A/N: ZOMG! Thank you guys so much for reviewing! And I'm glad you guys love my choice of villain.
Anony: Sorry I didn't get a chance to reply to your earlier review. Your use of 'Bat-Posse' literally made me laugh out loud. I don't know why but I still grin like an idiot when I think about it. I actually think Christian Bale's version of the Bat wouldn't be able to tolerate an entourage but I guess we'll have to wait until the next movie to see if Robin makes an appearance. Yes, Monroe's employment under the Black Mask will definitely be 'exciting'. She's certainly not going to take things lying down, that's for sure!
I'm sorry this took a while. Life caught up with me. To make up for the wait, this chapter's a little longer than usual. Enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: Everything you recognize belongs to DC Comics and Christopher Nolan. Everything else is mine.
Sic Transit Gloria Mundi
"Thus passes the glory of the world"
...
By Scribbles-Dementia
...
3
Monroe curled her fingers around the paper cup, trying to absorb as much of its measly warmth as possible. Her hair was still wet from the cold shower she had taken. Not that a warm shower had been an option. The heating didn't work.
She had rubbed her skin raw and it now glowed an angry red. Every shower she'd taken in the last few days had ended in her resembling a tomato. Monroe supposed it was a case of guilt à la Lady Macbeth; she could still feel the spray of the man's blood on her – out damn spot. She didn't regret doing what she did, but she couldn't really say she was proud of it either.
It had been four days since she was brought to the rundown building near the river, including the two she spent tied to a chair, and since then she had fallen into an odd sort of routine. A guard would wake her every morning with an assortment of pills that Doctor Thorne had prescribed, watching as she swallowed each of them. Or pretended to – once he was gone, Monroe would stick a finger down her throat and cough all the painkillers back up, hiding them inside her thin mattress through a hole she had torn in one of the seams. It wasn't as if she were a masochist, though Aiden would have begged to differ. She simply hated the heavy headed feeling that accompanied the pills and knew that, considering her situation, she would rather suffer through the pain and have her wits about her. Meals were a meagre affair; she was brought to the building's shabby cafeteria three times a day and left to find her own food, ignoring the inquisitive looks directed towards her by the Black Mask's other goons. Her night time ritual involved her guard standing outside the bathroom whilst she got ready for bed, another round of pills and even more upchucking.
Strangely, aside from the one guard that had been assigned to shadow her wherever she went, the Black Mask had given Monroe a surprising amount of freedom, leaving her to her own devices. Which, unfortunately for her babysitter, meant he got dragged to every nook and cranny in the building that did not require too much extraneous effort to get to. With the exception of the ventilation shafts and several difficult to access electrical ducts, Monroe now had the entire building mapped in her mind.
It wasn't like she had anything better to do. She may have been free to wander the grounds of her prison but she wasn't allowed outside its doors. And there were no other buildings close enough for her to access through the roof.
Coarse laughter drew her attention. Several tables away, some of the Black Mask's men were recounting lewd tales of their sexual conquests, each more outrageous than the last. Monroe rolled her eyes; it didn't matter what city or walk of life they were from, men were all the same. She had noticed though that in the two days since she had been inducted into the Black Mask's exclusive little club, the number of goons in the building had almost tripled. New recruits appeared everyday, most of them young and impressionable. There were the hardened criminals and ex-convicts but there were a disturbing amount of young men too, boys barely out of their teens. They were the ones that were attracted by the thrill of a life of crime, not understanding that in the Boss' eyes, they were every bit as expandable as a piece of used tissue. They were also the ones that were the most curious about her presence in the Black Mask's operations. Whispers of "The Ghost" followed her everywhere she went though none had dared openly approach her yet. It seemed that the story of her stabbing Hill had spread like wildfire through the ranks and the newer henchmen were just a little bit scared of her.
"Boss said you might need these," said a gruff voice.
The man dumped two more rolls of blueprints on the table in front of her with an affronted sniff. He obviously thought the role of messenger pigeon below him. Monroe noted the dirty bandage wrapped around his right hand and shot him a disgustingly pleasant smile. He was the one she had bitten four days ago. Growling, he muttered undecipherable threats beneath his breath as he went to get himself a beer from the fridge. Monroe spread out the new set of blueprints before her, using her paper cup of half-drunk tea to hold down one of the corners. The words "Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane" was printed in block in the bottom right corner, followed by the signature of the original architect.
"Why can't we just blow the damn thing up?"
Monroe looked up to see her guard reading the blueprints upside-down. She was not quite sure what to make of the man. He had a few prison tattoos, which told her he had done time but, unlike some of the other cons, he treated her civilly, protecting her from the other men as much as making sure she didn't escape. She had to admit he was intimidating, what with the rather deep scar that marred his left cheek and his imposing, muscled figure. Actually, now that she though about it, a lot of the men under the Black Mask's employ, with the exception of the younger wannabes, had some sort of scar or disfiguring feature on their face. Since being assigned to her, the man had only spoken when spoken to and even then his answers were never very informative. In fact, the only things she had learnt from him were that they were in an old factory that had belonged to the Boss' family and that his name was Teddy Selwyn. It was something that he seemed to regret telling her as, much to his chagrin, she kept insisting on calling him by his first name, which really was the furthest thing from threatening.
"Because, Teddy," said Monroe, ignoring his glare, "your boss wants it done quietly. A quick in and out with no one the wiser."
"I wouldn't mind a quick in and out," grumbled Teddy, looking over at the other tables with something akin to wistfulness.
