When it rains, it pours. Especially in Gotham City. The advantage is that the pounding rainfall is steadily washing the paint off my car, to reveal dents in its shell and miscellaneous scratches. I can be grateful the wrongdoers did not break the windows, probably out of fear that it would set off the alarm in my automobile.

I am driving on a deserted highway that should lead me to Ozum's Marvellous Circus, listening to the radio half-attentively.

"Come at 10."

The single message I received from Cheryl since I got the three around midnight, and when I answered positively, I got no response.

For no apparent or valid reason, I trust her and I cannot turn down a friend that needs help. I think I want to keep the only friend I have managed to gain, against all expectations. I did not realize that I missed experiencing this particular bond until I had it in my life once more. After years of solitude, circumstantial or self-imposed.

I took my car due to the importance of this outing, but also the isolation of our meeting spot. I searched it online and the lot where Ozum's Marvellous Circus stood was abandoned many years ago by the previous owner.

Although I am not confident that I won't get abducted or murdered today, here I am. Driving a low-battery electric car, surrounded by pouring rain, becoming the protagonist of an undoubtedly awful horror movie...

I have now veered off the concrete road and up a trail of flattened dirt and fine gravel, luckily for my tires. Inexplicably, I am more worried about her than about my already battered car.

When my GPS announces that my destination is ten minutes away, I heedfully slow down. Even on a completely empty and wonderfully straight path, I feel nervous to use my cellphone as I drive. I select Cheryl's profile in my contacts and press the 'Call' button.

I have considered two options: her phone might have been stolen or she might have been. Whether the gangster is held captive and her assailants are leading me - of all people - into a sinister trap is crucial to determine. I am willing to endanger myself to save my fellow Gothamites, but within the limits of reason. Factually, I cannot face a dozen armed thugs.

The unbearable, warped ringing rhythmically spreads into my automobile.

One, two, three, four... Five..?

A muffled click breaks the unpleasant melody, and I sigh breathily, relieved.

"Hi, Peanut! Are you having trouble finding the circus?"

There are barren lands on either side of the road, speckled with misshapen or remarkably skinny trees, dark shadows blurred into a thick fog that is nourished by the rain drops.

Glancing at the desolate view, I ask her, upfront: "Can we video call?"

No time to lose.

"If you wanna, no problem."

I accept her video call invitation, keeping my eyes on the road as best as I can, considering its lack of structure and the overall poor visibility in this area. From what I am able to tell, the young woman is propping her phone up. Once it stops wobbling and the focus is on her appealing face, I speak again.

"Are you alone?"

"Of course. I'm not asking you to a remote location to throw a party or something!" She rolls her eyes.

"Why are we here, then?"

"Wouldn't ya like to know..!" she playfully responds.

"I just want to make sure that you're good. You said this was important."

"If you must know, I have a surprise for you!"

As her words reach my ears, Ozum's Marvellous Circus appears in front of me, peaking out from the waves of fog. Nightmarish structures and skeletal poles from long gone circus tents cover a radius of at least two thousand feet. I gulp silently.

"A good one, I hope! Can't wait to see it... So, where are you?"

"Inside one of the side tents, just South of the main arena... And I can't wait for you to get here." Her suddenly flirtatious intonation startles me, but I direct my attention to driving my car between the two enormous rusted gates of the ancient entertainment grounds.

"Okay, stay on the line, I'm in."

The aforementioned main arena reveals itself amidst the watery fog after I have driven a minute or so at random, slaloming between the tattered remains of circus accommodations with my vehicle. It is built like a colosseum, except in gray bricks of many shades. Half the walls have crumbled, displaying the inside like a somber barely toothed mouth. The panes of stripped green and purple material that hung over it in a big top, prior to the closure or departure of the circus, lie torn, ragged and discolored around it, soaked by the rain. The fragmented glass of the hundreds of broken light bulbs that once embellished the building is scattered in precarious shapes, nearly polished by age and worn until they lost their shine. I know that, because I accidentally ran over a small heap and my tires did not hiss or rupture.

