Yes, its been four years. No, I will not abandon this fic. Yes, big thanks to PandakaiLove.
Also the true name for this chapter is: Okay, so, Wayne and Luthor are at a gala. They're thirsty so they line up for lemonade. The queue is out the door. Luthor waits forever, but he doesn't move up. He's irate. Wayne returns with a red drink. He asks Wayne how he got it. Wayne says… (but it didn't fit)
The group seemed more like gawping tourists than well-trained security guards, only they weren't wearing fanny-packs and visors stamped with the American flag. The prisoners in general population hooted and howled at the new guards (really, who sent greenies to a top jailing facility?). They all jumped to attention when their no-nonsense veteran superior strode in. But it was okay that she looked like she'd kill them as soon as look at them, because they'd come here for her. Or maybe not her, but definitely the person she was in charge of. Her bane.
"Listen," she snapped. "I'm going to talk and walk fast, so keep up and stay quiet, and if you're good…" she sighed heavily. This was truly the worst part of her job. "If you're good, you'll get what you specifically came here for."
She spun on her heel, and her ducklings scampered after her. She had the speech memorized, so she started talking and didn't bother stopping to breathe.
"This is general population. Jailed here are generally gang members, multiple conviction murderers, and abusers. This jail has only male convicts but there are rumors about adding a female wing. If we do we will be the second co-ed prison to hold such high profile criminals, the first, of course, being Belle Reve."
She swiped her card, and down they went to the secure, underground hallways which led to maximum security solitary.
"These rooms," she waved to her right, "are generally occupied by anyone from gen. pop. who misbehaves, as opposed to the next wing of cells." They took a right and the officer preformed a retinal scan and swiped her key-card. The door banged loudly as the rookies tried to keep up. "These are the high-profile cases. Serial killers, D, C, and B-list villains who didn't make it into Belle Reve, and sexual abusers."
Someone in the back of the group whispered to their friend. "What about him?"
Their superior ignored them, grinding her teeth. They'd meet him. Everyone would meet him. That was why they came here, after all. She hated newbies.
"Through here are the mess hall and the infirmary. That door is the workout room, and the entrance to the yard. For those stationed there, the senior officers will explain the rules. Now we have the guards' quarters, which are the top floors, and we have the mail room and personal affects room. Those stationed there will also receive their own sets of instructions. The prisoners do chores around the grounds and those who do not work in the storerooms in the basement. The jobs for the convicts are on rotations which are scheduled in the notice boards in the guards' quarters. Is everything understood?" She didn't wait for an answer, but eager heads bobbed behind her anyway.
Here they were. Now they would leave her alone. She paused in front of the thick metal door and turned around. The lemmings bumped into one another as they came to a stop.
"Now, there are very specific rules about him, as I'm sure you know. But if you have forgotten I will go through them again: any and all villain fanboys will be kicked out immediately. There will but no touching the glass; no ogling; no asking him questions about his family nor any about anyone's secret identities, he has made it very clear that he will not talk to anyone if one person in a group brings it up; no asking about his unaccounted for time; if he finds any questions inappropriate, he will shut down and make your time here hell; no being rude to co-workers in his presence; no presents; and most important of all, if he is busy you will wait for him to finish before speaking. Is all of this understood?"
More nods.
"Very well." She rapped on the door with her fingers and it was buzzed open. "No speaking and follow me."
The group followed excitedly, they buzzed with questions and comments (breaking her order of no speaking, but she expected no less). As they walked she told them a little about him.
"Since his time here with us two years ago, he has had forty five attempts on his life, and sixty five fights, none of which he initiated. Of his attackers fifteen have ended up dead, twenty two maimed, seven have come away with solely broken bones, and the rest were all subdued without much injury. He is not allowed to leave the cell except on scheduled outings for his own safety. He will not eat anything provided where he cannot see it being made, and he does not work in the kitchen for the mental reassurance of the other inmates. He is never allowed anything no pre-approved since he has turned most innocuous things into weapons."
She waved to the two watch guards behind bulletproof glass as she went. "He is not allowed any devices or electronics so he has a glass wall with a camera outside it for monitoring purposes. He is visited by each of his friends once a week although they almost never come together. His family has yet to visit but they send many care-packages and donate much to your salary."
"Was he ever visited by Superman?" Someone called from the back.
"You'll have to ask him."
"Ask me what?" The man asked from behind his clear wall. He wore the regular orange jumpsuit, looked like any old prisoner. But every person in the room knew he wasn't.
"Have you met Superman?"
He grinned. "I wouldn't be much of an ex-vigilante if I didn't," he said. "Yeah, I've met him. I haven't seen him in a while, but I've met him."
"Did you really stop the Gotham villains from giving Batman a trial?"
"In the twisted way they viewed trials, yes."
"Who's your favorite superhero besides you?"
"What did you miss most about Gotham?"
"Does Batman have like a super-secret underground cloning chamber where he makes more and more Robins?"
"If you could be a vigilante again, what name would you take up?"
"Have you ever wanted to be Flamebird?"
"Did you hear about Robin and his new team?"
"Was it hard being Robin and going to school?"
"What was your last meal?"
"How do you make your coffee?"
"Would you sign my Batarang?" One of the group asked, pulling out a weapon which they must have found one day on the streets of Gotham. She glared at the guard who had asked the question (what had she just said about no weapons?) and the guard flushed sheepishly.
The man laughed. "I'd love to, however my dearest jailers whom I love with a tiny bit of my heart, don't want me to have contact with anything dangerous, like a Sharpie."
"He will not be signing anything!" The superior officer snapped.
"Don't be too hard on them, Jodie." He said, shrugging the request off (Jodie was, in fact, the first name of the superior officer, she didn't even want to know how he'd found that out). "I mean who wouldn't want a Batarang signed by Tim Drake, the man who killed the Joker?"
Updates every... twice a month? At least? Yeah, baby let's go with that.