"Well, what better place to start than at the beginning."

Vesper smiled at him. "The best stories usually start there."

Bruce shared a smirk with her. "Well, I can say that I am distressed with the seemingly annual breakouts that happen at Arkham. I have heard the...jokes...if you can call them that, about the revolving door policy."

"As have I. And this is after the city ponied up some serious cash for upgrades following the Joker's breakout a couple years ago."

"There were some donors as well who have donated funds to that cause."

"I'm sure there were, which since you brought it up, I'm assuming you were one of those donors."

"I am."

"How does it feel to see all of that money you spent wasn't enough?"

Bruce frowned. "Not enough?" he repeated.

"There was a breakout, was there not? That would indicate all the money that was donated and subsequently spent wasn't enough to keep those monsters locked up."

Ahh, that's what she meant. "Interesting perspective," he responded. "Though I must know how much you know of the security protocols that are currently in place."

"I honestly can't say that I know any of them," Vesper admitted without a hint of shame.

"Then how would you know if they aren't the top of the line? That they're the best money can buy? Arkham could very well have the best security system in the country and it wasn't enough to stop this latest breakout."

"I suppose I can give you that point, but that seems to indicate you believe that no matter what we do, monsters like the Joker and Two-Face will find a way out whenever they feel like it. So why spend the money anyways?"

"Given enough time, anyone can solve a problem. The Arkham inmates have plenty of that, so it is a matter of time before they figure a way out. If you were to give me a lock that was impossible to unlock, I would give you a lock that hasn't been unlocked yet."

"I must admit, I hadn't thought about that. But aren't we overlooking a very important fact here? These are people that society has deemed insane. Wouldn't that indicate they don't have the competency to solve difficult problems, you know, like a prison escape?"

"Perhaps you should have done some more research." Bruce couldn't help the dig and he saw Vesper frown at him. Clearly she didn't like the implication that she didn't do her homework. "Two of the inmates there are former psychiatrists. Both have PhDs. It would be hard to get one of those degrees if they were mentally incapacitated, right? Unless universities are just giving out those degrees like candy, and if that's the case, I would sincerely like to have mine in the mail by the end of this interview."

"Wouldn't we all?" Vesper chuckled, though it was clear it was forced. His swipe had clearly annoyed her. "So it is safe to assume that some of these people are smarter than your Average Joe. You know, I seem to recall there being a study done that said the same qualities you see in a sociopath can also be found in various corporate C.E.O.s. You were a C.E.O. once, weren't you, Bruce? Perhaps you have something in common with them."

Bruce gave her a smirk, but he hid his real feelings behind it. Bitch was a popular refrain that was starting to pop up in his head. "Perhaps I do," he half-heartedly joked, "but I can safely say that I haven't had the inclination to kill anyone."

"And I'm certain the city is grateful for that. After all, it did have an owl problem for a long time. You were cleared of any connections there, but I can't imagine the fallout was any fun to deal with."

"It wasn't, but it helped that I knew I wasn't a part of such an organization."

"No Free Masons, or Illuminati to be found in your background, huh?" Vesper giggled then. "But I believe we've gotten a little off topic, that being Gotham's current crisis. From what we've been able to gather, there are multiple Arkham inmates that have quite a history with the Batman out in the streets and they seem to be teaming up with each other. What are your thoughts there?"


Selina could have shown up in her brand new designer outfit accompanied by who knows how many big and burly men built for intimidation, but where would be the fun in that? Girls wanted to have fun too, so this meant slipping into a second skin of grey and black. The whip was mandatory, as was Isis.

Antonia and Chris were against this. Nick thought it was amusing. Selina had a reason. This wasn't the old gangland way of doing things, and according to her bastard of a father, they couldn't do it that way and hope to remain off of Batman's radar. Her way came as a way to not only assert her power, but show to the other members' of the boys' club that she could get them at any time, any day, and anywhere, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Slipping into the Iceberg Lounge was easy. Getting to Cobblepot's—who really came up with that name?—office was just as easy. Now, she could hide in the shadows and wait for her prey, but that was way too much like Batman. No, she wasn't him, and she wasn't even going to try. Even though Cobblepot here was in charge, she owned this place.

