The storage room beside the underground parking lot had no heating. The cold seemed to seep out of every crack in the concrete floor. Otis could only rely on an old electric space heater for warmth. Its coils glowed faintly in the dark, and even wrapped in a thick down coat, he still felt the chill creeping up from his feet to his entire body.
But compared to the ever-present damp, moldy stench of Blackgate Prison, along with the endless howls and threats echoing behind iron bars, this place was heaven. At least here he had silence. And four walls of his own.
He poured some hot water into a chipped ceramic bowl and took out a box of store-brand cake, planning to dip pieces in the water as he ate. After a moment's thought, he snapped off a small chunk and placed it on the table.
Immediately, a sleek grey-furred rat poked its head out of his coat pocket. Its whiskers quivered. Its eyes swept left and right. Then it leaped onto the table, cradled the cake piece between its forepaws, and began nibbling.
Otis looked at it.
This was one of the few friends he'd made during his time behind bars. Sometimes he even felt it understood every word he said. The other rats feared him and obeyed him unquestioningly. But only a few could sense the sorrow in his heart.
"Bastien…"
He reached out and gently stroked the rat's head with one finger. Bastien, holding half the cake in his mouth, suddenly darted off the table and disappeared into a pile of old clothes on the sofa.
Otis froze.
Then he heard firm knocks at the door.
"Hey, Otis."
Marco pushed his way in, head lowered, wearing a black windproof jacket and bringing with him a gust of cold. He rubbed his hands together, dragged a chair over, and sat down without waiting for permission.
"How's the preparation going?"
Otis said nothing. He walked silently to a drawer, pulled out a thick stack of documents, and handed it over.
"You told me to watch the key officials at CPS. These are their movements from the past week."
"Great, thanks!"
Marco took the papers and flipped through them quickly. Soon, disbelief spread across his face. Every single person on Edward's list had been tracked. Detailed logs of where they went, when they went, who they met.
"Mamma Mia... Did you do all this by yourself?"
"Yes." Otis nodded. "And with more than three hundred rats."
"Oh. Amazing." Marco blinked. "Wait. Three hundred?" His eyes widened. "You can command over three hundred rats?"
"In fact, more. Five hundred... a thousand... two thousand... even more... If conditions are right."
Marco tried to imagine it for a moment, thousands of rats surging like a living tide, a grey wave of fur, teeth, and clicking claws. A shiver of revulsion shot up his spine.
If Otis ever decided to turn villain, Gotham would have a serious problem on its hands.
Otis seemed to sense Marco's instinctive discomfort. He curled in on himself slightly, making himself smaller. From his coat pocket, he pulled out a small box of cassette tapes and said, "Officer... about my case... this is part of the audio transcriptions from Judge Joshua."
"Don't call me 'officer' anymore. Just Marco." He took the tapes and gestured with his hand to indicate size. "You used that recorder I gave you?"
"Yes. That ultra-small one Edward made. Every day I had a rat carry it inside the judge's chambers, hide in a corner for thirty minutes, then bring it back out. But what gets recorded... that's not something I can guarantee."
"Right. I'll take it back and check." Marco pocketed the tapes. "If it's useful, then we'll move forward with—"
He stopped mid-sentence, an idea forming.
"Actually, speaking of moving forward... there's something else I need your help with."
---
"Steal?"
Otis stared at Marco, who was currently pulling a black balaclava over his head. Then he looked out the car window at the pitch-black night.
"You know I was put in Blackgate on a false charge, right?" he muttered quietly. "I've never done anything illegal. Not once. Why... why am I about to commit a crime now? With you?"
"Oh, stop complaining. You're not the one doing it, you're just keeping watch." Marco finally tugged the ill-fitting mask into place and checked the rearview mirror, making sure his face was fully covered. "Those CPS guys have all been in contact with this company. Especially that accountant. He's been visiting this remote financial consulting firm a lot lately. More than once. I suspect their secret accounts and illicit fund records are hidden inside."
He opened the car door to get out, then turned back and patted Otis on the shoulder.
