11

"Grayson," My boss, Amy Rohrbach, pulled me out of the Bludhaven Police Department's coffee room. I took a sip out of the already lukewarm coffee I was gripping in my hand while I was walking to Amy's office. Amy watched as I spit the coffee back into the cup. I grimaced and threw the deadly liquid in a nearby garbage can.

"You might want to think about investing in a new coffee maker…" I said, turning my attention to her. She snorted.

"Just make your coffee at home, Officer Grayson." She stressed the word 'officer' with a sarcastic tone. My stomach dropped as I realized that I might be in trouble.

"What did I do this time, Boss?" I sat down on one of the chairs in Amy's office, twitching. Somehow, as long as I remembered, I could never sit still.

Amy smirked, and then chuckled as though she was thinking of something.

"Grayson, you didn't do anything wrong," I sighed in relief. "In fact, you are upgrading!"

I gasped as I processed. "What? Upgrading? To what?"

"Grayson, your badge?" I reluctantly placed my badge in Amy's outstretched hand. She didn't even spare a glance at it as she slipped it in a random drawer in her large, oak desk.

"Here. Now get out of my office." Amy slid a different badge across the table, and slapped a large file down onto the table.

I took them both and then hurried out. I looked back, and saw her smirk. She waved at me sarcastically. I gulped.

"Yo, Grayson!" A coworker heartily slapped me on the back. "Heard you got promoted!" The man's smile was disheartening. "Thanks for the new office, I was getting tired of the cubicles."

"The new what?" I asked, thinking of my newly earned desk, and plush roly-poly chairs. I shuddered at the thought of cubicles.

"Oh. You didn't know?" He had a fake look of sympathy.

"Know what?"

"Umm, your office is going to me, when you transfer." I nodded, until it dawned to me.

"WHAT?! THAT IS MY OFFICE, AND WHAT IS THIS ABOUT A 'TRANSFER'?" I yelled, waving my arms in the air, still clutching onto the manila file.

He leered, "Read that file, genius."

I snarled as he walked away, hearing the whispers of other coworkers. I looked around, and found a majority of the occupants in the room staring at me with pity.

What the Hell?

I muttered darkly to myself, while stiffly walking to my office. Eyes bore into my back, and I bit my cheek as I tried not to blush.

When I finally got to my desk, I slapped the damn file onto the glossy surface. Running a hand through my hair, I dully skimmed through the fat stack of papers inside of the folder, stopping when the magnitude of the papers seemed to grasp my mind.

I looked at the lone badge in my still clenched hand, and gasped.

Prison Guard Grayson; was sewn onto a shield embroidery on the blue background.

My mind drew blank as I looked at the badge. No. No. No. There was no way in hell… the Bludhaven Prison was even more dangerous than the Crime Street in Bludhaven. I sighed heavily through my nose. I was not going through with this.

I got up, the lazy squeaks from my comfortable chair infuriating me further. Amy… I growled, walking out of my office.

"Rohrbach!" I yelled, bursting into her office. I slapped the badge onto her desk and narrowed my eyes.

"What. The. Hell. Is. This?"

Amy shrugged, as if nothing was of the matter, and I had the sudden urge to just slap her or something. I struggled to control myself.

"You know I could quit, right?" I spat, slowly lowering myself into the hard chair across from her. Amy smiled.

"Just… just meet your new 'boss' first okay? Then I'll allow you to do whatever you want." She winked at me, and I sighed. Typical Amy. I knew choosing her to train me would bite me in the ass sooner or later.

"Fine, but-" I was interrupted when the door was slammed open, and someone walked- no I mean, wheeled in.

"Officer Grayson, I presume?" I heard a voice, but my mind had fainted, because seriously this woman was like a goddess or something, well a goddess in a wheelchair. Her red hair framed her pretty face, and fell over her shoulder in dramatic cascades of waterfalls. Her lips were full, glossy, and red. And those glasses, however nerdy they looked, filled the whole picture. I gasped feebly as oxygen came back into my lungs.

"W-what?" I stuttered, not missing the evil, sadistic smirk Amy sported.

