Though Aaron Cash knew that most of his superiors, as well as the majority of Gotham's political elite, viewed him as a bumbling idiot, the truth of the matter was that his less than impressive record could be attributed to one thing, and one thing alone.
Lack of funding.
While Arkham's budget for security measures was substantial, especially with private donors like Bruce Wayne donating an annual amount of $90 million, most of it was used for either the construction of supposedly escape proof cells, or surveillance equipment that was designed to put even the most paranoid billionaire to shame.
Sadly, these so called improvements ensured that there was little to no funds for the most important aspect in keeping these criminal lunatics safely contained.
Security guards.
For as great as these systems were, they had regularly proven to be less than fool proof. And all because there wasn't enough boots on the ground to properly maintain it. Which meant that as soon as these monsters found a way to unlock their cages, which was simple to do since he didn't have enough guards to maintain a constant vigil over each and every violent nut job 24.7, they could escape without worrying too much about the efforts of the limited amount of guards.
At most, Arkham employed 20 full time guards, with an additional 12 serving in a part time role, and even then he only had 10 guards in total to look after the so called 'supervillains.
But since the high thinking quacks didn't want to pay more of their staff the bonuses that came with guarding the most violent criminals in Gotham's history, for no sane man would risk his life, and the lives of their families for a measly 45 grand, he was lucky if they replaced the guards he did lose.
But just because he was severely understaffed, that did not mean that he would just accept any application, rare though they may be, to work in the more dangerous sections of the asylum.
Especially when said application reeked of political favors.
True John Dustin was far from the arrogant, and lazy brats who believed that their money entitled them to some sort of perverse excitement, which, apart from mistaken medical curiosity was the only reason why anyone was happy to work at Arkham, but that didn't mean that he hadn't payed someone to get him the job.
He had been on the verge of rejecting the application on the grounds that he wasn't experienced enough when his supervisor, the latest in a long string of so called doctors who believed that their was something worth salvaging from those who had long since abandoned their humanity, decided to intervene on Dustin's behalf.
It had been an irritating experience, but in the end he had decided to give the middle aged man a week to see how he did, and for the most part he was pleased to see that his perceptions were wrong.
For while somewhat older than most of the other guards, he never complained about the strict regulations they had to follow, always performed his appointed task with a quiet competence, and most importantly, never allowed the rantings of the inmates to effect him.
Which was an admirable trait since more than once he had seen Gotham's lunatics, Joker chief amongst them, reduce the average human into a blubbering pile of weakness. And the less said about what they could do to those who were deceived into feeling sorry for them, the better.
There was something that bothered the head of Arkam's security though, and that was the way Dustin spent his free time going over the characteristics of each inmate.
This by itself wasn't necessarily a bad thing, since the more the rookie knew about the crazies the better prepared he would be, but Cash noticed that more time was spent researching one of their more troublesome inmates.
For the time being, he would keep an eye open to prevent the outbreak of another Quinn incident, but he doubted that was the case since unlike the doctor turned henchgirl, John Dustin's gaze never convey an ounce of sympathy during the rare times he had been seen talking with THAT particular inmate.
But since never once failed to follow the correct procedures when dealing with the deadly criminal, it was more than likely that Dustin's mind was his, and his alone.
Something which did little to settle his own unease that something was going on.
…
Though her connection to the green was largely muted during her occasional tenures in this temple to humanities failing attempt to enslave what they could not control, she could nevertheless still sense the lingering traces of organic life that clung to those who would keep her imprisoned.
Individually not enough to aid her in an escape attempt, but sufficient enough to construct a carefully concealed stockpile that would never be discovered due to the fact that its hiding place was in an area that men desired to have, but knew to carry only death for them if they should ever get close enough to her lethally luscious lips.
But since it would take another month or two before her seed was ready to bloom into the instrument of her salvation, Poison Ivy bided her time in her usual fashion.
Teasing those who allowed their mammalian instincts to cloud their judgement.
For though her skin had changed color to reflect her devotion to the natural beauty of mother earth, the shape of her womanly assets was usually more than enough to entice even the most disciplined of men.
And even then, her kiss could enslave any human being to her whims. Though there were two obvious exceptions to this, of which she was only pleased with one.
