Arkham Asylum

LordGrise notes: And the hits keep coming. This chapter has taken far beyond what I thought it would take to write, ladies and gentlemen; I started a new job in there, with all the attendant stress that causes... and I have lost a very dear friend, one who will sorely be missed by me and some few others.

His name was Nick Lorance; He posted on Fanfiction on the handle Machievelli. He was in his mid sixties; he lived in Las Vegas, and it was he, ten years ago, who inspired me to start writing fanfiction again after twenty years plus of silence on my part. He was a mentor, a friend, a copy editor, a muse when needed... and I like to hope I was the same for him. Certainly I tried. We worked together on a number of stories.

January seventh of this year he suffered either a stroke or a catastrophic seizure; he had been dealing with a wide variety of neuro issues that had pretty much shut down his writing since the middle of November of 2017. He was extremely low income, so much so that he routinely sold plasma just to make the rent. No family, and needless to say, no insurance... and so he was not able to get the medical care he needed before crisis came.

He was cared for at University Medical Center in Las Vegas for a period of time I'm not certain of. They then transferred him to Harmon Rehab Hospital, also in Las Vegas, who 'cared' for him for about another two weeks... and then I don't know what happened to him, as for several days Harmon Hospital literally wouldn't take my phone calls. Eventually I got thru... and after the better part of a day of begging, pleading, and at the end threatening to report the hospital for mistreatment based on what I _did_ know, I was told that he was no longer present in the hospital, and that he had not been transferred.

Since Nick had been barely able to stand with assistance, had not been able to walk, and had taken profound brain damage, such that he was officially incompetent, and had a personally observed short term memory of less than fifteen seconds, I sincerely hope that that means he died in his bed in his sleep. As opposed to being evicted from the hospital in February, since he didn't have any medical insurance and thus no way to pay the bill... in which case he likely died of exposure in an alley, since his apartment had been cleared in the meantime. I'll never know, and it preys upon me when I think about it. I know Nick would want me to continue writing, and so I try not to think about his end to much. Which is hard, because practically every fragment of my writing I have on my computer has his fingerprints on it in one way or another.

One thing I do know, and that is if ever comes the day I have the financial or political wherewithal, I will learn what happened to him, and I will see that any whom I find did mistreat him are exposed and punished for whatever they did or did not do. So witness you Powers Above, and you Thrones Below. Give me what I need, and I will do so, or die trying.

On with the show. This one's for you, Nick.

Part 10:

"Good evening, Gentlemen." Raven smiled at the three men who had presented themselves to her. They were all garbed in inexpensive suits that fit decently - Intergang had certain standards for men of their ratings - and presented the image of seasoned, mature men one would expect. Raven approved of what she saw. "Your party is this way."

"Uhm - thank you - I guess we was expected...?" Was Scooter's unthinking reaction.

Raven turned a clipboard to show pictures of them. "You might say that. This way, please..." then she paused, and gestured at Scooter's small valise. "Sir, the house would request you leave that in the cloakroom.' Raven smiled.

Scooter objected genially. "Hey, hey, how am I to demonstrate without my goods? Most all this is just clay. I only got two flashbangs and a gasser on me... well okay, these two bricks are the real thing, but look, no detonators in 'em..." He patted his breast pocket. "I keep those here." Raven didn't waver, and continued to gesture to the counter. "Raven, I'm a pro, you know me. Have I ever - okay, don't answer that. I still say that wasn't my fault..."

Raven cocked her head. "I was not even going to mention that incident. Seriously, Mr. Donbley, do you think we would use this location as a venue for your skills? We have a demonstration space for that - elsewhere."

Scooter looked embarrassed. "I know, Raven. I figured that was where we were going...?"

Raven shook her head. "Not to the best of my understanding."

Scooter passed the bag over. "I keep the handhelds, okay? They're safer with me."

Raven pursed her lips, but she knew better than to argue with the man - he really was as good as they said." As you say."

Raven lead them thru the lounge up into the private rooms. Illyana was sitting there, and held out her hand, smiling. Raven sighed and handed her a ten dollar bill.

Illyana folded it once, and dropped it back on Raven's tray . "Please order something to drink, gentlemen. What is the phrase? On my tab?" Raven nodded in appreciation as she noted the ten had become a hundred. Many of the A and B List members of the club were truly miserly in their tipping, as they relied upon their reputations to get what they wanted. Illyana was anything but miserly, and the staff appreciated that fact - and it reflected in the quality of the service.

The three looked at each other, before ordering sodas. Raven accepted the orders without comment. The three men then sat quietly, not asking questions or really doing much of anything besides demonstrating they could be good henches, disciplined and non-disruptive.

Illyana lifted her glass. "Another, if you please." Raven left, vaguely proud of the three for not falling for the old trick of accepting alcohol. Of course, two of the three held reliability ratings of ten...

