2:47 a.m., room 312, Silver Star Motel.
Li Jie lay on his back, staring at the water stain shaped like Colorado on the ceiling. The air conditioner seemed to be on its last legs, giving a sigh of metal fatigue every thirty seconds.
"None of your business," he told the ceiling.
The air conditioner sighed again.
"You're on fucking vacation. Paid leave. Two months."
He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, which smelled of the previous guest's hair gel. "Gotham is Bruce Wayne's problem. Gordon's, Nygma's, and all the other cops'. You're just a guy enjoying a little leisure travel."
He closed his eyes.
Cliff Steele's metal face surfaced in the darkness, the red light in his electronic eyes like two red-hot nails.
"I need to know the truth. I need to know who I really am."
Li Jie flipped the pillow over, but the smell remained.
"You're not a psychiatrist," he told the wall. "You're not a vigilante or a paranormal investigator. Hell, you're not even a cop here. You're the sheriff of Gotham's East End, currently on administrative leave. You came to Las Vegas to..."
He paused.
For what? To lose two hundred and seventy bucks? To drink until your head hurt? To watch strippers... huh?
Right, I haven't done that yet!
"I'm going to see some strippers!" he finally concluded. "I'm here to relax, not deal with this bullshit."
The air conditioner made another noise, this time like a cough.
Li Jie sat up, found the half-finished bottle of soda water on the nightstand, and took a swig.
"Even if everything he said was true," he told the darkness, "even if that Professor Caulder really is some sick scientist collecting tragic people for his cult... how is that my fucking problem?"
"Cloverton, Ohio." Li