Monroe blinked. This was sounding…like a normal conversation. Her lips twitched into a semblance of a smile. Honestly, boys will be boys.
"You poor deprived thing," she teased. "You know you don't have to sit there and watch me. I'm well within your range of vision from any other table in here. The cafeteria's not exactly very big."
"Nuh uh, that ain't gonna work, midget. Do you really think I'd give The Ghost enough space to pull a disappearing act?"
Monroe bit back a laugh, arching an eyebrow at the man seated opposite her. She never did tell the Black Mask her name so everyone now referred to her by the nickname Gotham's papers had given her.
"You do know that I'm not actually a ghost, right Teddy? I can't just vanish into thin air. And I'm not that short."
"Short enough," was all Teddy said, tapping the blueprints with his finger, indicating she should get back to work.
Shaking her head, Monroe returned her attention to Arkham's floor plans. The place was almost as bad as the Morganbilt, with hallways that led nowhere and rooms that appeared to have no entrances. The current asylum was a hodgepodge of several different buildings constructed on top of each other. It would seem that Arkham had been rebuilt several times and each time wings and levels were added with no regard for the previous building's design. The place was a labyrinth that was every bit as twisted as its inhabitants.
Under normal circumstances, Monroe would have been thrilled taking on Arkham. Except this time she wasn't so much breaking in as breaking someone else out. The file the Black Mask had given her listed her target's name as one Jonathan Crane, a psychopharmacologist who, during his stint as a doctor in Arkham, had experimented on his patients, using them as human guinea pigs to refine his fear toxin. Doctor Crane, better known as The Scarecrow, had then released his hallucinogenic toxin in the Narrows, causing mass havoc. There were supposedly some inmates from Arkham who had escaped during the confusion that were still unaccounted for. Monroe suspected that most of them were probably in the very room she was in. She had no idea what the Black Mask wanted with Crane but she was sure she wasn't going to like it either way.
From what Monroe could gather from the blueprints and information that had been given to her, getting into Arkham would be simple enough. It was getting out that was the problem. She needed an authorised security card to open the cells without setting off an alarm, and whilst that would not have normally worried her, she seriously doubted she'd be able to get past the guards on duty with Crane in tow. And it wasn't like she could drag him through the vents either.
Monroe sighed. What she wouldn't give for some decent music. That always did help to clear her mind. But the Black Mask had confiscated all her tools, including her mp3 player. The only things he'd allowed to be returned to her were her clothes. He'd even kept her copy of 'A Clockwork Orange'.
Leaning back in her chair, Monroe stretched her arms above her head, hearing a satisfying pop as she worked out the kinks in her shoulders from having been hunched over the table for the past hour. It did pull at the muscles around her ribs but, in a strange way, the pain helped her relax. Letting her mind wander, her thoughts drifted to Aiden and his family. Aside from one other person, they really were the only people she cared about. The only ones left alive anyway. She needed to contact him as soon as possible to fill him in on her current predicament. Only then would she start thinking about escape. For now, she would simply have to play nice.
"Those things will kill you one day."
Teddy looked up from his newspaper, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Monroe was watching him from her perch on top of the short cement ledge that ran along the edge of the building. It was meant as a safety precaution but sitting on it as she was, there was really nothing keeping her from a four-storey drop to the street below. Monroe had dragged him out onto the roof of the factory not too long ago, claiming she needed some fresh air after having been cooped up in the cafeteria for so long. Twenty feet above their heads, a now defunct neon sign read: Janus Cosmetics.
"Yeah well, I don't plan on living that long anyway," said Teddy dismissively, returning to his paper.
"Considering the company you keep…" Monroe trailed off with a careless shrug. Teddy wasn't paying attention.
The sun was setting. It was a surprisingly beautiful sight in a city like Gotham. For a moment Monroe could pretend she was still by the pool at the Plaza. Moving around so that her legs dangled out into nothingness, she watched as the sky morphed from a vivid red to a brilliant orange to a dazzling pink and finally to the muted blue of dusk.
"Um, not that I care or anything," came Teddy's voice from behind her, "but could you try not to turn yourself into a human pancake before tonight. The Boss would kill me."
"Oh right," snorted Monroe. "Can't ruin your boss' big plans now can I?"
"Why do you keep saying that? You work for him too you know."
Monroe decided not to answer that, choosing instead to get to her feet, noting in amusement how Teddy's eyes followed her every move nervously. She briefly toyed with the idea of falling into a cat grab off the side of the building, just to see his reaction, but knew that she was in no condition to be able to sustain the position, much less perform a muscle up after. Jumping back down onto the roof, she headed back inside, not bothering to check if Teddy was following. She knew he would.
Bader was waiting for her outside the converted office that had become her room, a black bag in his hands. Monroe had a fairly good idea what it contained and made to grab at it. But Bader seemed to have anticipated that, swiftly moving to hold the bag above his head and out of her reach.
"Get changed," he ordered.
Monroe grinded her teeth but entered her room to do as she was told, slamming the door on both Bader and Teddy. Pulling her backpack out from under the cot she slept in, she proceeded to change into the clothes she usually wore when on a job. It felt good slipping into the familiar black jeans and fitted jacket. It was as if her body knew it was getting ready for a big job and the hormones her brain was pumping into her system were doing wonders for her mood. She even had the smallest of smiles on her face when she emerged from her room.
