The door was quietly closed, leaving Bruce to glance down at his menu. The waiter would be returning with drinks soon and it was always a good idea to put in the food order once he came back.

The room was one of a handful that the L'elite Cafe used for private parties, or in this case VIPs. It had been Talia's idea for their latest luncheon. With Cassandra at her job, it just left him with her and their son, both of whom were studying their respective menus.

Without looking up, Talia suddenly spoke, "I heard your interview on the radio." Her visible eye glanced up at him, the hint of a smile on her face before she returned to perusing the menus. "You handled yourself well."

"She was so insufferable," Damian seethed openly. "So unprofessional."

"A common trait of the modern media, I assure you," Talia told him. "And consider it an important lesson: everyone has an agenda. No one is who they say they are under the public eye."

"Why did you ever agree to talk to that woman, Father?" Damian asked, dropping his menu down to the table and looking at him expectantly.

"With everything going on, I was told this was a time to spread awareness of Wayne Enterprises' social assistance programs," Bruce told him. There was no point in hiding that since Talia would just continue to implant her biases in the boy. That said, she wasn't wrong, but their son was quite impressionable. The wrong idea implanted in his head could send him on a dark path. "I should have expected more than just talking about housing assistance and education scholarships for an hour admittedly, but we did cover those."

"It sounded more like she was trying to make you sound stupid," the boy snarled. "If I had been there, that would not have happened."

At that point, the door opened and their conversation came to an abrupt stop. The waiter was at their table and placing their drinks down. "Are we ready to order?" he asked pleasantly.

"We are," Talia replied and then plunged forth with her order. Damian followed and Bruce brought up the end. Soon, the waiter was leaving, closing the door behind him.

"To touch upon something that was mentioned earlier," Talia began, looking at the dark-haired man seriously, "we have been watching your endeavors with this latest battle between you and your enemies, Beloved. It seems you are having some difficulties."

Great, it shouldn't have been much of a surprise that Talia would be monitoring things. That she hadn't involved herself wasn't a surprise either as the Joker and Strange's war on each other wasn't interfering with the al Ghul's business. It seemed that might be changing, however.

"The number of battles has increased exponentially," she continued. "Nothing as large as your encounter at the park, but it is giving the impression that these villains are everywhere. You and your allies are being stretched thin chasing them."

Ever since the Joker had burned down Robinson Park, a rash of robberies and the like had sprung up throughout the city, usually committed by either Strange's, or the Joker's forces. Sometimes both sides would target the same location and an all-out battle would break out. There was seemingly no rhyme or reason to it either, not to mention many were committed right in broad daylight. The last several days had been hectic to say the least.

"Where are you going with this, Talia?" Bruce asked, cutting through her words to get to her point. He already had an idea of where this was going and he didn't like it.

"You need more help, Father," Damian said. "And I want to help you."

"We want to help you," Talia corrected, shooting a look at the boy before returning her attention to Bruce. "I don't believe you are in any position to turn down offered hands either."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you certain this is a good idea?" he questioned. He looked Talia head on before he quickly glanced to Damian and back, trying to send the dark-haired woman a sign that at least one of their involvement was not a good idea. "I know you two were here when Bane was trying to take over the city and Arkham had been broken out of, but the inmates weren't running the show then; they are now."

"We have fought these people before," Damian boasted. "They will not be any trouble."

Bruce raised an eyebrow as he looked at the child. "Care to explain Wonder Tower then?"

The boy stiffened in his seat. "You are aware of that?" Talia asked, redirecting his gaze to her. "Why am I not surprised?" There was a bemused look on her face, one that turned serious then. "I was not certain you knew of the tower since you never worked Gotham while under my father's command."

"I didn't," he admitted, "but I did look into the destruction when the tower fell. Finding signs of a Lazarus Pit pointed in your direction."

The amused look returned. "I should have known."

"I also know that the Joker was spotted in the vicinity shortly after the tower fell; CCTV cameras caught sight of him fleeing the scene."

"Not one of our finest moments," she said with a sigh. "We had apprehended the Joker, but before we could deal with him, he escaped our custody and destroyed the main support to the tower."

"This same man is out there running this conflict," Bruce pointed out. "And he is also the one mainly responsible for the burning of Robinson Park. This isn't someone I want Damian anywhere near."

"I will not fail you, Father!" Damian protested, nearly jumping out of his seat. "I will not be tricked again, I promise you!"

"This has nothing to do about succeeding, or failing," he told the boy. "And has everything to do with just how unstable the Joker is. This isn't the Riddler where he was willing to use you as a hostage against me. With the Joker, he could do anything from using you as a message, casually kill you off without a second thought, or let you go because he just feels like it. This isn't a man to have control over you and I care too much about you to put you in that position."

Damian quieted down, looking down at the table in front of him. He seemed to be mulling this over, a rather surprising reaction. Bruce had been expecting him to continue arguing.

"That is a very valid point," Talia agreed then, "and I agree that we will not take part in any move against that psychopath. However, that does not mean we are without options. As you will recall, I have the Order at my full disposal. All it would take is my word and they will scour the city and remove these villains as threats."

Bruce felt his stomach drop, feeling quite cold. Talia wanted to use the Order of Assassins in Gotham? No, that could not, would not happen. While he had no doubt Talia's Order would do as instructed, they would be ordered to end the lives of every Arkham inmate and that was something he could not allow. In fact, with the players in play, that could very well spin this crisis out of control, bringing Gotham back to the days of the quarantine, returning its No Man's Land status. While the situation was serious and on the verge of exploding into something catastrophic, unleashing Talia's Order would only guarantee that.

And that wasn't going into how it might be taken by Ra's al Ghul. No doubt he was monitoring Gotham because of his daughter's presence here, but if he saw one of his Fangs active, he might take that as an invitation to return. The cycle of escalation would only continue.

"No," Bruce answered bluntly. "I know things seem out of control, but there is no need for your Order to be involved."

"But you need help, Father," Damian pressed. "And we have an army ready. It only makes sense to—"

"That is enough, Damian," Talia cut him off. "Though I agree with you, this is your Father's battle and if he chooses not to accept our assistance, then we have no choice but to abide."

For a moment, Damian looked as if he wanted to continue protesting, but again he surprised Bruce by backing down. It seemed the child was maturing.

"With that said, however," Talia continued, "the situation is not sustainable. You know this, Beloved. Eventually, you will have to make a choice you will not like."

Unfortunately, she wasn't wrong. It was Bruce's turn to drop his gaze as he stared at his glass of water. He wasn't controlling anything as it was. Not the Joker. Not Strange. Now even Victor Fries was active. It was a powder keg on the verge of exploding at any given moment.

Something had to give. Unfortunately, he had the feeling it was going to be him.


Setbacks were always to be expected. There was no begrudging them when they all happened; all that could be done was to find a way around them and continue forth.

"Oh, my precious baby…"

The only other characteristic about setbacks is what form they would take. Again, that was the only element about them that was unanticipated. In this example, Pamela had taken on more damage than previously calculated.

Whether it had been the fire, the ice, a combination of both, Strange was unable to conclude what had caused the most damage and how deep the damage went. He could only observe the results.

It had been decided to grow some muscle instead of altering any unawares citizen into a Man-Bat. While establishing a new colony had been tempting, too many disappearances would attract too much attention. Edward still had some of his robotic help hidden in the city, but they were much too valuable to expend for this kind of task and Edward was too reluctant to pull them all out. With Pamela's display of skill at Robinson Park still fresh in his memory, there had been the suggestion to grow more of her children to aid in their endeavors.

"You're beautiful. You're beautiful, my little one. So beautiful…"

That was where this latest encounter of a setback had occurred.

As Pamela cooed, Strange observed the malformed...thing that she had created. It was nothing like the creatures she had tended to in the park. Big in size, but disfigured in such a way to make it look pitiful and diseased, this child appeared as if it would turn into mulch with a mere tap of the shoulder.

It was also the latest abomination created in a long line of them.

Some had missing limbs. Others had too many. Some had pristine upper bodies and malformed lower, while others were vice versa. Some had four legs on one side and none on the other. Impractical teeth, unworkable limbs, and little sign of any intelligence that might allow them to have any value.

All a reflection of their creator's traumatized mind.

Strange tightened his jaw as he pondered this development. When it came to raw, physical power, Pamela was their heavy hitter. The might of a rapidly-accelerated plant world had no substitute and to have such a pawn destabilized in such a way turned her from being an asset into a liability.

How to get around this? There had to be a way that Pamela could still be utilized without having to deem her useless. He could not afford for that to happen at this stage of the conflict. He needed the power she could yield, and since only Pamela was capable, he had to keep her.

But this…

There was a soft cough and the former shrink glanced over his shoulder. Jervis was standing nearby, though he kept a polite distance away. Returning his gaze to the deteriorated Pamela, Strange backed away until he was side by side with Jervis.

"It appears Dr. Isley has not recovered completely from her ordeal," the small, diminutive tech genius remarked.

"It appears she is getting worse," Strange answered, keeping his tone low.

"Her marvelous children are not as...refined as they were before. Is this going to pose a problem for us?" Jervis inquired.

It was. Everyone involved with this operation was too valuable and each one had their part to plan. One person who proved to be unable to fulfill their obligations would bring the rest of them down. He could ill afford this. However, there was no choice in the matter.

"We will need to find an alternative," Strange stated. "Until our botanist is able to piece herself back together, we will be crippled. Tell me Jervis, have you completed your tasks for the day?"

"And encountered that reptilian specimen our adversary uses for muscle," Jervis said, dry humor coloring his voice. "Fortunately, I can recruit as many soldiers as I want whenever I care to. The portability of my brain child has proven immeasurably valuable. A shame that reptile man cared not one wit for the harm he caused to them. Still, I was able to obtain the capital we required all the same."

This jelled with what Edward had told him. So their smaller skirmishes were being accepted until the greater challenges could be issued. Curious how Joker was acting more defensively instead of going on the offense. What was the endgame here?

More importantly, how did that clown plan to reach his endgame?

One of Pamela's malformed creations dragged itself closer to its green-skinned mistress, stretching out what might have been a head, as if seeking attention. It was not alone, as other deformed monstrosities seemed to desperately crave the attention of their mistress, and she only had so many hands to use.

There was some sentience there, if only at the most basic of levels. Closer to domesticated animals than the magnificent specimens at Robinson Park.

"If we are to accomplish our next objectives, we will need to rethink our resources. If Edward's intelligence is correct, we need to commit to that plan to obtain what we need. We will need some muscle, if nothing but to carry it out," Strange mused. It was like trying to solve a puzzle and currently the man with the talent to solve puzzles quickly was out on another errand.

"This is quite the conundrum," Jervis agreed, hands behind his back.

Strange threw another glance at one of his pawns. So small, so dismissible, but a genius nonetheless he was. That someone with such a fragile psyche as Jervis Tetch was able to invent technology that could overtly affect the human brain was no small feat. As had been mentioned, they theoretically could take a segment of the population of Gotham to use as hired muscle if they so chose.

However, that would draw too much attention from Batman, and where would they keep these involuntary volunteers? The starting logistics were too much right now. Turning his gaze back to Pamela, he thought about if Jervis' technology could be used on her. Then his eyes trailed down to her malformed progeny.

"Did you have to do animal trials?" he asked suddenly.

"For what, may I ask?" Jervis asked.

With a grim curl of his lips, the former shrink clarified, "When you were developing your mind control technology, did you test any of it on animals?"

"Of course. If you cannot control those with limited faculties, how ever would you control more complex minds?" the Mad Hatter answered. "I had a cage of rats, and you could not imagine the tea parties they were capable of pulling off; this is after I had reached that point in development. Civilized dormice, they were. They were polite enough not to get intoxicated off the jelly."

Strange's gaze was laser focused on Pamela's brood. Pamela's sentient brood.

Sentient and expendable.

"Perhaps Pamela's young children may be of use to us yet," the former psychiatrist remarked.


Two-Face sneered at the sight, ignoring the cat logo that marked this place as being part of the Shreck mercantile empire. It was a textile plant, one of the last on the eastern seaboard. The complaints he had received about this place when he had been a DA could fill at least two thick binders.

But Max Shreck was a wily one, able to delay, delay, delay until he could present a false front to waylay misgivings and suspicions, and if failing that, leave so little evidence that no criminal charges could be filed, much less a complaint.

Now he was breaking into the place. He was about to get the uncensored tour of the place, one he had tried to get so many years ago. What he would have done to get it when he was still in office. But that was another lifetime ago.

Killer Croc was trudging right behind him, no evidence of fear, or anxiety. Breaking into a place, even a textile plant, was normal for him. For such a big guy, he knew how to move silently when he needed to.

"So what's the deal with this place?"

But that didn't mean he wouldn't stay quiet.

"Clown caught wind of something here, told me to pick it up. That's why I brought you," the former DA explained.

"Why not bring a truck?" Croc grumbled.

"Why not steal a truck?" Two-Face retorted.

You could hear the pause as Croc thought that over. "I like the way you think."

With the larger man, if you could call him that, satisfied, Two-Face continued to lead the way in. There was so much machinery in this place, so many assembly lines. Of course, Shreck would turn them all on for an official inspection, but if the claims were to be believed, that was for show and not all of these lines ran. He wouldn't be surprised if this place was losing money. Most manufacturing was being offshored and Shreck was one of the last holdouts. Admirable, until you realized the only thing he was doing was earning PR for it.

"They have to have some kind of storage in this place. Something to keep materials—and waste," the two-faced crime lord said to himself, glancing around for any sign of such a thing. This was a massive place, so—

A large hand clamped down on his shoulder. Croc's head leaned over the suited criminal, nostrils flaring. Two-Face would have made a demand, but he kept quiet. There was a stillness to this man and such stillness only happened for a reason. You could say that about a lot of people. Two-Face himself could do that stillness.

So something was up.

"You hear that?" Croc growled lowly.

He didn't, but that didn't mean there wasn't anything else here. If anything, there should still be people here, security primarily. Shreck tended to invest in the means to keep people away from anything involving his name. Forget what that smiling cat logo tried to tell you.

"Where?" was what he asked, eyes darting from side to side. In his hands, he held an automatic, a finger slipping over the trigger carefully.

Seconds ticked by before he finally got an answer. "Can't get a bead. Sound's bouncing around this place."

Acoustics. Not to mention all the machinery. Still, "What does it sound like?"

Croc took another few seconds. Two-Face used that time to check their surroundings, searching for any sign of security. So far, nothing.

"Hard to describe. I'd need to get closer...I'm thinking about grass for some reason."

Grass? Hmm.

"Let's be quick about this. For all we know, that plant woman, Poison Ivy, might be around. What are the odds Strange might be making a try?"

"I can take anything she can throw at me," Croc promised.

The pair set out, finding a set of doors that got them out of the main manufacturing area and more into the bowels of this place. Doors were locked, lining the hallway, but the former DA ignored them all because he had been on a tour or two of this place. There was nothing here of any interest to the two of them, nor the Joker. Two-Face also ignored the stairs, because in a factory like this, why keep the stuff you needed to run this place on an upper floor? No, it made more sense to keep it on the ground level, close to the actual factory.

And bingo, there was one of the first storage areas. Another locked door, but nothing sturdy enough to withstand Killer Croc's strength. The first room, while big, held mainly raw materials. Pretty much looked the same as it did when he last came here years ago. There was an organization to it, but this was the kind of stuff Shreck would want you to see.

Fortunately, there were more than one storage area in this building. The second one was easy to get into, though once again, security was lacking. That didn't feel right. Where were they? Regardless, another large room, but this one had a docking bay with it. Shipping and receiving is what this had to be. Pallets were loaded up, either with the finished products, or more raw materials recently delivered. Still, not what they were looking for, but it would be a great place to get a ride.

The next room checked out was not as full as the first storage room, though easy to get into. This place looked more to have materials used to maintain this factory. There were replacement parts, various cleaning chemicals, both for janitorial services and for mechanics. Oh, and what was that over there?

