"Chief! I need you to approve a transfer."
"Ughhh..."
Bob slouched in his executive chair like a sack of potatoes someone had dumped there and forgotten about. His face screamed: I'm two seconds away from telling you to fuck off.
"What do you want this time? Ever since I agreed to your expansion project, the amount of work on my desk just keeps growing. I thought this was supposed to make my life easier."
"You're not even fifty yet. This is supposed to be your prime earning years." Marco slapped the desk hard enough to rattle Bob's coffee mug. "Think about the future. Don't you still want money?"
"...You're right. Can never have too much of that." Bob perked up immediately, sitting straighter in his chair. "Speaking of which, is that psycho case solved yet? I've had reporters calling three times today asking for updates."
"That's why I'm here." Marco leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly. "Edward Nygma. The forensic analyst from Gotham Central. This guy's smart. Really smart. He put together a suspect profile in less than six hours, and he can handle both forensics and autopsies. We hire him, we can staff two departments with one salary."
"More departments aren't always better." Bob gave him a skeptical look. "The more you do, the more chances you have to screw up. Nobody's smart enough to avoid mistakes forever."
"Sure, there'll be some trouble," Marco admitted. "But think about that million-dollar donation from Wayne Enterprises. You haven't spent a single dime of it yet because you're terrified the auditors will find something, right?" He gestured around the cramped, outdated precinct building. "Look at this place. Where are we supposed to fit two new departments? We're already packed like sardines."
Bob's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "So... we expand. That bankrupt office building next door?"
Marco grinned. "Ever since those scam artists got shot to death in there by their victims, nobody wants to touch it. We take the initiative: help the city dispose of a toxic asset, expand the precinct, add departments, and even set aside space for future child placement housing and classrooms."
"And we get to spend Wayne's donation legitimately..." Bob sighed. "It's not a bad plan. Shame about the auditors, though. They'll still be crawling all over this."
"Let Finance and Logistics handle the project." Marco's grin widened. "They'll embezzle something. Guaranteed. You keep an eye on them, and before the auditors show up, you catch them red-handed and make it public."
Bob raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"Then you become the hero. The incorruptible precinct captain who rooted out corruption in his own house. After that, you take over direct supervision of the whole expansion project. Who's going to suspect you after that? And even if someone finds something later, well, the captain was deceived by greedy contractors. You're a victim too."
Bob's expression shifted. "A million dollars... skimming three hundred grand off that wouldn't be unreasonable. Cost overruns, unexpected expenses..." He nodded slowly. "Alright. It's more work, but it's work that pays. Is he willing to transfer?"
"I already talked to him. He's on board. Forensics, autopsies, even tech support if we need it. His brain can handle all of it."
"Okay. I rarely see you vouch for someone this hard." Bob pulled out two sheets of official stationery and signed the bottom of each one. "Have Alan write up transfer requests for both you and Nygma. I'll talk to Loeb myself. Let's hope your friend doesn't disappoint us."
"He won't." Marco paused. "But, uh, there's one thing I should mention. Just so you're not surprised later."
"What?"
"Edward's got a unique personality. Sometimes he can come across as, well, not very respectful to authority figures. He doesn't always read the room."
Bob stared at him for a long moment. Then he rolled his eyes. "And?"
"And... that's it. Just wanted to give you a heads-up."
"That's all?" Bob snorted. "As long as you're still working at this precinct, anyone being disrespectful to me has to get in line behind you."
Marco opened his mouth, closed it again, then shrugged. Fair point.
---
The phone had been ringing nonstop for hours. Government bureaucrats, media vultures, ordinary citizens, random advocacy groups, and at least three insurance salesmen. Everything except the information Marco needed.
He sat in the SWAT van parked outside the precinct, engine idling, one hand on the steering wheel. He wanted nothing more than to slam the gas pedal to the floor and just go, but he had no idea where. Every lead so far had turned into a dead end, sometimes literally.
It wasn't until five in the afternoon that the phone finally rang with something useful. Edward's name flashed on the screen.
He answered immediately. "Tell me you've got something."
"I re-examined the three most recent bodies. They all have an extremely small burn mark on the inside of their right ear, near the skull. Temporal lobe region. This isn't from disease or accidental injury."
"But the fifteen girls who drowned didn't have it," Marco said.
"Correct. Which means his technique didn't suddenly get worse."
"You said before he might've cranked up the power to make sure these three stayed silent. Like putting a can of soda in the microwave."
"Exactly." Edward paused, and Marco could hear papers shuffling in the background. "Which means we're not just dealing with a psychopath anymore. We're dealing with a tech-obsessed psychopath. Someone who understands neuroscience, electromagnetic fields, frequency modulation... I really want to see how his device is built."
