A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry it's taken so long, but since I'm homeschooled and kind of lagging in that area, my brain has been fried and I just want to read other people's marvelous fanfics at the end of the day rather than working on my own. But I have a few special people and stories that I want to mention: Vendelyn Silverhawk, who has been very supportive and encouraging of the story thus far and my little sister, who reads and exclaims on how good it is and helps me with plot bunnies. Also, a really good story to read here would be "Where is the Edge?" in the Batman Begins/Dark Knight area. That story is very well written, and is about the childhood of Jonathan Crane and his next-door neighbor, Ames Mandon. Please check it out! I would really appreciate it!

-J. Thompson

. . . . . . . . .

I went home that morning frustrated and feeling abandoned. I was sure that Harley hadn't meant to throw that trophy at me, but it still felt like a betrayal. I flopped on my bed, fuming. Then suddenly, it just all bubbled over and I screamed, throwing a piece of ice at the wall, where it shattered into chunks and skittered around until one stopped at my feet, where I kicked it again.

Why was my life falling apart? First I find out my dad is completely and utterly non-existent as a father figure, then my other father/brother figure dies, then my sister starts throwing things at me! What was going on? Was I bad luck or something?

I changed into my prison jumpsuit and flopped onto my bed, closing my eyes, then opening them to the glare of the noon-day sun.

I sat up, a thought having occurred to me while I was sleeping. Maybe it had been a dream I didn't remember (which was kind of scary, because I remember everything else.), or maybe just another thing triggered my inner detective. Mr. J had had me put up a sign reading "Joker The Immortal", right? So why did he say that? He wouldn't have put it up there unless he believed it, and maybe that woman Harley had been so angry about was the one who had told him that he was going to be immortal.

Another thought occurred to me. Hadn't Dad and Batman been talking about somebody who had been alive for six hundred years? I think they mentioned the name Ra's Al Ghul. And if Batman had some experience with the guy, then he'd probably fought Mr. Al Ghul, leading to the assumption that Mr. Al Ghul was one of the bad guys, like me, and therefore would have died a couple times, if he really had lived six hundred years.

I needed to see my dad's sample of Mr. Al Ghul's blood. Then maybe I could find away to bring Joker back. He never stayed dead anyways, but perhaps I could help it along. I mean, it might be years, and Harley needed him now. Heck, I needed him now.

I snuck quietly out of my bedroom, skidding slightly on the icy floor. I let my feet slip and slide around as I sort of skated to the lab. My breath made ghostly shapes in the early morning sun, where it dissipated like a ghost. I wasn't shivering, but it was just a little bit too chilly. Kind of like being in a basement during the summertime with the AC on. A jacket would have made me comfortable, but just the tank top I was wearing made me shiver slightly. It was January now, but it was still a bitterly cold winter. The highest it had ever gotten was forty-five degrees Fahrenheit, and that had been while I was sleeping, at around two o'clock in the afternoon (I checked the weather forecast, okay?).

The lights were turned off in the lab, but the computer screens threw blue light around on the floor and the cracks between the blinds allowed a little more sunlight in. I grabbed a rolling chair from the corner and scooted up to one of the monitors. Technically, all the monitors connected to the same computer that Dad had built himself (actually, it could be my cousin. I have some of the same exact parts in my brain!), and as such would be easy to get into.

I opened the drawer underneath the table next to me to find a mouse, then stopped. Dad used touch-screen monitors because he couldn't fit his mechanical paws onto them! I felt like slapping myself on the forehead and whispering, "stupid, stupid, stupid!" but I was afraid of making too much noise, even though Dad was gone. It seemed wrong to interrupt the silence that reined over the house.

I pressed my finger to the screen, and it suddenly blazed with a white light, making me blink. A password was asked for, and it didn't take me too long to figure it out: June5th1973. That was Mom's birthday, and the day they got married. Of course, I tried NoraFries, ChocolateCupcakes (Mom's favorite food) and Uranium, her favorite element. I think the only reason she liked it was the name, but what the heck.

I searched the multiple files on the desktop, finally alighting on one labeled "Clown_Cure". I double tapped it, and a file opened up. My eyes scanned the page until I found another file labeled "DNA". I opened it, and tapped on the first one I saw. It brought up a picture that made me gasp.

