Rain hammered the tall windows, a rhythmic thrum against the glass. Downtown Gotham sprawled below, Midtown's towers clawing upward, Uptown lost in the haze.
Loeb slept, snoring loud through congested lungs. His body heaved like a beached animal, wrapped in green silk pajamas.
The room shifted.
From the deepest corner, something peeled itself from the darkness, not entering it, but of it. A gloved hand reached forward and yanked the sheets away.
Loeb stirred, confused and just in time to see a black sphere arc into the air above him.
It burst.
Wire netting snapped out with brutal precision, drilling into the hardwood and pinning him to the mattress like a pinned insect. He thrashed, but it held fast.
"Gordon said we had a deal," Loeb gasped.
The figure stood at the foot of his bed. Motionless. Watching.
Its eyes burned bright and inhuman.
It stepped closer, shadow swallowing shadow.
"W-wait," Loeb stammered.
A long silence.
Then the voice:
"If anything happens to Jim—an accident, a slip on the stairs, a mistake by any hand—I come back. I start with you. Understand?"
Loeb nodded frantically.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes," he whispered.
The figure vanished as if it had never been there at all.
For a long moment, Loeb stared into the dark corners of the room.
Then he screamed for help.