Arkham Asylum

LordGrise AUTHOR'S NOTE: Five months and change. That's how long since I updated. And the previous chapter to this one took seven weeks, as I recall. For anyone who is still following this, thank you for your patience.

The delays are not writer's block or lack of interest; I had a one hundred and seven day stretch of full eight hour shifts, with some twelve hour shifts in there for fun, with only six days off in all that period of time. Coffee and soda and even energy drinks tend to stop working when you never get a day away from them. On the plus side, I found myself doing an awful lot of little two paragraph scene outlines and character clips during this period of time. The rest of the story will benefit from all that...

Chapter Eight is here, and Lord and Lady willing, the next chapter won't take nearly as long. LadySetta (my wife), Machiavelli, Chris Dee, and Dhalpin all had my back during this extremely difficult time, reading what I had, critiquing, and enhancing. DHalpin in particular offered some bits during the assembly portion of this chapter; the bathtub scene at the start here is his. I cannot pick out Magik - appropriate songs to save my life; he makes it look easy...

Dhalpin author's note: Sometimes life gets in the way of hobby writing. Such befell LordGrise. Remember folks, authors love feedback so please give him some as feedback is what most authors crave.

Part 8a

After the impromptu interview at the Daily Planet, Illyana nursed her cup of coffee and her donut on a bus stop bench while ruminating on what to do next. Seeing no complicating factors, she slipped thru time and space to mid afternoon in Las Vegas, where she picked up the keys to her new suite and was suitably impressed. Top of the line for Lex is top of the line indeed. Finding no messages waiting upon her, she set her wards and guards, and slept undisturbed for thirteen solid hours.

Upon awaking and finding the bathing room - bathroom was simply an insultingly inadequate term for such a room - stocked with toiletries, she bathed.

A sunken white marble bathtub big enough for you and ten of your closest friends (assuming that their into that kind of thing or are those kind of friends). Illyana rinsed herself three times using the twin cascading waterfalls of water just to experience the different modes the system had - including the jets working with the music. This thing must single handedly be depleting the local aquifer was her bemused thought upon the shower system's flow volume.

The song Alive from Meatloaf was echoing throughout the suite.

I'm still alive

Must have been a miracle

It's been a hell of ride

Destination still unknown

It's a fact of life:

If you make one wrong move with the gun to your head

You better walk the line or you'll be left for dead

I'm a runaway train on broken track

I'm a ticker on a bomb, you can't turn back this time

That's right

I got away with it all and I'm still alive

Let the end of the world come tumbling down

I'll be the last man standing on the ground

As long as I got blood rush through my veins

I'm still alive

Lost in the night

Feeling so invisible

Oh, a dead man walking the wire

I have broke the devils net

That's made of fire

And it's a long way down from the top of the world

You better look around or you gonna get burned

She had found the soaps and shampoos to be wonderful. I am so raiding the gift shop before I leave was her next thought as she luxuriated under the pounding flow of water.

After bathing, another thought occurred to her as she glanced at the cavernous walk in closets. I could own a wardrobe again! In this reality, she had only one pressing order of business, and afterwards, if all went well, this world could easily become a safehouse universe of sorts. No Scott Summers, no Emma Frost, no blithering interfering in her business...

Unfortunately, the suite had yet to be stocked with food or drink of any sort. I'm going to need to make a list she thought to herself, and returned to when and where she had departed from, plus one second. Thus is causality served. Then, urgently wanting food, and having the hunch it would be no bad thing to scout out Oswald Cobblepott's establishment, Illyana made her way to the Iceberg Lounge. On the way there, her cabbie assured her it was a fine and upstanding place, that the food was excellent, and that prices were reasonable. She thanked him for the recommendation, rather doubting the last part, and gave him the last of her ready cash, having already decided to see what the Penguin might offer for certain gold coins.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Rasputin." The young woman on the podium was dressed in a tailored women's tuxedo, and wore a bowler and an earpiece microphone. She greeted Illyana without hesitation or reservation. "Executive or private, ma'am?"

Illyana allowed no part of her surprise and consternation at the familiarity of the greeting to show. "Executive, please."

"Certainly, ma'am. How many in your party?" Another, indefinably older woman, also in a tailored women's tuxedo and bowler joined them, clearly to lead Illyana to her table.

"Only myself, at the moment." Illyana answered. "But I may have some guests joining me - if anyone asks for me...?"

"We'll bring them to you directly, ma'am. This is Finch; she will be your service today."

Finch grinned cheerfully. "Right this way, Ms. Rasputin. Anything I might bring you from the bar while you look the menu over?"

Illyana found herself amused - and curious. "No menu needed, thank you. My usual drink, please - in fact, bring me the bottle. I'll have steak au poivre, medium, heavy on the sauce, and a plain baked potato. Might asparagus be available?"

Finch led the way up a sweeping set of stairs. "Of course, ma'am. Hollandaise?"

