ComicFandomMan
Meteorite
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2018
In many ways, Metropolis was the finest city in the world. It had all of the culture and industry of a city like Gotham, but most parts of it lacked the crime that seemed to seep from every pour of Gotham.
One of the exceptions to that rule was Suicide Slums, perhaps the city's darkest district. As the city had been restructured during the industrial revolution, most of the poor had been pushed into Suicide Slums. It hadn't taken long for many of those isolated individuals to resort to all manor of crime.
Two of those struggling individuals, Johnny and Mark, were following a young woman, doing their best to stay just far enough away that she wouldn't notice them. They were waiting for her to move somewhere where she would be isolated, somewhere where nobody would notice if the two confronted her and took whatever she had in her purse. Of course, this was Suicide Slums. Even if anyone did notice them, few would do anything about it. There were precious few police officers in the slums, and most people would rather pretend not to notice a crime than get involved in trying to stop it.
As they slowly closed the distance with their target, Johnny nervously worked his hand back and forth inside his worn leather jacket, taking comfort from the presence of the small pistol he had in his pocket. He had never been forced to use the weapon before, but its mere presence gave him confidence he couldn't describe.
Now that they were getting closer, the two men picked up their pace. In their shabby attire and disheveled clothing, if their prey saw them, she was certain to suspect that they were up to no good. Better to grab hold of her now, before she could slip off.
One of the exceptions to that rule was Suicide Slums, perhaps the city's darkest district. As the city had been restructured during the industrial revolution, most of the poor had been pushed into Suicide Slums. It hadn't taken long for many of those isolated individuals to resort to all manor of crime.
Two of those struggling individuals, Johnny and Mark, were following a young woman, doing their best to stay just far enough away that she wouldn't notice them. They were waiting for her to move somewhere where she would be isolated, somewhere where nobody would notice if the two confronted her and took whatever she had in her purse. Of course, this was Suicide Slums. Even if anyone did notice them, few would do anything about it. There were precious few police officers in the slums, and most people would rather pretend not to notice a crime than get involved in trying to stop it.
As they slowly closed the distance with their target, Johnny nervously worked his hand back and forth inside his worn leather jacket, taking comfort from the presence of the small pistol he had in his pocket. He had never been forced to use the weapon before, but its mere presence gave him confidence he couldn't describe.
Now that they were getting closer, the two men picked up their pace. In their shabby attire and disheveled clothing, if their prey saw them, she was certain to suspect that they were up to no good. Better to grab hold of her now, before she could slip off.