I'm back! Sorry it's been forever since I've updated, I got into the medical program I applied to, and it's utterly dominated my life since August. But, things slowed down enough in the last few weeks that I was able to finish this chapter, and I wanted to get it out as quickly as possible. I know some of you were worrying I'd abandoned this story, but I promise, I have no intention of doing that. I'm going to get this thing done, come hell or high water. Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story, and I hope it was worth the wait!
Blackgate's Maximum Security Wing was somehow in even worse shape than the last time Bruce had seen it.
During the Christmas riots, the damage to the prison had, for the most part, remained localized to the Joker's path from the penitentiary's western entrance to the execution chamber, with the prisoners too preoccupied with taking advantage of their chance at freedom to wreak any real destruction on the cell blocks they'd been trying to escape. With no means of escape this time, however, the prisoners seemed to have taken their frustration out on their surroundings, the rusted cell doors now mangled and barely clinging to their hinges, steadily-growing fires having sprung up seemingly every few feet, and much of the walkways leading up to the second and third stories of the cell block having been reduced to rubble. As such, Bruce found himself more frequently hunched over and crawling through vents than upright, and frankly, it was starting to get on his already-frayed nerves.
Grappling up from the third floor of the now-decimated Cell Block C, the vigilante found himself in what looked to be a defunct security station, its observation windows boarded up and the monitoring equipment seemingly left unused for some time. Quickly removing the boards, Bruce vaulted himself out the window and onto the prison's rooftop, moving towards the roof's edge to peer down onto the exercise yard below. A raised platform for some sort of makeshift fight club had been constructed from wooden boards and half-rotted two-by-fours, encased on all sides by a chain-link fence that sparked with electricity. In the ring, a prison guard lay unmoving on the ground while a taller dark-skinned man grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him upright, arm pulled back to hit him once more. Through the rain, the vigilante could see a familiar apparatus attached to the man's forearm, a metallic gauntlet ending in four blades reminiscent of claws layered atop each knuckle and extending a few inches beyond the man's fist.
Bruce quickly hurled himself off the roof, snapping open his cape and gliding down towards the ring, crashing boots-first into the dark-skinned man just as he was about to deliver the final blow to the guard's limp form. The man staggered back and fell to one knee, shock at the vigilante's sudden appearance momentarily coloring his features before schooling his face back into a mask of neutrality, dusting himself off and rising once more to his feet. As the two men silently sized each other up, Bruce quickly ran through a list of everything he knew about the man before him.
Benjamin Turner, alias Bronze Tiger. Age 37, born and raised in Central City. Investigated by police at age 15 due to a killing during a home invasion, but actions ruled as self-defense. Began career as a contract killer at age 26 after the still-unsolved murder of fiancée Miyoshi Sato, currently under the employ of an organization known as the 'League of Assassins'. Reputation for discretion and professionalism, noted skilled martial artist.
"What kind of sick game is this, Turner?"
Before the other man could answer, a familiar accented voice rang out from overhead, causing both men to turn to look at the source of the sound.
"Batman!" Penguin grinned from his perch on a guard tower high overhead, spreading his arms wide like a circus ringmaster. "Welcome to my arena! Much more entertaining than the usual hour in the exercise yard, I think you'll agree."
"Your timing is perfect!" The little man continued, leaning on the guard tower's railing with one hand as he gestured towards Turner with a cigar held in the other. "We're fresh out of prison guards to challenge our reigning champion, Bronze Tiger! Simple rules, gentlemen – the one that doesn't die keeps fighting!"
"Enough, Penguin!" Turner shouted, not so much as flinching when Penguin's men trained their rifles on him as he took a step forward. "I'm not your puppet!"
"Tiger, you became my toy when you declined to join the ranks of my soldiers! Now, it's play or die!"
Tiger turned back to Bruce, sliding into a fighting stance and extending the claws on his gauntlet. "I'm sorry, Batman, but I'm sure you'd do the same in my position."
"I wouldn't be in your position, Turner." The vigilante retorted, moving into his own stance.
"It was an accident…"
"Enough gabbin'! To the death!" Cobblepot roared from overhead, interrupting the exchange.
Bruce was only barely able to dodge the sweep of Turner's claws as the man lunged forward, his movements surprisingly swift for a man of his size. He attempted a counterattack, and when that was quickly thwarted, though only just, jumped back to assess the man before him. Turner did the same, clearly unused to having an opponent who could keep up with him, much less pose an actual challenge. The two men circled each other carefully, each assessing the opponent before him, and though the vigilante's focus never wavered from Tiger's movements, there was a small part of Bruce that was silently cursing himself; Since becoming Batman nearly three years ago, he'd rarely had to fight anyone more challenging than a common street thug, Christmas Eve and New Year's excluded, and the lack of equally-talented opponents had left him rusty. Thankfully, it seemed Turner was facing the same dilemma, the assassin eyeing him warily and intently watching his every move.