Taking in her appearance, Bader nodded in approval and unzipped the bag. Removing a familiar screwdriver from within its depths, he held it out to her and waited expectantly. Monroe shot him an acerbic look, which did nothing to sway him. It was obvious he did not trust her one bit and wanted to know exactly where she kept every single one of her tools. Snatching the screwdriver out of his hand, she slipped it, sharp end first, up her left sleeve. One by one, Bader returned all her equipment; one by one they disappeared somewhere about her person – up a sleeve, into a pocket, down the top of her socks. Teddy simply watched silently, an expression of disbelief on his face as he realised just how much stuff was hidden on her.
"Do you really need all that?" he finally asked as she shoved a pair of pliers into one of her jacket pockets.
Ignoring him, Monroe held her hand out for the last item in the bag – her butterfly knife. Bader seemed reluctant to hand it over but Monroe pulled the slim weapon firmly out of his grip, defiantly slipping it down her top. She did not have much of a chest to boast of but with how tight the camisole and shirt she was wearing were, in combination with the fit of her jacket, she knew that the blade wasn't about to slide out from its place tucked in the centre of her bra.
"The Boss' waiting downstairs."
And with that Bader walked away, fully expecting Monroe to follow behind him. It occurred to her that now would be a good time to make her getaway, but she wasn't about to risk the Black Mask carrying out his threat. A heavy hand on her shoulder alerted her to the fact that Teddy was still standing beside her.
"Time to get moving, midget."
"I'm moving, I'm moving…Teddy bear," Monroe smirked as Teddy winced.
"Downstairs" happened to be the adjoining storage unit where product was kept prior to shipping back when the factory was still in business. Now, it was more of a makeshift garage. The black van that had been used in her kidnapping was parked there, as well as several motorbikes and a sleek looking Maserati GranTurismo, in the Black Mask's signature colour. There were a small group of men gathered around the only vehicle in the place that didn't have a black paintjob.
"A catering truck?"
"Even the crazies need to eat," came a familiar voice from behind her.
Monroe didn't bother turning around but had to wonder how it was that criminal masterminds always seemed to have a knack for sneaking up on people, especially their own henchmen. She had to admit it made for a very impressive entrance.
The men cleared a path for him as the Black Mask walked towards the front of the group where Bader was talking to the man Monroe had bitten. Upon seeing their boss, the man hurried climbed into the driver's seat of the truck whilst Bader confirmed that they were all ready to leave. Monroe frowned, counting the number of goons around her.
"I thought you said you wanted this done quietly with no surveillance footage or alarms. What's the muscle squad for?"
"They're my…insurance policy."
Monroe crossed her arms across her chest in annoyance.
"We're going to get caught."
"Don't worry. They'll be waiting outside. It'll just be you and Mr. Bader inside."
"I hate tagalongs," she growled but knew that there really was no use arguing her case. It wasn't like the Black Mask was going to listen.
Turning her back on him, Monroe pushed past the men and hauled herself into the back of the truck. Bader must have gone up front with the driver as only three of the men climbed in after her. She didn't really recognise any of them but they were all armed to the teeth. It brought an amused smile to her face as she realised just how scared they still were of running into the Batman after dark. There really was no other reason she could see to explain the overkill of firepower needed for a job that was supposed to remain low key.
Monroe plopped herself on top of one of the stainless steel counters that lined the truck as the vehicle rumbled to life, noting that the men were keeping their distance from her, staying close to the truck's back doors instead. Monroe snorted. Did they really think she was going to try jumping out of a moving vehicle? She wasn't that crazy.
The notorious asylum was situated in the middle of the Narrows. Trains into that part of the city had just started running again after services had ceased following the mass breakout six months ago. The last time Monroe had been in that part of the city, she had train surfed into the slums, not wanting to be seen. It seemed so long ago now.
From what she could gather from the snatches of conversation she had overheard during meals, a lot had changed in Gotham since the day she was abducted and forcibly enlisted into the ranks of the Black Mask's henchmen. The Chechen and Sal Maroni were dead. The Joker had tried to blow up two ferries, one filled with civilians and the other with felons that had been convicted by Harvey Dent. But his plan had failed and he had eventually been apprehended by the Batman; leaving a gap in the power hierarchy of Gotham's criminal underground that had been quickly filled by the Black Mask. It was almost hard to believe but Monroe had seen for herself how quickly the Black Mask's operations were expanding and she was sure that had the Joker still been in control of Gotham, the small time cons would be flocking to him instead, out of fear if nothing else.
The truck took a sharp turn just then, sending Monroe flying off her seat and into the refrigerator opposite her. Her arms stopped her from slamming face first into the stainless steel but she could still feel the shock of the impact reverberating through her body. A smothering snicker had her whipping around to glare at the men stationed by the door. They were making such a conscious effort not to look at her that it was painfully obvious that they had seen what had happened. Scowling, Monroe made to push herself off the refrigerator only to catch a glimpse of her reflection on the polished metal.
She looked like she had been run over by a Mack truck. The bruises on her face had turned an ugly purple with undertones of yellow, spreading from above her left eye down to her chin. Her bottom lip was still swollen from where it had split open some time during her beating and the cut the Black Mask had given her on her chin had scabbed over. The rest of her body looked no better. Though the mirrors in the factory's bathrooms were spotted with age from what she could see of herself during her showers she knew her ribs were black and blue from the blows she'd sustained. Her shoulders were still sore from struggling against her bonds but the bruises there were less pronounced. All in all, it was surprising that she had come out of her ordeal without losing a single tooth, though several of them were a bit wobbly.
