In the Batcave, the white noise of water washing over rock walls filled the cavernous space. The supercomputer's massive screen cast a cold blue glow over Bruce's sharply defined profile.
Dave stood nearby, nervously rubbing the hem of his shirt between his hands. He had just finished his recovery training and changed into clean training clothes.
The screen showed a frozen surveillance image of the alley outside the café. An algorithm had enhanced the footage, magnifying the moment the deliveryman opened the package as far as possible.
Bruce tapped the keyboard, bringing up several high-resolution screenshots of the handguns side by side.
"Glock 19s, but not the civilian models sold on the market." Bruce pointed at the rail beneath the barrel and the side of the slide.
"The frames have a matte finish, and the serial numbers have been ground off with a laser. These are military-grade weapons currently in service. Bottom-rung street thugs who make their living selling coke can't get their hands on firepower like this."
Dave leaned closer for a look. He had only ever seen things like these in comics. Seeing real guns and ammunition in front of him hit completely differently.
"Where did they get the money to buy weapons?" Dave asked.
"That's the question." Bruce pulled up a map of Gotham's East End marked with several red dots. "Violent clashes in the East End have escalated recently, and the gangs have acquired large quantities of standard-issue weapons. Someone is pulling strings behind the scenes, trying to throw Gotham into complete chaos."
The green light on the encrypted communications channel came on. Gordon's voice emerged over the roar of a police car's engine and the scrape of windshield wipers against glass.
"Bat, we came up empty." Gordon sounded irritated, with an exhaustion he couldn't hide.