So she took a page out of Isis' book and stretched herself out in the open.

She got comfortable and took to petting and stroking Isis to pass the time until Cobblepot arrived, talking business with his beta males. He wasn't being too quiet about it and that was going to need to change. Though, hearing about Armenians—who the hell were they?—gave her a little something to ask about when she got back.

Cobblepot shut up as soon as he spotted her. It was hard not to since she was spread out over his desk. Propped up on an elbow and laying on her side, her legs bent with one laying on top of the other, she gave the short and not very pretty man a casual smile, perhaps one that could be referred to as the cat getting the canary.

Or Penguin as the case may be.

"'Oy, the hell are you?" Cobblepot demanded, though he sounded a bit breathless. "What're ya—"

"We need to talk, you and I," she interrupted, slowing down her petting of Isis. "Take a seat. We're going to be a while."

Someone in the peanut gallery snorted, obviously trying to hide some laughter. Isis made a noise, one that expressed her displeasure.

"Alone?" Cobblepot asked, his tone very mild all of a sudden. "I might not mind that."

"A cold shower might be better. Sit down, little man. Let's discuss these Armenians and whether or not you're getting too big for your breeches." Pausing, she deliberately eyed his gut region. "Although, if your waist is any indication, it might be too late for the breeches."

Cobblepot scowled. "Gonna be like that, eh? 'right, boys, 'ou can 'ave some fun with 'er, an' don't evah say I nevah been nice to yas."

There were leers, and some very big boys were moving around their smaller boss. Predictable. With a hand, she pressed it against Isis' rear, telling the cat to move, which she did. Selina pushed herself up and swung her legs about, knocking over anything in their paths off the desk and onto the floor. She slid to the edge of the large piece of furniture, sitting there with legs crossed and leaning back on her arms.

There she waited for the first moron to get close and then she acted.

A hand reached out and grabbed the first goon by the necktie he wore and harshly pulled down. With her other hand, she formed a fist and jabbed it into a thick neck, right into the larynx. Goon boy began choking, then wheezing as a heeled foot stabbed into his stomach, bending him over. A fist uncurled then latched onto the side of his head, her arm tensing and forcing the man's face into the edge of the desk.

Then she was leaping right into the second goon. A kick nailed this one in the face, her hand grasping onto the goon's right arm so that she could leverage herself. Her body twisted and her legs wrapped around a vulnerable neck. Then she pulled down, her other arm grabbing a thick thigh to get more leverage and she was throwing the guy head first onto the floor.

Letting go of a limp arm, she snagged the handle of her whip, and you guess it, whipped it out. The lash end wrapped itself about Cobblepot's throat and a yank had him stumbling forward, hands grasping at the whip. Simultaneously, she pulled herself off the floor, then kicked a nearby chair right into the path of a third goon. Spinning herself and Cobblepot around, she kicked off of him, flipping as she did so so that she could aim and kick an axe kick right onto the top of the fourth goon's head.

A hand grabbed onto the necktie of the fifth and final goon. Her left leg pushed off the chest of the fourth goon, allowing her to do an awkward tackle into the fifth goon, throwing him off balance and onto the floor. She rolled the two of them until she was able to get both arms and legs around the fifth goon's left arm, and with a vicious twist and sharp crack! had the guy screaming bloody murder.

To give him some mercy, her right leg unwrapped itself from the arm lock then kicked harshly into the screaming man's head, knocking him out. It was a matter of unwrapping the rest of herself so that she could then launch herself at the recovering third goon. She was quick with this last one, giving a few jabs to sensitive places, then bringing him to his knees where a sharp elbow to his temple finished him off.