Illyana liked the view she was clearly to be afforded. "Yes, please. Oh, and let - " Illyana followed Finch's timeline back a scant five minutes, the chef's name was " - Max know I'd prefer a good bourbon to the usual cognac for the sauce. His judgment on what to use, of course."

"I'll let him know, ma'am." Finch seated her front and center of the second floor gallery, with a commanding view of the lower dining area and the front entrance. The area was currently unoccupied as the Iceberg tended to be much more of a late night place.

Finch returned a minute later with a deeply chilled unfooted cosmopolitan glass mounted in a block of ice, which she presented on a folded white cloth concealing a small bowl for the melt. Accompanying it was a bottle of Stolichnaya Paper vodka, itself in a jacket of ice, in a small bucket. "Max asked me to let you know your meal will be approximately twenty minutes in preparation, ma'am. Unless you object, a complimentary cheese and cracker tray will be brought by - ah, here it is. Thank you, Jaye! Would you like anything else, Ms. Rasputin?"

Illyana produced her cell phone and booted it up, "An ewer of iced water, a bowl of wedged limes, and - three water tumblers, if you would."


"Contact, Clark. She just brought her cell phone online... at the Iceberg Lounge. Specifically, the executive dining area."

"Could it be a trap?"

"Unlikely. She left you the note saying she would arrange to be in a public area. She's done precisely what she said she would."

"Then I suppose I'll have to meet her. I can't suggest you join us..."

"No. Of all the social places in Gotham I should not be seen at, that would be number one with a bullet. Take Diana with you; she's a bit better at combating magic - no pun intended - than you are." The voice paused. "Oh, and if she asks you to be her guest, accept. I suspect she plays by the old rules concerning the rights and responsibilities of guests and hosts."


"Ms. Rasputin? Mr. Clark Kent and Ms. Diana Prince, ma'am. "

Illyana rose gracefully and smiled. "Just over four minutes since I brought my cell phone online. Excellent timing. Please, be my guests?"

Clark and Diana looked at each other; from Lois's report, and Batman's hunch, the invitation carried considerably more weight than simply who was paying for the meal. Clark shrugged, Diana nodded, and they both turned to Illyana. "We accept." Diana said. Clark seated her, and then himself, and Illyana poured for them all from the water carafe. "Will Bruce be joining us?" she asked.

Clark shook his head. " I suggested to him that he not be here.' Kent commented. "Too many people would be interested."

Illyana nodded; the chances had been roughly fifty fifty. "I understand. Ms. Prince... retsina?"

Diana smiled. "Thank you, but no. Modern retsina is so - bland."

Illyana smiled. "Fortunately, modern is not on offer. Finch? In the corner, if you would decant, please? Be careful; the amphora is stone."

Finch glanced over to the indicated corner. "Ms. Rasputin...? Oh. At once, ma'am."

Illyana effortlessly commanded the attention of her guests whilst Finch took care of the amphora. "And for you, Mr. Kent...? I would suspect a scotch drinker, but honestly, I have no idea. What would your pleasure be, sir?"

Clark gently gestured in the negative. "I do actually prefer scotch... but not right now, thank you. I have to fly later."

Both women smiled at the double entendre. "Quite. Sweet tea, then...? Excellent. As soon as Finch returns, we'll get some menus for you..."

Clark smiled gently. "The reputation of this place precedes the visit, Ms. Rasputin, as I'm sure you understand. Menus won't be necessary. My order will be simple."

Diana nodded, her smile a bit more amused. "And mine will challenge things - but only mildly."

Finch returned, carrying a stoppered carafe of richly golden wine, and a stemless wineglass with half an inch in the bottom. The wine was pungently resinous, with a scent like wind thru pine trees. This was gracefully offered to Diana. "I hope this is to your liking, ma'am...?"

Diana sniffed, sampled, and smiled. "Oh, that is excellent; it's just like we have at home."

"I'm glad." Finch said as she placed the carafe. and surprised herself by meaning what she'd said. "Mr. Kent? What would you like to drink?"

"Iced sweet tea, please? Just Liptea, or whatever the house has as a well tea - if they have such a thing..."

Finch found herself grinning. It had been a while since she'd felt this easy with a table of guests. "English Breakfast it is, Mr. Kent. I'm guessing you like it brewed strong, and heavy on the sweet?" Clark nodded, and Finch slid back out of the room. She returned only a moment later with another carafe, this one filled with iced tea so dark it was almost black, and a large tumbler with a half an inch at the bottom. "Here you are, Mr. Kent. Does it need anything?

Clark looked startled, and sampled it. His eyebrows rose at the strength and smoothness; it was coldbrewed, and sweetened with honey. "That's just fine, ma'am." He said hastily.

Finch smiled, and turned to Diana. "What would you like to eat, Ms. Prince?"

Diana smiled. "I would like six dolmades, mixed vegetables and cheeses, and a large serving of moussaka, lamb if possible, goat if not, please." Diana asked.

Finch didn't blink. "Of course, ma'am. Potato base acceptable? We only do the eggplant moussaka on the weekends..."