Illyana waited a moment for questions before realizing she was going to have to start things rolling. "My," she said, looking at Scooter. "Someone who handles explosives, but doesn't drink? Nothing at all like home." As she spoke, she peered down the man's timeline... and found it, not blocked, but somehow massively enhanced. She could see dozens of potential pasts - but she couldn't tell which one was the actual reality.

Scooter shifted uncomfortably. The entire rhythm of this interview seemed - off. "Uhm - job interview, ma'am. Not yet time to party."

"Ah. Quite." Illyana sipped, covering her consternation as she quickly scanned the other two men, and found them likewise affected. "You were all asked to attend because of who you worked for recently." She raised a hand to forestall any objections. "I wish some information, hopefully not at all proprietary. In return for it, you will tell me what your weekly salary was, and I will pay you what you made in a month."

Mack, Illyana realized, was not looking at her so much as behind her. His eyes, she realized, had the veriest suggestion of shading to the iris - in three bands of progressively more intense blue. To anyone not conversant, it might not even be noticeable, much less worthy of notice... but Illyana knew instantly that this man had the Sight, legacy of a long ago dalliance between an ancestor of his and a Sidhe. She continued without pause, throttling her growing frustration. First their pasts magically obscured, and now one of the men had the Sight - and the Gods alone knew what he was learning about her! "In gold if you wish. If you refuse to tell me, you will receive a week's pay merely for attending."

Mack snorted and shook his head. "Sure. What do you want to know, ma'am?"

Illyana sipped again, the picture of composure, even as she tried to get any impression of what this man might be Seeing. "A locket, and a spell. Someone supplied both to the Joker. I wish to know who." She needed to get the man focused on his situation, not her. "And to make it perfectly clear before you answer, if I later discover that anyone here lied to me, I will be... upset."

The instant the words were out of her mouth, she knew they were a nearly fatal mistake. Damn the local distortion of the timelines! At her words, all three men became much less relaxed. Skeeter Bob and Scooter eased away from Mack, and Skeeter Bob glanced at the door. Scooter slipped a hand into his coat pocket. Only Mack did not move... but Illyana was not in the least distracted from who the most competent in the room was. "Hah. I knew that shit would be trouble." Mack said.

Instinctively, Illyana demonstrated Power. A portal blossomed into being, depositing a flashbang into her hand. Mack's gut tightened at the display. Oh Shit... Illyana smiled slightly. "Please, do not become aggressive without cause..."

Scooter jumped. "What the hell - Ma'am, please be careful with that. The pin is not crimped much, okay?" He flinched as Illyana dropped the grenade to the center of the table. "I - I'll just let you hang onto it, okay? Misunderstandings are bad..."

She smiled as the timelines moving forward smoothed a bit. "We'll just leave it there then, shall we?"

When Mack spoke, his voice was heavy with disgust. "Scooter... Jesus man, you gonna screw this one up too?"

Scooter protested even as he telegraphed that he had one in his other coat pocket as well. "Aw, c'mon, Mack - I din't drop it, she took it! Somehow..."

Illyana offered a more conciliatory comment, opening further potentialities. "'Perhaps I should have added that in the event of an honest inability to answer, such as the items I am tracking being provided anonymously, I will be understanding. If you don't know, then you don't know. It's deliberate falsehood that I will not abide."

There came a discreet knock at the door, drawing everyone's attention. "Room service?"

Illyana noted with amusement how the three men instinctively normalized their body language at the prospect of someone not involved entering the room. "'Come in."

A sultry young woman with crimson hair in a ponytail entered, bearing a tray with several drinks. "Drink order, ma'am. One ginger ale, one seltzer with lime, one coke, one vodka from your personal stores. Will there be anything else?"

Illyana raised an eyebrow to the men, who all gestured politely in the negative. Wren bowed and departed, leaving the tray. Mack spoke up - in German. "So - I had the locket. Drop box delivery to me, day job rate. Only reason I know anything is, the Clown opened the box in front of me. Even gave me the box back." As he spoke, he tapped an ear, and looked at the tray.

Illyana looked intrigued, and glanced at the tray. "What kind of box?" She enquired in German. Then she spoke in English. "I asked you not to listen in, Mr. Cobblepott..." She flipped the tray into the air, and it vanished into another portal that promptly winked out.

Mack continued in German. "Wren doesn't speak German, that I know of, anyway. It's handy to have a couple extra languages. Scooter and Skeeter Bob both know German."

Bob muttered "Served there long enough..."

"Ser Gutt." Illyana replied. "I as well."

Mack nodded. "I figured."

Illyana noted how the other two men were more at ease, seeing Mack cooperating. Mack, on the other hand, was putting things together, she was certain... and he didn't like what he was getting. She returned to English. "So you saw the locket. What kind of box did it come in?"

Mack looked outwardly composed, even as internally he squirmed. Intergang frowned - hard - upon its' members giving up information about a delivery. But Intergang was also supremely practical, and if this was who he thought it was, the power imbalance would go a long way towards making things understandable. "Looked kind of like a cigar box - that sort of size and weight. Unmarked, sealed with brownish wax with a mark in it. Odd wood, though. I still have it - using it as a humidor."