"I'm the warden of the Bludhaven Prison. From now on, I'll be your boss. The name's Barbara. Barbara Gordon." She wheeled over to me, and held out her hand in a kind gesture. Oh god her smile was amazing.

I took her hand, and then noticed how strong her grip was. I love strong women.

"So, I assume you're up for the job?" She asked, leaning back into her wheelchair, as I resituated myself into a chair.

"Y-yea." I gasped like a fish out of water, because man her lips were distracting me.

"Don't mind Officer Grayson here, he usually answers with more than one word…" Amy called from the back of the room, crossing her arms. I ignored her, but paid more attention to the present conversation.

"Good. Amy said that you would make the perfect Prison Guard. I usually don't go out of my way to interview a new Guard, but I've been receiving a lot of compliments from your coworkers, and you were recommended so much that I just had to see you myself. Quite frankly, I'm impressed. You went from rookie, to respected officer in only half a year."

I nodded, though I wasn't quite that proud of the feat. There were many corrupted Bludhaven police officers; so many that you could barely trust anyone. The only person that I actually knew was good was Amy Rohrbach. She was still a sneaky bastard, though.

"If you want to become a Prison Guard, you do understand that you will have to work twice as hard to gain that type of respect? I just want to make sure that you're up for this job."

I thought about it. Barbara looked so hopeful. I sighed. I was probably going to regret this, damn my stupid hero complex…

"I'm up for the job." I stated. I wasn't doing this because my soon-to-be-boss was hotter than the sun, but because I knew that there weren't many people willing to be a prison guard. Hell, I was probably the only one that was thinking of working there to possibly prevent any breakouts.

Barbara gave me a curt nod, before handing me an I.D. card and wheeling away. I looked at the I.D. card and sighed as she left, placing my head in my hands as I sat. I was definitely going to regret this, wasn't I?

I heard Amy laughing.

"I thought you didn't want to 'upgrade'?" I looked up as she wiped a teardrop off of her cheek, probably from laughing too hard.

I sighed again. "So, when am I going to the prison?" Amy shrugged.

"You should actually read the papers in the folder." She stopped chuckling, and sobered up. "Grayson, I assume that you know that you are a great officer. I am not promoting you because you did anything wrong, it's because I think you'll do something good there. I'll regret sending you to that hellhole by tomorrow when the new inters start pestering me, instead of you… but I'm glad that you're helping Gordon. She's had it pretty hard, with Gotham being gassed and all… she is really such a fine young woman."

I lifted my head out of my hands.

"What?" I knew that Amy only acted like a sneaky bastard… she actually wanted the best for Bludhaven, no matter how crazy that sounded. I was curious about Barbara- I've heard the name 'Gordon' before. And what was this about Gotham being gassed?

"Oh, you haven't heard? Do you live under a rock, or something? Gotham is off limits, because some dumbass criminal there decided that poisonous bombs were 'fun'. He basically destroyed the whole damn city, and infected people within a close vicinity with the bombs."

My eyes widened. "Damn, only one person did that?"

Amy nodded, then looked at me seriously. "Actually, the person who bombed Gotham was also the one who put Gordon in a wheelchair."

"What?! What the Hell happened to her? I thought she just got into an accident! Is the injury permanent?" I felt worried about Barbara, even though I had literally just met her. Weird.

"No, it definitely was not an accident. She was shot in the spine, just below her heart. Her legs are paralyzed. I believe the man that shot her was named… the Jester or something like that? I don't really know. It happened just before you joined the Police Force. Hell, I didn't even know that she was injured until her dad told me. James Gordon is one hell of a man…"

Amy had a dreamy look on her face as she spoke of James Gordon. I thought I would have never seen that expression on her face… and now I wanted the image out of my head. Blech.

Amy snapped out of her love-stricken state, and continued her story.

"But, James was commissioner of the GPD at that time… A lot has happened in a year… Anyways, that year, some idiot blew up Arkham Asylum, that's the place where they hold all the real baddies in Gotham, and the Jester, or whatever his name is, was transferred to the Bludhaven prison until Arkham was rebuilt. Somehow, he got out, and Barbara was caught in the crossfire. She almost didn't make it."

I tried to imagine her without her wheelchair, but couldn't see any image.