Diana did blink. "That would be my preference, actually."

"Excellent! Now, our moussaka is a mix of lamb, goat, and beef, ma'am; Is that alright?"

Diana nodded. "That would be fine, Ms. Finch."

Finch smiled, and returned her attention to Clark. "Mr. Kent? What would your pleasure be, sir?"

Clark looked up, smiling boyishly. "I'll have steak and eggs, steak rare, eggs sunny side up. Four of them, if you would." He chuckled at the looks his tablemates gave him. "What? I didn't have breakfast."

Finch grinned. "We can sure do that for you, Mr. Kent. Skillet fried potatoes on the side?"

Clark looked delighted. "Oh, yes please!"

Finch nodded. Kent was going to be easy. "Then all I need to know is if you'd like a gravy?"

Clark looked surprised. "Sawmill gravy, but with bacon instead of the sausage, maybe?"

Finch gave him the smile she had kept for her regulars back before she had become Finch. "You got it, hon - oh. I beg your pardon, gentles. I'll just see to the orders."

Diana watched Finch leave, then turned to Clark. "You are a heart attack just waiting to happen, Clark."

"Diana, I have eaten that, or very similar, for breakfast probably once a week at least for over twenty years." Clark replied, admiring the glass and the tea it contained. "I've never had any problems."

Diana smiled impishly. "Ah but in the twenty-first year, when you do..."

Illyana smiled politely as she witnessed the banter, nibbling a cube of manchego before sipping at her vodka. "Ahhh." she swallowed, noted she had recaptured the attention of her guests, and nodded at the entrance that Finch had used. "We may speak freely. If Finch approaches, she will hear our voices but not their content." She set her glass down and leaned back in her chair. "I have the makings of a dilemma, and you have questions, I imagine. Mr. Kent, I want to begin by offering my apologies for the scene with your wife. It was not my intention to involve her in any way. I can only imagine the scenarios you've had to endure in the past. I hope I have not added to them."

Clark nodded acceptance of the apology. "She's a large part of why we're meeting now, Ms. Rasputin. I trust her judgment implicitly, and she feels you need help desperately."

Illyana was vaguely surprised to find herself largely in agreement with the Man of Steel. "She did say she would put in a good word... So. I have twenty seven individuals requiring containment. My only stipulation is that they not be rendered unto Amanda Waller's tender mercies." She selected a cube of cheddar, and a water cracker. "The Joker is a special case, and I will discuss that separately."

Knowing Superman's own history with The Joker, Diana asked the question. "'Why is the Joker special? Besides his history, that is."

Illyana's voice was composed - overly so. "Because the Joker isn't human, and never was, despite wearing a human corpus. I was unaware of its nature until my people could examine it. It's a Spirit of Madness that inhabits human bodies when they are weakened unto death."

"The Joker is a genetically identifiable individual." Diana objected.

Illyana nodded. "Yes, it is. Its modus operandi is to find a human who is dying, and essentially evict the soul thereof if it isn't already leaving. It then rebuilds the body to correct whatever the problems are. However, it has only one template with which to do so - that of the first corpus it inhabited. Thus, every corpus it rebuilds, becomes genetically identical. Mentally, however... the Spirit carries forward every set of memories it has, from each of the corpses it has - revised, shall we say. Frequently, the bodies it finds are experiencing brain death, and therefore the memories are fragmented. This further contributes to The Joker's... eccentricities. Batman's default policy of containment is actually the best possible option, given the limitations of your society and its justice system."

"How did your - people, find this out?" Superman asked.

Illyana took a sip of her vodka. "Limbo is a very plastic place, and it is difficult to die there - at least permanently. My people questioned The Joker until it attempted to abandon its' body and find another, repeatedly, and observed the spirit's actions. It had no choice but to resume tenancy of the body it had attempted to depart, as there are no others that are suitable in all of Limbo."

Superman's voice was flat. "You're having him tortured. Repeatedly."

Illyana set her glass down. "Not in the sense you're thinking of, Superman. Tormented, yes. Tortured, as in the infliction of physical pain and damage, no. There's no point in that; the Joker doesn't experience physical pain in the same way you or I do. But there are stimuli that it finds actively unpleasant, and there is information it possesses that I must have if I am to free myself - and incidentally Edna Mae Smith."

Diana touched Superman's arm. "Clark. Control yourself." She turned her gaze on Illyana. "What torments are you inflicting upon The Joker?"

Illyana selected a cube of Mozzarella and pressed it to a cracker. "Currently it is tied to a cross - with a platform to stand upon - and being forced to watch endless reruns of poor imitations of the classic comedians of the thirties, forties, and fifties, interspersed with so-called 'comedic' remakes of certain classic comedy films."

Despite himself, Superman - once again firmly back in Clark-face - almost choked on his tea. Diana smiled delightedly. "Truly apropos. Well done." She glanced at Clark. "I believe we can let this go. I have little sympathy for that one. I'd have done much worse, in her place.."

