"Doctor Johnson, what're you making out of all of this?" As awkward as it is to have to hold a laptop to the scene of a crime, The commissioner had to bring in a new detective to work on the current case. Just moved in Gotham City Police Department from the Los Angeles Police Department. Not only that, but she's young. Younger than most detectives he's seen.

She's been assigned with a lab to work on half her new cases, and seeing as her progress is going fairly well? Gordon decided he'd go with her on the newest case called in by the Bat himself. Knowing the caped crusader, he already has an answer as to who did this. Probably why, and who the victim is. But it's more of a test for the blonde detective, as if Gordon's assumptions on her are actually going to be true.

She has blonde hair, it's a shade of gold that comes close to copper when it's in the shade. She wears a black pencil skirt with dark opaque tights, and has a holster not only under the beige trench coat she wears. But one hidden under the skirt, where she can easily get to and hide much more easier if that holster under her jacket it taken away.

She has narrowed blue eyes, like she always seems annoyed or fixated on something much more worthy of her attention. There's red tinges to the corners of her eyes, the raw flesh that shows simple signs of irritation. And it's not springtime in Gotham, so it's obviously not allergies. The dark circles that she's barely tried to cover with concealer and distract with long and dark eyelashes are noticeable to anybody, detective or not.

Despite living in Los Angeles, she has an accent and it's not American. She sounds Bristol, a round english accent. Say's 'Yer' instead of 'Your'. Pronounces her 'Er's' like 'Airs', though something mostly Scottish and Irish people would do. Sounding a little south of Bristol, where one's voice tends to go more on the pirate-y side of things. she's got one of those voices where you want to hear the things she says, the imagine how things would sound in that voice afterwards. Sounding a little like a Newcastle civilian every here and there with different words she'd say. Like it's what she had as a child but spent time in so many other places, to a point where she'd just drop it all together and started picking up a new way of speaking. Less of the geordie accent, but it underlays everything. In other words? She's english, probably drinks tea instead of coffee, and swears like a sailor.

There's a tattoo all along her arm, starting at her wrist and as far as Gordon knows? It stretches across her chest, seeing as it's on both of her arms, left and right. Identical in every detail, dragging from the inside of her arm and wrist. Something like that would be illegal in some states of the united states. Reasons being it would interfere on performance for doctors, when giving shots to the body. Finding the veins on the wrist would be slightly harder, and an easy mistake for accidentally slicing one open if done by somebody who dind't know what they were doing.

"Well, you're shaking the laptop so I can't see very well. What is this, a 2003 webcam someone bought to take a profile picture for MySpace? C'mon Detective, if you're gonna hold it up at least do it right."

Doctor Johnson, he's a Botanist, Forensic Scientist, and a forensic Scientist. In other words? He's good with whats left after the dirt is sifted. Of course, that's what she says. The two don't get along very well, or they do. Sometimes there's moments where the two agree on something, or they just argue as it's their way of quirky conversation. Insults also count for this.

"Sod off, just tell me what this is." She said, with narrowed eyes directed to the small plastic shard in her blue gloved hand. the plasticy latex moving along with her hand, as the material covered it well enough so that she wouldn't contaminate the evidence with her finger prints.

"Detective Morris, I don't think I want to te-"

"Answer, now."

"It's plastic, alright. Where did you find it?" He asked, glasses nearly falling off of his face and away from teal eyes that were hidden by dark chestnut hair.

"The eye socket. There 'were fleshy bits-"
"I'm focusing in on the eye socket from where I'm sitting, do you mind holding it up to the camera?" Johnson quickly cut off the young detective, though she's called young a lot? She can't be any older than twenty three.

Detective Morris scrunched her eyebrows together, and visibly cringed after hearing Johnson's request.

"You want me to pick up a bloody severed head and show you it, up close to the camera? Just look at the sodding pictures sent to the lab." She was quick to backfire off an insulting way of speaking as a retort, visibly distressed by the question.

"Yeah, and they haven't come in yet and I'm seeing something in the bone around the tissue. I'm not an anthropologist, but once he gets here he can give you a more clear answer."

"Right you aren't. Commish, am I allowed to do this or am I still not allowed to physically touch more evidence than I already am?" She turned to ask, an inch past the center of her back length blonde hair moved as her body did. The clips in her hair being the only thing keeping her bangs from directly falling into the evidence. And a black hair tie that keeps the rest in a low ponytail is what keeps the rest from doing the same.

"It's a learning progression, you have the go ahead from now on." Gordon replied, sticking his hands in the pockets of the brown coat he's wearing. Waiting for gotham's well know vigilante to come off some rooftop with that kid by his side. Or for Robin to step out of a shadow, only following his mentor. The kids probably going to have a sour look on his face, as he usually does. God, Gordon doesn't know how many side kicks that Bat's had, but he knows one thing is for sure. It's like with each one? They get a bit darker in comparison to their predecessor. Especially the second compared to the first, and the sixth compared to the fifth. The fifth one was a girl, not much was very dark about her really. On certain cases involving one criminal in particular, though. She'd just shut down and refuse to work it with anybody on any legal team. She didn't last very long, but there's a rumor she was the second person to take the Batgirl mantle.

"Surface lacerations to the orbital fracture, just my guess but that those shards aren't plastic now that i'm taking a closer look at the actual wound. It's a type of metal, one that can cause a break in the bone. Was the weapon still in the eye?" Johnson asked, only for detective Morris to nod her head and cringe while doing so, staring at the back of the severed head in her hands. Placing the head down, and picking up an evidence bag. what did this evidence bag hold? A bottle of nail polish.

Not just any, but one with a very different type of lid and bottle. The tip of the lid is broken off, in the victim's eye socket. Now the lid...it's sharpened, to a point. More so than the company did to the bottle originally. but the lid to it was sharpened to be a weapon.