"Wow. Now I feel guilty for almost saying no to her." I stated, getting out of my seat, and stretching my tired limbs. I walked out of the room, glancing back and saying softly, "Bye, boss."

Amy might've been a bastard, but she was a great friend, someone who I could rely and trust on.

"Stay safe, Grayson."

I read the whole file when I got home.

My new job literally started tomorrow.

I gripped my new I.D. card and my badge, and went to a restless sleep.

It was disturbingly all black, in my dreams. There was a face among the darkness, but I couldn't see it clearly. The only thing I could hear was a maddening, distorted laugh, which sent goose bumps down my back.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was my alarm clock. In bold, red numbers, it said eight o'clock. I was supposed to wake up at four.

I cursed under my breath as I hurriedly brushed my teeth and made toast. It took me ten minutes, but I hobbled out of my crappy apartment with one shoe half on, an apple juice box in my hands, and my I.D. and badge.

I didn't have my new uniform, so I just wore a black shirt with vertical blue stripes running from my chest to my sleeves. Huh. Where had I gotten this shirt? Oh well. The pattern was still pretty cool, anyways.

When I finally got into my car, I shoved my shoeless foot into a shoe, and took a breather. Damn, it was hard trying to hop down stairs with only one foot. Stupid elevator and its stupid technical issues…

Starting the engine, I simultaneously used the other hand to try and poke a stupid hole into the stupid juice box with the stupid straw that just refused to stay stupidly straight and UGH THE STUPID STRAW BENT. I groaned, and hit my head on the center of the steering wheel I was gripping in my hands. The loud BEEP made me grimace. I hate Mondays.

As my old junk car finally started to rumble to life, I sighed again, and drove to the Bludhaven Prison. My car was being stupid, and the gas tank was almost empty. I would have to fill it up on the way back from work.

I threw the unopened juice box somewhere in the back of my car, where I could feel it mocking me. As I drove into the Prison, I guess it was a good thing that I hadn't forgotten about my I.D. card. Without it, I wouldn't have been let in.

As I walked through the entrance of Bludhaven Prison, it was eerily quiet. I went into the prison even further, looking for Barbara's office. I was lost, until I heard wheels squeaking.

"You do know that you're almost four hours late, Dick." I froze, and slowly turned around.

"Sorry, Babs, but I had trouble waking up." If she had called me Dick, then I had a right to call her Babs. She arched a perfect brow at her new nickname, but acted as though she didn't care.

"Sure, sure, Dick. I'll let it pass, since it's your first day. But trust me, you wouldn't want to earn a bad reputation here, I'll tell you that. The few people who actually work here are serious about this job, and they wouldn't appreciate it if a rookie intern was running late everyday." She half teased me, the other half serious. "Now, come with me. Let's get you introduced with this place."

Barbara wheeled away, and I had to keep a steady pace to keep up with her. This woman was really strong.

"Today's a big day. You know about the Gotham gassing, right?" I nodded, glad that Amy had told me yesterday. I did not want to look like an idiot in front of my new boss.

"Well, the Arkham psychologist wanted to send over some new patients of his, along with… the Joker, whom was the cause of the whole gas thing." I watched as Barbara narrowed her eyes while saying the Joker's name. So the Joker was the one who left Barbara in a wheelchair?

"Anyways, from what I read from the files, these new patients are really dangerous. Like, first class dangerous." Barbara wheeled even faster, delving deeper into the humongous building. I coughed awkwardly into my hand, as she remained silent. The sounds of my footsteps, and a squeaky wheelchair echoed around the long, white, walls, and left a forbidding feeling in my gut. "I even heard that the Bruce Wayne is among the criminals. Seems that he was caught red handed in smuggling drugs and whatnot."

I stopped walking, eyes wide. "Hold on. The Bruce Wayne? The billionaire, Prince of Gotham? The same dude that donated thousands of dollars to orphanages?"

Barbara shrugged nonchalantly. "Yup. There are a lot of rich, famous people in the world that seem nice, but really are not. Take the Cobblepots, for example. They used to be billionaires, just like Wayne. Anyways, all I can think about is all that paperwork- not to mention the paparazzi. Jeez, I can't wait until Arkham is fixed." She shuddered. "I hate paparazzi."

