Chapter Text
Strange things happened in Gotham. Strange things, horrible things. Things that made the most hardened of criminals scream themselves awake at night, terrified. It wasn't a nice city, wasn't a good one.
Corpses weren't uncommon, though they were usually taken care of quickly. The last thing this city needed was a plague outbreak of some sort.
Corpses showing up out of nowhere, days, weeks, months or even years old, waterlogged and rotting, now that was new.
If there had been any sort of attempt at communication or threats, the Commissioner would at least know that this was a new Rogue to watch out for. But there was nothing, only a chosen dock, surprisingly sturdy for all that it had been abandoned for years, that they all showed up on. Every last one.
It had started slow, the bodies. The first one hadn't been found for several days, not until the stench of rot had spread far enough for someone to report it. By that time the corpse, even if it had once been recognizable, was chewed to hell and back by the seagulls and rats infesting the streets and sewers.
The bloating and spread of rot signaled that the corpse was only weeks old at best, but the toxic chemicals turning the harbor to sludge had occasionally been seen to preserve things, keep the decay from spreading properly.
The coroner had deduced the cause of death to be a mix of blunt force trauma to both the head and chest, and drowning. The lungs and stomach were still filled with water by the time the body was found, and there were fractures on the skull and ribs that showed no signs of having had time to heal at all.
Dental records identified the body as Jeremy Dawson, a nobody from Crime Alley who had gotten tangled up in a gang and had likely been killed after a job gone wrong and his body thrown into the harbor.
It stood to reason that the blow to the head had knocked him unconscious, and the killer had simply not bothered to see if he was still alive before throwing him in.
Jeremy Dawson had little listed family, long dead parents, a grandmother who had disowned him, and a sister who had died the year before. The grandmother had been notified that her grandson's remains had been found, and the case had gone cold with no further leads. Not that there had been any leads in the first place.
Then the second body showed up.
This one was little more than a skeleton, bare bits of flesh and ligaments doing their best to hold it all together, but even with that not all of it was still connected together. All of the bones were there, though. Down to the last phalange.
The police had set up a guard at that dock after the first one, though the second corpse didn't show up until the very day they had been planning to dismiss the guard. There had been no warning, no splashing coming from the ocean and nobody at all from the city side. The dock was simply empty one moment and occupied the next.
The officer on duty had quit the next day, his composure quite shook up by the scare of turning to spit his tobacco into the harbor and seeing a pile of bones carefully laid out not two feet behind him.
There had been no luck with the dental records this time, which was to be expected with those who couldn't afford to go to the dentist. Luckily, there was a wedding band on their finger, and a wide, exhaustive search showed up a match.
The bones belonged to Angelina George, late wife of Harold George, who ran a pawnshop. He had proposed to her with that very ring, which he had found in a hidden drawer in a dresser he had been sold. No one had known where the ring had come from, so it had somewhat-legally become his.
They had three children together, all grown now, and the family had been wondering what happened to Angelina ever since she had disappeared a decade or so ago.
Harold had cried when he had gotten the news, but he said that he and his children were relieved to be able to finally put her to rest.
After Angelina, there were several corpses that couldn't be identified, their bones too indistinct and worn, with no identifiers. They came once a week like clockwork, and always waited for the single moment, single second that the guard turned their back, and then they appeared.
It didn't matter how many cameras Commissioner Gordon ordered, they would always glitch out at just the wrong moment and miss it.
And then they started to come more often.
The Bats and Birds had likely not heard of the Corpse Pier, and they had been too busy rounding back up the recent Arkham escapees to have time to investigate it just yet. That ended now.
Gordon was making no progress, neither he or any of his officers ever being able to catch in the act whoever was leaving these bodies, if there even *was anyone and the bodies weren't just leaving themselves there. Some of his officers had too much free time and too wild of imaginations.
After the third day in a row with a new body, and still not even a hint of a clue, Gordon lit the signal.
A light thump behind his back alerted him to the presence of a Bat – though clearly not Batman, as he never makes a sound. Jim thinks he just gets a kick out of scaring people – and he turned.
“Hey, Gordon,” Nightwing greeted cheerfully, cheeks dimpling in a very recognizable way. Nope, Jim had no idea who the Bats were, not a clue. He definitely wasn't a detective, who was very close to the family. No, nope. And Nightwing didn't used to date his daughter, either.
If he doesn't know, he doesn't have to report it.
“Nightwing, I appreciate you taking the time to meet me.” Lord knows there was always plenty for him to be doing on the streets. “There's a case you all should investigate. My officers and I can't find even a clue.”
Nightwing hummed, crossing his arms. “Is this about that bakery front on East Street? I thought you had that in hand.”
“No, not that.” Jim shook his head. “Have you heard of the Corpse Pier?”
“Sounds friendly,” Nightwing joked. “No, I haven't.”
Jim nodded, biting down on his cigarette lightly. “Didn't know if you would've. It's this abandoned pier out past Hood’s territory that keeps poppin’ up bodies from out o’ the harbor. Old ones, usually, just bones.”
Nightwing stilled. “Just out of nowhere?”
“Yeah,” Jim nodded, turning towards the horizon and letting out another cloud of smoke. “It's always right when the officer assigned glances away, just shows up in an instant. An’ the cameras ain't been able to pick anythin’ up, always glitchin’ right at the wrong moment.”
“I'll look into this, and spread the word to the rest of the Bats.” Nightwing promised, voice serious.
“Appreciate that.” Jim said, turning back to the roof beside him.
Nightwing was already gone.