Sorry about the late update, everyone. It's been a long, tiring week and I just simply forgot to post. I hope you enjoy!


"Are we sure we want to do this?"

It was asked out of the blue, and had it been anyone else, Max Shreck would have asked for clarification. The question, though, came from his boy and closest business associate. Chip was the only person he allowed to question anything without needing to provide mountains of proof.

Really, when his son had any concerns, they were always centered around whatever they were doing, whether it was the direction they were taking their business, people they were dealing with, or deals that were making.

Gesturing with a hand, Shreck invited, "Go on. What's...on your mind?"

"Are we seriously considering the proposal from LexCorp?" Chip asked bluntly, making eye contact with his old man.

Shreck allowed a crooked half smile to form on his face. Oh, he understood his son's concern. There was so much going on behind the scenes here.

"We are simply...making an informed choice. We need to...divest...ourselves of Computron. The Riddler fiasco has...damaged and tarnished...its good name. When selling, you sell for the best price."

"But why LexCorp?"

"Why not?" Shreck countered. "If Bruce Wayne and his pet Fox were serious...the sale would have gone through already. They're stalling...probably to get a good price...a better price. Pennies on the dollar. I admire that, or would...had it not be that we're on the other side...this time."

"So what? Use LexCorp to get the selling price up? This is Lex Luthor we're dealing with. Why is he interested in buying Computron?" Chip asked, shifting in his seat.

"Who cares? He's interested. That's all we need to know," the older Shreck dismissed. "If I had asked...every customer...why they were buying anything from me...every single item...I'd be a bad business man. I could sell guns...but that doesn't make me a murderer. Odds are...this is vulture capitalism. You did notice...the firm representing him...it's a venture capitalist company. Tear apart Computron and sell off its assets to make a profit, that's...what they'll do. And why should we care?"

"You know as well as I do that Luthor owns nothing in Gotham," his son pointed out.

And it wasn't an accident. There weren't a lot of outsiders in Gotham, even though it was a major financial hub. The big boys that wanted in? They rented from the establishment. You don't have the big tech companies here because they owned no land that was remotely close to Gotham. No Google or Amazon or what have you had a headquarters here.

Wayne Enterprises wouldn't let such competition in anyway and the rest of them were of the same mind. Gotham was for Gothamites. So when it came to property and real estate, Wayne Enterprises took the lead, and owned much of the property in the city. However, even a multinational like Wayne could only buy so much, and that was where the rest of them came in.

Over the years, Shreck had bought and purchased many properties and many businesses. It had brought in quite a profit. The rest could say the same. It was why Lex Luthor didn't even own so much as a crackhouse in this city. It also helped to keep like-minded individuals in the city government as well, so politics was not a backdoor in.

It wasn't remembered, or perhaps blatantly ignored, but LexCorp hadn't started as a tech business. It had, over time, moved in that direction. What LexCorp had first started making its money in had been real estate, and it was said that appetite for land had never left the Metropolis billionaire.

That was why any sales to LexCorp would include selling any land attached.

That explained why Chip was worried. They were going to break the embargo held on this city, and sell not just Computron, but the land Computron was built on to a man known for many real estate schemes, and not all of them legal. They would be the first to betray the fellowship with all the other Gotham elite and that would have ramifications for years to come.

But once the power plant was built, it would be a moot point anyway. The money they could get from Computron would put them well on the way to building the Shreck legacy.

"For now, Luthor owns nothing in Gotham," Shreck said carefully. "And...it can stay that way. All Brucie boy has to do...is...stop monkeying around, and pay up. Pay a generous price for Computron and Gotham real estate is saved. If that trust fund goodie-goodie had been serious from the beginning...this would not be an issue. He chose to play games...stupid games as the kids say nowadays, and he's won his stupid prize."

"And if Luthor makes the better offer?" Chip asked, though his head was nodding in agreement.

Shreck shrugged his shoulders. "We sell to the highest bidder. Doesn't matter who it is. I'm sure...Bruce...will understand."

Bruce wouldn't, would be furious, but a moot point in the face of the Shreck legacy.

"Now, I've noticed...there's been less bleeding recently," Shreck changed the topic, moving on to something else just as important. "There hasn't been any...sightings of a...certain cat."

