"You guys didn't hear the sound Loeb made when we woke him up. Like someone just told him his dog died." Marco yawned and leaned back in his chair, rocking on two legs. "I'm betting he was in bed with his mistress when the phone rang. Probably killed the mood real quick."
"Actually, Marco, according to most people's circadian rhythms, around four in the morning the brain is already dull and fatigued. It's highly unlikely anyone would be engaging in sexual activity at that hour, statistically speaking—"
"Alright, Ed. You're always right." Marco gave Edward the most insincere thumbs-up in human history. "Help me think, are they really targeting Arkham?"
"Honestly? I don't know this time." Edward pushed his glasses up his nose. "I have too little information about his overall capabilities. I've only seen a few people show up on surveillance footage, so it's difficult to make accurate predictions. The truth is... There are many places we need to guard, but we don't have enough manpower. Gotham's too big. Police forces are too scattered. And the GCPD has way too many vacancies."
He didn't continue. He just sighed softly, and the room fell into silence.
Darnell looked from one grim face to another. "Come on, don't all look so down. Aren't you gonna ask me if I've got good news?"
"No need to ask. You obviously don't have any good news. Fuck, I'm so tired—"
"Bullshit! The building next door is done! The forensics lab and medical examiner's office can open!"
"What?"
Marco was so startled he nearly tipped backward out of his chair. "Don't mess with me. The concrete can't even be dry yet."
"Uh... well, the flooring isn't finished..."
"Then the rooms can't be painted that fast either—"
"They're not painted."
"Then what did they even do?!"
"Well..." Darnell scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "You said you needed it fast, right? So I gave them an idea, actually, they came up with it themselves. They just cleared out all the trash from those rooms, replaced the broken doors and windows, ripped out the old sink and installed a big industrial one that's corrosion-resistant, and fixed the clogged drains and floor traps. Water and electricity were already hooked up, we just paid to activate the accounts. That's it."
"Ed?" Marco turned to Edward. "Can we make it work for now?"
"Yes. It'll be sufficient for now."
"Alright then." Marco grinned. "Today, Anna goes with you to buy equipment. I'll have Cobblepot send over the severed hand. We're officially open for business."
---
"This is a briefing from the East End." Gordon placed a fax on the desk in front of Loeb. "They believe Black Mask may be targeting more than just Arkham."
Loeb shot Gordon an irritated glance before slowly picking up the paper.
"Arkham Asylum, Blackgate Penitentiary, the Falcone family memorial hall, the Roman's gang vault, GCPD evidence storage, Wayne Tower, the Diamond District estates... You might as well tape the entire Gotham city map to the back of this thing."
He set the paper down.
"I really do appreciate the vigilance and foresight you and your colleagues at the East End have demonstrated. This report is very detailed. The situation is clearly serious and warrants our utmost attention. Here's what we'll do."
He picked up a pen and circled several locations on the list. "These places you've highlighted, they all make sense. I will immediately instruct each precinct and district to increase vigilance, strengthen patrol presence, and ensure nothing goes wrong."
"Especially Arkham and Blackgate, which you've emphasized, I'll have ESU on standby. As for the other potential targets... we can't panic and disrupt our own operations, can we? Police resources are finite. Gotham has thousands of active cases every single day. If we spread our forces thin guarding every possible building, how do we conduct normal police work? What will the citizens think? What will the mayor think? This briefing is valuable. I'll keep it here for review and bring it up for serious discussion at today's commissioner's meeting. Your job right now is to focus your efforts and secure Arkham and Blackgate according to our established operational plan. That is your core responsibility. Understood?"
"But, Commissioner, I think you're oversimplifying this. If we don't guard the other locations, we could be looking at a catastrophe. You should escalate this to the state—"
"That's enough, Detective Gordon. Your reading comprehension truly surprises me."
He exhaled sharply and slapped the fax back down on the desk.
"Your job in this department is to apprehend criminals who disrupt Gotham's peace, not drag me into some puzzle-solving game. You call me at four in the morning expecting me to help you pick the correct answer from a multiple-choice quiz?"
He tapped the locations listed on the paper with his pen.
"If Black Mask is stupid enough to launch a frontal assault on Blackgate or GCPD headquarters, that solves our problem for us, doesn't it? He'll be dead before he gets through the front door. This is just territorial friction between two crime families. Cobblepot is nothing. The GCPD has no obligation to provide him with security services."
