Malphegor
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PIG V2 Ch. 48
🕑 Added 2026-01-16 00:17:55 +0000 UTCThe wail of sirens grew from distant to deafening. Red and blue lights tore through the darkness of the alley, painting the brick walls in harsh, strobing colors. Gordon was among the first through the police cordon. When he saw Barnes lying in the spreading pool of blood, all the color drained from his face.
"I was too late..." Marco's voice came out raw, scraped hollow. He was still sitting in the mud, back against the wall, gun hand hanging limp at his side.
Gordon didn't look at him. He went straight to Barnes, dropping to his knees in the filth, trembling fingers pressing against the commissioner's neck, searching for a pulse. Then he whirled around.
"Ambulance! Move your asses!"
Paramedics rushed in with a stretcher. They worked fast, checking vitals, stabilizing Barnes' neck, lifting him. One of them shook his head slightly. The vital signs were weak.
Forensic techs swarmed the scene. Someone was taking measurements. Someone else was photographing the blood spatter patterns.
Marco watched it all like he was underwater. The sound felt muted. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Gordon finally stood, his knees soaked through with blood and rainwater. He walked over slowly. When he stopped in front of Marco, his eyes held shock, grief, rage... and beneath it all, suspicion.
"What happened? Why were you here?"
Marco forced himself to meet Gordon's eyes.
"I got a tip. They said there was something going down near Cherry Lane." He swallowed. "They didn't give details, just... said I should check it out. When I got here, I saw Zsasz. He was..." He gestured vaguely toward where Barnes had been lying. "He was beating him. I drew my weapon and fired, but I missed.... And he ran."
Gordon's eyes narrowed. "You're sure it was Zsasz?"
"I'm sure." Marco nodded. "That face... I wouldn't mistake it."
Gordon stared at him for a long moment. Marco could see the gears turning behind those tired eyes. But grief won out over investigation. At least for now.
He let out a heavy breath and reached down, gripping Marco's shoulder.
"You did what you could," he said quietly. "Go home. Get some rest. Take a hot shower. Headquarters will handle the scene. There'll be a formal inquiry. Standard procedure. You understand."
Marco understood perfectly. Gordon didn't believe him. Not completely. But right now, with Barnes bleeding out in the back of an ambulance, there were other priorities.
"Yeah. I understand."
He pushed himself to his feet. His clothes were soaked through, clinging to his skin. He felt cold all the way down to his bones. He walked past the busy officers, avoiding eye contact and questions. The alley behind him was lit up like a crime scene in a movie. But He didn't look back.
He just kept walking.
---
Three days later, the official statement dropped.
"GCPD COMMISSIONER NATHANIEL BARNES CRITICAL AFTER BRUTAL ASSAULT."
The press release was carefully worded. Barnes had suffered severe cranial trauma from a violent attack. Medical teams had worked through the night to stabilize him, and while his life had been saved, he had fallen into an irreversible persistent vegetative state.
Gotham's media erupted.
"DARKNESS DESCENDS: Commissioner Barnes Struck Down, Justice in Gotham Cast into Shadow."
"HERO OR MARTYR? Barnes in Vegetative State as GCPD Vows to Hunt Down Killer."
"WHO WILL PROTECT GOTHAM NOW? Leadership Vacuum at GCPD as Commissioner Fights for Life."
The talking heads on television cycled through the same few phrases: tragic, senseless violence, a city in mourning. Politicians made statements. Community leaders called for action. The usual theater.
But beneath all the noise, in a cramped office in the East End Precinct, Marco sat across from Bob. Between them, spread out on the desk, was the final medical report confirming Barnes' condition.
Bob locked the door. Then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, stared at it for a moment, and put it back in his pocket.
"Alright." His voice was calm. "Talk to me."
Marco looked up. "About what?"
"Don't play dumb." Bob leaned back in his chair, studying him. "Did you do it yourself, or did you set it up?"
"I was just... too late."
"Bullshit." Bob's tone didn't change, but his eyes sharpened. He licked his lips, reconsidered, and pulled the cigarettes back out. Lit one. Took a long drag. "Don't give me that crap. You didn't have any real bond with him. You wouldn't be this shaken up just from failing to save him. Because you missed your shot? No. You're not Gordon, you don't carry that kind of savior complex." He exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. "Let me piece this together."
He tapped ash into a tray.
"The way you've been acting the last few days? There's only one explanation. Barnes' fate has something to do with you. The question is... what, exactly?"
Marco said nothing.
Bob continued, turning it over in his mind like a puzzle. "According to the forensic report, you were about fifteen meters from Barnes when Zsasz attacked. Close range for someone with your training. With your accuracy... Even if you couldn't drop him outright, you wouldn't have let him walk away clean. Not unless you wanted to."
He flicked more ash off the cigarette. "And don't tell me you choked under pressure. At Wayne Tower, you were facing down hundreds of people, dozens of guns, and those... things. You stayed ice cold. One serial killer shouldn't rattle you."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "So you fired. But you deliberately missed. Now, if you wanted Zsasz dead, why fire at all? Unless..." He tilted his head. "Were there other witnesses on scene?"
Marco let out a long breath. "Alright. You win." He rubbed his face with both hands. "I did miss on purpose. I could've saved him. But when he started screaming about Internal Affairs auditing our accounts, about sending us all to Blackgate... in that moment, I hesitated."
