The door slammed shut.
CLANG.
The sound echoed through the warehouse, and Finn's body locked up completely. Every muscle seized. His lungs forgot how to work. In that moment, he knew with certainty:
He was fucked.
His instincts screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move. It felt as though some invisible weight had pressed down on his shoulders and pinned him in place.
Two of Brother Blood's attendants stepped out of the shadows on either side of him. Finn didn't even have time to raise his hands before they seized his arms.
They dragged him from the corner. His shoes scraped against the concrete as they hauled him toward the center of the warehouse. The white-robed believers parted without a word, forming a path that led directly to Brother Blood.
The hooded figure stood waiting.
He had pulled the hood back over his head, and shadows concealed most of his face.
Finn tried to speak, but no sound came out. His throat had tightened so completely that he could barely breathe.
One of the attendants forced his hand down on Finn's shoulder. Finn's knees struck the floor. His vision dimmed for a moment, and when it cleared, Brother Blood stood even closer than before.
"Your blood carries the stench of filth."
"Ah... m-my lord..." The words spilled from Finn in a shaking rush. His survival instincts forced the plea from his mouth even though he knew it was useless. "Mercy... please... I was just... I was just passing by... I don't know anything... I swear, I don't know..."
"A lost lamb. Your soul reeks of lies and greed. Tell me, who sent you? The police?" Brother Blood tilted his head slightly. "Or some other insignificant vermin crawling through this city's sewers?"
"No one... no one sent me..."
Finn's heart pounded so violently against his ribs that he feared it might burst through his chest. He couldn't name Cobblepot. Even if he survived tonight, speaking that name would guarantee his death. By tomorrow morning he would be at the bottom of the harbor with concrete blocks tied to his ankles while fish gnawed at his eyes.
But the money kept pulling at his thoughts.
Eighty thousand dollars was enough to leave Gotham behind and start again somewhere that didn't reek of garbage and death.
"I just..." He licked his dry lips. "I just wanted some bread..."
"Bread."
Brother Blood's voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. The single word carried enough contempt to fill the warehouse.
Finn's hand moved.
The switchblade slipped from his sleeve into his palm. His thumb found the release button by muscle memory alone.
Click.
The blade snapped out.
He gripped the knife tight and drove it forward with everything he had, aiming straight for Brother Blood's abdomen.
It happened too fast for the white-robed crowd to react. The blade plunged into the deep red robe, sinking in to the hilt.
Did it work?
For one second, joy exploded in Finn's chest, then it died.
There was no resistance. It felt like he'd stabbed into jelly or rotten meat that had been sitting in the sun for days.
His eyes snapped up.
Brother Blood was smiling.
"Commendable courage." He glanced down at the knife still buried in his stomach. "But unfortunate ignorance."
He raised his right hand and wrapped his fingers around Finn's wrist that still gripped the knife handle.
Finn felt his bones grinding together. A scream tore out of his throat as he tried to yank his hand free. But Brother Blood's grip didn't budge. It was like his wrist had been caught in a hydraulic press.
Brother Blood slowly shook his head. With his free hand, he reached down and grasped the portion of the blade protruding from his abdomen. Then he calmly pulled the switchblade free.
Where the robe had been torn, the fabric began to shift. Threads slowly drew together, weaving themselves back into place. Within moments the tear vanished completely, as though the cloth had never been damaged.
The knife slipped from Brother Blood's hand and clattered to the floor.
Clang.
"Your blood is filled with filth. But it still carries the most basic energy of life."
Finn's eyes went wide.
Something was happening inside him.
He looked down at his arm. The veins beneath his skin bulged and writhed like worms trapped beneath plastic. He could feel his blood rushing toward his wrist.
His skin didn't break. Yet the blood began to seep through.
At first it appeared as tiny droplets, pushing out from his pores along his arm, his neck, and his face. Then it came from everywhere. The droplets didn't fall.
They hovered in the air for a moment before drifting toward Brother Blood's hand. The droplets gathered into narrow rivulets that flowed up Finn's arm and into Brother Blood's palm. The blood vanished beneath the skin without leaving the slightest trace.
"Let go!" Finn screamed. "You're a fucking devil!"
He lashed out with his free hand, slamming his fist against Brother Blood's face. It felt like striking solid stone. The effort accomplished nothing. His strength was already slipping away.
The edges of his vision blurred. A high ringing filled his ears and drowned out every other sound. The warehouse tilted around him until he could no longer tell which way was up.
He felt cold.
His body temperature was falling. Warmth drained from him along with his blood. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, beating faster and faster as it struggled to circulate what little blood remained.
His body was shrinking inward. His vision narrowed to a tiny point of light before vanishing completely.
