The Dark Night: Blackgate Breakout

[Silver Cutlass]

Spoiler: Arkham Origins Spoilers Ahead!

One year ago, Christmas Day

Laying down before the alter, he lie laughing, chuckling practically, at the sadistic humor that had occurred throughout the night. Behind him, a lone figure, dressed in a dark, armored garb, came the figure he had come to know as "The Batman". While still laughing, the man rolled over to his back, struggling to speak as he laughed hysterically. "Oh, Bats..." As the menacing figure of Batman loomed closer, the only thing bringing any light to his dark presence being the illumination coming through the stained glass windows, the man known only as "The Joker" slowly rose, still laughing his head off.

He rose to a full stand, and spread his arms out wide, a wide smile gaping across his face. "What a night!" And just as the words left his mouth, the Batman grabbed him by the jacket collar and hoisted him up into the air, grunting and growling at the clown-like Joker. Laughing as he was picked up, the Joker felt compelled to taunt his current enemy. "Fresh off a kill, and back for more, eh!" He shouted. The dark figure looked him eye to eye, and coldly rebuked, saying "Bane's still alive." A curious frown brought to the Joker's contorted face, he reached into his jacket and withdrew a heart monitor, with the vital signs showing a constant and regular heartbeat. "Now that's. Not. Funny."

The Joker threw down the monitor, and drew a pistol from his jacket, and aimed it at the Dark Knight. In response, Batman smacked the hand away, dropping the Joker, who summarily threw a left hook at his face, which connected but did little harm to the grizzled Dark Knight. With the Batman backed away, he stretched his arm out and pointed the gun at him, but rather than shoot him, words spoke from his mouth. "All this, all this... rage! All directed at me! And for what? You know, if you'd actually let me finish a sentence, you might learn something!" He shouted out, pouring his anger into his vocal cords. "You might learn that we're not so different! You might learn something about yourself!"

"You need to learn to shut up!" The Dark Knight quickly responded, following by him batting the gun out of the Joker's hand, and delivering a heavy kick to his gut, sending him flying and crashing through several pews until he came to a skidding stop. His breathing becoming heavy-laden, the Joker hobbled up to his feet and spoke once more. "Is all this for you, or for me? You must know that I'm a lost cause. But there's still hope for you. Yes, I've got great hopes for you. So c'mon! Don't stop now!" He taunted again, as the Batman's approach went from a slow walk to a full on-dash, followed by two quick strikes to the face, after which the Joker was once more lifted off the ground, and thrown across the chapel, into a stain glass window, shattering it.

The Joker grabbed two of the larger, sharper shards in each hand and started picking himself up off the ground. "You just can't get it through your thick skull. We both exist, because of them!" Batman walked towards him once more. "Give up! You've lost!" He shouted towards the Joker. Once he was close enough, with his right hand's shard the Joker tried to slash at the Batman, who quickly dodged the attack, and disarmed his right hand. Following in quick succession, the Joker tried to bring down the other shard upon the Dark Knight's head. Batman grabbed his arm and disarmed that hand as well, and in a particularly brutal fashion, proceeded to beat down the Joker, striking him hard well over a dozen times.

After what had to be almost three dozen punches, the Batman connected an uppercut to the Joker, sending him into the air, landing upon the alter. Batman followed swiftly, and as the Joker began to laugh, he grabbed his throat, pinning him down. But still, choked, the Joker managed several words. "That's why you do it, isn't it? You like the way it feels. It's what you need." Barely getting the words out of his mouth, an armored fist smacked across the Joker's face. The Batman proceeded once again to hoist the Joker into the air above him, with the clown laughing like a madman, before being thrown onto the ground before the alter. "C'mon baby, beat me till your knuckles bleed! And why stop there? You know there's only one way to stop me!" In response, Batman gripped the Joker by the throat, using both hands, wanting oh so dearly to crush his life out of existence. But before any further damage could be done, the Dark Knight delivered a swift smack to the Joker's head, knocking him out like a lightbulb.

That was all he could remember of that encounter. That was all he remembered in the on and off times he had been incarcerated in Blackgate as well. No matter all the heists, all the interrogations, all the psychiatric exams, all the brutal encounters with that same Dark Knight, that was the one encounter that kept coming back to him.

It had been a year since that day. And likewise, he had been a regular among the Gotham Underworld. Not long after that encounter, he broke out of Blackgate, and went on a long spree of crimes before being caught once more by the Batman. And he broke out, and did it again. And again. It was a constant cycle, almost routine to the Joker. It was funny. But then again, to him, all things were. Well, most things.

Here he sat in a cell, wearing the dull, orange prison jumpsuit, a very tacky choice of clothing, even for a prisoner he might add, waiting. Waiting. Waiting for the time for... his boys to be breaking him out of here. And that time happened to be right now.

From outside his cell, the Joker heard first an explosion, then gunshots, a couple more explosions, and then... nothing. Nothing except for his men dragging there heels to get their 'Clown Prince of Crime', as people in Gotham had taken to calling him, out of his current predicament. Once they opened up his cell, and tossed him his usual dress wear, he quickly slipped into the pants, the shirt, the purple jacket, and demanded a firearm from one of his so-called Lieutenants. After receiving a very big revolver, the Joker spoke to the same man. "Took you long enough. So, how's our little party coming along?" He asked.

The Lieutenant nodded and replied. "We've taken control of the cell blocks and administration. All cells have been opened up, we've dispersed guns from the armory to the others, and we're keeping the cops at bay. All as you had planned." He stated. The Joker clasped his hands behind his back and considered the report, nodding, and once more spoke. "And my friend, the Warden?" He asked, a smile curling up on his face. "Held hostage over by Cell Block D." The response earned a hearty chuckle from the Joker. Before his boss could speak, the Lieutenant spoke once again. "We also got the boat waiting for you by the drainage pipe." The Joker smiled, and started walking away from his cell. "Good, good. As much as I can't wait to see Bats again, I think I need to make a hasty departure. Let's get moving, shall we?" He stated, as a bellowing laugh resonated from his lungs.

The long, dark night had just begun.

 

[TwoSidedHeart]

Gotham was a cesspool of Crime, violence and other less than savory activities people involved themselves in when bored or, as was pretty much the norm in that demented city, psychotic freaks went out looking for their next 'hit' of whatever it was that got them off. It was a sick, twisted city that no sane person would actually want to live in. But it was home. Or at least, the homes of the wealthy were just sitting there with all sorts of delightful little trinkets that are just begging to be taken for those who deserved them and not just those who were born into diamonds and other such expensive commodities. Plus the assorted museums and high risk auctions that ALWAYS seemed to have the best things lying around in another room. It was something of a paradise for those who knew exactly how to take what they wanted.

But despite the city being just purrfect for that kind of person, it was equally as dangerous as it was tempting. The psychotic freaks like Sionis and that clown were always running around causing trouble and bringing out the Bat to throw them back into Blackgate, where they just walked out of anyway. But despite the obvious redundancy in his actions, there was something attractive about a man who was actually devoted enough to bother dealing with the same crap every night from the same people and not kill them. Everyone had that limit they could be pushed past, but this man, Batman, seemed to have limitless patience. If beating others to a pulp before throwing them in jail could be considered patient.