Monroe locked eyes with her reflection, a slow grin spreading across her face. She looked positively frightful. With the rumours she had heard spreading about her, it was no wonder that the Black Mask's goons were keeping their distance. Even now she could see her three companions shooting her nervous looks. Monroe briefly considered approaching them, just to see what their reactions would be like, but decided that trying to scare a couple of armed men would probably not be her smartest idea.
Ten minutes later, the truck turned down a side street and pulled up behind the infamous Arkham Asylum. The back doors opened to reveal an impassive looking Bader.
"You're up, Ghost."
The men parted for her like the Red Sea, or avoided her like she had the plague, depending on how one looked at it. Monroe didn't really care either way. Let them be scared; at least that way none of them would bother her. She jumped down from the back of the truck and looked up at the building before her.
Tall and imposing with several wings that led off from the main building, Arkham managed to look both sprawling and cramped at the same time. A brick and wrought iron boundary wall surrounded the asylum and Monroe could make out a side gate secured with a heavy looking chain and lock. Calmly, she and Bader walked towards the gate as if they had every right to do so. Though she kept her head down, Monroe did not pull up her hood – that would have looked suspicious and she hadn't taken down the surveillance cameras yet. She had the lock picked in under five seconds and they casually strolled towards a door at the back of the building.
"Here."
Monroe looked down at the earpiece in Bader's outstretched hand. It was one of those tiny devices that fit inside the ear canal.
"Roof," ordered Bader as Monroe inserted the earpiece. With a wordless nod, she broke away from him as he continued towards the door, heading for a sturdy looking pipe that ran all the way up the wall of the asylum. She knew there was no fire escape access on this side of the building. In fact, there was only one fire escape for the entire asylum; the whole place was one huge death trap really. This was the part she was dreading. She would have to free solo up the pipe and with her shoulders still aching, it was going to be a painful climb. But without a security card, cracking the key code to the door would set off an alarm.
Briefly considering removing her gloves for the climb, Monroe quickly dismissed the thought and reached into the chalk bag that hung at her waist. Whilst climbing bare handed would have given her a better grip on the pipe, she wasn't about to risk leaving behind prints. True, she had never climbed this height in gloves before, but how hard could it be? Wedging her hands between the almost nonexistent gap between the metal pipe and the brick wall behind it, Monroe began her ascent.
Her first slip happened ten feet off the ground. Miscalculating the distance to a handhold, Monroe tried to reposition her right leg to give herself more of a reach. But her new foothold wasn't as secure as she had thought and when she tried transferring her weight onto her right leg, she felt her foot slip out beneath her. The only reason she did not fall off the wall completely was due to the fact that both her hands were still gripping the pipe's braces. Her next slip happened when she'd almost reached the roof. Gritting her teeth against the pain radiating from her shoulders, Monroe was trying to keep her mind off the fact that it was getting harder and harder to find a secure grip on the pipe, especially with how sweaty her palms were in her gloves. As she reached for her next handhold, the brace she was balancing on gave way and her feet fell out from underneath her. For a heart stopping moment, Monroe dangled in mid-air, the only thing keeping her from falling over eighty feet being the death grip she had on a higher brace. She could feel the metal beginning to cut into her fingers as below her the broken brace clanged loudly on its impact with the ground.
"What was that?" came Bader's voice in her ear.
"Nothing," grunted Monroe as her feet scrambled for some sort of grip on the brick wall.
"Well hurry up!"
Forcing herself to remain calm, Monroe strung together a few of her choicest curses under her breath, fully knowing that Bader could hear her but not caring. She knew that she would have to muscle her way out of her current situation, pulling herself up to the next brace using her arms. And she would have to do it soon before her hands slipped out of her gloves. Taking a deep breath, Monroe braced herself for the agony she was about to subject on her shoulders.
"You have another five minutes before the guard on duty turns the corner. And I think he'd find a girl hanging off a wall very suspicious."
"Shut. Up," Monroe ground out as she hauled herself high enough for her feet to gain purchase on another one of the pipe's braces. Breathing a little easier, she looked up. Just a little further, she told herself.
"Four minutes fifty seconds, Ghost."
Four minutes fifty seconds to reach the roof, sabotage the surveillance cameras, get her hands on an authorised security card and let Bader in? No problem! Wasn't she the one always complaining to Aiden about the need for more challenging jobs? Even as she scrambled over the ledge of the roof Monroe could feel her entire body shaking, though she wasn't sure if it was due to exhaustion or the fact that she was starting to find this entire endeavour slightly ridiculous. It occurred to her that maybe attempting a job like this after a mere two-day recovery period during which she wasn't even taking her medication might have been overly ambitious.
Her green eyes scanned the roof, quickly locating the access panel she was looking for. Some of the excitement that usually accompanied her lawbreaking returned to her as Monroe covered the distance to the access panel with surprising speed, picking the pitiful lock that secured the panel's cover in less than three seconds. It swung open to reveal a tangle of colourful wires and switches. Removing her mp3 player from one of her pockets, Monroe made sure to wipe it down before stripping down one of the many wires in the exposed panel that controlled the feed from the surveillance cameras and hooked her player up to it. She hadn't had time to do any reconnaissance on Arkham and so her looping trick was out of the question. Considering what they were about to do, Monroe knew there was no chance she'd be coming back to pick up her mp3 player. Scrolling through her library, a twisted smile spread across her face as she found just the video clip she needed. Gravy Train – perfect. Putting it on repeat, Monroe pressed play. Arkham's guards sure were in for a pleasant surprise. With that done, she proceeded to reroute the asylum's alarm system, arching a brow when she realised that it was programmed to dial out to both 911 and an unknown blocked number. She had a pretty good idea who the second number belonged to and took extra care to make sure there was no way that particular alarm would be tripped. She was about to let Bader in when an idea hit her; might as well make sure the wing they'd be in was clear of guards. Locating the wires that worked the security system in the building's furthest wing from the one that housed Crane, Monroe tore them free. No audible alarms went off but she knew the guards in asylum's security control room would be alerted. If only Aiden could see her now. She knew he'd be proud of her handiwork, if not her actual illicit activity. And all with just a little under a minute to spare. He had certainly taught her well.
