but that is the manner in which they have repeatedly portrayed me whenever they were trying to "make me normal again". Doctrinaire families vilifying and antagonizing their children are not rare, sadly. And they are just that much more prevalent among people of Mexican descent, since most of them - myself included - are raised with a strict Catholic background. Who knew "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself" meant "Despise your child if they come out as non-binary"?

For the longest time, I wished they would have just forsaken me instead of kindling a contemptuous hatred. In the end, I had to kick myself to the curb.

There is a relatively long line of roughly sixteen people in front of the club. I angle my hat and walk to join it, mentally readying myself for the wait. Fortunately, the Cock-and-Bull has bouncers who work quickly. Three of them are flanking the front doors. I show the one in the center my driver's license and in I go.

A vibrating wave of loud, eclectic and face-paced music hits me, preceding the usual stench of sweat, alcohol and varied illicit substances that reigns inside this type of place. The lighting is a dim orangey color, while still being aggressive by the way it flashes across the main dance floor, emitted by bright yellow light bulbs. The building's entrance opens onto a platform which surrounds a sunken area. Intricate corridors and seemingly random staircases lead to large or small balconies, overhanging above the middle of the structure at different heights. The floor plan is wide and open, and the ceilings are fairly high, though the quantity of smoke wafting around counteracts the airy feel of the nightclub. I remain on the rectangular platform, slowly but surely making my way towards the primary bar. Therefore, it is the biggest and most crowded of the five. I do not need to hurry. On the contrary, calmly threading through the club like this is a perfect technique that allows me to eavesdrop on conversations subtly and without arousing suspicion. At the back of the nightclub stands a sort of stage, which is elevated beyond the platform I am currently strolling across and then descends into the dance floor. At the peak rests a throne-like seat in front of a tall double door, adjacently to a dark curtain that is drawn out to hide the right half of the aforementioned door. That is where The Bull sits when he makes an appearance.

Finally, I catch the barman's attention. "What can I get ya?"

"Just a water, thanks."

I cease paying attention to my surroundings, long enough to carefully watch him as he prepares my glass and hands it to me, at which point I proceed to make way for the other customers.

Sipping on my colorless drink, I scan the room, scrutinizing every face without staring too intensely at anyone. The goal is for me to recognize people, not the opposite. Movement around The Bull's throne catches my attention.

From afar, I watch a tall muscular man unsteadily climb up the stairs that lead to The Bull's chair. I know it's him, even though I cannot see his face from where I am standing. Apparently, he's here tonight... Fantastic. If I'm not too unlucky, we will not cross paths. I would rather not interact with anyone, especially not the drunken brute kingpin who owns the establishment I am shadily hanging around.

A woman is following him more closely than his other sycophants, she even seems to have her hand wrapped around his arm as they ascend the short assortment of steps. I try to jog my memory in an attempt to recall who she is. Who was the last unfortunate lady to date him..? Maybe she is a new conquest... She has long silky brown hair that cascades in an orderly mass of straight strands down her back, over a black leathery crop top and a short form-fitting denim skirt. Her legs are mostly covered by a pair of jet-colored thigh high boots that look terrifyingly movement restricting.

I lean against the furthest and unoccupied edge of the bar, observing The Bull as he slouches against his throne. His admirer pivots to stand in front of him, and his other minions circle them, blocking my view. I draw a gulp of water from my glass and one of them moves to his left. The orange lights accentuate the woman's features, although they are are largely blurred by shadows and the omnipresent veil of smoke. Dumbfounded, I choke on my sip of water.

No.

I recognize her... But it cannot be. The young woman's dazzling green eyes and seemingly flawless face force me to stare. Surely not... It's impossible. Cheryl was dying a mere day ago.

I squint, scrutinizing Cheryl's look-alike from head to toe even though I am much too far away to reach any other conclusion than the following: the young victim I helped out either has a twin or had plastic surgery done to ressemble the person I am helplessly ogling at. The stranger laughs, raising a narrow bottle to her lips.

I slowly look away, listening to people obliviously revealing their secrets behind me. Once I feel confident enough to glance back at the owner of the nightclub and his clique, I satiate my curiosity and let my eyes swivel towards their last known position.

The female is standing with her legs on either side of his left thigh, and the gang leader promptly grabs her by the crook of her right knee. He pulls her closer to him, blatantly unbothered by the surrounding witnesses and, most likely, invigorated by their wandering eyes. From what little indications I possess about The Bull's personality and behaviors, it is likely he would take pride in having his subalterns desire his girlfriend. Whatever causes them to envy him would probably provide him a great amount of satisfaction.

I subtly focus on literally anything else, not wishing to leer at the pair. After listening to a couple argue about the name they should give their new cat - for longer than I care to admit -, I switch my attention back to the mysterious woman, determined to discover more about her identity.

I sigh, containing my disappointment. She's gone.

Only three hooligans remain on the platform, The Bull and her must have snuck off to wherever those double doors lead. Well, "wherever" is a tad optimistic. I could take an enlightened guess any day. I drink more water, scoping the crowded dance floor. Perhaps, Cheryl's look-alike is still out here. I do not need to trouble myself with finding out who she is, yet I cannot help but feel drawn to her. I am a curious person, undeniably. I had not noticed her before tonight, and if she gains any influence around these parts, I should...

"We meet again."

The ear-splitting music suddenly drops into oblivion, the mere echo of a buzz. My heart stops beating in my chest. That voice.

My discordant heartrate steadies enough to allow me not to let go of my glass. I spin around and my hand trembles, clutching the cylinder sides of the receptacle. Those eyes.