Marco had just finished checking in with Edward on the roof when he came back down to the main entrance and spotted a familiar blonde head disappearing around the corner into the precinct lobby.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
He jogged after her and found Dr. Quinzel standing in the middle of the fortified lobby, looking around at the sandbags and welded window bars.
"Why are you back again?!" He tried to keep his voice down, but it came out strangled. "Doctor, I'm not joking with you. Tonight's going to get ugly. If you don't leave right now—"
"Ta-da!"
Dr. Quinzel reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and snapped it open in front of his face. The bold letters of the GCPD letterhead were unmistakable, with Bob's signature scrawled across the bottom.
[Authorization for Dr. Harleen Quinzel to participate in protective custody operation under Captain Marco Vitale, East End Precinct.]
Marco stared at it. "What the... How did you get him to sign off on this? Did you blackmail him?"
"Convincing you is hard," Dr. Quinzel said with a grin. "Convincing him was easy. I told him I could help stabilize the girl's emotional state. And then I sweetened the deal with that intel about the West End I mentioned earlier. He agreed immediately."
Marco rubbed his face. Of course Bob had caved. The man had a soft spot for anyone with a PhD and enough charm to work it. "Fine. But you're going to tell me what that intel is."
"Sure!" Dr. Quinzel's smile widened. "I figured you'd find out from the chief eventually anyway, so why not save time?"
She leaned in closer, lowering her voice even though they were alone in the lobby.
"According to an internal notice from Gotham University's Academic Ethics Committee, Dr. Crane conducted unauthorized human experiments while overseeing the West End police psychological counseling program. At least a dozen officers were subjected to high doses of hallucinogenic gas combined with subconscious suggestion therapy. None of them gave fully informed consent, and the program operated without any meaningful oversight."
Marco's expression went still. "What kind of results?"
"They were nothing like the miraculous breakthroughs he claimed." Dr. Quinzel's tone shifted, losing some of its playful edge. "At least five officers experienced complete psychological breaks and are now in Arkham for long-term inpatient care. Several others developed severe trauma responses, including fear-based hallucinations, emotional instability, and panic attacks. Conditions worsened until Gotham University was forced to intervene. He was dismissed last week and reported to the state medical board."
She paused, watching Marco's face.
"There's more. The West End precinct buried the entire incident. They pressured the university into keeping it quiet, forced every affected officer to sign non-disclosure agreements, and kept it out of the press. They did it because admitting they allowed an unsupervised psychologist to experiment on their own officers would have been a public relations disaster. It would have meant lawsuits, federal scrutiny, and outside oversight."
Marco took a moment to process that. He had seen Dr. Crane on the news before, usually talking about innovative PTSD treatment methods for first responders. Apparently, those same methods also included running illegal human experiments with mind-altering drugs.
"Alright," he said at last. "You can stay. But you will follow orders. There will be no improvising and no wandering off. If you do anything that puts yourself or anyone else at risk, I will personally restrain you and lock you in a supply closet. Are we clear?"
"Completely clear," Dr. Quinzel said, offering a small smile. "I'll stay out of the way."
"I seriously doubt that."
---
Night had fallen over Gotham. The streetlights outside the precinct flickered weakly.
The quiet did not last.
The roar of engines tore through the street as several vehicles approached at speed. A convoy of GCPD cruisers swarmed the precinct entrance, parking with sharp turns and screeching brakes. Doors flew open and slammed shut in rapid succession.
Gordon stepped out of the lead car. His wool overcoat snapped in the cold wind as he lit a cigarette and took a long look at the precinct. Behind him, more than a dozen officers climbed out of the other vehicles. They were young, outfitted in brand-new tactical vests and armed with standard-issue rifles.
Marco met them at the entrance, pulling his jacket tighter as he did. He wasn't in uniform. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, with a shoulder holster that was visible beneath the open jacket.
"Thanks for coming." He gripped his hand firmly.
"Marco." Gordon's eyes swept past him to where Darnell and a couple of East End officers stood watch near the door, then back to the tactical team behind him. "They're a special operations unit. Headquarters just approved them. The kids heard there was trouble and volunteered."
He lowered his voice, stepping closer.
"So how bad is it? You said on the phone that professionals were tailing you. What are we dealing with?"
"Come inside," Marco said, turning toward the entrance. "You need to see this."
The moment Gordon and his team stepped into the lobby, they stopped dead.
The East End precinct had been transformed. What should have been a normal police station now looked like something out of a war zone. Sandbags were stacked chest-high in strategic positions, creating choke points and firing lanes. Heavy steel bars had been welded across windows. The furniture had been rearranged into makeshift barricades. Electrical cables snaked across the floor, connected to God-knows-what.
"What the hell is this?"
"Welcome to the safest police station in Gotham," Marco said with a hint of humor. "At least, that's what Ed promises."
He pulled a rolled-up blueprint from under his arm and spread it across one of the few remaining clear surfaces. The blueprint showed the precinct's floor plan, but large sections had been marked up with colored markers.