Clark reluctantly nodded agreement, and internally Illyana heaved a huge sigh of relief. That had been a fifty fifty moment as well, and the other tree limb of occurrences were not beneficial to her cause. "I have the sequence of events that brought me here from four viewpoints." She said. "I am satisfied I understand the particulars. Joker was the actual motivator; it arranged the others to be dosed with will sapping drugs to ensure he had his circle. Thus, I have no quarrel with the Riddler, Scarecrow, Two Face, or the Mad Hatter. They were ignorant pawns, and incapable of refusing the Joker that night." She sipped again of her vodka. "Is there - or perhaps I should phrase it in the plural, are there one or more secure locations I can return them to? Or must I await Arkham's rebuilding?"

Diana refilled her glass of water; she was saving the wine for her meal. "The European Union has two facilities, one in Germany and one in England. But they are first and foremost prisons, and Waller has obtained American prisoners from both locations before on several occasions. It's not a good fit." She sipped. "For the same reason, Blackgate or any other US prison is out. I believe you're going to have to await rebuilding."

From the doorway, Finch cleared her throat. "Ma'am? Shall we serve?"

Illyana nodded. "Please, Finch. Then I'm afraid I shall have to request the entire space."

Finch didn't flinch; it was actually fairly common with the A-Listers. "We expected it so, ma'am. Seems there's maintenance necessary. We'll be lowering the curtain, if that's acceptable."

"I have no problem with that." Diana commented. Clark merely nodded.

Illyana gestured permission. "Make it so, at your convenience, Finch. Please let Mr. Cobblepott know I shall make it good?"

Finch nodded soberly. "I shall, ma'am. Your meals, folks!" and with that, Finch, Jaye, and another tuxedo-clad young woman deftly served plates and refreshed the drinks before departing. "I'll remain on call, ma'am. Drinks and such." Finch said. "And as well, there's desserts later, I recommend death by chocolate. Another carafe of tea, Mr. Kent?"

Clark smiled and shook his head. "I think I'll be switching to water after I finish this, Finch. That tea is coffee strong. Thank you, though."

Illyana waited for Finch to withdraw before continuing. "The disconcerting thing is, this is the first time I recall being here... but clearly, I'll be returning in the past. Frequently, I suspect. That in turn suggests we should come to a more comfortable relationship for the future. For the record, I don't destroy worlds. Indeed, I try to prevent that from happening. I've seen the results all too often - in endless variations of the same basic themes."

Clark and Diana glanced at each other, and Clark spoke up, even as the curtain fell just inside the balcony like a gently rippling wall of blue velvet. "If we can deal successfully with this problem, and you don't try to take over the world in order to save it from itself... I see no issues with that." Clark noted Illyana's focused expression. "That was a joke, Ms. Rasputin. I don't believe that's something you'd be interested in doing. Or else you'd have already done so, at some point in the far past."

Illyana nodded agreement. "Thank you for saying so, Mr. Kent. To return to the subject of Arkham? I cannot rebuild Arkham personally - if I did, it would be so tainted with Chaos as to be useless for the function it must serve. But a conventional rebuilding, I will underwrite in it's entirety, if a reasonably discreet method of transferring the funds can be hit upon. "She took a bite and chewed, to allow time for her companions to make comment, only to find them waiting for her to continue. "I have access to what are essentially unlimited reserves of bullion and other materials... but I think a mix of commodities would be best. That is why I hoped Mr. Wayne would be joining us; it wouldn't do to devalue something and destabilize things."

"Unlimited access?" Clark asked mildly, and forked up a bite.

"I walk worlds, Mr. Kent." Illyana answered just as mildly. "It isn't hard to find places where what is considered valuable here is - uncared for there."

Clark blinked. "Hm. Well, I'm no one's idea of a world class financier. Likely best if you speak to Bruce about that personally. I'll brief him."

"I believe you have questions for me?" Illyana inquired.

"We'll let him ask those as well."


It was evening in Gotham, and Selina came down into the Batcave to find precisely what she had expected: Bruce, in simple shorts, seated at workstation one. What she was not expecting was her husband in all but name had eaten, and was apparently waiting for a computer run to finish.

"Selina. I hope you slept well?" He greeted her.

"Not as well as I might have hoped... the wakeup was particularly disappointing." She answered, drinking in the simple sight of Bruce Wayne all but nude, relaxed, and for the moment not deeply involved in something. "After all, if we're going to live in sin, then there ought to be more sinning being done." She pounced him, landing on the arms of his chair and sending it the length of it's track before coming to a sudden stop in the reclined position, she crouched atop him and looking down. "How much longer for that run to finish?"

"Several minutes." Bruce answered in an unconsciously lower register.

"Just enough time for a quickie, then..."


It did not take long to find Edna Mae Smith in the world of databanks and electronic records, and only a little while longer to locate her last address: an apartment in the Bronx. There, Batman and Catwoman found the wreckage of Edna Mae's Smith's son. Without saying a word, they separated; Batman to deal with the actual murder scene, while Catwoman began a painstaking examination of the rest of the apartment, careful not to disturb anything.

