Malphegor
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PIG V2 Ch. 47
🕑 Added 2026-01-16 00:16:55 +0000 UTCA few days later.
Just after five in the afternoon, Marco stood in the doorway of the precinct office, thermos in hand, watching Internal Affairs haul boxes of files down the stairs. Renee led the procession. Crispus brought up the rear, looking apologetic even from across the hall.
"You done?" Marco called out.
Crispus nodded, offering a slight smile. "For now. We're taking the reports and data back to the commissioner."
"Huh." Marco took a sip from his thermos. "So... find anything interesting?"
Before Crispus could answer, Renee cut in. "Oh, we found plenty. Lots of violations. The commissioner will decide how to handle it."
"I can't wait." Marco's tone was flat. "Should be a fun conversation."
Crispus gave him an apologetic look and a slight nod as they passed. It wasn't until the entire Internal Affairs team had descended the front steps that he turned to Renee with a hint of reproach in his voice.
"You know regulations don't allow us to disclose audit results in advance. Especially misleading ones."
"I'm not misleading anyone, Crispus." Renee shifted a box to her other arm as they walked toward the van. "What I said was true. Their data has serious issues. We're handing everything to the commissioner, aren't we?"
She stepped aside to let a patrol officer hurry past, then added with a cold smile, "Besides, that bullshit about 'finding a sniper rifle on the side of the road'? Let him sweat for a while."
---
Marco watched them load up and drive away. He was about to head upstairs to talk strategy with Bob when Otis burst through the precinct doors, moving fast.
"Sir?"
His face was pale. "You need to... come see something in Forensics."
Marco set down his thermos and followed Otis across to the new building at a jog. When they pushed through the door of Forensics Division Two, Edward was sitting at a computer terminal in the corner, the screen split into a dozen grainy grey feeds that switched every few seconds.
Live surveillance from the network of animal-mounted cameras scattered throughout the city.
The biological surveillance system was still in its infancy. Coverage was limited, the signal unreliable, and the cameras needed manual battery swaps near target areas. But even in its crude state, it had already proven invaluable.
"Look at this." Edward waved him over and opened a saved clip. "Near Cherry Lane, close to the freight entrance behind Gotham Central."
Marco moved closer, leaning over Edward's shoulder to watch the screen. The footage was shaky, the viewpoint low, probably from a rat moving through a drainage ditch. A thin figure in a dark trench coat flashed past the edge of the frame. That profile, that presence... even through the terrible image quality, it stabbed into his memory.
Victor Zsasz.
What was he doing near headquarters?
That area was nowhere near Falcone's traditional territory. It wasn't a commercial district.
So... Falcone's counterattack had begun.
"Where's Barnes?"
"He left headquarters about half an hour ago."
"Track him. Use every camera we've got." Marco was already moving toward the door. "Otis, you're with me."
"Yes, sir!" Otis grabbed his jacket and followed.
"Marco, what are you..." Edward's frown deepened.
Marco didn't look back. "Watch the feeds. Call me if anything changes."
He pushed through the door and jogged to the beat-up Jeep Cherokee parked in the lot. Otis climbed into the passenger seat, and Marco peeled out onto the main road, tires squealing against pavement.
The cityscape streamed past the windows. Rain began to speckle the windshield.
He'd been pushing both sides toward open conflict. The plan had been for Barnes' crackdown to collide with Falcone's operations on a macro level... wearing each other down through attrition, investigations, seizures.
He'd never imagined, or maybe he'd deliberately avoided imagining, that it would end like this. By sending Zsasz, Falcone wasn't looking for submission. He was going for removal.
He finally understood the source of Gordon's unease. He'd asked Cobblepot to muddy the waters and keep Barnes distracted. And that goddamn guy had brought the water to a boil. No wonder the intel had been flowing so fast. He had been feeding them targets on purpose, accelerating the collision.
