Chapter 3:

The State Pen Processing Department – 9 PM:

"Name," the tired officer nearly growled.

He was staring down at the processing paperwork, his pen poised above the line, and internally yelling insults at whatever criminal was standing there and interrupting his snack.

"Robin, sir."

The reply was soft but the impact that name had on the man behind the desk was not. He immediately lifted his head and found himself staring into the light-blue eyes of the younger half of the Dynamic Duo.

"Robin?!"

Lieutenant Anthony Copple was no longer tired. He stared at the teenager in shock while one thought flashed through his mind. Why was the young hero standing in front of the processing desk at the State Penitentiary?

"Um, what else do you need, sir?"

Robin's still-quiet voice startled the man and he abruptly stood up.

"What do you need, Boy Wonder?" Copple asked in response.

"He's here to be processed," the transfer officer, Mitch O'Toole, answered. Holding up his right hand and shaking his head, the man continued, "Don't ask me, I'm just doing what I've been told to do."

O'Toole saw the questions in Copple's hazel eyes and stopped the interrogation before it started. He was ready to go home and the quicker he handed the boy over, the sooner he could do that.

"Processed?" Lt. Copple stated, dumbfounded.

"Isn't that what you do here?" O'Toole asked with a hefty sigh.

"Can we…I mean…"

"Just get on with it?"

Officer O'Toole finished Robin's question and Lt. Copple shook himself out of his stupor. It was his job to process criminals, not to question why they were there. But this was Robin standing in front of him, not a hardened criminal. Maybe it was an undercover mission. Perhaps Batman was checking the efficiency and security of the State Pen by sending in his young counterpart. The most logical explanation: it was a test.

"Of course," Copple stated professionally as he sat down. "Date of birth."

"I can't really…I have an ident…"

Robin's sentence was cut off by Officer O'Toole again.

"He's Robin, Batman's sidekick. Do you really think he would be allowed to tell you anything else?!" the man asked incredulously.

"Are you telling me how to do my job, Officer?" Lt. Copple questioned as he stood up again. His six-foot seven frame loomed over the shorter policeman and the much smaller boy.

"No, sir, sorry, sir," O'Toole replied when he noticed the identifying marks of the lieutenant.

Copple was now irritated. Striding around his desk, the man dismissed the policeman with a wave of his hand and put his own hands on Robin's shoulders.

"I don't know why you're here, Robin, but I'm going to do my job. Arms straight out to the sides, please, so I can search you."

Robin immediately obeyed, not moving a muscle as Copple thoroughly patted him down. The man removed the boy's utility belt, then gently grabbed Robin's right arm and led him into the next room.

The young crime-fighter was given a pair of gray pants, a plain white, long-sleeved shirt, a pair of gray socks and a pair of gray shoes.

"It's the smallest we have," Lt. Copple stated apologetically, already knowing that everything would be too big.

Pointing to his right, Copple silently directed Robin to go into a cubicle. There was a curtain and the Boy Wonder understood what he was supposed to do. He changed quickly and was dismayed to find that both the pants and the arms of his shirt were too long for his limbs. The socks went all the way up to his knees and the shoes were almost two sizes too big.

"I'll get some stuffing for those shoes when I have a chance," Copple said when Robin stepped out of the changing area. "Did you put your clothes in a locker?"

Robin nodded and handed a small key to the man. Stepping around the young boy, Copple added the utility belt to Robin's locker then shut and locked it.

"Alright, now to an overnight cell. It's late, so you won't receive a regular cell until the morning. Lt. Jameson is the processing officer during the day, so he'll be working with you tomorrow. Any questions?"

"Yes, sir. Is there anyone else in the overnight cell?" the teenager inquired anxiously.

"No, not tonight, unless someone else comes in later."

Lt. Copple paused and stared at the pale face of the Boy Wonder.

"Are you okay? No, never mind, don't answer that. And please don't tell Batman that I asked a prisoner that question when you discuss the results of your test."

Robin tilted his head and furrowed his brow quizzically.

"What test?" he asked, genuine curiosity outlining the words.

Copple raised his eyebrows in surprise then took Robin's arm again.

"You're right, of course. I know nothing about a test," the man stated firmly.

He led the teenager out of the changing room and down a long hall. At the end was a large cell, completely devoid of anything. Robin sighed in relief as he dropped his head. At least he could be alone tonight, especially since he knew it would probably be his last night of being able to sleep without fearing for his life.