"She still has the blueprints," Chip mentioned.

"She has them...but hasn't done anything with them. She's still a danger. But she's one that can be remedied." Shreck looked thoughtful. "We don't know where she is...but that means we can draw her out. With the right bait."

"What kind of bait?" His son was suddenly very eager and for good reason.

"What kind of bait indeed," Shreck mused, looking thoughtful. "Tell me, Chip...what kind of bait is irresistible to a cat?"

"A giant ball of string?" Ever the comedian.

"I was thinking something more expensive. Something a cat could never resist stealing." The idea was forming in his mind, and he was liking it more than more. "Remind me, when was the last time we had a masquerade?"


It had taken several knocks before Gordon registered them and soon enough his response was automatic. "Enter."

"Your presence has been requested." It took a second, but the Commissioner recognized that was Sawyer's voice. His eyes hadn't even left the file he was reading, another in a mountain of them that hid the surface of his desk. Now he had lost his place too. Great.

"Who is requesting?" he asked, looking up at the Lieutenant.

"Two of them, man and a woman. Last name is Langstrom and they insisted on speaking with you personally," Sawyer told him. "Should I tell them to make an appointment?"

Gordon frowned. It was a bit more common than you would think of people coming to the station and demanding to meet with him. Most of them were people of wealth with all the money in the world, but no time to wait. Immediately, he wanted to give the go-ahead for Sawyer to go as she suggested, but…

Why did Langstrom sound familiar?

Shaking his head, Gordon said, "One minute," and reached for the one area of his desk that wasn't covered in files and documents. That area was where his computer was, though he had to shuffle some things off the keyboard. Waking it up, he brought up a program and typed in the name Langstrom.

He felt like he should know that name. For the life of him, he couldn't...okay, results were coming up, and there was only one name brought up. So there had been a Langstrom that had come through here before and entered the system. Kirk Langstrom. Who was he and...oh.

Opening up the digital file, he was reminded why he should have remembered Langstrom.

"I'll see them right now. Lobby?" he said more than asked as he stood up, adjusting his tie.

Sawyer remained professional, but her eyes expressed her curiosity. "I'll lead," was her answer.

She hadn't been there for it. No, she showed up after, when Harvey was rampaging through Gotham. She didn't know and the mob war she found herself in was distracting enough for all of them. Regardless, when a man who invents science juice that can change a person into a bat monster, you didn't keep them waiting.

The two Langstroms were waiting at the proverbial front desk, standing and refusing to sit. Both looked worried and he recognized the woman immediately. Faces were so much easier to remember and he remembered Francine Langstrom begging him for help so long ago. The distress looked almost the same.

"What can I do for you?" he greeted, figuring that getting to business would be best and preferred.

Kirk, a mousy-looking man who didn't look like he could be a threat to anyone appeared wan, and his attempt at a smile was...well, he tried. Francine, on the other hand, stepped forward. "Thank you for meeting with us."

"I don't think either of you would be here unless it was something important," Gordon replied. "What's going on?"

"Hugo Strange." That came from Kirk, and he was so much quieter sounding than his wife. "He's escaped Arkham. We heard."

Everyone by now had heard. There was no way anyone was going to keep this latest escape under wraps. Too many dangerous people had left the asylum and people needed to know. The media was having a field day with months of material they could repeat over and over. Naturally, the Langstroms would be one of the millions to be told.

"We're doing everything in our power to apprehend him," the Commissioner answered. Frowning, a thought occurred to him, coming with a speed that reminded him of a mind much younger and less traumatized. "Has he tried to contact you?"

He asked because Kirk Langstrom had been a patient of Hugo Strange. Of course he would be worried. "Not yet, but I wasn't going to take the chance."

"We're hoping for police protection," Francine stated, taking charge. "Or is it Witness Protection? Whatever it is, we need it. Neither of us want to take the chance that that madman tries to make contact. After last time...neither of us want to risk it."

Behind her, Kirk nodded his head, reminding Gordon of a bobblehead.

