The members of the Gotham Police Department Tactical Team gripped their weapons tightly. The battle seemed to have begun, and instinct told them shadowy figures were closing in all around them, yet they had not seen a single enemy.
"Boss, today's mission doesn't seem all that dang-"
"Shut your mouth!"
Gordon glared at the officer. Although he fundamentally did not believe in ghosts or supernatural nonsense, he still observed certain old taboos, such as never saying, "I'm going home to get married after this battle," or, "I can retire once today's work is done."
Thump!
An extremely faint sound came from the ventilation duct overhead. Gordon's heart lurched, and he raised his gun toward the ceiling.
"Someone up there?"
"Doesn't sound like it." The team members raised their guns too, but the noise grew louder and louder, like countless tiny creatures surging through the ducts. Then a startled cry rang out from a nearby duct junction, followed by agonized screams and a chorus of gnawing and devouring.
Gordon and his team exchanged bewildered looks, unsure what had happened. All they could see was thick blood slowly dripping from the duct opening, flowing ever faster and in ever greater quantities.
Gradually, it became a scarlet stream.
The ventilation system was cramped and oppressive. Two exceptionally small, thin assassins struggled forward through it, crawling like worms.
Dust and grease coated the inner walls of the duct, and the air smelled of rust and years of accumulated grime. Holding his breath and relying on his excellent sense of direction, an assassin inched toward the position marked on the map: the vent above the Detention Room.
It was the filthiest route, but often the least expected.
Suddenly, he stopped. A faint, dense rustling came from the darkness ahead. It drew closer and multiplied,