I don't know how many of you are genetic specialists, but suffice to tell you that I recognized the strand. It was Joker's, and it was seriously messed up. Pieces were missing from it entirely, while others looked like the DNA equivalent of having acid splashed on them! I shut it quickly, feeling sick.

"Okay, not the right document." I whispered to myself, more to stop me from shuddering more than anything.

The next document made me again wince. I think this one was the Bat's DNA, but it had the same characteristics as the other picture. I again shut it quickly, feeling my throat begin to constrict like after maybe a normal person not used to dead bodies would react to accidentally touching one. then steeled myself for the next one, but that time I closed my eyes and picked randomly.

That time the strand looked different. Not normal, but not acid riddled either. It almost seemed… stronger. Like iron. Maybe this was Mr. Al Ghul's blood. Then I remembered something I had almost forgotten. Back when I had first met Johnny Boy, the day that we went to Wonder City for some old robots, there had been a trail of blood through the streets that seemed to have these characteristics. It wasn't exactly like Mr. Al Ghul's, but a close relative maybe. A sister or maybe a son.

Didn't Batman mention a Talia? If he knew her name and his informant, Oracle, had some knowledge of her, maybe it was Talia's blood spread everywhere. But I didn't have any proof that she had any connections to Ra's Al Ghul. Maybe Mr. Al Ghul's son got hurt and had to be dragged back to their hideout. Talia could be just a flirtatious assassin, maybe a bit like Catwoman.

Speaking of Catwoman, I hadn't seen her in ages. Maybe it was just as well. I always felt a little uncomfortable around her. Maybe because she was so close to crossing the line into heroism. I think the definition of somebody like that is 'anti-hero'. Either way, we were acquaintances, and as such I wouldn't outright try to kill without provocation.

I shut down the computer and went into the kitchen and grabbed some packaged gluten-free chocolate chip cookies. I don't know who was in charge of sending in food, but they certainly weren't the most healthy or least expensive things on the market. I ripped open the package with a loud crinkling sound. I scarfed down the whole package and then drank some disgusting water from the sink that tasted like iron.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I went into my bedroom and retrieved my sack, then retreated to the bathroom and splashed ice-cold water on my face and yanked a wet comb through my hair. Forget about sleep! This called for investigating!

I wrestled my wet blond hair into a ponytail and pulled on my boots, lacing them tightly. The make-up looked even messier than usual, except I took my time sticking the teardrop gem onto my cheek. Wonder City wasn't far, but it wasn't close, either. I filled up a water bottle, shuddering when I thought about the flavor. I also put dried apricots in my backpack and slung it on.

I hesitated by the door for one second, then flung it open, shying away from the blinding sunlight and shielding my eyes from all the reflections off the numerous metal objects on the street. I glanced back and looked at the welcoming darkness inside. It was rather a struggle to shut the door behind me and lock it. I felt exposed and like a fish out of water in the sunlight. The colors were so much more vibrant now.

I looked down at my outfit, appreciating the contrasting and bright colors of it even more, though the ruffled and smocked cropped top was blindingly white underneath the sun. The black of the outfit, like my boots and the capris underneath the frilly harlequin skirt, I especially liked. It was a comforting reminder of the shadows.

Even as uncomfortable as I felt in the sun's broad daylight, I felt like my first night, the feeling of wonder for the way things looked in real life. I walked slowly, looking at the buildings that were a dirty brown in daylight, not a really pretty chocolate color like in the night.

I hopped over a sleeping prisoner (at least, I think he was sleeping), and wound my way along the litter-strewn streets. If I thought the night before had been quiet, it was like the difference between a completely silent street and cicadas – thousands of them – doing their mating calls. It was like a ghost town during the daytime, and for it being about forty or fifty degrees, I felt strangely hot. I guess how somebody would feel at about eighty to ninety degree weather with a really strong sun.

A breeze blew, lifting my hair and whipping the loose hairs into my face, stinging slightly. It felt good, drying the drops of sweat on my forehead and neck. Then a noise and movement up ahead startled me, making draw my pistol (personally I like my knife better, but for long range things, a gun works much better) and aim it in the direction of the sound. But it was only a dirty piece of paper blowing along the tan cobblestones.

