Robin's spirits had hardly improved as he went to school, not even as the flowers on the way there seemed to turn to him. He had been mulling over the simple amount of what needed to be done to protect the city, and it seemed more and more like outside help would be needed. Even just between the time it takes to accomplish anything and the mob war, it seems unlikely that I can restore Gotham to a place of stability.
After changing into his clothes by which he masqueraded as Lonnie Machin, he finished his homework before class started, wondering if the real Anarky was scheduled to be released from juvenile corrections any time soon, though it really was not much of a concern, given that they would most likely realize he was a super criminal, and subsequently transfer him back to Arkham, which by his knowledge had been partially repaired. No way the courts are going to trust the staff with watching Joker, though. After that fiasco he caused last night, he's going to maximum security in Blackgate- exactly where he wants to be. In truth, he was largely unconcerned with the fate of Deadshot- the inside of a prison was hardly his usual area of operation, and if prisoners decided to kill each other, there was little he or anyone else could do about it. Even in maximum security, sharing a life sentence with another known murderer afforded too many opportunities for one to kill the other, though it was doubtful the world's greatest assassin, or so he called himself, would be nearly as effective in close range, unarmed. Meanwhile Joker's had decades of experience in hand to hand as well as improvised weaponry.
In history class he overheard a television set playing the news cycle while he tried to listen to the lecture on Constantinople as the nerve center for the Byzantine Empire, as well as its civilizational relevance to Western Europe.
"At the scene of the events of last night, we have reports of a vaguely feminine costumed vigilante." I'm sure Barbara will be delighted with 'vaguely feminine'. In fairness, though, we do our best to conceal our exact bodily dimensions.
"Empress Theodora of Byzantium has the expected range of assessments of her character from various scholars, contemporary and modern."
"We are as of yet uncertain of the figure's connection to the late Batman, but witnesses claim the costume was similar." I should really have expected the word to have circulated by now. Really, though, the reaction has been limited.
"Empress by virtue of her husband, Emperor Justinian, she shared in his duties as a partner."
"Mayor Hill has already addressed the public on the subject; on the advice of a trusted psychologist he has declared followers of Batman to be equally dangerous, and likely suffering from the same psychosis." Are they trying to make a joke about how little data they need to make their claims?
"Much of what we know about Theodora unfortunately comes from the historian Procopius, who seemed intent on undermining her reputation with claims that have no basis in fact, as far as has been uncovered."
"It remains unknown to us exactly what role the vigilante played in helping or hindering the Joker." They mostly do this to get people talking, though I imagine the public will have a more favorable view of her than it ever had of Batman.
"Twentieth century historians write of her advancements in the status of women, though critics of the interpretation claim a deliberate slant is necessary to view the ruler as representative of beliefs beyond the scope of her actions."
"Sources claim the vigilante is going by Batgirl." Well, what else would she call herself? "The question on everyone's minds, however: Is she the new Batman- or the new Wonder Woman?" Another farcical open ended question.
"Machin."
"Yes?" He responded almost immediately. Almost, but not close enough.
"Would you mind telling the class what part of this lecture has you so bored you're staring off into space?"
"How do you know when a source is trustworthy?" he asked, half genuinely. "The discussion... had me wondering."
"A worthy enough question, would anyone care to explain? No? Participating in class factors into your final grade." A sigh answered the silence. "Very well. In truth, no sources are trustworthy, we're only going so far as 'usable' or 'not usable', and that's only after we've established that it's authentic. People of different times and places carry various biases and lenses through which they view the world, and this is even more prevalent with surviving records meant to convince an audience of anything in particular. When reading documents from the past, always be aware of what is being said, who is saying it, and the intention will become clear, if there is one."
"Isn't there always an intention, though? They have to have had a reason for writing things down, and if it were common knowledge, it would have seemed unnecessary."
"Well, yes, we can mostly assume a sort of agenda or narrative that a writer seeks to further by virtue of their message. This of course does not make whatever point the writer seeks to establish necessarily incorrect, but deserving of a careful eye."
"Right. What sorts of agendas do historians of today have?" Machin asked, staring straight ahead without having blinked. There was a lengthy pause before any response materialized.
"While I appreciate your concern, most of the work modern historians do simply does not relate to modern politics. The wars and peaceful conflicts discussed have been over a long time, and taking one side or the other would hardly change the result at this point. Historians largely believe that the truth has come out about the ancient world, and the truth will continue to come out about history's many periods, which will eventually include our own." Lonnie nodded to the logic of the argument, and genuinely appreciated the effort that went into it.
