aFireFist
A Life in DC
Chapter 12 - Part 3
Incident Report – Officer Oronzo / Det. Sawyer
Responded to 10-10 at 11th and Kane. Three male subjects engaged in physical altercation outside commercial establishment. One subject armed with broken glass bottle. Subjects verbally ordered to comply. Subjects separated and secured without further incident. No injuries to officers or civilians. Evidence (broken bottle) photographed, bagged, and logged. Subjects transported to central booking without incident. Bodega owner declined to press additional charges.
He hit save, closed the file, and dragged the next one over.
Yesterday morning. Just after shift change. A stolen bicycle reported near the south edge of Robinson Park. Some skinny teenager had snatched it from a delivery guy while the man was dropping off an order of empanadas. The kid had a three-block head start. Vieri and Maggie caught up to him on 9th and Park trying to sell the bike to a pawn-shop guy who took one look at their badges and immediately stepped back with both hands up. Maggie had laughed after — low and rough in her throat — when the kid started crying the second the cuffs clicked. Vieri remembered the exact way her thick ass filled out her dark pants as she leaned into the open back seat of the patrol car to guide the kid in. The fabric had pulled tight across both cheeks. Her heavy tits had pressed against the side of the car door when she straightened up and slammed it shut.
He typed faster.
Incident Report – Officer Oronzo / Det. Sawyer
Responded to 10-31 (theft of bicycle) near Robinson Park south entrance. Suspect described as male teenager in dark hoodie. Suspect located at 9th and Park attempting to sell stolen property to third party. Third party cooperated fully upon seeing badges. Suspect detained without resistance. Bicycle recovered in original condition and returned to registered owner (delivery worker). Suspect processed for petty theft and released to juvenile intake. No injuries. No use of force.
Next file.
The night before last. A drunk who had decided a parking meter on 8th and Nash owed him money. The guy had been kicking the metal post hard enough to dent it, screaming about "government robbery" and "thieving machines" while a small crowd of bar stragglers watched and laughed. Maggie had handled the talking. Vieri had kept the little crowd back with one hand and a look. The drunk took a wild swing at Maggie's head. She stepped inside it, hooked his arm, and dropped him with a clean, practiced takedown. Her knee landed solid in the center of his back. Thick thighs pinned him flat while she wrenched both wrists behind him and cuffed him in under four seconds. Vieri had watched her heavy tits press hard against her shirt as she breathed through the adrenaline afterward, cheeks flushed, eyes sharp. He'd already filed the use-of-force addendum that same night. Now he just finished the main report.
Incident Report – Officer Oronzo / Det. Sawyer
Responded to 10-37 (disorderly conduct / criminal mischief) at 8th and Nash. Male subject highly intoxicated, actively damaging city property (parking meter). Subject ignored multiple verbal commands. Subject became combative and attempted to strike Det. Sawyer. Subject secured by Det. Sawyer via takedown and handcuffing. No serious injuries to subject or officers. Subject transported for booking and mandatory medical clearance. Meter damage photographed from multiple angles and logged with Public Works. Crowd dispersed without further incident.
He kept going.
A noise complaint on Anderson that turned into a full domestic — husband and wife throwing plates, neighbors recording on their phones. Maggie had taken the wife; Vieri had taken the husband. Both parties drunk, both screaming about who cheated first. They ended up cuffing the husband after he shoved Maggie's shoulder. Another shoplifter at a corner store on 5th who'd stuffed two bottles of cold medicine down his pants and tried to run when the clerk yelled. Maggie caught him by the hood two storefronts down and rode him to the sidewalk while Vieri bagged the merchandise. A guy pissing on the side of a building on Kane who decided that being told to stop was a personal insult and took a drunken swing at Vieri's chest. Maggie had him face-down and cuffed before Vieri even finished the turn.
Every report had Det. Sawyer's name next to his. Every one of them was clean, boring, and exactly what the brass wanted to see — solid police work, no drama, no headlines, no body-cam footage that needed explaining. Just two cops doing the job and writing it down so the system could pretend the city still made sense.
By the time he finished the last one and hit the out the final form, the clock on the wall read 9:51 p.m. The bullpen had thinned out to almost nothing. Only night-shift uniforms and two detectives still pecking at their own stacks remained. The air had gone quieter. The burnt-coffee smell was stronger now that fewer people were moving around to stir it.
The TV mounted high in the corner was still on, volume turned low. Some late sports highlight reel played on mute — big men crashing into each other, crowds leaping, replays in slow motion. Then the screen suddenly cut to black for half a second before the breaking-news banner slammed across in red and white.
Vieri glanced up.
The anchor's face filled the screen. Mid-forties, sharp charcoal suit, hair perfect, the usual calm delivery that always sounded a little forced whenever Gotham went truly sideways.
"We have breaking developments tonight regarding the metahuman known as Madame Zodiac. Earlier this evening, while being transported from federal holding to Arkham Asylum under heavy escort, the convoy carrying Zodiac was ambushed in a highly coordinated rescue operation. We go now to the footage obtained from traffic cameras, officer body-worn cameras, and nearby business security feeds. Viewer discretion is strongly advised."