Illyana looked amused. "I see. Would you trade it to me?"

Mack looked nonplussed. "Uhm - it's back in my rooms... But if it gets me a month's pay, it's yours, ma'am."

She held out a hand, and a portal opened before moving upwards. An ivory box stood in her hand, about the size of a deck of cards "I cannot merely accept it from you; something must be traded. So this box - a Shin Dynasty tea box - is yours in trade. I believe it is worth more than you make in several years. Along with the pay I previously offered."

There is the loyalty you earn, then there is the loyalty you buy. Rather amusing that so many villains and even heroes tend to forget that.

Mack pulled out a handkerchief and accepted it carefully. "O-kay... thank you. I'll need an hour or so to go get the box and bring it back. I'll leave this here, of course...?"

Illyana tsked and opened another portal, and pulled out the box Mack mentioned. "No need for that, Mr. Donaldsen...ah. The seal," She tapped the front of the box. "Who broke it? And who removed it?" She opened it and removed half a dozen cigars, drawing one under her nose. Memories of Logan danced in her forebrain a moment as she inhaled the scent of finely crafted tobacco. "Cubans...? no. Dominican puros. Am I correct?"

"Uhm - yes ma'am, you are. I can't afford good Cubans too often, and the cheap ones aren't worth anything." Mack answered. "Joker broke the seal. He giggled when he took the locket out, like he does when bad shit gonna happen. As for who removed the pieces of the seal afterwards, I did, after I got the box back to my rooms." Inside, Mack was sweating, even as rage and frustration bloomed in his heart. Shit. Shit... After this, I'm never crewin' for the Clown again. I'll fuckin' go punch a cop or something first.

Illyana nodded, please with the lack of evasions. "Ah. What did you do with the remains?"

"Likely still in my trash, if it matters, ma'am. Magic shit, I'm guessing?"

"Yes." Illyana gazed at Mack a moment, then opened another portal. Bits of off-maroon dried wax pattered onto the table. In Mack's vision, flames danced on the wall, and a silhouette winked at him.

Mack went pale. "He - he said he was going to call someone. I - he called you, didn't he." Skeeter Bob and Scooter looked sharply at Mack, and both stood, not even trying to conceal their actions. Scooter held two grenades, and Skeeter Bob had a .45 in one hand and a set of car keys in the other.

Illyana seemingly ignored all three of them as she dipped her finger in her glass, and made a circle around the fragments of wax. "As you were..." She murmured, and the bits of wax jumped back into a whole seal. "What? Yes. He called me - quite rudely. I'm not happy about that. Is that what it looked like when you saw it?"

Mack swallowed, knowing just how hopelessly the three of them were outmatched. If I can get her attention, they might just get out the door - but then what? He wouldn't last three seconds, he was certain. "No. It was more - glistening. And there was a symbol that's not there." He swallowed again, standing and easing his hands, preparatory to dropping his knives from his arm sheathes. "Look, I'm - we're just the damned - I beg your pardon. We're just day labor, okay? We have nothing to do with whatever."

Illyana's voice was introspective, and she carefully did not look up until she was certain her eyes were fully human. "I'm very aware of that, Mr. Donaldsen. The glistening was the magic used to form it. There was a symbol not now there?" Illyana focused her will and reached out as if to touch Mack's forehead. "Think of the symbol." Gently, gently... let it come forth, don't force it...

Scooter took advantage to ease towards the door, mentally figuring where to drop his shots. Smoker here, flashbang under the desk, cup the blast towards the bitch - no, Mack'll eat it too even if he can get the desk over...

Illyana's voice stopped him in his tracks. "I did not dismiss you, sir. I am not harming your associate, I am merely magically accessing the memory of the seal as it was whole. And if the memory were accidentally erased, I doubt he would mind."

Fear and anger swirled in Mack's instant answer. "I damned sure would mind. Seen those black suited bastards do just that once. I'm not down for that."

Illyana attempted to reassure, sensing the moment was close to lost. "I will not remove it intentionally. That could be harmful, and I would have to recompense you for doing so."

Mack's voice was unyielding, and somehow reminded Illyana of Logan. "My memories are a part of me, and I'm not selling. Not my memories, and not my soul, either. Give your word you're not gonna hurt or kill us. Or we make some noise. Then you answer to Penguin - and just maybe the Bat."

The Penguin concerned Illyana not at all... but Mack's words rang unutterably of Truth; what would inevitably come after that... Illyana accepted the warning with good grace. "I give my word I will not intentionally harm any of you unless you first offer me reasoned, intentional harm." She smiled coldly at Mack. "Well played, Mr. Donaldsen. I wonder just what you've seen with those eyes of yours."

Scooter spoke up. "What the fuck - is going on, Mack?"

Mack was pale again, but his voice was steadier. "I - I can see you, there. On the wall. In my mind. Your shadow - You want to introduce yourself, ma'am?"