And then it was back to Cobblepot, who was staring at her and everything with wide eyes. Selina was at the pudgy man's side almost instantly, pinning him to his desk and using her body weight to do so. Flexing her fingers, she brought out the claws and held them very close to Cobblepot's cheek.

"Now, where were we?" she purred. "Ah yes, talking. You've been quite a busy man...what should I call you? Penguin? Cobblepot? Oswald? Ossy? I'll give you this one."

Wide eyes were watching the claws, but after the Ossy name they were glaring right at her. "You've made a powerful enemy."

"Tell you what, let's start with what you can call me, and that's Boss," Selina picked up. "I am in charge of the Calabreses, and the Calabreses own you, which means I own you. So drop the whole 'I am powerful and dangerous man' spiel I know you're dying to give. And you'd be right about the dying part." The claw on her thumb lowered and began to gaze itself against Cobblepot's throat. "But I'm not here to kill anyone. Just making a statement. And business."

The shorter man's eyes had fallen down to the claws once more, then slowly returned to her. "You're the new boss?"

"I decided to wear the evening wear. We both have something in common and that's that we're both outsiders and we've both had runs in with the big, bad Bat. I thought you'd be more comfortable. In any event, your operation is mine and I have a mind to leave it be, provided you make like a good little boy, keep your head down, and don't make any trouble. Keep it up and ruffle feathers as you are and I'll be back. If you think I'm mean now, you haven't seen anything yet."

The tips of her claws hadn't pierced skin yet, but the threat was there as they scratched up against sallow skin. There was anger in Cobblepot's eyes, but there was also the knowledge that he was stuck between a hard place and her. If he had any weapons on him, he would have pulled them out already. That he hadn't meant he didn't.

Selina could do anything she wanted to hi, and none of them were things a guy like him would like.

"Now, we're going to keep having a little chat, starting with those Armenians, whoever they are. Then we're going to have a nice discussion about rules and expectations. If you're particularly good, I might even throw you a bone. So how about it, Ossy? Willing to play ball, or does this cat need to get her claws on your tongue?"


Someone had spent some time in Arkham's security office. The disks the security feeds were copied to were missing, indicating someone had attempted to remove the footage of what had happened. In fact, every disk leading up for a month had been taken, so that at least gave Batman an approximate date as to when the breakout had occurred.

However, the person that had stolen the disks was clearly not computer savvy. Though they had removed physical copies, they had failed to destroy the digital ones. A search of Arkham's network had allowed the Dark Knight to find the files and copy them.

What he had seen did not make him happy.

Something had been going down between Hugo Strange and the Joker. There had been multiple encounters between the two. There was no audio unfortunately, but the men's body language had given away that each was being antagonistic towards each other.

It also showed that Hugo Strange was up to his old tricks as well. Going back months into the security footage, Batman found several of Arkham's staff interacting with the fallen shrink. They were also the same people on duty during the last conversation Strange had with the Joker. It was that night that Strange clearly left Arkham.

Then came the Joker. He seemed to mull what had transpired between the two, then left his cell, making a beeline for Jervis Tetch. Words had been exchanged and it was clear the Mad Hatter was deathly afraid of the clown. That was when he left his cell and got to work on making his infamous 10/6 cards.

From there, it was clear the Joker was running things. The 10/6 cards had been given to all of the Arkham staff and then the madman released the rest of the inmates, allowing them to leave as they saw fit. Even Harvey Dent had left, his coin clearly falling on the right side for him to leave.

Yet, the Mad Hatter had stayed. There was no evidence that he had left, so it was entirely possible that he was the one that removed the security disks. A closer inspection of the security rooms was needed to confirm this, but unfortunately he didn't have the time or proper equipment to conduct that thorough of an investigation. A tip to the GCPD should take care of that though.

The main conflict here was clearly between Strange and the Joker. What had those two men been talking about? Whatever it was, it had spilled out into Gotham, culminating in Strange's attempt on the vigilante's life. If it weren't for the Joker's interference, who knew how successful it would have been.

