The air after the rain was damp and cold, but rare sunlight pierced through the clouds and fell on the deep blue uniforms of officers standing in formation in the backyard of the East End Precinct. Every off-duty cop was present. Even Bob had changed into a crisply pressed formal uniform.
At the center, a coffin fashioned from a polished hardwood shoebox rested on a small platform. The lid was covered with a GCPD emblem sticker and a miniature American flag. Beside it stood a small display board with the only clear photograph of Bastien ever taken, secretly snapped by Otis with an old Polaroid camera. In the photo, the rat was clutching a small piece of bread.
Otis wore a spotless uniform. His eyes were swollen and red, but he stood straight beside the coffin, doing everything he could to hold himself together. In his hands was a velvet cushion bearing a handcrafted Medal of Valor.
"Attention!" Marco's voice broke the silence.
With a sharp rustle, everyone straightened.
"Present... arms!"
Including Bob, every officer raised their right arm in perfect unison, rendering the highest honor of the Gotham City Police Department to the rat who had given his life.
The salute held for a long moment. Nobody moved or spoke.
"Order... arms."
Arms dropped in unison.
Marco glanced at Bob. The chief nodded and stepped out from the ranks to stand before everyone.
"We don't judge a partner by where he comes from. Not by his race or species. Not by anything except what he's done and whether he had our backs when it mattered."
He paused, looking at the coffin.
"Bastien. Police Rat Number... I'll fill that in later for the paperwork."
A few suppressed chuckles rippled through the ranks, then vanished immediately.
"Last night, this rat did something most of us wouldn't have the guts to do. He went into a building full of armed mercenaries, crossed obstacles we can't even imagine, and got burned... He got burned badly. But he made it back and delivered intel that saved lives. Bastien helped us stop those bastards from blowing up Wayne Tower and everyone inside it. He fulfilled his duty as an officer until the moment he died. So today, we're sending him off by the standards we use for any cop who falls in the line. Because that's what he was. A cop."
He looked at Otis, then back at the coffin.
"Officer Bastien, your patrol is over. Your shift is done. We'll take it from here. You can clock out and go home now."
He stepped back. Otis took a deep breath, his hands trembling as he lifted the medal and pinned it to the flag covering the coffin. Then he stood at attention and saluted, holding the position for what felt like forever.
Tears slid down his face silently, but he didn't make a sound.
Darnell and Anna stepped out of formation. They lifted the miniature coffin and carried it toward the far corner of the yard where an old oak tree stood. A small grave had been dug beneath it, and a tiny headstone was already in place. The engraving was simple:
BASTIEN
A Loyal Partner
He Warned of the Storm
The coffin was lowered slowly into the earth. Bob cleared his throat, stepped forward awkwardly, and symbolically scattered the first handful of soil into the grave. One by one, the officers followed in silence, repeating the gesture.
Marco was the last. He picked up a handful of dirt, let it fall through his fingers onto the coffin, and stood there for a moment looking at the small mound.
"Rest easy," he muttered. "We've got it from here."
---
After the funeral, the crowd gradually dispersed. Bob lit a cigarette, took a couple of drags, then walked over to Marco and clapped him on the shoulder.
"First time I've ever given a eulogy for a rat," he said quietly. "And you went all out with the flag, headstone, the whole nine yards."
Marco shrugged. "Seemed right."
"Yeah." Bob took another drag. "Apply for the compensation under the fallen K-9 standard. But you know how it is, most of that's gonna get eaten by bureaucracy."
"Keep half," Marco said.
"The hell I will." Bob looked at Otis, who was still standing alone by the grave. "If it makes these guys feel like it was worth it, then it's money well spent. But if Barnes finds out we held a memorial for a rat and used the flag, he'll lose his shit. Keep your head down for a while."
"Got it."
Bob shook his head and walked off, hands behind his back. Marco started to head back inside when Otis jogged up to him.
"Sir... thank you."
"Don't mention it. You've got three days off. Take some time." Marco patted his shoulder. "Go get some sleep."
"Yes, sir."
Marco turned and crossed the yard into the precinct lobby, nearly colliding with a young woman in a sweater and jeans.
"Dr. Quinzel?"
He jumped slightly, instinctively looking around. Only after confirming that Edward had returned to the forensic unit in the new building did he relax.
"Hello, Officer Vitale." Dr. Quinzel extended her hand with a bright smile. "Today isn't Friday, is it?"
"It's Wednesday." Marco shook her hand. "You came last Friday, but our whole unit was out."
"I heard." Her expression turned more serious. "Last night was brutal. Several officers at headquarters are showing signs of severe PTSD. The new Commissioner Barnes requested increased counseling sessions across all precincts."
"Makes sense. A lot of rookies saw some shit they weren't ready for." Marco gestured toward the interior. "I'll find someone to escort you to the consultation room."
He started to turn, but Dr. Quinzel grabbed his sleeve.