Bruce lunged forward suddenly, feigning a punch at Turner's left side, and quickly landing a blow to the right side of the man's ribs when he attempted to block. The dark-skinned man's swipe at him was halfhearted at best, stumbling backwards when it fell short to recollect himself. Before Bruce could press the advantage, Tiger recovered, and the vigilante had no doubt that the assassin would not fall for that trick again. A war of attrition then, he thought to himself, already preparing to meet his opponent's next move.
It hardly mattered, though; Bruce hadn't lost a fight since the early days of his training, and he had no intention to break that streak tonight.
-XIII-
Laura had never done well with standing aside, and it'd never been more apparent than it was now.
The sergeant was practically shaking with nervous energy, shifting her weight from foot to foot, head whipping around at the slightest noise, and checking her phone every few minutes in near-desperation for something to do. She and Gordon had been standing near the line of cruisers parked outside Blackgate's front entrance for nearly three hours, and there hadn't been so much as a peep from any of the prison's staff still trapped inside. While logically she knew there was nothing the GCPD could do at the moment, understaffed as they were and the National Guard and state law enforcement for the moment hesitating to intercede, Laura couldn't help the urge to grab the rifle stored away in her cruiser's truck and storm the building with as many officers as would back her.
"Keep fidgeting, and I'll send you back to headquarters. You're making me on edge."
Laura looked to her left, Gordon appraising her with one eyebrow raised, and she shoved her hands in her pockets. "Sorry. I'm not good at waiting."
"Believe me, I've noticed." The graying captain deadpanned, returning his gaze once more to the looming penitentiary before them. "We've got the building surrounded, hostage negotiators are at the ready when anyone starts making demands, and it's only a matter of time before that son-of-a-bitch in the governor's mansion gets off his ass and sends us backup. We're not just sitting here twiddling our thumbs. Focus on that."
"I know, it's just-"
The sergeant was cut off by the sound of her phone going off, the shrill ringing muffled by the wool of her coat. Pulling the device out, she frowned at the caller ID splayed across the screen.
Barbara Gordon
"I have to take this," She told Gordon, moving a few feet away when the captain waved her away and tapping on the screen to accept the call.
"Barb, I'm currently dealing with a prison riot right now, so unless-"
"I know. That's why I'm calling." The teenager's voice filtered through the phone's speaker, the words rushed, as though said in a panic. "I managed to hack into Blackgate's security feed, and I've got a visual inside the prison."
"Wait, you did what?" Laura hissed. "Listen, I know I asked you to look into GothCorp for me, and believe me, I'm grateful, but you can't just keep hacking into places for the hell-"
"I'm not the only one hacked into the security feed." Barbara interjected, cutting the sergeant off mid-sentence.
"W-What? Who else would be monitoring a prison riot?"
"I don't know," The redhead admitted, "But whoever they are, their system is beyond state-of-the-art. The military doesn't even have their hands on this kind of stuff. Whoever they are, they really don't want anyone finding out about them."
"And there's no way you could trace them or something? Find out who or where they are?" Laura asked, eyeing Blackgate's main entrance.
"Laura, I've got a laptop, not a military-grade supercomputer. I can't do anything, not without giving myself away."
Laura cursed under her breath. "Okay. Don't do anything to make them notice you, but let me know if they do anything more than watch the cameras."
The sergeant paused before asking almost hesitantly, "Anything else going on in there I should know about?"
"Batman is making his way through the cell blocks, probably trying to free the prison staff. They're being held captive in the Arkham Wing on the lower levels. Penguin's controlling the area though, so it hasn't been easy. Black Mask has the Industrial Complex, and the Joker's running the Administration building, though I don't think either of them has many, if any, hostages."
The brunette sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Okay. If anything else happens, just let me know."
"I will." Barbara agreed. "Oh, and Laura? Batman's got someone working with him inside the prison."
"Who?"
"I don't know, and I can't run my facial recognition software through Blackgate's prisoner or staff registry without our mysterious friend noticing me. White woman, late twenties to early thirties, dark hair. She's wearing this black skintight bodysuit with cat ears and red goggles, and she's got some kind of a whip."
"She…you know what, I'm not even going to question it. Thanks, Barbara."