"Open sesame," she whispered with a self-satisfied smirk as she found the wires that controlled the doors on the first floor. Crossing her fingers that none of the cells were situated on that level, she ripped them out of the panel. "You're clear."
Bader's curt affirmation sounded in her ear as well as a rather redundant order to go get Doctor Crane. Monroe didn't bother to look around for the roof access door. The stolen blueprints she'd studied earlier had told her that it was on the roof of the main building; yet another fire safety hazard. Returning to the edge of the roof, Monroe looked down, searching for the open window she had seen on the way up – one storey down and two windows over from the pipe. Taking the door would have been the easier, and safer route, but it also cut through the most populated area of Arkham. This way she was less likely to be seen. And she had to be quick about it before they sent someone up to check on the surveillance cameras' wiring.
Climbing down the pipe, though adrenaline pumping, was easy enough. Crossing the two-foot gap between the pipe and the nearest window was another matter. But controlling her breathing to calm herself down, Monroe managed it without too much trouble and she was soon at the open window. Monroe found herself looking into a neat office furnished with a tidy frosted glass and steel table, a matching bookcase and a very comfortable looking brown couch. She landed silently inside the room, curiously taking in her surroundings. She knew that she had little time to spare but this was the first time she'd been outside the factory and on her own in four days and she was going to make the most of it.
The silver-plated name plaque on the table read: Dr. Harleen F. Quinzel. Grinning, Monroe headed straight for the bookcase and started rummaging through its shelves and cupboards. She knew the likelihood of finding the doctor's security access card simply lying around her office were slim to none but there were definitely other little treasures in the room that Monroe could make good use of. She had to stop herself from filching an 1874 first edition 'Grundzüge der physiologischen Psychologie'. She had heard of the book before; knew it was the first textbook of experimental psychology, definitely worth a pretty penny on the black market. But one of the bookcase's drawers yielded a handheld taser, which she promptly pocketed. Knowing she had spent too much time in the office already, Monroe had been heading to the door when something on the doctor's table caught her eye – an electric radio clock. It was a little bulky but Monroe took it with her anyway. Where a cell phone signal was easy enough to trace, specific radio waves were a little harder. Yet she knew could still use it to contact Aiden, once she took it apart.
Monroe made sure to check that the hall was clear before exiting Doctor Quinzel's office. Running Arkham's floor plans through her head, she started for the stairwell at the end of the hallway.
"Ghost! Where the fuck are you?" came Bader's angry hiss through her earpiece.
Monroe rolled her eyes, jumping down the last five steps. As she pushed open the stairwell door that led to the maximum-security ward, she could see the Black Mask's right hand man waiting in front of one of the metal cell doors. Monroe frowned. From what she recalled of her research, that was definitely not Crane's wardroom.
"Where have you been?" Bader barked impatiently.
"You try scaling a seven storey building, disarming the security system and climbing back down ten feet to a window with a ledge barely three inches wide!" scowled Monroe.
That shut the man up though he still looked none-too-pleased at being kept waiting. Monroe jerked her head at the door on the opposite side and other end of the hall they were in.
"Crane's over there."
"I need you to unlock this one first."
Monroe narrowed her eyes.
"Why?"
"None of your business," Bader growled. "You have your orders and I have mine. Now open this door!"
Grabbing her by the collar of her jacket, he shoved her in front of the cell's keypad. Grumbling under her breath and calling Bader every unflattering name she could think of, Monroe pried open the keypad's faceplate and attached her autodialer to the circuit board. With the specially boosted processors Aiden had installed in it, the device systematically sorted through every possible combination of seven digit codes and had it cracked in just over a minute. She heard the bolts in the door slip free from their locked position. Bader pushed past her into the room but not before gruffly reminding her to retrieve Crane from his cell.
Monroe knew it was childish of her to flip him off, especially since he was already inside the cell and couldn't see her. But she did it anyway. Crossing over to the door of the good doctor's wardroom, she repeated the code cracking process and hesitated only a moment before stepping over the threshold into Crane's cell. The walls of the small room were tiled with rectangular tiles that had once been white but were currently in desperate need of a wash. Pushed into one corner was a metal cot with a thin grey mattress and on the other side of the room was an open toilet and tiny basin. Actually, with the exception of the basin and toilet, it sort of reminded Monroe of her room back at the Black Mask's headquarters. Well, Crane should have no problems settling into his new accommodations.
Speaking of the unbalanced doctor, Jonathan Crane was nothing like Monroe had imagined him to be. The file she had been given on him had included a very blurry passport sized photo that did the man no justice. He wasn't a very tall man, but he wasn't short either. Dressed in the red uniform that Monroe supposed all the inmates of Arkham wore, his arms were bound to his sides by a straightjacket. He was a rather lanky looking man and his dark hair obviously was in need of a wash. But his most arresting feature was his eyes, a captivating blue that had her rooted to her spot. His rather full lips were curved slightly in a puzzling smile as he watched her staring at him.
"Jonathan Crane?" Monroe asked unnecessarily.