Batman's face gave no indication of the storm of emotions in his heart as he got to work. First order of business was scanning the entire room, including floor and ceiling; this also had the added benefit of recording the crime scene before entering it for later computer examination. The room was antiseptically clean; it could easily be an ultraclean restroom in a hospital suite for the immunologically compromised, except for the late resident - who, for lack of a better term, had been harvested.

He was laying in the bathtub. He had been ritually murdered, elaborate vivisection cuts denoting his circulatory system. His internal organs were apparently missing; the bottom of the tub was visible thru his abdomen where his kidneys had been extracted, the bilaterally symmetrical flaps of flesh pressed out to the sides like access panels, even as the flaps of his abdominal muscles were carefully laid back over his sides in front. The boy's eyes were missing, and his lower jaw hung grotesquely into the ruin of his chest cavity, still attached to the front of his throat, which had been carefully separated to expose his major blood vessels along the line of his airway. To Batman's skilled eye, the entirety of the tongue was missing. It was not lost on him that the corpse appeared to be silently screaming.

From the doorway, Catwoman's voice came, as \steady as the cat she was in so many ways. "No signs of struggle at all, Oracle." She reported to the distant woman. "No indication of forced entry, and the deadbolt and chain are on the door. The only other conventional way in or out is the fire escape. The latch on the window is closed, but that's meaningless; the window fits loosely and the latch is loose enough it could be manipulated a dozen ways at least."

There was a moment of silence, and Catwoman continued. "No, the place is spotless. I'm not kidding, it's like a high end hotel; absolutely everything is spotlessly clean... No dirty dishes. No garbage. No bag. No, the can is spotless. Let me check - no other trash cans. You-know-who would be impressed. Laundry? Hold on... no. Everything is clean and folded on the bed. Washing machine... there isn't one. No dishwasher either."

Batman cut in. "Oracle, I'm sending initial scans of the room. Very briefly, this room is the same as Catwoman is reporting; absolutely spotless. No traces of blood at all, no signs of struggle."

Oracle receipted the data packet and detailed the Batcave computers to the detailed analysis for Batman's later attention. "I've set a flight of bats to scan the fire escape, roof, and alley for bloodstains et cetera. Ready for the body scans, Batman."

Batman grunted acceptance, noted his suit was finished uploading, and finished his scan of the teeth in the upper jaw. "These cuts on the face are interesting. Not a traditional knife, I'm thinking. More like a straight edge, or possibly a surgical blade of that type."

If Oracle was discomfited by Batman's comment, she gave no sign. "I think we should recall the others. Our plates are getting loaded, and a power vacuum with the Russians is going to give the middle tier players ideas if it continues." Whatever Batman was going to say was pre-empted. "Fingerprints and footprints both match, Batman, to the ninety-third percentile on the hands and the ninety sixth on the feet. That was Edna Mae Smith's son, Jeremiah John Smith. Age fourteen." Oracle paused then continued. "We have datapoint correlations from Teen Titan cases. The pattern of wounds match up to several unsolved murders across the West Coast several years ago."

Batman's response was immediate. "Then send Nightwing here, Oracle. Tell him to enter thru the front door, please."

"Copy that."

"No blood." Catwoman observed clinically from the doorway. "Not even clots in the wounds..."

Batman grunted agreement. "Yes, hallmark of the Church of Blood. The organs missing is different, though. The entire tongue is gone. This has to have been post-mortem; the blood spray from all this would have been extensive otherwise. Whoever did this was well experienced, and had excellent tools..."


"Batman, I'm onsite." Came Nightwing's voice over the comms a few minutes later. "I have Raven and Jinx with me. Entering now." The doors unlocked, and the trio entered quietly, shutting the door behind them. As soon as they looked around the spotless front room, Nightwing nodded grimly. "That Guy."

Batman looked up from his mobile display. " 'That guy' ?"

"That's what we called him." Nightwing answered. His scenes are unmistakable. Let me guess, the whole place is spotlessly clean, isn't it?"

"Yep." Catwoman answered. "Dishes done, but no dishwasher. Laundry folded on the bed, no washer or dryer. No vacuum that I can find, but the carpet is immaculate. No dust, no stains..."

Nightwing gestured widely. "This is why we never caught him on the West Coast, Batman. No evidence, none. No fingerprints, no blood spatters... no water use, either. The floors operating room clean, even if the site was a flop. No dust, no fibers... It would take an eight man professional cleaning crew a full day or more to clean a site like this, and there'd be chemical residues galore. We found nothing, ever. Six sites, over the course of a year and a half. Three more after that that we were pretty sure of, but there was no body, just the scene... then we found the laptop, and the murders ended up being cold cases. Where's the body?"

Batman gestured, and Nightwing stepped into the bathroom. A few moments later, he emerged, Bat-face firmly in place. "He's still evolving. Those cuts are much more elaborate, and the organ removal is new. Raven, Jinx...?"