Crouching comfortably atop one of the hundreds of Gargoyle like statues that were conveniently placed around Gotham was a woman who shared at least one similarity with the Bat, that being dressed comfortably in a skin tight black suit with a mask. But while he represented a creature of the night, she had instead chosen on which represented elegance. Or at least, something she could look good as. The cat really did suit her occupation aswell. After all, there was the whole saying about Catburglers. Letting out a quiet sigh, she let her thoughts briefly drift to her last real encounter with the Bat. Breaking that musclebound psycho out of his cell and giving some secret data away all for her to be wiped off the database. He'd been pretty pissed off at getting played. But then, it wasnt personal. Just a debt being paid.

Shaking her head she raised an eyebrow in the direction of that place, green hues narrowing. Flames at a supposedly high security prison. Someone was breaking out then? Pretty big show though if you were planning to get away easily. Maybe it was a distraction? Or maybe... the clown had been arrested not too long ago, all over the news of course so it was probably his party. From her minimal interactions with him and what she'd heard on the news, he was theatrical and just LOVED for people to know he was up to something. And it was practically a year after his little takeover of that prison. Psycho probably trying to mark the occasion as a twisted anniversary. Still, if he wanted to act as a distraction to the GCPD, then she was free to move as she wanted to. Maybe pay a visit to Bruce Waynes mansion. He would be out partying no doubt and she'd heard he had quite a few little pieces that would look just great on her walls. And Martha Waynes prized pearls were quite tempting...

"Time to pay a visit to the big dogs kennel and see what hes got to offer."

Standing and showing a supreme balance, not even seeming to notice the fact she was hanging straight over a painful death, Selena let out a breath and leaped off her perch, reaching out and catching the edge of the next building and using her momentum to swing herself up and over, not missing a beat as she rinsed and repeated the technique she made seem simplistic, making her way in the general direction of the Wayne Manor. She'd probably need a ride actually. No point wasting so much of her time running there. She could probably hitch a ride with one of the little thugs driving around trying to act tough while the Bat was no doubt occupied with whatever it was at the prison. Taking a dive off the edge of the latest building she had graced with her presence, she manipulated her own momentum, performing a feat of acrobatics few could and after several strategic movements, landed on the road safely directly in front of a car, one that screeched to a halt.

The driver was a teen, probably just gotten his license by the looks of him. Not the best in the way of physical attractions, but he was a man. Slowly and deliberately, the female made her way to the passengers side and opened the door, sliding herself and and letting it shut behind her. Letting the back of the chair slide back until she was in a lying position on her back, she made a noise of approval and bit her lip slightly, slowly and discreetly unzipping her outfit a tad more than usual giving the boy enough of a reason to do whatever she wanted before she spoke in a seductive tone reserved only for getting what she wanted.

"Gunna give me a ride handsome? Or just enjoying the show?"

"I-I.. Um..."

"Wayne Manor. And go fast. Keep me interested."

The boy made an audible gulping noise before nodding and complying, the vehicle once more springing into an increasingly dangerous movement as Selena merely chuckled. Men were such fun toys to play with. But then there was the Bat, an eternal mystery to her. One she would have to solve after she managed to peel herself away from the excited child she had picked up. And taken Ms Marthas pearls. Maybe it was a good idea to keep the kid around for a quick escape? Letting her eyes drift to the boy she quickly reconsidered. While he was focused on the ride, he was clearly enjoying her company too much. Wayne probably had a spare ride lying around in his garage anyway.

 

[Kiro]

Meanwhile...
Gotham City Outskirts.
Wayne Manor.
The Batcave.

"Really, Master Bruce!"

The voice of a refined English gentleman, a clasically trained actor and butler echoed throughout the massive subterranean chamber, which had been equipped and enhanced by the most advanced technology available on Earth, all funneled in through countless subsidiaries and daughter companies of Wayne Enterprises. The CEO of that illustrious and enormous company was within the cavern along with his butler, one Alfred Pennyworth, glaring at one of the most advanced computer systems in the world, the vigilante billionaire's most efficient and helpful crimefighting tool.

"Bruce Wayne has responsibilities. Mr. Fox called to inform you that you'd missed yet another board meeting, and you have a responsibility towards young Master Richard as well. Batman cannot become your entire existance, Master Bruce, or I fail to see the point of taking in the young man, even considering the tragic circumstances of his parents' death."

The man whom was at the recieving end of Pennyworth's scalding lecture, Bruce Wayne, whom was also known as 'the Batman', thanks to his secret identity, to the citizens of Gotham City. Philantrophist, billionaire, playboy, CEO and successful buisnessman, but also masked vigilantee, the terror of criminals and thugs. And he had barely left the cave since he had taken in the teen, Richard Grayson, after the brutal and tragic murder of his family, three quarters of the acrobatic troupe known as the Flying Graysons. But that was exactly why he had spent so much time in front of the computer.

"I'm aware, Alfred. I'm doing this for Dick. I'm trying to track down that slime, Tony Zucco. Dick deserves justice, Alfred. He deserves more than the cold comfort of the GCPD's empty promises. He deserves more than a lifetime of pain and never getting the justice... he deserves." The tall, brooding, and dark haired man, dressed in a simple black T-shirt and a pair of grey trousers replies as he glares at the mugshot of the well known mafioso Tony Zucco, the man responsible for the muder of Richard Grayson's family. However, even with the immense computing powers of the Batman's computer and it's owner's quite notable hacking skills, finding any useful and current information was proving frustratingly difficult.

With a loud sigh, Bruce pushes himself away from the computer system and runs a hand over his face, trying to avoid scowling at his old friend and butler as he moves towards the staircase leading up to the Wayne Manor library, though paused a bit as Alfred poses a question.

"Of course, Master Bruce. Shall I prepare dinner?"

"Yes. Dick needs his food." With that, Bruce ascended the stairs leading from his secret and private sanctum, which leads to the massive Wayne Manor library, the passage hidden behind a large and old grandfather clock. Entering the code to open the door, he watches impassively as the clock door swings open, allowing the billionaire and current legal guardian of Richard 'Dick' Grayson to exit.

Pleased to not see his ward in the library, avoiding a series of difficult explanations and lies, Bruce forces his face into a light and warm smile as he tucks his hands into his pockets as he strolls out to the main hall, where he calls out for his young ward, making sure to keep his voice cheerful and calm, so different from his 'working' voice.

"Dick! Where are you?"

 

[Livgardist]

It was the dirtiest kind of wetwork that a man could be given.

An assassination. Not just any kind. The kind that involved killing somebody whom the justice system of the beautiful country called the United States, had decided to spare from Death (if indeed the alternative could be called a mercy), and lock away at the Blackgate Penitentiary. The Central Intelligence Agency was putting themselves above the law, essentially. Deciding that they knew better how to deal with a criminal (who could just as well be called a terrorist, admittedly) than the legal system of their great country.

But, it was the job. The Joker would die.

And Chase Fulbright had no moral qualms about doing the deed.

That was why he was one of the best. Well, that, and experience. Lots, and lots of experience. He took the cigarette hanging loosely in the side of his mouth, out of it, and studied the glowing orange tip of it distantly as he half laid down in the back seat of the taxi. It had picked him up at the airport, and now, they were driving through the dark streets of nighttime Gotham City, its Gothic architecture reaching over him like claws ready to lock him in a prison of concrete extremities. To Fulbright, whose last out-of-town assignment away from Forrester Jameson's New York office had been Las Vegas, Gotham was kind of creepy. Dark, and ill-boding. He grunted disapprovingly.