It also showed that if the Joker wanted to, he could have taken down the Dark Knight whenever he so pleased. Having Harley lead him to the Clown Prince of Crime, disabling him with his paralytic Joker Venom, he had been completely helpless. Batman was under no delusion he should have been killed. If it wasn't for the Joker's own neurosis, well, who knew?

After finishing what parts of his investigation that he could, Batman returned with Black Canary to the Roost. There wasn't much more that could be done and getting an update from the other Birds was needed.

Fortunately, it wasn't a long wait for the rest of the Birds of Prey to return. "You know, when someone comes after your life, they really go all out," Huntress had reported the moment the women had returned.

"What did you find?" he immediately asked.

Huntress, Manhunter, and Katana were taking seats around the room by then. "That flamethrower was top of the line," the dark-haired woman told him. "Along with that stand and timer. You're going to have to tell me how you weren't burnt alive."

"Fire-proof cape," he grunted.

The Birds stared at him. "Well, of course it was that," Huntress said snarkily. She then spared a glance at her own cape, clearly contemplating its own durability. "Say, how useful is it to have a fire-proof cape?"

"Comes more in handy than you would think."

"No fooling."

"You know, now isn't the time to be comparing notes on equipment," Manhunter butted in sarcastically.

Huntress shot the brunette an annoyed look, but took the hint. "We checked the kitchen for that bomb, but as you can probably guess, there wasn't much we could do there, what with the bomb already destroyed.

"As for the gas trap, that was a custom job too. It was designed to go off the moment the door was open. It was tampered with though, so it never went off, but the gas in that thing was some serious shit. Like, you have to go into the underbelly of the Black Market to get your hands on it."

Strange had gone on an expensive shopping trip it seemed. He couldn't have been thrilled to have the Joker interfere. "Any sign that Strange had been there?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," Manhunter told him. "Found a bunch of take-out cartons and discarded water bottles. Someone had been staying there, most likely Strange. We picked up some of the trash so that we could get a positive ID."

"I'll take care of that," Batman said.

"I was hoping you would say that."

The Dark Knight went silent after that. There was a lot going on here and he had too many assumptions, something he couldn't afford with the madmen currently on the loose. The other Arkham inmates hadn't roused any trouble outside of the Mad Hatter and even he was now on the lam. It was only a matter of time before the others began stirring up trouble, however.

In days past, he would have taken on the problem head on. Now though, he was older, hopefully wiser, and not as alone as he once was. There was a group of experienced vigilantes with him here, along with Batgirl.

There was still an older part that didn't want to subject them to the horrors the Arkham inmates were capable of, however. Even now he could feel his instincts telling him to stop the Birds' involvement if only to protect them. He had to squash that down. There were too many forces out in Gotham and he couldn't afford to stretch himself thin. That was how Bane had bested him and he wouldn't allow the same thing to happen again.

Batman sucked in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "If any of you want to back out, now is the time. Going forward, expect that you will be a target if you aren't already. Helping me out will remove any doubt."

"None of us are leaving," Black Canary said, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the wall. She was the only one of the Birds not sitting.

"Then consider yourselves involved." Batman looked at each woman before continuing. "There appears to be some sort of dispute between Hugo Strange and the Joker. Canary and I uncovered security footage of the two being antagonistic towards each other. That resulted in the mass breakout of Arkham's max security wing."

"Wait, what do you mean by mass?" Manhunter was quick to question. "Do you mean all of them?"

Batman nodded. "All of them."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Obviously they have to go back," Huntress picked up the conversation. "Do you want us to divide and conquer while you go after the main two?"

That was a rather appealing suggestion. "If that will resolve this matter, then yes. However, I don't think it will be that simple. It never is with them."

"We need to learn what each one is up to," Katana pointed out. "Without knowing that, any attempt to apprehend them will be much more difficult."

"Agreed. So far I'm asking for your help. What that entails so far, I do not know."

