CHAPTER ONE
Most protagonists have something special about them, something that separates them from the social norm. Like, maybe they were adopted, and didn't know it...their biological parents happened to be part of the mob, or the royal family; maybe they're a wizard, or a vampire, and must be the one to save humanity from the big bad wolf. In reality, however, the protagonist is rather normal.
Like me. There's nothing special about me. I'm not drop dead gorgeous, with an incredibly thin waist and voluptuous curves; I barely reach 5'5, weigh 105 soaking wet, and sometimes to make myself feel better I say I might one day be a C cup. I'm not ridiculously smart, nor do I possess any special, unique talents, like psychic powers, or x ray vision. I'm flexible, and have excellent balance, but ten years of gymnastics will do that.
Really, the only somewhat odd thing about me is my self proclaimed borderline obsessive fascination with the criminal mind; my main interest being murderers, serial or otherwise.
So in other words, I'm basically the same as every female born in the nineties. Though I like to think I started the trend, being born in 1988.
I didn't.
Though admittedly, as interesting as criminals are to most people, not many are able to exactly understand why they do what they do. Sure, they know the textbook reasons; stabbing someone usually indicates the assailant is impotent, and somehow emotionally involved in the kill, suffocation also implies the victim was important somehow to the murderer...and serial killers, unless caught or killed, will never stop.
Thanks Wikipedia.
But...why? Why do these people do what they do? Why did Jeffrey Dahmer murder seventeen men, commit sexual acts with their bodies, then proceed so far as to even eat some of them? Why would Ted Bundy target women who reminded him of the woman he was due to marry, who ended up breaking his heart? Why?
That's where I seem to understand. Though I've never really explained how to people I associate with...I just ask myself; why would I do such a thing? And that's my answer.
Not that I have any sort of criminal inclination; I'm definitely completely content to study them, and understand them, rather than partake in their interests. So, understandably, I was currently in my final year at the University of Chicago, working towards my MD in criminal psychology, when my life took a turn for...what I now realize to be, the best. After a grueling six years of post secondary education, I was almost done. In two years, I would have a complete thesis, and would then be known as Doctor Jezzieka Aisha Fox. Though originally I carried the surname John, my adoptive parents' last name, once I decided that being a doctor was my ultimate goal, I figured switching to my biological father's name would sound cooler than Dr. John.
Though I'd been adopted, my past was no mystery to me. I was raised by amazing parents, who had no qualms about me knowing about my past, and even helped me to discover who I was, and where I came from.
My mother was, to put it lightly, a troubled girl. After running away to Los Angeles at fourteen, she met a man only known as Mr. Cocoa, who was, then, the leader of the 18 Street Gang. He was nicknamed because of his apparent preference for cocaine. From what I could gather, she was doing a drug run for him in the city of Gotham when she met my father, Lucius Fox. A real step up from the man she was with, as this guy was not only wealthy, genuinely charming, and attending university, but he had a completely clean record. Unfortunately, their passion lasted one night, and my mother returned to her boyfriend. She was seventeen. Nine months later, I was born. A year and a half later, my mother ran away to Chicago, using money she stole from Mr. Cocoa. I don't know if it was my darker skin tone, or the African American name my mother had decided on, but it's speculated he realized I was not his child, and based on what I'd heard about him, he wasn't the type to get angry. We lasted about six months, before he found us. He beat my mother to death, and apparently was ready to dispose of me when the cops arrived, and he was killed in the crossfire, along with two of his goonies he dragged along.
I suppose witnessing these events at two years old could be the root of my morbid fascination...though I remember none of it. Even learning about it, I was never really disturbed. The family that took me in as I said, were, are, incredible, and provided me with a much better life than I could have ever have hoped for. Contacting my father was never something I felt compelled to do. The way I saw it, he'd had a drunken trist as a kid, and me showing up on his doorstep randomly would only throw a lot of complications into his life, which, last time I had checked, was pretty good. He was CEO of his childhood friend's company, Wayne enterprises. The son, Bruce, from what I could gather, was quite the handful, so introducing another child into his life that he would probably feel responsible for was not in the best interest of anyone.
So, ironically, when I found myself chosen to be one of the seldom few offered a trip to Gotham City, all expenses paid, to take a tour in the world renowned institution for the criminally insane, Arkham Asylum, I decided that would be the only stop in Gotham I would make.