"Yes?" came the man's composed reply, his electric eyes lighting up with interest. It was decidedly creepy and Monroe resisted the urge to shiver.
"Today's your lucky day, Doc."
She knew better than to release him from his straightjacket. With a firm grip on his arm, Monroe led him out of the room and relocked the door behind her. Crane just watched her with growing curiosity, which she tried to ignore. All Monroe wanted to do was get the hell out of Arkham. The longer they lingered the greater the chances were of them getting caught despite all her precautions. Dragging Crane along behind her, she hurried towards the cell Bader had disappeared into and stuck her head around the door.
"Come o – "
But her words died on her lips as she took in the scene before her. Bader was standing over another straightjacket-ed inmate. And he was beating the crap out of the other man. Only the inmate wasn't begging him to stop or moaning in pain. No, the man was laughing. Now that she thought about it, Monroe realised she had heard the muffled sounds of the one-sided fight even before she had reached the cell, but her brain hadn't connected the pieces together.
"What the hell! You had me crack that lock so you could settle a score?"
Bader looked up, ceasing his pounding of the mystery man long enough to wipe off the sweat on his chin with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of blood behind instead. Seeing that she had Crane with her, he nodded sharply in approval.
"Get him out of here."
Monroe was torn between doing just that and stopping Bader from doing further damage to the other inmate. Not only was it an unfair fight, but he had also mentioned earlier he was doing this on the Black Mask's orders, and Monroe would just love the opportunity to screw up that bastard's plans, regardless of what they were. True, mystery man probably wasn't innocent here either, but he hadn't abducted her, tied her to a chair for two days and beaten her black and blue. In her books, mystery man was just a victim here. Pulling Crane into the cell, she seated him next to the door, leaning down to hiss at him.
"Don't you dare move." Turning to Bader, who had gone back to raining blows down on the inmate, who strangely sounded like he was still laughing, she grabbed at his shoulder, ducking to avoid the punch he instinctively swung at her head. "He's not worth getting us caught," she spat. "Let's go!"
Bader shook her arm off, glaring darkly at her.
"If you're so worried, why don't you take the doctor over there and wait for me in the truck?"
"Right! Like I'm going to wait patiently for you in that stupid truck while you blow this! I don't think so!"
"You're not here to think! So why don't you do your job, Ghost, and get the doctor the hell out of here!" roared Bader.
Monroe knew that Crane had caught the little titbit that Bader had let slip. The way the man had suddenly sat up straighter unnerved her and she wasn't sure she liked him knowing who she was, even if it wasn't her real name. When she later reflected back on what happened next, Monroe suspected that it was the volatile mixture of anger and annoyance she was feeling that made her do what she did.
She was ready for Bader's reaction as she grabbed at his shoulder again. Only this time, instead of giving him the chance to follow through with his punch, her arm shot out and up as his was drawing back for the blow. She felt the crunch of his nose breaking as the heel of her palm slammed into his face. As his head jerked back, she quickly followed through with a closed fist strike of her other hand to his exposed throat. She didn't know, or care, if the hit had been strong enough to crush his trachea. Besides, in that moment, she only had one goal in mind: to take him down. Whipping out the taser she had swiped from Doctor Quinzel's office, she brought that up in one fluid motion to the most sensitive spot on a man's body that she could think of. Monroe watched with a detached sort of fascination as spasms racked Bader's body for a second or two and before he fell flat on his back. It was unlikely that the man was dead, but he was certainly unconscious.
Breathing harshly, it took a while for Monroe to collect herself and for her ears to make out any other sound besides the loud pounding of her heart. It was then that she made out the quiet chuckling. Rounding on Crane, she had fully expected to find him the one responsible for the laughter. But though the man was clearly amused, he was silently observing her with undisguised interest. That left only one other culprit.
Mystery man, as she had previously dubbed him in her mind, was still lying on his side on the floor, his hair long enough that it fell over his face. Knowing that it was probably one of the dumbest things she could do, but reasoning that she was armed with a taser whilst he was restrained in a straightjacket, Monroe moved to help the man into a sitting position. Besides, with how he was wheezing in between chuckles, it looked like he was having trouble breathing lying down.
He was very different from Crane. For one thing, he was considerably taller. And though he was lean, Monroe could tell he had muscles under his skin, which she doubted Crane had. Where the doctor's hair was dark, his was blonde, though it was a shade closer to brown than it was to anything dazzling like gold or platinum. Unlike Crane's hypnotising blue eyes, his were dark. She couldn't tell if they were brown or black but they hid their own secrets and were as dangerous as Crane's. And then her eyes fell on the scars. Monroe didn't know why she hadn't noticed them first. No one else wore a permanent grin like he did. Maybe it was because she had been concentrating on sitting him up and was looking down at him instead of up, like that time in the alley so many days ago. He laughed as she snatched her hand back and unconsciously took a step away from him.
"We meet again…Mike Engel. Or is it The Ghost? You look like crap."
Monroe hid her surprise well. He remembered her? Well if the rumours she'd heard were true, he had kidnapped, and in all likelihood murdered, the real Mike Engel, so she supposed he would have recalled the strange woman who'd bumped into him during the chaos of Commissioner Loeb's funeral wearing the reporter's media ID. It occurred to her that though this was the second time she was meeting the infamous Joker face to face, she had never seen him with his trademark makeup on. Not that she wanted to. She needed to stop getting sidetracked and focus on getting out of Arkham now. Backing towards Crane, she hauled the doctor up by the collar of his straightjacket and shoved him out the door.