He folded the fax over and over into a small square and tossed it back across the desk at Gordon.
"Remember your priorities. Our police force must first protect City Hall and the mayor's residence. Second, we cooperate with Don Falcone and ensure his properties remain secure, so his men don't flood the streets causing problems. Third, ESU guards Blackgate. Your people watch Arkham and make sure those lunatics don't escape. Everything else? Everyone minds their own business. We can't handle more than that."
"Good grief." He shook his head. "Why can't you people get Gotham back to the way it used to be? What exactly are you all doing out there?"
Gordon stood there for a long moment, the folded fax crumpled in his fist. Then he turned and walked out without another word.
---
Marco stood at the front of the East End precinct's main floor, facing every officer on duty.
"There's probably going to be a major operation today. High risk. We need to send five to seven cars to support headquarters. That's fifteen to twenty officers. Everyone who goes gets a thousand-dollar bonus. If someone gets killed in action, on top of the standard pension and department compensation, there'll be an additional ten thousand dollars. That's the maximum I can offer."
When he finished speaking, the entire precinct fell into silence. Money didn't mean shit if you weren't alive to spend it.
"If you want to go, volunteer. If we're short on numbers, the chief might start calling on people, but I won't make any recommendations. This is your choice."
No one spoke. But slowly, a few hands went up.
Darnell. Alan. Otis. Anna.
Marco had expected those. What he hadn't expected was the fifth hand.
Captain Albert.
"You don't need to do this. You've got less than six months until retirement. Better for you to stay at the station."
"No. To be honest with everyone here, yesterday the doctor told me my test results aren't good. I might not make it to retirement anyway."
The room went from silent to dead.
"I want to die with some honor. Maybe leave a little more money behind for my daughter." He pulled two paper bags from his jacket pocket and set them on the desk. "Anyone want to place a bet? Bet on whether I'll make it back alive."
He pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and dropped it into the left bag.
"One hundred bucks. I'm dead."
The officers looked at each other. No one moved.
Marco patted Albert on the shoulder and reached into his own pocket. His fingers closed around... nothing. He'd forgotten to hit the ATM yesterday.
Shit.
His face froze mid-gesture as his eyes swept across the room, landing on Darnell.
"Hurry up and lend me a hundred bucks!"
"You've gotta be shitting me..."
Darnell shook his head, sighed, and walked over. He pulled out two hundred-dollar bills and tossed them into the right-hand paper bag.
"I'll bet a hundred too. You're not gonna die, Cap." He looked around the room. "Anyone else?"
A thin figure stepped forward and placed a hundred dollars into the right side.
"Although from a medical perspective... mmph..."
Edward didn't even finish his sentence before Marco clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him aside. Then Alan stood up. Anna. Even Otis shuffled forward.
"I only have fifteen dollars." Otis placed the crumpled bills into the bag. "You'll be fine, Captain."
One by one, more officers came forward. Marco watched as the pile of cash in the right-hand bag grew higher and higher. Some officers who'd been planning to stay home suddenly reconsidered. Others who'd been on the fence made up their minds.
Albert stared at the growing pile of money. He turned away for a moment, and when he turned back, his eyes were red. He sniffed once, then smiled.
"Well, looks like... Looks like I just struck it rich."
"Not certain yet, Captain." Marco's voice was rough. "But would you like to ride with me in the first car?"
Albert snapped to attention and delivered the sharpest salute Marco had ever seen from him.
"Captain Albert reporting for duty, sir!" His voice rang out clear. "I'll show them that East End cops don't just sit behind desks, we can shoot too!"
"Beautiful."
Marco patted him on the shoulder again and gestured for him to sit. Then he looked around the room.
"Anyone else going?"
"Me!"
"Me too!"
Hands shot up like grass after rain. One after another, until almost everyone in the precinct had their hand raised.
He felt something catch in his throat. He swallowed it down.
"Alright. Thank you, everyone. We're taking five cars, three people each. I need five temporary team leaders." His gaze moved through the crowd. "Darnell!"
"Here!"
"Jacob! Marcus! Daniel! Christopher!"
"Here, Captain!"