As it was, once I was standing in the entrance, with my small group of peers, in the same building containing some of the world's most dangerous criminals, my father wasn't exactly in the forefront of my mind. It was hard to believe that finally, not through tv, or newspapers, or youtube videos, I was going to see these killers. Maybe not talk to them, or have the contact I was working towards...but at least through some glass in a door. Maybe we would even be taken through the sitting rooms, where the patients who weren't so unpredictable would be sitting, eating, chatting. Maybe one of them would address me, and I would have no choice but to respond...
I straightened my glasses, and focused ahead, on the very stern looking woman standing in front of our small group, clearly waiting on everyone's eyes to land on her before she spoke. As there were only six of us, it didn't take too long.
"Good afternoon." Judging by her tone and lack of smile, it appeared to have been anything but. "My name is Nurse Bradie.
"Before we begin, I must lay out the ground rules, which if not followed properly, will result in the tour immediately ending. You all clearly know where you are, but I need you to comprehend what that means." She looked at each of us in turn, her glare making it clear she had not been in support of this happening.
"This institute deals with clinically insane individuals, criminals who have committed heinous acts, some of which are beyond the likes of which you can imagine. Acts that, under regular circumstances, would sentence one to life in prison, and in any states where it's legal, the death penalty." Despite her somewhat menacing tone, I felt my mind start to wander, the struggle I felt trying to focus on her words great. I'd learned about this place in my second year for my masters degree.
"Unlike prison inmates, however, Arkham patients are unable to understand that what they have done, what they desire to do, is wrong. They'll discuss ripping out someone's tongue, cooking it, and feeding it to a baby, just as easily as you or I would discuss dinner with our parents." I sighed quietly, and flicked my black hair over my shoulder, exposing some of the purple peekaboo I'd put in only a week previously. That attracted the attention of Nurse Bradie, whose already unwelcome gaze increased ten fold, and she fixed me with a glare that made me feel like a little kid in school, who was disturbing the class. For some reason, I got the impression my hair offended her more than the boredom I was attempting to hide.
Good thing she hadn't seen me two weeks ago, with my pink, teal and white streaks.
She kept her eyes on me.
"Even experienced doctors have difficulty coping with some of these patients. We tragically lost one of our own a few months back; he'd been working here for three years." Well, if she was trying to deter me from pursuing this career path, she wasn't doing a half bad job. After pursing her lips in a very disapproving way, she averted her eyes to the others.
"While you are here, you will not speak to, or even look, at anyone who does not work here. If any patient attempts to interact with you, you will ignore them, act like they don't exist. Even the slightest amount of contact could trigger a fantasy, of which you would most likely play a crucial part; I seriously doubt any of you would be comfortable knowing what these fantasies entail.
"You will not yell. You will not make any noise unless it is a question directed at me, or any employees you may meet. There will be no pictures, no videos; all cell phones must be turned off before the tour begins." She gave each of us a hard look, as we timidly turned off our cells. Once everyone had received her glare, she asked if we understood. We nodded.
"Then follow me."
The place was massive, and the architecture was beautiful; though I think I would have gone completely mental being in a place so startlingly white, even if there was a lot of marble like here. The floors, walls, doors, nurse uniforms...even the furniture, liquid paper white.
"Everyone gather round close. We're about to enter the minimum security wing. Though heavily guarded, these patients are not restrained, and not confined to their rooms." She opened the door, and it was almost a relief to see something other than white; the orange jumpsuits of the patients. We kept in a small huddle, closer to the nurse than I would have liked, but she spoke in such a quiet tone, you had to practically be breathing down the other person's neck to hear her.
"These patients are, shall we say, the more lucid in the institution. Though completely insane, these are the patients who are able to function in a day to day manner. We keep them as calm as possible, and are able to tell when one is about to, as you young people like to say, snap." The derogatory tone she used was not lost on any of us. "They each have a cell mate, and are permitted up to six hours a day outside the building in the yard, in two hour intervals. Other than the mandatory daily hour of therapy, they virtually have free reign of the wing, and can choose to either spend time in their rooms, in the sitting room, or outside. They are allotted a pack of cigarettes a week, and receive medication when it's time to wake, at 0900, as well as minor sedatives to knock them out when lights are turned out, at 2100 hours. You'll notice they are marked with a green band on their left arm. This identifies them as minimum security patients."
