The Gotham City Tax Department building loomed over the municipal plaza, a huge block of old stone worn down by years of rain and neglect. It looked especially gloomy compared to the brightly lit Wayne Tower across the street. Over here, even the lights seemed to get swallowed by the dull gray walls, leaving everything stuck in a kind of bureaucratic twilight.
Marco pushed the heavy revolving brass door. Anna followed closely behind, instinctively wrinkling her nose.
"God, this place smells worse than a morgue," she muttered.
"Well, at least corpses don't demand quarterly reports. Keep it down."
The lobby was surprisingly tall, yet the stacked metal walkways made it feel claustrophobic. Above them hung several old chandeliers with brass shades.
"Hi there!"
Marco waved cheerfully at a few faded portraits hanging on the wall, former heads of the tax department. Unfortunately, none of them waved back. Their dull eyes simply stared at anyone who passed by.
After asking the front desk for Hale's location, the two made their way through rows of densely packed cubicles that resembled a giant beehive. The partitions were so tall they eliminated any chance of human interaction. Only occasionally could they spot a perfectly combed lock of hair or a hand slowly reaching for a file folder.
There was no chatter here. Just a deep, continuous buzzing.
"It feels like we've walked into the guts of some giant mechanism," Anna said quietly, watching the gray-blue-uniformed workers move through the maze like ants in a colony. She subconsciously moved closer to Marco. "They look drained, like someone sucked out their souls."
"You're lucky you were assigned to the East End, where everyone excels at slacking off." Marco stopped and observed them too. Each person wore a plastic badge on their chest, the colors indicating rank, but here, every color seemed washed in gray. "If you worked at headquarters, you wouldn't be any different. This is what happens when you stare at spreadsheets for thirty years."
Their faces carried the same numb fatigue that came from dealing with numbers and regulations for far too long. Occasionally someone would glance up at the two uninvited guests, but even then, their hollow eyes held no curiosity, only mild irritation at being disturbed.
"Don't think too hard about it. Think too hard and you'll end up just like them."
They finally reached Hale's workstation, tucked away in the most remote corner of the floor. It sat right next to an archive room. One of the overhead fluorescent tubes was faulty, flickering on and off.
Unlike the other desks that were buried beneath landslides of paperwork and coffee-stained folders, Hale's workspace was unnervingly neat, almost rigidly so. Files were stacked with precise edges, her pens were aligned in strict parallel formation, and the single CRT monitor on her desk was spotless, not a fingerprint in sight.
She looked to be in her mid-thirties, her hair tied back in a perfectly tidy bun. Rimless glasses rested on her nose, and the same drab uniform that sagged on others appeared crisp on her. She was currently buried in a thick stack of tax forms, using a small ruler to review them line by line and occasionally jotting notes in the margins with an ultrafine pencil.
Marco tapped lightly on the edge of the partition.
Hale looked up. Her gaze swept across Marco's and Anna's faces, then dropped to their uniforms and badges, before returning to Marco.
"Officers. The Tax Department does not usually welcome unannounced visitors. How may I help you?"
"Ms. Hale?" Marco tried his most charming smile, which had about as much effect as smiling at a calculator. "Marco Vitale from the East End precinct. This is my colleague, Anna Ramirez. We heard you're the last person here who won't turn a blind eye to 'errors,' and we need a professional eye."
"Errors? There are too many to count. This whole city is an error." She looked Marco up and down. "Unfortunately, I am only an auditor. And I don't accept gifts."
The low hum of the office seemed to grow louder for a moment. Marco awkwardly set the box he was carrying down on the floor.
"This isn't a gift. These are financial documents seized in a child trafficking case. If we can sort out the money trail sooner, we might be able to prevent more victims."
Without a word, Hale reached into the box and pulled out a few papers from the edge. She skimmed them for maybe ten seconds, her brows knitting immediately.
"If these belong to criminals, then they hired a terrible accountant. Inventory records, cash flow statements, tax documents, insurance forms, everything's mixed together." She placed the files back exactly as she had taken them, with surgical precision. "Their accounting license is probably forged too."
"Uh... yeah. Yes. Of course. They can't be compared to a professional like you."