"Love your work!" the Joker called out after her with a disturbing smile as Monroe turned to leave. It was enough to give her pause. "Especially the Morganbilt." He certainly had a distinctive voice, slightly nasally yet deep with clipped consonants. It should have been grating on her ears – aggravating – but it shocked her to realise that she found it rather pleasant to listen to. Oh, she had definitely spent too much time in Arkham. "Loved the irony of the Gotham skyline built out of law books. All it was missing was some flames."
"I'll keep that in mind for next time," said Monroe dryly. "You enjoy your new roommate now."
His laughter followed her out the cell, only slightly muted when she slammed the door on him and relocked it. Turning on her heels, she was immediately met with Crane's scrutinizing gaze.
"What!" Monroe snapped. But that only caused a smile to spread across his lips and his eyes to gleam even more.
"I just thought The Ghost would be – "
"Older. I know," said Monroe, cutting him off as she pushed him down the hallway and towards the stairwell.
"Actually I was going to say I thought you'd be a man," said Crane as he stumbled down the stairs.
"I'd shut up now if I were you, Doc," Monroe warned.
Even with Crane still bound as he was, they made it to the first floor in good time. Stopping as they reached the door that opened into the hall leading to the back door Bader had originally entered by, Monroe used her compact mirror to peer around it, making sure that the hall was clear, and swore. There was an orderly walking towards their exit, which Bader had left open. Normally, she would try to avoid hurting innocent bystanders, but Monroe knew if she didn't do something, the man was going to alert security. Leaving Crane in the stairwell with that threat that she'd carve out his eyes if he so much as moved without her permission, Monroe pulled up her hood and slipped out the door. It was an empty threat, as she knew she'd never be able to carry through with it. But Crane didn't need to know that.
The orderly was a sturdily built man as Monroe assumed most of Arkham's employees needed to be since they were dealing with dangerous criminals like murderers and rapists. From the way his body was leaning towards the door as he neared it, Monroe knew that he hadn't heard her coming up behind him. The man never stood a chance. With her taser in hand, Monroe jumped onto his back and in one smooth move wrapped her other arm around his head. And then she jabbed the taser under his chin. His body reacted much in the same manner Bader's had before collapsing. Fortunately for her, the man fell forwards. Monroe snorted as she reflected on just how brilliantly this job was going. This was the second body she was leaving in her wake – so much for being invisible.
Going back for Crane, they ran out the door and tore across the cemented back lot towards the side gate. The catering truck was parked where they'd left it, with its back doors wide open and the men she'd left behind, now joined by the driver, simply standing around and smoking very conspicuously. At least one of them, she noted, was keeping a wary eye out for them and any possible guards that might be making their rounds outside.
"Those things will kill you one day," she said as she shoved Crane at one of the men. He just barely caught the doctor.
"Where's Bader?" asked the driver.
"Not coming," Monroe tossed over her shoulder as she climbed into the truck. "Get us out of here."
She caught the uneasy looks the men shared but no one questioned her again. One of them helped Crane into the truck as the driver hurried into the front seat. Ten seconds later found them speeding away, joining the rest of the city's late night traffic. While the three hired guns argued with each other about the best way to get Crane out of his straightjacket, Monroe got up to rummage in the numerous stainless steel cupboards and heating compartments, looking for something to eat. It was a catering truck. There had to be food somewhere. She could feel the doctor's eyes on her as he sat patiently whilst the idiots around him tugged at his restraints.
"Come on, come on, come on," Monroe murmured barely audibly. With a frustrated cry, she flung herself on the floor, scowling at the empty refrigerator. What sort of person stole an empty catering truck? They couldn't even back up their cover story if anyone had come out to check on them!
The goons seemed to have given up, apologising to Crane as they assured him that their boss would be able to get him out of the straightjacket once they got back. It had Monroe wondering just what type of straightjackets Arkham used or if the Black Mask's henchmen were as stupid as she thought they were.
"Why don't we ask The Ghost to do it? I'm sure she'd be able to get this thing off of me with no problem at all," came Crane's cool voice.
Monroe shot him the dirtiest look she could muster. She didn't like the way he'd stressed her nickname.
"Don't want to," she said rather petulantly. She knew she sounded like a pouting kid but she didn't care. She was sore, tired and craving something sweet. Helping Crane out of his straightjacket was the furthest thing from her mind.
Thinking he was doing the doctor a favour, one of the goons advised him not to anger her, recounting the story of how she had killed a man called Hill. Monroe assumed that had been the one she'd stabbed with the pen, except in this retelling the Black Mask had found her covered in the man's blood and she'd apparently tore his throat out with her bare teeth. Monroe rolled her eyes. But Crane didn't look the slightest bit afraid of her. They did leave her to her foul mood for the remainder of the drive though and when the truck finally pulled to a stop, and she heard the driver get out, Monroe pushed her way past them to be the first one out the door. The Black Mask was waiting for them. His pleasure at seeing Crane was slightly dulled by a very noticeable absence though.
"Where's Mr. Bader?"
All heads turned towards Monroe.
"He didn't make it," she deadpanned.
The Black Mask's eyes bore into her for a long minute before he shrugged.
"Well that's unfortunate. Mr. Mariano – " The driver's head shot up, a look of apprehension on his face. " – you've just been promoted. Please show Doctor Crane to his new quarters. I'll be there shortly. And get him out of that straightjacket."
Mr. Mariano gave the straightjacket a dubious look but scrambled to do as he was ordered. The other men scattered at a nod from the Black Mask, but when Monroe made to follow them, Teddy stopped her.