The lid just by it's self was about three inches long, and narrow. sharp enough to kill someone, but this wasn't the murder weapon.

"Red nail polish, that's a really interesting looking bottle. Is there a brand on the side of it you can tell me?"
"Christian Louboutin."
"Don't you wear shoes from that brand? I mean, the red soles are like, their thing. right?"
"And does that make me a suspect?" There were heavy amounts of sarcasm in her voice, and hints of disbelief. Knowing Johnson, he might say yes out of annoyance for her alone. But another voice interrupted the conversation between the two.

"Possibly. Commissioner gordon, we're going to need the evidence for twelve hours. I left the crime scene untouched, seeing as I only found out about it through ransom demands. Have you identified a cause of death yet?"

The shock of a third voice followed by two pairs of footsteps was enough to shock Detective Morris into nearly dropping the bag, straightening her back, and cringing just a tiny bit. the voice was deep, and gravelly. It rang with threatening authority, not just to the criminals who should fear not just the voice but the man who carries it.

"He's not being serious, right? Just because I wear shoes from the same brand-"
"They're expensive shoes from an even more expensive producers, it'd take a while for someone on a detective's salary to be able to own a pair." That was when she turned around from letting her back face the clothed in black vigilante. Just now taking a good look at him, in person and not from the screen of a laptop or a phone.

"That's hardly any proof." She grumbled, crossing her right arm over her chest while letting the left remain flat palmed under the laptop. Holding it on a single hand, balanced and away from the ground.

From behind the large, tall and muscular man. Comes a smaller boy, maybe 5'6 at best. Instead of his mentor, clothed in nothing but black and grey. He's adorning a red kevlar tunic over a black base long sleeved shirt, with black pants. Green boots that have seen some real hell, as in this kid probably can't keep a pair before they start to break down for more than a month. With matching gauntlet gloves that go just below his elbows. A green domino mask that hides whatever eye color he's got, behind white lenses. And no cowl to keep his short black hair from being seen, or grabbed for that matter. Somebody can get the drop on him real easily that way. It's kinda a safety issue, right? To have hair so out in the open like that? He doesn't have much, but it's enough to pull and grab. He's got a scowl on his face, as if it's permanent. And whenever it leaves? It's a smirk.

But Detective Morris knows so much more than she's letting on, and her recent job before L.A? She was a detective, always been a detective. Just a different type of detective. It wasn't vigilantism, but it came real close. the only difference was that people came to her, she didn't go to them. Had a card and everything, even an office.

Then her partner died. Killed on the job.

This isn't on her records, as like nothing from her childhood is on her records either. As far as anybody knows? She was a kid who kept her nose clean, grew up in a nice neighborhood, and had a clean academic history in private schooling.

but that's obviously not what happened.

**Damian's P.O.V**

There's a ring on the detectives finger that he can't help but stare at. Not out of want, obviously. He's the son of Bruce Wayne. Not millions, but billions of dollars. If he wanted any ring like that for any reason at all, he'd just buy one.

So no, he's not staring at this ring out of want. He's staring at it out of confusion. Why is he staring at it out of confusion? To a point he hasn't focused on anything else besides the red gem in the gold frame in the last five minutes?

Because he's seen it before, and he's trying to place where he's seen it before. It looks like something a pirate would wear, really it does. But it's not very big, and it's not very flashy. It's just there, but it's there for a sentimental reason he assumes.

One time she caught him staring, and the look on his face was misinterpreted as even more accusing behavior than she already received. She only told him to knock it off, and then proceeded to call him 'kid blunder' before going back to work on the case.

She's overly defensive, and she has the eyes of a criminal, or somebody who's just been on the wrong side of the law. And Damian's seen those eyes, seen eyes like that. Desperate to do anything if it means getting the right thing done. Even if getting the right thing done is the goal, but doing bad and wrong things to question a person's moral compass is what gets them done.

Just recently he got out of school with a classmate of his, (Y/n) (L/n). It hasn't even been an hour since she saw her get into her stepfather's car to go home. This is exactly what he had to do after his thirty minute warning for her.

He had to go be Robin. And he's sure that by now, you're a barista behind a glass counter taking someone's order while asking them polite things about the book they recently purchased at the store.

He's out here, jumping off rooftops and dodging bullets and knife blades while you're giving strangers smiles and handing back their change.

He's out here, with a minor cut to his cheek that's only stopped bleeding a couple minutes ago while you're getting the smallest of small burns from a coffee pot against the palm of your hand. Or maybe a paper cut from a very pristine and new dollar bill. Who knows.

When Damian messes up out here, it could cost him his life maybe. He's already died once, so it's always in the air that he could die again. This time he wouldn't be so lucky to come back, given how it happened last time he came back. He came back, but his mother didn't. She's still dead.

Talia Al Gh'ul is still dead.

He's drowning his head in random and irrelevant thoughts, all the while finding an opening the slip the ring off of Detective Morris's finger without her knowing or paying attention. It was the act of shaking her hand that let him be able to do it, proceeding to hold the ring in a very small compartment on his glove that he put there himself.

He's seen you with that ring before. It was in your purse one day at school, after the mistake of having it fall in from the Bookstore apparently.

So when the young detective walks off,  red soled heels clicking down the alley whlie she takes her steps towards her car that's parked at the very end of the alley near the road. A dark black and grey 1968 Mustang, playing whatever music she has in or whatever she's listening to on the radio. It's evident on her features that she's annoyed, but she's oblivious to the ring that was once on her fingers that is now gone.

Damian knows that his next stop out of uniform is going to be to the Bookstore, knowing that you're working right now.

In fact, it's what he's on his way to do the second he takes off this green domino mask of his that separates his identity from Damian Wayne, and Robin.