She stopped talking, and wheeled on. An awkward silence filled the air again.

"So." I attempted to start a conversation. "Where're we going?"

Barbara beckoned at the upcoming door- the only thing that these hallways lead to. I gulped. Who knows what the doors covered up? There could be a bunch of inmates there, just waiting to jump us.

I looked at myself critically, a sudden doubt coming over me. If there were a bunch of criminals in there, what would I use to defend myself? "Um, Babs, what do I use to defend myself- if a prisoner went rogue? I mean, I gave my gun and Taser to my boss yesterday…"

Barbara smiled and said, "Dick, this prison does not allow law-standard guns, or battery operated Tasers."

I blinked stupidly. Firstly, what kind of answer was that? Secondly, why in the world would someone come here unarmed? And thirdly, did she just diss the weapons I had been using on field for the last two years?!

Barbara continued, after dishing out a good-mannered smirk at the look on my face. "In the Bludhaven Prison, only an idiot would come 'prepared' with those low-tech things." Her voice, and tone wavered. "I found out the hard way…"

I remembered the story that Amy told me, the one that explained how Barbara had lost all feeling in her legs. A wave of guilt washed over me. Who was I to complain about the weapons here, when she had experienced the failure of them in full hand?

"Uhm," I started, waking her out of her dark thoughts, "So, what do you use to fend yourself from criminals?"

Her pretty green eyes unglazed. "Well," Barbara unclipped a baton-like thing from the side of her wheelchair, "I like to call this the light saber."

"You mean like the 'light saber' from Star Wars?!" I took the offered weapon form her hands, examining it with a critical eye, trying to see if the weapon lived up to it's name.

"Yup." Barbara stated. "Handle it with care, Dick, or you might just get zapped to oblivion with hundreds of watts. This thing is only a few watts from being an actual light saber."

"How does it work?" I asked, sliding tentative fingers over the grip of the thing, it looked like my Ecrisma Sticks, the ones that I kept at home, stashed somewhere in my closet.

Barbara took the light saber back, then snapped her wrist back, only to make the weapon longer, kind of like a bo staff would extend.

"Cool!" I stated, greedily reaching for the thing. She pulled back, and flicked her thumb across the bottom of the light saber.

Electricity danced from the top of the weapon, and I quickly drew my hand away.

"Whoa!"

Barbara smiled. "I designed them myself. I got the idea after re-watching all of the Star War movies… in the hospital. You'd be surprised at how big the TV's are there."

I stared in awe as she gently turned the device off, and then clipped the light saber back to the undercarriage of the wheelchair. She started to move forward again, wheeling closer to the set of doors.

I silently followed, questions bouncing around in my mind. She gestured at the door, and I politely opened it, now that I knew that she had a suitable weapon to defend herself.

The first thing that happened when we walked through the door was a large fist, coming right towards my face. I automatically cupped my hands around the offending object, and used the force of the attacker against his will. Pulling on the fist, I flipped the man onto the ground, and put a foot on his chest to assure that he would not get up.

Barbara whistled from behind me.

"You okay?" I asked, whipping around to face the stunned ginger.

"Yeah." She said, her surprised face turning into the usual smirk. "Amy told me that you were good- just not how good you were."

I shrugged, and then looked around at the room, my foot still on the subdued man. There was literally no one here, and "here" was a huge room. There were two sets of long tables, attached to small chairs.

"Umm," I stated, confused, "Where are we?"

Barbara chuckled. "Well, you just passed the first test, so I suppose I can-"

Before she could tell me anything, the man underneath my foot stirred, groaning. Barbara nodded, and I helped the man to his feet. What was this… test she was talking about?

"Wowza! Who'da thunk it? I wanted to beat yer ass in- for bein' late. You ain't just some rookie, are ya?" I stared in confusion as he wiped his hands on his pants, and held his hand out. "I like ya. My name's Stan Lee."

I took his hand and smiled warily. But, man, his accent was awesome! Stan looked like he was in his early forties', though the white hair, completed with the mustache, definitely made him look older.

Barbara chuckled from the sidelines, wheeling over to the two of us. She looked at her watch, and then rolled her eyes, smile vanishing. "Now that you two met, I trust that Stan will help you get situated? I might seem like I have a lot of time on my hands, but I've got things to do, and places to go."