The Commissioner kept his sight on the smaller man, one who had transformed into a monster years ago. When he had read through the file he had brought up earlier, he had initially wondered why such a man was out of prison. There were notes that detailed him being a model prisoner and not doing anything to attract Zorbados' ire. He could believe that, looking at Langstrom right now. The man had served his time and had been released for good behavior. Was Langstrom a success story? A story of redemption in a city like Gotham?

He could only hope so and seeing the man come voluntarily into HQ meant that man was determined not to be Strange's victim again. Asserting control over his life and accepting responsibility for past actions; it was something to behold.

And reward.

"Come to my office. I'll start making arrangements," he told the couple, both of whom visibility relaxed. "If we have to, we'll get you out of Gotham until it's safe. Thank you for coming in. It's not often someone comes to us before something bad happens."

"I'll bet," Francine agreed.

Nodding, Gordon gestured for the couple to follow him. "We'll get you taken care of." Looking towards Sawyer, "Start the process for getting them protection."

Sawyer was frowning, but she did nod. Someone was going to need a quick education real quick. Once she learned about Man-Bats, that would allow any and all understanding that was needed. Still, he was troubled that he had even forgotten about the Langstroms. Perhaps this was still yet another sign that his time was over.

Perhaps stepping down would be coming sooner rather than later. A shame, since the Calabreses were still operating, but that was always going to take time. Then there was this latest development with Arkham, so who knew how this was going to play out.

At least one element would be removed from any equation. The only certainty was that there were going to be people dying, and sooner rather than later.


"Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!"

An automatic rifle went flying through the air, right for Two-the right amount of-Faces, who tried to catch the gun with a rather hilarious look on his face. "What the hell are you trying to do, Clown?!" he roared as nearly dropped it, but managed to finally get a hold of it.

"What's it look like? I'm handing out presents!" said clown exclaimed. Punks and thugs lumbered into the room from behind the green-haired man, setting down crate after crate of goodies. The short bird's discount was really something!

"Where did you get all of these?" Croc questioned, his eyes widening as the line of boxes kept coming.

"Why, from a generous benefactor that was dying to give me whatever I wanted. That's all you need to know and all you should care about." The Joker sauntered up to his team of misfit villains. "Because now that we are locked, loaded, and have the firepower of a Middle East power keg, it's time we get down to business."

"Agreed," Scarecrow responded. "All of us here are gathered because we have experienced injustice from the same man: Hugo Strange."

"Who?" Croc asked.

"An insect with a Napoleon complex and a real short temper," the Joker chimed in. "Oh wait, that was the bug in Men In Black. Let's try an insect that is way in over his head, but thinks he's smarter than everyone else. No, that's just too nice. Hmmm." He thought about his next words because damn it, they had to do justice to the feelings he felt towards this insufferable, egotistical...hey, those weren't bad ones to start with! "He's an insufferable, egotistical miscreant who couldn't hack it and became a psychologist to justify his outlandish medical school loans." Oh yeah, that summed it up well.

"Oh right, that shrink you want me to kill." The crocodile man shrugged. "I ain't got anything against this guy, but you did bust me out. Just point him out to me and all take care of him."

"Oh the contrary," Scarecrow rebutted. "Who do you think set you up against our former District Attorney here?" At this he gestured to Two-Face. "Who created the second Black Mask, the former warden of Arkham Asylum? You were used as a tool to prove this man a superior to everyone in Gotham."

"I ain't ever heard this."

"Because all anyone can see of you is a giant alligator man," the Joker said.

"That's crocodile, Clown," Croc growled.

"Reptiles, whatever. The point, you wouldn't be in jail if Too-Strange-for-his-own-good hadn't brainwashed Arkham into thinking he was a crime boss and hired you on for muscle."

"You don't say."

"There is proof and that man is arrogant enough to admit his own handiwork when asked," Scarecrow butted back in. "And we can get you your confirmation when we go confront him with these lovely weapons the Joker has procured for us."

"Now we're talking," Two-Face said. "Where is he so we can get him?"

"Let's ask our little scout," the Joker responded before pulling out a walkie-talkie. "J1 to H2. Tell me all about our idiot doctor."

The voice of Harley Quinn came over, coupled with static. "H2 here J1. Looks like Strange is up to something with his new buddies. They look like they're about to go out."

"Out where?" Two-Face demanded.

Joker repeated the question. "Out where, Boo?"