Laura quickly ended the call, moving back towards where Gordon still stood next to one of the cruisers, gaze still trained on the massive prison complex before them.
"I just got word that Penguin's got most of the staff held prisoner in the cell blocks' lower levels, in the Arkham Wing. Joker's taken over the Administration building, and Black Mask is controlling the Industrial Complex. Batman and a woman are inside the prison, trying to free the hostages."
Jim's eyes widened behind his thick glasses. "Where did you find that out?"
"An anonymous source." Laura lied, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a hint of a sheepish smile.
"What anonymous source?" He asked, the surprised look on his face morphing into suspicion, no doubt fishing to see if it'd been his own daughter on the other end of that phone call.
"They'd hardly be anonymous if I told you who they were, would they?"
"You know, it's a shame you didn't go into journalism," The captain told her after a moment. "You would have made a damn good reporter."
Laura wrinkled her nose. "Now that's just rude."
"Do we know who this woman is?" Gordon asked her, ignoring the insulted look on his protégé's face.
"No, there's some outside source monitoring the security system in the prison, and running any IDs will send up a red flag. Got a description though; White woman in her late twenties or early thirties with dark hair. Apparently, she's decked out in some cat-themed bodysuit and carrying around a whip."
Gordon looked at her incredulously. "Are you seriously telling me there's a woman running around Blackgate during an active prison riot in fetish gear?"
"That's-yeah, pretty much."
The captain let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut as if one of his migraines had suddenly hit him full-force. After a minute or so he seemed to recover, taking a second to compose himself before turning back to her.
"Is there anything else I need to know?"
"No, that was it." The brunette nodded, slightly concerned for her mentor's health; He was under a lot of stress already, and this new-normal that Gotham seemed to be adopting clearly wasn't doing any good for his nerves.
Ten minutes and four extra-strength Tylenol later, Laura found herself looking up at Blackgate beside the acting-commissioner, watching as fire slowly spread throughout the building. The conversation with Barbara kept playing through her head, something about the surely-mad woman running around the prison and the mysterious presence watching over the chaos within rubbing her the wrong way. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about the whole affair was amiss, even more so than it already seemed. Throughout her career, her 'good gut', as her father liked to say, had never led her astray, urging her to accept Gordon's offer to take her under his wing, steering her in the right direction when hunting down Quentin Jones to save Marcie Hill, and right now, it was telling her she was missing something, and that missing piece was critical to the events unfolding in front of her.
"Hey, Jim?" She asked, breaking the silence. "Blackgate doesn't have any female staffers, does it?"
The captain looked at her oddly. "No, why?"
"It's just…Whoever's helping out Batman had to have been inside the prison before the riot broke out, which means that if she's not prison personnel, she would have had to have been a prisoner." The sergeant explained.
"I don't see what you're getting at."
"All female felons convicted in Gotham are sent to Eddleton Federal. This one got sent to Blackgate, a men's penitentiary."
"The courts would never send a woman to a men's prison. Somebody had to have pulled strings to put her there." Gordon realized, brow furrowing at the implication.
"Exactly," Laura agreed. "I just can't figure out why."
"It can't have been to start this" He said, gesturing towards the flaming building. "Blackgate's a damn powder keg, especially after Joker, Penguin, and Black Mask got locked up. There're easier ways to start a riot, especially now, than sneaking someone in. Anyone with those kinds of resources would know that."
"But then why? The armory never got restocked after Christmas, and any expensive prisoner belongings are kept off-site. There's nothing of any real value in there."
"I don't know, but I think we should find out."
-XIII-
Bruce had been on high-alert since he'd entered the Administration building.
While one could hardly call the rest of Blackgate warm and welcoming, there was something about this part of the prison that set the vigilante's nerves on edge. Less so because of the foreboding atmosphere, though that was by no means pleasant, and more due to the building's occupant. Though Sionis and Cobblepot were dangerous and certainly not men to be taken lightly, the Joker was in a league entirely of his own. Bruce had never met a man so unhinged, and consequently, so unpredictable, and though he would never admit it, the thought of facing the clown again unsettled him.
Bruce walked down the hallway leading towards the elevator, glancing at the sloppily painted 'WE'RE SLEEPING! SHHH!' someone had splashed across the wall. Before he could wonder too long at what it meant, the overhead lights suddenly cut out, plunging the hall into utter darkness. A familiar laugh rang out from somewhere ahead, followed by the sound of ropes suddenly being pulled taut and the sharp crack of bone breaking. As suddenly as they'd gone out the lights came alive once again, allowing the vigilante to see the source of the odd sounds; five men in guard uniforms, each with faces painted like circus clowns and wrists and ankles tightly bound hung from the ceiling, swinging from crude nooses tied around their necks. A quick glance using the scanners built into his mask confirmed all five men were dead, their C2 and C3 vertebrae shattered and spines completely severed. Knowing there was nothing more he could do, Bruce pushed on down the hall, careful not to bump into the bodies still swinging in the slight breeze.
