She turned at the 'whoosh' of the cape. He'd made it past her security. Again. Damn. It was time to upgrade. Again.
Looking up from her monitor, Oracle faced Batman. Without preamble she launched into the subject.
"Using the information you gave me, I was able to track down the missing item as belonging to S.T.A.R. Labs. Looks like it's part of a super conductive cooling unit." She waited for a response. When she got none she continued.
"Something rang a bell with me, so on an off chance I did some more research." She produced a spreadsheet from amongst the jumble that was her workspace. "There's been a rash of robberies over the past couple of months. Nothing major, the raid last night was the highest profile one to date. I looked into it and it seems that they're all connected. You might be interested." She handed the sheet to Batman. His scowl deepened.
"Why wasn't I informed." He did not sound pleased.
"Like I said, it was all small stuff. I thought it below your radar." Oracle replied defensively. She didn't appreciate being chastised.
"Nothing's below 'my radar'." He stated flatly, looking over the list.
She was right, it did appear that these crimes were linked together. Each item stolen on the list went together with another, which connected to another, etc, etc. What they all added up to, he didn't like.
"Where's Dick?" He wanted his former ward here if this was what he thought it was.
"Space. He's on a mission with the Titans."
Batman's frown deepened even more. "Then alert Jean Paul, I want someone to cover for me. And get in contact with Tim. I want a stake out of Arkham. Anything happens, he's to contact me."
Batman turned and left the way he'd came.
"You're welcome," Oracle said sarcastically to the empty room.
***
"I just don't like it man. That's all I'm saying."
"But what can he do to ya Burt? Look at 'em. He's trussed up like a bird on Turkey-Day."
"I don't care. I don't like the way he looks at me. That stare he gives. It gives me the creeps man." The guard shuddered just thinking about it.
One had to be made of stern stuff to work at Arkham. Despite industry high pay, phenomenal benefits, and a large retirement plan, the average employee turnover rate was six months. While the rewards were high, the risks were even more so.
The absolute dregs of society were harbored there. Freaks of the highest magnitude. Literally wall to wall horrors. To a visitor, a brief tour was enough to curl their toes and make them sleep with the light on that night. It was like a zoo that displayed the most dangerous specimens in the world. Row after row of pure fear.
Two-Face. Poison Ivy. Scarecrow. Mad Hatter. The list went on and on. And above them reigned the sickest of all, the deranged of the deranged, the one inmate that even the others feared. The Clown Prince of Crime himself: The Joker.
Isolated. Confined. Chained and bound, he was the most feared of those who inspire fear. The most loathed of a loathsome bunch.
And he sat in his cell, day after day, saying nothing to anyone, merely sitting and waiting. Allowing the tension to build. Seemingly as inscrutable as a Buddha, except for when he would flash a smile at whoever served his food. A smile so filled with malevolence, so purely evil, that the guard in question would be forced to take the rest of the day off to compose himself.
And like a spider at the center of his web, he continued to wait.