Batman observed from the doorway as first Raven, then Jinx examined the body. They were both professional in every way, and Batman found himself approving. Clearly, Nightwing had trained Raven, and then she and likely Beast Boy had trained Jinx...

Raven took up the report. "The last one like this we saw was several years ago, in Washington state. I was never able to contact a spirit or soul at one of these sites... but we didn't have Jinx back then."

Batman consciously kept his voice completely neutral and businesslike in tone and inflection. "This is important because she has a different area of focus?"

"In a word, yes, Batman." Jinx answered respectfully. "Raven is an Empath and Spiritualist. She deals in matters touching the mind, the spirit, and the soul. Very ethereal stuff, and I am not at all skilled in those areas, although she is teaching me." Jinx stepped carefully as she walked the perimeter of the apartment, her bare feet seemingly caressing the floor with each step. "I, on the other hand, am an elementalist. Earth was my first, and remains my strongest. I can literally ask the walls and the floor what went on here."

Batman allowed one notch of dubiousness to enter his voice. "Even manufactured materials?"

"Matters not at all to me." she answered. "It all sources from the Earth, and in the case of the floor, is treated like the Earth inasmuch as we all stand on it." She finished pacing the perimeter of the apartment, and came to the approximate center of the space. There, she settled to the floor in a lotus position, and her features stilled as her eyes closed. Nightwing and Raven took up positions on either side of her, keeping watch while Jinx was otherwise occupied. Batman and Catwoman kept their distance and remained wary as well.

Anyone expecting a dramatic demonstration of Power was disappointed. There was a very subtle ripple that traveled thru the walls and came to a point before Jinx. Several moments passed with no sound... and then Jinx opened her eyes and grimaced uncomfortably.

"And what is seen cannot be unseen, and what is known may not be unknown..." she muttered, clearly quoting a text. "Oh Gods, that's going to give me nightmares."

She rose gracefully to her feet. "When we get back to the WatchTower, I'll make an impression recording." She said. "For now..." She proceeded to the sink and turned the hot water on. A moment later, she gestured, and steam billowed, forming the face of a man. He was - utterly nondescript, merely one man among a thousand million others.

"This is what he looks like. He was interrupted. The boy had friends, and they tapped at the window. He immediately departed, taking what he had gathered and leaving the rest behind. The reason the place is so clean is because he conjured a spirit of Earth to clean every surface in the apartment while he worked. I am sorry, Batman. There is no evidence to gather here; it has all been destroyed."

Batman shook his head. "Not everything; the body was left. What did he do with the organs and blood, do you know?"

Jinx's voice and face were of the format of expressionless that only memories of truly hideous things could create. "Yes. He took them with him in a suitcase. If he had had time, he would have eaten what he could of the rest of the remains, taken what he wanted of what was left, and then left the remains to be destroyed with everything else."

Oracle's voice cut in, crisp and formal. Too formal. "Batman - I suggest an immediate regrouping at the Clock Tower. Titans as well. I have data. This is potentially much worse than we thought."


Raven lowered her arms, and the darkness melted away from her compatriots, leaving them in the Clock Tower. Jinx's attention was immediately drawn to the nondescript packet on the coffee table, even as Raven teleported out to gather the rest of the Titans.

"Bespelled..." Was Jinx's one word statement as she stood studying the envelope. "Oracle? How did you get this?"

"Magik left it for us. Also a pack of Oreo cookies, which I swear was also a message, although how she could know the context is beyond me. Here's the security camera footage..."

Everyone watched. The portal had formed twenty feet in the air, Magik had fallen thru it - the second portal opening at floor level even before she was finished passing thru the first one - her two word greeting: "Peace offerings!" as the envelope and packet of cookies had fallen free of her to land on the coffee table, followed by the sequential closing of the two portals as Magik exited.

"Impressive." was Jinx's assessment. "No discernable effort, no incantations, no gestures even... the second one opening even before the first one was done passing her thru. Damn impressive." Her attention shifted to the envelope. "What happened to the cookies?"

"I have them here. I scanned them, ran them thru the transporter to get an atomic level teardown. They're clean."

"Why haven't you done that to the envelope?" Jinx asked bemusedly.

Nightwing answered that one. "Because something seemed just a touch off about it. We literally haven't touched it."

Batman stood, an ink dark statue as he took in what Oracle's screens were showing. True to form, he had immediately apprehended the nature of the searches and the key repeating element. "Oracle... how long?"

"Bruce, I've had to rework my queries three times to avoid leakers, and some of that is undoubtedly false positives. I'm still collating."

Batman's voice took on an intensity it rarely took outside of Joker cases. "How long?"

Oracle's voice was crisp, professional, an analyst reporting results. "The earliest so far dates from seven weeks after the last one in Washington state. So eight and a half years."

The Bat aura took on a density it never took outside of Joker cases. Silently, The Batman turned away. "I'll be on the roof. Brief the others."