With that, she wheeled away, going out of the swinging doors that we came from, muttering darkly about paperwork.

Stan turned to me, smiling. "This here room, is the cafeteria. Not the prisoners cafeteria, mind you, but the Staff's. It's pretty big," He thrust his hands to sides of him, as if to emphasize 'big'. "And we're a little short in staff… but it'll do."

He walked to a set of doors that were marked 'EXIT'.

"This is one out of two doors that lead outside, without the need of a security card, and whatnot. It's only used for emergencies, and the prisoners here have no idea about them. You'll keep that secret, right? Don't wanna go and babble this to the inmates' here- ya never know what they'll do…"

I nodded, surprised that this prison even had, dare I say it, normal, functioning, doors that led to the outside. Hell, even the front door, or the gates leading to the parking lot were more secured.

Stan looked at me, a dark glint in his eyes, as if he was remembering something horrible. "You can never trust people, am I right?"

I thought about all the corrupted police officers in Bludhaven. "Yeah- I've had experience with back stabbers."

He tilted his head to the side, looking slightly intrigued. "Really?"

I flopped my hand nonchalantly. "Yeah. I was part of the BPD."

Stan gave me a curt nod, before his face lit up. "Oh gawd! I almost fergot ta give ya this!" His accent was back, at full force. He took something from his pockets and threw it at me. "I don't know if it broke while you were defendin' yerself, after I attacked ya, but here ya go."

I caught the object, seeing that it was a walkie-talkie, and stared at all the confusing knobs and buttons. This was clearly way more advanced than the standard walkie-talkie's they gave us in BPD. Amy would, no doubt, have had a field day if she saw that the Bludhaven Prison had better functioning tools than she did.

"And Barbara said somethin' about her givin' ya a schedule or somethin'."

He proceeded to give me the tour, showing me the locations of the bathrooms, offices, authorized places that only we could go in… the last past that he had yet to lead me to, was where they held the prisoners.

"Y'know, this building used to be a hospital. Barbara bought this place, and with the help of her father, she made it into a prison. The whole city pitched in with helping her, which, I'm afraid to say, wasn't much. It wasn't 'till Gotham started helping, when things started pickin' up. Barbara got so much from Gotham, that she done and built way too many rooms. That's why this facility's so darn huge. Poor girl still hasn't found out what to do with the extra rooms." Stan explained, poking his head through door after door and waving at people inside the rooms.

I glanced at the spacious halls and rooms that seemed to litter the building. A person who never came here before, could definitely get lost.

"Oh yea, I assume ya know all about the Gotham situation? Well, the Joker also blew up Arkham and Blackgate, the prisons over there. Since Gotham helped build the Bludhaven Prison, they're sendin' the prisoners they managed't catch before they escaped. I hear that there's gonna be a lot of criminals comin' here."

He winked at a woman whom was walking out of an office. Her hair was black, sharply cut short, and she looked like she was in her mid-thirties. She was wearing a black dress, and held her head high with composure. Though she was wearing black, shiny high heels, she barely made a noise. She reminded me of a ninja.

"Yo, Cassandra!" Stan yelled, waving her over. She didn't smile, but her lips pursed in a straight line, one corner quirking upward. I had a feeling she didn't smile much.

"Meet Cassandra Cain, the spokesperson for Gotham. She was the one who decided to get Gotham to donate here." Stan beamed at her, like she was a goddess or something.

"Thanks, Mr. Lee. I wouldn't take all the credit, though. You can thank most of Gotham for helping, I just advertised the problem."

She looked at me critically. "Who're you?"

"Richard Grayson. You can call me Dick, though." I bowed in mock politeness. Cassandra rolled her eyes.

"You're a keeper." She threw a glance at Stan. "Is he replacing-?"

"Yes. Yes he is." He gave Cassandra a look that said 'shut up right now'.

I watched them in confusion. What were they talking about? Who was I replacing?

Cassandra gave me one last long look, before stating "It was good meeting you, Mr. Grayson." She turned and left on silent feet.

"What was that all about, Stan?" I asked, once she was out of my peripheral vision. "What were you two talking about?"