"Cheryl, I am circling the main arena right now. Where's the South?"

"Look for a sorta gutted drum and, from that point, go back, because that drum's the West. Or go forward. Is the arena on your right?"

Ten minutes later, I am stopping my car in front of a strangely refurbished tent. The black and red cover is undeniably new and significantly cleaner than anything else around here. The contrast is too peculiar to reassure me. Who replaced only one of the circus tents? Also, when and why? Was it Cheryl..? That seems improbable, yet it is the most plausible option within this unusual context.

I verify that my car doors are locked four times in a row instead of one. Satisfied, I step toward the tent, inquiring, "So, Cheryl, are..?"

I let my sentence trail off, the call ended.

Super. That just made walking alone right into an honestly extremely shady and supposedly abandoned circus tent all the more enticing. Breathing deeply despite the fog, which is noticeably thinner in this region, I march between the two pulled back flaps that create a kind of arched entryway. The interior is less damp and cheap neons are arranged in an asterisk pattern at the top of the structure. Looking down at my work boots, I realize that there are wooden boards inserted into the mud to form a replacement for flooring, underneath a coat of rubble, wood dust and dry clumps of, well, mud.

I tighten my hold on my cellphone and advance toward the middle of the tent, which is at least one hundred feet from the makeshift entrance. I am wary of calling out her name...

I scan the dark ring that is not reached by the weak lighting, at the border of the tent, unable to discern if someone could be prowling in those shadows. Either because of the dreadful weather or the feeble pale lights, the inside of the build is enshrouded in a night-like darkness and lends a bleak grayish tint to everything.

Pivoting, I face the door, finding the only object in the tent: a ragged banner. It hangs barely outside the obscurity of the structure's sides and reads "OZUM'S MARVELLOUS CIRCUS! Where friends, foes, bugs and critters unite for marvellous fun!" in large clownish purple letters. The green border of the tattered material is drooping, nearly fully detached from the body of the banner. I read the message again, maybe it bears some hint... As far as I know, Cheryl's surprise could be a treasure hunt or something equally as...

"Welcome!" Her voice fills up the space and, with a low booming noise, the layer of dirt on the ground is whisked away by a circular gush of wind, spreading out in no more than two seconds from the center of the room.

I gasp, at a loss for words, and turn around. The criminal is walking in my direction in a pair of glossy red high heels and simple clothing, her necklace glimmering even in the dim light. The way her shoes click on the boards accentuates my curiosity, especially since she is carrying a black army duffle bag atop her left shoulder. I do not speak until she has joined me. She pulls the bag's strap off her shoulder and lets it fall carelessly, causing it to land with a tremendous thudding sound and cracking the nearest floorboards. I instinctively take a step backward, and my eyes feel stapled to the bag.

"Hey, Cheryl. What's in there?"

I tear my focus away from it to listen to her. "You'll see... I have some explaining to do first!"

The young woman giddily distances herself from me, patting down her black jeans. Her charming smile falters delicately, she seems excited, but increasingly worried.

"I thought about hundreds of ways to tell ya..! But you deserve somethin' straight to the point. I was made in a lab in Washington, DC."

That's her big reveal? She was conceived in vitro..?

She keeps going, gazing at me intently: "It was kind of an in vitro thing, actually. Except they spent months bathing my embryo in radiations and pumped liquefied radioactive matter into my blood, while they tweaked my DNA... To a, let's say, superhuman degree. So, among other things, I can read your mind."

Stunned, I let out a disbelieving chuckle.

"You're kidding..." I mutter.

She... That means she knows that I... Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no... All this time, I was ignorant and feared The Bull's reaction, but his girlfriend knew of my intentions. If we are here, alone, it must be because...

Cheryl brought me here to silence me.