Oracle's voice stopped everyone in their tracks as they moved to follow him. "Let him go! He'll be back when he's calmed down, and he already knows what I'm looking at. You all don't, so listen up!"

Oracle waited a moment for the combined forces of two teams to come to rest. "Alright. The short form of this is, 'That Guy' has almost certainly been operating in Gotham undetected for years." She waited for protests and exclamations to erupt; none did. What she saw was intent focus on everyone's face as they waited for her to unpack her statement.

"What we're looking at here in this set of graphs are abstracted statistical representations of the incidence of abandoned property reports to the GCPD for the last twenty years. The blue line is incidences, undifferentiated. The green line is reports where basic requirements for living were abandoned: clothes, food, and money, any two of the three, or all three."

Oracle paused to sip her tea, and continued, her voice unconsciously becoming grimmer, a feminine version of the Batman's growl. "The yellow line represents reports with crime scene annotations that match the scene description of earlier tonight: meticulously clean sites yielding little or no processible evidence. The red line is unsolved missing person reports that coincide with either green or yellow reports."

The room was dead silent. "I'm still refining my queries and worming the responses for duplications and false positives. There are undoubtedly dropouts in the data, where property was either informally taken in lieu of unpaid debt, or simply stolen. Which means additional situations that fit our criteria, but were never reported. I'm currently pulling missing person reports where there was a known address, but there was never an abandoned property report..."

Gizmo slid over. "Give me your net take, and I'll start performing correlations, Oracle. Let's see if we can't refine things a bit. I assume Batman will give assignments when he returns?"

Oracle nodded. "Yes. I asked everyone to return because we'll likely be reworking the patrols once I start getting some meaningful geographic distribution data."

Nightwing turned his gaze upon the pink elephant in the room: the manila envelope Magik had dropped off. "Alright. In the meantime - Jinx, you said bespelled?"

Raven glanced at the innocuous package, even as Jinx focused her sight upon it. A moment later, a lavender glowing wire diagram of a miniature dragon faded into plain view, before it seemingly shifted for comfort and faded out. Jinx and Raven looked at each other, and Jinx took up the explanation.

"It's a missive spell." she said. "When the package is opened, the messenger lets her know."

Oracle spoke up. "Is she listening in? Batman is asking."

Jinx shook her head. "Not that Raven and I can sense."

Oracle touched her microphone. "Understood." She turned to the room. "Batman says go ahead and discharge it."

Raven nodded, knelt, and opened the envelope. In her mind's eye, she saw the little dragon uncoil, stretch, look around, and then unhurriedly fly thru the wall. Meanwhile, a dozen comic books spilled out onto the coffee table.

Batman comic books.


"Batman - the package is comic books. About you. Commercially produced, apparently..."

Batman stood on the outdoor service walkway - the roof, in simple parlance - and stared out over his city. Somewhere in it, a serial killer had been working utterly undetected for eight and a half years. The degrees of rage and fear he felt were on a level equal to any The Joker had caused in him, owing in no small part to the sickening certainty that his spurning of magic had allowed the predator to operate so.

"Batman." the voice was low in volume, feminine, and possessed of a very slight accent. Not challenging or adversarial... more - commiserating?

He didn't turn. He had been expecting something of the sort, and if his suspicions were correct, it would be absolutely pointless to attack her: She'd see it happening full seconds before the attack actually happened. "Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina. Or do you prefer Magik?"

Illyana was deeply impressed by the man before her. The quality and quantity of work he had poured into himself was breathtaking. "I have a mild preference for my given name... but it would be highly inappropriate to return the courtesy in this venue. Either will do." She drew closer, seeing the ways open before her. They would speak. Catwoman was on the stair, already aware of her presence. Oracle was receiving notice... "Your associates have opened the envelope I left, which drew my attention. I scryed the room, but you were not present. It wasn't hard to find you. I spoke with two of your associates earlier today; have they bespoke you yet...?"

Thousands of miles above, Booster Gold was on monitor duty, when the sudden alert came in. The portal detector had caught a ping - on the roof of the Clock Tower! Booster had been following the news - It must be an attack. I got to get the troops there...!

Illyana saw the timelines suddenly multiplied wildly, as they did when multiple superheroes suddenly went on alert. "I need to speak to you..." She stopped. Everything had changed. It would no longer be a tense discussion - this was going to be a free-for-all. The Titans and the Bats were moving to surround her - and Superman was inbound from Metropolis. Wonder Woman was as well, from Washington DC. Flash and Green Lantern were seconds behind them...

Above and behind Illyana, Raven and Starfire teleported in. Starfire immediately pushed off Raven and gracefully fell fifty feet before blazing an arc across the ebon sky - her progress as clearly visible as that of a rocket fighter with afterburners in full blaze. Above her, cloaked in shadows, Raven hovered silently and frowned. The weight of hostility and aggression was thick enough to be all but visible. Her eyes flared moonlit, and she stretched herself, working to reduce the tension and maintain the tenuous calm.

