The old textile factory stood beneath thick clouds. Abandoned for nearly a decade, it had once been part of Gotham's industrial backbone. Now it was nothing more than a weed-choked ruin, forgotten by everyone except squatters and rats.
Marco crouched behind the rusted shell of an old delivery truck about thirty meters from the main entrance, his radio pressed to his ear. Around him, twenty officers from the East End precinct were spread out in positions.
"All units in position," came Christopher's voice over the radio.
Marco keyed his mic. "Copy. Team Alpha, you have eyes on the east exit?"
"Affirmative. Exit's clear. No movement."
"Team Bravo, west side?"
"West side secure. No visual on hostiles."
"Good." Marco scanned the factory one more time through his binoculars. "Team Charlie, stack up on me. We are going in through the front door. Remember, these people are not your average junkies or street thugs. They are organized, possibly armed, and definitely dangerous. You see anything that even looks like a weapon, you put it down. Understood?"
A chorus of affirmatives came back over the radio.
Marco rose from his crouch and moved toward the factory entrance, his service weapon drawn and held low. Behind him, five officers moved in a tight formation. Two of them carried a battering ram.
They reached the main entrance. The door was steel, rusted around the edges but still solid. He positioned himself to the left of the door frame, weapon raised. Darnell took the right side. The two officers with the battering ram moved into position.
Marco held up three fingers.
Two.
One.
"GCPD! Open up!"
The battering ram slammed into the door. The lock shattered on impact, and the door flew inward, banging against the interior wall. Marco was through the opening before the echo faded, weapon up, sweeping left to right as his tactical light cut through the darkness.
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
"Clear left!"
"Clear right!"
The shouts echoed through the vast interior. Dust swirled in the beams of light streaming through the doorway.
The factory floor was massive. Most of the textile machinery had been stripped out years ago, leaving only concrete foundations and broken bolts embedded in the floor. Overhead, steel beams crisscrossed beneath a ceiling that had to be at least twelve meters high. In several places, holes in the roof allowed shafts of grey daylight to pierce the gloom.
But there were no footsteps.
"First floor secure," came the voice over the radio from one of the other teams.
Marco's frown deepened. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut. "Check the second-floor offices. Basement too."
The officers spread out. He stayed where he was, near the center of the main floor, slowly turning in a circle as he scanned the shadows. It was too quiet. Even if the cultists had fled, there should be rats or pigeons.
"Second floor secure! Offices are empty!"
"Basement clear! Nothing down there but water damage and mold!"
Darnell appeared at the top of the basement stairs, shaking his head. The concrete steps behind him were littered with debris.
"Not a damn thing. We are too late."
Marco lowered his gaze to the floor. A thin layer of dust and dirt covered the concrete, but the signs were clear. Footprints overlapped in multiple directions, all leading deeper into the factory and toward several side exits. The retreat had been hurried. Whoever had been here knew they were coming. They had packed up efficiently and disappeared before anyone arrived.
"How the hell did they know?" Darnell asked, moving to stand beside Marco.
"Good question." Marco keyed his radio. "All teams, sweep the entire building. Look for anything they left behind. And watch your step, they might have left surprises."
The officers moved through the factory again, checking every corner. For several minutes, the only sounds were boots on concrete, doors creaking open, and the occasional curse as someone nearly tripped over debris.
"Captain! Over here!"
Marco's head snapped toward the voice. One of the officers was standing in the doorway of a small room at the far end of the factory floor, waving him over.
The room had likely once been a manager's office. A desk stood against one wall, a filing cabinet sat nearby with its drawers hanging open, and several chairs lay overturned on the floor. Compared to the rest of the factory, the space was almost orderly. Darnell crouched and gathered several sheets of paper scattered across the ground. He scanned them quickly.
"Looks like recruitment material."
Marco picked up one of the pamphlets and examined it closely. The paper was cheap, and the printing was crude, slightly misaligned. At the top sat a symbol, an abstract ring formed from countless intertwined lines. It resembled a Celtic knot.
Beneath the symbol were the words: "Eternal Church - GUIDING LOST SOULS HOME."
The rest of the text was standard cult nonsense:
"Cast off the sins of the past."
"Seek the true meaning of life."
"Bound by blood and purpose."
"Bullshit," Darnell muttered, tossing the pamphlets back onto the floor.
Marco said nothing. His attention had been drawn to a crumpled wad of paper in the trash can in the corner of the room. He walked over, pulled it out, and smoothed it flat on the desk.
Unlike the printed pamphlets, this one was handwritten.