The screen split into three angles at once. Grainy but clear video started playing in real time.
Rain slicked the bridge surface. Yellow sodium lights reflected in long, shaky streaks across wet asphalt. A black armored transport van rolled steadily in the center lane. Two marked federal escort cars held position — one two lengths in front, one two lengths behind. Windshield wipers thumped. Everything looked routine. Boring, even. Three full seconds of nothing but rain and tires on wet road.
Then green-gold light flared hard from the right-side shoulder.
Three figures in long dark coats and angular geometric masks stepped out of empty air — one second the shoulder was vacant, the next second they were simply there, coats already wet with rain. The lead escort car took the first hit. A concussive blast of distorted space slammed into the front quarter-panel with a sound the microphones caught as a deep, wrong thud. The car lifted onto two wheels, spun sideways, and smashed into the concrete barrier in a shower of sparks, broken glass, and folding metal.
The transport van swerved hard right. Tires screamed. The rear escort car braked and tried to angle in to box them.
The middle masked figure raised both hands. Reality hiccupped. The air around the van warped like heat haze over summer asphalt. The rear doors of the transport blew outward from the inside — not from any explosive charge, but from raw, directed force. Heavy reinforced metal peeled back like wet foil. Madame Zodiac stepped out barefoot onto the wet asphalt. Her orange prison jumpsuit was already half-shredded along one side. Glowing runes crawled across her bare arms and collarbones, shifting and reforming in sharp, precise geometric patterns that hurt to look at directly. Her eyes glowed the exact same green-gold as the light that still hung in the air.
She didn't run.
She walked.
One of the federal agents from the ruined rear car scrambled out and opened fire. Three clean rounds. All three bullets slowed visibly in the air three feet from Zodiac's chest, hung there spinning in perfect unnatural stillness, then dropped harmlessly to the wet road like someone had simply turned gravity off for them and then on again.
Her accomplices moved at the same time. The left one fired an angular, ugly weapon that bent light around itself — a beam that hit the remaining escort car and folded the entire hood. The right one threw something small and metallic underhand. It stuck to the bridge surface with a wet clack and immediately bloomed into a spreading lattice of glowing geometric lines that raced outward and trapped two more agents in place, their limbs locked mid-motion.
Zodiac raised one hand, palm out. The runes on her skin flared brighter, almost white at the edges. The entire section of bridge under the ruined lead car seemed to twist and fold. Asphalt cracked in perfect pentagonal patterns. The wrecked car sank three feet into a sudden, clean sinkhole that had not existed a second earlier, metal screaming as it went.
Forty-one seconds from first flash of green-gold light to empty bridge.
Zodiac and her three people simply stepped sideways into a fold of warped, rain-streaked air and were gone. Rain kept falling in the same steady rhythm. Broken glass glittered under the sodium lights. One agent groaned on the ground, holding his knee. Another shouted hoarsely into a radio that no longer produced anything but static.
The anchor's voice came back over the footage, steady but noticeably tighter than before.
"Authorities have confirmed that Madame Zodiac is once again at large. The rescue is being described by federal sources as highly sophisticated, utilizing both mystical and technological elements consistent with her previous known patterns. Joint federal and GCPD task forces are already expanding the search radius across the greater Gotham area and surrounding counties. Citizens are strongly advised to report any unusual geometric markings on buildings or pavement, unexplained spatial distortions, sudden feelings of disorientation near large structures, or any individuals matching Zodiac's description. We will continue to update this story as more information becomes available. Repeating: Madame Zodiac was freed tonight during transport to Arkham Asylum in a coordinated ambush that left multiple agents injured but, miraculously, no fatalities…"
The screen cut back to the studio. The anchor kept talking, pulling up older file footage of previous Zodiac incidents — the museum geometric collapse two years ago, the failed attempt to turn the old subway nexus into a power amplifier — but Vieri had already stopped listening.
He sat very still at his desk, eyes fixed on the now-dark screen where the sports highlights had quietly resumed without sound.
Madame Zodiac free again.
The same woman who had once tried to turn Poison Ivy's living plant networks into circuit boards for a city-wide ritual.
The same one who had crossed Selina years back over a relic that was supposed to amplify geometric magic through stolen jewels.
And she had just pulled a clean, brutal, forty-one-second rescue right when the Queens of Crime were already distracted and the task force was hanging by a single fraying thread of goodwill from upstairs.
He looked at the clock on the wall.
10:07 p.m.
Time to go home, get a few hours of sleep, and get ready for the docks tomorrow night.
He shut down his computer, grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, and stood. The bullpen was quiet enough that the hum of the old fluorescent lights felt loud. He pushed the chair in with his foot and turned toward the side exit.
That was when Montoya appeared at his elbow like she'd been waiting for the exact second the screen went dark.
Her hand closed around his wrist — warm, tight, no hesitation. Her palm was slightly damp. She didn't speak. She didn't look at him. She just pulled.
Vieri let her walk him down the short hallway to her office. Her thick thighs moved with purpose under the dark slacks. The firm, rounded ass in front of him rolled with every step. She pushed the door open, shoved him inside with a hand on his chest, closed it behind them, and locked it with a sharp, final click that sounded too loud in the small room.
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