"Sir, don't the police get weekends anymore?"
"What kind of nonsense is that? Are we supposed to pray that Black Mask only attacks during business hours, Monday to Friday?"
Jay pushed Wilson back into his chair and straightened up just as Edward Nygma walked into the forensics lab with a brisk pace.
"What about you, Ed? Don't you need a day off to go out or something? You practically live in this precinct."
"I'm fine," Nygma smiled gently. "The new equipment and database permissions you secured for the lab are more convenient than any form of entertainment." He paused, then added, "Besides, it's quiet here."
"Fine, suit yourself." Jay rubbed his hair and sighed. "If we can claw back that loot Black Mask swallowed, I'll find a way to get a budget for staff dorms. Then you can ditch that three-hundred-dollar dump of an apartment. Sigh…"
Jay let out another heavy breath. "Now I want to beat up Cobblepot even more. Forget it…"
He waved his hand dismissively. "Gordon dumped that body-parts case from a while back on me for 'help'… By the way, did he say his daughter is fifteen? I always thought she was five or six."
"How could she be five? Look at him, the guy's pushing forty," Wilson scoffed. "You are truly dense when it comes to these things."
"No wonder the gift I sent him last time didn't do much… Hey?"
Nygma pulled on his gloves and slid open a drawer in the morgue freezer. The cold air hissed out, condensing into a white mist in the air.
"Jay, stop the chatter. Lend me a hand and focus on the case, shall we?"
"OK, OK! Ed, you're right."
Together, they slid the heavy metal tray out and transferred it to a mobile cart, eventually positioning it under the lights of the autopsy table.
"Begin, Professor."
Nygma adjusted the recording device hanging nearby and pressed 'Record.'
"Starting last week, the GCPD—including the East Precinct—has received multiple reports of human remains being discovered. Naturally, the cases found in the East were 'successfully negotiated' over to Headquarters for processing."
Jay and Wilson shared a smug look and exchanged a perfectly synchronized high-five.
"Yes, it saved us a lot of trouble," Nygma said with a shrug. "But now all cases have been merged, and the files and evidence have returned in full to the East Precinct."
"Yesterday afternoon, HQ sent over all the remains found at different locations. I've conducted a preliminary re-examination and classification."
Nygma picked up a pair of long metal forceps and pointed carefully at the separation surface of a shoulder joint. "The tool used for dismemberment. The cuts are… exquisite."
He adjusted the microphone and continued. "Here—the way the tendons and ligaments were peeled away wasn't through brute-force hacking.
The killer is familiar with human anatomy; they bypassed the bones that would dull a blade and went straight for the joint gaps. This requires professional surgical knowledge, or… extensive butchery experience."
Jay, who had gradually backed toward the door with his arms crossed, chimed in: "A butcher? Or a doctor?"
"Either is possible, but I lean toward the latter." Nygma didn't look up. "Look at these non-joint cut surfaces. Although the body was submerged in water, the wounds remain relatively smooth.
A large, sharp, single-edged blade was used, but definitely not a common kitchen knife or a chainsaw. The killer is strong—capable of severing a spine in one stroke—but he prefers to display his technique over raw power."
"However, the stitching on the suspect's mask is incredibly crude, like the work of a butcher who switched careers to embroidery."
As Nygma dissected, he shook his head in confusion. "
…The mask carries a scent of mixed disinfectant and rancid fat. Some are latex, some are animal hide. Most are stitched together, but some parts are melted onto the suspect's face with high heat or chemical adhesives. This might suggest some sort of ritualistic intent."
"Does this guy sound more vicious than me?" Jay leaned toward Wilson, whispering. "If he ever turned into a serial killer, he'd be a nightmare to catch."
Nygma glanced at them over his glasses, and the two immediately fell silent like scolded schoolboys.
"…The victim's torso shows signs of multiple modifications or plastic surgeries. There is deformity in the brain tissue, and the alcohol levels in the body are severely off the charts—I'm not yet sure if this was injected or a result of mutation."
He removed his gloves and pulled over a display board, pinning several detailed photographs up with magnets.
