He was like a creature of the night, silently creeping through darkened hallways, his mind a whirl of emotions and thoughts. His brooding nature drew him to the thin line between good and evil and he sought to dance on it, to in fact laugh at that miniscule border between the sane and improper segments of his mind.

He slid his head against the wall and then peaked around it. He lifted his eyebrow up, certainly in a superhero way manner. As if to show to his deep contemplation and his struggle with his inner self. The conflict boiled his blood but he couldn't escape it. Like it or hate it, his role as a great protector to the quaint and unsuspecting citizens of New Gotham was one that called to him through the ages.

He was Memory Man, the dark and steady hero that lurked in the shadows.

Wait, wait. Not that.

Okay then.

He was Membrane...

Ok no. Best to think on that a bit.

Gibson Kafka peered back around the corner, taking note of the slightly portly security guard that was leaning heavily against the wall. He had a nightstick in his hand and he was twirling it around, apparently trying to amuse himself.

He was of course also standing directly in front of the door that Gibson needed to get in to. He frowned. He touched his ear. "Uh Oracle?"

"I'm here Gibson," the redhead replied crisply though not unkindly. He could hear the omnipresent sound of typing in the background. God only knew what she was working on but with her, it was always something.

"Um, we may have a problem."

"Explain," she said, concern in her tone. He could tell that he had her attention.

"There's a certain roadblock of definitely masculine proportions inhibitating my descent down into..."

"Someone's blocking your way?" Barbara interrupted, more than a hint of amusement in her tone.

"Uh, yes."

"Create a distraction."

Gibson chuckled. "Wish I'd thought of that," he muttered, glancing back at the guard. The man seemed almost like a mountain. So silent and large.

"Gibson?" Barbara asked, once again sounding distracted. She heard him thank someone for something and then what sounded like Alfred's voice replying. He's probably brought her tea or coffee.

"I'm here."

"I'm going to send a signal down to one of the alarms on the second floor. Once it goes off all of the guards in the building will likely head that way. That should provide a few minutes of distractions but once he leaves, you need to move very quickly."

"You're a God send," Gibson smiled.

"Well I like the first word anyways," she laughed. "Okay, in five seconds."

He nodded, more to himself than her. Obviously. Unless she had another surveillance mode he was unaware of, she couldn't see him. He counted to five and then right on cue, he heard an alarm sound. The guard started, blinking. He shook his head as if to clear away the cobwebs and then went lumbering towards the stairwell.

As soon as the guard disappeared from view, Gibson began to inch around the wall. He kept his palms flat against the surface and started to shimmy against it.

"Gibson, what the hell are you doing?" Barbara asked, laughing loudly.

He swallowed hard. "Uh..."

"Because what it sounds like..."

"No," he said quickly. "I'm uh, going to the lab."

"Okay, sure," she replied.

He shook his head. Helena was right; Barbara just saw and knew too damn much. And considering what his meta power was, that was saying a lot.

He slipped into the large lab and started to look around. Just as he had expected, it was all laid out in a very organized manner. He quickly located the silver box that had a white sticker on it that read 32-H.

"I'm in," he told Barbara. He opened the box and reached in. "I have in visual range the target."

"The evidence?"

"Yes."

"Cut an edge of it off. Make sure there is blood on it."

He frowned, his lip curling. "Does my beautiful Huntress like doing this?"

"She says she doesn't," Barbara replied. "But with Helena you can never quite be sure." There was a few key taps and then she continued. "The alarm has been disarmed. Hurry it up."

"Done," he said as he finished cutting away one of the corners. He dropped the fabric into a small plastic bag and jammed it into his pocket.

"Well that we weird," he heard a voice say from the doorway. He looked up sharply, eyes bulging. He saw the portly guard as well as another with sandy hair enter the room.

"Eh, kids pulling a prank," the sandy haired security officer said. "Got any smokes?"

"Nope," Portly answered. "Wife took me off."

"And?" Sandy laughed. "Got any smokes?"

Gibson bent down under the table, legs flat out on the floor. The two men were maybe two feet from him. He placed his palms against the cold tile and moved a few feet. He eyed the door a few meters ahead.

"Are you caught?" Barbara asked, clearly worried.

Gibson shook his head frantically. Then he frowned. She couldn't tell what he was doing.

"Okay, you're not," Barbara answered for him.

He scowled.

"I can hear what you're doing," Barbara chuckled. "When you shake your head, the comm line wavers and...nevermind, it's a whole technical thing of which I'm sure you have no interest."

He rolled his eyes.

"Yes I know you're not Helena," she said. "Okay, are you near the door."

He nodded.

"Do that again."

He did.

"Okay, move slowly. Very slowly. I wouldn't even know how to bail you out or how to explain you."

He made a face as if to say, "Figures."

Luckily Sandy and Portly decided to cut him slack. Portly came around to the side of the table and offered his friend a pack of smokes. "Think I'll join you. Nothing going on here."