I relaxed a bit, lowering the gun. It was like a ghost town in here. Where was everyone? I thought maybe everyone else in Arkham City were taking naps. Maybe everyone else here likes the night more just like I do. Still, it was kind of creepy that the noisy, busy city I knew during the night gave way to this empty, void land during the day.

Oh, well. At least I could hear anyone coming towards me, be it TYGER officer, GCPD, thug, Rogue, or hero. They couldn't help making sounds. My boots clattered against the cobblestones, and the only way to avoid making any noise would be to move slower than a snail and press my feet more softly than a feather landing against a pillow onto the street. Not worth it, and they might stay away if they heard somebody else around here. So I kept my eyes and ears wide open for any sounds, looking around corners before stepping into sight.

Well, at least I didn't have to contend with the Dark Knight. He never came out during the daytime, just like the mammal he'd named himself after. I kicked a pebble, watching it clatter until it stopped against a tent stake.

I looked up, up, up to the top of the red and white striped tent. It flapped in the wind, the grass growing long close to it and waving in ripples. I pulled open the flap and stepped inside. There was nobody inside it, but there were large torches flickering and illuminating the center of the three rings, but the corners were in the dark. I hesitated, then walked into the center ring. I walked around it, looking and running my hand along the rough and chipped barrier.

It took me a few minutes to walk all the way around it. It was really large. I think that an elephant's pen at the zoo was smaller than the center ring.

Suddenly, I heard a loud clack, and a light almost a bright as the sun blinded me. I squinted and held up my hand, while a voice from behind me yelled out, "Ladies and gentleman! I give you… Pirouette!"

As the laughing and cheering started, from stands that were suddenly filled with people, I looked up to a tall tower that looked like an over turned circular popcorn box stood Mr. J with his long purple coat, white frilly shirt, and pinstriped pants. He hopped off the popcorn container and swept off the purple top hat on his green hair and bowed, taking my hand and kissing it. He smiled, turned and spoke to the audience. "Tonight Miss Pirouette will be doing some very unusual tricks for you! First, she'll be fighting our own Black Panthers of India!"

The audience gasped and oohed, though I doubt any one of them knew whether there are even panthers in India. Heck, I didn't even know. But I followed Mr. J to a large cage, and he helped me inside it with all the grace of a perfect gentleman, though he was throwing to a pack of hungry cats.

He closed the cage behind me with a clang. It was a big cage and rusty, as if it had been out in the rain a lot. I heard a low growl from the shady corner and could see a pair of eyes looking at me, glinting in the firelight. I took out my knife. My gun would be too quick for a show. Though normally that would have been my first choice, plus it was much more fun to see them bleeding on the ground from a knife wound than with a small bullet hole in their forehead. Much more entertaining.

A snarl rang out from the corner and the lithe creature came far enough forward for me to make out its gleaming coat from the rest of the darkness in the cage. It wasn't much bigger than a Great Dane, but a whole lot more aggressive, its teeth glinting white as it pulled back its lips for another growl.

I started circling it, keeping a safe distance from the beast, acutely aware of the soft sand underneath my feet that would keep me from moving as quickly in the arena. The big black cat started circling me, too. Then it suddenly coiled and pounced past me, or rather, at me. It missed by a margin of inches, and I stuck my knife right where it had thrown itself, leaving a long cut that started bleeding drops of blood.

The cat yowled, raising goose bumps on my arm. I sliced wildly, landing various other small cuts on the big animal. Then suddenly, there were growls and snarls all around me. I looked around wildly, my heart rate picking up as I counted the pairs of hate-filled eyes ringed around me.

At least a dozen of them. Did Mr. J honestly think I could beat them all? Well, at least I'd give the audience a show. Wiping my knife in the sand and then polishing it on my skirt, I went into a fighting pose, waiting for the first one to come streaking at me.

There was a pause while they all watched, waiting. Then one leapt at me, obviously tired of waiting. I waited until it came close enough for me to make the death leap. It took a powerful jump that I stooped under, like dodging a dodge ball. Then I reached up and caught the ball, slicing right between the ribs all the way to the hipbone. It's a lot harder than you think it would be to cut through so much flesh.