"Pull over." He suddenly said. His eyes caught sight of a pub, Irish by the look of it.

"This isn't the best neighbourhood to be caught in at night, sir." The taxi driver said, eyeing the man in the expensive dark-grey sharkskin suit in the back.

Fulbright looked like a businessman in his suit, his pearl-white shirt, and the blue silk tie. His shirt sleeves were closed in a teardrop shape with beautiful vintage cufflinks of solid gold, and his hands covered by expensive looking black leather gloves. On top of that was a dark overcoat made of wool or some similar material. In addition, the driver could swear he saw a golden wristwatch under the edge of the glove on his left arm. Rolex? Perhaps. It would be very foolish for a man looking like that to walk around at night in a place like this. The district was inhabited by the lower working class, but as with all such places, organized - and disorganized - crime also made a presence, making life difficult for those who lived there, and those who walked in there unwittingly.

"It's alright. You've warned me. I'm going anyway." The man said, handing the driver a hundred dollar bill and a wry smile, with just a tiny bit of coldness to it. He got out of the car, and could almost see the taxi driver shrug and drive off. As he got out, he tossed the cigarette, and then stepped into the pub. Irish music reached his ears. Several people looked up, but as he walked up to the bar, none of them spoke.

He sat down, and placed a twenty dollar bill on the counter.
"Give me a beer, and keep them coming." He said. The bartender nodded, moments later producing a mug of beer for him. Fulbright seemingly ignored it, throwing a glance at his wristwatch. His handler would be there soon, hopefully with a few "gifts" to make his job easier.

 

[Cortan]

Dick almost couldn't hear Bruce, over the thumping sound that came with each strike of the punching bag. The chain that held the sack of sand to the ceiling rattled as well, which made picking out the distant voice harder still. But, given its seeming rarity even within these halls, when Dick heard it, even if he couldn't make out the message, he stopped to respond.
"Coming!" Panting a bit as he was out of breath, Dick raised a hand to stop the swinging punching bag, only to then punch it one last time before he went over to pick up a nearby towel. The sixteen year old wiped his face, having worked up quite a sweat that was evident from the state of the white sweatshirt he had on. Unfortunately, a travelling troupe had never left much chance for an extensive social life, and it seemed the illustrious Mr Wayne was normally so busy doing... whatever he did, that they didn't have much time to spend with their new ward. Alfred was a cool guy for sure, but he didn't make do much to keep Dick from getting rather quite bored - so the teen opted to work out and punch something for the evenings.

With what he'd been through, it made for good stress relief.

"So, I see you've emerged from your man cave." Said by Dick just as he emerged from the gym, he stared at the billonaire for a bit, before shrugging.
"Or did you find yet another model? You're apparently quite good at that." Even if he'd not been in Gotham that long, Dick was well aware of Bruce Wayne's reputation as a lady killer. The remark was mostly just ribbing from the lad, but there was a tinge of actual curiosity to it. The man might be smooth, but that good...?
"Was working out. You know, since there's not much else to do around here." Dick explained himself with a small chuckle and a shake of his head, not sure himself what he found so amusing, before looking up.
"We gonna be eating soon? Together maybe?"

 

[Kiro]

Oh, if Dick had just known how right he'd been. It acually brought a genuine smirk to the billionaire's lips as he chuckled softly.

"Something like that," Bruce replied as his dark eyes wander over his young ward's frame, noting his sweat-drenched form and how the young man was panting. It didn't take the world's greatest detective to work out the fact that he'd been working out in the gym, and the billionaire nodded a bit, rubbing his somewhat angular and smooth-shaven chin.

"I see. Well, there's always the TV in the living room and books in the library, but yes, I can imagine it'd be somewhat tedious for a young man your age. I'll see if we can't work something out to keep you entertained when you're not at school and I'm busy at the company," He muses, making a mental note to have the computer down in the cave make a decent list for what a young man like Dick would enjoy for entertainment. While Bruce's own childhood couldn't be said to have been normal by any means, indeed the Vigilantee himself believed he hadn't been a child since that fateful night in Crime Alley when he had been naught but eight years old, he couldn't imagine Dick would have enjoyed the toys and comics he had read as a child even if his ward had been eight. And he had absolutely no idea what a teenager this day and age enjoyed, especially one raised in a circus.

"Yes, Alfred is working on dinner as we speak. And we'll eat together... as soon as you've showered. Alfred'd box your ears if you came to the dining table smelling like that. Bruce winks at his young charge before walking past the young man, heading for the dining hall, which was already nicely lit thanks to the ever dutiful and seemingly everpresent Alfred.

"Ah, Master Bruce. I'm ever so pleased to see you will be dining in tonight," Alfred remarks as he sets the table, lighting candles along the massive table which was designed to seat an entire banquet. "I trust Master Richard will be joining you?"

"Yes, Alfred, Dick will be here as soon as he's back from the shower. It's quiet tonight. And as you were so kind to remind me," Bruce smirks over at his aging butler, and takes his customary seat at the head of the table. "I have a responsibility to him. He needs a friend, someone to be there for him, like you were for me, old friend." With that, he turns on the radio from a button at the head of the table, a simple habit from his long years of eating alone, and needing the radio to alert him of developments in Gotham, while waiting for Dick.

"Ah, very good, Master Bruce. Dinner will be around moment--..."

"Breaking news! This is Jack Ryder reporting live for Radio WXYZ! There has just been a major explosion at Blackgate Penitentiary, and sources within GCPD reforms us that they have lost contact with the prison! Radio WXYZ reccomends all Gothamites to stay indoors and lock your homes! Dangerous criminals are loose in Gotham City! I repeat STAY INDOORS!"

"Damn it!" Bruce curses explosively, rising out of his chair so quickly that it wobbled and jostled, threatening to topple over. "Alfred, put my dinner in the fridge, tell Dick I had to go to work!" He growls as he races to the library and races down into the cave, changing into his work suit.

Upstairs, in the dining room, Alfred Pennyworth sighs raggedly and shakes his head. "Oh my..."

 

[Jacano]

Barbara awoke not alert but dreary. She opened her eyes and had to wait for them to adjust to the glow of her computer terminal before she could do anything else, before she could piece together what she had been doing before she fell asleep or even where she was. All the lights around her were dark but after awhile she remembered where she was. The library. It was closed now, of course but she had stayed late monitoring and searching through the latest confidential CIA internal documents. She had one of her programs crawling through their databases, searching for a number of several keywords that were of interest to her. One of them was "Pythia". That was what she called herself; her "alter ego" though she hated that term. Too many other members of Anonymous became so obsessed with their online handles, checking to see if they were getting credit for the work they were doing. Barbara didn't want any of that. She wanted to make sure she was as low profile as possible. Besides, if the CIA knew she had illegally gained access to their networks, how would she ever get a job there? That was the plan anyway. Although, despite her father's pleading to just take a job in network security, she was determined to be a field agent. The hacking was just a hobby.

She got up and stretched her legs, closing her eyes as she yawned. She flicked the light switch and started to grab her stuff when she noticed the clock. "Oh, shat! It's late! Way too late to be out, especially in this neighborhood." Her dad would be livid. Her heart raced in anguish as she anticipated the lecture he would give when she got home. He would say she was too careless. He would tell her horror stories about the things he's seen happen in this neighborhood. He would tell her she could have called a squad car to take her home, which she could still do but had no intention of doing. He wouldn't understand. He wouldn't understand that she secretly wanted something to happen. Maybe if she really was attacked and really proved that she could defend herself, he wouldn't be so overprotective. He could relax.

