interrogation

The flickering fluorescent light overhead buzzed softly, casting cold white hues over the steel table.

Nolan sat slouched, wrists resting on the table, dried blood still crusted beneath his nails. His breath trembled. Eyes down. Shoulders hunched. A cup of coffee sat beside him but Nolan didn't even register it in his eyes.

Across from him sat Detective Renee Montoya, sleeves rolled up, badge clipped tight to her belt, notepad resting untouched.

She watched him for a long moment before speaking.

"You know what I don't get?" she asked, voice firm, but not unkind. "You were working a straight job. Kept to yourself. Not a single incident since you landed that job. Then tonight, three men wind up dead in an alley… and we catch you standing over them."

Nolan didn't respond. His lips were moving, but no real words came out only a faint whisper, again and again: "I didn't mean to… I didn't mean to…"

Montoya leaned forward. "You killed them."

He shook his head, hard. "It wasn't me."

"We have witnesses. Security footage from the restaurant's rear alley. You were covered in blood. You don't get to play the victim here."

"I didn't, " he squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply.

Then, silence.

A breath.

And inside, something shifted.

'Kieran,' he whispered to the depths of his mind, 'save me.'

Kieran's eyes opened same face, different man. The tension in his body melted away like ice under heat. His hands steadied. His shoulders squared. He sat up straighter, expression calm, unbothered.

Montoya noticed it immediately.

She narrowed her eyes. "Alright. So now you wanna talk?"

Kieran looked up at her. A faint smile touched his lips easy, disarming, practiced. "Detective. You seem like someone who's been around the block."

"You're still sitting in my interrogation room."

"I noticed." He glanced around. "Love what you've done with the place. Very… bleak."

Montoya didn't take the bait. "Start talking."

"Alright," he said, voice smooth as glass. "I got jumped."

She arched an eyebrow.

"The man Beckett he recognized me from a while ago. Held a grudge. Brought a couple of hired fists along, dragged me into an alley. What happened after that… wasn't my plan."

Montoya folded her arms. "So you're saying you were just defending yourself?"

"I'm saying I was minding my own business. I work. I clock out. I go home." He tapped the table once. "And then three men start stomping my ribs in. I reacted."

"Reacted?" she echoed.

He met her eyes without flinching. "You've been in Gotham long enough to know how fast things go sideways. Three against one. No choice. Just instinct."

Montoya leaned back. She wasn't buying it. Not entirely. But she'd seen worse. Heard shakier stories.

"And you didn't report it? Didn't scream for help?"

He tilted his head. "They were dead by the time anyone could help."

"You expect me to believe you just blacked out, and next thing you know, three men are on the floor?"

"I expect you to believe that in Gotham, self-defense doesn't always look clean." He gave a small shrug. "Especially when the ones picking the fight don't play fair."

Montoya stared at him for a long beat, then slowly flipped her notepad shut.

"You're slick," she said. "But slick doesn't make you innocent."

Kieran smiled. "Didn't say I was."

She stood and gathered the file folder. "We're holding you for now. We'll see what the DA says."

As she stepped toward the door, Kieran leaned back in his seat.

"Oh, and Detective?" he called out gently.

Montoya paused at the threshold.

Kieran's voice was low, almost playful. "Thanks for the coffee. Bit burnt, though."

She didn't answer.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Two officers walked in to collect him, they grabbed him roughly as Kieran got to his feet. They led him from the interrogation room down to the holding cells.

From when he first entered the precinct to even now Kieran was creating a mental map of the building. Even if he caught sight of a hall that he didn't know where it led he marked it carefully making assumptions based on what he had already seen, and from his past experience.

The officers didn't speak much as they brought him back to holding opened the cell and shoved him inside.

Kieran exhaled, leaned his head back against the wall. Alone again. For now.

But he was thinking.

Always thinking.

The bars slammed shut behind him.

Kieran's posture remained composed as the guard grumbled and walked off down the corridor. Dull overhead lights buzzed faintly, the walls painted with years of grime and faded graffiti. The holding cell smelled like sweat, steel, and old fear.

Two other men sat in the far corner, faces bruised and buried in their knees. Neither of them paid Kieran any mind.

He stretched once, leaned against the back wall, and let the silence settle in.

Then, deep inside — a voice stirred.

"Are you done playing defense, Kieran?"

It was Quentin.

That familiar rasp — grinning even when unheard. Chaotic. Crackling like static beneath Nolan's mind.

Kieran didn't move. "What, jealous you didn't get a turn at the table?"

"I'm not jealous," Quentin said. "I'm bored. This place smells like rot and lost causes. But I smell opportunity."

Kieran raised a brow. "There's not exactly a window to jump out of, Quentin. No hidden explosives. No elaborate tunnel."

"No," Quentin purred. "But there's always a plan. That's what I do. You talk circles. I cut the rope."

Kieran chuckled under his breath. "So what, you want me to give you the wheel?"

"Not just yet. But soon. First, we observe."

He looked up.

A young patrol officer walked by outside the cell — casual, chewing gum, distracted. Kieran's eyes followed him. Noted the jangling of keys. The gun holstered high. The fresh face. The nervous twitch.

"That's the weak link," Quentin whispered. "We just need to wait for the shift change. Use the timing. Watch the guards, map their habits. And then…"

Kieran's smile grew slowly.

***

Detective Renee Montoya sat at her desk in confusion as she poured over the files, "Tough case?" A voice asked while placing a cup of coffee down for her

She looked over her shoulder and sighed shaking her head, "No that's the thing, he was caught red handed but that interrogation was just odd. Something's off with the kid."

James Gordon hummed while looking over he shoulder at the files, "Try again, always trust your instinct Renee."

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