"It's a terrible thing, really. I'm not as touched by it as many of Gotham's citizens, but the level of violence that has been done is astounding."
Vesper irritably blew out of her mouth. "That's a pretty standard response, Mr. Wayne. Anyone, even a layman, could say that about what's been going on. There was the battle on top of the former headquarters of the Nora Fries Foundation; you have Man-Bats in the skies again; giant plants are growing to incredible proportions, and I haven't even touched on the Robinson Park fire."
"I would like to point out that the fire marshal hasn't released his report on that," Bruce was quick to respond.
"How you can think anyone other than Batman's infamous rogue's gallery isn't behind it, I don't know, but sure, we'll wait for the official findings."
Alright, Vesper wanted to play the hot take tactic. While that was all well and good for a sportscaster, that sort of thing had no business being in a news journalist's acumen. Bruce wanted to see just how far on this hill she was willing to die on.
"So you know, without a doubt, that the Arkham inmates were behind this?" he prodded.
"I have no doubt in my mind," she affirmed. "Just look at—"
"Then what are you doing here talking about it?" he immediately cut her off. "If you have the proof, instead of sitting on it, you need to turn it over to the proper authorities. The sooner they can end that part of the investigation, the sooner they can put their resources into capturing these people."
"Excuse me," Vesper retorted, clearly annoyed that she had been cut off, "but if I did have that information, then I would definitely turn it over."
"Then all you have are conjectures without any tangible proof. What if this fire was caused by kids playing with matches? Or maybe it's a budding arsonist? I know it's easier to just write it off as collateral damage due to what's going on, but that's lazy investigative work and has the potential to spread misinformation, which is the last thing today's media needs."
"And you are an expert on what the media needs to be doing?" she pressed.
"Not by any margin, but I do recognize when someone has an image problem, and like it or not, the media does have one. But this is getting off topic on what we're talking about."
"No, no, I'd like to hear more of your thoughts on the media. Enlighten my audience, if you would."
It was Bruce's turn to blow air out of his mouth out of annoyance. Well, if Vesper wanted an example, he had a very good one. "This would have been long before you came to Gotham, Vesper. In fact, it was right about the time the Batman and the Iceman had arrived on the scene. The Gotham Star had two different reporters publishing articles, each one championing the other vigilante. Each reporter spun the positives of their champion and the negatives of their opposite until everything came to a head with the Night of Ice. And you see the same thing with things a lot more mundane than two illegal vigilantes duking it out in the streets, be it a protest, a speech by the President, and what have you."
Vesper was nodding as she actually appeared to be soaking this in. She was considering her next words carefully it seemed. "That's an interesting perspective, Mr. Wayne. But now that you've brought it up, I'd like to talk to you about one of those men you mentioned: the Iceman."
While the building still stood, the roof was demolished. Large plants and vines grew high into the air, flowers blooming from green flesh. The iconic glass dome of the Nora Fries Foundation building was surprisingly still standing, but it did have several glass panels broken with plants growing out of them, others simply shattered from the destruction. It was hard to see it as there were others, larger vines that grew in front of it, nearly hiding it from sight unless one had the right angle.
Because large chunks of the roof were gone, Batman had used one such hole to enter the building, attempting to search for anyone belonging to Hugo Strange or the Joker. Unfortunately, he wasn't surprised when he didn't find someone left behind in the wreckage, meaning they had all managed to escape.
That just left him exploring the place in search of any clue he could use to track them down. The floor was just as wrecked as the ceiling though as plants grew right out of it, destroying the tiled floor, roots seemingly emerging from random places all over. The vigilante had to watch his step as he walked throughout the place.
Then came a place where no plant seemed to want to touch. It was a wide circle, which Batman gratefully stopped in as he took a breather. So far, nothing had been found that could point him in the direction of any of the Arkham Inmates, though it wasn't surprising. Ivy's destruction had ensured that would be the case. Still, he had to at least make the effort. He wouldn't know for certain if this was a waste of time until it was done.
Tilting his head back, he gazed up at the ceiling, a sense of deja vu overcoming him. Aside from the plant life, he felt as if he had been here before. Of course he had, but that had been so many years ago. It was almost incredible too considering everything that had happened since that fateful night.
In fact, he recognized this very spot. This was where Freeze had hidden his ice bomb, one meant to entomb Gotham in ice from his unquenchable fury. The Dark Knight had stood in this spot, gazing up at the ceiling with a sigh when he had managed to end the threat.
That Ivy's plants wouldn't touch the spot must have meant something, as if this was some holy place. Or more likely it was pure coincidence.
There was the sound of a snapping twig and Batman forced himself out of his memory. On guard, he tilted his head to one side and spotted movement from a few bushes.
It also helped there was a hushed curse coming from said bushes.
"You can come out now," he said sternly. In response, Batgirl, along with Bluebird and Spoiler, emerged. It must have been the latter two that had alerted him to their presence. "What are you doing here?"
"The two of us are just following Batgirl," Bluebird immediately responded. "Figured we could lend a hand in investigating here, but it doesn't look like there's much we can do."
She was right about that. "You should go home, get some rest," he said as he returned to gazing at the untouched floor.
"Because we're not any help here? Is that it?" the blue-haired girl pressed. Her tone expressed plainly there was a chip on her shoulder and a large one at that.
"Because this is only the beginning," he told her, finally turning around to face the three girls. "And you're going to need all the rest you can get before this is over."
"That sounds reasonable," Spoiler was quick to say.
"I could say the same about you," Bluebird pointed out.
"There might be a clue to the location of the inmates, as doubtful as that looks. If I can find it, it'll go a long way to ending this conflict."
"Then we can at least help with that. I know, we're not in the same league as you are when it comes to...well, everything, but I think we can at least spot something unusual at the very least."
"Not a good idea," Batgirl said. "Ivy made these plants, so some could be dangerous. It would be best if we left."
We. That sounded as if Batgirl was going to escort these girls away from here. Batman couldn't help but feel some pride at her words. Someone was beginning to mature after all their time on the streets.
"You're probably right," Spoiler agreed. "But I...I'm wondering why none of the plants have touched this spot. It seems kind of weird, right?"
"Nature does unexpected things. Just look at the Devil Circle in North Carolina," Batman said. A camping area in the middle of a wooded area, nothing seemed to grow in this one place, creating stories of the Devil stamping out any sort of life. It was a story, nothing more, but there was a sizable community of people that believed in the lore.
"I guess," Bluebird sounded dubious. "But you seemed to be having a moment when we got here."
"I don't suppose you know what building this is."
The three teenage girls shared looks with each other before looking back at him, shaking their heads. "This is the Nora Fries building," he explained before glancing back to the floor at his feet. "And this is the spot where Freeze kept his ice bomb."
Batgirl just stared blankly at him, but he hadn't expected her to understand the significance. Bluebird and Spoiler, on the other hand, did. The two nearly jolted where they stood and gaped at the untouched floor. "You mean, this is where the Night of Ice began?" the blue-haired girl gasped.
"And ended," he finished for her.
"Whoa...just whoa," Spoiler breathed before her head perked. "Wait, isn't this a bad thing? I mean, if this building was named after that guy's wife, isn't he going to be a little...mad about this?"
Yeah, Batman couldn't imagine that Fries was going to like what happened here. Considering he was locked up in Blackgate, there was little he could do about it.
However, the thought of Blackgate rooted itself in his head. Killer Croc had been kept at the prison, yet he was on the roof standing with the Joker. How had he gotten out? It seemed he was going to have to visit the prison and find out just how the crocodile man had escaped.
Looking to Batgirl, he then said, "Be careful on your way out. I'll keep you posted with anything I find." Upon seeing her sharp nod in response, the dark-clad man turned and made to leave this spot. There were still some places of the ruined building he had yet to check and he needed to be thorough about his investigation.
Twice now. It had happened twice. There was not going to be a third time if he, Professor Hugo Strange, had anything to say about it.
"So, is this going to be normal?" Pamela commented. She was lounging on a couch, one not unlike the kind that Strange once used in his practices, be they private, or in Arkham. "At the first sign of trouble we run away? I would like to know if I am wasting my time."
Already, the decision to withdraw was fragmenting this tentative alliance. Damage control was necessary.
"There is no shame in retreating if it allows you a better opportunity," Edward remarked in his stead. The self-styled Riddler was comfortably resting in a chair, toying with a solved Rubix cube. Already, he was undoing the completed puzzle, mixing up the small squares of differing colors, pausing for one exact second, then solving the puzzle of the cube once again. "Our enemies were gaining the advantage. There is no honor in death."
"What fight were you apart of?" Pamela retorted. "I was under no pressure. That idiot that clown threw at me was no threat."
"It did not escape me that you were only focusing your impressive abilities on one opponent," Edward pointed out, not even taking his eyes off the newly solved cube. "With the power you possess, you could have ended the fight before it started. Tangled up all of them, perhaps constrict them to death. Or maybe you have other options available? Poisons? Living fertilizer? Crushing or tossing them away? Yet, you chose none of that and focused on one individual. Is there perhaps a limitation to your abilities that even you yourself are not aware?"
Green eyes flashed with irritation. "I can show you what I am perfectly capable of—intimately."
"Enough," Strange cut in. It was easy to see that Pamela was antagonized and Edward could care less of the consequences. "Now is not the time for grievances. It is clear that if we have to continue hunting the Batman, there will be guaranteed resistance. The Joker will hound us with anyone he can recruit. For the time being, we may need to change priorities. If the Joker insists on interfering, we will need to remove him—permanently."
"I did get an impression you have a history with some of our adversary's recruits." Edward sat up straighter and put aside his solved cube. "Should the rest of us be worried? Or perhaps you should feel worried? If dealing with you means we become enemies, this might not work out for you."
Expect that Edward would be capable to pick up on all of those cues. The man was certainly intelligent enough to make the connections. Even now, Jonathan's betrayal stung, and Strange swore that he would make his former student and pupil pay for it. That would have to be later.
"Are we all so successful that we here can claim that we have no enemies?" the former shrink asked instead of answering. "Can you claim none of us have made an enemy from Batman? How about you, Edward? Do you not have enemies from Computron? Or perhaps that parents of all of those children you held hostage? Poison Ivy, what about you? Do you have colleagues from Gotham University that miss you, or are any of them nursing a grudge? We have all had plans and the success rates vary. Right now, as a united front, we cannot say ours are superior to our opponents. Batman is not the greatest threat now; it is the Joker.
"So, how would any of you best him? A man who has repeatedly challenged the Dark Knight himself and has had victories. Many victories. If we triumph over the Joker, how great of a challenge will the Batman be after that? The clown is a threat and one that needs to be dealt with."
"Methinks the disgraced therapist has a point." From the corner of his eye, Strange glanced at Jervis, the diminutive man working on the skeleton of a new headband. Beside him were boxes containing electronic devices, phones, handheld radios, and other such items. "Our bat-themed Alice will forever remain beyond our reach as long as a Cheshire cat guards her. The cat must be skinned first before we can achieve our goal."
The metaphor was interesting and Jervis' intervention reminded the former therapist of another matter. "What's the status of our Man-Bat?"
"Within my control, I assure you. However, you may wish to conjure more of that serum. The effects of that special tea will be wearing off, will they not? I can maintain control over the host until the next transformation."
Abraham would need to be kept on a tight leash and who better to hold it than Jervis? A man as powerful as the elder Langstrom needed to be kept under control, else he could become a liability.
"We need not rely on a sole Man-Bat for future encounters," Strange mused. "I can make another batch, one large enough for multiple doses. Then we can find some hapless souls to receive them."
"Did not the army of monster bats fail the last time?" Edward drawled out, relaxing back in his seat. "The Batman is aware that you have made another one. He will take precautions, perhaps an antidote? In a future confrontation, our great beast may be taken out of action from the onset. That includes any confrontations with the Joker and his crew."