Two-Face smirked, or at least half of his face smirked. There in the corner was another door, nothing too conspicuous, except there was an electronic lock on it. The closer he got, the more sophisticated it appeared. Hi-tech. Interesting lock to have in this kind of joint.

"What'cha looking at?"

"Someone wants to keep somebody out," Two-Face said casually. "I've seen that lock before. Only a certain clique with a high clearance is allowed in there. Fortunately, I know how to beat one of those. Now listen carefully."

He gave a set of instructions to Croc, the crocodile man listening and nodding his head. Once done, Two-Face took a step out of the way, allowing his partner to calmly walk over to the secure door.

Standing in front of it, Croc raised up a leg and lashed his foot out, kicking open the door easily.

"Nice work," Two-Face commented as he passed by, peering into the room. There were many canisters in here and not the ones you typically saw on an official tour. His grin was bloodthirsty as he strolled forward. Would you look at that, printed on each canister that was easily a head higher than Croc's was a hazard warning. It was one step away from having a skull and crossbones on it.

"What is this stuff?" Croc wondered, following him in.

A good question. Such big canisters had to hold a lot inside them. But what was inside? Hmm, over there, a set of filing cabinets. So old to have paper copies, but were they decoration, or still in use? Only one way to tell.

Strolling to the cabinets, he opened one easily, feeling slight disgust that no one thought to lock it. Whatever, this drawer had files, paper files, inside. Freeing one of his hands from his automatic, he finger through the files, reading the label tabs for titles and descriptions. He ended up closing the drawer and opening the one under it. This was more promising, and after getting about two-thirds of the way through, he pulled out one of the files.

It was a bit thick and the former DA thumbed through it. "I could have shut this place down with this alone," he declared. Glancing up, he approached the canisters, moving around the closest one until he could find an identifying serial number. Comparing it with the file in hand, he made the confirmation.

"There's some nasty stuff in these. I'm betting Joker wants them for some kind of plan. See if you can't pick one up. I'll see to getting a truck."

"You mean stealing a truck," Croc cackled as he cracked his knuckles.

Two-face Favored the larger man with a look, then tossed the file he held onto the floor. There was no point in keeping it. Had he still been the district attorney, then it would have had some importance. That was another life, though.

Walking to the door, he was just about to step out of it when it ran into what he suspected was the reason for the lack of security. Back he went, his hands clamping down on the neck of a bushy...dog-like...whatever the hell this was, it wasn't human.

Thorn-like teeth snapped at him and he turned his head away. His scarred half faced the monster and he felt like he had been in this position before. He pushed the thing up as much as he could while the bushy thing fought to bite him.

He could use a pistol right now.

Then the thing was pulled off of him. Croc snarled as he tore it in half easily, flinging each side to either side of the room. Baring his teeth, Croc scanned around, all the while saying, "Knew it. Grass. That bitch is here."

Getting a better look at...what remained of what attacked him, Two-Face calmly took in what used to be some kind of bush dog, and yes, that was literal. Thorns for teeth and claws, and bramble and leaves for the body. Yet somehow, there was something really off about it.

"There's gotta be more of these things," the crime lord growled as he pushed himself up onto his feet. Regaining his automatic, "New plan. We clear these things out. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder every second we're here."

"Now we're talking," Croc agreed.

Without warning, one of the walls was torn apart. Several green arms stabbed into the room, and pulled back, making a large hole that led right into the docking bay. Waiting there was a host of these plant creatures, from the bipedal cactus men, to animal-shaped bushes, to what looked like a tree snaking around on its roots.

So these things again...but were they? They seemed off, all of them. Like, one of those cactus men had huge thick arms, thicker than what he had seen at Robinson Park, but the legs...one was normal while the other was frail and shrunken-looking. Another was gangly with way too long arms and emaciated. A third had its head at a forty-degree angle, needle-like claws that were longer than half its arms and a gut of all things. That also wasn't getting into all the moving bushes. Looked like someone had taken some sheers to them all and left them misshapened as hell.

Aiming the barrel of his machine gun at them, he was about to add his touch to them as well.

The trigger was pulled, and a barrage of bullets tore into the nearest plant creature. Mulch is what it was becoming and that included the ones behind it as well since their bodies weren't as meaty as, let's say, a person.

The bipedal cactus men, however, were more solid compared to the four-legged bush animals. The one with the scrawny legs made a rush at the former DA, but all he had to do was aim his automatic at the bastard.

Green liquid splattered in all directions as bullets pierced into the hide that was less sturdy than it appeared. The malformed cactus man gave a scream, one that sounded like it was feeling pain for the very first time. Shock colored that scream, and it stumbled back, though had not yet fallen. That allowed the one cactus man with the forty-five degree head tilt to come rushing at him with swiping claws.

Croc had other ideas and intercepted, tackling the plant mutant and forced the both of them to crash into the front line of plant monsters. It was a nice save, but now it put the crocodile man in his line of sight. Grimacing, Two-Face gave a short burst of gunfire into the face of the first cactus man, putting the screaming creature out of its misery.


That was the sound of fighting. The blasts of gunfire and the roars of vocal cords gave it away. The Mad Hatter almost gave a sigh.

After all of the effort of securing this place. The security was much tighter than at other locations that the tea-loving man had ever entered before. You might say someone was trying to hide something here.

Well, Ms. Isley children were much more effective at ambushing such personnel, more than what their appearance gave off. Augmented with his mind control technology, they were proving to be a force to be reckoned with.

But then two little mice wandered in with none of the appeal of any kind of Alice. That unsettling two-faced lawyer and his scaly accomplice had designs of their own. More like their master had the design and the two were following it. The pair had found the treasure that he himself was seeking and that was when he knew they were at an impasse.

To merely walk up and propose they share the spoils was out of the question. So when diplomacy was not an option, force was what you had left.

Pulling down on the brim of his hat, he thought the order, and Isley's children responded.

And so began the fighting.

These children were not as sturdy as the ones in Robinson Park. The duo of Joker thugs were making quick work of them. This meant having to try a different tactic.

The tree with its writhing roots was ordered to fall back with a number of the bushy, animalistic minions. Since their way in was blocked off with gunfire, another entrance needed to be found. There was a door, there was always a door, but those thugs had to have used it to enter that room in the first place. So a different entrance needed to be found, and if it couldn't be found, well, then it could be made.

A second hole was needed here, and instead of demolition such as what was used that started this latest skirmish, a different approach was selected. Those roots Isley's tree used to skitter across the floor could be used for another purpose, and perhaps their original one: burrowing.

Keeping close to the tree and using his hat to keep awareness of where the rest of Isley's children were located, he was able to identify a promising wall. Then came the order for roots to burrow, and burrow they did. The material that made up the wall resisted, because of course it would resist. It was a wall. But nature had its way of making fools of all.

The roots were through and then they were peeling back small portions. The sound of gunfire increased in volume, which meant he had chosen well. Roots continued to widen the hole until the more busy minions would trek in. Silently, of course, because there was no need to alert anyone that they had found another way in. Peering through the hole, the Hatter saw the large canisters, tanks more apt, and so came the following command.

It took effort, and a great amount of stress on the Hatter's part, but eventually, the bushy soldiers provided so generously by their mistress were able to push over one of the tanks and drag it away to the awaiting roots of the tree. From the roots, the tank was picked up and placed into the stronger branches. A second and a third tank was soon followed.

The Mad Hatter smiled greedily. This was becoming quite the success, yes, very much. His eyes trailed over to the Joker thugs, the one whom possessed two faces pausing to reload his weapon. His posture changed, then the man whose suit was a combination of black and white turned enough to spot the subterfuge occurring behind his back.

The two of them made eye contact then, three faces trading looks.

"You little, sneaky—" Two-Face began to speak.

The Hatter, who was now mad for a different reason, answered by revealing an Uzi, hair trigger, and applied the least amount of pressure needed. Bullets flew, and the bifacial thug threw himself out through the first hole and into the mass of green that sought to make him fertilizer.