"We're doing this for justice. Think of that bat freak who fights the mobs. Now think about how you're just like him. Doesn't that feel better?"
"That bat freak who breaks people's arms and legs..." Otis watched Marco's silhouette disappear into the night. He sucked in a breath and murmured, "Being like him makes me feel worse."
He turned off the car lights and aimed his gaze into the shadows beneath the building, and waved his hand lightly, almost delicately.
"Go. Warn me if anyone comes close."
Countless rats crawled out of the gloom. Squeaking like a rising tide, they swarmed toward the remote office building. They slipped in through the porch, the sewers, the ventilation ducts, the broken basement grates. Through any crack they could find.
Otis traced a cross over his chest.
"God forgive me. God protect him."
Then he sat motionless in the driver's seat.
---
Nearly an hour passed.
Otis was starting to worry something had gone wrong when he finally saw Marco sprinting up to the car from the side of the building. He was out of breath and carrying a large hard-shell case on his shoulder that looked heavy. Bastien jumped off Marco's shoulder mid-stride and, as if on autopilot, slipped back into Otis's coat pocket.
Marco shoved the case onto the back seat, squeezed into the passenger side, and pulled off the balaclava. His face was flushed.
"There's good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"
"Please, don't play that game." Otis clutched his forehead. "I don't want to do this again. Give me the bad news first so I can stop worrying."
"The bad news is there's a ton of financial files in there, but I can't make heads or tails of them. It's all spreadsheets and account numbers and corporate shell game bullshit."
"Uh... and the good news?"
Marco patted the case behind him with a grin. "I brought them all out. We'll find an accountant who actually knows what they're looking at."
"But..." Otis raked his fingers through his messy hair. "What if they find out the office was robbed tomorrow? They'll definitely call the police."
"So what? We've got the evidence. Besides..." Marco's grin widened. "... aren't we cops?"
"And if you're wrong? If this place has nothing to do with CPS?"
"Then it's just an ordinary burglary. Gotham PD gets hundreds of those every day. Who's going to care about one more?" Marco snapped his fingers as he started the engine. The car pulled smoothly into the night. "If all goes well, we'll get out clean."
Otis didn't look convinced. But he kept his mouth shut and gripped the door handle as they drove away.
---
"I'm... really... I don't understand everything either..."
Edward said the words through clenched teeth, shame written all over his face. He could barely look Marco in the eye.
"Come on, Ed. You're the smartest guy I know in all of Gotham. You're telling me you can't read a few accounting ledgers?"
"I'm sorry..." Edward's face flushed red, like a rookie who'd just let down his team in the championship game. His head bowed almost to his chest. "But... I can help you find someone who can."
He adjusted his glasses, sat up straighter, and opened the police department's internal database on his computer. His fingers flew across the keyboard.
"Full disclosure: I don't know her personally. But based on some non-public files in the GCPD's Economic Crimes Unit, this person is relatively... honest. Or stubborn, depending on how you look at it. She's unwilling to go along with the tax bureau's higher-ups when they ask her to look the other way."
He clicked a few more times, tore off a slip of paper, scribbled a few lines in his neat handwriting, and handed it to Marco.
Erica Hale, Grade-6 auditor, Gotham City Tax Department. Marginalized for repeatedly rejecting tax-exemption requests for 'friendly' companies.
"She's the one."
Marco folded the note into a neat square and pocketed it. He slapped Edward's shoulder cheerfully.
"I knew you were the smartest, Ed. Seriously, come to the East End. There'll be plenty of opportunities for you there."
He glanced toward the evidence room door, then bent low and spoke, "Don't think about Ms. Kringle anymore. Men with money and power stand tall. Imagine if one day you become Inspector of East End Forensics and the Technical Unit. How would she look at you then?"
Edward lowered his head and sighed deeply.
"You mean the East End Forensics will be like here... with only me, don't you?"
"Huh? Ha! Hahaha!"
Marco erupted into a string of awkward, meaningless laughs. He stretched with an exaggerated yawn and slowly backed toward the door.
"I'm too busy! Way too busy! Think about it carefully!"
And then he was gone, leaving Edward sitting alone in the room.