"You five have all fired your weapons in the field. You've seen blood. You've taken lives. Each of you leads a car." He took a breath. "But your mission is not to lead your teams into charging suspects and winning glory. Your mission is to avoid bullets and keep your people alive. This is a joint operation with headquarters. My car will be in front of yours at all times. But the rest of you, do not pass the headquarters vehicles without orders. No unauthorized retreats. But... I'm allowing you to choose whether to hold position for support or maneuver based on the situation. Use your judgment. Pick your own team members. Everyone, including those staying at the station, gear up and check your weapons now."
He frowned, like he'd forgotten something.
"Anna!"
"Here, Captain!"
"You're riding with Darnell. He is strictly forbidden from using any weapon other than his Glock 17. Darnell..."
He looked his old partner dead in the eye.
"You're still injured. Don't be stupid and try to act tough. Don't put anyone at risk trying to save you because you got cocky."
"Understood, sir!" Darnell nodded with exaggerated solemnity. "From now on, I'm a damn turtle hiding in its shell."
"And also..."
Marco held out his hand toward Otis.
"You're with me in the first car. Scared?"
Otis stood up. His face was pale, but he nodded firmly.
"No, sir. I'm fine."
---
The headquarters briefing room was thick with smoke. Dozens of cops slouched in their seats, some yawning, some fiddling with pens, most wearing expressions that screamed: this doesn't concern me.
When Gordon strode to the front of the room, a few eyes drifted toward him. Most didn't bother looking up.
Gordon's back was as straight as a steel beam. He didn't slam the table or raise his voice. He just swept the room with his eyes, and a cold silence settled over the space.
"I know what time it is. And I know what many of you are thinking. Another mob mess. Another lunatic trying to climb the ladder. Nothing to do with us. Get through the night shift, go home, and sleep. But if that were true, I wouldn't be standing here right now, pulling you from your posts."
He pulled a photograph from his coat pocket and held it up. The close-up of the wooden box Cobblepot had received. The severed hand looked even more ghastly under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Gasps and low curses rippled through the room.
"This man calls himself Black Mask. He doesn't want territory. He doesn't follow rules. What he wants is to spread fear through Gotham like a plague. He sends messages through torture. He uses the body parts of innocent people as declarations of war. He's not just threatening some crime boss anymore. He's threatening the moral foundation of this entire city. And if we back down tonight, if tomorrow morning the people of Gotham learn that a group of police officers let a torturer roam free because they 'didn't want trouble', you tell me... who will they trust then? What meaning does the badge on your chest still have?"
Silence. The earlier indifference had melted away. A few of the veteran officers straightened instinctively in their seats.
"I've heard the complaints," Gordon continued. "Complaints about pay and the brass. About how this uniform only brings trouble and danger. I know." He tapped his own chest. "I deal with the same things you do. But I also know that the day every one of us chose to put on this uniform, we swore an oath to the Constitution. We said we would protect and serve. Be impartial. Defend the law. That oath wasn't made to the Commissioner. It wasn't made to the mayor. It wasn't even made to each other. It was made to every man, woman, and child in Gotham City. Tonight is the night we honor that promise."
"I won't lie to you and say this is safe. It isn't. I know exactly what we're walking into." His eyes moved across the younger officers' anxious faces. "It's normal to be afraid. I'm afraid too. But fear doesn't give us the right to turn our backs. It's because there's darkness out there that we need to stand in its way. Our mission is to hold Arkham Asylum and Blackgate. We establish a line there, and nothing dangerous gets past us to harm this city. This isn't for Don Falcone. This isn't for Mr. Cobblepot. This is for Gotham. For every ordinary person who deserves to sleep safely at night."
"Anyone willing to come with me, go to the armory now. Get a long gun and body armor. When this is over, I will personally see every one of you commended. Anyone unwilling, you may stay. I won't force you, and nothing will be recorded against you."
He didn't look at them again. His coat swung as he turned, walking toward the door.
The room was silent for several seconds.
Then... scrape.
The sound of a chair leg scraping across linoleum.
One officer stood.
Then two. Five. Ten.
The wave spread through the room. Officers rose from their seats, most no longer wearing the tired, cynical expressions from before. They didn't speak. They simply formed lines and followed the man whose silhouette had already disappeared down the dark hallway, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors.