A.N.: Wow, I'm so sorry this took so long to get out...I was screwed when school started and was on vacation for two weeks before that, so I had no time to do anything! I hope you guys still care about the story to read and review it. Thanks so much for being patient:) you guys rock.


Jonathan Crane's body was as taut as his weak muscles would allow without feeling the pain of his slow internal disintegration; long knobby arms were crossed around his scraggly frame, skin clinging to his figure, keeping his knees drawn to his chest and his chin resting on them. His hair was pushed up and out of his eyes, allowing the blue irises to stare into the empty room and consume the world around them. He wasn't in a straightjacket, surprisingly, but it was probably because of good behavior. He had been in a vegetative state and barely blinked when someone brought in his meals.

It was a seedy smile, however, accentuated with snarling teeth glistening below his curled upper lip that gave his pale, sallow face a malicious appearance as he sat like a statue on the stiff mattress in his cell. He wasn't shocked at all by the recent turn of events, knowing he would have his recreational time taken away after his little outburst with Miss Al Ghul. That's why he was still in his room in the first place, no longer allowed outside until he was deemed stable enough to handle the "responsibilities of free time," as they put it. Oh Jonathan tried to convince them that it was a solitary incident and would never happen again. But for some reason, they didn't believe him.

And you had such a pretty, honest face Jonathan…

Movement. The simple twitch of his fingers and the slight faltering of his smile, but for only a moment. Jonathan may have been keeping his mouth shut since the incident with Al Ghul, but that never stopped the darkness, the creeping voice in his mind, from spreading through his very countenance. A shadow had been cast over him since that event only a few days ago…so depressing and thick was his demeanor that even the guards seemed hesitant to disturb him while he was in his thoughts.

As they should, he purred to himself, glancing at the thin sliver of window in the door with piercing eyes…eyes that displayed the madness within. It's none of their business to know what we're thinking, right?

The young man let his head bob in agreement, raising his hand to brush away the fallen hair in his eyes. Jonathan was no longer in control anyway. That outburst had broken him, broken any strings of sanity he had clung to since his achingly slow recovery at Arkham. She had broken him. To mock him was one thing, but to betray him, as Talia had, was another.

The thought had just fluttered through his empty mind when the door shifted under his gaze and a timid attendant poked her head into the room. Her frizzy dirty-blonde hair was up in a ponytail, and she looked like she was wearing makeup. She must be new. No one with experience wears makeup in an asylum. There's no one to impress.

Perhaps she wishes to look her best.

Save it for the streets of Gotham. Right now…it's time for some fresh meat, Jonathan…

"Good afternoon, Jonathan," The girl smiled in his direction as nicely as she could, but he could practically smell the fear emanating from her. Her countenance poured forth the emotion he so longed for and needed as she quivered for an instant when he said nothing to her..

Jonathan watched the girl with blank, dead eyes, not even bothering to follow her as she edged herself into the room. Why bother…she would just dump the food beside him and run. Like all the others. He stared at the doorway and sensed her presence beside him as she moved into his peripheral vision. "Mr. Crane, I brought you your meal."

Not even a blink on his part.

The girl pursed her lips and placed the tray beside him on the bed, but did not move. Jonathan's mind picked up and filled his thoughts with a flow of questions. Did she think he was harmless? Did they honestly fail to mention how unstable he was? Perhaps the sight of him curled into a quivering ball gave him an innocent appearance, like one would see in a frightened child.

Come closer, girl…a bit closer…let the Scarecrow taste your fear…

"Are you hungry? Maybe…a little food'll make you feel better."

Jonathan resisted the urge to snort with laughter. She talked to him like a simpleton. He wasn't stupid, only…a bit out of his mind.

"I know this isn't the best food out there, but it's better than nothing."

No my darling, no. Food will not satisfy this hunger. Only screams. You foolish child, you do not know what you're up against.

"Mr. Crane?"

Suddenly it looked like a light went off in Jonathan's mind. She was so trusting…perhaps not to such an extent as he hoped, but she was new. She was young. She was perfect.

"My book."

The attendant opened her mouth, but closed it quickly and blinked, staring at Jonathan, then at the room around her as if she wasn't sure where the voice had come from. Jonathan smiled thinly to himself and arched his back, giving it a painful crack and stretching his arms out before him to do the same. The girl inched back slightly from the man on the mattress and cleared her throat. "Y-your…what?"

Perhaps she was surprised he was speaking to her, as she hadn't heard him say a peep since she arrived. A bit slow in the head maybe, but a charming girl. She a refreshing face in the sea of burly, borderline-insane guards that he deduced she would be a safe person to speak to. As well as a tempting new creature to manipulate.