As she went to turn off her laptop and stuff it in her bag, her program pinged a message to the front of the screen. She read it over and over to make sure she read it correctly.

Target: Joker
Status: Escaped
Assassination: In Progress

She made her way out the door, dreading the horrors this night would bring and praying that the body count wouldn't be too high.

 

[Livgardist]

Fulbright drank some of his beer while he looked around. The shady clientele seemed to have resorted to ignoring him now. Yet his helper was nowhere to be seen. He had a bad feeling about this, but he couldn't tell exactly why that was. And then his cellphone rang. He looked at the number. It was Mitya. He stood up and walked into the back of the bar before taking the call. In the front somebody was cranking up the volume of the TV to hear the news, but Fulbright tuned it out as he placed the cellphone to his ear.

"Where are you? I don't have time for this."

"This is bad, boss. The whole district is in chaos. They're rioting. I can't get through to you."

"What do you mean? What's going on?"

"Wh-? What do you mean....just...just go outside and look!"

With a cold, unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, Fulbright stepped out of the bar. Moments later, a rock crashed through the window next to him into the bar. People were on the streets, shouting, fighting - burning cars, vandalizing. The district was rioting. Fulbright couldn't figure out why at first. Why would they riot? But then he looked at them closer. It was clear they were not innocent civilians who got carried away. They were lowlives. Criminals, thugs. Then, his ears were reached by the television still on inside the bar, playing the same message over and over on an automated repeating news channel:

"Breaking news! This is Jack Ryder reporting live for Radio WXYZ! There has just been a major explosion at Blackgate Penitentiary, and sources within GCPD reforms us that they have lost contact with the prison! Radio WXYZ reccomends all Gothamites to stay indoors and lock your homes! Dangerous criminals are loose in Gotham City! I repeat STAY INDOORS!"

Fulbright gritted his teeth. He put the cellphone back to his ear.
"Take your family and leave. Get out of Gotham. The shit is about to hit the fan big-time here, and my target is involved. Use the money the Agency sent you to give me. I have enough to complete my assignment."

"Where will you go?" Mitya asked. Fulbright frowned.

"Gotham Metro PD. I've got a few identity sets. I'll use one of them to get me in there. That's the best place to be if I want to find the Joker."

"Good luck, boss. And be careful. Gotham is a dangerous place."

Fulbright closed the cellphone, and began to walk down the street, hands in pockets, towards downtown. He took the back alleys to avoid attention, and it wasn't long before he got out of the district that was known as Crime Alley. Soon after, he reached downtown. Aside from police cars moving through the streets with howling sirens, the city seemed suddenly abandoned. People knew enough to stay indoors, it seemed. He stopped by a street corner to light a cigarette, and then looked up and down the street, once a busy shopping street, now quiet, abandoned.

Further down the street he saw what he was looking for. A large building with a large sign that said "Gotham City Police Department". He searched his pockets, and pulled out a leather case. When he opened it, it revealed a plastic covered identity card issued by the US Marshals. He snickered for a moment as he looked at it. "Deputy US Marshal David Reale". Perfect.

 

[Cortan]

Much as the offer of TV and books in the library were nice, neither were really his cup of tea, to borrow a phrase from across the Atlantic. He and the family rarely sat around long enough to get invested in long term TV, and he knew barely enough of what was on to know where to start now that he did. Maybe that thing involving zombies? Or how about that fantasy one...?
Regardless, Dick's attention was seized and his expression actually brightened a bit, when Bruce laid out the plans for dinner.
"Wait... are you serious? Like, actually serious? You'd better not be faking me out here, or I'm so gonna get you." Was he strangely excited over the prospect of dinner? Yes. But was it also one of those rare chances where he actually got to talk at length with one of the wealthiest and most curious men in Gotham, and his current legal guardian? Double yes.

"Don't say I didn't warn you!" With half a cheer, as Bruce walked past, Dick ran straight the other way, a veritable grin on his face. He quickly opened and closed the door to one of Wayne Manor's pretty sizable bathrooms, throwing off his shirt and the rest of his clothes as quick as he could. Among the things he had learned in the troupe was getting in and out of things with relative ease, and of course, how to take a quick shower. So this shouldn't take long.
Stepping past the curtain after laying down his clothes on the floor, Dick soon became but a silhouette behind the fabric as his hand went for the temperature dial, and turned it to a warm temperature. Water soon fell like rain, and Dick felt his muscles almost collapse into ease and comfort as he let the waters wash over him...

Only to stop and shut it off as he peered his out head, having heard what sounded like... Bruce yelling? Swearing? Was... was that a thing?
He stared at the door for a while, confused and tempted to open it in search of potential answers, only to suddenly duck back as the door handle rattled, turning on the shower once more to give the illusion that he had found nothing amiss. He could tell by the thing figure and the way they carried themselves, ever so proper and dapper, that it was Alfred.
"What up?" The attempt to sound casual ended up being entirely forced, but there was only a slight 'hm' from the British gentleman before he bore the bad news.
"I am afraid, Master Richard, that dinner with Master Bruce has been postponed for the evening." One could see Dick visibly stop for a moment behind the curtain as Alfred explained the situation, but Dick tried to maintain his cool.

"What, a reporter looking for a hot scoop turn up last minute at the door?" Dick chuckled a bit, but his attempt at comedy only garnered a light clearing of Alfred's throat.
"Unfortunately, nothing so headline worthy. It would appear there has been an... incident at the company. Requires urgent attention." Ah, the company. Wayne had to make his billions somehow, and whilst the playboy attitude didn't make him seem the type, Dick knew well enough about Bruce's philanthropy to figure he had to be doing something to keep the upkeep going.
"And when will he be back?" Dick hoped for at least an estimate, but all he saw was the shadow of Alfred's head shaking.
"Unclear, Master Richard. He's only really just left, and Gotham City itself is at times ghastly to navigate at night. So you will merely have to stay here, safe and sound, until he returns." That sounded... a little cautious from Alfred, but before Dick could question anything, the butler had already left the room.

Well, suppose he could take his time with that shower now...

 

[TwoSidedHeart]

It had been a fast ride, one filled with reckless driving and the smell of a male when he got perhaps too excited. But here she was, her destination and now faced with ridding herself of the boy. Of course, despite the fact Selena absolutely refused to actually engage in a true act worthy of making the boys dreams filled with it, she did owe him something for the ride. They hadnt died and he had evaded the straggling police forces that hadnt been sent to the bombing site. That was something in itself. Or at least, it deserved a little thanks. Slowly she sat up and smirked at the boy before leaning straight on into his personal space and planting one on the rather shocked boy. It lasted mere seconds but the look in his bright blue eyes as she pulled back was enough to make Selena almost gag with annoyance. Hiding it well, as she always did, she opened the door and stepped out, speaking over her shoulder.

"See ya round hotshot."

Slamming the door of the vehicle she proceeded to swiftly scale the large gate that guarded the entrance to the grounds, landing softly on the other side, gladly hearing the boy pull away in his vehicle. That was baggage she didnt need and was glad it had sprouted legs and run off. It didnt take long to reach the actual house, if one could call the behemoth of a building such and her eyes widened slightly as she noted that several lights of the house were actually on. And there was a clear aroma of some form of obviously gourmet food surrounding it. Swiftly making for the nearest wall to the home, she crouched low and cursed silently before whispering in a frustrated tone.

