I survey the damage, the death, the destruction. It is what I do for a living. My name is Henry Bloc, crime scene investigator. Yeah, I've seen the TV show, and I hate when people ask me that all the time. It is not like it is on TV. It is more unrealistic. No sooner than I get here then Batman does. See how unrealistic it can get? This is what summa cum laude gets in this city. Once he arrives, the other cops just sort of lay back and catch up on their lives. Talk about their lives, wives, kids, mistresses. If I would be paid for job I had to do in this city, I would get zero. He stares down at the wreckage, assessing the bodies and the damage. When he arrives, I realize my work is done, but I stick around anyways. It is like watching a play or a ballet or something theatrical. Commissioner Gordon arrives on schedule. It is not everyday that a high class restaurant blows up, especially with the security that joint had. I swear, at least, out of the 6 bouncers, 2 were metahumans. How can I tell? Because one of them is still technically alive after this explosion. When I mean technically, I mean a vegetable.

"What is the count, Jim?" Batman asks.

"45. Mostly upper-class but there was a couple of ringers. The press will come by soon to see who from Gotham's elite was killed tonight. They've been biting for a story for sweeps." Gordon responds.

Without a word, Batman enters the wreckage searching for that vital clue that will wrap this case. I could never get the hang on how he can make everything seem so simple after surveying the scene for five minutes.

"This bomb came from inside the restaurant."

"How can you be so sure?"

"For starters, the epicenter of the explosion was from the back of the restaurant. No way could a missile have penetrated so deeply into here with lead doors. Second, it had to be an inside job; no place could have been hit this hard without them being stopped in front by the heavy security. Did you ID who sat at that table in the back?"

"The lab boys are still on it but from what we can tell, they were wanted criminals."

"How can you be so sure?"

"DNA points to them being the so called Terrible Trio and the Dueling Cavalier. No matter how ridiculous, their aliases were the only names to come up on our database."

"It doesn't make any sense, Jim. They have been off the radar for years but now they come back in body bags. First it was the Eraser and Killer Moth. Now them."

"It is amazing you still remember them."

"I try to remember them…for future reference."

"I also heard that Magpie had a run-in with one of her own traps during a jewel heist."

"Yes, she was too careful to allow a slip-up like that to happen."

"Spikes right through her vertebrae. It will be a miracle if she ever gets out of the hospital."

"It all seems so random. There were no known vendettas against these rogues."

"I wouldn't be able to clue you in either, Batman. There is no connection to random madness."

"There is always a connection, Jim, first you have to find the thread. But who would want them all dead? Who benefits?"

"Hey! Blochead! Stop peeping at Batman and help me here with this body!" Hatley, my supervisor, demands.

I head over to the back alley to help put a body in a bag. He was not from the restaurant, just a bum that picked the unluckiest place on Earth to sleep tonight. I start loading him into a bag and something chills my spine.

"Was he from the restaurant?" the darkness asks.

"No." I reply. "He was just a bum…"

"Is he apart of the 45?"

"What? Oh…no, no. He was just a bum."

"JUST A BUM?"

He comes over, cowl and cape and all and grabs the body bag away from me. He unzips it and reflects on the body. He feels the dead man's wrist and checks the body for harm. I've done this so many times before, but watching him do it makes me feel like a med student all over again. After a brief investigation, he turns his sights on me again.

"What were you going to do with this body?"

"Like…we do…with all the homeless bodies. We dump them."

He grabs me and shakes me like a British Nanny. I feel like I just shit my pants.

"WHERE?"

"GOTHAM DUMP!"

He puts me back down and I realize all at once what it is to meet the devil and live. Turning his back, he departs from the alley.

"What…what was wrong with the body?" I ask.

"He wasn't killed in the explosion. He was shot. Not too long before the explosion occurred."

I feel safe until he turns around to me, staring me right in the eyes.

"Who told you to dump the body?"

"Hatley…."

"If I find you or anyone else doing this again, I will come for you…in your waking hours…or in your nightmares."

He turns around the corner and disappears into the night. I feel something wet inside my pants. That's when I hear Hatley's scream and all that fear I just experienced returns to my spine. I crawl under the garbage cans and rock…and rock…and rock…

Halfway across Gotham in Arkham…

Screams and loud pleas fill the hallways of Arkham crying for a god that doesn't exist or for a feeling someone can never have. Calling for a wife they never had or calling for someone just to listen. However, not all is madness in Arkham. In a cell, the Calendar Man contently sits alone in his solitary cell contemplating the days gone by since his sentencing.

"Let's see. Tuesday, October 23rd. 10 years 3 months and 2 days since I was sentenced to live here for the remainder of my life. All I can do is count the days gone by."

A note slips into his cell.

"Oh, an admirer. I love admirers."

He unravels the note and gasps.

"YoUr DaYs ArE NUMBERED CaLeNDeR MAN. All the best. Sincerely, Joe."

He joins the chorus of screams and agonies that plague Arkham's halls calling for a warden that will never come.