SPOILER: ELECTION YEAR

A sharp, bright, crescent moon hangs over the Gotham/Bludhaven corridor. A clear night is meaningless; there’s more light pollution from this part of the eastern seaboard than all of Canada combined. Despite all that light, it’s entirely too easy to find deep shadows in these chilly streets. Gotham’s home to one of the largest and, at least on paper, best-trained police forces in the world. On top of that, a variety of costumed would-be heroes have done a great deal to discourage crime.

Still, people find those dark corners and use them. The Batman has been missing long enough that people no longer expect him to come back. For a while, no fewer than three Bat… ladies stalked these streets at night. They couldn’t match the Batman’s deterrent effect on crime, but they were a symbol of hope to the city. Costumed vigilantes aren’t universally loved, but in a city as cruel as Gotham it can be a comfort to know that there’s someone out there who cares. Even if that person wears a mask and doesn’t worry about due process.

Then a devastating attack on GCPD turned the city on its head. Suddenly there were much fewer local cops and a lot more federal police. The National Guard was standing on every corner for two full weeks. Months have passed, but things can’t ever go back to the way they were before.

A meager handful of masked characters still haunt Gotham’s nights, but the three women who wore the symbol of the Bat vanished that night along with the ringleaders of the terrorist organization behind the attack…

SPOILER: ELECTION YEAR

Tired, sore, and somewhat fragrant, the pack of youngish people brings a smile to Sean Noonan’s face. It’s Friday night, and too early for his regular crowd. These kids in their khaki pants and GCPD polo shirts aren’t even all of drinking age, ironically. But they’re here to party, and it’s a tradition for GCPD Academy classes to spend their Friday nights at notoriously tough bars in the Cauldron. They tend to tip well, and they’re still too green to make other patrons feel threatened.

One of the trainees looks a little less wilted than the others, a pale, short-haired redhead whose warm expression offsets her slightly severe features. The police academy isn’t much of a challenge for Kate Kane, although she’s enjoyed it so far and even managed not to show off too much.

One group breaks off for the bar, while Kate and her class go to tables. Pitchers of beer arrive, and cheap lager flows like water while chicken nuggets and French fries are devoured by the handful. Noonan’s is an unusual bar because there’s only a single television in it, and it’s usually not turned on. Tonight, it is, although it’s muted.

Kate knows all about this place, of course. A handful of the rough-looking characters at some of the other tables glance at the TV from time to time. Like her, they’re waiting. Even criminals want to see tonight’s show.

But there’s more to look at than the TV. Kate turns slightly, keeping it casual as she catches a glance from a little brunette on a bar stool. This girl’s in the other class, but this week they were running laps together and it was Kate’s duty as an observant police officer in training to take note of how good this girl looked in those GCPD athletic shorts. She has a pretty smile, too.

Kate smiles back at her.

SEY

Water drips in the Batcave, where a slim blonde in a purple cape and hood pulls on her boots.

“My old suit was easier,” Stephanie Brown complains, although she’s been wearing this one for weeks now. She’s used to it.

“Your old suit offered no protection whatsoever,” Alfred notes mildly. He’s heard these complaints before. He stands patiently with a cup of espresso on a tray, resisting the urge to check his watch.

“You’ll keep me posted, right?” Stephanie frets as she reaches for her gloves.

“Naturally, Ms. Brown.”

“OK, good.” She ties back her hair and gets to her feet, stamping her foot to make sure the boot’s on right. “Did you mess with this?” she asks, picking up her belt.

“I merely reloaded it.”

Stephanie critically unsnaps a pouch and scowls. “Ew. No.” She dumps the contents and flicks the locks open on the long case on the bench.

“Ms. Brown, I can assure you that time and experience have proven unequivocally that carrying a variety of…”

“Behold!” Stephanie exclaims, cutting him off. She pulls a Batarang from the case and holds it up. “The Gooparang. This is engineering perfection, Alfred. It’s like a cordless back massager. It cannot be improved upon. This is the pinnacle of all crime-fighting technology. There’s no need for any other type of Batarang. Not ever. Trust me, Alfred. I’ve done the research.”

He sighs. “Yes, Ms. Brown.”

“Criminals don’t fear Spoiler, Alfred. Gooparangs, though? This is a language that they understand.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You don’t make sense.” She snatches the espresso from the tray and gulps it down, then raises her facemask and lifts her hood. “Don’t mind me. While you’re eating snacks and watching TV, I’ll be cleaning up Gotham.”

“Yes, Ms. Brown.”