Illyana's voice was amused even as she admired the man's ability to process. "By what name, sir? I have so many titles it is not even remotely funny. You may call me Illyana. It was what I was born with, after all."

Mack didn't let it go. "You look human. But your shadow has horns and a tail."

Skeeter Bob glanced at Mack. What the hell...?. "Mack...?"

Mack was on diamond stylus point, going one hundred percent with his gut. "Stand down, gents, but stay frosty. This Lady makes Deals. We don't try anything stupid, she doesn't either. Am I right, Ms. Illyana?"

Illyana addressed all three of them. "My shadow is what I may become in times, not what I am. If you wish the name of that shadow, it is Darkchylde. I am the however reluctant ruler of a - a dimensional space called Limbo. And as for Deals, I must honor my debts, both good and otherwise . Don't do me wrong, and I won't either."

"So we don't play you foul, you return the courtesy, is it?" Skeeter Bob offered hesitantly as he holstered his pistol.

Illyana nodded. "Exactly. And I am not one to collect souls - I leave that to other Powers. If I must deal harshly, I take flesh and blood for however long is needed. As I have done with the Joker."

Scooter no longer looked nervous - he looked intrigued, as he pocketed his weapons. "So you're what he called down on Arkham."

"Yes."

Mack looked relaxed as he sipped his ginger ale and sat back. "Okay..., So I told you what I know. You owe me a month's pay."

Illyana put her hand flat on the table, then lifted it, revealing a stack of gold coins, then another. 'For those memories I peeked at, you get two months, Mr. Donaldsen. I trust Double Eagles are acceptable?"

Mack whistled. "Those will do nicely, ma'am - but that's a considerable overpayment."

Illyana looked amused. "I pay by weight of metal, Mr. Donaldsen. If you can find someone to buy these coins at a higher price, that is between you and the purchaser."

Mack smiled broadly. "My kind of employer at last. Bob. Spill, man. We play it straight, it's all gonna come out fine."

Skeeter Bob grimaced, not really understanding the importance of the coins, and spoke up. "Okay, so same as Mack, I picked up a package, took it out to Arkham. Looked kind of like an oversized cigar sheath. You know, the ones that hold two cigars?"

Illyana was suddenly intent. "And the case? It was left there?"

Bob nodded nervously. "Yeah. Same kind of seal as what you just made. I didn't stick around. Joker fucking shot me last time he saw me, I didn't want him getting ideas."

Illyana nodded as she watched Skeeter tearing out of Arkham's parking lots. "Now, for both of you: you should not have been able to merely walk in. Did someone escort you?"

Bob nodded. "Yeah, the guard on duty. I didn't ask his name, and he didn't say." Bob added diffidently. "That's standard on courier runs..."

Illyana leaned forward. "'Then may I see your memory of him?"

Bob swallowed the last of his soda and stood. "Uh - a favor for a favor, right?"

Illyana blinked. The future timelines had just taken a very unanticipated direction... "As long as nothing was done to hide that memory I will merely look. As for what you gain..." she waved at the coins still sitting in front of Mack. "And that again if I must remove it in order to see it."

Bob looked at Mack. "Uhm - Mack? Is that enough to rebuild Betsy?"

Mack sighed. "No amount of money gonna do that, Skeeter. Betsy's gone. I know you got the wreckage in storage, but - she was blown to bits, man! You need to let her go..."

Bob turned and looked Illyana in the eye, a madman's hope burning in his breast. "I'm thinking you can rebuild her for me. Am I right?"

Illyana stared for a moment. An entirely new aspect of her future suddenly rolled forth in front of her. Unexpected opportunities... you seize them or they are gone forever. She chuckled. "Boys and their toys. I can use a driver accustomed to dangerous paths. I will pay you enough to rebuild or replace her."

Bob shook his head. "No. You bring her back, just like she was, you get my memory. I don't want money, I - I can make money. I want my car back. You do that, and hire me on, I'll drive for you."

Illyana frowned, intrigued. "I can make no promises until I see what is left of her for myself." She smiled. "I can see where you have her. Take my hands, gentlemen; I want this done today if at all possible."

Robert 'Skeeter Bob' Smith unlocked the door to the storage unit and winced as the odors of a very dead car billowed forth: scorched oil, burnt rubber and plastics, and the metallic tang of burnt metals. "Betsy..."

It was impossible to tell precisely what the car had been, besides large by modern standards; the blast had utterly blown the car apart, and fire had done the rest. The frame and undercarriage were still present, burnt and twisted, but everything above that level was gone, mutely testifying to the force of the blast.

Skeeter gestured to the wall, where a blackened transmission and mangled engine block were resting, along with the bumpers and what was left of the grille. "I pulled those off after the fact. They need to be mag-scanned, see if they're salvageable..."

"Was anyone killed?" Illyana asked, trying to follow the car's timeline. She was getting different impressions...

"Not that I know of." Skeeter answered.

The blast had happened only five weeks earlier. "How did you get the remains back so fast?"