Most of the patients didn't even seem to notice us, and the ones that did, seemed more keen to avoid us than socialize. It wasn't difficult to observe. It was eerily like one would expect; some were twitching, some were talking to themselves, and some were sitting silent, either staring at the TV, or board games that hadn't been touched.
Next, was the medium security wing, where the patients were marked with red bands. They spent about half the day in their individual cells, and were taken outside twice a day, for hour intervals. One hour was dedicated to individual therapy, one hour was group, and the remaining time was for them to do as they pleased. We arrived during group therapy, and therefore had a bit more difficulty avoiding eye contact. About half seemed, like the minimum wing, oblivious to our presence; but the other half were quite interested, and one even began yelling at us, focusing on the quietest member of the group, Brian. The poor guy, he cast his eyes to the ground, and I could practically feel the fear oozing off him. He wouldn't fare too well in a place like this, clearly.
These particular patients became agitated, and angry very easily. The smallest action could set them off, and, in our lovely tour guide's words, "trigger them to fork out everyone's eyeballs before burning the joint down." The security was a little heavier here, and I noticed that the guards carried Tasers, unlike the minimum guards, who wielded only batons. The atmosphere was already a great deal more tense than it had been in minimum security, but it was nothing compared to the ominous cloud that fell over us all when we passed the pistol, Taser and baton wielding security guard, and entered maximum security. It was like being enveloped in an invisible, menacing fog. My heart accelerated slightly, and even Nurse Bradie dropped her voice to a near whisper.
"This, is where we keep the unpredictable patients. They don't need a trigger, or any sort of reason to do what they do." She stopped at the first door.
"This particular patient is a very interesting case. He was brought to us a couple of years ago, after police arrested him for the brutal murders and torture of a family." She carefully blocked the door, just in case any of us tried to look in. "He killed the youngest child first - a six year old girl - before cutting her up, and serving her up like a turkey dinner to the rest of the family. If they refused to eat, he would kill their son, who was only a couple years older. After they finished their 'meal,' the son was forced to kill his mother, at which time the father attempted to overpower the assailant; he smashed his head repeatedly onto the ground, then proceeded to pull his mouth apart, nearly ripping the jaw clean off." She looked at each of us in turn, gauging our reactions. I glanced over at the group; only one, Mike, remained stoic. The rest looked close to puking. Ling, the only other girl, was covering her mouth.
Nurse Bradie continued.
"This was all relayed to us by this patient once he came in; and he smiled the whole time. He even laughed. He was genuinely amused by the pain he caused these people. It was like he was telling a joke."
Cameron spoke, his voice shaking slightly. Due to his 6'7 stature, he stood at the back of the small group.
"Why did he do it? What did they do to him?"
Nurse Bradie looked at him coolly.
"Nothing. They walked by him in the street, and the happiness of the little boy made him bitter. So he followed them to their house and killed them." She gestured us to walk forward, and once we were again in the center of the hallway, she quickly passed us.
"These patients are kept in their separate rooms for ten hours a day, as well as all night. They are brought out only for their half hour of therapy, and are allotted two forty five minute intervals in the box."
"The box?" Brian piped up, trying to keep his eyes downcast.
"Here." We sped up slightly, reaching the end of the hallway in a few seconds. She looked into the room, then gestured us forward.
"You can each look in briefly, but hurry. There's someone inside."
Ling went first, and Mike, the most muscular of the group, lifted her up, as her height of 4'11 made looking through the window difficult.
"This is the exercise room. These patients cannot be trusted in the open. We have cameras in their rooms, and in the boxes," she pointed across the hall, indicating another box room, "...24/7. Once they are out of their rooms, we restrain them, binding their wrists, and ankles. Makes it impossible for much movement." I looked second last. The room was small, maybe 8 by 10, and the man inside was pacing, his long, scraggly hair covering his face, which was angled to the ground.
Tony, who looked, for lack of a better description, like the typical gawky teenage boy, stepped forward. Before he could even peak through, the man's sallowed face appeared in the window, and he slammed his hands on the door.
Tony jumped back, his eyes widening in fright. Ling screamed, and even my heart skipped a beat. The man started cackling, exposing his horrid teeth. Meth mouth.