Marco pulled the Jeep to a stop two blocks from Cherry Lane and turned to Otis.
"Stay with the vehicle. No matter what happens, you don't move unless I call for you. Understood?"
Otis hesitated, then nodded. "Understood."
Marco pulled his coat collar tight against the rain and stepped out into the gathering dusk. He moved quickly, guided by memory and the intermittent updates crackling over his radio. The streets here were narrower. Abandoned factories and warehouses lined both sides.
As he approached the intersection of Cherry Lane and a narrow side alley, he heard a heavy thud.
He pressed himself against the damp brick wall and slowly leaned around the corner, holding his breath.
A car sat crumpled against a wall about fifteen meters away, its front end crumpled, tires flat. Under the glow of a single working streetlight, Barnes sat slumped against a rusted dumpster. His once-crisp uniform was smeared with mud and blood. One leg bent at an unnatural angle. One arm hung limp and broken at his side. But he... wasn't begging or crying? His head was held high.
Zsasz stood over him.
"Is this all you sewer rats can do?" Barnes' voice trembled with pain but remained loud. His gaze burned into Zsasz's face. "Break my legs?" He spat blood onto the pavement. "If you've got the balls... kill me. Let's see if Gotham will kneel... just because you murdered one commissioner."
Zsasz stopped wiping the baton. His eyes settled on Barnes without a flicker of emotion. He tilted his head slightly.
"You're very loud," he said. "But soon you won't be able to make such noise. Don Falcone doesn't want you thinking about unrealistic things anymore."
He stepped forward. The baton spun once in his hand. Barnes glared back at him, no trace of fear in his eyes... only rage.
"Come on! Let's see if your stick is harder than my skull!"
At that moment, Zsasz stopped. Without turning his head, he spoke toward Marco's hiding place.
"Enjoying the show, officer?"
Marco's heart stuttered, then kicked into overdrive. No point hiding now.
He stepped out of the shadows, right hand resting on his holstered Colt 1911.
"Zsasz." His voice sounded distant, muffled by the rain. "Assaulting the police commissioner in Gotham... You know what that means."
Zsasz turned slowly. His gaze flicked to Marco's hand on the holster. "Officer Vitale. You're a good shot. Shoot me now, and you can save your commissioner, and become a hero of the GCPD. Or..."
Marco didn't move.
Zsasz's smile widened fractionally. "Or you can turn around. Wait for me to finish the Don's work. Then go back to guarding your slush fund and keep being captain of your precinct."
Barnes' eyes snapped to Marco. For a moment, recognition flickered. Then his expression twisted.
"I knew it! I fucking knew you couldn't be trusted!" His words came in ragged bursts. "You're with them, aren't you?! You and Falcone... you've been colluding this whole time! That's why you're here! You're a goddamn traitor to the force! A parasite!" He spat blood again. "Even if I die... I won't let you get away with this! Internal Affairs will trace every dirty dollar... and they'll send you straight to Blackgate!"
He wasn't wrong. Renee was, at this very moment, delivering boxes of evidence to headquarters. If Marco fired now, what awaited him wouldn't be commendations and medals. It would be investigations, audits, and interrogations. The precinct would be dismantled. His team would be scattered, prosecuted, destroyed.
But if he did nothing...
Barnes would die. This rigid, idealistic, infuriating man who believed in the system, however naive that belief might be, would be murdered because of the fire he had lit.
His hand trembled on the gun.
Zsasz was too calm. He seemed utterly deaf to Barnes' cursing. Instead, he swayed the baton toward Marco.
"You see how noisy he is. I'll give you a choice."
"Draw your gun." He pointed the baton at Marco, then at himself. "Fire at me. Hit me and I'll leave. You can save your commissioner."
The alley fell silent except for the steady patter of rain. Even Barnes had stopped shouting, staring at the scene in disbelief.
Marco's fingers hovered over the holster. At this range, fifteen meters, clear line of sight, he could hit Zsasz. He knew he could.