"Great job Selena. This is what happens when you rush into things just to get at something pretty."

Taking a moment, she considered her options before shrugging. She was already here. And so what if Wayne was here? She could probably subdue him anyway and his little butler that seemed to do everything if it came down to it. Who was she kidding? She wasnt going to get caught. It was just some rich playboys house not the Pentagon. And even then, the odds would still be in her favor. Taking a moment she decided it would be best to enter from the second floor, or at least she assumed it was the second floor. Using her mostly self taught knowledge, she swiftly scaled the building, something like a cat, coming to a room that wasnt lit up with the light. Chuckling, she used one of the 'claws' on her right hand and unlocked the window before sliding in and falling to all fours silently, surveying the room silently.Obviously one of MANY unused bedrooms as there were sheets over everything. Closing the window, she slowly made her way to the door and tried it before frowning. Locked. And with an old styled key by the looks of things.

Sighing, she pulled out a lock pick and worked on the door, a small click signalling her entrance into the greater scheme of things. Sliding the tool back into its place on her body, she slowly opened the door, the sounds of running water hitting her ears. Someone was having a shower. Perhaps the infamous bachelor himself? Or was it the butler. The female shuddered at the thought until she recalled that Wayne had taken in a rather handsome young ward recently. That would be a prize indeed. Of course, she was here for more materialistic things, not to catch a peek at a sure to be nude young gymnast...

"Focus Selena."

She slid into the hallway, the door closing quietly behind her as she snuck up the hall. She was really running blind here. Why had she done this again? Pearls. Pearls. Priceless. Pearls. Ducking around a corner she realized she had come to a foyer of sorts. With the master staircase directly before her. Cursing silently for what was sure to not be the last time tonight, she quickly ducked into a room and closed the door behind her quietly, backing into it before looking around and frowning with frustration. Great. Now she was in Graysons room! This was NOT where she wanted to be! What was going to be in here that she could steal? Some hidden stash of porn? This was embarrassing. She should have planned this job, not just run in like a thirsty little school girl.

 

[EnderM5]

TEN MINUTES BEFORE BLACKGATE RIOT...

Crawling like a spider, with his belly brushing the floor, Peter Merkel crept towards the solitary security guard, who was lazily eyeing the computer screens, monitoring the inmates of Blackgate from this dimly lit room. It was Merkel's job to take out the communication systems and cameras, in order to add to the insanity. It was near the end of the guard shift, and right now, it looked like his target was thinking more about what bar to go to after work than actually doing his job. He stopped directly behind the swivel chair. He got up silently, and impassively slammed the guard's forehead into his desk, knocking him out with a thud. He had done that move too many times to count through his career as the "creepy-looking suit guy," Ragdoll. He took a bunch of cut up pieces of fabric out of his suit, then bound the guard to his chair, gagging and blindfolding him as he did so. He could have killed him with his thin dagger he carried in his boot, but where was the fun in that?

Now, basically, his job was to break the communications between the guards, and to stay in this room so that nobody could reactivate it and then monitor the security cameras. He crawled and sat in the unconscious guard's lap, tapping at the keyboard. He finally found what he was looking for: an application called, "PA and Telecomms Maintenance." He clicked on it, waited for it to load, then opened the maintenance tab. There was a button which stated, "Disable Telecomms." Ragdoll raised an eyebrow. This was almost too easy.

Now, he put his arms behind his head and propped his feet up on the desk. Ragdoll basically now had to sit here and guard the room. He would have called into his mysterious employer, but a cell phone would have made him too bulky to squeeze through the vents leading to this office. He checked the time on the monitor. Peter had about 8 minutes to kill before the breakout started. He started to close his eyes, intending to take a quick nap, but...

Footsteps. High-heels, in fact. "Damn it." This was the one thing that Merkel had not been told before starting his mission: how many people actually were stationed inside the control room. It looked like there was at least two, now. Peter climbed up the side of a shelf, then jumped on top of it, compressing himself to fit as he did so. The footsteps got closer, and the door swung open smoothly. Inside strode a pretty, leggy brunette, carrying two cops of coffee. She spoke as she crossed over to where the unconscious guard was still facing the computer screen, (she could not tell that something was wrong, as the back of the chair hid him from view) "John, I got the coffee." Setting down the coffee on the table, but still hearing no response, she asked again, "John?" She swiveled John's chair around to see if he was all right, only to find that he had been bound and gagged. She gasped and drew her gun, looking around. She then moved one hand to the radio on her shirt, speaking, "Command, come in. We have one officer down at the Security Camera room." However, she only got static as a response.

She strode towards the door, but Peter said quietly, "That would not be a good idea, sweetheart." She gasped, whirled around, her gun up at the ready, "Who's there?!" Peter smiled, as she still could not see him, and said, "Someone who would get a kick out of killing your friend here if you take one more step towards that door." Her face tightened in anger as she tried to find the voice that was speaking to her, "You wouldn't dare!" Merkel grinned, "Oh, yes I would. Now, if you want to see 'John' alive again, I would recommend that you lay down your weapon, then kneel down, facing the wall, hands on your head." She slowly laid her head down, and raised her hands in surrender. She spat, "You bastard, they'll get you for this!" Peter commanded, "I said, kneel! Head against the wall!" She complied, slowly, regretfully.

Ragdoll finally came out of his hiding spot, and crawled down to where the guard now faced the wall opposite him. He crept up right behind the trembling woman and whispered, "Hello, sweetheart." The woman whimpered. Peter then took her own handcuffs off her belt, and handcuffed her hands behind her back. She tried speaking again, saying, "I'm a police officer, damn it! This is kidnapping!" Peter crossed her ankles, then tied them with another strip of cloth, doing the same with her knees. "Shut up!" he whispered as he gagged her. She tried to yell indignantly, but the gag reduced it to a muffled whimper.

He flipped her over onto her back, so that she could look into his suit's eyes. She shrank back in fear, her chest heaving rapidly as she tried to scream again. "You know, I used to be a rapist. However, I ended that life about a year ago. But now, with such an excellent specimen..." She tried to scream yet again, and struggled against her bonds. He was just about to start undoing her buttons when he noticed that the jail break was about to start. He stroked her hair, crooning, "Actually, can't right now. But it's okay, I'll be back soon." He blindfolded the shrieking officer, and left her writhing on the ground as he jumped into a chair to watch the chaos...

 

[Cortan]

More sounds passed by outside, Dick for a time thinking little to nothing of them. Probably just Alfred busy bodying around trying to find something to do. He figured it had it bad enough when it came to things to do, but as he began to lather shampoo in his hair, he realised that being the butler, when the Master was neither at home nor brought you along, had to be one of the most mind numbing things in the world. At best, you got paid for chores...
Thank god there was none of that in Haly's Circus.
Thunk.
Dick paused again, blinking twice. Judging by the direction, he would almost say that sound came from... his room?
"Alfred! ALFRED!" Dick tried to seize the butler's attention, hoping for a swift response.

