Adam watched Gordon fuss over him like an anxious father and smirked. The old man was trying to handle him, and Adam hated being handled. He sighed, flicking open a lighter as if to rebel, but Gordon immediately snatched the cigarette from his lips and crushed it under his boot.
"No smoking," Gordon growled. "Hostage cases are delicate. A lit cigarette makes you a target—if there's a sniper or an accomplice out there, you might as well paint a bullseye on your forehead."
Adam made a face, muttering under his breath.
"A sniper? Really? In this dump? Who'd waste the ammo on me?"
One of the officers hurried over with the intel they'd scraped together.
"Sir, we've got a visual on the perp, but there's nothing on him in the Gotham database. No records. No demands. Nothing."
"No ID at all?" Adam frowned, rubbing his jaw.
The officer hesitated. "Well… he's got… uh, something unusual. His head is covered in letters. Actual words tattooed on his scalp. We ran facial recognition—still nothing."
Adam glanced toward the crime scene. Sure enough, the hostage-taker was a bald, broad-shouldered man, standing half-hidden behind a terrified little girl. His forehead was inked with what looked like letters arranged in a strange circle. Adam squinted.
"Wait. Are those… 'N-F-E-B-M-A-R-A-P-R'?"
"Oh, hell. That's Calendar Man."
Julian Gregory Day, known in Gotham's criminal underworld as Calendar Man, was a peculiar breed of psychopath. Everything he did revolved around dates. His crimes, his patterns, even his speech followed a twisted calendar logic.
In his prime, Calendar Man had brought down entire families, nearly toppling the Falcone empire with nothing but cunning and theatrics. He was as methodical as Hannibal Lecter—cold, calculating, and frighteningly creative.
But at his lowest, he was a joke. There was a time when Robin had taken him down almost by accident, and Batgirl once single-handedly humiliated him. His reputation swung wildly between brilliant mastermind and laughable third-rate villain.
Adam exhaled, already piecing together a strategy. 'If this guy's really Calendar Man, I can work with that.'
Before anyone could stop him, Adam stepped over the police barricade and strolled toward the house like he owned the place. Gasps erupted from the officers.
"Adam! Are you out of your mind? Get back here!" Gordon barked, his voice laced with panic. He'd dragged Adam here to learn hostage protocols, not to get himself killed.
But Adam ignored him. He deliberately drew his sidearm, crouched, and placed it on the pavement where Calendar Man could see. Then he raised his hands, palms open, and took another slow step forward.
"Easy there," Adam said, his tone calm but confident. "What's the point of holding that girl? She's tiny—barely big enough to shield you. You're backed into a blind corner, afraid of snipers that aren't even there. And if you hurt her?" He tilted his head. "Sixty years. Minimum. No bail. No plea deals. That's a hell of a way to spend your life."
The man's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak.
"So here's my offer," Adam continued, inching closer. "Let the girl go. Take me instead. I'm a cop. I'm worth something. You'd have leverage. And trust me, I'm terrible at fighting. You've probably seen the videos—when I sparred Bruce Wayne, I lost ten-to-one. I'm about as threatening as a punching bag."
His voice carried over the cameras and live news feeds. Across Gotham, viewers fell silent. The reckless detective who once mocked high society was now offering himself as bait. His casual confession about losing to Bruce Wayne didn't spark mockery—it only made the moment feel more real. Even viewers who disliked him found themselves hoping he'd make it out alive.
But Adam wasn't being noble. He'd read Calendar Man like an open book. Unlike Gotham's chaotic killers—like Zsasz, who carved tally marks into his own skin—Calendar Man wasn't impulsive. His crimes were ritualistic, bound to dates and meaning. Adam knew that gave him a safe angle.
Calendar Man's expression didn't change. He stared at Adam with the detached amusement of a man watching a circus act.
Adam took two quick steps forward, closing the gap to less than two meters.
"Stop!" Calendar Man barked, cocking the hammer of his gun. "One more step and I pull the trigger."
Adam didn't flinch. Instead, he tilted his head and said, cool as ice, "Then shoot me… Julian Gregory Day. Go ahead. But if you do, you'll ruin your precious day, won't you?" ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ No(ᴠ)ᴇlFire.nᴇt
Calendar Man froze. His eye twitched, the name hitting him like a slap. He wasn't expecting this stranger to know his true name.
"How do you know that name?" Julian growled. "I scrubbed my records. Even the police database doesn't have it. Who told you—"
Adam raised a finger, cutting him off with a smirk.
"I know a lot more than that. Today's August 8th—the Feast of the Assumption, isn't it? A sacred day. A day to honor the Virgin's ascent to heaven. On a day , you wouldn't dare spill a man's blood, would you? Not when your entire ritual forbids it."
Calendar Man's eyes widened just slightly, his breathing uneven. Adam had him.
If you want to read 40 chapters further ahead, visit my Pttttn.
ptttttn.com/MiniMine352