He sighed, and started walking again. "Just forget it. I'll explain later, 'k? Right now I need ta show ya where we hold the criminals."

The rest of the tour was in silence as I tried to not get overly curious about everything I saw. I noticed that we were walking further into the back of the building, going south. Boy, we had been walking for several minutes, and it seemed that we were still nowhere near out destination. This building was humongous! Finally Stan started talking again.

"Y'know Cassandra? Her father is somewhere in this prison. I hear he was some type of dangerous assassin or somethin'. Her assistant, Stephanie Brown, is Barbara's, like, best friend. Those two are very close. Well, she's also a friend of Cassandra's, actually, only one of a handful of people that can actually make her laugh. Now that I think about it, Barbara's pretty much friends with everybody… Aha! We're here!"

'Here' was a bunch of other security guards gathered in front of one steel door. The security guards all looked grim like they hadn't seen the sun in days, and scars littered on all their non-covered skin. Stan waved at one guard, his I.D. card that was pinned on top of his chest saying, "Bob", and that guard slid his card into a well-hidden card slider near the door.

The door clicked, and with an ominous squeak, it swung open slowly on it's hinges.

"Well, c'mon then!" With an encouraging smile, he pushed me in with him. "These are the low security cells, where all the sane, normal people are put. Y'know, like the child abusers, rapists, druggies, etcetera." I winced. 'Sane'? 'Normal'? I think Stan was underestimating the minds of those types of people. I wondered what the insane people were like.

"These criminals get ta leave their cells for workout time, breakfast, morning call, lunch, and dinner." He waved happily at the people in their barred cells, whom flipped him the birdie in retaliation.

I rolled my eyes. Seriously, these people would never learn, would they?

After passing many cells, most of them empty, we neared another door, only it looked like it was made out of titanium. There were more security guards crowded around this door, and they looked even more scarred, and depressed.

After we walked through this door, Stan's smile vanished, and he unclipped his light saber from his belt.

"These are the maximum security cells, where the cells aren't barred. They're basically rooms made outta metal. The only ways to see the criminals, are through the little rectangle in the door, which is barred." He pointed at one of the doors, and I saw the bars that were about eye level with me.

I shuddered as I caught eyes looking at me from the little rectangles. This was creepy as Hell.

"Of course, these cells are for the insane people, like the serial killers, murderers, mafia, gang members, and whatnot. They don't get ta leave their cells, so we gotta feed 'em by takin' their food into their cells."

We were nearing the end of the room when suddenly someone screamed.

"YOU PUT ME HERE!" Stan turned on his light saber, and walked towards the scream. It was one of the last cells, right near the other titanium door with even more security guards gathered around it.

Through the barred window on the door, a pair of red eyes looked at me. Clawed fingers reached towards me, and the horrible screech fell on my ears again. "YOU DID THIS TO ME!"

Oh. It was that crazy serial killer, which was also a cannibal- the one person that managed to evade the grasp of the BPD- until I was assigned the case.

We called him "The Vulture" because he mutilated the bodies he killed by, ugh; this still sent shivers down my spine, eating out the innards, organs, and eyeballs.

I still remember running into that dark, damp basement, gun in hand.

I remember that rancid smell.

At that time, I was only a rookie police officer. I was naïve. I had thought that there wasn't enough darkness in the world to make a man eat another human. I had faith in "The Vulture", even when the anthropologists had discovered the bite marks on the bones of his victims.

I remember seeing the one hand, lying in the spot of light from my flashlight on my gun. The hand- that was not attached to any body, was spewing a pool of red liquid.

I remember the 'squelching' sounds of my boots stepping on rotten flesh, maggots swarming and flies buzzing around the ground.

I remember finally reaching the mutilated body of the missing persons I had been tracking- Samantha Whitmore- her eyes gouged out, and mouth open into a silent scream that no one would ever hear. Her hands were cut off, and her guts were spilling out onto the ground like a red waterfall from a precisely cut opening in her abdomen.

I remember spotting The Vulture, A.K.A, John Parrigadan, hunched up in the corner, chewing intently on- something, probably human.

