"He called." Cobblepot's voice came through the phone at nine PM sharp. "Two in the morning. Delivery at the reservoir north of Robinson River, between Robinson Park and the Wayne Botanical Gardens."
"Got it." Marco leaned back in his chair. "How is your mother?"
"She's fine. I got her somewhere safe. Black Mask's guys showed up a few minutes too late. Gabe and the others had a firefight with them in the stairwell, but nobody got pinched. When the patrol cars rolled up, they scattered."
"Good. Stick to the plan for the delivery. Wait for my signal."
Marco hung up and turned to face the assembled officers of the East End precinct.
"Alright. We're moving out. Full deployment."
---
Gotham at this hour wasn't peaceful. It never was. The city was in that warm-up phase before its nightly descent into chaos. The motorcade didn't have any interest in playing hero tonight. They kept their lights low and cruised west along Robinson River, finally pulling to a stop near Robinson Bridge.
A dozen squad cars were already scattered across the area. Gordon was leaning against the door of his Crown Victoria, a cigarette burning between his lips, the ember flaring orange in the darkness. Marco slung his shotgun over his shoulder, jumped down from the assault van, and walked over.
Gordon's eyes drifted from Marco to the heavily modified E350 assault vehicle, then back to his own standard-issue car.
"Hell of a machine," he muttered.
"Headquarters could afford one if they wanted." Marco craned his neck to look past Gordon at the assembled officers. "That's it? What, fifty? Sixty? Please tell me you didn't actually bring this few people. Where's West District?"
"Forty-two. That's everyone I could scrape together." Gordon took a long drag from his cigarette. "Brown bailed. Said West District's too short-staffed and he can only hold his own territory."
"Bullshit." Marco's jaw tightened. "West District isn't short-staffed. That asshole sold half their gear. They're probably using leather jackets for body armor at this point."
Gordon's expression didn't change, but his silence confirmed it.
"And what about the others? Don't tell me—"
"Loeb planted at least a hundred and fifty officers around City Hall Plaza and the Diamond District mansions. Plus another thirty assigned to help protect the great philanthropist Falcone."
"Fuck. So what you said on the phone this afternoon was true. I thought that moron was just giving you a hard time to be petty."
Marco threw his head back and took a deep breath. "What about headquarters? How many did you leave there?"
"Around fifty."
"Fifty..." Marco exhaled slowly. "Alright. The evidence warehouse should be okay with that. You got any veterans under you? Send a few to back up Cobblepot. And we can't leave the drop site completely unwatched, what if these assholes show up to collect the goods?"
"Good call."
Gordon assigned five cars to stay near the delivery point. Their orders were simple: if anything looked wrong, no firefight. Just observe, report, and tail. The rest of the motorcade piled into their vehicles and roared toward the Narrows.
---
The drive started normal enough. But the deeper they got into the industrial wasteland of Burnley, the more wrong everything felt.
The headlights struggled against the damp night fog, throwing weak beams that barely reached a few meters ahead. Shadows flickered at the edges of the light. The motorcade turned southwest near the ACE Chemicals plant, and the smell changed. The briny reek of oil-soaked river water and rotting garbage faded, replaced by sulfur and disinfectant.
"What the hell—"
The assault van jolted hard, wheels crunching over what felt like a pile of loose gravel. This part of Gotham had been forgotten years ago, left to rot like everything else the city didn't want to deal with.
On both sides of the road, dense woods pressed in close. The trees were twisted things, branches reaching toward the center of the road. Seven or eight out of every ten streetlights were dead. The few survivors glowed sickly and dim, their light doing nothing to dispel the darkness.
Marco glanced sideways at Albert in the passenger seat.
The old captain had slumped back into his usual worn-out posture, all the earlier adrenaline drained away. When he noticed Marco looking, he forced a shaky grin.
"You doing okay?"
"I'm fine."
"I've been meaning to ask." Marco kept his tone light. "If you make it through tonight, what then? Want me to put a fake round into you so you win the bet?"