She sighs. “I wish I could watch. Big night for Babs.”

“Alas.”

“Alas,” she repeats dramatically, rolling her eyes.

SEY

“You don’t have to watch this, you know.”

Dr. Pamela Isley’s place in Wayne Tower looks considerably more lived-in these days. It’s full of plants, none of which are dangerous. A bracelet on Ivy’s hand interferes with her connection to Green. It by no means renders her harmless, but it does mean that she can’t instantly turn a seed into a monster. She sits crosslegged on the sofa in her pajamas, which she wears at all times, even under her lab coat when she’s working. She grumpily straightens her glasses and accepts the pint of ice cream that Lucius Fox hands her.

He takes his seat beside her. It’s dark; most of the light is coming from the TV in front of them.

“Yes I do,” she mutters.

The TV is muted; commercials are on at the moment.

Lucius sticks his spoon into his pint and looks over at her.

“You really miss her, don’t you?”

“It’s fine. Mayoral candidates can’t be too cozy with…” Ivy sighs. “People like me.”

“It’s not that clear cut. And she’s only a candidate temporarily.”

“The mayor can’t be too friendly with me either.”

“Don’t be too sure of that. And look, you’ve found a silver lining if she loses,” Lucius says.

“I’m ****. You want to take that wedding ring off for a few hours?”

“Pam! I’m old enough to be your father.”

“I’m a supervillain,” Ivy retorts, giving him a shocked look. “Why would I care?”

“Do you have to make everything uncomfortable?”

“We just covered this. I’m a supervillain.”

“Only when you want to do something bad. The rest of the time you’re an eco-terrorist. Let me guess, you don’t have to be fair or internally consistent because you’re a supervillain,” he adds, irked.

Ivy stuffs ice cream in her mouth. “You’re starting to get it,” she mumbles irritably.

SEY

The tanned blonde is on all fours, joyfully taking it from the slightly thicker brunette. Sweaty clothes and sheets are a tangled mess. A lamp has fallen over. Skin slaps, fingernails dig into flesh, and panting and cries mingle in dim light.

The brunette pulls the blonde’s hair, making her arch her back. Any rougher and this might get problematic.

Thoroughly uncomfortable, Jim Gordon takes a sip of coffee and keeps his eyes on the laptop screen. He wants to glance at his watch, but he’s almost finished here, and he wants to get this over with. There may be no point watching until the end; nobody’s said anything useful. No names. Just some pleasured cursing and **** encouragement.

“Fuck! Yes!” the blonde squeals.

Jim’s alone in his house, yet still self-conscious about the sounds coming from his computer.

The brunette shivers and suddenly needs both hands for the blonde’s hips. She hunches and hisses through her teeth.

“Fuck!” she roars.

The fucking stops as she shudders, presumably finishing inside her quivering partner.

Jim has seen enough. He closes the laptop and picks up his phone, rubbing his face as he puts the number in.

“Hello?”

“Jim Gordon here.”

“Well?” the man asks anxiously. “Is she cheating on me? I know she is.”

Jim sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Who is it? Is it Mark? That prick,” the guy adds under his breath.

“Uh, no. It’s a woman. Look, Mr. Metzer, women being Seed-Curious is very common these days. It may be that experimenting with a woman who’s taken Seed isn’t the same as…”

“Who? Who?” The man sounds absolutely baffled. “A woman? No. That’s not her.”

“It’s her,” Jim tells him firmly. “I’m sorry.”

“Who?” Now the guy sounds a little deflated.

“I recorded for more than half an hour. They didn’t say any names.”

“What did she look like?”

“Oh, five-six. One-fifty. Brunette, ponytail, short nails, rose tattoo upper back, right side.”

The line is silent.

“Rose tattoo?”

“With thorns and some writing. I couldn’t make it out.”

The man is silent. Quite a few seconds pass.

“Sir?” Jim asks. “You OK?”

“That… that sounds like her cousin.”

Jim’s brows rise. He opens his mouth but isn’t sure what to say. Doubly uncomfortable, he looks at his watch.

“Sir, I’m sorry to have given you bad news. With this, I’m going to consider this job closed out. I’m afraid I have to go.”

He hangs up and drops the phone on the couch, leaning back with a groan. He hates PI work. He doesn’t need it; being Commissioner in Gotham didn’t leave him penniless by any means, but he has to do something with his time. A lot of these cases involve Seed.

Jim picks up his coffee and the remote. He turns on the TV.

SEY

Riley Beaumont lets herself into Workout Room 8, only to find it empty. She pauses, taking in the spotless space, which has been prepared for a scheduled session. Frowning, she checks her phone. First the time, then the appointment.

Drawing plenty of looks in her leggings and minimalist top, she goes to the lobby and leans on the desk.

Tina blushes when she looks up.

“Oh. Riley.”

“Another no-show,” Riley reports, annoyed. She turns to look toward the front of the gym. The Gotham night waits outside. People pass on the crowded sidewalk.

“Maybe they’re watching the debate.”

“Maybe.” Riley chews her lip for a moment. “Feels like I’ve had a lot of no-shows lately.”

“Well… I don’t know how that would compare to everyone else. And, I mean, I think we all know why Viti Saxena hasn’t been here.”

Riley twitches at that. She sighs. “Can I see the book?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tina turns her monitor. Riley leans in to look at the schedule. “Married couple?” Tina asks, peering at the two names written in for this block. “Or sisters, maybe?”

“I was looking forward to finding out,” Riley says. “Too bad. Did we ever hear anything from Sara Smith?”

“No. Sorry.”

Riley sighs again.

SEY

The TV is safely behind thick, shatterproof glass.

Dr. Harleen Quinzel sits hunched in the corner of the common room in her Arkham jumpsuit, trying to read her dog-eared smutty fantasy novel from the asylum library. Lights tick and flicker, casting pale light on the grayish tile floor and yellowed, flaking, padded walls.

The guards have agreed to turn up the volume on the TV when the debate starts, and most of the others are on the faded green sofas, waiting.

Professor Jonathan Crane sits between Waylon Jones and Jarvis Tetch.

He turns around, leaning over the back of the sofa.

“You aren’t watching, Harley?”

“I can hear it,” Harley replies tightly without looking up.

Tetch twists around to join in. “Her dad has locked all of us up, Harley. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t like her.”

Harley ignores that.

“It ain’t that,” Jones, aka Killer Croc, rumbles. “That Gordon chick’s boning her girl.”

“That’s not true!” Harley snaps, then catches herself. She balls her hands into fists on the cold table.

“Oh, Harley knows that Ivy’s not a one-girl partner,” Crane says good-naturedly. “You can’t let a woman bring you so low, Harley.”

“Didn’t you just get your ass beat by Batgirl?” Croc asks, making the couch groan every time he moves.

“It wasn’t Batgirl,” Crane replies, irked. “It was the purple one.”

“With the crossbow?” Tetch says.

“No, the other one. With the hood.”

“I don’t know that one.”

Harley snorts.

Crane raises an eyebrow. “Something to say, Harley?”

“You got tagged by a D-lister like that?” Harley asks, giving him a look.

Crane bristles. “I’m not the one being cucked by a woman in a wheelchair,” he retorts.

“Hey!” Harley flings her book at him and leaps to her feet as the guards rush to intervene.

SEY

“I know you’re sleeping with her,” Vicki Vale says, leaning forward to peer at her reflection in the dressing room, which is stiflingly warm. The heat is turned up way too high.

Summer Gleeson sits in the chair in the corner, watching impassively as Vicki gets ready.

“Is that what you think?” she asks, toying with a bottle of cold water.

“That’s what Gotham thinks. It’s what I know. You think people haven’t noticed that you haven’t mentioned Barbara Gordon’s name even once since she declared her candidacy?”

“She’s my friend. That’s not a secret. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to put my finger on the scale during a mayoral race,” Summer replies calmly.

“Wouldn’t be appropriate,” Vicki echoes, wiggling her hips a little, still focused on her makeup. “It’s still weird to think about it. It never even occurred to me that you would go with a girl, but I guess anyone can be Seed-Curious. Even me.”

“I don’t need to know that.”

“There’s this trainer at my gym. Redhead…” Vicki sucks her breath in through her teeth. “I’ve heard rumors. Makes you think.”

“I think it’s healthy to explore your curiosities. I mean, why not?”

“You’re trying to get me off-topic.”

“You got yourself off-topic,” Summer says with a snort. “Can you be objective with Barbara? She did snub you that night that the Riddler tried to hit the dinner.”

“That was not a snub. I’ve seen her looking at me. There must be something she likes. Maybe I’ll be Seed-Curious with her,” Vicki says with a playful look over her shoulder.

Summer bristles. “I stepped aside so that you could be here tonight, Vicki. Are you trying to make me regret it?”

“Nope,” Vicki says smugly, going back to her reflection. “That’s not what I’m after at all.”