"I would have to disagree." Machin began respectfully. "Part of the reason we study history has to do with its relation to modern politics, even when it does not seem relevant. Constitutional issues today are usually judged with reference to the 1787 ratification, as well as the lengthy logical argument that went into the decisions made, detailed in the Federalist Papers as well as written records of debates that took place. That was relatively recent history, but older British and French Enlightenment philosophy went into the decision, so the history of Western Europe is inherently necessary to an understanding of the philosophy of America. More connections to earlier time periods can be drawn to avoid historical loose ends, but the point is that history is all connected, making all of it controversial and subject to agenda." The bell rang while he was speaking, though he would have liked to hear a response to what he had been arguing. Ah, well, at least I can focus on school when I'm participating in a discussion.
He found times during the day to work on his homework and make incremental progress on his projects and papers. To think I used to look at long projects and not want to do them until I had time to knock them out in one sitting.
Depositing his street clothes in the locker room as always, he put on his mask and false scar, setting out to fuel up the tank before going after Zsasz, or possibly the Mad Hatter. One way or another, I'm going to have to go after both. The prospect was nothing new to him, and hardly constituted a matter of concern. While Victor Zsasz was physically capable, more so than he was, he frequently relied on the element of surprise, making him easy enough to take out when he did not choose the time and place of battle, though to all normal, untrained people he would likely be more difficult to defeat.
He grappled to the top of a building as soon as he was finished refueling. Jervis would be a challenge, as he usually found some way of drugging him, Batman, or both of them with hallucinatory drugs, creating a potentially deadly trap, but the hallucinations were only as dangerous as Hatter's real life henchmen. A super-criminal like Orca or Bane would be exceedingly difficult, if not impossible to defeat while under the effects, but he simply never had that manner of help. Jervis lived in his own, fictional world and was largely considered laughable by other villains, having been defeated multiple times, especially easily when caught in a trap rather than by Batman caught in his own.
Neither of his currently loose foes worried Robin. What worried him was the fact that his eyes were still blurred, and it was even worse than before. Not twelve hours earlier he had been sure that the episodes had been the result of suggestion, he had thought he was poisoned and the antidote functioned as a placebo, which is to say, it had the function he assigned to it. He knew from chemistry that it had no curative properties, and it was decidedly unlike Cluemaster to simply poison him and then give him a false antidote, as killing him would hardly prove his superiority. Unless- unless I simply serve no further purpose to him. He had not considered it, but it was possible. Arthur knew his real rival, Batman, was dead- why would he bother to prove himself to Robin? He was far from above simple trickery. He's in lockup at Blackgate. I can go there- maybe do something about Joker and Deadshot at the same time.
Gliding south, he made reasonable time even with latent injuries, staying high above street level in hopes of drawing Zsasz out, though the most he had seen thus far were trees with outstretched limbs, like dryads almost. It can't be anything else. He hasn't killed anyone to my knowledge, but if he sees me as an unnecessary thorn in his side, it's at least conceivable. It also might have been his leverage for getting out of prison- no, he knows I can't swing that, even in good graces with the police. As he landed on the roof of Blackgate, it occurred to him that he should visit Gordon in the hospital. Barbara's probably seen him already, feeding him an alibi for her real activities in the guise of telling him about her day. Well, that's if he's awake. If he's asleep, it'll be all the easier for me.
Robin had known the secret entry points in Blackgate for a long time, ever since Batman had told him about Lockdown's efforts to close all of them. Finding the old central heating duct, he plunged straight down, slowing his descent towards its conclusion with his impugn wrists and heels. Opening a hot metal hatch with his staff, he rolled out onto the floor of the panopticon, careful to not make a sound. Security cameras are only checked if something's reported. If all goes well here, nothing will be.
Approaching silently, he stuck the guard in front of the monitors with a sleeping dart from his boot. He dozed off at work. Hard luck, really, he's going to catch hell from his superiors when they find out his head hitting the monitor deactivated the cameras in a few of the cells and hallways. After locating his persons of interest, Robin set out, his mind still working furiously. In a normal city, it would be absurd to see people in prisons this quickly. I suppose the only good thing about having notable criminals who break out all the time is that their trials move rather quickly, since the juries have no sympathy for monsters like Deadshot and just want to get out of there as soon as possible. Of course, it's the opposite with the mob families. Most of the time it doesn't even get to the juries, and they're thankful for it.
As he walked through the hallways, he heard a conspicuously loud cough from one of the inmates in the cell block. It could be a signal- loud enough to hear, but not abnormal enough to prove- whenever Batman or myself shows up on this man's hall, he coughs and a few blocks down, the next man drops a metal cup on the ground. The prisoner coughed again. Okay, it's a signal, it's just one I'm supposed to notice- because it's directed at me.