"So we're activating the Network," Black Canary summarized. "We'll inform Oracle of what's going on and I'm assuming you'll do the same with Batgirl."

Huntress snorted. "He better if he knows what's going for him. That girl will kick his ass if he doesn't."

"I'd pay good money to see that," Manhunter grinned.

"What about Nightwing and his former Batclan?" Black Canary then asked. "Should we involve them?"

Batman already knew the answer to that. "Nightwing has his hands full with Bludhaven. No sense in dragging him back here just yet. As for the other two, not if I can help it. They've been out of action for so long, so there's no telling what state their skills are in. I would also like to respect Nightwing's decision to disband his team and not go behind his back and undo it."

"Not that I don't agree," Manhunter interjected, "but let me be the Devil's Advocate here. Bluebird and Spoiler did help during Bane's siege. It wasn't much, but they did contribute. Imagine if you're them and you've been sidelined unwillingly. Then you're purposefully excluded. That's a pretty shitty feeling."

"And we're not here to cater to the egos of adolescent girls. There was little choice in who was involved in that crisis, but we have a choice now. I don't want their deaths hanging over my head and neither do any of you."

That was admittingly a low blow. Anyone could see how Nightwing was handling the death of the late Jason Todd, which was a big reason why he had disbanded the Batclan. It was also the reason Batman had wanted every vigilante off the streets in the beginning. Even though he wasn't responsible for Barbara Gordon's paralysis, it still made him question himself every so often. If he had been more forceful, perhaps she would still have the use of her legs. If he had been more forceful, perhaps Tim Drake would not have had his identity exposed by Two-Face and he wouldn't have had to relocate to the west coast.

So many what ifs, even if ultimately the individuals affected had made the decisions that led to their current situations.

"While I'm with you," Huntress spoke, "I do think we need to at least keep them as back up options. Yeah, I wouldn't want anything to happen to them, but they're headstrong and resourceful. If...whatever this is...spills into their neighborhood, you know they'll jump into the fight."

That was a good point. "We'll get them up to speed if that's the case," Batman ruled. "But ideally we handle this without it getting that far."

It felt strange initiating the use of the Network. It had been the others that had formed it, built it into what it was. He had merely used it out of convenience upon his return from the Tower of Fate. Now...now he was calling it into action.

Hopefully he wasn't making a mistake.


Within the Gotham underworld, it was considered a neutral ground. If you needed to get out of the line of fire, or lay low from friendly allies, this was the place. It was a closed down Greek restaurant called the Tartarus, and once it had food to die for. The food was also the reason for the class action lawsuit that shut it down permanently where closures due to failed health inspections hadn't done the job.

Strange had come here on a hunch. There were not many places for this individual to go to, especially since to his knowledge, this man had a diagnosis of lack of financial stability.

This place was not in the best condition and could use a healthy amount of renovation if it wanted to be presentable. Alas, someone would have to have the ambition and the drive to make that a reality, and so far none had stepped up for it. Until that far off day could happen, this is how it would remain, a hellhole that offered safety in a dangerous city.

And if you were to do some digging, you'd find that a former owner happened to be a scion of the Sionis family.

His shoes scuffed against concrete and almost squeaked against what linoleum still remained. Most of the furniture here was either on the verge of collapse, or flat out gone, leaving a large space that had once been the dining room. From behind his glasses, his eyes searched the area, looking for any sign of life.

He found the signs; to be a psychiatrist, you had to have exceptional observation skills. Disturbances in the dirt and dust and grime were too recent. The size of the footprints he could spot were well within the correct range. There was even a trail, which led to the restroom faculties. The door for one of those alcoves was missing and...yes, there was shuffling coming from one of them.

He stood there, out in the open, confident and proud. There was nothing to fear here, even if that was this fellow's area of expertise.