"No, no, I think... I've decided... living one more day is better than not. You know?"
His hands were gripping the door handle.
"Our wager... maybe we should just drop it..."
"I don't really care either way." Marco downshifted as the massive silhouette of Arkham Asylum rose at the end of the road. "But will the others at the precinct let you drop it? Think about how much money you've skimmed off them over the years with your side bets."
He looked at Albert's face and the way he was gripping everything like it might save his life, and silently shook his head.
"Forget it. Once things kick off, just crawl into the back compartment. Take the safety off your gun, but don't touch the trigger unless someone's climbing through the window. Got it?"
Albert nodded, looking both relieved and ashamed.
---
Arkham Asylum didn't stand alone.
It squatted in the middle of an overgrown wilderness, surrounded by high walls topped with coils of rusted barbed wire. The main structure was dark red brick, but age and neglect had turned large sections black with mold and water damage. Moss and unknown vines crawled up the walls. From a distance, the building didn't look constructed so much as grown. The motorcade followed the only road leading to the main entrance. The closer they got to the Gothic main building, the heavier the strange feeling became. Spires and towers stabbed into the sky. Most of the narrow windows were pitch-black, but a few glowed with faint yellow light.
The massive iron gate stood wide open. A few guards with blank stares stood at the entrance. They didn't move or acknowledge the motorcade.
Marco pressed the accelerator lightly, and the lead E350 assault van rolled through first. The taillights glowed faintly before being swallowed by bottomless shadow. The rest of the vehicles followed in a line. The convoy finally stopped in the open space before the main entrance. When the engines died, only the wind whistled through the broken window frames.
On the steps before the main doors stood a tall bald man in gold-rimmed glasses. He wasn't wearing a doctor's white coat, but a perfectly tailored dark suit. He watched Gordon step out of Bullock's Crown Vic and slowly descended the steps.
"Detective Gordon." His voice was low, and calm. No hint of irritation or grogginess from being disturbed at night. "We were supposed to meet at the precinct this Friday."
His leather shoes echoed on the stone steps.
"May I ask what brings the GCPD here in such numbers, paying my humble institution a late-night visit?"
He came to a halt at the bottom of the steps and extended a hand to Gordon.
"Yes, we were supposed to meet Friday, Professor Strange. But a group of terrorists might strike Arkham tonight. We need to secure the area."
Their hands clasped. A barely noticeable upward twitch tugged at Strange's mouth.
"Arkham's very purpose is to contain and manage Gotham's most severe security threats. I have full confidence in my team's ability to maintain order here. We've been doing so for quite some time."
"I don't doubt your ability. But this time the threat is external. Their goal is to break your control from the outside. For the safety of your staff and your patients, we have to fortify this place."
Strange was silent for several seconds. His gaze swept over the squad cars and the officers clutching their weapons, then returned to Gordon. Finally, he nodded.
"Understood. In the spirit of cooperation, I will instruct my staff to assist you. But please ensure your officers remain disciplined, Detective. The residents here are highly sensitive. Any excessive disturbance may trigger unpredictable chains of reaction. The calm here is a very delicate and fragile balance. I trust neither of us wishes to be the one who breaks it. After all, once certain things are released... it becomes quite difficult to put them back."
He cast one last glance at the assault van, then turned and ascended the stairs, disappearing into Arkham's main building.
Marco jumped down from the van and waved to the vehicles behind him, directing them to fan out. Then he walked over to Gordon.
"Well? We didn't miss anything, did we?"
"Should be covered. What about the Falcone family memorial hall?"
"Fuck it. Loeb sent people anyway, right? Let them handle it." Marco jerked his thumb toward the asylum entrance. "I'll hold the front. You take the rear."
"Sounds good."
He climbed back into the assault van and restarted the engine. The vehicle rumbled to life, and he drove it back to the asylum's front gate, turning it sideways to block the entrance completely. He cut the engine and lights, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes.
Hopefully this ride is worth all the money that went into modifying it.
Hopefully.