Mack answered. "The cops were never called. Not much happens on the docks without somebody's permission, and no one wanted the heat. So some calls were made, and... here we are."

"Do you know who did this?" She asked. The trunk and the entire back seat had been loaded...

Skeeter sounded miserable. "No one did. I was moving a bunch of Scooter's stuff for him, and we stopped to get some food." He gestured helplessly. "Pure blind luck... I was the one who was hungry, but I didn't have any money, so Scooter was buying..."

Illyana looked at him skeptically. "You left the better part of a thousand pounds of chemicals, parts, and completed explosives unattended to get pizza, instead of waiting in the car while Scooter got it to go."

Skeeter just looked at her. "Well... yeah. It was all boxed up, everyone knew whose car it was, and I was really hungry..."

Scooter shifted uncomfortably, and Illyana could read bone-deep guilt in the man. It had been unintentional, she saw as she concentrated further; a bottle had leaked in a box, and started the chain of events. But there was something... she focused her sight, not on the car's timeline, but on the aether.

"Gods float dreaming in the Void..." She spun and stared at Skeeter, her eyes blazing yellow as she glanced from him to the wreckage and back. He froze, his desperate, hopeless need in his eyes and his heart in his mouth as he viscerally realized just what he might be appealing to. But when Illyana spoke, her voice was unexpectedly gentle. "You really loved her, didn't you?" Skeeter nodded convulsively, not even caring how pathetic it sounded - because in her voice, it didn't. Her voice held only compassion and understanding.

"I cannot repair her; too much of her physical form was consumed by the fire. But her anima has survived, as burnt and torn as she is, sustained by your tears, your blood... your devotion. You will drive for me? Knowing what I am, you will drive for me?"

Skeeter's voice was firm, even as the tears welled and hope blazed impossibly. "How far you wanna go?"

Illyana's voice held amusement. "How much you want to risk?"

"You fix my car, you treat us all good, I'm your guy. Ain't like Heaven's waiting for me anyway."

Illyana's voice was suddenly, unutterably unamused. "And do you two agree to this?"

The three men looked at each other in a moment of silent communication, and all three nodded. "You fix his car, you treat us all good, we're your guys." Mack said. Scooter nodded agreement.

"DONE." The word rang and echoed. "There are far more Heavens than merely the one, I promise you... and not all of them as exclusive as you fear. Close the door." Mack obeyed, and as he did, Illyana summoned her cellphone, and keyed in an impossible number. "Frankie? Illyana. I'm calling in my favor. I need a car rebuilt. Yes, now. Yes, we're secure. Thank you."

A garage door that had not been present a moment earlier rattled up in the wall opposite the unit's entrance, revealing a service bay in the middle of a row of similar bays, in an enormous garage with a central office. In one bay, a completely chromed APC stood with the cannon removed. In another, a hot pink tank with purple tiger stripes was apparently having her fluids changed. In a third, an Aston Martin convertible was having its suspension replaced. In a fourth, an antique cherry red Corvette convertible was having a series of nasty dings along it's rear driver's side panel removed - they looked somewhat like what bullet strikes would look like on painted armor, but of course a Corvette was far too lightweight in it's construction for that...

In the bay facing them, half a dozen goblins in jumpsuits sat on overturned oil drums playing cards around a tool cart. One was putting a cell phone away. "I'm out, boyz - go ahead, finish da hand. Den dere'll be work ta do." He ambled out, chewing on an oily looking cigar. He looked the wreckage over, taking note of the ruined engine and transmission against the wall, ashed his cigar, and whistled softly. "Ouch..." He looked up at Illyana. "Good evening, Lady Rasputin. Da Boss said you'd be callin' tonight. I'm guessin' dis is da patient?"

"Yes. Full nine yards, Frankie. Full. Nine. Yards. Do me proud."

Frankie bowed, and when he came up, his grin had teeth. "Like I roll any othah way..." He looked the three men over. "Okay, which a youse da owner?"

Skeeter raised his hand hesitantly. "I - I am."

Frankie drew hard on his cigar, then spoke, smoke billowing between his teeth as he did. "You are... but not entirely. You ain't da only one, are ya?"

Mack spoke up impatiently. "Me and Scooter both worked on her a lot, if that's what you mean... but Betsy was his, and anyone who tries to say otherwise is lying."

The goblin grinned. "Hah. I knew it. All t'ree 'a youse worked on 'er, sweated on 'er, cursed on 'er... an' bled on 'er. Am I right?"

The three men nodded, and Frankie turned to Illyana. "I'm gonna need all three of 'em, milady. We'll get 'em back to you as good as they are now, if not a bit better, likely wit' da car. Izzat acceptable?"

"Entirely, Frankie. Go with him, do as he says. You represent me, now. Above all, do not leave the garage except in his company. I'll see you when Betsy is once more whole."

After she collected the memory from Skeeter, and sent the three men and the wreckage to the Times Squared Garage, Illyana stood in the reeking storage unit - and considered her options. She was now at a wall; she needed Batman, his deductive abilities, his irreproducible databases and accesses... his experience. The problem was how to privately contact him: she did NOT want another run-in with an enraged Justice League, and showing up on the metaphorical doorstep of either their orbital clubhouse or his home seemed just the way to do so.

