Tonnage

The Revolving Door.

>>

As Tom makes his way towards the firehouse, he considers his cooking class last night.

Q had decided to simply make the same dish, with a camera facing straight down into the pot. Tom never saw a face, and the video quality was artificially lowered so any reflections would be worthless. But then he had talked Tom through the entire process as they both cooked.

What he ended up with wasn't as good and didn't look nearly as appetizing as what Q produces. But compared to what he normally eats, it was perfection. Q offered to make it a weekly lesson on Tuesdays with a grocery and appliance list provided for the next week by Friday, and Tom jumped on it.

Seeing the look on Lou's face when the first bite hit his tongue is more than enough motivation for Tom.

He isn't sure what to do when he arrives and sees the doors are open. The gleaming red fire engine proudly displays the shield on its side. 'Gotham Fire Dept. – 14.' Then under it, in cursive and stylized lettering is the local crew's personalization of their equipment.

'Wielding axes since 1867'

Tom can't help the smirk that comes to him upon reading that, and he turns to face a guy walking up from the back with a low whistle and a smile on his face.”

“Damn, ol' Jimbo wasn't playing. You're a biggun' ain't ya?” he laughs and puts his hand out to shake.

Tom puts down his bag and follows suit, grinning. “Hey. Yeah, my diet doesn't seem to be working.” The middle-aged man laughs again at this. “You'll fit in around here just fine, Tom. Keep a sense of humor and your ears open. I'm Captain Harkin, have a seat.”

He motions over to the steps to the second floor of the station and then leans against the engine. Once they are settled Harkin continues.

“First things first, I am going to just get this out of the way. As we are part of the investigation into the Gotham Point fire, we were shown the video footage of your breaching the building.”

He grimaces. “Nasty business, and frankly, you lucked out. What had been set up there is known as a backdraft. By all rights, when you opened that door it should have resulted in an explosive event that would have knocked even you on your ass when the oxygen from outside rushed in. The only thing that saved you there was the seal wasn't good enough to completely shut down the fire. Enough was still getting in. But it was close. We'll be starting with book learning in the cafeteria. There are some very basic things that you don't know and you'll need to before you go out again, so we have a study space set up. Barring an alarm, there will be people around to ask questions.”

Tom is staring at the floor now, and Harkin walks over and claps him on the shoulder once before leading him along to the cafeteria.

“For an amateur noob, you did an amazing job. But as Jim said when he came by, you have far too much potential to let you stumble around lost in the crisis. C'mon. Let's get you started.” Almost as an afterthought, he continues as they make their way. “Oh, and if you can? Leave next Saturday evening open. We have something planned that might help you. It helps us, anyway.”

What follows is five hours of reading, questions, more reading, demonstrations of equipment, chatting with the firefighters assigned to him, and eventually pulling out and putting on his suit so they can inspect it. Theoretically to find out if it passes inspection for use in a Gotham fire.

These five people represent a single Engine crew. The firehouse has other vehicles that it can send out, with two people staying at the station and thirteen in various rolls that will get sent out into the incident. The shifts are three on, and three off. Seventy-two hours long. He's hearing tales of being on the job for all but a few short naps scattered around that time frame on more than one occasion.

They aren't impressed with his suit once they've gotten a good look at it. A wiry Latino guy they call 'Putter' is the first.

“Your visibility is crap, kid. Even with the screens, it isn't great, and let me tell ya. Counting on a camera in a fire is a mistake anyway. Camera lenses don't come with eyelids to scrape off the crud that builds up, and cameras don't usually do great at a few hundred degrees.”

A larger yet still quite attractive woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and the demeanor of a waitress nearing retirement, for all that by her face looks to be maybe thirty-five, is the next to speak. She'd been introduced to him as 'Gelcoat.' She'd rolled her eyes and flashed her close cut, yet beautifully painted nails at him when they do. Her tone is a lot kinder, though.

“He's not wrong. Having them is a great idea. But counting on them for basic visibility, not so much. But I want to talk about this pack. What were they smoking on their ivory tower when they went out of their way to make you even taller?! Why do this?”

Tom decides that he isn't going to mention that this center module was his idea.

“I have a different one that fits in the space better. It has a bunch of survival gear and stuff. But this has its own air supply and is, you know. Safer for hauling somebody out?”

The guy they call 'Pipes' is the next to nod and speak. He's a pretty big guy as these things go, over six feet and obviously spending more than his fair share of time in whatever space they have here for staying in shape. Though based on the fact that the guy's normal speaking voice comes across like a pissed-off drill sergeant crossed with a pipe organ, Tom is guessing that his handle isn't intended to be about his arms. He is getting the impression that handles with this crew are more the kinds of things your cousin would call you for doing something dumb or weird rather than any attempt to make you look cool.

“Can't haul anybody out if you can't get to them. It's a cute idea but it's a loser. Ditch it, go with the other pack mod, and haul the people out when you find 'em. Not after ya packaged 'em up for market.”

Tom looks down at the suit, which he'd taken off again a while ago so it could get a serious inspection. His stereotypical rumble is managing to be apologetic, somehow.

“The first time I had to use the first version for rescue work, it was diving to rescue Bats when 'Fathom's Deep' got blown up. I just wanted a way to collect somebody underwater. Get them air. And I took it to the fire because...”

The other woman on the crew that had been assigned to him speaks up. She's called 'Lace' but Tom is getting the impression from the conversation that she got that name because she likes her food a lot hotter than most of these people and after enough times being accused of lacing their food to hurt them... It just stuck. She's a younger black woman with her head shaved bald and a royal blue tank top on.

