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"Phew, finally sorted it out," the policewoman said as she flipped her ponytail back and spoke into the walkie-talkie, "Negotiator's update, the west side is willing to compromise, but the east side must pay the burial costs, same old story."
The tall officer leaning on the police car folded the leg that had been resting beside him and straightened up to adjust his collar before responding into the walkie-talkie, "Have them move the bodies out first, both sides should retreat from their respective ends, then throw out a couple of troublemakers."
"It won't be that easy, one side is from out of town, it's too hard for them to find scapegoats," the interrupted voice of the policewoman came from the walkie-talkie, "They don't know the rules of Gotham, and they have such thick accents that I can't be bothered to waste my breath on them, let's just arrest them."
"You're still as fierce as ever, Desina. Alright, I'll alert the special operations squad to arm up, ...Attention all units! Attention all units!"
The police busily got to work in an orderly fashion, guarding several exits to the residential area, leaving only two narrow paths for the parties to retreat.
Locals from one side kicked out two minors who, upon being pinned down by the cops, still cursed and threatened to show the other side what for.
The police immediately hooded them, and once the hoods were on, the officer at the intersection signaled, and the reporters swarmed in.
"What caused this shootout?"
"What are the casualties like? Has anyone died? Have the ambulances arrived?"
"Will this affect the normal opening of the trading market? How many days is it expected to be closed? What do the stall owners and investors think?"
"Were any police officers injured in this crackdown? Did you strictly follow the no-shooting policy?"
And the police officers, going through the motions, shouted, "Make way! Make way! Arresting a criminal! Do not obstruct official business! Everything will be explained at the hearing and the press conference!"
"Please wait for the press conference! Don't come close! Don't come close!"
As the policewoman had said, the outsiders really didn't understand the rules about pushing out scapegoats and took off running at the mention of it, scattering in all directions.
Fortunately, under the policewoman's leadership, the special operations squad lay in ambush at the intersection, and two Taser gun shots took down the two slowest runners.
After the two men were subdued, the policewoman realized that they were neither minors nor pregnant women; they were in big trouble now.
Then the police, along with the nearby residents, helped to lift the collapsed stalls in the trading market so it could open as usual tomorrow, finishing the cleanup deep into the night.
"Pack it up!" Gordon's voice, still calm and forceful, came through the walkie-talkie.
Before getting into the police car, the policewoman stubbed out her cigarette, opened the car door, sat down, and looking at Gordon next to her said, "It's done, boss."
"Anything unusual about the two we caught?"
"Unusual? Does being stupidly unusual count?"
"I mean in terms of appearance."
"Unusually ugly."
Gordon covered his forehead and said, "Can you be serious for a moment? I'm asking about physical characteristics."
"Nothing distinctive about their physical characteristics, just ordinary Mexicans."
"What about tattoos?"
"They're outsiders, why would it be necessary to look at their tattoos?" the policewoman asked, somewhat puzzled as she looked at Gordon, but still said into the walkie-talkie, "Laudus, have Bigfoot strip those two down and check for tattoos."
A few moments later, the policewoman received images on her phone, which she handed to Gordon. Upon seeing the tattoo on one of them, Gordon's expression revealed understanding.
Numerous police cars with flashing lights raced through the night, declaring the end of another major case. Most officers dispersed after driving the cars back to the department, but Gordon still had paperwork to sort out, and today's incidents needed to be recorded, so he led a few subordinates into the station.
This operation was an all-out effort, or perhaps there just weren't many officers on the night shift to begin with; after they left, the station was dark except for the lights still on in the duty room.
Gordon walked in, turned on the light by muscle memory, and the next second, he stood frozen.
In that brief moment between darkness and light, cold sweat soaked his back.
Hanging in the center of the police station's lobby was a person.
A naked Mexican.
But this person was extremely eerie.
His dark skin revealed an unnatural pallor, bloated as if soaked too long, with a white film floating on top of the dark base color, a sign of lifelessness Gordon recognized.
His skin was abnormally wrinkled, as if it had not grown on him but was put on post-facto.
From the head down, brightly colored threads wove into intricate and beautiful patterns, with the maximum stitch work on the head, intertwining black, red, purple, blue, green, creating the image of a Day of the Dead skull mask leveraging the facial structure.
The interwoven patterns on his neck, spreading to his arms and shoulders, were all in the same Day of the Dead decorative style.
His hands were hanged up, fixed to the ceiling, with the rope used to secure him adorned with many Day of the Dead trinkets, and a long string of masks and sculptures hanging beneath his feet.
This was a human-shaped Day of the Dead Christmas tree.
"Get him down now!!" Gordon roared.
The officers behind him were motionless for a long time, apparently stunned as well. They'd seen plenty of bodies in Gotham and weren't scared of them, as most they came across were quite gruesome, but not this one.
The stitching was vivid yet harmonious, full of intense Mexican style that brought to mind the colorful nation; it wasn't ugly at all, and could even be described as pretty—if someone wore such attire to a Day of the Dead party, they would certainly be popular.
