"You...it was you," for a moment, all Renee could do was stare at you, "...You're the snitch?"

She trusted you. She trusted you, she trusted you, she trusted you. Renee thought you were one of the good ones, a good cop. Someone who wanted the same thing she did, someone who wanted to protect Gotham.

When you transferred to the Department 6 months ago, she was quick to gravitate towards you. You were tough as nails, street smart and wise cracking as herself, and damn you made good company. You had helped her fill out paperwork at ungodly hours at night at the precinct, and talked about the news by the coffee pot with her in the mornings, and joined her on her usual smoke break on the roof, looking down at the city you both swore to protect.

You were the snitch.

Her eyes darted around, looking at the machine gun wielding, brass knuckle wearing thugs she'd been surrounded by. An ambush, one she had followed you right into. She had trusted you. And now she was here; no badge, no gun, no Bullock to bail her out. She was completely and utterly alone, at your mercy.

Renee Montoya trusted you. That was her first, and maybe her last mistake.