"I don't know. They just been standing around this table talking, but it looks like they're almost done."

Not exactly what he wanted to hear, but he was certain the others wouldn't like that report either. "She can't figure any more than that out?" Two-Face growled. "How useless is she?"

"As useless if a man misuses her," the pale man quipped. "Which is alright. We have to arm ourselves with our new toys and she can tell us when Strange is on the move. We'll intercept him and put a bullet in his head. Sound good?"

"As long as Strange is dead, I don't care how."

That was as good of a response as he was going to get. Still, it was quite clear this alliance wasn't rock solid yet. It would crumble the moment Strange was dead. That was all well and good and he would celebrate that moment appropriately. But he could just see Two-Face surprisingly one-minded about this and Croc just bumbling around. That would need to be accounted for.

After all, the only wild card they could have on this team was him.


Strange had called for a council and he had brought perhaps the most strategically-minded to help in this endeavor. There were geniuses aplenty, but tactics were the topic and they were of the utmost importance.

"Crafting an emergency will be child's play," Edward remarked. "If people are in danger, Batman will respond. The big question we need to ask is what kind of emergency? What will be big enough that he will respond without question? Without thinking twice?"

Between the two of them was a map of the city with its various districts color coded. Landmarks were identified and playing pieces were placed to represent either specific locales, or individuals.

"We know he has a soft spot for children...but to keep pressing that advantage would be akin to removing it altogether. That may have to be tabled for another occasion," Strange remarked.

"And he'll be keeping a close eye after the debacle I caused," Edward chuckled.

"Then we need a different approach. Fortunately, there is another alternative, one that Batman will be drawn to out of curiosity." Strange peered at the city map, as if it would give him the answer he sought.

Edward in his finest green leaned over the table, his shadow darkening the map. Elbows propped themselves on the table they were using, his hands coming together with the ends of his index fingers tapping against one another. "And what would prompt a reaction of curiosity, I wonder."

"The answer is simple: the bizarre," the former shrink answered. "Something out of the ordinary and beyond the scope of human comprehension. It will attract Batman like the moth to the flame if only so he can determine if it is a danger or not. However, if he already knows that the bizarre is dangerous, he will come to the rescue to try and neutralize it."

"You've given some thought to this," Edward stated. "Don't hold the rest of the class in suspense."

"I saw it in his eyes. He desires power." Strange knew he sounded like he had jumped from one topic to another without any lead up, but he was answering the question. "The challenges of the boardroom, the wealth, and corporate competition are not enough. He had power once, the power of life and death and flight. He's been searching for the means to regain it, unsuccessfully. His brilliant son is beyond his reach in many regards and that marvelous invention is secured in the hands of one who will never let it see the light of day again. I have always held onto the scrap I still have with the chance of utilizing it once more. I believe that day has come."

Edward held a look of amusement. "The rest of the class still awaits illumination."

"Years ago, I was able to slip away with a mutagen. I have recently been able to craft a new batch and have already delivered it to our pawn. He will take it, and transform into a Man-Bat, of this I am certain. He's had several hours, but he will take it."

"And Batman will rush in to the rescue," Edward concluded, giving a chuckle. "I've heard about these 'Man-Bats.' So the colony I've heard about was your doing, wasn't it?"

"A gamble that placed me in Arkham. This time it will be bait," Strange declared as he picked up a piece. The initials A.L. were written on it. He placed the piece where he knew Abraham Langstrom took up his residence. "Once lured out, that is when we strike. However, precautions will also need to be taken. Joker knows about my involvement with the Man-Bats, and he will try to intervene."

"Well, we may have a deterrent on our hands. It depends on how you wish to use it," Edward then picked two pieces, ones that each had the initials P.I. and J.T. written on them. "Which one to choose, and how to use. That is the riddle."

"Tell me, knowing of their capabilities, what would you choose to do?" Let it not be said that Strange was unwilling to hear the ideas of others. Sometimes the most inspired plans were crafted not by the individual, but by committee.

"We have two methods of mind control. One is more reliable than the other. We could either choose the technological route, or we can try the chemical one. Pheromones can often leave behind confusion and the type she inspires could do so much more."

