Da-dunk. Da-dunk. Da-dunk.
The rubber ball bounced off of the wall and back to his hand. Off and back. Off and back. Off and back. Edward had been bored of this an hour ago. He put the ball back down on his bunk and began to pace around the cell, hands clasped behind his back.
Was he late? Did he wake up with a cold and decide to call in a sick day, today of all days? Did he just forget? Edward would not put it past the man, it had happened with others before. The worse part was the waiting. The seemingly endless waiting. Edward tried to make up mind games for himself but that proved impossible because in order to come up with the mind game, he had to know the answer to the mind game and that defeated the entire purpose.
Where the fuck was that imbecile? If he had managed to somehow get lost at his own place of work, then Arkham really was hiring anyone these days. Edward knew that the man was stupid, but he really had surprised Edward with just how brain-dead he was. Edward sighed another weary sigh and leaned against the wall of his cell, resuming his tedious exercise with the rubber ball. This thing had not been worth what it had cost Edward to get it in here. He shuddered to think of that.
At the sound of a door opening at the end of the corridor, Edward froze, stuffing the rubber ball in his jumpsuit pocket. God, how he despised denim. At the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor, Edward moved closer to the door, cautiously optimistic. It was a guard, definitely. Their footsteps all sounded the damn same, Edward couldn't tell who the hell this was.
After a few seconds, Edward was met with a familiar, drooling face through the bars, sporting a guard uniform. The man's name was...Matt? Matthias? Murdoch? Murdoch would do, it's not like Edward actually cared. But, at least, the plan was still on. Things were finally looking up, in a manner of speaking.
"Open cell fourteen!" Murdoch barked to someone out of sight and the metal door slid open, scraping along the ground with a sickening whine.
"Come with me, Nygma. You're being transferred." He was a surprisingly good actor, for an Arkham guard. It really hadn't taken much convincing to get him to join in on this little plan of Edward's. Money really does make the world go round. Or maybe just Gotham. Regardless, Edward knew how to play his part as well.
"Thank God." came Edward's response. "Roman over there just refuses to use deodorant and the smell is just overpowering."
"Fuck off, Nygma." growled Sionis from the next room. Charming fellow.
Murdoch stepped to the side to allow Edward to exit the cell, and so he did. Murdoch told him to "Move." which Edward also did. It had been a while since he had been on a tour of the old place. Good old Arkham. His home away from home. It was strange. Every time that Edward broke out, he actually found himself missing the padded cells and electroshock therapy. Not enough to enjoy it when he eventually got thrown back in here by some prick in tights, but a little nonetheless.
He was led through row after row of identical cells. Some had people that he recognised (he made sure to wave at Harvey Dent, who promptly flipped him off in response.) and he also got the opportunity to see some new faces. No real cause for celebration, unlike himself, just the regular kind of crazy, the sort who only ever make one headline in the Gotham Gazette because they stabbed their little boy to death with a pair of scissors or something, and then spend the rest of their lives rotting in here. Edward liked to think that he had slightly greater ambitions than all that.
Eventually, Murdoch led Edward to the prearranged janitor's closest and bundled him inside when nobody was looking. The other man was now far too close for comfort for Edward to enjoy but desperate times and such.
"Do you have it?" Edward snapped, already getting impatient. There would be time for pleasantries when he was halfway home.
"Yeah, I got it." Murdoch replied, producing a brown paper package tied up with string that he had hidden in his trousers. "You're welcome."
Edward did not dignify the sarcastic comment with a response and unwrapped the paper bag to find another guard's uniform, hopefully in his size.
"Get out." Edward said, as he began to unzip his jumpsuit.
"What?"
"Get. Out."
Rolling his eyes, Murdoch replied and stepped out of the janitor's closest, closing the door behind him.
The guard uniform was extremely difficult to put in the dark but Edward somehow managed it. "Looking good." was Murdoch's response, as Edward came out of the closet.
"Is the distraction ready?" Edward asked, glancing around to make sure that there were no guards in the immediate vicinity.
"Any second now." Right on cue, a klaxon began to ring out across the entire asylum, complete with just about every inmate screaming along with it. These plebeians get excited about everything.
"INMATE OUT OF CONTAINMENT. INMATE OUT OF CONTAINMENT IN SECTOR 7-G. ALL AVAILABLE SECURITY PERSONNEL TO SECTOR 7-G." announced the automated voice over the PA system.
"This way." Murdoch said and Edward followed him down the corridor, turning his face away as numerous guards ran the other way. To be honest, the security was so lax at Arkham these days that Edward was half sure that the plan would have worked even without the distraction. Either the guards would just overlook the new guy that looked suspiciously like an escaped inmate or they just wouldn't care. Regardless, better safe than sorry.
"Who did you end up using?" Edward asked, if only to satiate his curiosity.
"Cobblepot." Murdorch answered. "Fat bastard is stuck in the vents right now. I told him that I'd be waiting on the other side. Thought it would take more convincing but he really doesn't like living here."
Edward allowed himself a smirk at the thought of Oswald flapping helplessly around on his stomach. They would have to unscrew the vents to get him out and that would take weeks, by which time The Penguin would probably be skinny enough to crawl out anyway. Edward had actually met Oswald as a young man once, long time ago. He had actually been relatively good-looking then, not the perfectly spherical, pudding-faced man that he was now. That's what money does to you.
As predicted, there was absolutely nobody guarding the back entrance and an unmarked, black van was parked there, just waiting to be stolen. It was almost too perfect. Edward was fully prepared for Batman to drop down from the sky, at which point he would just walk right back inside and save himself the trouble of a broken nose.
But, thankfully, it appeared that fate was being kind today. Edward got behind the wheel of the van, while Murdoch got in the passenger seat. Edward paused for just a second, allowing himself to savour the moment.
"What are you waiting for? Drive!"
"Just a second." Edward replied, a big grin spreading across his face, one that would put even that clown-faced loon to shame. "Where is there smoke after there is a fire?"
"What?" Murdoch replied, face as blank as ever. "Uhhh….I don't know. A cigarette?"
"Not quite." Edward told him, before pulling the pistol out of the guard uniform's jacket pocket and shooting Murdoch right between the eyes. Now, he looked even more dim-witted, with his eyes glazed over and mouth hanging open. It was actually pretty funny. "Care to guess again?"
Edward opened the passenger door and kicked Murdoch out onto the ground. A calling card of sorts, a gift for when the GCPD got here. "A cigarette." Edward scoffed, as he closed the passenger door.
The engine of the van roared into life, taking off down the gravel path and out of the gate before anyone could stop it. It paused at the main gate to ensure that it was not being followed before beginning its course again, making a beeline for the bright lights of Gotham City.