Discovered, which meant there was no further need to be quiet. The order was given to speed up, noise be damned, because he would only be leaving with all of the tanks. The rest would handle those miscreants, keeping them busy long enough to make the getaway.


He hadn't been expecting too much from a man naming himself after a Lewis Carroll character, but the Mad Hatter was sneakier than Two-Face had predicted.

There had been no choice but to join Croc out in the throng of plant animals and cactus men. That Uzi would have made him Swiss cheese if he hadn't.

This was going south, deep south, and there had to be a way to turn it around. Who knew how Joker would take this? The man might get a good laugh out of it, or he might shoot both of them for screwing up. There was no telling with the clown.

It wasn't too hard to find Croc in the carnage. There was only one man who looked like an animal himself and his snarls really stood out among the shrieking cactus men. "They're taking the goods!" he shouted out, firing off several shots into what might have been a cow or bull, something big with four feet, all bush.

"Like hell they are!" Croc roared, clamping two hands on either side of a cactus man's head, and ripping off the head itself, green blood gushing out.

They were going to have to fight their way out of here and try and intercept Hatter. The how was a big question and the former DA found himself distracted as another wolf-like bush creature leapt at him. A rapid barrage of bullets turned it to mulch, a flash of white suddenly capturing the disgraced lawyer's attention.

There were some bullet holes in it, but it was a white card that fluttered down onto the floor, a distinctive 10/6 inked onto it. That was an odd thing to see here...except this wasn't his first time seeing that. The first time...that had been back when he had taken his first steps out of his room, and the Arkham staff had those cards on them.

Quickly, he looked around, then fired a few shots at the nearest bush animal. It wasn't enough to kill it, but it did reveal inserted in its leaves and branches was another of those white cards. What did that mean? Why have those things here?

It hit him. The one who created these things, Poison Ivy, she wasn't here. The Mad Hatter was the one in charge now.

"Find the shrimp with the hat! He's controlling them!" Two-Face called out.

"Right!" Croc grunted as he picked up a huge mass of bushes, what it was supposed to be was anyone's guess, and threw it.

Now where was Tetch? Where was that—there! Over there.

Emerging out into the open, the Mad Hatter was leading that tree from earlier, the tanks held in thick branches, as well as a number of those bush animals. An obvious sight, but it wasn't like you could hide something like that.

Clenching his teeth, Two-Face tried to clear himself a path. There was no way he was about to let someone like Tetch get the best of him. Not here, not in another courtroom, and nothing was going to stop him—

A large truck burst through one of the docking bay's doors, SWAT dropping and rolling out from its back. The vehicle ran into and crushed a number of the plant animals, the cactus men having the brains to try and get out of the way themselves.

Oh right, the cops could ruin everything. Where the hell were they and why hadn't they shown up sooner?

"Freeze! Drop your weapons!" A SWAT bellowed, aiming some serious hardware in his direction.

Once there had been a time when he would have cheered that demand. This wasn't that time, and the word that slipped out of his mouth was, "Shit."

SWATs weren't known for their restraint. This was especially true for Gotham and Two-Face took it as gospel as he threw himself to the floor among the throng of plant creatures that Poison Ivy had provided. It was a quick and smart decision to make, especially as the first bullets were fired, tearing into the green frontline.

Now the plants had a new target and he was forgotten about as the malformed freaks turned their attention onto SWAT. There was more power to this firepower, none of these plants standing a chance. Someone had upgraded SWAT's weaponry recently.

Bullets whizzed over him, and he kept himself pressed to the floor, hoping that if any of the shots came his way, then Ivy's pets were slow the bullets down enough.

It turned out that SWAT wasn't just aiming for what was immediately in front of them. The Mad Hatter was also in the crosshairs and the small man had to use this errand boy tree to hide behind. The tree withstood the bullets, but bark was flying all around it as it took the shots.

There was a groan, the tree slightly shifting, then it threw one of the canisters, the large container flipping around in the air. Several bullets struck it, pierced into the hull, and it wasn't just the container they had to worry about. A green-colored fluid was pouring out, and with the flipping, it was also being thrown. Some landed close to Two-face, coming within inches of him. The bush that did get hit, well, the fumes rising from its screaming body gave away he wanted nothing to do with it touching him.

