For all its deep-seated corruption and notorious inefficiency, the Gotham Police Department still managed to keep at least one or two competent sergeants in every precinct—men tasked with handling major cases. After all, no matter how rotten the institution, someone had to do the actual work. The bootlickers, backdoor appointees, and politically connected parasites might enjoy their ranks, but even they knew better than to fumble the big cases.
Take Jim Gordon, for example. Despite being unpopular among his peers, he had retained his position largely because Commissioner Loeb needed someone to do the department's dirtiest and most thankless jobs—and to take the blame when things went south.
That was precisely why Detective Harvey Bullock could immediately smell something fishy when Weaver pushed Adam to handle an emergency just days after transferring to the Arkham District. If anything went wrong, it would be Adam who took the fall. That was guaranteed.
Unaware of the setup awaiting him, Adam arrived outside the second-floor treatment ward, only to find an impressive assembly already in place: Mayor Hank Milton Hill, Police Sergeant Jim Gordon, and several senior members of the Gotham Police Department were all present, flanked by staff from Arkham Asylum.
"Adam, you're late," a bespectacled man beside the mayor said coldly. "Director Weaver notified you at 3 a.m. that you'd have a critical assignment this morning. Were you not prepared? I had to remind you again just now. You really have no concept of punctuality."
"Exactly! And he calls himself Arkham's best detective?" another official chimed in with a sneer. "The man lives ten minutes away and still shows up last. These young people get one small promotion and start strutting around like roosters. Nothing like our day, eh?"
Adam frowned. Something wasn't right. He had been awake most of the night and hadn't missed a single phone call—because none had come. No message or a warning. Nothing. Clearly, this was Weaver's doing.
He opened his mouth to respond—but just then, Weaver himself appeared, stepping out from the crowd like a benevolent elder statesman. Smiling warmly, he raised a hand in mock appeasement.
"Now, now," he said, voice syrupy. "Detective Adam is one of Arkham's rising stars. Of course, young men have social obligations, vibrant night lives... you know how it is. Let's not hold a little tardiness against him. Let's let him make it up by working harder on the case today. That seems fair, doesn't it?" Thɪs chapter is updated by NovᴇlFire(.)nᴇt
Adam's jaw tightened. Every word was laced with insinuation. It was a calculated attack dressed up as kindness. He was about to fire back—but then he caught Weaver's expression: calm and composed with a smug look on his face.
He paused. Weaver wasn't reckless. If he'd gone to this much trouble to set the stage, then baitingAdam into an emotional outburst must be part of the trap. Blow up now, and it would look like Adam was biting the hand that defended him. He didn't to seem as a disrespectful, arrogant and unprofessional person.
It was a game of public perception, and Weaver was trying to script his downfall.
Adam swallowed the rising anger and said nothing. But inwardly, he took note. The debt had been added to the ledger.
Weaver, for his part, blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected the young man to hold his temper. Few in his generation could manage it. Impressive. But that didn't mean the game was over.
'Hmph,' he thought behind his ever-pleasant smile. 'We're only getting started.'
Adam turned his attention back to the room. The mayor, asylum director Quincy Sharp, and the assembled officers weren't his primary concern. No—there was only one man in Arkham Asylum who truly worried him: Dr. Hugo Strange.
In the comics, Hugo was a dangerous psychiatrist and master manipulator—one of the few who knew Batman's secret identity. And yet, there he stood now, tucked quietly into a corner of the room. If it weren't for his signature bald head, he might have been mistaken for just another orderly. But Adam noted the powerful frame hidden beneath the doctor's coat—thick muscles, hardened joints—this was no academic scholar.
Their eyes met. Dr. Hugo gave a courteous nod, smiling with the warmth of a kindly old professor.
'Damn,' Adam thought. 'What a terrifyingly sharp intuition.'
He nodded back warily.
Mayor Hill cleared his throat and addressed the room.
"Gentlemen," he began, "you've been summoned here today because Gotham is in the grip of a new crisis. A series of unexplained incidents threatens the safety of our city. We must resolve this quickly—and quietly—before panic spreads."
Murmurs passed through the group. Adam's mind raced. 'They called us to Arkham, of all places… This must involve mental patients. But which villain fits the pattern?'
Before he could draw any conclusions, Dr. Hugo stepped forward, gesturing toward the ward behind him.
"Allow me to show you," he said smoothly. "This way."
He led the group into a sterile ward, where seven or eight patients lay quietly in beds. Nurses moved calmly between them, adjusting IV lines and checking vitals. On the surface, everything appeared normal.
"These patients," Hugo explained, his voice measured, "appear to be under a... peculiar influence. They suffer from hallucinations, uncontrollable agitation, and dissociative episodes. The symptoms are spreading."
The officers looked around skeptically. The patients seemed peaceful—docile, even.
Dr. Hugo glanced at his watch. "Ah, right on time... 3… 2… 1…"
And then all hell broke loose.
The moment he finished counting, every patient on the ward shot upright, shrieking and thrashing wildly. Their hands tore at their own faces as if trying to claw something off. Some convulsed whereas others howled. Several wet themselves, vomited, or foamed at the mouth. One began chanting in an unknown tongue, eyes bulging. The room descended into chaos.
Nurses scrambled to restrain them, but even with multiple staff, it was barely manageable.
Just moments ago, the room had been calm. Now it was a madhouse—a nightmare.
Adam stared at the madness, stunned and thought, 'What kind of madness is this…?'
The ward was no longer a hospital.
It was a slaughterhouse.
If you want to read 40+ chapters, visit my Ptttn.
ptttn.com/MiniMine352