Gotham University

  Off-campus laboratory 4:17am

  The batmobile idled in an alley as I felt my body lurch from my seat. I soared through the air, and my reflexes aided my timing to release the rigid controls allowing my cape to capture the air current, lowering me to the closest rooftop. I landed in a roll and sped off across the buildings. This area of Gotham was an area with close-knit buildings and older establishments historically respected but criminally utilized.

  There was no signal in the sky, but most underage vandals and low-level dealers often kept one eye on the sky. The witching hour was high time for criminals to do their business, and tonight was no different, although it was an indication to me that things were about to get worse.

  I had gotten the alert, and a timely Wayne Foundation endowment had given me an extra precaution, but it had come at an odd time, and I ran even though I would arrive too slow to intervene. I had found that certain criminals, unaffiliated with any known cartel, were making advances on high-profile areas, the diamond district, financial markets, and antique dealers. They would break in, using small time block itineraries to do the deed, and then they’d make their getaway before any silent alarm or a phone call could be processed to release any sort of rescue. At each of the most recent crime scenes, there had been something odd about the scenes, something challenging- a glowing green question mark.

  Whoever these people were, they had the police response time down to a science and they worked impulsively to avoid me.

  As I cleared the initial guard post for the Gotham University laboratory. The facility had been put on an indefinite lease through a realty subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises. Several new members of the campus faculty had produced incredible research, and it hadn’t taken the board more than an hour to agree that embracing the new wave of academics would certainly yield incredible results in the long term, not to mention the timely opportunity to present contracts and grants for these bright young minds to join the ranks at any level of Wayne Enterprise’s research and development.

  The guard sat on a bench, while two others mounted a dedicated patrol, but the deed was done. I glimpsed a police car, and an ambulance idling by the front door. I had it by good authority that several more would be on the way. With a press of the button, the pistols released my grapple, and I carefully lowered myself into the laboratory. My advanced knowledge of the layout offered me a clear picture to overlook the damage, and to reconstruct what might have taken place prior to the perpetrator’s arrival. There were clear indications that someone had been present, so I made a mental note to find out who it was and to make sure they were taken care of.

  The ambulance should have been a clue, I thought, and it was clear that they had dedicated their initial response to tend to the life of the intern or scientist who had been here. I scanned the work and found a lone ID badge sitting beside a chair that had been hastily tipped over, Dr. Pamela Isley. A single line of text beneath her name indicated that she had credits in biochemistry and botany.

  “Alfred,” I said, “Check the register for Dr. Isley.”

  “Right away sir,” Alfred said in my ear, and I turned on the video feed so I could see him at the computer set in a hollowed-out space in a cavern beneath my mansion.

  “You have her most recent publications archived in your scientific files,” Alfred said; he was prompt in his research and the execution of any technical duties I asked him to monitor and do.

  “The name did sound familiar,” I replied.

  Alfred elaborated and I heard him muttering to himself. “It appears that she provided the Gotham PD with a number of toxicology experiments and reports that had drastically reinvented the crime scene forensic techniques.”

  I activated a record feature embedded above the eyes on my mask and I began to take in the room.

  “I’ll get in touch with the hospital straight away,” Alfred said.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “Sir,” Alfred replied.

  “We need to let the police come to us with the news,” I said, “We can’t let on that we know things before they do. I saw an ambulance on my way in. Dr. Isley has helped for the moment, and that will have to do until we know the nature of her condition.”

  “Of course, sir,” Alfred said.

  I stepped carefully on open patches of floor, making sure I avoided any kind of ash, dust, debris, glass and discarded bits of paper. It wasn’t wet outside, but I couldn’t risk planting a false lead for the police to latch onto.

  “It appears that these individuals came in with a vengeance if I may be so bold sir,” Alfred said.

  You’re not wrong. I stopped near the most active and trashed workspace. I tipped my head on the side and then I lifted my hands, mentally picturing the moment when I would arrive to begin my work.

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  “Master Bruce,” Alfred said.

  “What was it you would tell me when I was a kid, and I swiped a cookie from the cookie jar?”

  Alfred chuckled, “I knew you had been there because you happened to turn the jar, even though you were making a concerted effort to be sneaky as you used to say.”

  “Sneaky,” I repeated, “and when you’re familiar with a space you know exactly where everything is and you want to make sure that you can find what you need, when you need it.”

  Alfred would know when I took a cookie because he would count the cookies, and he could easily recall the direction he would position the jar and the little red dot on the lid.

  “The best way to hide a theft is to make it seem like there had never been a theft at all.”

  “Alfred, keep me appraised on the police feeds,” I ordered.