------------------------

Said room was admittedly pretty bare bones, at least in terms of stuff that was actually the young Grayson's. Much of the contents - the intricately carved furniture, the aged tomes and recent novella, the sprawling luxurious bed, and all the fine furnishings, were existing artifacts of its ownership under the wayne family. Most of what Dick did own was still packed away in bags in the corner, and most of it tied to his old life. Pieces of the trapeze, the leotard, and various other show pieces. The only things really out were a couple of seeming batons - though heavier than the norm - and a large shaft of wood, a large selection of photos sprawled across the table, and a tablet that Dick had been recently allowed to purchase. It was plugged in and the screen still on, multiple tabs open with news, hints, and general guesses as to the whereabouts of the man named Zucco...
But beyond that, really not much else save for a slight air of remorse in it all.

------------------------

"Yes, Master Richard?" The faithful servant of the Wayne family poked in his head, and Dick poked out his.
"Were you messing about in my room?" The young ward asked, a slight uncertainty and concern in his voice, but Alfred merely tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, before shaking his head.
"Not at all, Master Richard - certainly not when you're around at least." The answer didn't quite comfort Dick, but he'd let it slide.
"Its just I heard the door slam..." Alfred seemed to roll his eyes a bit at the answer, before putting on a small smile.
"Not to worry, Master Richard. I shall go check up on this boogeyman that bumps in the night." The teen grumbled a bit, as Alfred left. He could hear the butler walking away, and mutter something as he did so. But, even as the former flying artist got back to his shower, little did he realise of the butler's move towards the room, turning the handle just to be safe...

 

[Crim]

A long time ago...
The limo arrived at the winter ball, moonlight illuminating the skies. A young man stepped out of the backseat of the car and walked over to the other side, opening it for his date. A beautiful young woman wearing a beautiful white dress stepped out of the car, the man holding her hand courteously as she exited the car. The dance had already started and it looked like a great time. The man walked into the school. He felt eyes on him as his classmates looked at the couple. The man was obviously out of the woman's league, but the two still seemed to be perfect for each other.

The gym had been used for the ball. Slightly out of fashion music played as partygoers danced, drank punch, and otherwise socialized with their peers. The couple joined them as they danced to the energetic hits from last year. Then, suddenly, the party music gave way to slow music. As people huddled together for a slow dance, the couple began to get close to each other, the man staring at the ground. "Aw jeez," he said.
"Victor, you'll do fine," his date, Nora, said as she smiled.
"Okay, let's, uh, let's do this," Victor said to Nora. He remembered what to do. Sort of. Placing his hands on the small of his date's back, the two embraced, slowly dancing like the others. Things were going much better than expected. Victor and Nora's faces were very close. It seemed like Nora was getting even closer. Victor realized suddenly that she was getting closer, in fact. This would be his first kiss and he was afraid of the million things that could go wrong. Fighting his fear, he leaned in, lips trembling, to kiss Nora.

Freeze woke with a jolt. Disoriented, he looked around. The light buzzed and the floor rocked. He had fallen asleep in his chair. The lab notes he was writing had a gigantic mark right through them where his errant pen had glided across the paper when he had fallen asleep. Standing up, the wooden floor groaned under his weight. A burst of cold gas erupted from his knees with a hiss as servos worked to assist Freeze in moving around in the heavy, metal suit. The room he had fallen asleep in was long and spacious. Grey, ugly walls lined the room. Sheets of plastic had been draped around the room, compartmentalizing the area and creating makeshift rooms. Freeze pushed a sheet of plastic aside as he walked to the stairs. Upon ascending the metal stairs, he came upon a door. The lock had been frozen solid by him to deter entry. Breaking the ice, Freeze opened the lock.

The ground swayed again as Freeze ascended yet another flight of stairs, bringing him to the deck. Freeze had taken this cargo ship roughly a month ago. It was like a floating sanctuary from Freeze's enemies. The distant lights of Gotham could be seen in the distance, contrasting with the dark night. The ship was inbound to the city in order to pick up a package and get a routine barnacle scrub to keep it seaworthy. Freeze approached a massive crate on the ship. Opening the crate, Freeze stepped into the pitch-black metal box. His goggles glowed red as Freeze stared at what was inside. Rather, who was inside.

"You will proceed as normal. Do not let them into the cargo hold. Alerting law enforcement will result in your... deaths," he said to the huddled, frightened crew inside. He had frozen countless crewmembers when he took the ship. Those that surrendered had been forced to work for him. He was working on a little side project to ensure their loyalty. He had a skeleton crew of frightened men navigating the ship, locked in their stations with enough supplies to last them for a fairly long time. The scars from the battle between Freeze and the crew were all but vanished. Then again, this was a simple hull-scrub and cargo delivery. Freeze would be watching this little charade closely. If anyone spilled the beans, Freeze would know. And heads would roll.

The ship continued to enter Gotham Harbor, the city becoming more distinct now. A few landmarks and buildings could be made out. A thick fog rolled over the water as the ship neared its destination. It was bound for Port Adams on Gotham's southeast side. Upon closer inspection, Freeze noticed that this fog was not actually fog at all. It was smoke billowing from the Blackgate Prison. Freeze squinted his eyes. "The clown could not have chosen a worse time to break out of prison," he said. Carrying on to Port Adams, the ship prepared to dock as Freeze hid from sight. Even if Batman would be distracted, a slip-up now could mean the loss of his ship at the hands of law enforcement or the Coast Guard. Worst, it would mean the loss of Nora.

 

[TwoSidedHeart]

"Tony Zucco...?"

The Cats eyes raced across the screen and the multiple tabs that contained a ridiculous amount of information on the man as well as his whereabouts. Clearly the new ward of Wayne had a great interest in the relatively small scale criminal. It took her a few moments to recall that this man was under investigation for the murder of the young mans parents, so she could understand his obsession. But obsession wasnt really going to get him anywhere. Most likely an early grave if he went about it wrong. In fact, from the looks of things he was trying to find out where he was. As usual the GCPD was too busy apprehending the psychopaths to worry about a little murderer, no matter how well known his victims had been. She could understand him though and that was probably the reason Wayne had taken him in. Both had lost their parents. A shared tragedy.

Placing the tablet back on the table it had come from, she glanced around the room briefly studying the other items in the room before her ears perked up as she heard something from outside the room. Footsteps? Her mind raced as she thought of something, turning off the lights before silently and swiftly sliding under the bed within a manner of seconds, her sleek form concealed completely beneath the ridiculously sized sleeping contraption. She had made no noise at all, having perfected the art of stealth when necessary, as should any accomplished thief. Her breathing halted and she watched the area of the door from her shrouded hiding spot, wondering if it was the boy or the Butler? Or perhaps Wayne had decided to enter? Either way, she had been clumsy before, making a noise, however brief, as she entered the room. A mistake she would not soon repeat.

However, as the door did swung open, she remained completely silent, prepared to escape or defend herself if required from whoever would enter. From the brisk footsteps and the way there had been a slight hesitation before they went to open the door, she guessed it was the Butler. It was no longer just another room to clean after all and as such was another persons space to enter. However, she was confident she would not be captured so easily. There was no proof she had actually entered after all. And a lot of things tended to just go bump in the night. One wouldnt suspect someone of her caliber to be here.

 

[Silver Cutlass]

"Now this is a party!" The madman exclaimed joyously as he waltzed through the prison corridors. The prison guards, most unarmed, were being beaten to bloody pulps by the former inmates, and to add to the madness, it seemed small gang wars had popped up within Blackgate. Certain groups that didn't join up with Joker's Gang on the break-in, most being the hardened members of either Penguin's, Black Mask's, or Falcone's gangs, had started fighting amongst one another.