The shadow cat crumpled, maybe not dead, but out of the battle for a bit. Okay… at least eleven left. Oh, wait. I forgot about the first one. That makes twelve.

Then they were all leaping at me one after the other and my breath picked up until I was gasping for air while I sliced and diced (or at least tried. Those cats were fast.) at the animals. I think I may have hit a few of them, but then something slammed into me.

I was facedown in the sand, a panther on top of me, dripping blood onto my neck. Its claws dug into my arms that it had somehow got both of them in a death-grip. Then, suddenly, there wasn't a panther. There was a woman wearing an ornate ski mask (at least, that's what I found the closest comparison to). Claws weren't restraining my arms. A thin piece of fabric was wound expertly around my hands and forearms, my knife gone. The fabric bit into my hands and rubbed uncomfortably as the woman dragged me to my feet.

I blinked and looked around. The hallway was splattered with blood and the lights flickered weakly, coughing to life for a few seconds then dying back into blackness, but I could see in the few moments of light a couple more people just lying on the ground, a pool of blood around them. There was even one who looked like her stomach had been ripped open.

I had a mixed feeling of pride, and bemusement. I did that? I was shoved roughly forward and almost tripped over a loose cobblestone in the path. I was thoroughly confused and mulled it over while the woman in the ski mask pushed me around corridors and through echoing chambers.

I wasn't even sure how I got in there. Did someone slip me a hallucinogen when I wasn't looking or something? I thought back to the circus tent. I really wanted to go back there… everything I had wanted was there, and it was so much fun. But I closed my eyes several times and couldn't get into my Wonderland again.

My vision suddenly went black. "Hey!" I yelled, struggling. There wasn't any response except for another rough shove. The struggling didn't do anything but make me loose my balance yet again. I almost fell that time, but the woman holding me grabbed my bound arms and kept me upright.

Even though I couldn't see where we were going, the mental map I was putting together would help me get out of here if I needed to. Fifteen steps, then a left. Twenty-one steps, slight right. On and on we walked, until she stopped me and kicked the back of my leg. I went down onto my knees, and a stinging sensation on the place where they had landed told me I had probably scraped some skin off.

A few whispered tones that I couldn't hear (I was frustrated that my super-hearing had worn off. It would have been useful to hear what was being said.) and the bag was ripped off my head. At first I couldn't see anything. Just an expanse of white. When my vision adjusted, I could see that a man was sitting on a makeshift throne, and a brightly lit – yet still dingy – room. The stones were carefully cut, and shone bluish-greenish in the light, even though it was pretty easy to see in here.

"You are the child who invaded my home?" The man asked. His eyes glowed the same color as the stones, and his hair was brown with streaks of white in the side-burns and where it stuck out from his head to form a rough triangle shape, with a small goatee-thingy to match.

He was probably going to kill me if I wasn't polite, so I replied cordially, "I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was doing." That was completely the truth. I had had no idea I'd been killing the ninjas.

"And yet you managed to severely injure five of my followers."

I fought back the urge to smile. I had done a great job for having been in a dream world at that point. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. They were weak if a child could beat them. Tell me. Zahra says that you fought like demon. Who trained you?"

"Nobody." I had never studied under any one person. It was collective learning.

"Nobody." He raised one brown-white eyebrow. "One does not simply walk in here and defeat my people."

I wanted to say, "No, duh, Boromir." But instead said respectfully. "I learn by watching. I see it once, it's my move. Provided that I can do it physically. I could see Superman lift a building, but I could only imitate the way he did it. I'm not strong enough to lift a building."

"Not many people can do something of that nature."

"Blame my dad. He made me the way I am today."

"The clown?"

I realized that I was still wearing my Pirouette stuff, and even though I had been wearing it when I left, I still blushed.

"No, I'm just part of his crew. My dad is Mr. Freeze."

"Did he help you with your…gift?"

"Well, he built it, if that's what you mean. I'm a cyborg. Basically. I've got a computer for a brain."

"And do we know you're telling the truth?"

I shrugged. "I think I would probably be dead by now if I was lying."

His mouth twitched slightly. "You are correct. But please, a demonstration is in order."