The canister landed between SWAT and the remaining plant army. It bounced, but not without spraying more of its contents. Several SWAT cried out, then their cries turned to screams. The canister continued, crashing into the SWAT truck, and then burst open. The green liquid came flooding out, washing against everything in its way.

Knowing that he didn't want to get his still good side involved with it, Two-Face scrambled to his feet and began running, for all the good it would do. SWAT was swept up, the plant creatures were getting swept up, and soon enough, he—

Salvation was a stack of several pallets, and he jumped onto them, just missing the flood. The green stuff ran into wood, but did not carry any of it away.

This was sideways. It was all sideways. And over there, he could see the Mad Hatter getting away, carried by that tree. This was humiliating.

"What now?!" Two-Face looked, found Croc had also found a way from getting near whatever the hell this stuff was.

Glaring at the scene in front of him, he knew there was only one thing they could do.

"It's too hot. We gotta get outta here!" he called to his scaly partner.

If they could avoid getting snatched, then the question was whether they'd hear laughter, or get shot.


Montoya had been part of the vanguard that would have followed in after SWAT and that had been the plan. Then some kind of green chemicals were thrown around and they had to back off. Unfortunately, not all got away unscathed. Some were splattered with that stuff, whatever it was.

It had been a tip, another tip, that had brought them to here, and the Commissioner had decided for SWAT to lead the charge. Emergency personnel, like ambulances, had been rerouted and kept on standby because there was only one way this was going to end, and that involved people getting hurt.

The scene was being cordoned off and Montoya found herself at the side of an injured SWAT. She was helping to press a towel to the side of his head; he had been unlucky enough to get splashed and had been brought out screaming. He wasn't screaming now, but he had to be in immense pain.

They needed to find out what that stuff was. What did it do, how could it be neutralized, and why was it being held in a place like this? That logo meant it was owned by Shreck Inc., so one of the bigwigs there had to know what it was.

In the meantime, a paramedic was trying to treat the injured SWAT—his name was written on a pocket flap, Ramirez—and was telling her to remove the towel. He needed to see what the wound looked like.

She told Ramirez he was doing good and she was going to remove the towel. Keep calm. It's going to be okay. Slowly, the cloth was pulled away, though it initially stuck to Ramirez skin. Peeling it off, both Montoya and the paramedic were treated to the sight of Ramirez's injury.

"That's weird," the paramedic said, though he wasn't missing a beat as he took a better look at it.

Montoya leaned in closer herself. She was having a hard time believing it, but she was seeing it, and right where Ramirez had been splashed, his skin was bone white. It was like it had been bleached. Was that why he had been screaming? Was that stuff some kind of bleach?

This place was involved in textiles, so it stood to reason that it had bleach there. Maybe there wasn't anything inappropriate happening here.

The detective took a look around, taking in the other injured SWATs. Some were pressing towels against their wounds, again, more victims from that bleaching chemical. Would they find white splotches under those towels? Probably, but it was best to wait and find out.

Nearby, another paramedic was peeling away a towel from another SWAT. This man's headgear had been removed, and as the towel was pulled away, there was skin bleaching as well. It was confirmation, but still, they were going to take samples of that stuff and see what they could find out...about…

That other SWAT, there was...was she seeing things? Telling Ramirez she would be right back, that he was doing great, she got up and wandered over to that other SWAT—Calhoun was the name on the pocket flap.

Calhoun had dark hair and some of that green chemical had gotten into his locks. The skin, the man's ear, was bleach bone white, like Ramirez, but the hair, dark, perhaps black, had changed to a different color. It had almost blended in earlier, but now that she was closer, she was picking out a different color.

Green.

The chemical was bleaching skin white and turning hair green. That was a distinct combination, and she only had seen it—!

Now the detective gaze was on the building, specifically where that spill was. Then came the question of what was that stuff? What did it do? And why was it in this place?

And why could she swear she could hear maniacal laughter ringing in her ears?