Both were valid strategies. Both would take time to implement...or would they? The route of Jervis Tetch would require an abundance of tech, whereas that of Pamala Isley…

"Do you think we need more pawns?" Edward asked. Green eyes directed attention to a location just beyond the city limits, at the edge of their map. "I have an inkling for a recruit, one with the kind of power to stop even the Joker cold—"

"No," Strange cut in, his tone disallowing any argument

A frown formed on his former patient's face. "How come?"

"That one is cut from a different cloth. He will not be willing to aid either side. If he were to choose, it would be against us, and death would be a possibility, if not a certainty. I was called on to assess him after he was first imprisoned. I knew immediately that to try and use him would be more trouble than it was worth. It would be in everyone's best interest to leave him in Blackgate."

Edward appeared thoughtful. "Perhaps we'll need to look elsewhere for more recruits. In the meantime, we'll work with what we have. Now, details. What would be the best location to set up and how would we go about ensuring that we ourselves are not chasing this pawn of yours all over the city? Last I checked, Man-Bats were primal and not wont to use executive functions."

"They are a primal beast. Fortunately, I put an addition to the mutagen before I presented it. It is nothing that will change its composition, but shall we say, it will make him more susceptible to suggestion. High frequency suggestion."

A smirk formed on Edward's lips. "I'm beginning to wonder if you even need me."

"Details. That is where you truly excel. From what I have learned, you yourself were able to keep your scheme hidden, even and up to the endgame. I have initiated the first play and now it is up to you to make the second move. Make it a masterstroke."


To think it would be given to him. Handed over without a fight.

It sat in the syringe, the mutagen pink in color and waiting to find its way into his veins. How long had Abraham fought to have this? Years, he knew, many frustrating years. Wayne had proven to be tougher than his reputation claimed. How he wished that could have been his son.

But Robert had created this, this incredible substance with who knew how many applications...ones he was far from willing to commit to. This was a Langstrom property, always had been even if his son had developed it for Wayne. Everything that belonged to the Langstroms should remain in their custody.

This substance, this mutagen, was now synonymous with the Langstrom name. It was fear, and terror, and nowhere near the prestige he had struggled all his life to obtain for his family. So many would see profit with it, but stigma would drive the price down. No, it was better to keep it with the family, for now, and wait for a day when history was truly and fully forgotten.

That was not why he was staring at it. He had filled the syringe himself and had been staring at it for several hours. The last time Abraham had experienced this concoction, it was forced into him by the madman. A raging inferno had burned and flowed through his veins, breaking into his bones, tearing muscles apart, and power was what had remained.

It was a rush unlike anything the business mogul had ever felt. Dominating in the boardroom could never reach the heights that this mutagen promised. To want something, to crave it, that was weakness, and it was weakness he was feeling.

It should be out of the question. That mutagen should go no further from that syringe, should not exit the needle, should not enter any body…

No, anybody.

Abraham Langstrom was not anybody. He was the owner, founder, and CEO of Patriarch Biopharmaceuticals. He was a dominating force in the Gotham business world. He was enacting plans to expand his business empire all over the world. He had so much to lose…

He had so much to gain.

Robert was worthless. Pathetic. A stain on the Langstrom name because he was weak. No spine, a momma's boy hiding behind his wife's apron, and nowhere as ruthless he should have been. Like Wayne. People like Max Shreck and Roland Daggett would eat that weakling, no problem. Bruce Wayne wouldn't even know he stepped on him.

But Robert had created this, so there was something to salvage. Not much, but there was something.

This wasn't all of it. No, the lion's share was sealed away in the bowels of Wayne Enterprises, where Wayne and his lackey Fox could keep a close eye on it. It had taken years to get someone in there to not only confirm that fact, but locate the actual location of where Robert's research was kept. Wayne and Fox had done a terrific job burying it.

No man would be able to reach it.

It was a creation of the Langstroms. It was Langstrom property held by someone else. It was a thorn in his side that he had not been able to remove.

Where no man could go, there was nothing that said a Man-Bat was excluded.

Removing his tie, Abraham unbuttoned his dress shirt, loosening his collar. Snatching up the syringe, he pressed the needle to the side of his neck and without hesitation pierced the skin.

He was not weak.

Down went the plunger.