#gcpdboyscout

Jim Gordan

Pym rolled his eyes, hands balling into fists and jangling the cuffs he’d been placed in. “They clearly didn’t teach you sarcasm at the police academy,” he groaned, leaning back in his chair in the interrogation room. “You people are wasting your time questioning me. I didn’t kill Vernon! He was my friend.” Vernon Van Dyne. Friend. Colleague. Someone Hank looked up to despite that man working for him. It still hadn’t really hit that the man was gone---Hank hadn’t really been given the chance to let things sink it. He’d been placed in cuffs pretty quickly when police arrived on the scene. Not that he could blame them too much, being found in the same room next to the body hadn’t looked good. 

“Comissioner Gordon, I wasn’t expecting to see you.” Bruce smiled, and stuck out his hand for the other man to shake it. He could see a slight scar on his wrist out of the corner of his eye, and determined it was from his “night job.”

“Drinking? Me? And what cossibly pould give you that intention, Jimbo?” The lanky lab tech squinted at the Detective, blinking twice as he wobbled slightly before correcting himself pointedly, “Impression.”

The mutant extended his hand, pointing to the scaly man currently handcuffed and barely conscious at Jim’s feet, courtesy of a taser. “I will see to it he causes no more trouble, now hand him to me before I make you. No one needs to get hurt.”

What do you call a fake noodle? An Impasta. That’s what you are! You don’t even have a mustache. Come back in a few years when you do. The mustache brings wisdom and a better sense of humor clearly.