"Captain, I need to make something clear upfront." Dr. Quinzel stood in the precinct lobby at eight in the morning, looking significantly more restrained than usual. She'd traded her typical vibrant outfits for a conservative dark grey suit, and the eyes behind her glasses were focused. "I won't confront Dr. Strange directly. He's got deep roots in academia and forensic psychiatry. Going after him would be suicide for someone at my level."
She adjusted her glasses.
"Today, I'm just an observer. Nothing more."
"That's all I need," Marco said, gesturing for her to follow him toward the monitoring room. "You watch, you listen, and if something feels off, you let me know. Simple as that."
The monitoring room was cramped. Multiple screens lined the walls, each one showing different angles of the converted interview room where the counseling sessions would take place. The audio feed crackled through speakers mounted in the corners.
Dr. Quinzel immediately perked up, leaning close to the screens. Her eyes darted between monitors, taking in every corner of the precinct visible through the security cameras.
"You can see the whole station from here?"
"Most of it," Marco confirmed. "Don't touch anything."
She ignored him, already absorbed in watching officers move through their routines. Her expression shifted rapidly.
"This is depressing," she muttered after a few minutes. "Look at them. No passion and energy. They're just going through the motions." She straightened up, pulling a stack of receipts from her handbag. "Speaking of which, here are yesterday's expenses. Eight thousand, seven hundred dollars."
Marco blinked. He'd been bracing himself for something in the thirty-to-fifty-thousand range. Eight grand was nothing. Hell, the Wayne Foundation donation alone could cover that a hundred times over.
"That's fine. Submit it to Anna for processing." He paused, then called over the radio. "Anna, Raven, need you both in monitoring."
Raven arrived first, moving silently through the door. Anna followed a moment later, slightly out of breath.
"Anna, you're babysitting," Marco said, pointing at Dr. Quinzel. "Make sure she doesn't touch anything. Raven, you're backup. Keep an eye on the screens and flag anything unusual."
"I'm not a child," Dr. Quinzel protested.
"No, but you're curious, and curious people break things." Marco headed for the door. "I need to go play welcoming committee for our guest."
---
At 9:30 AM sharp, Strange arrived.
Marco stood with Bob and a handful of other officers near the precinct entrance, watching as a car pulled up to the curb. The driver's door opened first. A young man in a grey suit stepped out. He walked around to the rear. There was no badge on him, but everything about him suggested he was an assistant.
He reached the rear door and opened it.
A moment later, Strange stepped out.
He wore a tailored three-piece suit, which made him look less like a psychiatrist and more like someone who ran an intelligence agency or a high-end criminal enterprise.
His gaze moved calmly across the precinct entrance.
Bob stepped forward, extending his hand. "Dr. Strange. Thank you for making time for us. We know how busy you must be."
Strange's handshake was firm. "Chief. It's my pleasure to assist Gotham's finest during such a challenging period."
He moved down the line, shaking hands with each officer in turn, offering the same polite smile. When he reached Marco, his gaze lingered for just a moment longer than necessary.
"Captain Vitale. I've heard quite a bit about you."
"All good things, I hope," Marco said, matching his handshake.
"Complicated things. Which is often more interesting."
Strange turned back to address the group. "Gentlemen, I want to express my deep concern for the challenges this precinct has faced recently. The psychological toll of encountering unconventional threats can be severe. My goal here today is simple: to help you process these experiences in a healthy, constructive manner so that you can continue serving this city with clarity and confidence."
His gaze swept over the assembled officers like he was appraising livestock.
Darnell leaned close to Marco, and whispered, "Is it just me, or does this guy look like he escaped from a Cold War spy movie?"
"Can't tell," Marco muttered back. "The glare off his forehead is blinding me."
Bob led Strange and his two assistants toward the converted interview room. After a few minutes, he emerged and waved Marco over.
"You're up first, Captain."
Marco walked over. Bob's expression was pleasant. "Do me a favor. Knock this smug asshole down a peg."
Marco raised an eyebrow. "You got a problem with him, Chief?"
"Look at him." Bob lit a cigarette, taking a long drag. "Walking around like he owns the place and acting like we should be grateful he's even here. The East End's budget doesn't answer to him, and I'll be damned if I'm going to kiss his ass just because he's got a fancy degree."