I awkwardly rose to my feet with my hands still tied and faced him. He gestured to Zahra and she, obviously not happy to be doing this did a cartwheel with out touching the ground. The moment I saw it, the cartwheel was being broken down into mathematics then back up into a guide of how to do a no-handed cartwheel.

I shifted my position, then did it, closing my eyes to avoid a disorientation when I stopped. Then suddenly, a flash of silver right in front of my face. My body reacted before my brain did and bent backward like I was doing the limbo. A sword sped right where my neck had been.

"What the heck?" (I actually used much worse words than this, but you get the gist.)

Now Zahra was smiling, swishing the sword back and forth as she got closer. I stepped back again, looking at the man on the throne. He looked perfectly comfortable that I had almost been killed (not that I should have expected anything else) and was smiling serenely as I again almost lost an appendage. There were many different names I was calling him in my head, and a nice old grandfather wasn't one of them.

I took another step back and hit my head on the wall, jarring me into thinking about this strategically. Analyzing her fighting style, I found something interesting. Whenever she swung, she overextended herself a little too much, almost off-balance. But how was I going to get close enough to get pull her over?

I looked up and around. Statues…a throne…a stuck-up idiot watching me almost get killed. Suddenly, there was a huge flash of pain in my shoulder. I yelled/screamed, looking down at the thin piece of metal poking out of my shoulder. Zahra looked like she was holding back laughter as she twisted it in my shoulder. I writhed, trying to get it out of my flesh. It finally slid out, leaving a hole in my white shirt that now had a sticky, shining red stain in it that was only getting bigger as time passed.

Taking a deep breath, I jumped up and slid my bound hands underneath my feet, to protests of my arm. Zahra stabbed again, but now I could get underneath her guard. I dodged and pulled my arms up to protect my chest and stomach while a low slicing kick knocked her off balance. She obviously hadn't been expecting me to make a move injured like that. One foot planted on top of her, I got the other one underneath the sword and kicked it up, catching it and pointing it at her throat.

Slow clapping at the throne made me glance up and glare at the brown-and-white-haired man who had been enjoying every minute of my imminent demise.

"You know, I don't think that was a demonstration. That was more like Mortal Kombat." I pointed out.

He shrugged unconcernedly. "I had to see if you were as good as you said you were. Obviously not."

Angered, I retorted in a sharp tone, "Hey, I won, didn't I?"

"You got injured. It wasn't a flawless win. Show me that you are really part of the Rogues. Prove to me that you were telling the truth."

I looked down at the dark-haired Zahra underneath my foot. She was looking at me with resignation. I watched her for a few seconds, then slashed. Her eyes now didn't see me at all, her glassy gaze still focused on me, not seeing. The blood from the wound spurted, splashing my clothes and skin, the stone, matting her hair and her uniform, silently spreading over the room.

I stopped looking at her and instead gazed up at the man on the throne. "Now can I actually talk to the person that I'm looking for?"

"That depends." He walked down the steps and walked over to me, making me crane my neck up. He was a tall man, and even though I was over five feet tall, I still didn't measure up to him. "Who are you looking for?"

"Ra's Al Ghul. He owes me a favor."

"What favor does the Great Ra's Al Ghul owe a child such as yourself?" He sat down on the throne again, smoothing his peacock-colored robes as he did so.

"Well, technically he doesn't owe me anything. But he promised the Joker a bath in his chemicals."

"You are talking about the Lazarus Pit." It was a statement, not a question.

"I guess so. May I please speak to him?"

"I speak for the Great Al Ghul. I can assure you he never promised anything to the clown."

"But somebody in the League did!" I cried desperately, searching for somebody else that I knew belonged to the League of Assassins. "I think he said Talia!"

The man stilled, his face hardening. He called out in some language I didn't understand. In a few moments, a woman with smooth, tan skin and brunette hair pulled back into a headband stepped into the room. They had a rapid conversation, then the man turned to me. "Come." He started walking away.

I blinked, and suddenly I was standing outside the steel mill, the wound on my shoulder not bandaged, but the blood had dried. I looked around, shrugged, and went inside. Maybe I had imagined the whole thing. I could have gotten that wound when I fell from somewhere. Either way, I needed to talk to Harley.