A green zone covered the reinforced lobby, parts of the second floor, and the holding cells in the back. Everything else was crossed out with bright red X's.
Next to the red zones, someone had written:
NON-SAFE PROTOCOL ZONE. CLEARANCE AUTHORIZED.
Gordon's finger landed on one of the red X marks. He looked up at Marco, disbelief written across his face.
"Clearance authorized? Are you saying—"
"I'm saying that Ed has set up active and passive defensive measures throughout this building," Marco cut him off. "He guarantees zero collateral damage to anyone who stays in the green zones. But anything that enters a red zone is fair game for whatever traps he's set up."
He tapped the blueprint.
"So make sure your people stay in the safe areas. Curiosity kills more than cats in a place like this."
Gordon took a long drag on his cigarette, smoke curling around his head. The tactical team exchanged nervous glances. One of the younger officers raised his hand slightly.
"Sir, what kind of traps are we talking about?"
Marco said. "Ed didn't give me specifics. He said it would 'ruin the surprise.'"
Gordon shook his head, but there was a grim smile on his face. "You guys really commit to the whole 'stay under the radar' philosophy, don't you?"
He turned to his team.
"You see these green zones on the map? That's where you operate. You do not, I repeat, do not, leave the safe areas without direct authorization from me or Captain Vitale. Anyone who disobeys gets written up. Assuming any of us survive long enough to file the paperwork."
A few nervous laughs from the younger cops.
Under Marco's direction, the tactical team began integrating into the precinct's defensive setup. They watched as East End officers used power tools to reinforce the last few vulnerable entry points. Every modification served a single purpose: creating a defensible core that connected the lobby, the second-floor command center, and the holding cells where Raven was secured.
Everything else? Expendable.
Once the initial briefing was done, Gordon followed Marco toward the back of the building.
"I need to resupply my guys on ammo," Gordon said. "You've got an armory back here, right?"
"Yeah. This way."
Marco led him down a hallway to a heavy steel door with a keypad lock. He entered the code, then opened the door open.
Gordon stepped inside and stopped.
The room was packed wall to wall with equipment that had no business being in a neighborhood precinct. Rifles lined the racks along the walls. There were AR-15s, a couple of SG 550s, and even what looked like a goddamn M4 carbine. Most of them already had tactical lights and red-dot sights mounted, ready to go.
In one corner, several unopened crates were stacked neatly. Inside were breaching charges, flashbangs, and Level III ballistic plates, all still sealed in their original packaging.
Gordon walked over to one of the rifles and ran his hand along the frame. "Did you rob a National Guard depot?"
"Creative budgeting," Marco said, pulling magazines from a locker and handing them to Darnell, who'd followed them in. "Every piece of this was scraped together through grants, seized asset auctions, and some flexible interpretation of procurement regulations."
Gordon shook his head, but he was grinning now.
"Meanwhile, headquarters has us rationing ammunition like we're in a siege." He picked up one of the SG 550s, checked the action. "Chief McGinnis still cries poverty every budget meeting, doesn't he?"
"Every single one."
Marco waved for Darnell to head back out, then closed the door so it was just him and Gordon.
"I heard Sarah's been stressing about money lately. Budget cuts?"
Gordon's expression shifted. "A little. Headquarters has a lot of holes to fill. Why?"
"Just making sure you're not planning to cut East End funding to make up the difference." Marco kept his tone light, but his eyes were serious. "I know you and your wife are good people. I trust you wouldn't do something like that."
Gordon closed his eyes for a moment. "If you really trusted me, you wouldn't need to say it out loud."
"Fair point." Marco leaned against the locker. "But seriously. You ever wonder why headquarters is always broke?"
"Every day of my life."
"Loeb walked away with his pockets full. He left you holding the bag. The biggest parasite hasn't coughed up what he swallowed yet."
Gordon's gaze sharpened. The cigarette between his lips glowed brighter as he took a drag.
"You saying what I think you're saying?"
"Keep an eye on him. If you find solid evidence and recover the money that should belong to the department..." Marco gestured around the armory. "Forget this. You could outfit an ESU team with helicopters and night vision and it wouldn't even dent the budget."
The words hit Gordon like a revelation. He'd been so focused on squeezing money out of the current system that he'd never considered going after what had been stolen in the first place.
"Loeb," he muttered.
The ash from his cigarette fell to the floor, scattering in a spray of orange sparks.
"This can wait until—"
BOOM.
The explosion came from somewhere above them. The walls shook. Dust rained down from the ceiling.
Gordon's hand went to his sidearm. "Was that a grenade?"
"Probably one of Ed's traps." Marco was already moving, pulling his rifle from where he'd leaned it against the wall and racking the bolt. "Someone just triggered the perimeter."
He hit the hallway at a run, Gordon right behind him.
"Everyone to your positions! We've got contact!"
Behind them, the tactical team scrambled into action.