"So you want me to...?"
"Be yourself." Bob clapped him on the shoulder. "Just give him the same attitude you give me on a daily basis. That should be more than enough to send him home crying."
---
Marco opened the door to the interview room, plastering on a tired smile. "Dr. Strange. Thanks for doing this."
"Please, Captain. Have a seat." Strange gestured to the chair across from him. One of his assistants sat quietly in the corner with a notepad.
The room had been rearranged. The usual interrogation table had been replaced with two comfortable chairs positioned at an angle. There was even a small table between them with a pitcher of water and two glasses.
He began with routine questions.
"How have you been sleeping lately?"
"Fine."
"And your appetite?"
"Normal."
"Any unusual stress at work?"
Marco gave a small shrug. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
Strange nodded slowly, making occasional notes. Marco answered honestly, though he kept his responses brief.
After a few minutes, Strange's tone shifted.
"So, Captain. As I understand it, you've recently experienced several highly unusual events. Encounters involving non-human entities. Individuals you knew behaving in ways that defy conventional explanation. Colleagues who appeared to lose control of themselves in front of you. Experiences like these can leave a lasting impression. Even on the strongest minds. Do you find yourself thinking about those moments when you are alone? Especially at night?"
"Yeah." Marco scratched his head. "My prep work was way too rushed. That whole night..." He trailed off, staring into the middle distance. Then he sighed heavily. "It was such a waste."
Strange's smile froze. "A... waste? Do you perhaps mean losses? The human cost?"
"No. Waste." Marco shook his head firmly. "If we'd had more time to set up proper containment, if we'd found a way to capture even one of those things alive..." He leaned back in his chair, looking disappointed. "We could've sold it. Some oil baron in the Middle East, or one of those oligarchs in the former Soviet bloc, would have paid millions for something like that. Maybe tens of millions. Instead, we just destroyed them all."
Strange's mouth twitched slightly. "I see. Well, we can discuss the economic aspects later. What I'm more interested in is the psychological impact. The emotional weight." He adjusted his glasses. "When you confront beings that defy human comprehension, do you experience a sense of helplessness? Do you begin to question reality itself?"
"Oh, absolutely. Powerless as hell." Marco nodded seriously. "That is why we held a precinct meeting afterward. We need better firepower. Larger calibers and heavier weapons. Something that can put those things down faster and more reliably. I am glad you agree, Professor. We will include your professional recommendation in next year's budget proposal."
What? Strange's expression flickered for a second.
He took a slow breath. "Setting aside material concerns, Captain, I would like to focus on your inner world and emotional state. In situations this extreme, have you ever experienced fear? Have you ever felt guilt over not being able to prevent every casualty?"
"Of course." Marco's expression turned somber. "The officers who were injured because I was not fast enough… that stays with me." He suddenly leaned forward, reaching across the table to grab Strange's hand. Before the professor could pull away, he pressed it flat against the wooden surface. "Do you know what I had to do to save them?"
He dug his fingernail into the gap between Strange's index and middle fingers, right at the webbing.
"I had to take a needle and push it in right here." He pressed harder. "Deep enough to reach the nerve. Then I had to twist it, slowly, until I found the right spot. You can tell when it works. The entire hand spasms."
Strange's fingers twitched involuntarily under the pressure.
"That is how you know the treatment has begun."
Strange yanked his hand back like he'd been burned. "Thank you for your cooperation, Captain. I believe your psychological health is more than adequate. We can move on to the next officer now."
Marco stood, gave a polite nod, and walked out of the room.
Strange remained seated for a moment after the door closed, his gaze fixed on his own hand. Then he turned toward his assistant.
"Record this," he said calmly. "Subject One: Captain Marco Vitale. He displays unusually robust psychological defense mechanisms. These manifest as extreme pragmatism and an intense focus on material concerns. He shows strong resistance to standard therapeutic approaches. I suspect atypical cognitive patterns."
The assistant paused, pen hovering over the notepad. "Atypical, sir?"
Strange looked at the door Marco had just walked through.
"I suspect he's an idiot."