"What's up, doll?" Robin asked him as soon as he reached the cell.
"Don't be cute." the man said, handing him a piece of paper.
"Right, that's your job." He responded as he walked away, reading. As perhaps he should have expected, it was a riddle. The faithful dog howls and howls- something's amiss, but he doesn't know WHO is responsible! Crumpling the paper and jamming it into his belt, he wondered who the hell was dog-themed. Does anyone even have dogs in Gotham? Even attempting it seems like an act of cruelty. Aren't these damn things supposed to rhyme? Robin briefly considered giving it more thought or at least asking Batgirl to reference the files, but he was having almost as hard of a time reading the riddle as he was puzzling it out. There's something seriously wrong with my eyes.
Arthur was asleep when he found him.
"Wake up." The old adversary of Batman opened his eyes without otherwise moving.
"You continue to disappoint me, Grayson."
"I don't have anything to prove. You know why I'm here."
"Why exactly is that? You don't have to prove you're as good as Batman? You can't hit me in here, so that limits your 'advanced interrogation techniques' to intimidation, which I can't say you've mastered." He allowed Cluemaster to continue. "So you're not as good as Batman, and you're happy with that, fine, go on believing you're perfect just the way you are. The point of contention is much simpler. Criminals aren't afraid of you, the police and your idiot hero friends won't work with you- trying to put you in jail and replacing you with that Radiation Man? They're either trying to protect you like a child or contain you like a dangerously unstable little monster. Respect has to be earned, and you, the press, and everyone else can call me what you will for chasing it."
"You're saying you didn't poison me." Robin looked away slightly, causing Arthur to inch forward.
"No, genius, I didn't. It's practically a party trick. Unexpected things happen all the time, and I'm not bullheadedly arrogant enough- sorry, too paranoid, to believe that all of these things are going to go my way. As a result, I prepare. When someone drops in uninvited, I poison him. He doesn't know where the antidote is, killing me won't help, all he can do is exactly what I ask. Of course, poisons in real life usually have averse effects and most antidotes are unreliable, so I substitute it with a placebo. The uninvited guest gets a fake antidote and a reminder of what an idiot he is if he ever figures it out, I get away with whatever I was doing. I've never told anyone about it, of course, I'd never be able to use the same trick on the same person again. I'm telling you because honestly I pity you. I wonder if your intellectual superior ever wondered if he'd adopted a defective boy." His arm darted into the cell between the bars, grabbing the orange shirt and jerking Cluemaster's entire body closer to the edge.
"I deactivated the cameras before I came here." Grayson began, grabbing him with his other hand and dragging him, using his position to press the inmate against the bars.
"What do you want, you fucking animal? I didn't-" He was interrupted as his feet were dragged out of the bars and his right knee was broken.
"You know a thing or two about poisons. I'm experiencing periodic vision loss."
"It's psychosomatic, reta-" Robin braced his other knee against the bar.
"I've known it was a fake antidote since I analyzed the composition. Something else is in my system. I hadn't noticed until now that I think about it, but I haven't been feeling much pain."
"Wait a minute, that actually sounds familiar."
"It should, it'll save your knee."
"No, I'm not lying. You've encountered an herbological psychoactive drug. It's not a poison, it's worse, especially since you didn't realize it."
"I'm listening." He needed to do just that, but Arthur seemed strangely interested, as if the matter constituted intellectual stimulation. I guess he doesn't need a lot of motivation to answer questions.
"Have you been seeing things? You're having vision trouble because there's something overriding the way your brain works."
"I can't think of anything specific."
"Well, you've been seeing something without realizing it's a hallucination, surprise, surprise. Now get a doctor over here or I'll inform the others of weaknesses of yours."
"I have places to be." He responded simply, pressing a button on his wrist communicator. Activated inside a prison, the medical professionals who arrived would be the doctors and nurses who responded to everything. I hadn't intended to call this much attention to my position, but I really don't know what I intended. I need to get to Joker.
Sprinting through the hallways, he sought out the maximum security area, where Joker was most likely contained. Passing cell blocks, it seemed like he was getting closer from the inmates. Black Mask asked him if he was having trouble, if he had imagined putting him in there would change anything, and Grayson could have sworn he was laughing under the mask. He came to a stop at Deadshot's cell.
"Joker's trying to kill you." He said before Deadshot could respond to his presence. "He's sworn that he'll get revenge on you and I don't know if there's anything I can do to stop it."