I remember his beady black eyes staring at me, as he seemed to realize there was no chance of him escaping his consequences, all the fight draining out of him.

I remember his hand shaking- stained in red, lifting a moving object up to the light of my gun. I had thought it was a bomb, but he just looked at me, and said softly, "You want some?" It was a heart- still beating and pumping blood desperately, even though it would do no good, since the heart's owner was already dead. I had almost vomited at the sight. My finger had stayed on the trigger, waiting to press down. This man was screwed up!

The vulture continued speaking, bringing the heart closer to his awaiting mouth. "It was hers, you know, the heart. I enjoyed ripping it out of her body." He shifted his stare at Samantha. His voice was so soft that I barely heard it.

After a long span of silence that seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes in reality, The Vulture said, "Well, if you don't want it, I'll take it." With that, he bit down on the organ, right as I shot his hand in deadly accuracy. He screeched, his hand squirting blood, along with the bitten heart.

I remember vomiting for several days due to the trauma.

"You know this guy?" Stan said, snapping me back to the present.

I nodded. "Yeah. I caught him."

Stan shrugged, putting his light saber away. "The guy seemed sane enough when he first came here… Until we served him some standard prison beef stew, and the guy- what was his name? Uh, John, I think, started screamin' his head off about blood, guts, eyeballs… pretty much all of the body parts. It kinda freaked out all of the other prisoners, especially when he almost killed his jail mate, so we moved 'im to this solitary cell. He's been hollerin' and screamin' since then, and he refuses to eat. We hafta force feed 'im with IV tubes and all that."

I frowned. How could one survive off of IV tubes for months?

Stan shrugged again, glancing nervously at John.

"I suggest we keep movin'. Wouldn't want people like 'im to get into yer head."

We both walked out of that insane part of the prison, leaving the room with John's screams and yells on our backs. It was a good thing that the door was sound proof, though I felt sorry for the security guards we left in there.

"This is the last section for the cells in this prison. It's for the Meta humans, y'know, for the people who are 'special'. So far, we don't have anyone in here, thank god fer that, since that would mean there would be Meta humans runnin' amok in Bludhaven, but I hear that there might be some comin' here from Gotham."

The room looked like it could contain a hurricane! I glanced nervously at the absence of the security guards that seemed to be every other section of the cell sections.

"Don't wanna worry ya, but security guards won't do jack if they were against a Meta human." Stan said, catching my gaze.

Great. That sure made me feel better.

Author's note: WOW! I cannot believe it- I managed to fit Stan freakin' Lee into this Batman fanfiction! Anyone readin' this, who knows who Stan Lee is, please, feel free to review! I love reading reviews, it motivates me. It's like my energy. The more you review, the faster I write! Anyways, in this AU, Dick Grayson is not Nightwing- though he does have a couple of shirts with the Nightwing insignia on them in the back of his closet…And I introduced Barbara Gordon, the sexy red head that Dick is absolutely infatuated with. Lol nah. It was fun to write the part where Dick is basically droolin' over her. Anyways, I'm sorry to all you really devoted fans out there that actually know what the Bludhaven Prison is called, 'cause I literally have no idea what it's name is. If any of you out there know it, please review or somethin' and tell me, 'cause it's really annoying to keep on simply calling it Bludhaven Prison. I was thinking maybe 'Lockhaven Prison' would be an appropriate name… I don't know… ALSO I REALIZED THAT I NEED DISCLAIMERS, SO HERE IT IS!

Disclaimer: If I actually owned this whole Batman thing, I would make waaaaay more movies including, or centered around Dick Grayson. In fact, Jason had his own movie "Under the Red Hood", Damian has "The Son of Batman", and Tim plays a big role in the Terry Miggigin's movie or whatever it's called (where Tim is the Joker), and Bruce Wayne is in every Batman movie. So yeah.

Uhhhh and now apparently, Stan's funky accent is now my typin' dialogue. GRAMMAR BE DAMNED!

Also, sorry fer all the grammar mistakes… I'm doing this unbeta'd. Sooo… anyone wanna be my beta? I really suck at grammar…

Remember, I love reviews; so comment, like, follow, alert, and… subscribe? Yea… I'm pretty new with this Author's note thing…

I'll try updating every week!