"Don't look at him!" Nurse Bradie hissed at us, and quickly blocked the door. His cackling echoed eerily in the hallway, and I got a creepy prickling feeling on the back of my neck...like he wasn't the only one aware of our presence.
Nurse Bradie glared at Ling. "Well, now that our presence has been so eloquently announced, there will be more than a few curious eyes watching. Keep your eyes down, follow me, and don't make a sound. Despite what you think you may see, or hear, don't say or do ANYTHING." She stalked forward, and we followed, feeling chastened.
We made it halfway down the hall before the nurse stopped, pressing a finger to her ear, presumably pushing on an earpiece.
"What?! No, I still have the group here, hold it! Oh, bloody fucking hell!" She spun around, ignoring the sudden muffled jeers that accompanied her momentary lapse of judgment regarding her language.
"We have a new patient coming through." Though her eyes were like fire, it was clear she was very unsettled, and I felt my heart accelerate in anticipation. Who could they possibly be bringing that would render even her this nervous? Unless, of course, she was just nervous, and was overreacting because she hadn't planned on us being exposed to a maximum security patient, especially a new one.
Yeah, that must have been it.
"I need you three on this wall, and you guys on this one." She directed Mike, Ling and Tony to one wall, and Brian, Cameron and I took the other one. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but rather than choose the spot between the two boys, like Ling, I picked the side closest to the door. She told us to keep our eyes down, but maybe my peripheral would be able to catch something...
"Don't move a muscle until I tell you, and-"
A high pitched, manic cackle cut her off, echoing through the hallway. It wasn't the sudden increase in activity in the rooms that stopped my heart, or even the chilling sound of the laugh itself; I recognized that sound. Completely forgetting the nurse's instructions, my eyes became transfixed on the door. There was no way...I'd researched him, his antics were known by even us in Chicago...but it couldn't be him.
"Eyes forward, face down!" Nurse Bradie snapped, and I quickly averted my eyes to my feet, just as the door opened.
I tucked my hair behind my ear, and could only make out purple. My first thought was that it was my hair, but then I could make out movement, and what I realized was a white face.
It suddenly clicked why the nurse had been so uncomfortable with my hair.
"Oooo, what do we have heeeeeeere-uh? These um, your little nazi followers, Nurse, Bah-raaaaadie?" His voice sent chills down my spine, and I could practically feel the danger emanating off him.
"Or uh, maybe they're all praying? Can I join?" He burst into another bout of manic laughter, and goosebumps appeared all over my body. The prickling feeling on the back of my neck intensified, and I swallowed hard. Choosing the end had been a mistake.
"They are not here for you Joker, so pipe down; or I'll have the orderlies sedate you." Her tone was probably meant to sound meaner than it did.
They were very close now, and even though the situation was terrifying, it was a challenge not to look, especially when they got closer, and my feeling of being watched turned into knowledge that I definitely was.
"I uh, like your hairrr."
Maybe it was my morbid curiousity. Maybe it was because I was raised to always acknowledge someone when they addressed me. Maybe it was the slightly rebellious attitude I'd always harboured when it came to authority. Whatever it was, I should not have done it.
My eyes slid to the side, and almost subconsciously, my head followed suit.
His eyes were black as coal, and had me frozen on the spot. A very cold chill shot through my veins, feeling like someone had injected me with ice water.
He grinned, showing off perfectly straight, yellow teeth. His makeup was smeared, and the red that covered what I had read to be gruesome scars was everywhere. I wasn't sure if it was just paint.
"Get me outta these restraints and I'll show you a wild time. I've uh, never had dark meat before!" I don't know what happened...I didn't want to speak, but my mouth seemed to have it's own ideas.
"Won't be this dark meat."
He was on his feet, fingers clutching the air where my head had been before I'd lurched back, knocking Brian into Cameron, my heart in my throat. There was a tingling in my entire body, and it seemed to immobilize me. Thank God my body knew to move, because my mind certainly hadn't been there.
He was cackling again, the sound seemingly rattling every bone in my body. The edges of my vision became black, and all I could see was his face.
There was yelling, and I felt myself being jostled around. Everything was very hazy, and all I could hear was that laugh, resonating in my head.
As it became more faint, my vision began to return, and when I was able to finally take in my surroundings, the laughing was gone, and the only face I saw was the enraged one of Nurse Bradie.