A gangly man emerged, his colors that of the garments provided by Arkham. No time to change and probably a lack of funds and foresight for that to happen. Strange's lips curled, and teeth were bared. The man who had appeared came to a stop and was eyeballing him with some hostility. That was a sign for the professor to take the initiative.

"I have been looking for you, Jonathan," Strange greeted.

Jonathan, full name Jonathan Crane, glared back. "What do you want now?"

The taller intellectual gave a chuckle. There may have been a time when the two of them were of similar heights, Jonathan having the edge, but that was before he had developed his Monster Man serum. Now he had that edge. Height, such a primal force of dominance.

"I have come with a proposal—"

"That has me back in Arkham and at the mercy of Batman. No thank you," Jonathan interrupted, the intensity of his glare growing. Thin arms crossed over a thin chest defensively, a clear sign of resistance.

That would not deter a man such as he, Professor Hugo Strange.

"Hear me out first. Then make an informed decision," he chided, taking a few steps closer. Jonathan's glare increased in its intensity with every step he took. "I am about to enact a very ambitious scheme. I do believe you could be pivotal in it. Your expertise in chemistry and the processes of fear are without equal. I would like to solicit your skills for—"

"For what?" Jonathan interrupted once again. "Get to the point. Flattery will not help you here. After what you did, I've gained immunity to that at the very least."

"Your anger here is unwarranted," Strange said. "It was not I who tormented you all those years ago. The individual who did, however, is the target and perhaps some turnabout would be appropriate, no?"

"You're going after Batman again," his former student deadpanned. "You've already lost, Strange. He'll beat you again. Hell, he doesn't even need to beat you. What happened the last time? Someone else who wasn't Batman beat you. Was it one his little minions, his little crows that flutter about, eating up what breadcrumbs he allows? No, whatever plan you have, I want no part of because it is only destined to fail."

"Batman is but a means to an end, though his pain will be a bonus," the fallen psychiatrist stated, beginning to frown. Jonathan's resistance was lashing out and hitting whatever it could. Strange could not allow such mindless rage to impede him.

"Oh, he's a means to an end now? Why, that changes everything! So is that what this is really about? Hurting Batman to...what exactly? Do you think anyone cares that you hurt him? Who are you really after who would want to protect him? Could it be, why, that little rivalry that's been growing between you and the Joker is reaching its boiling point? But wait, I know how this is going to go! The Joker will beat you like a drum and hopefully a toilet and some electrical wiring is involved. I would pay to see that."

Such hostility; he had truly underestimated his former pupil's vindictiveness. Such anger had simmer for quite some time, perhaps too much time. However, that did not mean nothing could be salvaged. The correct approach was needed.

Jonathan had marched to the nearest table, and jerked a seemingly sturdy chair out, the chair legs scrapping around the floor. The thin, gangly man practically threw himself into his seat, arms crossing over his chest once more and continuing to glower. Strange remained unphased, instead strolling over and calmly pulling out a chair for himself. Once settled, he placed his arms on the table's flat surface and leaned forward.

"My actions, back then, are regretful. Had I known—"

"You abandoned me when things were getting too hot." The third interruption this night and it was getting under the former psychiatrist's skin. "Do you have some pretty words that will somehow put you in a better light? You left me to Batman's mercy. You left me helpless. You even stood by and watched him interrogate me, and did not even lift a finger to help. No, you just worked me to the bone, making batch after batch of my fear toxin until you had more than enough. Whatever professional courtesy I might have given you once, it's gone."

Yes, it had simmered far too long.

"I should have never put you in that position," he began, carefully choosing his words. "Perhaps taking vengeance on the man who tormented you may begin the healing process between the two of us?"

"I'm looking at the man who set it up," Jonathan stated, tone practically dead.

A different tact. "If you wish not to aid me directly, then perhaps may I prevail to—"

"No. You will not get your hands on my toxin. It's the only thing I still have left that you have yet to taint. I am not a factory, or some hired hand that you can call on when it suits your needs. If you place any value on our time as teacher and student, you will leave. Now."