The Clock Tower was out as well, and for the same reasons. During her unintended jaunt to the future, she had learned that the Clock Tower was not just a superhero base; it was the home of Barbara Gordon, who was Oracle, and Dick Grayson, who was Nightwing. Illyana would go a long and ugly mile to avoid endangering that priceless future in which their daughter hugged her leg in love and trust and called her 'Aunt Illy'.

She found herself looking at her cellphone. Could it be as easy as - that...?

It turned out that it was.

Batman and Catwoman had been working in full dress for over two hours, auditing thumbnails and abstracts sent over from Titan's Tower and the Watchtower. Beast Boy had recruited several of the younger Leaguers and independents they bankrolled, anyone with an interest in comic books, and the result was a near flood of rather disjointed reports of Mephisto's activities and acts across forty years of comic books. Selina had been almost amused at first, but the grim concentration Bruce had focused on the task had convinced her otherwise, and now the two of them were making notes and highlights and passing them back and forth between the two workstations. Selina quickly caught on to the common themes of the stories, and the growing realization of what Bruce had to be thinking spurred her on. She did not look behind her; if he was right, there would be no point in doing so, and if he was not, then there would be no point in it either.

"Sir, there is a telephone call for you. It was rerouted from Wayne Enterprises. The number has been flagged by Ms. Gordon as being the burner phone being used by Ms. Rasputin." Alfred's voice was calm and unflappable; putting a Hell Lord on hold, just another Tuesday...

"Route it down here, Alfred. And thank you. I've been expecting it." He keyed up the microphone. "Ms. Rasputin?"

"Mr. Wayne, thank you for taking my call. I wonder if I might drop in? We really need to talk."

"I agree, Ms. Rasputin. I believe I have the name of your summoner. Please, be my guest."

A portal flared into being on the turntable for the Batmobile, and Illyana stepped thru, clad in jeans and a demure blouse. "I accept, Mr. Wayne. Thank you for inviting me on short notice."

"Hardly short notice, Ms. Rasputin." Bruce said as he drew his cowl over his forehead and it sealed. The voice modulator came online, and Batman was present. "This has been nearly inevitable ever since last night."

"So - who?" replied Illyana.

Batman gestured at the memory impression recorder's playback helmet. "Play that, assuming you can drop your mind shields, and you'll see Raven's vision in all it aspects. Though I think you'll find it obvious in hindsight."

Batman and Catwoman stood together as Illyana reviewed the memory recording. As they waited, Catwoman clipped in the claws that Illyana had altered. Batman was wearing a heavy combat belt, but he knew he had nothing of any special effectiveness - except his contacts. Whether they would do any good in the short term remained to be seen... but no matter what happened here, they would be alerted. Oddly, he was content to have Catwoman beside him - come what may, they would face it together. He took comfort in the thought.

The first sign that Illyana was done with the playback was the smell of scorching concrete and burning plastic. Tentacles of smoke rose from the helmet in Illyana's hands as she became Magik: burning yellow eyes without pupils, blond hair moving in arcane breezes even as black bars erupted from her hair like some bizarre combination of horns and hairpins. Skintight leather-looking tights with the inner curves of her breasts and her abdomen bared had taken the place of her civilian attire. Magik spoke one word, a name. A name Selina had never heard before this morning. The level of rage that suffused the pronouncement was palpable.

"Mephisto."

A long sigh of resignation filled the Batcave. Catwoman and Batman turned to see Batman's shadow stretch impossibly, and then pull itself from the cave wall and morph into a tall man, red of flesh.

He had wild and crazy long black hair with impossibly moving red highlights, as though oil moved atop shadow. He wore a tattered red cloak, with no hint of what might be beneath it's folds. Modest horns, and merely the faintest whiff of evil. One would never call him dapper, but his impact was undeniable. His fingers were elegantly long, and tipped with talons. He had a voice like a carpet of finely crushed broken glass suspended in gel, smooth and finely modulated... and hinting at unfathomable depths of horror and suffering.

"Greatest detective indeed." Was his droll comment. "Might I inquire, Mr. Wayne, as to what gave me away?"

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Nothing in this universe knew of Magik as an actual entity, and who else from hers might have the ability, the power, and the guile to bring her here?"

A bitter smile of unwilling acceptance acknowledged Batman's explanation, and smoke slid from Mephisto's nostrils as if he smoked a cigarette.

Magik spoke at last. "Bastard!" Which only earned her a condescending look.

"yana, 'yana, 'yana… Is that the best you can do? Really?" Amusement shot through Mephisto's comment. "And not even an accurate appellation. Why not really show these good people just what you look like when everything's is torn away? No? Allow me, then."

Mephisto waved one hand, exactly like a stage magician cueing the reveal. There was a soundless burst of heat and light, like white phosphorus, and Magik was transformed yet again.