First one being the cute and loveable psycho whose only failing was her unwillingness to admit that the love of her life treated her with a disdain that he didn't even show to his mortal enemy.
And since she had no intention of getting THAT close to the Joker to put him under her spell, supposing of course his chemically induced insanity still made his neural pathways susceptible to lustful enslavement, he would never suffer the same fate as her previous thralls.
Currently, her interests were piqued by the latest addition to the ranks of Arkham's zookeepers, for his action's reminded her of yet another annoying mammalian thorn in her side.
For despite the initial flush of excitement at witnessing a woman of her charms, the middle aged guard, like the Batman, managed to keep his more base desires to himself.
Of course if he didn't wear that ever so clever filtration mask that kept her from using her pheromones, which could enslave even those male apes who preferred the comfort of their own gender, she was certain that he would bend over backwards to carry out her deepest wish.
Which in this case would be a violent death with his own hands.
For though her ability to control the rightful owners of this world were denied to her, she could nevertheless still sense when the lives of the innocent bounty of the land were crushed.
And for an entire week, she could sense that his hands where stained with the death of dozens of the unborn.
It was bad enough when loggers, or other industrialists destroyed those whose roots had already been long submerged within the life giving soil of the earth. But to deny life to the very things that began the process of renewal? That was a crime that deserved death.
However, John Dustin had at least earned a temporary reprieve from her righteous fury due to the growing suspicion that the continued presence of crushed Malus ovules meant that the balding guard was up to something very interesting.
Considering the amount of residue she sensed on his presence each time she walked past him, she calculated that he currently had more than enough to carry out his criminal activity.
And if his chosen victim was to her liking, she would hold her tongue when the Bat came to investigate.
For while he had no issue locking up his enemies in what was essentially hell on earth, he possessed the sickening morality to ensure their continued survival.
…
Though he knew that his quick slight of hand would remain undiscovered, for he had chosen to do it in the incredibly small blind spot that separated the cells and the less fortified sections of the asylum, John nevertheless felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest.
It might have been the fear of getting caught, for he knew that no plan was entirely fool proof, even if one went to such lengths as he did. Or it might have been because he realized that he was about to kill what had at one time been a human being.
Either way, as he approached the checkpoint that was intended to keep anything that could be used as a weapon from reaching the inmates, the former office worker managed to conceal his growing anxiety until he was cleared to pass.
The past week had been stressful, but he felt that he handled it well.
The inmates, being the depraved monsters that they were, had of course taunted the 'fresh meat' that dared to enter their prison, and his supervisor treated him with suspicion due to the fact that his position here had been 'arranged out of house', but thankfully he had managed to keep his composure.
As a newbie, he didn't have to deal with one of the men, if he could even be called that, responsible for killing his family until Cash deemed him sufficiently prepared to handle the madness that even imprisonment failed to mute. Which meant that he had plenty of time to not only get used to his new environment, but also plan for the death of one of the more bestial members of Arkham Asylum.
It had all been carefully planned so no one, except perhaps that plant loving woman, would suspect the method he had chosen to utilize.
It was rather simple really when one thought about it.
Each day, he would eat his lunch, and add 5-8 more pieces to the growing arsenal that he cleverly kept hidden in his lunch box. Of course to get the amounts he wanted, he would have to wait 33 days before his lunch time snack provided enough ammunition to build his digestible time bomb, but luckily, he was able to reduce this waiting period to 7 days by changing his diet at home.
In truth, he would have preferred to wait a bit longer, since it would probably look suspicious if an inmate died a mere week after a new guard came on duty, but since the method he had chosen wasn't immediate, it would be difficult to find any concrete proof connecting him with the crime.
Stopping the trolley until he was in front of his 4th destination for his scheduled delivery job, and ignoring the coldly murderous stare that was being directed at him by the heavily scarred serial killer, John Dustin silently shoved the Styrofoam bowl through the feeding slot and continued to give the inmates of Arkam Asylum their lunch.
All the while knowing that in the next few days, Victor Zsasz's name would appear in the same news column that he had spent years filling with innocent people.
The obituaries.
…
ANNNNNNNND that's enough for now =)
Hope you all enjoyed this chapter.
Next one will see the consequences of the 'Average Joe's Actions. So something too look forward too.
Reviews yes. Flames no.
Til next time.