4

Jasmine had been walking Wayne's halls for a week, and was feeling decidedly stir crazy.

Alfred had kindly left her a key to Bruce's office, and in the office a supply of tea, Oreos and novels. She pounced gratefully on Beowulf for a few days, but then turned to a collection of poems by an unknown author. Her favorite was entitled Black and White.

Black and white shows the night.

Colors fade from simple sight.

Nothing wrong can look aright.

Every sound brings loss of might.

Black and white another night.

Black and white, scars at night

Where the truth is hard to fight,

Darkness shows your deepest fright,

Nothing there, barely light,

Black and white, another night.

Black and white, what is right?

Is grey the answer to every sight?

And will you learn to stand and fight?

What do you see with lack of light?

Black and White, Scars at Night.

She was lost in the last stanza when her private phone rang. Fox's picture showed on the screen, sending her into overdrive instantly. He would never call unless something were wrong. "Hello?"

"Richards, there's a problem in the back of the lobby. I think it's the Joker."

"Lock down, clear the halls, I need a path," She said and hung up. She allowed herself to stop thinking; her training would take over from there. Fox could be trusted with the fate of the rest of the building.

She went to a service elevator that would take her to the centre of the lobby, but still closer to the back. As the doors slid open, she scouted the area. Nothing, not a sound.

Suddenly from the back, a shotgun blast took out a colored window she had made. A large man wearing purple rushed past, several followers wearing clown masks tagging along and a young woman carried in their hands, trying to scream.

"Police, drop her!" Jasmine shrieked, pulling out both semi-autos and letting off a few warning shots around their feet. The goons blanked instantly, and released the woman, running. The larger man at their head adjusted his own mask and pointed his shotgun at her. She ducked, feeling the wiz of the tiny pellets. He began to reload, backing away. She holstered her Glock, and picked up a shard of glass. As he raised the gun again, she threw the glass into his thigh, just above the knee where muscles and tendons intersected. It bit deeply, and he howled in agony, dropping the weapon. She raised her Berretta and leveled it, standing between him and the girl.

Seeing the woman shaking on her back, Jasmine barked, "What are you waiting for? Scram!"

The traumatized girl complied, and the man tore for the doors. A black car backed into the building, through the glass and the hatch opened. Suddenly there were two men in purple, the larger diving into the trunk. The smaller just stood there, watching. He wore no mask, but had a brightly painted face. He dropped a piece of paper to the ground, and took off.

Jasmine tore after him. She had never been much of a runner, but she had tremendous endurance. As long as she could see them, she could down them.

He raced around the corner, and up a fire escape. She followed, racing up as fast as she could. The man was incredibly strong and agile. Somehow, she reached the roof before he'd leapt to another escape or building. "Hold it! I'll shoot!"

He skidded into the air conditioning unit, raised his hand and turned. Jasmine had a hard time keeping the firearm even. A cold feeling settled along her spine. It wasn't the scars stretching his face, or the wild eyes. "Jack?"

Jack seemed surprised for a second, but the cynical smirk settled back into place. "Hey, kiddo, what's up?"

Her voice shook as she recited, "You're under arrest for the,"

"Save it, it's not what you think." He shot back. "It won't stop if you jail me. I'm the only one who can stop it."

She swallowed her tears back. For the second time in her life, someone she'd been close to had betrayed her. "Right, I'm to take your word for it."

"Got a cell?"

"Yeah."

He nodded in the general direction of her pockets. "Get it out, type in the number 5656579843."

She did, never looking away or removing her finger from the trigger. "And that will, what, undo the past nine months?"

"No, it's a tracking number. Look at the blip, that's me. You can plug that in and find me anytime."She glanced at the picture, and sure enough, there was a green dot on the map of Gotham, right where they were. "That'll help, won't it?" He asked.

"What game are you playing, Jack?"

"This is not a game!" He roared. "Why, of all the cops on the face of the earth, did you have to be the one to catch up to me?" Sirens sounded in the distance. "You have ten seconds to make up your mind. You can use that, and let me try to clean up this mess, or you can run me in and loose any chance of stopping them."

She let her arm drop. "That tracker had better work."

He laughed, maniacally. "What are you going to do if it doesn't? You've just got to trust me, Jazz. Welcome to Chaos."

He vanished over the wall, and she stood there, letting the wind wash the thoughts from her head.

Bruce, Fox and Alfred were there talking to Gordon when she returned. She shoved her hands into her pockets at the expectant look on their faces.

"He got away. I'm sorry."