Without hesitation, Robin walked into the cell. Lt. Copple closed the barred door, locked it and left. The Boy Wonder, facing away from the door, listened to the familiar sound of a key locking him inside a cage. How many times in his young life had he been put in some sort of felonious trap that required a key to keep him contained?

This time, though, it was different. Batman wouldn't be running in with a key anytime soon. Nor would he come with an idea of how to help Robin escape. Because the Boy Wonder was being lawfully detained, not being used as bait, so there was no logical reason for an escape attempt.

Robin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Slowly letting it out, he opened his eyes and turned in a circle. One exit – the door – and one small, barred window directly opposite the door. The teenager walked to the window and stared out at the night sky. The full moon was sliced into pieces by the thick bars covering the window. Stars, so difficult to see through the smog of Gotham City, were twinkling brightly and a wisp of a cloud was swaying to the rhythm of a slight breeze.

Images of crazy villains began dancing through his mind. Earlier, Robin had been grateful for an empty cell. It meant one last night of safe slumber. Now, however, it was too dark and too quiet. The Boy Wonder doubted that he would even be able to fall asleep.

"Here we go," he muttered as he sat down and leaned against the wall. Despite his misgivings, ten minutes later he was fast asleep.

The next morning:

Robin, still fast asleep, was lying on the floor in the far back corner of the cell. His back was to the wall and he was curled into a little ball. Lt. Mark Jameson took out his ring full of keys, which clanged together loudly, and opened the door. There was no movement from the boy and the processing officer rolled his eyes.

Lt. Copple had told him about Batman's alleged test but Jameson had his doubts. Why would the Caped Crusader essentially throw his sidekick to the wolves? No, if the Boy Wonder was here, it was for a real crime. And the only reason he would be here, instead of under the watchful eyes of either Batman or the Gotham City Police Department, was, Lt. Jameson knew, murder.

"Up and at 'em!"

The yell startled Robin and his eyes popped open. He immediately jumped to his feet, instinctively landing in a defensive stance with his fists raised. The sleeves of the too-big shirt flopped over his hands and Lt. Jameson laughed loudly.

"Naptime is over, kid. Time to put you in a real cell. Sure hope you're not sharing with a villain, for your sake."

Lt. Jameson motioned toward the open cell door and Robin slowly walked into the hallway. Before the boy even realized what was happening, the processing officer had grabbed the teen's wrists, pulled them behind Robin's back and slapped on a pair of handcuffs.

"Protocol," the man stated indifferently.

Grabbing the teenager's right elbow, Lt. Jameson led Robin down the hall, back through the processing office and into another long hall. This one had halls branching off to the right and left and Robin could hear snoring and mumbling coming from every direction. The man led the boy into the elevator and pressed the number 6.

A shudder ran down his body as Robin again thought of all the people in this place who hated him. Was one of them about to be his cellmate? Was he even going to last through his second night in prison?

Lt. Jameson detected the trembling of the lithe frame beside him and felt a little bad. It was like he was leading the kid into a den full of hungry lions. As soon as the villains heard that Batman's sidekick was here…well, there was going to be trouble. The elevator door opened with a soft 'ding' and Robin reluctantly stepped out, helped by Jameson's firm grip on the teen's small but muscular upper arm.

"I'll put you in an empty cell for now," the man stated, a tiny spark of sympathy flitting through the words. "It won't stay that way for long, though. We're almost at max capacity."

Suddenly, a loud ringing burst through the speakers located near the ceiling.

"That's the wake-up call. Your alone time is almost over so, if you want a final few minutes to yourself, hustle around the next corner."

The man swiftly led the boy down a narrow hall that suddenly spread out into a long row of prison cells. Every bed had a body, many of them stretching or turning restlessly. Lt. Jameson took Robin to the last cell on the right, quickly opened the door and unlocked the handcuffs.

"No cellmate right now but I can't guarantee for how long. Breakfast is in ten minutes. The cell doors will pop open; just follow the other inmates to the cafeteria. Good luck."

Jameson gave the teen a little push into the cell and closed the door behind him. There was a loud 'click' and Robin automatically whipped his head around. But the noise was just the man locking the door before leaving the block of cells.