A few brave thugs were even willing to throw themselves against the Joker. Those same few also ended up with lead-riddled skulls. It was a glorious sight to the Joker; utter chaos, gripping control over the facility meant to contain that chaos. In fact, one might even call it beautiful. But the Joker had little to care for in terms of beauty, so he decided to carry on his merry way.

A few more halls traveled, a couple more stairs down, and a few gunfights later, the Joker had arrived at his exit point. The large sewer pipe his crew had traversed over a small distance opened up into the Gotham Harbor, exiting out into the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. But before him, treading water with a single man in a clown mask occupying it, was his ride. The boat's driver drifted the vessel over closer to the pipe, allowing the Joker and another armed thug to board, before it started to drift away slowly. "Well, it's been fun staying at Blackgate, but I can't say I'll miss the place. Tata! Oh, aren't you forgetting something?" The Joker directed towards one of the thugs still standing in the pipe.

The man in a clown mask quickly searched his person and withdrew a handheld transceiver device, equipped with a special antenna and signal booster, allowing communication over long distances. "Keep me updated, boys. And do tell me when the Bat gets here." He demanded, just as the driver fully accelerated the outboard motor on the boat, driving away from the pipe, and angling towards the inner bay of the Gotham Harbor, towards the main bridge that connected Old and New Gotham.

 

[Cortan]

"...Hm. Master Richard, I do not seem to find anything amiss." Alfred called out from Dick's bedroom, and the young ward took a moment to think on his response.
"Will you just check?" Dick decided to yell back, a little anxious perhaps, but it was hard to shake that sort of feeling so easily in only months after...
After the sort of thing he'd been through.
"...Done, Master Richard. I assure you, there is noone in your room and nothing out of place - as best as I can tell. Or shall I check under the bed for the monster that lurks there? Perhaps it might be the Batman." Okay, now Alfred was just messing with him.
"You've made your point. Now go do... Butler stuff!" Dick could hear Alfred chuckle at the remark, and so grumbled slightly. Who knew paid servants could be such smartasses?

Unfortunately, between that and his brief scare, Dick's mood for the shower had gone down substantially. Washing out the shampoo that had been barely applied, and with yet to use any shower gel or other products, Dick had mostly just dunked himself in a bunch of water. He doubted anyone would particularly notice unless they somehow got up close, and hey, who knew Bruce would be gone - Dick could probably just come back and finish showering later.
"Wonder what the heck goes on this late at night..." A passing curiosity that crossed his mind as he stepped out from the shower, reaching for a towel to do an initial scrub down. What did Wayne have running so late, but also so important that he had to immediately respond? Biochemical engineering? Advanced robotics? Maybe someone had broken in and stolen all his files?

...Nah, why would someone like Bruce Wayne have a giant computer at his office? Probably just carried around a laptop or something.

Still a bit soaked but otherwise capable of not drenching the entire hallway, Dick stepped out from the bathroom with a towel firmly wrapped around his waist, and started making his way back to his room. Wonder if Alfred remembered to close the door...

 

[TwoSidedHeart]

The butler, while obviously courteous, was probably just doing as asked to make the young male shut up about 'monsters in the night'. The female let out a slight chuckle as the butler mentioned the Batman being under the bed. Pretty close... pretty close. As the male left the room and thankfully shut the door, the cat slid out from her hiding place and stretched out, making a noise of approval before moving back to the tablet to check out more info about Zucco. Who knew, maybe she would run into him? And then she could give the Grayson kid a surprise one night. Running her eyes over the presented info, she nodded to herself. Now she had her sights set on this guy. It wasnt normally her thing to pull a Batman and go after the bad guy but this one was scum. She could sympathize with an orphan. Plus, she could always come back to the mansion when she had a better plan in her head.

Putting down the tablet she moved for the door before hearing the padding of footsteps coming towards the room from the outside. Different from the butlers definitely. Probably the Grayson kid. GREAT. Glancing at the bed she shook her head. She was NOT getting back under there just to hide from the adolescent acrobat who had just stepped out of the shower. Well, that was just the PERFECT image she needed in her head when trying to quickly plan out a hiding spot. Deciding it would be easiest simply to hide behind the door and take him by surprise, she moved into the necessary position to do so, ready in case he swung the door a bit too wide and stubbed her toe or something.

Her breathing slowed as the footsteps grew closer and closer, the thief closing her eyes and picturing him standing outside the door and reaching for the handle. She would have to be quick to shut the door an quietly as possible before pulling off a witty remark and taking him down. Or perhaps taking him down and THEN the witty remark? Oooor she could leave him conscious and try to get more info about Zucco out of him. Obviously he was obsessed, maybe he knew something that the information on the tablet hadnt given away in her brief investigation. Her eyes snapped open as the door opened and she prepared to strike and quickly and quietly as possible. She DIDNT need GCPD showing up.

 

[Jacano]

She wasted little time locking up the library and heading out the door. "Backpack? Check. Laptop with super secret CIA documents? Check. Scarf?" Not around her neck. Not in her bag. She thought about leaving it but, remembering how vicious Gotham winters could be, took one last look around the entryway of her home away from home and spotted the long red scarf draped over Barbara's favorite painting, Priestess of Delphi by John Collier. She couldn't help but stare into the eyes of Pythia, the famed Delphic Oracle who was poised so precariously on top of a stool watching all who would enter into this hallowed place. She grabbed her scarf and, without breaking eye contact with the woman in the painting, draped it around her head, mirroring the way the Oracle wore her red shawl in the portrait.

She turned and walked out the door, her gloved hand still penetrated by the icy cold of the doorhandle and locked it as soon as she stepped outside. She walked quietly through the snow, crunching the ice under her feet and leaving a trail behind her in the dark of this night. The Joker had escaped Blackgate and no doubt his dogs would be loosed onto the street. What did the Oracle predict this night would bring? The sounds of distant rioters echoed through the air, a few gunshots going off every so often like firecrackers in a distant New Years Eve party, except that the celebrations were less festive and more malicious in nature. Barbara should have been terrified but oddly enough, she was calmer than she was on most late nights in Gotham because on nights like these, she knew someone was watching over her.

 

[Livgardist]

Fulbright stepped into the police station, looking around as he did. The entire station was bustling with activity, and not of the good kind. Cops were coming in in a steady flowing river hauling off criminals to the detention cells, that had been captured after the Joker's breakout earlier the same evening. Many of them wore facepaint resembling a clown's, as some kind of twisted homage to the criminal psychopath. Others were just resisting the police officers' attempts to lock them away. He stepped past them up towards one of the reception desks where a fat police sergeant was standing, taking calls and booking criminals.

"Excuse me." Fulbright said. "I'd like to..."

"You're going to have to wait your turn if you want to file criminal charges, pal. Take a seat and a number just like everyone else." The sergeant interrupted him. Fulbright's eyebrows furrowed, and he stuck his hand inside his pocket, pulling out the US marshal badge and flashing it to the man.

"Deputy US Marshal David Reale." He said. "I'm here from the Gotham City Marshal's Office to talk to Police Commissioner Gordon. I'm sure you can figure out what about, Sergeant. I'd appreciate it if you would find the man for me."