"Not so fast, Ghost," said the Black Mask, his voice deceptively pleasant. Teddy refused to meet her eyes as she turned around to face his boss. "Just what happened to Mr. Bader?"
"He got sloppy."
His eyes seemed to glow with amusement. But that was short lived. He must have given Teddy some prearranged signal for the next thing she knew, her overly muscled babysitter had her arms pinned behind her back. The Black Mask reached out to cup her chin, applying enough pressure to make her wince.
"And the Joker?"
Monroe kept stubbornly silent. She was sure he was smiling behind his mask. He brought his face down to hers.
"I think it's time you were properly made part of my crew. Bring her along, Mr. Selwyn."
Monroe was frogmarched through the factory to the same room she had woken up in four days ago. Not much had changed. The metal chair was still there, as was the table and standing floor light. Picking a bag of plastic cable ties off a shelf, the Black Mask removed one and tossed it to Teddy, who caught it with one hand whilst still holding both her arms with his other. It only served to emphasise how much of a physically disadvantage she was at. Forcing her down into the chair, Teddy then tied her arms behind her, his face devoid of all emotion as he did so. Monroe watched as the Black Mask pulled out a wire hanger from one of the many boxes on the shelves and leisurely started to twist the ends free so that it became one long, thin metal rod.
"Would you be so kind as to pull down her hood, Mr. Selwyn? And then go fetch me the blowtorch."
"Sure thing, Boss."
Monroe heard the door click shut behind her, signalling that she was now alone with the Black Mask, who was casually sitting on the end of the metal table, manipulating the wire hanger in his hands.
"It's my fault for giving you so much freedom," he said, not bothering to look up from his work. "It's a shame really. Mr. Bader was one of my more capable men. But I suppose what's done is done."
"I told you," said Monroe as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. "I hate tagalongs."
The Black Mask looked up at that. And then he chuckled darkly.
"Yes, you did." He returned to his metal twisting. "You know, I really like you, Ghost. You're like a breath of fresh air."
"I try," said Monroe sarcastically.
The door opened again and Teddy walked back into her eye line, carrying a portable blowtorch, the type that could usually be found in a professional kitchen. With one last twist, the Black Mask held out the altered wire hanger to Teddy. Monroe's eyes widened as she realised just what he had made.
"I don't expect you'd scream, will you?" asked the Black Mask nonchalantly, as he slowly approached her. But Monroe had her eyes glued on Teddy, who was heating up the makeshift brand. "You're much to pigheaded for that."
Monroe pulled at her binds but there was even less chance of her getting out of the cable tie than there had been of her getting out of the rope the first time round. Glaring daggers at Teddy, who still refused to look at her, Monroe was determined to get through this without so much as a whimper. The Black Mask combed her hair away from her neck, a mockingly gentle gesture, and paused. She knew what he was staring at as soon as his fingers touched her skin. Just below her hairline, on the left side of the back of her neck, were three perfectly circular scars, burn marks really, arranged in a triangular pattern.
"No," he breathed. "You won't scream."
As Teddy switched off the blowtorch, disappearing behind her again, Monroe felt herself tense up. She knew it wouldn't help but she couldn't stop herself. Her body was preparing itself for the pain to come. She felt the heat on the brand long before it touched her skin. When the heated metal made contact with her skin, Monroe sucked in a harsh breath but made no other sound. It felt like the pain would never end, though logically her mind reasoned that it could not have been more than a few seconds at most. And then the brand was pulled away and she could feel someone blowing on the fresh burn.
"That's my girl," the Black Mask drawled.
That did it. Those three words managed to make her snap in a way the branding failed to do. Opening her mouth, Monroe let loose a deafening, bloodcurdling scream that echoed throughout the factory.
On the other side of the factory, free of his straightjacket, Doctor Jonathan Crane lifted his head at the sound of Monroe's scream. As it faded off, his lips curled into an eerie grin.
Back in her room, Monroe held up her compact to examine her newest wound. A crude skull stared back up at her though the reflection. It would seem that the Black Mask had taken care with it's placement, putting it on the right side of the back of her neck so that it balanced out her pre-existing scars. Swearing loudly, Monroe shut the mirror with a sharp snap. The only good thing to come out of her branding was the fact that the Black Mask had forgotten to take back her tools. Carefully removing each one, she hid them inside her mattress with the painkillers, only leaving out the ones she would need for what she was about to do. It would make sleeping uncomfortable but she had far more important matters to deal with.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor of her tiny room, Monroe laid out the radio clock she had taken from Doctor Quinzel's office before her. With a grim, bitter smile, she picked up her screwdriver and proceeded to take the clock apart.
It's done! Finally! This chapter has been sitting on my laptop half finished for a while. But like I said, life caught up with me. Hope the extra length made up for the wait.
Not much Joker I know but have patience, Arkham won't hold him for long…
There were other things I had meant to say but I've forgotten them. Oh well. Must not have been that important then.
Random info:
The new Number One's name (ie. the promoted driver) comes from the name of the actor who voices the second Number One in The Batman. (I know…how many Number One's are there?)
The full name of Arkham taken from the comics (or rather, Wikipedia)
So the absolutely delicious Jonathan Crane is back! And Monroe unwittingly rescued the Joker from Bader. Silly girl.
Next chapter: What exactly does the Black Mask want with the Scarecrow? And Monroe's definitely on Batman's radar now!
Please do leave a review. I love hearing back from you guys. It always brings a smile to my face :D
Much love,
Scribbles