She still had a female form, still with goat-hooved feet, but the extra joint was now missing. She was garbed from neck to knees in a spiky black armored body suit. Her hands were still roughly human in structure, but were far more monstrous, with reddish, hairy skin. A smear of flame roughly followed the form of a monstrously wide sword.

Her head had become a skull-like mask with horns, wreathed in a mass of flames. She had no eyes, just burning pits seemingly akin to openings into a blast furnace. Her mouth was a pit of conflagration.

"There's the 'yana we all so know and love." purred Mephisto. "That's what's kicking back in this universe of yours, Mr. Wayne. Just one temper tantrum away from burning everything to the ground… just like that quaint asylum you kept repopulating." Mephisto moved towards the Batmobile. "Ohhh, now that's a car. Very nice, Mr. Wayne. I have a modified Veyron, myself, I'd love to race... for pinks, of course? Not like you can't afford it..."

He focused on Illyana again. "But I forget myself. My apologies, 'yana. The asylum was... competently executed, I must admit. Not quite what I thought you'd do... but in the long run, more inspirational for when you take this world for your own." He waited a beat for a response, then cut in just before Illyana could deliver any such. "Oh, pshaw, 'yana. Not like you haven't done it before, eh?"

"Don't listen to him, Illyana." Selena spat out in reply as Magik remained silent. "The only thing I see is this bastard keeping your distance from your sword."

Mephisto smiled in apparent amusement. "That from the - woman, I could use other words but I won't - who has spent her entire life avoiding fights in order to enrich herself at the expense of others." He glanced at Batman. "What do you see in her, Mr. Wayne? Courage? She has none, at the end of the day. Skill, oh, that I'll grant, but when the chips are down, she runs; it's all she really knows how to do. Well, that, and theft, and murder, of course... but so what? A penny the hundredweight, where I come from. No better than wellborn white trash. Shouldn't you be stealing something, Ms. Kyle, instead of - oh wait, of course, of course... Just be sure she signs the prenup, eh, Mr. Wayne? Just think of how she could cripple you otherwise..."

Batman turned to Catwoman; incongruously, his lip was quirking in that way that indicated he was amused. "It seems you lack... complexity, Selina."

Selina giggled, took in Mephisto's sneer, and her giggle became a full laugh. "Look at him! God, he looks just like Lex does when he knows he's missed something..." She straightened, and all amusement drained from her expression and voice. "Cheap shot, Mephisto. Worthlessly so. Bruce and I discussed that weeks ago. We've got an entire array of protocols ready, depending on who brings that very point up and how."

Mephisto accepted the riposte in seeming good humor and returned his attention to Magik, who had regained control of her form.

"Illyana, you've come so far. The delight in harming those who would harm you. The rejection of those who profess love... after all, is not all love ultimately merely a pack of self serving and self deluding lies? It all stems from lust, of course... But then it all went south. I blame Dormammu and his idiotically overblown, thuggish ways. His attempt to end you was such a blithering mistake. All it did was finish the job of reintegration of your soul, and fix that little perceptional issue you were having."

"Killing and eating Dormammu, now, that was just entailed, after all that had gone before. No one will ever fault you for that, except perhaps the ignorant do-gooders with no concept of long-term consequences. Certainly I won't. But since then…? Backsliding. Such backsliding. And you know it will just result in more grief for you, don't you? Mephisto's voice was plaintive on the last , as if trying to convince Magik of something obvious. "It doesn't matter what you do, 'yana, your actions will always be misunderstood; it's your curse. That cleanup of the potential Gateway, does he -" Mephisto gestured at Batman - " have any understanding of just what you may have prevented from wandering in? Do any of them? Of course not. And would any of them care, if they did? Why should they? Because you actually were trying to do the right thing? As if there is any such thing..."

Mephisto gave a heavy sigh, that echoed about the Batcave.

"Such a waste. One moment you're killing whoever Scott says to kill - you do remember those prisoners you sent into Limbo to die, don't you, 'yana? Mustn't forget them; you can't recall them forth if you don't recall them, if you follow me..."Mephisto's chuckle echoed eerily, as though the Batcave had massively expanded. "That's one of the things about Limbo, Mr. Wayne; it's almost impossible to permanently die there. The ruler of the Realm can always pluck you from the timestream, which is handy when you need some deniable asset... or an afternoon's entertainment."

Catwoman and Batman were so of one mind, it was as though Batman was speaking with Catwoman's voice. "Words. Merely words... you're trying to provoke us, trying to get us to doubt her. But why bother? Why would you go to all this trouble?"

Illyana had dispelled the seeming Mephisto had laid on her, although she still retained the majority of her Darkchilde form. "He wants me, Catwoman. He wants me to Fall."