"Wait just a second. Oh, sorry." She let go and made an apologetic gesture. "I promise I won't go near Mr. Nygma. And you won't..." She hesitated. "You won't do that thing again, will you?"
Marco blinked. "What thing?"
"The 'Free Psychological Counseling and Snacks' sign… where you recruit civilians for my sessions."
"Oh. That." Marco grinned. "I thought it was pretty effective. Your name recognition skyrocketed."
"It did," Dr. Quinzel agreed, looking pained. "But answering their bizarre questions cost me my voice for three days. Do you know how many people in Gotham have unresolved mother issues? All of them, apparently."
---
Last night.
"Bastards. Fucking bastards!"
Black Mask slumped against a massive, rusted gearbox, gasping for air. Every breath dragged pain through his chest and abdomen, probably broken ribs, maybe internal bleeding. Hard to tell when everything hurt this much.
His black skull mask was shattered, the lower half hanging loose to expose pale, bloodless skin beneath. Blood streamed from a deep gash at his temple, soaking his torn vest. His left arm hung useless at his side, possibly dislocated.
He'd lost. Wayne Tower had become the grave of his ambition. Now he was hiding in this abandoned factory by the docks like a rat in a hole, licking his wounds and nursing fantasies of revenge he knew would never happen.
One thing still bothered at him: that giant's final blow had been aimed at Batman. So why had it suddenly changed direction and hit him instead?
Tap.
An almost imperceptible footstep echoed from the steel beams above.
His head snapped up, pain forgotten for a moment as adrenaline spiked. He raised the only weapon he had left and aimed toward the sound. The gun trembled in his shaking hand.
"Who's there?!"
"Meow~"
A catcall echoed through the empty factory. A moment later, a slender figure seemed to defy gravity, flipping out of the shadows and landing on a pile of abandoned burlap sacks a few meters away.
Selina crouched there at her leisure. She studied him with amusement, like a cat examining a dying mouse beneath its paw.
"Looks like our you didn't have a very good night. Darling... how did you end up like this?"
Roman's pupils contracted. The gun stayed locked on her. "What do you want? To gloat? To rob me?"
"Rob you?" Selina laughed softly and stood, strolling toward him. "What's left on you worth taking? Your ambition? Your army? That ridiculous plan to burn Gotham down?"
Roman's finger tightened on the trigger. "Stop right there. I'll shoot."
Selina stopped, folding her arms across her chest, just a few meters away.
"Save it. You can barely hold the gun steady." Her gaze flicked to his trembling wrist, and her tone turned cold. "I'm here to make sure you die knowing the truth. Remember how you used me? How you tried to have me killed? Did you really think I'm that easy to dispose of?"
Roman's heart sank.
"From the moment you came up with your grand plan, every step you took, and every mercenary you contacted... it was me. Piece by piece, I fed it all to the GCPD. And that Batman."
"It was you?!" Roman's breathing stopped. The shock was so overwhelming it momentarily drowned out the agony wracking his body.
"Impossible, right?" She smiled wider. "You successfully took Blackgate Prison. You thought you were winning. I let you take it. I withheld part of your intel so you'd succeed. It made the fall so much more satisfying."
"You bitch!"
"Oh, and one more thing. You contacted two mercenary squads tonight. Ever wonder why only one showed up?"
She waited, savoring his growing horror.
"I learned a very useful trick from a wealthy friend. Want to guess what it was?"
Roman just stared, unable to speak.
"I paid them double. They turned around and went home. They didn't even enter Gotham."
She took a step closer.
"Surprised, Black Mask? Oh wait... you don't even have a mask anymore."
She watched the expression on Black Mask's face like she was savoring a fine wine.
"How does it feel? Watching yourself walk step by step into a grave I dug just for you? Your failure has my name written all over it. From beginning to end."
"BITCH! I'll kill you!"
Rage gave Black Mask one final burst of strength. He forced the gun up and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The gunshot thundered through the empty factory, but Selina was already gone. In the next instant, Black Mask's neck snapped tight as a long whip coiled around it.
"Ghk..."
He clawed at the whip, but was dragged backward across the floor. His back smashed through a corroded railing, and suddenly there was nothing beneath him, just open air and a forty-meter drop to the water below.
"Ghhk... no... please..."
He dangled and spun in midair, looking up at Selina as she walked to the edge, holding the whip. For the first time in years, he felt terror.
"Wow. You're really not very brave." Selina giggled, shaking her head. "And I don't like cowards. This is the price for betraying me. Goodbye, Roman Sionis."
With a sharp flick of her wrist, she snapped the whip. The tip straightened and loosened from Roman's neck.
"Ahhh!"
His hands grasped at empty air, finding nothing. In the final instant before consciousness left him, he saw Selina standing by the shattered railing, looking down. His body tumbled through the air. The wind roared in his ears. Then he hit the water, and the cold, black depths swallowed him whole.