  Then I went to work. The struggle had been harsh, or it had been made to look like it had been a brutal attack. There were books open, and the pages had been ripped out. Instruments and tools had been knocked over and smashed but the computer had been left alone. The monitor was turned, but that had been a clever distraction.

  My attention moved to the floor, and I glimpsed a discarded shoe and an acidic splash pattern that had discolored the objects and tools that it came in contact with. I took a sample, and the pattern did indicate the outline of a human body, which I figured had been pushed to the floor.

  Dr. Isley had been working, and like most scientists, she had been dedicated to her work. The perpetrators had come into the lab, and the doctor had been surprised by their impromptu arrival-

  I clicked a batarang from my utility belt and used it to gently push some desk objects to the side and there sitting beside the keyboard was a voice recorder.

  Scientists like to hear the sound of their own voices.

  If they didn’t joke about it, scientists who I had conferenced with often prided themselves on their personal codes or their process as they documented their findings with fountain pens and oil journals.

  “Alright Dr. Isley, let’s see what you had to say.” My video feed was going so I figured it would be a good idea to capture her words to make sure they didn’t get lost.

  I activated the device, and a voice file listed at 11 minutes began to play. Pamela’s voice had a soothing timbre and a disarming intensity that lent itself to striking articulation, and excellent organization in her biochemical breakdown and explanations. I considered speeding it up, but I didn’t want to tamper with the evidence more than I needed to.

  Dr. Isley cleared her throat and preemptively shuffled some papers.

  “My analysis has yielded some intriguing results that I hadn’t considered in the beginning of this project. When I started my initial project, I found that poisons could disguise themselves at a microscopic level. We often talk about poisons at certain levels of concentration, or the intensity at which their composition would neutralize the functioning cells of the human body. The quantity could overtake the body, preventing a kind of retaliation. I think anti-venoms are long overdue for an overhaul, but that would require additional research. Within the past few weeks, I had found strains of special toxins that, when they were mixed or exposed to certain chemical combinations, have yielded surprising results, I do wonder what the effects would be when they were exposed to living tissue. I have tested rats, and samples of blood but the results have been inconclusive. I have been working to determine if I am dealing with any kind of chemical decay rate, and I have yet to isolate what creates what I have termed the nuecocholortic changes. I have pinned down some independent and dependent factors that I think will be useful in upcoming experiments to explore further reactions and the longevity of the changes. I will document a list of variations that should, if my calculations are correct offer some kind of direction to fully understand the next steps I need to take.”

  Dr. Isley proceeded to outline her experiment with technical jargon ranging from several calculations, and a number of chemical combinations and the reactions that had resulted from several phases of her experiments. In the space of two minutes, Dr. Isley offered comments and some speculations about the potential of live tests, and I detected a hint of worry in her voice.

  “I believe that the next phase will-“

  A loud crack and the rapid thumping of boots across the floor indicated unknown people had entered the laboratory, but Dr. Isley’s exclamation masked their initial entry, so there was no clear indication masked on volume or frequency to predict how many people might have tried to enter the room. Dr. Isley’s recording was IP and protectable through the Wayne Foundation, but these last few minutes would be important to any upcoming investigation. I would make sure that transcriptions of her proprietary information were logged away, and I considered her shone as I heard Dr. Isley whimper, followed by the tick-tack of her footwear across the floor. There was no verbalized stumble, but an echo of objects hitting the ground with a moment’s delay told me that at least two people had begun to trash the place. I looked back at the door and the distance between the doorway and where the vandalism began indicated that the suspects had come in without any fanfare or threats. Whoever these people were, they made the good doctor feel scared.

  So, Dr. Isley, were you the intended victim or were you in the wrong place at the wrong time?

  The chemical splash patterns, the concentration of glass from where instruments had been knocked or thrown to the floor, and the stride between them meant they were tall and forceful.

  Career criminals and hired help.

  A subtle sound cut through the pandemonium. Thump, thump click. Thump, thump, click.

  “A magician has captured a small, elite audience. He has three identical boxes, and later, she has three boxes. One box contains a rabbit, one contains a pigeon, and the third contains nothing. The magician looks out at the crowd and asks for someone to choose one box. After the volunteer is selected and chooses one, the magician opens one of the remaining boxes to reveal that it’s empty. He then offers the volunteer a chance to switch their choice to the last unopened box.

  Should the volunteer switch or stay with their original choice in order to maximize their chances of winning the rabbit?”

  “What do you mean?” Dr. Isley said with a mixture of desperation and pleading.

  Dr. Isley does not get a reply right away, but the speaker gives a conceited chuckle and then takes a stroll through the laboratory. I listen and I see spots when the cane or walking stick made contact with the floor.

  I hear things open, and Dr. Isley is on the verge of tears until I hear something jingle, and several things are pushed over, and Dr, Isley screams.