Below her, horns flowed into existence on Illyana's head, and her tail lashed in frustration as a portal opened beneath her. Whatever she was going to say was lost as Catwoman broke cover. "Magik, wait! We need to talk to you too!" Unhesitatingly Catwoman entered the radius of the portal, committing herself to the ride if Illyana chose to open it. "You're being played, and not by us!"

"I know that. Hold on." And Illyana portalled them thirty feet up and thirty feet out into open air. The portal they now stood on, Catwoman saw, went to an alley somewhere, but was currently supporting their weight. Armor flowed across Illyana's form, and she abruptly was eighteen inches higher as her legs grew an extra joint. "Oh, you can't be serious... Batman, they're going to attack me! Call them off! I only want to talk!"

Batman could feel the weight of the night as well, but his mind, as disciplined as it was, registered it only in passing, and took no part of it at all. The Clock Tower priority alert was sounding. The panic button has been pressed. Who the devil did that? Illyana hadn't been attacking him... His thought tracks folded smoothly back together again. Catwoman was no more a prisoner than he was; Illyana had moved them to get them out from under something. Likely Superman he thought in passing. "Justice League, stand down! This is a parley!"

Most all receiving accepted the stand-down with no small relief, remembering Raven's vision. But as Flash approached Gotham, a sudden impulse swept thru him. "Bats, I can one shot her, Mach Ten. The Clock Tower is shatterproof, right?"

"No, Flash! We agreed we needed to speak to her! We have a truce!"

Oracle was on top of the situation. "He's not stopping! Coming down Broadway!"

Superman moved to intercept, but Illyana knew he would fail; Flash would simply vibrate thru him. "So much for trust. Pfffffffff..." And she and Catwoman dropped thru the portal, or perhaps it rose, or both; whatever the case, the portal winked out a full quarter second ahead of Flash.

Wonder Woman looked both amused and flummoxed at the same time as she descended along with Raven.

"I have never before encountered a potential foe who simply says 'Pfffffffff' and vanishes, Batman. Perhaps you could enlighten me with an appropriate protocol...?"

Which only elicited an irritated grunt from Batman.

Oracle's voice was relieved. "They're headed for the 'Berg, Batman: just entered the tunnels. I guess she wants a drink."

"Do we pursue?" Flash's voice was eager.

"NO." That was Superman. "We had a truce, until your bone-headed move, Flash! She's trying to arrange a prisoner transfer! Who hit the panic button?"

Batman frankly looked homicidal just standing there, arms cloaked and God alone knew doing what. But his voice was uncharacteristically mild. "Raven? Are you able to detect mind control once it's passed?"

With those words, the tension level intensified - or tried to. The Titans grouped up in a defensive pattern, with Raven at the center - but she gently separated Jinx and Gizmo, and stepped out. Her eyes were glowing like the full moon, and the shadows on the rampart all around them all deepened perceptibly as she walked. "Depending on the type, Batman. I'm actually best with emotional manipulation. I can report something is attempting to manipulate us all right this minute - and..." Raven smiled triumphantly, and the tension in the night eased down several notches. "Whoever that was, they've ceased their attempt."

Flash was dumbfounded, and horrified. "M-me? Mind controlled? But I was running! No one can get to me when I'm running!"

"Raven? If you please?" Batman's voice was implacable.

Raven's encloaked arms came up, bracketing Flash's head from behind, and Flash's upper body was enshrouded in shadow. "Just think back, Flash... Yes. His pride, and his ambition to be the best... to be the hero. Very subtle, in the moment, but with the speed at which he thinks, what would normally have taken weeks took moments. He was so consumed, he didn't even notice Catwoman except as an obstacle."

Flash looked smaller, as if expecting punishment. "I - I'll go relieve Booster. Get out of the way where I can't do any damage..."

Batman's voice might as well have been a physical thing that slapped the Flash. "The devil you will. You're nearly as much a victim as Magik is now; we'll need you to explain that to her when the time comes. Besides, this was the first real mistake whoever has been playing us all has made in this game."

"Bats, I could've killed her! Them! I - "

Batman's voice was just as steely and just as uncompromising as he delivered absolution. "But you didn't. You instead served notice of what your intention was in time to prevent it. You know as well as any of us what the Clock Tower is made of. You didn't need to confirm what you already knew."

Flash stood there, and his eyes literally blurred as he thought about it. Then his grin split the gloom like dawn. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?" He quit smiling. "Now we just got to hope Magik is in a listening mood..."

"She's with Catwoman. I imagine they'll talk." Batman turned to more completely face the assembled heroes. "We need to disperse. Thank you all for coming. Oracle, resume patrol assignments, please; we'll rework for tomorrow. Titans, how long can your city go without you being there?"

Cyborg answered. "The Watchtower can keep an eye on things in the short term; now that we have access to the transporters, we can be back there in a couple minutes if we need to be. We're here for the duration."

Batman grunted and turned to go back downstairs.