April 1, 2:00 am:

Two hours ago, at the stroke of Midnight according to the new Clock Tower in Central Gotham, an explosion in the warehouse district lit up the night with a ball of flame. The warehouse that went up was a long vacated storehouse for Gags, Games, and Jokes, a shop that went under years ago. The Fire department was there within five minutes and had it put out quickly; their report would later state the blaze burned hot and fast, and virtually burnt itself out with very little need or effort on their part.

The place had been a popular spot for vagrants to squat in, especially in the winter months, but none were known to be there at the time. In fact, a few would later report that a bunch of security guards had come by about an hour before and cleared everyone out. None of them could remember any faces or names of the guards.

Once the blaze was out, the police sifted through the remains for over an hour and found nothing.

"There's nothing here but ashes and charcoal Sir," Price had commented to Sergeant Toussaint. Per order of Commissioner James Gordon, Chief Patrick O'Hare put Toussaint on point for this one. Gordon trusted her, which is more than he could say for Dustman, and Bullock was on the Tony Falcone case. "What do we tell the Chief?"

"The truth," Toussaint had said simply. "According to the Fire Marshal, this looks like it was deliberate, and whoever set the place to blow wanted it obliterated completely."

Price had speculated maybe it was a drug lab, and Toussaint had indicated that was possible. Internally, she wished the Bat were around.

During that time, and for half an hour longer, Alfred Pennyworth and Richard Grayson had their hands full with a Mister Bruce Wayne; who, despite still clearly suffering from head spins anytime he moved any faster than a slow walk, insisted he was needed out there to investigate. Gotham needed the Batman. Finally, Dick said he would go out. Initially, Bruce started to say he was welcome to join, but then, after nearly fainting, had to grudgingly admit he would be more harm than help in the field.

"At least let me quarterback from the Cave," Bruce had insisted.

"Fine," Dick had agreed.

Alfred remained silent. He didn't like the idea, but knew better than to object. The both of them were incredibly hard headed about this sort of thing, and really it was a blessing they had come to any sort of agreement at all.

Now, Nightwing was at the scene; geared up with an air filter, comm unit, and a live-feed mini camera so he and Bruce could communicate and Bruce could see what he saw on a monitor in the Cave. Given the situation the police found themselves in as a result of Penguin's Class Action suit, he had to wait until the police cleared out. As they were finishing up with securing the crime scene, Nightwing noted the Sergeant, a not unattractive woman, paused and gazed in the direction of the place he had taken cover. For an instant, he could swear she spotted him; but only nodded ever so slightly and turned away without a word, as if merely assessing the scene to ensure everything was done right.

"Don't worry about her," Bruce said in the comm. "She's one of Gordon's."

"If you say so," Nightwing replied. He was genuinely amazed at the amount of ash he found himself wading through; it was like sifting through the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, or like being ankle deep in snow. "I tell you, though," he continued, "I think the cops are right on this. There's nothing here."

"Keep looking." Bruce insisted. As little as he liked to admit it, Dick and Alfred were right; he would be of no use in the field. Even sitting here in the Cave playing quarterback was a chore. He watched as Dick scanned the scene. "Wait," he said.

Dick stopped. "What?" he asked. "What are we looking at?"

"Go back to that pillar for a second." Bruce instructed, "The one that's still standing."

"You mean the foundation?" Dick asked.

"Check it out."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Dick." Bruce demanded; catching the impatience in his tone before it got out of hand. He had to remind himself that Dick was an adult now, and quite competent at this sort of thing. "Please." He added.

"Alright," Dick said with just a hint of resignation. He approached the foundation pillar.

They both saw the flaw in it and asked the other if they saw it simultaneously.

"Can it be moved?" Bruce asked.

"Let me see," Nightwing said back. It slid out easily; a small box, about the size and dimensions of a brick. "Weird," Nightwing said, holding it.

"Why?"

"The pillar is still warm, but the box is actually quite cool." He replied. "I found a safety catch to open it."

"Hold on, Dick," Bruce said. "It may be rigged with something, or be used to trigger something else." He knew that was unlikely, but he didn't want to take any chances. There he was again, trying to protect Robin; forgetting that Dick wasn't Robin anymore for just a second. Still, this was the best course to take. "Bring it back to the Cave for examination."

"Right," Nightwing agreed. It took all he had to keep from responding with a sarcastic remark; that was more Jason's thing. He could get why Jason was like that, but he also understood where Bruce was coming from. When he got all protective like this, it was because he'd already lost so many people he cared about. Rather than argue about it, he packed up the box and headed back to the Cave.

