Finn kept his head lowered and his hat pulled low over his face. He studied the crowd, committing each face to memory while doing his best to look like just another believer.
Dozens of people sat on the floor in a loose circle. All of them wore cheap white robes that looked as though they had been stitched together from old bedsheets. The thin fabric allowed glimpses of ordinary clothes underneath. These weren't devoted followers. They were people who simply had nowhere else to go.
At the center of the circle stood a tall and gaunt man known as the Guide.
He wore the same white robe as the others, but his looked noticeably better. It was cleaner and fit him properly, as if it had been tailored instead of hastily assembled. He stood on an overturned milk crate to make himself appear taller while waving his arms.
"Look at the city beneath our feet!" he shouted.
"It's sick. Rotting from the inside out. Sin festers in every alley. Despair gnaws at every kind soul. This city devours the innocent and spits out monsters."
A low murmur of agreement spread through the crowd.
Finn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had been sitting through this bullshit for over an hour, and the Guide was still going. The man loved the sound of his own voice.
Still, he kept his expression calm and his recorder running inside the pocket of his coat.
A few days ago, Cobblepot had given him a direct order: infiltrate an organization called the Eternal Church, gather intelligence on their operations, and report back.
Twenty thousand dollars for anyone who located their hideout. Three times that amount for whoever managed to capture their leader.
Eighty thousand in total.
That was more money than he would make in five years doing grunt work for Cobblepot. All he had to do was sit here, listen to some fanatic rant about purity and redemption, and take notes. Easy money, assuming he didn't get caught.
He glanced around the warehouse again. The space was large and probably used for storing equipment when the farm had still been operating. Now it stood mostly empty except for the crowd and a few piles of discarded junk in the corners. Camping lanterns hung from hooks along the ceiling. Candles had been placed along the edges of the room.
The Guide's voice rose again, pulling Finn's attention back to the center of the room.
"This isn't our fault!" the man shouted as he spread his arms wide. "This isn't some unchangeable fate! We're not cursed! We're just not home yet."
He pointed behind him at a crude wooden frame propped against the wall. Hanging from it was a hand-painted sign with blocky letters:
YOU ARE NOT LOST. YOU ARE SIMPLY NOT HOME YET.
Several people in the crowd nodded. A woman near the front wiped tears from her eyes.
Finn resisted the urge to spit. These people were pathetic. They had joined this cult for two loaves of bread and a couple cartons of milk per day. That was all it took to buy their loyalty.
The Guide's expression shifted.
"But even as we seek redemption, even as we yearn for purity, there is a force working against us. It pretends to offer safety, but it's nothing more than a lie!"
Finn's attention sharpened. This was the part Cobblepot wanted to know about.
"It's the East End Police Department!" the Guide practically screamed. "They're harboring a girl who shouldn't exist in this world! Her very presence draws disaster. Every bit of chaos in Gotham begins with her! They claim they're protecting her?"
He laughed bitterly.
"No! They're sacrificing the safety of every citizen in Gotham for their own misguided sense of righteousness!"
He spread his arms again.
"We have to act! We have to make those blind fools see the truth! Justice demands it! Our families demand it! And our children demand it!"
Another man stepped forward from the shadows, carrying a cardboard box. Inside were loaves of bread and small bundles of cash. The Guide started handing them out as he continued his pitch.
"Take this. This is the Church's love. Tomorrow, we're going to make our voices heard. We're marching to the East End precinct, and we're demanding they hand over the source of all this chaos. Gotham doesn't need a demon's daughter. We need purity. We need peace. And anyone who shows up to support us will receive double food and double money afterward."
Finn accepted his share along with the rest of the crowd. It was a stale roll and a few crumpled bills, maybe ten dollars in total.
Still, the information had been solid. The target was the girl at the East End precinct. The plan was a protest march. The timing was tomorrow. That was everything Cobblepot needed.
Which meant it was time for him to leave.
While the crowd was excited over their promised rewards, he slowly worked his way toward the back of the warehouse.
His hand was inches from the door handle when he heard a creak.
The door swung open from the outside.
A wave of cold air swept into the warehouse. The candles nearest the door flickered violently, and several went out entirely.
Five figures stood in the darkness beyond the threshold.
The one in front was massive. He wore a deep red robe. His face was hidden beneath a deep hood, revealing only a pale chin and bloodless lips.
Behind him stood four attendants dressed in dark clothing.
The warehouse fell into silence.
Then, as if pulled by invisible strings, every single person in the white robes dropped to their knees, including the Guide.
"Brother Blood! Daughter of Chaos!"
Finn's blood turned to ice.
He didn't kneel. He couldn't. His body had locked up entirely, frozen in place by sheer terror. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs wouldn't move.
The figure in red stepped forward. Behind him came another robed figure.
Brother Blood walked to the center of the room, stopping exactly where the Guide had been standing moments before. He raised one hand and pulled back his hood.
The face beneath it was pale. His features were sharp and striking, handsome in a way that felt almost inhuman.
"I have heard your prayers. I have felt your longing."
The words seemed to bypass Finn's ears entirely and press directly into his skull. His vision blurred for a moment, and he had to blink hard to clear it.
"A pure world must be nourished with pure blood. The filth that obstructs our great work must be cleansed."
He pushed back the sleeve of his left arm and drew a dagger with his right.
He lifted the blade. Then he dragged it across his own forearm.
The cut was deep, so deep that bone was visible beneath the torn flesh. Blood welled up at once, running down his arm and dripping onto the floor.
Several people in the crowd gasped. A woman near the front covered her mouth.
But Brother Blood's expression didn't change. Then the wound started to close.
The spilled blood reversed its flow and slid back into the open gash. Skin pulled itself together. Muscle fibers reconnected. Veins sealed themselves shut. In less than three seconds the wound vanished completely.
The only evidence it had ever happened was the blood on the blade.
"A miracle!" someone screamed.
The warehouse erupted into frenzied worship. People sobbed. Some pressed their faces harder against the floor.
Finn felt like he was going to vomit.
This wasn't a con. Whatever Brother Blood was, he wasn't human. And that meant Cobblepot's money wasn't worth shit if he ended up dead.
He had to leave.
While the crowd remained lost in their fanatical worship, he slowly edged backward toward the darker corners of the warehouse. He kept his head low and moved carefully, trying to disappear into the shadows.
Ten meters.
Five.
Three.
He was almost there.
Then someone looked at him.
It was the Daughter of Chaos.
She had turned her head, and her eyes stared straight at him through the crowd. Her face showed no emotion.
Brother Blood noticed. His eyes shifted as he followed her gaze. A moment later, they settled on Finn's frozen figure.
"It seems," he said softly, "that we have a lost lamb among us."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Or perhaps an uninvited rat."