Marco turned aside slightly, rubbing his face in embarrassment. When he'd grabbed the files during the break-in, he hadn't bothered with order or classification, he'd simply dumped everything into the box as fast as possible.
"For the children's sake, I'll take the job." Hale pulled out a sticky note and wrote down a number. "It'll take approximately three to five days. Leave your card. I'll notify you if I finish early." She handed him the note. "Also, you do understand that extra work isn't free. One thousand dollars. Bank transfer preferred. Thank you for your business."
---
When they stepped out of the Tax Department, even the cold and noisy air of Gotham's streets felt refreshing. Marco took a deep breath and rubbed his face vigorously, as if trying to purge the musty paper smell from his lungs.
"That woman is terrifying..." Anna inhaled sharply, her breath fogging in the cold air. "The way she looks at people feels like an X-ray machine. I swear she noticed that parking ticket I never paid last year."
"Remove the word 'feels like.' She definitely noticed." Marco replied absentmindedly, his hands in his pockets, fingers rubbing the receipt. At least Bob wouldn't give him shit about the reimbursement. "People like her live in numbers. To them, we're just two misfiled accounts that don't balance."
Their boots crunched through the half-melted black slush as they walked down the sidewalk toward the municipal parking lot.
"It's almost noon. What should we eat?" Anna asked. "Please don't say donuts again."
"God, no." Marco gagged slightly. "Those things are sickeningly sweet. Like they get the frosting for free and have to use it all up. How about... I don't know. Italian? There's a decent sandwich place near—"
"No, that stuff is way too heavy." Anna shook her head. "I'm trying to eat healthier. Maybe a salad?"
"A salad." Marco gave her a look. "You know what? Fine. Whatever."
Anna sighed. "Every day it's just these boring, petty chores. No excitement at all..." She caught Marco's expression and quickly added, "Sorry, sir."
"You know what you just did, right? You tempted fate. In Gotham. That's like asking the universe to—"
He didn't get to finish.
They had walked barely another block when they saw a crowd gathered beneath a glass-fronted commercial building. The sound of something breaking.
"Let's check it out," Anna said, already moving toward the commotion.
Marco rolled his eyes. "I swear to God, you're cursed. You know that? You're actually cursed."
They pushed through the crowd and found not the usual sight of some street fight or domestic dispute, but two sharply dressed business professionals squaring off against a middle-aged man in a lab coat. All three were red-faced and screaming at each other.
The scientist was holding some kind of device, a metal tube connected to a bulky backpack. It looked homemade, and dangerous.
"Are we doing 'intellectuals versus capitalists' today?" Marco clapped his hands loudly. "GCPD! Everyone calm down. You're standing on some of the most expensive real estate in Gotham, making salaries dozens of times higher than regular folks. Stop acting like junkies on a bad trip."
He pointed at the researcher holding the strange device.
"Sir, put that thing down. Assaulting people with... whatever that is... is not a good idea."
"This is not some toy!" the researcher shouted indignantly. "It's my newly developed cryogenic emitter! The liquid nitrogen jet can turn anything into an ice sculpture instantly! And I'll use it to protect my research if I have to!"
Anna's expression changed instantly. She drew her service weapon and aimed it at him with both hands.
"Put the weapon down! Now! Hands on your head!"
"Hey! Hey! Everyone calm down." Marco pressed his hand downward, signaling Anna to lower her gun. Then he shook his head at the researcher. "You just said that thing is extremely dangerous. I strongly suggest you put it down before this situation gets out of hand."
The middle-aged man hesitated, his eyes darting between the gun pointed at him and the two corporate suits behind him. Finally, he nodded and set the device on the ground.
"All right. Now talk." Marco looked between all three men. "Who are you people, and why are you screaming at each other in public? This place is starting to look like a Super Bowl tailgate party."
One of the suits stepped forward, straightening his tie.
"Officer, we're the risk management directors of the company. Dr. Victor Fries' research has consumed massive company funds for the past two years and has produced zero results. The company has decided to terminate funding and reclaim our equipment." He lifted a thick stack of papers. "These are the contracts and legal documents. When we notified Dr. Fries in advance, as required by protocol, he refused to cooperate. He insulted us repeatedly and even issued threats. Officer, we hope you'll assist us in reclaiming the company's lawful assets. The company would be very grateful for the police department's cooperation."