"Is there ever?" Sandy replied as the two men headed towards the door.

"It's New Gotham, bro. You just go with it," Portly muttered.

As soon as they were out, Gibson let out a breath of caught air.

"You okay?" Barbara asked. "Your heartbeat is racing?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "My heartbeat?"

"Uh, the Comm has a sensor in it that detects certain bodily shifts..."

"You really are Big Brother..."

"I prefer Big Sister and if you're about done there?"

"I am. I'm on my way to the Clocktower. My Memory out."

"Mr. Memory?"

"Dr. Think??"

"How about we'll work on it."

"Fine," he grumbled. He stood up, took a deep breath and then attached himself to the wall.

He was a creature of the night, haunted by memories of actions done with tragic consequences, traumatized by decisions made in the heat of battle. And yet still, somehow, fighting the good fight.

Someone had to do it.

New Gotham needed a hero.

*****

Helena moved restlessly on the floor of the room. She knew that she could have moved to the bed but the ground was cooler. She blinked, trying to clear the salt out of her eyes. She was soaked in her own sweat. Her body shook under the strength of her fever. Whatever poison was running through her blood, it had tainted her all the way through.

She pressed her eyes tightly together, trying to block out the world around her. Her body ached and the violent tremors weren't helping. A few hours of sleep would probably do wonders but it refused to come.

She tried to think but her mind refused to focus. Everything seemed so foggy and almost shaded in color. She tried to envision Barbara but even that appeared distorted in her minds' confused eye. Everything was so chaotic and very little made sense.

She shifted slightly, hearing the chains rumble under her. She hissed in pain as her broken rib screamed out at her. When that thing had held her down, he had pressed the heel of his hand directly into her ribcage and surely he had cracked it at the very least. She moved her hands, testing the restraints. After a few moments of pulling on them, she finally gave up. They weren't going to break and she hadn't the energy to waste on that anyways.

There had to be another way to escape.

She turned to her left and was about to curl her head into her arm when she felt something slide heavily against her thigh. She blinked and looked down, momentarily frightened but also annoyed. "You again," she muttered. "Not much left for you to take."

If Alushe heard her, he didn't respond. He slid his hands over her, effectively pining her to the ground. She tried to shove him away but he seemed ever stronger now, no doubt buoyed by her enhanced blood racing through his veins. He gazed at her with glassy eyes and a strange sort of predatory smile.

"Get off me," she growled, placing her chained hands flat against his chest. She felt tight muscle under her fingers and for the slightest of moments she felt sympathy for him. For what he had once been.

That all passed when he bent forward and pressed his mouth against her throat. He held it there, not yet biting but certainly drooling. She gasped under the contact and squirmed against him. He tightened his hold. He drew up from her and she saw that his face had changed.

He was no longer the bizarre looking young man with odd features but rather a true demonic vampire with blood in his eyes. He seemed to be laughing at her.

She blinked, confused. "What?"

She tried to draw away again, panic racing through her blood. He just smiled at her and opened his mouth. She felt her stomach roll when she saw blood and what looked like human tissue dripping from now razor-sharp teeth.

She shook her head, eyes wide. "No..."

He just smiled wider and then he lunged at her, sinking his fangs deeply into the front of her throat. She screamed in agony as he began to rip and tear.

So much for escape. No need for sleep now.

She looked up at the ceiling and waited for the darkness to take her.

After a few seconds, she realized that she was still staring at the ceiling, still waiting. She shook her head and tried to clear the cobwebs away. She looked down towards the ground and saw that she was alone.

"Oh fuck me," she muttered. Then she laughed, nearly hysterical.

Just a delusion. Just a good ol' everyday psychotic hallucination.

Wonderful.

She pushed herself to her feet, rubbing anxiously at the wound on her neck. Her energy was starting to return but her skin still felt fitfully hot. On the plus side, the hyper-sensitivity seemed to have died down a bit.

She crossed over to the small bathroom. She chuckled when she saw that the mirror was actually a plastic reflective surface as opposed to glass. Harley really had thought of everything.

She reached up to her neck and pulled the gauze pad away. She probed at the wound with her fingers and was relieved to discover that it wasn't deep so much as wide. It was however very wet. She could feel it seeping fluids.

She bent over to the sink and turned the water on. She splashed it against her face and looked up. What she saw looking back was a pale guy with bleary blue eyes. She moved her head to the side to examine the wound. She hissed when she caught sight of how ugly and infected it looked.

"Damn," she said, shaking her head.

She reached across to the table next to the sink and picked up the first aide kit that Harley had left behind. Not surprisingly, the scissors had been removed from the box. She quickly poured the hydrogen peroxide onto a gauze pad and dabbed at the wound. After a few moments, satisfied, she took a dry pad and taped it to her neck.

She stumbled back towards the bedroom and dropped to the ground. She pressed her cheek against the cold floor and sighed. It felt good, a spot of relief against her feverish skin.

She again pressed her eyes closed.

And again prayed for sleep.

It again defied her.