"What in God's name were you thinking." Her face was so red. I didn't know human's faces could be so red. "Idiot girl, do you not realize who that was?!"
I could only nod, trying to slow what I then felt to be a very hard thudding in my chest.
"Then what was that? Do you really expect to ever be a doctor with such lunacy? The instructions were very clear, do not, under any circumstances, interact with the patients; and what do you do? Trigger one of the most maniacal patients to ever walk these halls, who has already managed to escape once before. We may as well just stick you in here with the rest of them, you're certainly crazy enough..." She continued, but I could barely register her words. My ears pounded, my breath was ragged, and everything was slightly blurry. My voice was non existent.
When I felt something cool on my forehead, I jerked backwards, blinking hard, and felt warm tears roll down my cheeks, out of my now stinging eyes. How long had I not blinked for?
Instead of Nurse Bradie's face and angry voice, there was now a beautiful blonde woman in front of me. She had startlingly blue eyes, and a very mischievous look about her. She couldn't have been any older than thirty.
"Hi there Jezzie...may I call you that?" I nodded, relieved at her presence. For whatever reason, she was calming me down.
"I hear you had a little bit of a scare." She smiled kindly, and placed what I then realized to be a wet washcloth back on my forehead. "Just know that your little friend is all locked up, with two armed security guards supervising the orderlies checking him for any weapons. He won't be getting out."
I blinked hard, and took the washcloth from her. I removed my glasses, and wiped my face off, briefly appreciating my decision to sleep later that morning, rather than apply makeup.
"Who-" I stopped to clear my raspy throat, creating a rather disgusting phlegmy sound. "Who are you?"
She leaned back from me, and it was then that I noticed not only my group, looking rather shaken, but that Nurse Bradie was no longer present.
"I'm Harleen Quinzel. I'm the Joker's psychiatrist." I put my glasses back on, my face starting to burn now that the entirety of my situation was settling over me.
"I...I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have- oh fuck, I'm so stupid, what the shit did I just do?" I leaned forward, putting my head in my hands, the washcloth hanging limply from my fingers.
Harleen grabbed my hands, and leaned down, looking up at me from an awkward angle.
"No need to apologize hun, it's not your fault. I'm surprised you're the only one who sneaked a peak, considering you're all here to study and discover things about people like him. It's curiousity, and the ability to do things differently that make one so successful when working with them. Of course, rules are important; but sometimes, with some cases, the normal rules do not apply."
I smiled slightly. "Don't think breaking rules is exactly the way I should have gone though. Guess I didn't make too good of an impression with this place."
She laughed.
"Most people aspiring to be criminal psychologists aren't exposed to such a high profile patient until they've successfully treated others, with significantly les danger about them. You're still a student; frankly, I'm surprised you didn't faint.I take it you've all heard about the Joker?" We all nodded.
She leaned in close, so even I could barely hear her. "Based on your peers' reactions, I doubt I'd be having such a normal conversation with any of them had they been in your position." The smile I gave this time was bigger, and actually genuine. I even laughed, albeit, breathily.
I liked this woman.
I cleared my throat again, and straightened up.
"So what happens now?" As if on cue, Professor Jake Lyttel entered the room, looking flustered.
"What happened? Jezzie, are you okay?" I nodded, and Harleen held her hands up to him.
"All is fine here, Professor Lyttel. She just had a small interlude with one of our more dangerous patients, there was a little scare, but everyone is fine." He sighed, and ran his hand over his face. I felt my face burning again.
Harleen clapped her hands together.
"Well, I think everyone has had enough excitement for one day. If your professor is amicable to another day, I'd be more than happy to give you another tour personally, or if you would like to make individual appointments, in person or otherwise, we can definitely work something out. We weren't expecting to get the Joker today, he was scheduled to be brought in tomorrow, so that's a mix up on our end. Your group definitely needs a break...maybe even a night on the town? There are quite a few nice bars in around the city, I'd be more than happy to point you to one you may like; on us, of course." She was talking to the professor now, who looked slightly taken aback at her generosity. He must have been notified of the situation by someone not so nice.
Probably Bradie.
"Um...yes, sure, that would um, be very nice." Though very stern in the class, Professor Lyttel was an extremely cool dude when he wasn't trying to teach us something.
Harleen smiled. "It's the least we can do. Consider it an apology, for being ill prepared on your behalf." He gave a small grin, and loosened up slightly.