Mephisto shook his head tiredly. "Evolve, my dear. Not Fall. Fall is so judgmental. So... indicative of moral fantasies. We all have to grow up sometime. Riddle me this, Batman, to quote another excellent prospect from hereabouts; one devil to another, how are you or Miss Rasputin any different from me? Hells are ruled by fear and terror and power... as in precisely how you deal with the Gotham underworld. Do you coddle them, or do you beat them nigh on to senselessness? Exactly. That fear in their eyes, how good does that taste, eh?" Mephisto's eyes briefly closed in pleasure before reopening, gleaming with malicious enjoyment. "Dangled anyone over a roof top lately? Knocked out any teeth? Crushed any fingers, broken many limbs? Got to keep on top of these things, my good man. There's a quota to be kept, if you want to maintain a reputation for fearsomeness. I know, 'yana knows, and you know, deep down, just how good it feels to hurt them, to feel them squirm in terror and hopelessness. The joy and satisfaction in their weakness after they break... to know just how well we are feared."

He chuckled. "Now, 'yana just doesn't get into that nearly as much as she should, in my opinion; she just goes for the kill more often than not, takes her pleasure in the bathing in blood, and doesn't even bother with the souls. Fun, I suppose, but over far too soon for me. I suppose when one controls Limbo, one has that luxury - after all, very little is truly forever there, so collecting the souls is a rather pointless activity - they just keep reincarnating, and don't even forget anything! Ah, but pain and suffering... that sticks with one, doesn't it, 'yana? She dabbles, Mr. Wayne, but it's crude and overdone stuff, honestly. Anyone can start with red hot pokers. I know who's more experienced in the arts of torture - I beg your pardon, sir. Enhanced interrogation techniques, my apologies. I forget myself. Must use the proper terms, so much rides on appearances with your colleagues."

Batman replied composedly. "I know what I do. But it's necessary. And I've never killed."

The statement prompted a viscous chuckle from Mephisto, like treacle. "I do so love moral certainties... As if death is the worst thing that can happen to anyone. Death as a state of being is painless, Batman. Life is very much otherwise. But please, do keep playing the policeman. Yana doesn't, she fights wars, although I'm most disappointed that she lately appears to be adopting more of your philosophy. You could ask Diana about fighting wars? Or do you just think she only swats things with that sword of hers? Or your Atlantean king, for that matter. They both have trails of bodies that are impressive... but I suppose you try not to think about that. Don't worry, everyone's intentions are good, I'm sure. I'll never criticize; I'm a big believer in the end justifying the means."

He chuckled again. "Mr. Wayne has so much to teach you concerning hurting others, 'yana my sweet. I promise you. The drive, the directness, the lack of compassion, those you have in Spades, but the precision, the understandings of proportion, or perhaps scale... I'm not using the right word. The exactness, 'yana. Knowing what he wants to achieve, and not going overboard one iota. Magnificent, I say; the mark of a Leader. Cannon fodder is a dime a million in hell, but a General? Generals are rare, Mr. Wayne. And one such as you… Well, let's just say our legions await. It's the passionate ones who will do anything for what they perceive as the greater good who always make the best Generals. Those who rant and rage against the unfairness of the universe. With those I will someday tear down the walls of the various Heavens, and make them all mine."

"You know nothing of me." Batman growled. "Leave."

Mephisto laughed, and in the far distances, the echoes were as if multitudes laughed with him. But the echoes died away, and the normal sounds of the Batcave reasserted themselves. "Nothing? I was once one such as you, sir. Who do you think helped secure the Elder Gods, and eradicate their influences, eh? But my methodologies were disputed, and the rest is ancient history. You won't find any of that in any monthly periodical hereabouts, I promise you. You know practically nothing of me, Mr. Wayne. But I know everything there is to know about you, and I like what I see."

Batman had a good idea of why Mephisto was baiting them so. "Magik. Am I correct in that he can only apply as much force as is directed against him?"

Magik smiled, white teeth gleaming. "That is precisely correct, Batman. And now that he has been instructed to leave by one who lives here, he must. It's why the echoes have returned to normal."

Batman turned to Mephisto. "You were summoned as well; it's the only way you would have come here. And you haven't consummated your summoning any more than she has."

Mephisto's smile was broad and satisfied. "You like to collect things, Mr. Wayne; so do I. It simply takes a bit of time for them to all bring themselves to the proper place at the proper time. One can't blame me for entertaining myself in the meantime, and trying to bring a younger protégé along, eh? Well, well... Just look at the time. You know how it is, Mr. Wayne: Places to go, people to see, things to do. Elsewhere, as requested by your Lady. Keep up the good work, and I'll have a position waiting for you..."

Selina couldn't help it; she laughed at Mephisto again, knowing he would not forget or forgive. "Oh my God, that's rich. As if you have any authority or power over either of us. Play it off how you will, Mephisto, you've lost here, and you know it. Just go. Even Penguin three quarters sloshed can come up with better repartee than ' Well, well, look at the time...'." Selina fixed Mephisto with a gimlet eye. "Leave. You are not welcome here. God, next you'll be using the line about omelets and eggs. Pfffff..."

Mephisto turned silently, venomously, and walked into the darkness. A soundless echo warranted that he had departed.