SEY

The flickering light of the TV catches on the tears rolling down Viti Saxena’s face.

Gotham’s District Attorney lies naked on the floor of her apartment, bound tightly from head to toe in white ropes that crisscross her golden skin. Her thighs and her thick bush sparkle with moisture. Her chubby erection slaps against her soft belly as she wiggles in frustration and need. Welts cover her rear end, but her hands are tied behind her back, so she can hardly protect her sensitive skin.

Viti’s wife, Aki Aramaki, stands over her. Aki is fully clothed in the same outfit that she wore to work: a navy pantsuit. Her attention is on the television, not her wife.

Drool drips from Viti’s ball gag, and she whimpers.

Scowling fiercely, Aki pulls her gaze away from the pre-debate commentary and sneers down at her wife. A picture of Barbara Gordon is on the screen. Barbara is a beautiful young woman, but instead of makeup and styling, she’s running her campaign with her hair in messy buns and ponytails. She’s wearing glasses and chunky sweaters with blankets on her lap in her wheelchair. The photo on the screen is charming enough but hardly flattering.

“That,” Aki says bitterly. “That was all it took for you to withdraw?”

Viti moans, and Aki angrily plants her stocking foot between her wife’s legs, grinding with her heel. Viti thrashes and white semen erupts from her cock, splattering across her tummy and chest, staining the ropes.

Aki shakes her head and lifts her foot, looking at the juices dripping from her toes.

“Pathetic,” she mutters.

SEY

“I don’t think anyone expected Saxena to bow out so easily. And her reasoning is hard to understand. Sure, Jim Gordon had a great reputation in this city until recently, but that’s not the case anymore. If he hadn’t stepped down, he would’ve been replaced. Meanwhile, we know that Barbara Gordon has distanced herself from Poison Ivy, but guess who’s handling Wayne Corp’s pet supervillain now? That’s right, Lucius Fox,” Jack Ryder says, pointedly tapping his finger on the desk. “And we all know what Lucius Fox wants for this city. Gordon’s just an extension of Fox. How did Saxena see that as a threat?”

“Yes! Don’t stop!”

Kate Kane looks down at the trainee underneath her in her bed. She grabs the remote and mutes the TV, then pushes the girl’s hair out of her face and kisses her. Kate moans into the trainee’s mouth as she feels the slick walls sheathing her cock squeeze her tighter. The covers slide off the bed and she pumps her hips faster. Maybe they can wrap this up and still catch the debate.

SEY

“You’re sure, Ms. Gordon?”

“Yeah,” Barbara tells the stylist, pushing her glasses up her nose, then adjusting her collar. She really should’ve ironed this blouse, but ironing is complicated in a wheelchair. Alfred would’ve done it if she’d asked. Too late now. “OK, let’s go.”

“I’ll get the door.”

Barbara makes sure her mic is on properly, then wheels herself out of the dressing room and down the hall. Ahead, another girl lifts the curtain, and she rolls out onto the stage. Temporarily blinded by the lights, she smiles and waves as applause and cheering wash over her in the Gotham Central Theater.

Vicki’s already at her moderator’s podium, looking much sexier than she needs to, as usual. Summer’s out there in the audience somewhere, but Barbara’s determined not to look for her. They haven’t seen much of each other lately for obvious reasons, and Barbara doesn’t want to dwell on how she feels about that.

Mayor Hill is already at his podium, looking dignified and put together. His glasses are new. Tortoiseshell. He’s going for a more intellectual look, probably because Barbara’s recent platform release took him off-guard. Nobody expected such a fresh candidate to have such a developed platform right out of the gate. Now he has some catching up to do, but Barbara won some points there, drawing attention to his complacency. She can use that.

Her podium is low, of course. She wheels on past it and Hill comes to his senses. He’s holding a real mic in his hand, and he hangs onto it as he strides toward her. Predictably, there’s a shriek of feedback from the sound system as he gets close, and he hurriedly holds the mic away, reaching out with his other hand.

Barbara laughs and shakes his hand. He’s smiling too. His lead in the polls is shrinking, but he still has one and he’s the incumbent. He has every reason to be confident, especially with Jim Gordon stepping down in disgrace.

Barbara’s not worried. This race is only getting started.

She flinches as warm blood hits her face. Hill reels back with a look of surprise and falls to the ground, blood spurting from the hole in his neck. Barbara didn’t hear a shot. Her shock doesn’t last; she’s not squeamish.

Should Barbara try to help Mayor Hill?

Or get to cover?