The last sensation he knew was emptiness. It was vast, as though everything inside him had been scooped away, leaving nothing but a hollow shell.
Then even that sensation faded.
---
Brother Blood released his grip.
Finn's body remained upright for a brief moment before slowly leaning to one side. When it finally struck the floor, the impact produced almost no sound. There was barely any weight left to make one.
What lay there could hardly be called a body anymore. It was a dried husk. The skin had shrunk tightly over bone, leaving the eye sockets hollow and sunken.
Around the warehouse, the white-robed believers remained on their knees with their faces pressed against the floor.
Brother Blood slowly flexed his hand as the faint red glow beneath his skin faded away. He looked down at the corpse, then lifted his gaze toward the far wall. Beyond it lay the east, where the precinct waited.
He turned toward the Guide and the Daughter of Chaos, who waited silently in the shadows.
"Are you ready to receive Trigon's blessing?"
The Guide bowed deeply.
"Yes, my lord."
Brother Blood's lips curved into a faint smile.
"Good."
---
At the East End Precinct, the spare room beside the forensics lab had been turned into a medical bay.
A hospital bed had been pushed against one wall. Next to it stood a small monitor that displayed basic vital signs in glowing green lines. Heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen levels scrolled steadily across the screen.
A rolling cart had been placed beside the bed. Its surface was crowded with emergency medical supplies. Syringes, bandages, bottles of saline solution, and an oxygen mask waited within easy reach.
Two items rested on the table at the center of the room.
On the left sat a compact refrigeration case. Its lid stood open, revealing a glass ampoule secured in shock absorbing foam. Inside it, a liquid glowed faintly yellow-green, like diluted radiation. It contained a solution of fear toxin, diluted to a dose balanced at the very edge of theoretical safety.
On the right lay several preloaded syringes arranged in a precise row. Each contained a different level of sedative.
Edward sat on the edge of the hospital bed with one sleeve rolled above his elbow. He wiped the inside of his arm with an alcohol swab, filling the small room with the sharp scent of antiseptic.
Marco stood near the door with his arms crossed.
"You're sure about this?"
Edward didn't look up. He set the alcohol swab aside and picked up the ampoule, holding it up to the light. The liquid inside shifted slowly.
"I'm sure."
"Because once we start..."
"I know." Edward finally looked at him. "I know the risks. I've calculated them. This is the best option we have."
If Brother Blood was coming for Raven, they needed to know what they were up against. And the only way to do that was to see what he could do. Which meant someone had to be bait.
And he had volunteered.
He drew the diluted fear toxin into a syringe, tapped it twice to remove air bubbles, and held it up.
For just a moment, his hand hesitated. Then he pressed the needle against the inside of his elbow and pushed down on the plunger.
"Let's do this."
"No."
Marco's voice was flat.
Edward didn't even look up from the ampoule he was examining.
"Your objection is noted," he said mildly, setting the vial back in its foam-lined case. "But this isn't a democratic process."
"Like hell it isn't." Marco pushed off the wall. "Ed, you're seriously planning to inject yourself with that? Are you out of your goddamn mind?"
Edward finally looked at him.
"It's the only way to gather accurate data. We could use death row inmates from Blackgate, sure. Or find 'volunteers' desperate enough to risk chemical lobotomy for a few hundred dollars. But in Gotham, desperation makes people lie. The data would be compromised before we even started."
He picked up a pen and notebook from the medical cart, flipping to a clean page.
"Only I can provide an unfiltered account. I can record every sensation." He started writing. "Pre-experiment baseline: cognition clear, logic intact, emotional state stable."
"Ed..."
"There is no alternative, Marco." Edward set the pen down. "Crane proved this compound bypasses higher cognition entirely. It attacks the brain's most primitive fear centers directly. If we can understand it, imagine what that means. In the field, you could render the most dangerous criminals combat-ineffective by trapping them in their own nightmares. This wouldn't just be a toxin anymore. It would be a key capable of unlocking anyone's mental defenses."
"I don't need a key. I can kick the door down."
Edward smiled faintly. "Yes. I've noticed."
Before Marco could figure out what theory or argument might work on a man who'd already made up his mind, the door opened.
Leslie walked in first. Behind her came Dr. Quinzel.
"Mr. Nygma. I came as soon as I received the call from Chief McGinnis."
Leslie stopped a few feet from the medical cart.
"I need to tell you that this is an extremely reckless decision that violates every principle of medical ethics I've spent my career upholding. Human experimentation, especially involving neurotoxins, carries unpredictable and often irreversible consequences."
"I know." Edward stood, nodding respectfully. "Thank you for coming."
Leslie's studied him for a long moment. "But you're going through with it anyway."