At home, Dr. Jonathan Crane reviewed his notes regarding his experimental toxin. He had been administering it in the form of an ultra-fine mist into the cells of the patients, so that it would be absorbed through the pores of their skin. It was really only a subtle dose; just enough to make them fearful enough to comply with the rules of the Asylum, and be terrified of the notion of ever leaving. For the most part, it seemed to be working. There were a few who were profoundly affected; to the point they refused to leave their cells, and one or two who wanted out more than ever. Those two were easy enough to settle down; they were simply advised that Arkham was the safest place for them to be.

Then there were the three feature inmates: Killer Croc, Edward Nygma, and of course, that dammed Jack Napier.

The results on Croc proved difficult to determine. Because of his unpredictability and capacity for violence, he had to be kept restrained at all times. That made things difficult enough; but very shortly after his re-capture he had become particularly docile. Was this from the toxin, or was he waiting for something? Crane could not be sure. He had to take into account that Croc's hide might be providing a form of protection. Doctor Crane made a note to attempt to administer the toxin either orally or have him breathe it in through an aerosol.

Edward Nygma, more popularly known as the Riddler, was living up to being the enigma his namesake resembled phonetically. In many ways, the toxin would appear to have taken effect, but only in the most subtle of manners. Part of the hope was that the fear he experienced would prompt him to speak on matters clearly, but the exact opposite seemed to be taking place. In fact he rarely spoke at all; and if he did, his word games were becoming consistently more obscure. It could be a defense mechanism, or it could be his mind is so addled the toxin is adding to his obsessive behavior patterns. There was also, of course, the possibility that there was no effect, and that the Riddler was up to something.

Jack Napier, the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime, was most alarmingly curious of all. Not only did the toxin appear to have no effect at all, he was apparently aware of its presence. He had even gone so far as to blackmail Crane with this knowledge. The easy way around the issue would be to deny everything, and of course point out that even if such a toxin existed, who would a lunatic criminal over a renowned psychiatrist? To this argument the Joker simply giggled that menacing laugh of his and countered by saying it wouldn't matter if they (pointing to indicate the outside world) believed him or not. What would matter is if they (making a sweeping gesture to indicate the other inmates) hear it or not. Gleefully he challenged Crane to imagine the pandemonium, the anarchy, the utter chaos the very thought that they were being used as guinea pigs would cause. With that thought, Joker literally shook with barely suppressed laughter. Although Dr. Crane had to admit to himself that that kind of panic would be fascinating to watch, he was not ready for that stage of his experiment yet. Therefore, he was forced to allow that idiot Quinzel to stay on board; at least for now.

The instant the messenger tone beeped on her phone, Harley Quinzel knew that the box she planted at the warehouse was intact and that it was found. That meant that Eddie's design worked perfect. Also, it was a safe bet that the explosion got Batman's attention, and the box was now with him; just like Mr J predicted. Harley leaped and squealed in excitement, and then quickly stifled her squeals; remembering that it wasn't even 3:00 in the morning yet and most people are still in their beds visiting Dreamland.

The place went up and out super fast, and nobody even got so much as a blister from the blaze; just like Mr J promised. She had done everything she was supposed to do just like Mr J and Eddie said to, and everything was turning out perfect. Now that the box was found, it was just a matter of time before it got opened, and that meant it was time to get her butt to Arkham, pronto. The odd hour wouldn't matter; Dr Crane was probably fast asleep at home, and nobody asked any questions about when she was there or why, anyhow.

After a thorough analysis of the box, Bruce was satisfied that it was safe to open and gave Dick a curt nod to go ahead. Dick released the safety catch and the top popped open to reveal an envelope inside; it was fashioned out of green construction paper and had a large purple question mark stenciled upon it. Having recently been in Hub City working with him, Nightwing could not help but to mentally eliminate the Question as the likely suspect behind all this. That meant there was really only one other person to consider.

"Riddler?" he suggested, showing the envelope to Bruce.

"Maybe," Bruce agreed. "Open it."

Nightwing opened the envelope to find a single sheet of paper inside; on it was an elaborate crossword puzzle with a series of complex mathematical equations as clues.

"Well," he said, setting the puzzle down in front of Bruce. "This fits his M.O., anyway."

"Yes, it does."

"I thought he was in Arkham."

"He is," Bruce confirmed, speaking as he usually does when he dons the Bat uniform. "That doesn't mean he couldn't arrange something from inside."

"So what now," Nightwing asked. "Do we play his game, or do we go to Arkham to sweat him?"

After examining the puzzle a moment, Bruce said. "We don't have a choice," he turned back to the computer. "We do both."