Nitecat paced back and forth in his lair, staring at the wall of computer monitors. From here, he could view nearly every inch of the city. His advanced technology easily hacked into each traffic cam and red-light camera in the region. His alter-ego’s company offered the cheapest wireless security devices on the market, and each one contained a hidden link to the system in this very room.
Why was nothing happening?
The bars were all closed. There was nary a car on the road. The only signs of life were people walking their dogs and the occasional jogger.
It was quiet.
A little too quiet.
Nitecat’s valet arrived, carrying a bowl of potato and leek soup on a tray. He set down his load onto a table made out of Q metal from the 9th dimension. “I told you, sir. The governor issued a shelter in place order. Nobody is going to be out there.”
“Crime doesn’t take a vacation, good chum.”
“It’s a quarantine.”
“Crime doesn’t take a staycation either!”
“You should eat your soup,” the valet suggested. “Maybe you should take this time as an opportunity to reassess the priorities in your life. You’re nearly forty now, and it isn’t good to do so much work on your feet all the time. Maybe take some time to find new and healthy ways to deal with all this childhood grief.”
“Look!” Nitecat shouted, pointing. “There’s a fist fight over a palette of toilet paper! The city cries for me.”