```
The decorations hanging above also harmonized well, the rustic sculptures diluted the visual stimulus of the intense colors, bringing an ancient charm to the overall arrangement, and evoking thoughts of Mexico's rich artistic culture as well as its long history.
The lighting was also carefully planned, the moment Gordon switched on the light, the small bulbs interwoven within the decoration lit up too, as though signaling the start of a grand party.
This thing looked like it didn't belong in the Gotham Police Department but rather in the National Museum of Mexican History or maybe even at the opening ceremony of the Day of the Dead.
At the same time, the stitching that outlined the features of the skull replaced the human body's original expressions, giving the impression that another soul within the corpse was watching, sending shivers down one's spine.
"What's that smell?" Gordon asked, shrugging his nose.
"Seems like something has been burned." The officer behind him immediately looked around and then noticed some traces on the ground.
The female officer squatted down to pick up the charred ashes, sniffed it, and said, "It appears to be resin."
Gordon didn't yell for them to put down the corpse anymore. Instead, he stepped forward, standing amid the pile of burnt resin ashes, gazing at the brightly colored sculpture.
A colorful feather fell from the top decoration and drifted into Gordon's hand.
"The dead in their coffins, the living in revelry..."
Gordon muttered a phrase in Spanish. The female officer stepped forward and asked, "What?"
"Nothing, it's a traditional saying from the Day of the Dead, meaning those who have died are now resting in peace, and the living should celebrate for them."
"Why? Shouldn't they be mourning?"
"They seem not to view death as an end," Gordon shook his head and said, "They see death as the beginning of another eternal journey, this is a celebration of their passage to a new heaven."
But the male officer who came last suddenly froze, disbelieving, he let out a high-pitched scream, then shouted, "He's moving!! He's moving!!! He's not dead!!!!!"
Gordon and the female officer immediately stepped back, only to find that the corpse's legs twitched.
They quickly called for more police, who clumsily removed the body. During the process, Gordon touched the back of the corpse and found it wasn't as cold as he had imagined.
The human body cools down very quickly after death, with an unusual sort of coldness, like the bark of a tree after a rainy night. Any hint of warmth would not make the sensation of the divide between life and death so starkly apparent.
But the temperature of this corpse was off. While not as warm as a living person, it was also not as cool as a dead one.
Having laid the corpse flat on the ground, Gordon saw the details clearly. Startled, he reached out to tug at the stitches, yelling to everyone, "This isn't his skin! There's someone inside!!!"
Eventually, Gordon was almost screaming. At first, nobody understood what he meant, but as they came to the realization, they all took a collective step back.
The body began to twist.
"Aaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!!"
Unprecedented screams echoed through the Gotham Police Department, not from the corpse, but from all the police officers.
The tall officer fell to his knees, and the female officer even pulled out her gun and fired two shots, everyone else finding cover, screaming and running in panic.
Gordon fell to the ground, sitting hard.
This was just too damn frightening!!!
Corpses are not scary, strange and beautiful corpses are not scary, warm corpses are not scary, and even moving corpses are not considered scary.
What's terrifying is the creature twisting inside, its skin not moving naturally like that of a regular person, the stitched human skin not fitting properly, its folds and stretches defying all logic.
The greatest horror comes from something that is similar yet different.
It was like a monster wrapped in human skin, struggling to burst forth through incessant writhing, provoking terrifying imaginations.
Gordon, with slightly trembling hands, pulled open a seam closest to him on the arm, finally finding a nearly seamless cut in the palm.
He pushed aside the wound, revealing not fat and muscle underneath the blood-soaked skin, but another layer of skin.
Gordon couldn't take it anymore. He threw the arm aside, retreating several steps, his voice quivering as he said, "Phone... give me a phone..."
The female officer beside him took out her phone and handed it to him. Gordon dialed a series of numbers, and after a long wait, the call finally connected.
"Hello? Professor Shearer? We have a corpse here... No, what I mean is, we have a goddamn weird, horrifying body that nobody but a killer devil would dare to touch!!"
"...I'm not telling you to come over, I'm telling you to hurry up and call all the goddamn killer devils you know to fucking rush over here!!!!!!"
Shearer hung up the phone, the echoes of Gordon's terrified shout still resonating in the room. He leisurely took off his raincoat and put on a coat, adjusting his hair in front of the mirror.
Before he stepped out, he saw the sculpture Martin had left by the door, thought for a moment, then took the box and got into the car.
Shearer soon saw Gordon and a few of his subordinates outside the main entrance of the Gotham Police Department. Note, outside the courtyard gate, even outside the duty room by 200 meters.
"Here's for you," Shearer said, shoving the sculpture into Gordon's arms and added, "To celebrate you coming back alive, not dead from your students' aggravation."
Gordon looked down and saw a Mexican-style sculpture.
"Ah!!!!"
The sculpture was thrown away.