But at what cost?
Time seemed to freeze. His index finger brushed the grip of his Colt.
"What are you hesitating for? One shot, and you destroy everything. Your future. Your chief's future. And your entire precinct. Trade all of it for his life." He tilted his head. "Very fair, isn't it?"
Marco stood frozen, rain and sweat running down his face. Barnes was hateful. But he didn't deserve this.
What about Bob, though? Darnell? Anna, Otis, Edward... all those people who trusted him, who'd followed him into the mud and fought to survive there. Was he supposed to gamble everything they'd built for a man who'd been trying to tear it all down?
"Look at him," Zsasz said softly. "He's calculating. Weighing your life against his ambitions, Commissioner. And clearly..." He smiled. "You don't weigh very much."
The words were poison, driving a wedge between Marco and Barnes, and stabbing deep into Marco's chest at the same time.
"Bastard!" Barnes shouted. "You're all the same! Every one of you! If you've got the guts, kill me! Because as long as I'm breathing, I'll put every last one of you behind bars!"
At that moment, Zsasz seemed to lose patience. He stopped looking at Marco. The baton rose, aimed straight at Barnes' skull.
"Looks like your value ends here."
Time stretched thin. Marco saw the muscles in Zsasz's arm contract. The baton arced downward through the rain. In Barnes' eyes, he saw fear.
No.
Instinct overrode calculation. His hand moved on its own, yanking the Colt 1911 from his holster, barely aiming, and firing.
BANG.
The gunshot exploded through the alley, the echo slamming off brick walls.
But in that instant before the trigger broke, all the fears came rushing back.
The .45 round tore through the rain, grazed Zsasz's shoulder by centimeters, and slammed into the brick wall behind him. Chunks of mortar exploded outward in a spray of dust.
Zsasz didn't even flinch.
The baton came down, striking Barnes on the side of the head.
CRACK.
Barnes' body convulsed once. Then he went limp, collapsing into the muddy water. The light in his eyes flickered and died. Blood mixed with rainwater poured from his temple, spreading across the pavement in a pool.
Zsasz straightened slowly. He didn't look at his work. Instead, he turned his head.
His lips split into a smile.
He said nothing. Just let out a laugh.
"Hahahaha!"
Then he stepped backward into the deeper shadows at the far end of the alley and vanished.
Marco stood frozen. The hand holding his gun fell limply to his side. Rain streamed down his face, into his collar, soaking through his clothes. But he barely felt it.
He'd fired. And accomplished nothing.
His instinct to find the optimal middle ground had placed him in the worst possible position.
He stared at Barnes lying in the mud.
His mind went blank. A vast emptiness opened inside him, followed by a surge of nausea. He braced himself against the brick wall and dry-heaved, but nothing came up. He didn't know how long he stood there. Seconds. Minutes. Time had lost all meaning.
Finally, he fumbled for his radio. He took a deep breath, forcing his voice to sound shocked and urgent.
"Emergency call to Gotham Central dispatch! Repeat, emergency! Requesting immediate medical assistance and scene investigation! Location: south end of Cherry Lane, near the old freight entrance... We have... Commissioner Barnes has been assaulted. Severe head trauma. Life-threatening injuries. Repeat, Commissioner Nathaniel Barnes is critical."
He gave the coordinates, then, as if all the strength had been drained from his body, slid down the rain-soaked wall until he was sitting in the mud. Water and filth soaked into his pants, but he felt nothing.
Had he done it on purpose?
In that instant before pulling the trigger, had there been a part of him that hoped the bullet would miss?
He didn't know.
All he knew was that from this moment on, everything had changed. Barnes' blood didn't just stain Gotham's streets. It stained his hands and soul. He felt like he was standing on the edge of an invisible abyss, the ground beneath his feet crumbling away inch by inch.
In the distance, sirens began to wail.
But he just sat there in the rain, staring at nothing.