“Tom, you need a toolbox, not a Swiss army knife. No given loadout is going to be right for every situation, and for underwater rescue work, yeah. I can see this thing being useful. But for normal use, that extra foot and a half it gives you is just stupid. You already duck in the halls, let alone the doorways. This is just a disaster waiting to happen. Bring the other one next time. We'll take a look at it.”

The last guy in the room currently is a beer keg of a man. Just over five feet and built like a barrel full of nails. He'd been introduced as 'Burns.' But Tom is getting the impression that he got that name for being a little too bossy when he first arrived. Napoleonic syndrome or some such. So he got named after a yellow-shaded owner of a nuclear plant in a popular cartoon.

At least he owns it.

“Putter, we got anything we can use to fix the spotlight? I could see that being useful.”

Putter thinks about it, then drags the helm and pack across the table. “Maybe. Let me see what we got in the shop.”

He pulls out a tape measure, scribbles off some basics, and disappears into the back room. Lace shrugs, grinning at Tom's look. “He'll be back if he figures anything out for you. Until then, he'll just putter around in the shop.”

The look of realization as to where that guy's name came from makes them all laugh.

>>

Jason is stalking around his hideout. It's after six, he'll have to get busy soon. He'd already sent the dailies to his people. Mostly all the same stuff as normal.

But he wants Firefly. At current count, that bastard had attempted murder of more than ninety people. The actual murder of forty-three. Or at least, they hope all the bodies were finally located this afternoon. And so he put out the word.

This guy kills customers. This guy hurts business. He wants to know where this guy is, right now. He answers his phone with a harsh: “What!?”

“Hood? We have a rat here, says he knows where the deliveries went that caused last night's fire. You want us to shake him down or pay him off?”

“Pay him after you've verified, and shoot me the address. Do not let the kid leave until I've said you can.”

He gets an address ten minutes later. It's in the alley. The bastard is living next door to Thompkins' clinic. He's living next door to the Doc.

Hood is dressed and out the door before he even considers what he's going to do when he's there.

>>

Accessing the building is simple. Making it to the apartment in question, easy. He stands outside the door for a moment. This building is largely abandoned. It is technically owned, and there are no doubt a few people. Honest and beleaguered souls that are actually paying some kind of rent. But it's largely a squatter's paradise. Enough heat in the winter to not die and enough traffic from actual paying customers to keep the electricity on in the building.

The issue is that Firefly has been at this for a long time now. He's a wretch of a human being, and he's been deteriorating for years. But he isn't stupid. He wouldn't stay where he took deliveries. So this is either a drop location or a trap.

Or both, the two aren't mutually exclusive. With nothing significant on thermal in the room, he sighs and makes the call. Speaking softly behind his full helm, and ignoring the slight crunching sound as the drywall behind him cracks against his back armor when he leans.

>>

Jay-Bird: Oracle. I have a lead on Firefly. I suspect it's a drop-off point. But there isn't anybody here and it's next door to the clinic.

Jay-Bird: On the off chance this is trapped, I am not thrilled about a potential firebomb here. Send in the troops. I'm going to make myself scarce.

Oracle: If you think there might be a trap involved, it'll need to wait. B is at Arkham. They somehow lost track of Joker an hour ago. They're hopeful he's still in the asylum somewhere, but at this point, the odds aren't great.

Jay-Bird: Those incompetents let the clown loose? Are you kidding me here? Again?

R.Robin: I wish. And here I sit all busted up.

Orphan: (Typed Into Phone) He wasn't the only one. Probable that Crane is loose as well. Somebody should tell Tom. Not it.

Robin: I'll do it. It should be in person anyway.

Oracle: Based on his phone, he's still at Engine Fourteen's station. Or rather, is just now leaving. Take a re-breather to hand off to him. He has his suit, but the suit won't be useful during a surprise. He needs something to use while he suits up against these two.

B: Arkham is a sieve right now. There are dozens of psychotic thugs that are already off the island, the only people who are still locked up are most of the criminals in special confinement. Cells that the ones behind this didn't have access to. Multiple dead. Power is intermittent with emergency power and facilities struggling. I expect to find severe damage to the island's emergency utilities. I'll be busy with this for some time. Hood, in the alley, you're in charge. If I have more information I'll tell you. In the meantime, I will be going silent. Stay safe. This on top of everything else is going to be rough for a time.

Spoiler: Any other big names get out?

B: … Victor's cell is empty. But his most recent suit is in the cave. So either somebody desperately wanted this man out of prison, or we'll find him soon. Dead or alive is yet to be determined.

Nightwing: B, I'm on my way. If they are still there, that is far too much to be dealing with alone.

Nightwing: Why does all this have to happen now? Was taking a day off.

Oracle: Back to work. You can play kissy-face with your alien queen later.

Nightwing: It isn't like that.

Robin: You understand that nobody believes you, right?

Orphan: (Typed Into Phone) Later. Now is not the time.

Nightwing: What she said.

Jay-Bird: While you are busy protesting too much, get your ass down to the Thompkins' clinic. I want a second on this one and the girls are cuter. I'd feel bad if they died. You can head to Arkham after.

Nightwing: Aw. I knew you cared. I'm on my way.

Oracle: Hold on. B? I think they called Engine 14 to Arkham, and I think Tom is along for the ride.

B: … Understood.

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Author's Note:

Gotta have the big breakout. Wouldn't be a Batman story without utterly incompetent and corrupt people working in the prison systems there.

Also, I do not own The Simpsons.