When a puppet cuts their own strings…

Jonathan was doing everything in his power to prevent him from speaking. Clever, because words were his primary method of accomplishing anything. By refusing to let him speak, Jonathan was preventing him from fully utilizing his skills. Anger and hostility were shields that strengthened resolve and fed persistence.

It was frustrating to encounter, especially from a man he himself had put so much time and effort into.

"I feel I should point out that I had a hand in developing your beloved toxin. Before, it recreated the sensations of fear; I was the one to suggest adding the hallucinogenic component."

"Oh, so now we're on to taking credit," Jonathan scoffed. The table shuddered as a foot kicked it. "They always said you were an egomaniac, but I was willing to overlook it because I recognized your brilliance. Now I'm wondering if I shouldn't have kept my distance. Get out, Strange. I'm through with you."

Eyes narrowed behind glasses and Strange felt his frustration mounting. "I am disappointed in you, Jonathan. You may have surrendered, but I haven't. We will speak again and I hope, for your sake, you will have reconsidered your position. I anticipate you will still be here, so I will return later to see if you are more amenable. Good day, Jonathan, and I pray you will reconsider your choices."

Standing up, the fallen psychiatrist stalked his way out of the condemned building, leaving behind an ungrateful pupil who was not behaving as an A plus student should be. So Jonathan thought he would be able to survive without him? They would see. Perhaps time in dissolution and isolation would change the man's mind.

He was perfectly aware of Jonahtan's past, his upbringing, everything. Curiosity and a need for knowledge had led Strange to undertake a thorough background check, and what he had found was a mind pliant and desperate for achievement. After that, it was simple to keep Jonathan under thumb, allowing his pupil's successes to reflect on himself.

Those were the golden days and now it was tarnished in his pupil's eyes. Perhaps a different approach would be necessary to gain Jonathan's compliance. It was a shame Strange hadn't taken the time to program him, but that was in the past. There were other methods to ply and allowing Jonathan time to cool off would be necessary.

The fear toxin held too much potential. It was a weapon that he needed if he was to emerge triumphant.

Time was still on his side. It would be time used to come up with a different, more effective approach. This was just another challenge, and one he, Professor Hugo Strange, would conquer.


That pompous asshole. To think Crane had ever thought the man to be a misunderstood genius. Pah. Just another bully that had taken a different approach.

If anyone was afraid, it was Strange. The man had to be better than everyone else, failure his greatest fear. He didn't need his toxin to figure that out.

But Strange wanted the toxin. Immediately, Crane knew he was never going to give it back.

It was ironic; he had already given the formula to his former mentor and like its creator, it seemed Strange had discarded it as well. Why come back to him?

It was obvious that Strange hadn't figured out that he had been trying to kill him. He had been the one to point the Phantasm in Strange's direction, even aided on one attempt. That Strange didn't know meant he was either oblivious, or ignorant.

Speaking of, he had a brief thought of where that killer had gone. It had taken time, but after months in Arkham, Crane had figured it out. He had been attracted to the Phantasm, another wielder of fear like himself. The little details that he had dismissed gave away that his partner had been a woman the whole time. Who she was, he still had no idea, and thus he could only wonder how things could have been…

It would be a long shot now. He did remember how the Phantasm wanted nothing to do with Batman. For good reason, admittedly, and now that Batman was lording over Gotham once more, expecting the killer to return was not in the cards.

But there were other killers around. Strange had let slip the name of a good one.

Even locked up, he was still coming up with ideas of how to use his toxin. There had been more than one curious thought about how it would affect the other prisoners in the asylum. Who knew what reactions to expect? What were their greatest fears? Would they respond violently, or curl up into fetal positions and fall apart?

That was neither here, nor there. What was was that Crane had an idea.

Strange wanted his toxin. Well, there was another way to ensure he would never get it. There was another man out there, one also hostile to Strange, and you know what they say. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

What was the Joker's policy on team ups?