The outskirts of Gotham was quiet in a way Gotham's city centre could never be. Not with the state of things as they are now. He looked down at his makeshift map, he was in a dark forest.
A common hotspot.
His senses were on high alert. The slightest breeze of wind caused him to pause. He needed to be careful. He thought back to the woman who had seen him punch that man's jaw off.
He already had a witness that saw his face as clear as day.
Every step he took felt precise, calculated to make as little nose as possible.
He checked the map again, this was it. He was on the bank of the Gotham harbour. Far above was a bridge that led into the city.
The air here was fresh, different from the usual smog filled sky in the city. The water reflected the pale moonlight, as pretty a sight you'll ever see in Gotham.
But then he smelled it.
He almost let out a satisfied groan.
Before he'd even realised it, he'd started to walk faster.
The scent was addictive, it called to him.
He closed in on the smell, seeing the body in the distance.
It was fresh.
It must have happened tonight.
Something about that made him want to cry.
But he didn't, he kept walking.
It was a man, wearing a disheveled suit, his skull split wide open. Ken looked up at the bridge, he must have jumped.
Ken kneeled by the man, analysing his bloody, shattered face. He couldn't help but wonder what went wrong, what caused him to…do this.
His stomach growled.
Ken shook his head and before he could think twice, he dug his teeth into the man's neck. Blood covered his face as Ken let out a relieved groan. Before he could swallow the first bite, he dived in for a second.
Minutes later he pulled back, his breath ragged, his chin slick with cold, wet blood.
He looked down at what was left of the man.
Ken had made sure to leave the already destroyed face alone. It felt cruel, unnecessary to completely destroy this…person.
He stood, waiting there for a long moment, intently observing the corpse.
Then he turned away.
He would leave the body there, half devoured and sure to be found.
But it was better that way.
Better the man's family knew what happened, and that they get something back.
Better than just disappearing, like he did.
—-
Ken walked back to the shelter, he'd washed himself off in the harbour. It was a long walk, but he didn't mind. It allowed his mind to roam.
It was late at night, so the only people up would likely be the security and receptionist. The place had 24/7 staff, it was clearly well funded.
"Hey!" A girl's voice whispered from a nearby staff room. Ken's head snapped in the direction of the sound, only to pause.
It was the red headed girl from the library.
Ken's brows furrowed. "You work here?" He asked.
"I volunteer on some of the night shifts." She replied, looking him up and down as she approached. "I'm glad to see you came"
"Thank you for telling me about this place." Ken responded, though he still felt embarrassed to be here in some ways.
It was like he was weak.
"Not many actually ever show up." She explained, a soft look in her eyes.
Ken wasn't surprised.
Her eyes ran across him again, glad he was wearing clean clothes, the ones he wore in the library—
Ken noticed her friendly smile drop. He felt something cold settle in his stomach at the sudden change.
"Rough night?" She asked, looking at his hands.
He looked down, noticing extremely faint amounts of blood underneath his trimmed fingernails.
'How did she even notice that?'
Ken forced a nod and attempted a casual smile. "Yeah, uh something like that." He chuckled awkwardly.
Her gaze lingered.
Ken clenched his jaw, holding back from snatching his hand away.
That would look even more suspicious.
"Anyway, I'd better get off to sleep" he tried to smile at her but it ended up as more of a wince. He walked past her, going towards his large shared room.
—-
The Batmobile came to a screeching stop, the tyres leaving deep rivets in the wet ground below. This was the third hotspot he'd been to that night, he was tracking Patient 037.
He got out of the Batmobile, his cape flapping in a sudden breeze. Bruce looked up to the bridge above a deep sadness drowning him as the significance of this place gripped him.
He started to walk along the bay, stopping when he saw it. A man, or what was left of him, crumbled on the harbour bank. His skull was shattered, eyes glassy and mouth forever open.
Bruce rushed over, dropping to his knees by the man. Everything below the neck and above the belly was practically gone. Only skeleton and wiry fibres of muscle remained.
He felt a deep sense of guilt, he always did when he found something like this.
'If only I got here sooner.'
Laid next to the corpse was a folded suit jacket, shirt and tie.
Laid underneath the tie was a handwritten note.
Bruce skimmed through it, it was a suicide note.
No clues.
He folded it back up, placing it back beneath the tie,
Bruce rose to his feet, looking at the scene from a new perspective. The wounds on the skull looked consistent with a fall from the bridge.
Bruce pressed a button on his utility belt, sending his location and an alarm to the police department.
But two things were clear, Patient 037 had done this and that Bruce was right about him.
He was scavenging.
—-
"How did it go, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked as Bruce returned to the cave. The air smelled faintly of smoke and rain.
Bruce didn't answer right away, just nodded once and strode to the Batcomputer. His cape trailed behind him, silent but heavy.
"I've confirmed my suspicions" he said curtly, fingers already flying across the keyboard. "I also have a new one."
Alfred arched his brow. "And that is?"
Bruce's jaw tightened. "To the identity of our patient."
"Oh?" Alfred asked, his interest rising.
"Ken Cross," Bruce declared as he brought up a photo.
An old school picture, a boy no older than fifteen, dark unruly hair, bright grin.
Innocent.
Alfred stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Why him?"
Bruce didn't look up. "I started reviewing the feeding patterns. So far, he's consumed three victims."
"A suicide victim, a homeless man, and a mother," Alfred recalled, his tone grim.
Bruce nodded. "The first two fit a pattern of opportunistic scavenging, already-dead victims. But the third…"
"The mother," Alfred said quietly.
"She was the first one found, in her apartment," Bruce continued. "No signs of forced entry. Which suggests… a personal connection."
Alfred's brow furrowed. "You believe he knew her?"
"I checked missing persons reports," Bruce said. "The victim, Mary Cross, filed one two weeks before her death. Her son had vanished."
Alfred froze.
His voice came out low. "Master Bruce… you're not implying that Patient 037 ate his own—"
"Yes." Bruce's tone was flat, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something, pity, maybe.
"I believe Ken Cross returned home after escaping the lab. He found his mother dead and… lost control."
Silence filled the cave.
The monitors hummed softly in the dark.
Finally, Alfred spoke, voice faint.
"Good Lord."