"That sounds great. Where would you recommend?"
My throat and eyes burned as the liquid went down my throat, only somewhat subsiding once I bit into the lemon wedge. Maybe tequila wasn't the smartest drink to start out with.
This was confirmed when everyone except the professor, or "please call me Jake outside the classroom," began coughing. I felt a lot better knowing I wasn't the only one to attempt to soothe the burn with a swig of beer. I guess a group of students working towards their medical doctorates were not the proficient drinkers.
"Well, folks, unfortunately I can't change the plan. Our flight is scheduled to depart tomorrow night. Dr. Quinzel won't be available again for a few days. So unless you guys can make arrangements to stay on your own, with your own money, we won't have another opportunity." There was a collective disappointment in the group, and on my part, a stab of guilt.
"Guys...I'm sorry, I know I messed this up for you-" Mike covered my mouth.
"Quiet peasant! It wasn't your fault, we would have been fine had they not made the mistake of bringing that guy in while we were there. Had nothing to do with you."
The rest of the group nodded, and Ling piped up.
"It's probably for the best anyway; if we're going to go there again, it's better we work our way up to it." She took a shot of JD, and gave a little cough, chasing it with beer.
Jake nodded, and took a swig of beer before speaking. "Very true. That Joker character is not someone even I would want to encounter. You're definitely a braver man than I, Jezzie." He raised his glass to me, and we all shared a chuckle, the slight inebriation we felt making the situation seem less severe, and my guilt was less prominent.
I ordered another shot, and shook my head at the group. "I wouldn't say that; I nearly pissed myself when he spoke to me." Though originally very disturbed, I neglected to mention that rather than fear, I now felt more...intrigued, by the idea of such a man. The others kept conversation, and I drifted into my own head, wondering how he could have become such a, for lack of a better word, monster...why was he doing this? What was his motivation? How did he get those scars? And what made him choose me, out of the six people that stood there? Was it just my hair, or was it something else? Did he like me? Did he want to...ugh...get intimate with me? Did people like him even have regular intercourse?
So lost was I in my thoughts that I didn't realize my group was trying to get my attention. When I did, I noticed a hand snapping it's fingers in front of me, and jumped slightly.
"What? What, what's up?" The snapping culprit, Cameron, laughed and leaned back.
"Don't look now, but I think Mr. tall, dark and handsome over there may wanna take you for a spin." He bit his lip, and craned his head, blatantly checking out whoever was apparently staring at me. I turned around, curious. Usually I would have been slightly more stealth with it, but the alcohol was effectively removing any reservations I had.
The male in question wasn't exactly being subtle himself. Not that he had to be, he had the look of someone who could get any woman he wanted.
He wore a crisp suit, and had thick, black hair slicked back. He was clearly well built, and had a very piercing look about him. His eyes however, though obviously trained on me, were not staring in a heated way. They were more...scrutinizing. Like how a police officer would look at a subject of interest. Upon seeing him, my eyes took on the same look.
He was very...familiar.
Neither of us took our eyes off each other, until he was joined by his apparent companion, and my face slackened.
No...fucking...way.
I turned around quickly, staring at the table in shock. Of all the bars in all of Gotham, I happened to be drinking in the same one as him.
My group eyed me warily.
"Well, that certainly isn't a very positive response." I gave Tony a fleeting, half hearted glare, who was staring at me over his glasses in an almost comedic fashion.
Unfortunately, I found the situation anything BUT funny.
I sighed. "That's billionaire Bruce Wayne."
It took a second, but when it sunk in, everyone was staring at me like I'd suddenly sprouted horns.
"It IS!"
"Holy shit!"
"He's still totally staring at you." Cameron was staring back, a very dreamy look in his eyes.
Jake leaned forward, seemingly the only one with a clear head.
"So...you're not ditching out on us...why?" He raised his eyebrows. I closed my eyes.
"Because-"
A tap on my shoulder interrupted me before I could continue, and I turned, looking into beautiful, almond shaped chocolate eyes; my eyes.
"Excuse me miss, I'm sorry to bother you...but I was just wondering if you happened to know a woman by the na-"
"Kerri Sharpe." I interrupted. His eyes widened. I turned away from him, meeting the stares of my very curious, very confused companions.
I took a deep breath.
"Everyone...this is Lucius Fox; my biological father."