"Alcohol levels?"
"Yes. However, there is another noteworthy point," Nygma said, tapping a photo with his pen.
"Observing based on the chronological order in which these body parts were discovered, the killer's stitching became increasingly fine and regular. These last few pieces, especially the reconstructed facial parts, show a level of completion that is… quite high."
"High?"
Jay pondered. "Another Mad Hatter? What's the story this time? Frankenstein?"
"Based on the current assembly, his 'work' tends to modify human limbs and stitch them into a porcine, pig-headed monster."
Nygma pushed up his glasses and wrote on the board with a marker:
Views the human body as objects for disassembly and assembly. Strong desire for control and degradation.
Reduces victims from 'human' to 'meat' to gain a distorted sense of satisfaction and power.
Likely stems from personal trauma or humiliation regarding appearance or value.
"Shit, probably someone who read Frankenstein and lost their mind." Jay frowned. A lunatic with no logic was the worst; you couldn't start an investigation through the victim's social circles.
Nygma didn't reply to the complaint. Instead, he hung up a map marked with several red circles.
"These are the confirmed dump sites. Scattered across Gotham with no apparent geographic logic. I want to visit these sites personally to see if the boys at HQ missed any subtle clues."
"Fine. Otis and I will go with you."
Jay pulled out his phone, but before he could dial, an unknown number called him.
"Captain Li, I have a lead on Black Mask."
The voice was disguised through a modulator, making it impossible to tell the gender. Jay made a 'hush' gesture and placed the phone on the table between the three of them.
"I'm here. Go ahead."
"He has a base at the Dixon Container Docks, but they've mostly evacuated by now. Two blocks away, on Brandon Avenue, there's a defunct express moving company. The basement is one of their new strongholds. I'll contact you again if I have more news."
The call ended abruptly. Jay looked at Nygma, who was scribbling notes furiously. Without a second's hesitation, he dialed Detective James Gordon's number.
"Thank you, Jay. I appreciate you coming to support us." Gordon, looking exhausted, shook Jay's hand firmly.
"It's nothing. All for the city." Jay smiled at Gordon and patted the black assault vehicle. "I'll take the lead. You guys follow behind me."
"Thank you. I really didn't expect…"
"Stop expecting!" Jay winced as he hopped into the truck. The E350 roared and took off like a shot.
"Hey… why are we taking point for Headquarters?" Wilson asked, buckling his seatbelt and looking at Jay curiously. "You don't strike me as the type to do a job for free!"
"Why do you think?" Jay looked at him like he was an idiot. "I don't necessarily believe that tip-off was real, but what if it is?"
He glanced in the rearview mirror at the convoy of police cars following them. "If it's true, think about how much good stuff Black Mask has stolen. One way or another, we're getting our cut."
"Remember: don't get out of the car!"
"Don't get out?"
"Literally!" Jay ignored him and used the vehicle's comms to call Gordon again.
"Jim, let's be realistic. How do you plan on entering? Shouting 'GCPD' at the door? If those are actual terrorists inside, your men will be cut down by crossfire before they clear the threshold. I say we lead with flashbangs and a window-breach."
"No. We can't confirm the reliability of the intel. What if there are ordinary citizens inside? No one can handle the PR nightmare tomorrow."
"And what about your men's lives?"
The convoy passed through City Hall Square; the destination wasn't far. For a moment, the only sound over the phone was the roar of the engine and the whistling wind. After a silence, Gordon asked: "Do you have any… less radical ideas?"
"I have a bad one." Jay chuckled. "My truck is pretty sturdy. In a moment, I'll hit the sirens and back it straight through the front door. You guys be ready behind me. If we find the right place, open fire immediately.
If it's just civilians… we'll say it was a 'gear shift error.' But you're paying for the wall and the door. Deal?"
"…Deal!"
Gordon seemed to let out a faint sigh, but Jay hung up without a care. The convoy turned onto Brandon Avenue. Just as they were one block away, Wilson suddenly pointed forward and yelled:
"Look at that!"
——————
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