Marco scratched his head. The corporate jargon was giving him a headache. He turned to the other party.
Victor stared back coldly, his jaw set, his rejection firm and absolute.
"You can't do this. If you cut the power and shut down the equipment, Nora will die."
"Then take her to a hospital!" The risk management director slapped the documents against his palm. "St. Swithin's! Gotham General! Anywhere! Not keep her frozen in your... our company ice box!" He gestured at the building behind them. "Look around you! You think you're going to achieve some groundbreaking scientific miracle in a rented lab space?"
"The hospital can't save her! Only I can! Cryostasis is the only hope! She doesn't have much time left, just a little more, just a bit more refinement to stabilize the process and—"
"Your 'just a little more' has already burned through two years of budget!" The second director stepped forward. "No peer-reviewed papers, clinical trials, or results! Just insane theories and astronomical expenses! She hasn't improved at all! I'll say this one last time, Dr. Fries, your research is a bottomless pit! The company won't waste another cent on your science fiction fantasy! Tomorrow morning we're sending a team to forcibly shut down every piece of equipment and reclaim all company property. You can end this farce, or we'll help you end it!"
"Farce?" Victor bent down and grabbed the cryogenic emitter. "You think Nora's life is a farce?"
"Everybody shut the hell up!"
The loud shout stunned all of them into silence. Marco cleared his throat, glaring at each person in turn.
He pointed at the exhausted-looking Victor. "First question. Who is Nora, and why is she sleeping in a freezer?"
"Nora is my wife, officer." Victor was trembling. "She has MacGregor Syndrome. Progressive cellular necrosis. Modern medicine has given her a death sentence. But I can save her! Cryostasis halts her physiological processes until I find a cure! But only if..." He suddenly pointed at the directors. "... the power to the life-support system is never interrupted! If they shut it down, if the temperature becomes unstable, then she... she'll..."
Before Victor could finish screaming, Marco lunged forward. He grabbed Victor's wrist with one hand and yanked the metal backpack off his shoulders.
"Well done, officer!" The two directors cheered. "We thought you might side with that madman."
"I never said I was siding with you either." Marco said, handing the backpack to Anna. He kept his grip on Victor's arm. "His wife is still alive, and she'll die if she's removed from the cryo-system. Correct?"
"That's... this is..." The directors exchanged uneasy looks. One stepped forward and lowered his voice. "Officer, it's all his delusion! He's just a lunatic playing with high-voltage cables and liquid nitrogen, freezing his wife like some kind of experiment! This is murder... his murder of his own wife!"
"What did you say?!"
Victor jerked violently against Marco's grip. Marco tightened his hold, keeping the scientist from launching himself at the corporate suits.
"Since you two can't agree, we need a professional medical evaluation. But unless a qualified medical team confirms that his wife is clinically dead, under Gotham municipal law and state criminal code, knowingly cutting power to life-support equipment tied to an incapacitated patient, causing their death, can result in second-degree murder charges."
"I don't care about your threats! You can't bluff me! You police know nothing about science!"
"Sure. Maybe you don't care about criminal charges." Marco shrugged. "But what about your board of directors' reputation? The company's stock price?" He gestured at the watching crowd, many of whom were now filming with their phones. "Announcing in public that you intend to unplug a helpless patient's life support, what do you think your CEO will say when this hits the evening news?"
The directors' faces went pale.
They exchanged glances, stepped aside to whisper among themselves, then returned with forced professional smiles.
"We'll report this to the company and let the legal department handle it. In that case, Dr. Fries, we'll see you in court."
They straightened their suits and overcoats, shook hands with Marco, Anna, and even, grudgingly, Victor, then ducked into a car and sped away.
Marco looked down at the cryogenic emitter sitting on the ground. He released his grip on Victor's shoulder.
"Thank you, officer..." Victor rubbed his arm where Marco had held him. "You bought Nora a few more days."
"As a potentially hazardous device, we'll need to confiscate this for now." Marco nudged the emitter toward Anna with his boot. "Now take me inside. I need to see your wife's condition, the hospital's diagnosis, and this so-called 'life-support system' of yours. If it turns out you froze a healthy person like a Thanksgiving turkey, you're not walking away from this in one piece."