"Err...right...right away, Marshal!" The sergeant stuttered, taken aback. "My apologies." He picked up a phone and dialed a quick number. After a moment, he said: "Yes, this is Phil down at the reception, Commissioner. I've got a US Marshal here who wants to talk to you. He says it's about the Joker. His name? Deputy US Marshal David Rale...sorry, Reale. Yes. Yes. Understood. I'll send him up." He hung up the phone, and looked at Fulbright again: "I apologize, Marshal. Commissioner Gordon is waiting for you in his office. Third floor. You can take the elevators right over there."

"Thank you." Fulbright said as he turned and headed for the elevators.

He leaned against the wall as he got inside, closing his eyes for a moment as the elevator began to move. His head was aching, and with it, his muscles, especially around the right side of his torso, around the kidney, a stretching aching pain, a memento of his days as a prisoner of war. His hands began to tremble, and sme sweat poured out on his forehead. He pulled out a jar of pills, popped it, and swallowed one. The symptoms seemed to calm down again. Fulbright brought out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead with it, letting out a short and irritated curse.

Bing!

The elevator doors opened, and as Fulbright stepped out, he found himself face to face with a broad shouldered, impressive man with a sharp jawline, a red mustache, and glasses. He wore a rather cheap looking suit, and had a police badge hanging from his belt. There could be no question in Fulbright's mind who this man was; the well-known police commissioner of Gotham City, James "Jim" Gordon, known even among the CIA for being not only one of the few incorruptible, honest cops in Gotham City, but also one of the few that could honestly be said to be very, very good at what he did.

"Commissioner Gordon, I presume." Fulbright said, offering his hand. The police commissioner shook it in a hard, firm grasp.

"Indeed. It's a pleasure to meet you, Marshal. Before this conversation goes any further, would you mind if I took a look at your ID? I don't question Phil's eyes, but I like to use my own when I can."

"Of course." Fulbright said. He brought out his ID card, and Gordon took it, looking at it quickly before nodding and returning it.

"Thank you. I assume you're here about the Joker?" Fulbright nodded. They started to walk down the corridors towards the office space where most of the police officers had their small cubicle offices, and where the main operation to find and bring back the Joker took place.

"That's correct." Fulbright said. "What's the situation?"

"The Joker has escaped from Blackgate Penitentiary. He's started a riot, freeing all inmates. A few riots have broken out outside the prison walls as well, mostly in low-income areas such as Crime Alley, because of Joker's escape. We're dealing with those. Riot police has been dispatched."

"And Blackgate?"

"We're sealing off the district right now. Nobody will be able to get in or get out until we can secure the prison. SWAT is being readied for an assault, reinforced by riot police. We're looking at a two hour timeframe before they are ready."

"It's too late. The Joker is likely already gone." Fulbright muttered.

"Right now, our priority is securing Blackgate Prison, Marshal, not recapturing the Joker." Gordon replied sternly. "We can't let hundreds of dangerous criminals escape out into Gotham City just to focus on finding one man, albeit one as dangerous as the Joker. Once Blackgate Prison has been secured, we can focus on the Joker." Fulbright nodded slowly. It was a solid mindset; After all, one criminal escaped was better than a thousand. Still, he needed to find the man, and fast, before he carried out another of his insane plots. He frowned. "Right now..." Gordon reiterated. "All we can do is wait."

"I don't like waiting." Fulbright muttered.

"None of us do, son." Gordon replied. "But we have to make do."

 

[Pete]

The isolation. The darkness, lonely, bleak, and cold. The persistent threat of violence. The fleeting thoughts of your loved ones, thoughts of you fading from memory. The scornful, anonymous faces of correctional officers, armored in their black riot gear, and the unforgiving, hateful screams of a society wronged. The frustration. The anxiety. The paranoia.

The fear. The roaring, obsidian monster hiding in the darkest recesses of mind's shadows, relentlessly clawing at sanity.

---

Blackgate prison was a truly despicable place. Dr. Jonathan Crane had long despised the spotlight crowned walls, and barbed fences, even before his incarceration. A respected member of the prison's medical staff, Crane's psychological work had helped tame some of the most violent criminals, whom had thought to be incurable, of their illegal tendencies. He had been praised publicly, though he would never reveal the methods of his practice, which he held as a closely guarded secret. Deep within the facility, far from the supportive eyes of media and scrutinous watch of vigilant supervisors, Crane would interview his patients for hours and hours without interruption. Men previously claimed unfit for society would walk into a room with the lanky, soft spoken doctor, and would reappear later in the night, sheepish, timid, and incapable of violence.

It wasn't until a surprise visit from prison administration shed light on the perverse truth of Crane's secretive therapy sessions, which would later be more correctly referred to as experiments. The memory brought a smile to Jonathan's lips, regardless of the circumstances the encounter had landed him in. He had reduced a hardened, Eastern Bloc criminal into a sobbing wreck, shielding his tearful face with tattooed arms. The warden and an entourage of reporters eager for an exclusive, first-hand look on the doctor's revolutionary techniques barged into the room, paralyzed by what they saw. Jonathan Crane stood triumphantly atop the table with a burlap mask over his face, cackling like the madman that he truly was, a syringe filled with translucent green fluid held in his widely spread arms. The inmate, who was found hanging by his belt two days later, cowered fetally in the corner, screaming at the top of his lungs for mercy, or the release of death. His fingernails had been torn off in a desperate attempt to claw through the tile walls. That had been Crane's last day as a free man.

---

The explosions and gunfire had all but subsided by now, the fight all but won in a seeming landslide victory. Scarecrow sat in the center of his cell, basking in the familiar embrace of darkness that the isolation cell had provided him for an indiscernible amount of time. Prison guards would rarely interact with him, preferring to slip him his meals and be on their way rather than risk a discussion with the doctor, who would psychologically attack, dissecting the psyche of anyone who dropped their guard.

The eye-level slit opened, casting a bar of light onto Crane's thin face. A man in a clown mask peered into the dark space, speaking to someone outside. "Got another one in here, you got the keys?", he asked his unseen partner. "Oh, uh. . . I don't. . I don't know 'bout him. You'd be betta' off leavin' him ta' rot", the voice shakily responded. "No. The boss says everybody. That means everybody". The rustic cell door creaked open, revealing the masked gunman and his newly freed, jumpsuit toting companion, who instantly slinked away from the released Scarecrow. "Have fun, pal", the clown hiked up his tactical vest and jogged down the dingy hallway to release the next inmate. Scarecrow unfolded his legs and stood, stepping into the hallway for the first time in what seemed to be years.

Blackgate had been plunged into chaos, and the fear was everywhere. It was in the bodies, bludgeoned or shot and pushed to the side of hallways, or in the terrified faces of surrendered officers, now prisoners to the convicts they had been guarding just an hour ago. By the time he had found his belongings, the rioting prisoners had escaped the confines of Blackgate, and in the distance Gotham glowed orange with fire. Scarecrow stood beneath the concrete arch that was the prison's main entrance, its chain link gate smashed open with the hijacked armored truck that sat overturned not fifty feet away in a ditch, a steady stream of newly free men pouring past him. He took a deep breath, the cold night air stinging his face and cutting through his jumpsuit. A smile crossed his face as he donned his mask, a wave of comfort washing over him as he felt the burlap against his skin, adjusting the respirator over his mouth and nose.

"Don't just stand there, weirdo! Let's get out of here!", a toothless man yelled over his shoulder as he ran past and accidentally checked Crane.

"Why? What are you afraid of?"