A voice suddenly called out something unintelligible and Robin didn't waste any time. He fled toward the darkest corner of his new home and curled into a ball, attempting to make himself as small as possible.

"Man, that bell gets louder every day!" a deep voice grumbled.

"Why can't they just play some soft music to wake us up?" another voice muttered.

"Because, you imbeciles, we're in prison!"

That last voice, Robin knew exactly who it belonged to. Penguin was in the same cell block as the Boy Wonder. At least it wasn't…

"Robin, my baby bird, Joker is coming. Joker is coming for yooooouuu. I can't leave you aliiiiiive 'cuz you stole him awaaaaay. Joker is coming for yooooouuuu."

"Shut up, Joker!"

"You wanted music to wake you up!"

"Not from you!"

Penguin, Joker and now Riddler. Of course Robin wouldn't be lucky enough to be in the same block as regular, run-of-the-mill criminals.

Another shudder rattled his small body and Robin was sure that everyone could hear him gasping as he tried to stave off a panic attack. It was going to be fine. Batman was going to check on him every day. All he had to do was keep a low profile. Don't let anyone see his still-masked face, blend in with any crowd he could find that didn't have a career villain in it.

The cell doors suddenly popped open, hitting the bars with a 'clang' after fully opening. Stomping footsteps were heading his way, so Robin hid his face on his knees and hoped he was invisible in the shadows. Nobody stopped at his open door and thirty seconds later the doors clanged shut.

No breakfast but at least they don't know I'm here. Yet.

Commissioner Gordon's office:

"What do you want me to say, Batman?" Commissioner Gordon remarked angrily. "Warden Crichton won't be in his office for another half hour, at least. He supervises all meals, just like almost every guard and officer in the State Pen!"

The commissioner held the phone away from his ear as Batman roared at him from the other end. Why wasn't the Caped Crusader calling the warden's office directly, and why couldn't the hero understand that there was nothing the commissioner could do about this situation? He had no other way to reach Warden Crichton.

"Again, Batman, I'm sorry," Gordon stated, "but I can't do anything else for you. Perhaps you should call his office instead of continually demanding me to do it for you!"

For the first time in his life, Commissioner James Gordon hung up on Batman.

The Batcave:

"He just hung up on me!" Batman exclaimed loudly as he slammed the Bat-phone down on the desk.

"Master Batman, he's frustrated, just as you are," Alfred stated wisely.

The butler was sweeping the hard floor of the Batcave but decided that it could be finished later. Leaning the broom against the nearest table, Alfred began walking toward the Caped Crusader, hoping to calm the latter man's temper.

"That doesn't give him the right to hang up!" the hero nearly yelled.

"Sir, there's really nothing he can do. He has the exact contact information that you do – the number to the phone in Warden Crichton's office. If the warden isn't there, neither of you have a way to reach him short of going to the State Pen."

"The State Pen," Batman murmured, his voice instantly full of concern. He raced to the other side of the Batcave, where the machine housing the State Pen Occupancy Report was quietly whirring.

There was a soft 'ding' and Batman arrived at the machine just as the information card exited the slot.

"Penguin, Joker, Riddler, Mr. Freeze, Mad Hatter, etc., etc., etc.," the Caped Crusader growled. "Alfred, they're all there right now! But the warden wouldn't put Robin in the same cell block as the villains. They are in a completely different category."

"Warden Crichton is an intelligent man, Master Batman. I doubt he would even consider putting Master Robin in the same block as career villains, sir."

Batman sat down on the closest stool and ran a hand down his face. Alfred was right, of course. The warden wouldn't put Robin in immediate and inescapable danger.

"I'm going to check on him," Batman suddenly stated. "Now, right now, I need him to see me, I need to see him."

"As Commissioner Gordon just mentioned, sir, it's breakfast time at the State Pen. Master Robin is undoubtedly in the cafeteria with the rest of the inmates. Do you think it wise, sir, to draw attention to him by having him called to the visitor's area during breakfast?"

"Of course not, Alfred, you're right. I'll give the warden another half hour before I call."

"I know you're worried, Master Batman, as am I. But when you see Robin, you cannot have that expression on your face or all of his resolve will crumble."

"What expression, Alfred?"

"Despair, sir. It is written all over your face. He should not have to see how worried you are about the situation. It will create more stress for him, Master Batman, if he knows he has to find a way to make you feel better."