"Once we catch him, you can take it apart all you want." Marco drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "But here's the problem. Do you have any way to resist hypnosis? Because if not, every cop I send in there is just going to be cannon fodder."
"I'm working on a shielding chip. It's designed to emit a counter-frequency based on the probable electromagnetic spectrum the Mad Hatter's using. The first prototype is finished. It's a bit crude, though."
"And?"
"In theory, if you attach it to the back of the head, it should provide some protection. But without field testing, I can't tell you how effective it'll be. Maybe full immunity. Maybe partial resistance. Maybe..." He trailed off.
"Maybe completely useless," Marco finished. "But it's better than nothing. I trust you."
They talked for a few more minutes about the transfer paperwork, logistics, and when Edward could officially start at the East End Precinct. Just as Marco hung up, another call came through.
Cobblepot.
He answered with, "Give me good news. Don't tell me your side's a mess too."
"Well... I'm not sure if this counts as good news yet, but it is definitely a mess. My bar's basement is currently stuffed with more than a dozen people. It's as chaotic as a frog pond during mating season. And I don't think any of them are our guy. If they had real ability, my men wouldn't have rounded them up so easily. But while we were hauling in these suspects, I thought of a different approach."
Cobblepot paused.
"This guy kidnapped over a dozen people, right? He can't just not eat or drink. So I had my men canvas nearby bakeries, pizza joints, convenience stores, anywhere that sells food and drinks in bulk. Turns out several shops reported a customer buying large quantities. I plotted those locations on a map."
"Let me guess. They overlap with the search area."
"Yes." Cobblepot sounded pleased with himself. "I'm sending you the addresses now. But there's more. I ordered my men to start making noise in the area. Asking loudly about short people and blue dresses. And just in case this hypnosis thing is real, I required everyone to report their destination before heading out. The ones who went to the north bank of the river lost contact."
"Damn. That's a lot of manpower to sacrifice just for information."
"They're not sacrifices," Cobblepot said sharply. "I pay their insurance premiums."
How generous.
Marco was already pulling up a mental map of the north bank. Industrial district. Abandoned factories. Chemical plants that had been shut down by environmental regulations. Warehouses full of rotting inventory. And one place in particular...
"Grimm Toy Factory," he said aloud.
"Grimm Toy Factory," Cobblepot echoed at exactly the same moment.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then Cobblepot laughed. "Well, great minds. That unlucky guy got driven out of business three, maybe four years ago. Environmental groups protested outside his gates every day until he went bankrupt. The building's been abandoned ever since. Nobody wants to touch it."
"Yeah," Marco said quietly. "That's the place."
"The rest is up to you, Marco. Good luck catching that lunatic. But just for the record, my guys are not expendable. I take care of my people."
Sure you do.
Marco tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and checked his weapons. He finally understood why the system had given him that "Higher-Dimensional Construct" ability.
"Immunity to memory modification," he muttered to himself. "That should cover hypnosis too."
He thought about calling Gordon. But this was still just a theory. If he was wrong, and a dozen cops showed up to an empty factory, the Mad Hatter would disappear into the woodwork. They'd never find him.
And if he was right... well, it was just one short guy with a homemade mind control device.
How hard could it be?
He twisted the key. The engine growled to life, and the van shot forward.
---
The drive to the industrial district took twenty minutes. The city changed around him as he drove, the crowded streets and neon signs giving way to decay. Buildings got shorter, uglier, and more broken. Graffiti covered every surface. Trash piled up in alleys.
This was the part of Gotham that tourism brochures didn't mention.
The closer he got to the north bank of river, the worse it became.
He turned onto a cracked road. Weeds forced their way up through every gap in the asphalt. At the end of the road was the Grimm Toy Factory.
The main structure was three stories tall, with a peaked roof and decorative spires. The chain-link fence surrounding the property had collapsed in multiple places, and the front gate hung crooked and open.
Someone had spray-painted slogans across the walls. Most had faded, but a few were still legible:
"NO DUMPING WASTEWATER!"
"PROTECT THE ENVIRONMENT!"
"GET OUT OF GOTHAM, GIVE US BACK OUR BLUE SKY!"
Marco stopped the van just outside the gate and sat there for a moment, staring at the building.
He remembered this place. Not well, but enough. The factory had done decent business once, made cheap plastic toys for discount stores. Then the environmental movement had picked up steam, and suddenly protesters were blocking the gates every week. Grimm had tried to fight it. But the negative publicity killed him. Within three years, the factory was bankrupt.
And now it was the Mad Hatter's hideout.
He killed the engine. Then he shut off all the lights, plunging the interior of the van into darkness. He climbed out slowly.