Bob nodded slowly, took another drag. "Mm. First of all, Marco, I'm glad you stood with the East End." He smiled faintly. "Second... well done. The biggest internal threat is gone. Internal Affairs just lost their strongest supporter. The investigation will slow down, maybe stop entirely. The precinct is safe." He spread his hands. "So I honestly don't know what you're so torn up about."
Marco's expression darkened. "At first, I hated him. You remember that meeting when he came in swinging his weight around, acting like we were all corrupt..." He trailed off, staring at nothing. "But later... he really was trying to clean up Gotham. Going after Falcone's operations, putting pressure on the mob. And in that alley, when Zsasz had him broken and bleeding... he didn't fold. He chose to die rather than submit." He looked up. "I think he was a good man. Stubborn as hell, yeah. But he didn't deserve that ending."
Bob burst out laughing. The sound was so unexpected that Marco just stared at him.
"Hahahaha!" He stubbed out his cigarette, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're still a goddamn idealist. I'm starting to think Darnell might be right about you being a virgin."
His smile faded. "Listen. I told you a long time ago, good people don't survive in Gotham. But fine. Let me reframe this for you." He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "The real truth is, you weren't hesitating to protect yourself. You just weren't good enough. You fired and still couldn't hit Zsasz, and Barnes got beaten to death as a result. Does that make you feel any better?"
Marco blinked. "What?"
"And by the way," Bob continued, "you know Barnes came from the military, right? But do you know why he left?"
Marco shook his head slowly.
Bob pulled out another cigarette, lit it. "During a mission overseas, he raped and murdered two eight-year-old girls. When it got exposed, he was forced to resign. Dishonorable discharge. The whole thing got buried, but it happened."
Marco shot to his feet. "What?! He did something like that?!"
Bob didn't answer. Just smoked in silence, watching Marco's reaction with mild interest.
The guilt that had been eating at Marco for the past three days evaporated in an instant. He wanted to go to the hospital right now and put two more rounds into Barnes' skull.
When the cigarette was half-gone, Bob sat up straight and said, "It's fake."
"...What?"
"Fake. I made it up." Bob smiled slightly. "Having a sense of right and wrong is a good thing. But don't let it control your thinking. You need to understand, the truth is often impossible to pin down. I just sat here and said a few words, and in your mind, Barnes went from an idealistic hero to a child-raping monster. He didn't do anything. He's just lying in a hospital bed right now, drooling into a pillow."
He tapped ash off the cigarette. "But here's the thing. The military does have problems, cover-ups, and scandals. Can you really be sure he never did something like that? Can you be absolutely certain?" He shrugged. "That's why I keep saying, interests matter. Interests are what keep you alive. Truth? Good and evil? Those things are fog. You can't navigate by them."
He gestured at the medical report on the desk. "Barnes is finished. The East End is safe. That alone proves what you did was meaningful. And correct."
Marco stared at him for a long moment. Then he let out a long, slow breath and sank back into his chair. "Alright. Maybe you're right." He thought about it, turning it over in his mind. "I do feel better now."
"Good." Bob's expression grew serious. "But don't get complacent. In this city, people die every day. There's no point wailing about it or drowning in regret. Just watch the road under your feet. I told you this the first time you came back from meeting Falcone, don't start thinking you're untouchable. When you decided to stir up a war between Barnes and the Romans, you should've known it would end like this. Did you really think that once two beasts started tearing into each other, you could just step in and control them? Pull them apart?"
Marco said nothing.
"You've been through a lot lately. And things have turned out well. Maybe that made you feel invincible. But don't forget, Gordon is the one standing at the front. You've been taking shortcuts. And people who rely on shortcuts can't keep winning forever."
"Yeah." Marco nodded slowly. "You're right. I did get a little carried away. Probably got played by Cobblepot."
"You only learn the lesson after you fall on your face. Don't make me teach you a third time." Bob knocked the long ash off his cigarette. "Cobblepot... No problem. We'll deal with him slowly."
He picked up the internal phone and dialed logistics.
"It's McGinnis. I need you to file a request for Captain Vitale. Post-traumatic stress disorder evaluation."
"I really don't think that's necessary." Marco frowned. "You're better than those experts anyway."
"The paperwork still has to be done." Bob stood up, slipping his lighter into his pocket. "What I can see, you think Gordon and the other old-timers can't see too? They just don't have hard evidence. As long as you deny everything and stick to your story, you'll be fine. But you need to go through the full routine." He gave Marco a pointed look. "When the psychologist tests you, remember, act properly devastated, numb, and traumatized. You understand?"
Marco nodded. "Yeah. I understand."
Bob clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Now get out of here. You look like shit."
Marco stood, heading for the door. But as his hand touched the knob, he hesitated. "Chief?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
Bob waved him off. "Don't mention it. Just remember what I said. Watch your step. This city's got a way of eating people who get too confident."
Marco nodded once more, then left the office.
Bob watched him go, then turned back to the window, smoking in silence. After a moment, he crushed out the cigarette and picked up the phone again.
"Yeah, it's me. Schedule that evaluation as soon as possible. And make sure it's Dr. Quinzel."
He hung up, staring out at the city.
"Let's see if the kid really learned his lesson," he muttered to himself. "Or if I'm going to have to clean up another mess."