"He doesn't need to make me feel better!" Batman yelled as he stood up.

"Sir, he's Robin. That's his nature. If he sees how distressed you are, you know he will immediately search for a way to make everything better for you."

"Taking his focus off of his first priority," Batman concluded while nodding in agreement with Alfred's comments.

There was a long pause and then both men softly stated, "Surviving."

State Pen:

Mrs. Lucinda Martins, secretary to Warden Crichton, sighed as she sat down. It had been a long night – the four-year-old twins had fevers, the baby was teething, and her husband was out of town on business. She wanted to lean back in her chair and take a nap but the warden would be coming up from breakfast soon. His first words upon seeing her would be, "How many meetings today?" followed by, "You look lovely as always."

This was Warden Crichton's eleventh year at the helm of the State Pen and Lucinda had been with him since year three. She often wondered if the warden had actually had meetings in those first few years, before she came to work for him. Her answers were always, "None yet" and "Thank you".

Lucinda's thoughts were interrupted by the pealing ring of the phone on her desk.

"Warden Crichton's office," she answered professionally.

"This is Dr. Coffer. I'm at the Crichton house and I thought you should know that the warden will be out sick for an undetermined amount of time."

"Oh, my, what happened? Is he dying?!"

During all of Lucinda's time working with him, Warden Crichton had taken exactly one sick day. And that was only because he had been in a car accident and had to be taken to the hospital. He was back the next day, broken arm in a cast and sprained ankle in a walking boot.

"No," the doctor answered, "he's not dying. He has a bad case of pneumonia and the atmosphere and temperature of the State Pen are not conducive to his health. I assume you have an assistant warden who can take care of things. Good day to you."

Dr. Coffer hung up before Lucinda had a chance to say, "No, we don't have an assistant warden". She slowly replaced the phone on its receiver as the wheels in her brain began to turn. Who was she going to find to replace him in the interim? None of the guards would be able to do his job – they knew nothing about it. The only other staff members were the two janitors, a nurse, some cafeteria workers and…her.

"Warden Martins," she said, testing the name out loud. "Interim Warden Martins. Or is it wardeness? Is that even a word?"

Lucinda was both extremely scared and slightly excited. The first female warden of a major prison, even though it was just for a short time. Hopefully. She picked up the phone again and dialed a familiar number.

"Crichton house, may I ask who is calling?"

"This is Lucinda Martins, Warden Crichton's secretary. Please tell him that everything will be taken care of while he is gone. The State Pen is in capable hands and all of us here wish him a full and speedy recovery."

"Thank you for the information. I will let him know as soon as he awakens. He was very worried about it last night. Do you already have an interim warden?"

"We do," Lucinda quickly replied, "and I need to get everything ready. Thank you!"

She hung up the phone before the person on the other end of the line could ask the identity of the interim warden. Standing up, Lucinda walked into the office of Warden Crichton and looked around.

"Warden Martins," she murmured as she strolled around the large desk.

Lucinda didn't want power, or money, or fame. In fact, she didn't even care if she was the only one who knew that she was in charge. Nobody ever came to the warden's office, except for Commissioner Gordon once in a while and, on a few occasions, Batman. As long as orders were issued, people were paid and nobody escaped, there was no reason to let anyone know that Warden Crichton was out indefinitely.

The shrieking of the bell ending breakfast startled her out of her thoughts. The inmates were about to go outside. Now was a good time to go over the occupancy list and read through several other important papers. A warden must always know what is going on in her prison.

The shrieking of the bell startled Robin, also. He had been standing up for the last ten minutes, pacing in the shadow of the eastern wall in his cell. He was barefoot, the legs of the pants were rolled up to his knees and the sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to his elbows. It was cold, but at least he could move without the restrictions of clothes that were way too big for his small frame.

Robin really wished he knew the daily schedule. He didn't want to be surprised every time the bell screeched, and he really didn't want to wonder about what was going to happen next. Showers, yard time, meals, was there anything else? The Boy Wonder had never studied a prison bell schedule; he and Batman had never discussed a situation like this. Because why would a member of the Dynamic Duo need to know what happens when locked up in the State Pen?

He was standing completely still, listening carefully. There were no footsteps coming from any direction. No talking or yelling or creepy singing. Everything was quiet, and Robin was grateful.