"It's precisely because the consequences are severe that I need you and Dr. Quinzel here. You're one of the best trauma surgeons in Gotham. Dr. Quinzel is a psychiatric expert. If I lose control, your judgment will be necessary to determine the appropriate intervention."
Marco caught Dr. Quinzel's eye and jerked his head toward Edward.
But Dr. Quinzel just drifted over to the medical cart. She picked it up.
"From a professional standpoint this is definitely dangerous."
Her eyes sparkled.
"So... could I try it first? You know, as a control subject? I've got great observational skills, and I've always wondered what it would feel like to... hey! HEY!"
Anna appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Dr. Quinzel by the back of her lab coat, dragging her away from the cart. Raven materialized beside them. Under her hood, her brow furrowed.
"See?" Marco gestured at the room. "Unanimous vote. Nobody thinks this is a good idea. Democracy wins."
Edward just smiled faintly and took a deep breath.
"Theoretically, there shouldn't be a problem. Gordon inhaled a high-concentration version and suffered no obvious lasting damage. The concentration I'm using is one-tenth of that sample. If I remain conscious, I'll dictate my observations. If I don't..."
He lifted his head, meeting Marco's gaze directly.
"I won't fail. But biology doesn't care about confidence. There's always room for the unexpected."
The room went quiet.
He turned back to Marco.
"You're my friend. I need your help."
"Great!" Marco clapped his hands together. "So what do you need? I can grab a couple guys from lockup right now..."
"No." Edward shook his head. "You're not understanding me. Fear toxin doesn't destroy intelligence directly. It distorts cognition and perception. If I lose myself in it, if I become a madman trapped inside his own pathetic riddles and unable to escape the prison of a fractured mind, then I will no longer be myself. At that point I would be nothing more than a crude imitation. And if I truly cannot come back from that, I need you to end that imitation. This isn't an impulsive request. It's a rational decision based on probability and personal values. You're the only person I trust to carry out this final riddle. Promise me."
The room was silent.
Marco took a deep breath, walked over, and pulled Edward into a tight hug before he could overthink it.
"You're the bravest fucking lunatic I've ever met."
Edward stiffened immediately. "You contaminated my injection site. I need to disinfect it again."
Marco let go and laughed. "Yeah. Of course you do."
Edward rolled up his sleeve. He tore open a fresh alcohol swab and wiped the inside of his elbow.
Then he picked up the syringe.
It was already loaded with the diluted toxin. He held it up to the light, tapped it twice to clear any air bubbles, and pressed the plunger slightly until a tiny bead formed at the needle's tip.
"Record," he said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Time: 8:27 PM. Dosage: 0.1 standard units, diluted solution. Intravenous injection."
He positioned the needle against the vein in his inner elbow. He pushed the needle in and pressed down on the plunger. The liquid disappeared into his bloodstream.
He withdrew the needle, pressed a cotton swab to the injection site, and set the empty syringe aside.
For the first few seconds, nothing happened.
He sat perfectly still with his eyes half closed, as if he were meditating. His breathing remained calm and steady.
Then something changed.
His shoulders tightened slightly, and his eyes snapped open.
"It's here."
His voice was still steady, but the words came faster now.
"Record: thirty seconds post-injection. Visual persistence showing anomalies. Environmental light perception experiencing mild fluctuations..."
Sweat began to bead on his forehead.
"Record: approximately forty-five seconds. Auditory sensitivity is increasing. My heartbeat sounds as loud as a drum. Logical reasoning centers are experiencing mild interference. Involuntary associations are forming."
Marco scribbled frantically, the pen scratching across the paper.
"Record: one minute..." Edward's voice trembled. His pupils widened slightly until the irises became thin rings around expanding pools of black. "Thermal perception is distorted. I feel cold. There are whispers... I cannot identify their source."
His fingers began clawing at the bedsheet unconsciously. His body started to tremble.
"Mr. Nygma?" Dr. Quinzel stepped forward. "Can you hear me?"
Edward's head snapped toward her. His gaze was unfocused for a moment, before it forced itself back into clarity.
"Yes..." He swallowed hard. "Record: first cognitive impact wave detected. Fear response amplification beginning. Must... must concentrate... focus..."
His speech was fragmenting. The logic was still there, buried beneath the surface, but it was clear he was fighting something inside his own head.
"The formulas..." His face went pale, sweat soaking the hair plastered to his forehead. "The formulas on my desk... they're twisting. They're laughing at me..."
"Mr. Nygma! Stay conscious! Those are hallucinations!"
Leslie gestured sharply to Marco, who was already reaching for the sedative.
"No..." Edward gripped the bed rail. "Not just hallucinations... I can still perceive the external world, but now..."
His breathing grew more rapid and his pupils dilated further.
"It's my turn..." he whispered.
His lips curved into a smile.
"It's my turn to solve the riddle!"