...His will... pierces the veil... the gaze of our Lord has descended...
...brothers of blood... bearers of the great lineage...
...when the shadows devour the Tower of Light, the passage shall open...
Along the edges of the note, someone had repeatedly drawn the same symbol in red ink.
"This is not just some scam operation. They are planning something."
"Captain," Darnell called from the other side of the room. "You need to see this."
Marco folded the note and stuffed it in his pocket, then walked over to where Darnell was standing. He was shining his flashlight on the wall.
Painted on the wall in what looked like dried blood was a complex geometric pattern about a meter in diameter. At its center was the same triangle-and-circle combination from the note, but surrounding it were dozens of runes and symbols that looked almost like writing but were not any language Marco recognized.
And below the symbol were two pairs of large, dark yellow eyes.
Marco stared at them. He had seen those eyes before.
"Fuck," he said quietly. "They are coming for her."
Darnell nodded grimly. "Yeah. No question about it."
Marco pulled out his radio. "Christopher, you copy?"
"Go ahead, Captain."
"I need you to take three officers and canvas the surrounding area. Five-block radius from this factory. Talk to everyone you can find. Ask if they have seen people in white robes, heard anything unusual, or noticed suspicious vehicles. Use whatever leverage you need. I do not care. Just bring me something."
"Copy that, Captain. We are on it."
Marco turned back to Darnell. "Bag everything that looks even remotely suspicious. Especially that blood symbol. Photograph it from every angle. Then we are pulling out."
"That is it?" Darnell looked frustrated. "We just leave?"
"What else do you want to do? They already went back underground. But at least now we know exactly what they are after."
---
Three hours later, at the East End Precinct, Marco dropped a thick stack of photocopied documents and printed photographs onto the conference table.
Edward, Raven, Anna, and Dr. Quinzel sat waiting. Dr. Quinzel had insisted on attending any discussion related to the cult that was hunting the girl.
Marco glanced at each of them before taking his seat.
"So that is the situation, Ed," Marco said, pulling out a chair and sitting down heavily. "I am back with more weird shit for you to analyze. Honestly, I have no idea how the department functioned before you came to the East End."
"That is not exactly accurate," Edward said with a small smile. He glanced at Raven, who sat quietly beside him, then back at Marco. "But I appreciate the vote of confidence. You are saying they are specifically targeting Raven?"
"Yeah." Marco pulled two documents from the stack and handed one to Edward and one to Raven. Anna and Dr. Quinzel immediately leaned in to look over their shoulders.
Edward's eyes moved quickly over the text. "The Eternal Church," he murmured. "If I remember correctly, it is a religious organization from a small European country called Zandia. They are also the de facto ruling power there. But..." He trailed off.
Raven spoke up. "In reality, their real name is the Church of Blood. They worship my father. They are trying to bring him into the physical world. Their leader calls himself Brother Blood, and he intends to make me his bride so I can bear a stronger bloodline."
There was a moment of silence.
Then Darnell exploded. "What the fuck? You are fourteen years old! That is beyond messed up!" He looked around the table. "Even I would not think of something like that—"
Everyone in the room was staring at him.
"What? Why are you all looking at me like that?"
Marco rubbed his forehead. "Child marriage is illegal in New Jersey, but plenty of states do not have laws against it. And if you know history, the Mormons..." He caught himself. "You know what? Never mind. The point is, you should probably stop talking now."
"I was just saying it is fucked up!" Darnell protested.
"We know. Everyone knows. Shut up."
Edward cleared his throat. "I have a question. They did not gain anything from their last attempt to capture Raven. In fact, they lost people. So why are they trying again? And with apparently more resources this time? What gives them the confidence?"
"Maybe they found some new leverage," Marco said. "New magic, perhaps?"
"Possible." Edward tapped his fingers on the table. "I have been trying to analyze the magical components of what we encountered last time. I have a few theories, but progress has been slow. Magic does not exactly follow predictable patterns."
"That is fine," Marco said. "We trust you to figure it out."
He turned to look at Dr. Quinzel, who had been unusually quiet throughout the entire briefing. She was sitting with Raven pulled close against her side, one arm wrapped around the girl's shoulders.
"Dr. Quinzel," Marco said. "Do you have anything you would like to add?"
Dr. Quinzel looked up at him. For a moment, he thought she might make one of her usual sarcastic comments. Instead, she just shook her head.
"No. This is not my field." She pulled Raven a little closer. "But I do believe you will find a way to deal with a bunch of pedophiles, right?"
Marco met her gaze steadily. "Yeah. We will."