The atrium beyond the hall was covered in graffiti, phrases like Welcome to the fun house! and Who's laughing now? scrawled across the aged walls in green and purple spray paint that seemed to glow in the low light. As Bruce stepped further into the room, the same spine-chilling laughter he'd heard before rang out once again, the sound bouncing around the room and making it seem like it was coming from everywhere at once.
"Hello, valued guest!"
Bruce turned to see the Joker's familiar figure step out from behind a pillar at the top of the atrium's stairs, no longer in a prison uniform but rather in a vest, slacks, and tailcoat reminiscent of the ones he'd worn on Christmas Eve. He could see the man's wide smile even from halfway across the room, the blood-red lips standing out starkly from the clown's pale skin as they stretched too far across his face.
"Do you like what I've done with the place?" Joker asked, making a sweeping gesture towards the walls. "I haven't quite finished. I'm sure you'll see more of my…improvements, as you go along."
"I'm not going anywhere Joker, and neither are you." The vigilante said, taking a step forward. "You'll give me the codes for the Crypto-Sequencer, and we'll end this here."
The clown tapped one long finger against his chin as if considering it before giving a shrug. "Mm, no, I don't think so. I'm going to the warden's office so I can finish my alterations, while you go find the warden."
"I won't even make you search, that's how gracious a host I am!" Joker laughed, giving a small bow. "The warden is in the conference room. He's…tied up in a meeting, and tempers are running high. Getting explosive, you might say."
The clown turned and raced in the opposite direction, but before the vigilante could give chase, the atrium's wide staircase exploded, fire and hunks of splintered wood flying outwards across the room. The force of the blast knocked Bruce off his feet, the vigilante sailing almost ten feet backwards before slamming to the ground at the base of a large pillar. Black spots danced on the edges of his vision, and it was a few moments before he could fight off the urge to slip into unconsciousness and pull himself to his feet. As he regained his balance, the communicator in his helmet began to beep, and he reluctantly answered it, if only to silence the low electronic sound.
"Boy, when you do things, you do 'em with a bang, don't you? I heard that all the way over in the Industrial Facility!"
"What were you doing over there?" Bruce asked, trying to keep the groan out of his voice; The last thing he wanted to deal with when he was fighting off a concussion was the cat burglar scheming behind his back.
"Playing well with others," She quipped, and the vigilante could practically see the sly smile he was sure was on her face. "You should try it sometime."
"I'm not big on 'play'."
"Yeah, I'm starting to see that. Any luck getting those codes from the Joker?"
"Not yet, that's going to take some work."
"You better start working, then." The woman huffed, an edge of annoyance in her voice. "Those hostages are gonna start running out of air pretty quickly."
Bruce tensed. "Meaning?"
"Meaning the Joker. He shut off the ventilation to the Arkham Wing. Can't be more than a few hours' worth of air left."
"Would have been nice to know that a little earlier," He snapped.
The cat burglar didn't respond, a low click sounding and signaling the end of the transmission. The vigilante shook his head, activating the holographic display on his gauntlet and watching the 3-D model of the building appear in a flash of blue light. Studying the model carefully, the vigilante nearly groaned at the display's warning hovering over the section of the prison between himself and the conference room.
Massive structural damage detected. Unknown airborne toxin detected. Area likely untraversable, alternate route suggested.
Bruce glanced over the orange line that represented the alternate route, watching as it completely circumvented the affected area of the Administration complex. Going this route would take time, time the hostages might not have to spare. He could always try to go straight through, take his chances with what he was sure was the deadly laughing gas he'd seen Joker use on the bank attendant on Christmas Eve, but he then ran the risk of leaving the hostages to the Joker's mercy if something went wrong, or having to take the alternate route anyways if he couldn't find a way around.
Decision made, Bruce began to follow the alternate route the display had indicated, picking up his pace as soon as his path was free of the staircase debris. If the cat burglar was right, he didn't have much time before the hostages ran out of air, and despite her claims of willingness to help, he had a feeling that if push came to shove, he'd end up having to solve things himself while she saved her own hide.
Exiting the building and grappling up onto the roof, the vigilante followed the little orange path across the rotted shingles towards the warden's office, silently preparing himself for whatever horrors the Joker had waiting for him inside.