Batman would always improve, or find a way to triumph. That was an excellent point. "Do you have any ideas of how to proceed then?" Strange asked mildly.
A smirk formed on Edward's face. "Well…"
"Another puzzle? Perhaps that maze again," Pamela mocked, interrupting.
Frowning, Edward became defensive. "Now see here, I have yet to even voice an idea."
"You call yourself the Riddler, you are known for puzzles and traps, it does not take a genius to figure that out." Pamela gave a sniff, deliberately looking away from the source of her ire. "How do I know this? I listen, that's how. You were the talk of Arkham while you played your games. I do recall there was a pool. Guess who bet against you."
Dissent was returning, but Strange was knowledgeable to head it off. "Very well. Ivy, since it was brought up earlier, are you willing to show all of your capabilities?"
He was thinking quickly, trying to come up with a plan. The target of the plan may be different, but a plan was still needed, details laid out, and a general outline conceived. The antagonism between Pamela and Edward had made him recall moments ago the back and forth. There had to be inspiration in there, somewhere.
"I was nowhere near capable as I am now when I tried to transform Gotham into Eden. I've had time, and practice, unbeknownst to the guards. If I could raise a jungle then, what do you think I am capable of now?"
"To take over a city takes time. You made a good effort of it. However, I am thinking on a smaller scale…" Strange turned his sights to the table next to Edward. Resting on it was the map of Gotham, and it was to this map that he approached. His eyes wandered the map, darting over streets, the color coordination of the districts and zones, and the small words that identified names and locations. "Something that won't attract initial attention, allowing you to work in broad daylight without interference…"
A name drew his attention.
"Tell me, Ivy, what could you do with something the size of Robinson Park?"
Time was a construct in which humanity measured the duration of days, months, years, and centuries. It encompassed everything from the mysterious beginnings of the universe until its ultimate death in the far-off future. All hoped the end was as far away as possible so that they could enjoy their present.
To Victor Fries, it meant nothing. He was trapped within an advanced refrigeration unit, sealed away until he had paid for the crimes he had committed. Make no mistake, he knew he had caused harm unto others and freely accepted his punishment. There had been one moment where he had been released to help the ailing city he had once written off as too evil to survive. It had been a nice reprieve from the monotony his life had become.
The frigid air that blew on him would have caused hypothermia in your average man. To Fries, it was a cool breeze akin to one that cooled off the heat of summer. It was the only way he could survive now.
One could ask the question what sort of life he had now. He was trapped in this cell, rotting away and would continue to do so until he had served his many life sentences—and there were many. It was not living as some would say. He was not frolicking in a field, swimming in the sea, finding love; he had no desire in seeking the last one as his one love had died so long ago, a pain that ached in him every day since it had happened. No, this was not living so much as existing.
And he would exist this way until his time ended.
Because of the monotony and routine of his day, he knew which part of the day it was based off on when his meals came. Breakfast and lunch had already been served and dinner should be arriving shortly. In fact, it should be arriving any—
The sound of metal clashing against metal was made, alerting the sub-zero man to a presence just outside of his door. Standing up from his bed, he walked over to the door, eyes on the floor. At the base of the door was a small door, one tall and wide enough for a tray to slide through.
Victor was familiar with the locking mechanisms that were in place to keep him here, something he found redundant and useless. His condition was his ultimate prison, so there was no need for such advanced locks. If he were to leave this cell, he would die painfully, excruciating even. As mundane as life had become, he had no desire to die just yet.
The small door opened then and as predicted, a styrofoam tray slid in with tonight's meal. Victor vaguely recalled the first uses of metal trays when he had been initially incarcerated. While he had no trouble with the tray, upon returning it, the metal had been so cold that it stuck to the guard's hand. As he understood it, a skin graft had been needed to repair the damage that had been done. Paper, cardboard, and at last styrofoam had been used so that such an incident could not occur again.
