Chapter 3: The Cargo Ship
Customs Inspector Maria Haze approached the ship with her standard inspection team, clipboard in hand and official documentation ready. The Demeter was a large vessel, perhaps 400 feet in length, built in a classical merchant style that suggested considerable age. Her hull showed signs of recent storm damage, but she rode steady in the gentle harbor swells.
"Hello aboard!" Haze called out as she climbed the gangway. "Customs inspection!"
No response came from the apparently deserted deck.
The ship's superstructure was elegant but weathered, with brass fittings turned green by salt spray and wooden details that spoke of Old World craftsmanship. Everything appeared seaworthy and properly maintained, but there was no sign of the crew that should have brought her safely to port.
"Spread out and check for signs of life," Hazeinstructed her team. "Something happened to this crew during the storm."
Inspector Davis headed for the bridge while Haze and her remaining teammate, made their way toward the cargo holds. The ship's manifest, found secured in a waterproof container on deck, listed the cargo as agricultural equipment and soil samples from various European locations. Standard import documentation, properly stamped and sealed.
But as they descended into the cargo hold, Santos immediately knew something was terribly wrong.
The smell hit them first—a metallic odor so strong it made their eyes water. Not rust or machine oil, but something organic and unsettling that seemed to coat the inside of their throats.
Emergency lighting cast harsh shadows throughout the hold, revealing row upon row of wooden containers that definitely weren't agricultural equipment.
"Those are coffins," Davis whispered, his voice echoing in the confined space.
Haze nodded grimly, counting the containers. At least fifty of them, arranged in precise rows throughout the cargo hold. Each coffin was crafted from dark wood and decorated with intricate carvings that hurt to look at directly. The symbols seemed to shift and writhe in her peripheral vision, defying rational explanation.
"Check the manifest again," she ordered, though she already knew what they would find.
Davis checked his clipboard again. "Says here we should be looking at farming equipment and soil samples. Weight distribution matches, but..." He gestured helplessly at the obvious discrepancy.
Haze approached the nearest coffin for closer examination. The wood was ancient—centuries old, if her assessment was correct. European craftsmanship, probably Eastern European based on the decorative style. But the symbols carved into the lid were unlike anything in her experience with international shipping.
"Ma'am?" Her teammate's voice crackled through her radio. "You need to see the bridge. We found the ship's log."
Haze took one last look at the coffins, noting that several appeared to have been opened from the inside—splintered wood and scratched metal suggesting something had clawed its way out. But that was impossible. These were cargo containers, not passenger accommodations.
She made her way to the bridge, where her teammate was reviewing handwritten entries in a leather-bound logbook. The final entries were in multiple languages—English, Romanian, and what might have been Latin—written in increasingly erratic handwriting.
"What does it say?" Haze asked.
Her teammate cleared his throat and began reading: "Day twelve at sea. The cargo grows restless. I can hear them moving below decks, scratching at their containers. God help me, I think some of them are getting out."
He turned the page. "Day fourteen. Lost three crew members during the night. Found another one drained of blood in the cargo hold. No wounds visible, but he was white as paper. Something is hunting us."
Haze felt a chill run down her spine as she continued listening to the increasingly desperate entries.
"Final entry, dated yesterday: 'They are all awake now. I can hear them calling to me, promising immortality if I just open the cargo hold. The others have already joined them. I am the last. I will not let them reach the city. I will sink the ship rather than—'"
The entry ended mid-sentence.
"Where's the crew?" Davis asked, voicing what they were all thinking.
Haze looked around the bridge, noting the signs of recent occupancy—coffee cups still containing liquid, navigation equipment warm to the touch, personal belongings scattered about as if the crew had simply vanished moments before their arrival.
"Check the lifeboats," she ordered, though she already suspected what they would find.
Twenty minutes later, Davis confirmed her fears. All lifeboats were still secured in their davits, untouched and ready for deployment. The crew hadn't abandoned ship—they had simply disappeared.
Haze gathered her team on deck, well away from the cargo holds. "We're sealing this ship and calling in federal authorities. Something about this cargo isn't right, and I'm not risking civilian safety to satisfy curiosity."
But even as she made the call, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were already too late. The coffins in the cargo hold had clearly been opened from the inside, and whatever had been contained within them was no longer aboard the Demeter.
* * * * *
By noon, the harbor was swarming with federal investigators, hazmat teams, and CDC specialists trying to make sense of the mysterious cargo ship. Dr. Alan Roy from the Centers for Disease Control led the investigation, approaching the problem with scientifically and rationally.
"Preliminary assessment suggests some form of biological contamination," he reported to his team via radio. "The soil samples contain organic compounds I don't recognize, and there are traces of what might be human blood throughout the cargo area."
The coffins themselves proved even more puzzling. X-ray analysis revealed they had indeed contained human-sized forms, but thermal imaging showed no current occupants. Whatever had been in those containers was gone, leaving behind only dark earth and that persistent metallic odor.
"Dr. Roy?" One of his technicians approached with a worried expression. "We found something you need to see."
Deep in the ship's cargo hold, partially hidden behind a stack of empty coffins, they discovered evidence of the missing crew. Personal effects—wallets, watches, clothing—scattered about as if their owners had simply evaporated from within their garments. But no bodies, no blood, no indication of violence.
"It's like they just... disappeared," the technician said.
Dr. Roy examined the evidence with growing unease. In twenty years of investigating disease outbreaks and biological threats, he'd never encountered anything approaching this level of inexplicability.
The physical evidence suggested human presence followed by complete disappearance, while the cargo itself defied rational categorization.
The soil samples would require extensive laboratory analysis, but preliminary tests revealed unusual mineral compositions and organic compounds that didn't match any known agricultural products. And the symbols carved into the coffin lids resisted all attempts at translation, despite consultation with linguistics experts.
As afternoon faded toward evening, Dr. Roy made the decision to quarantine the entire vessel until any further analysis could be completed. The Demeter would remain sealed at Pier 47, surrounded by federal investigators and hazmat protocols, while teams of specialists attempted to unravel the mystery of its cargo and missing crew.
But even as security perimeters were established and scientific equipment deployed, none of the investigators noticed the subtle signs that something had already left the ship. Dark shapes moving through Gotham's storm drains. Ancient footsteps echoing in abandoned subway tunnels. The scent of foreign soil spreading through the city's underground passages.
Whatever had crossed an ocean in those coffins was now loose in Gotham City, and the nightmare epidemic that had begun with shared dreams was about to become far more tangible.
* * *
That evening, as Batman began his patrol of the city, he received an urgent communication from Commissioner Gordon.
"Batman, we need you at the harbor. Federal investigators are dealing with some kind of biological contamination situation, and they're requesting all available resources."
"What kind of contamination?" Batman asked, already changing his patrol route toward the waterfront.
"Unknown at this time. Cargo ship arrived during last night's storm with its crew missing. The manifest doesn't match the actual cargo, and there are some... unusual circumstances."
Batman's enhanced detective instincts immediately connected the timing with the citywide nightmare epidemic.
A mysterious ship arriving during supernatural weather, carrying unknown cargo, with its crew vanished without explanation. The pieces were beginning to form a pattern, though he couldn't yet see the complete picture.
"I'm en route," he confirmed.
As he swung through Gotham's skyline toward the harbor district, Batman couldn't shake the feeling that last night's storm had brought more than just violent weather to his city.
The cargo ship Demeter sat motionless at Pier 47, surrounded by official vehicles and scientific equipment. But whatever secrets she had carried across the ocean were no longer contained within her hull.
They were now free in the city Batman had sworn to protect.