The same could be said of the utensils. They too were plastic, a change from the first uses of metal silverware. That had been a quick and efficient change following the metal tray incident.
Kneeling down, Victor made to retrieve the tray and return with it to his bed when he heard the conversation two guards were having on just the other side of the door. It seemed the two men were distracted with their gossip to immediately close the metal tray hatch.
"Things are starting to heat up again in Gotham," one of them was saying. Victor had to repress the snort he wanted to make. When was Gotham ever cool? It was a hotbed of evil and crime. His solution, admittingly extreme, would have solved the city's ails. Of course, that would have just added to the number of deaths he would have been responsible for and his current situation would be slightly different in that he would be incarcerated somewhere else, perhaps Ryker's in Metropolis. With all of the time he had spent here, he had theorized what could have happened had he been successful on that rage-filled night.
"What happened this time?" the second guard asked. The tone in which he asked sounded bored, as if this latest incident was expected.
"You know the old Nora Fries building, right?"
Victor stopped. He stayed as still as a statue, hunched over with his hands on his meal tray. What was this about Nora?
"Who doesn't?" came the response.
"Well, I heard there was this big fight on top of it. Lots of gunfire and all that. I even heard a helicopter crashed right next to it."
A fight? On top of his late-wife's charity headquarters? Victor drew his hands from his trey, clenching them tightly. Who would dare stage a battle on top of it?
"Well, as far as places for that to happen, that was as safe a place as any for it. It hasn't been used in a long time."
Victor knew the reason for that was his fault, one that he rather regretted about his actions. Following what the press had dubbed the Night of Ice, there had been further investigations into Ferris Boyle's misdeeds and corruption. That had greatly reduced the donations the charity had been receiving; however, the death knell was because of him. His connection to the charity through his wife's name had ensured no one would support it and it had gone bankrupt, liquidated shortly after. All that was left of Nora's legacy was an empty building, one that not even the city would repurpose. During his reprieve from prison, he had checked on it to see how it was doing and felt...sadness at the state it had been reduced to.
He had known there would be consequences for his actions, but that was one he truly regretted.
"But get this: there's a bunch of these plant things growing around it. Hell, my wife just texted me saying they're growing through it now. They're going to have to demolish it now."
...what? Demolished? His wife's building was so damaged there was no saving it? Even as an empty husk, the building at least kept her name in people's minds. Now it was facing complete removal?
That could not happen. He would not let it happen!
"Plants? That sounds like that crazy bitch in Arkham," the second guard responded and Victor immediately listened carefully. "The one called Poison Ivy."
Ivy. He burned the name into his memory.
"She's not in Arkham anymore, obviously," the first guard said. "She's out in the city and clearly had some kind of plan for that building. I wonder if the Bat had something to do about it."
"You thinking a trap was set up there by that crazy broad just to get him?"
"Why not? She's got just as big of bone to pick with him as any of those lunatics."
There was a moment of silence then. Finally, "Uhh, you think we should be talking about this right here? You know, in front of...this guy's cell?"
The response was quicker. "Oh shit." Immediately, the meal hatch was closed, effectively closing Victor from the outside world. He merely stood up on his feet, leaving his food untouched on the floor. He had lost his appetite.
A familiar feeling was welling up within him. It was foolish of those men to talk about something so near and dear to him right outside of his door. Their realization of such a social faux pas had come too late.
Anger, rage, fury, each one meant the same feeling, just with varying degrees. Anger was immediate, temporary. Rage was a long burn that raged so long as it was fed. Fury was a howling, deafening storm that rang in the ears.
And Victor felt all three. He could not, would not stand for this slight. His wife already had her name tarnished by evil men; he refused to allow it to fade from memory as well. He needed to get out and he would. Just because he hadn't ever tried to escape didn't mean he didn't know how to.
After all, he had much time to figure out a way or two.
Poison Ivy, she seemed to be the one responsible for the destruction of his wife's building. She would be the one to feel his retribution. Oh yes, the icy hand of justice...no, vengeance would find her and it would be merciless.