"My book. The only book I read during my recreational times." He flexed his fingers in front of him and threw a look at her. "Great Expectations. Perhaps you've seen it in the library. What's your name?"

She raised an eyebrow, shocked that an inmate at an asylum was even capable of reading such a book, and perhaps more surprised that he was asking for her name.

"Oh, well…my name's Jessie."

"Ah, lovely name. Now…my book?"

The girl furrowed her brow and searched his face, looking for any tell that he may be joking or simply rambling.

Jonathan smiled wider. "Just because I'm in this cell, miss, doesn't make me an idiot. I'm perfectly capable of reading such a book. Now, I'd quite appreciate it if you would kindly pick up the pace and bring me the damn book."

Jessie looked bewildered and made a few sounds before blurting out a soft, "I'll check with the director and see if it's alri—"
"For a trivial object like a book? My dear, I'm not suicidal…and even if I was, do you honestly believe I can fashion an elaborate death trap out of a simple book? What, I'll slit by wrist and die from a terrible paper cut? I have nothing to do, I can't eat, can't sleep…the least you could do to ease this downtime is bring me my favorite book."

She stared at him some more. A man with such an educated way of speech doesn't belong in an asylum, and Jonathan Crane was as educated as they came. He certainly wasn't an idiot, and he seemed pleasant enough. She had been warned by other nurses about him and his temper, or about the odd way he smiled and stared at them and the guards…as if he could read through your skin and bone and peer at your very soul. He was dangerous, but…not suicidal, like he said. A book…a book never hurt anyone.

Jessie worried her lower lip with her teeth, standing a foot or two from him as he continued to smile and quirk his head at her. It was alright, it had to be. Just a book. "O-Okay…Great Expectations, right?"

"Yes, Jessie."

The girl shivered, not liking at all the way he said her name. The sooner he got his book, the sooner she could go on break. Jessie turned without another word, hurrying out of the cell and leaving behind the tray of food with him.

Jonathan waited until the door slammed behind her before twisting around and deftly picking up the spoon on his tray.

The library is down the hall, another hall, and the book is on an upper shelf. Approximately 2 minutes tops if she is walking normally.

She's trying to get away from me. 1 minute or less, I guarantee you.

Jonathan took the spoon up to his mouth, sticking it between his back teeth and carefully positioning his mouth on the plastic utensil before snapping his jaws shut and shattering the spoon. The shrapnel from the plastic bit into his tongue, but there was no blood and the pain was dulled with the adrenaline screaming through his veins as he spat the broken pieces into his mashed potatoes. Jonathan held the object in the air and inspected his handiwork. The spoon was gone and all that was left of it a blunt handle. Jonathan stuck it back in his mouth, tilting his head and snapping it again , this time at an angle. Now left with a sharp plastic "shiv", Jonathan made sure the extra pieces of plastic utensil were concealed in his food and shoved the object in his sleeve. Yes, today was the day. The day he'd been hoping for. He listened as the footsteps returned outside his door and returned to his position, keeping his legs pinned against his chest and his face hidden behind his knees.

The cell door swung open once again and the attendant held a ragged book in her hands, blowing a fine layer of dust off the top. "A little old—"

"Old and dusty is fine…" Jonathan gave her a small smile, unfurling his legs and cocking his head at her. "Usually the attendants ignore me when I ask for things. Why didn't you?"

"Well, you seemed bored. Besides, I'm sure the others are just following protocol, Mr. Crane," she smiled back, holding the book out towards him.

"No, it's not protocol. They simply see it as a chance to get back at an old boss…they hated me, you know."

The girl nodded, recalling an old story told by one of the head nurses. "Hate is a strong word, but…I think I remember them telling me something. You used to be the director here, right? You ran this asylum," she murmured, watching as he let his fingers curl around the binding of the book slowly. His fingertips brushed with hers, causing her to pull back instinctively.

"Used to be the director? Used to run the asylum?" His eyes grew colder, freezing over in the dim light of the room, and the smile on his lips stretched into a sneer. "My dear…I still am the director. And Arkham…Arkham is still mine."

Like lightning, Jonathan leapt to his feet before the girl had time to react. With a swift, fluid movement, he brought his arm around and felt the corner of the book in his hand connect with her skull. Jessie collapsed backwards, not much as uttering a shriek because of the quickness of the attack. She thought he was too weak to do anything other than sit, eat, and read that old book. How wrong she was. Jonathan knew the young woman wouldn't turn down his simple request for a book, so it was simple to use that bit of sympathy for him against her. He had been planning a way out, and his hand-drawn map was still tucked in the spine of the book. It was the perfect opportunity.

The idiot has handed you your freedom on a silver platter, Jonathan.

Jonathan caught her by the arm before she fell too far back and spun her around in a circle, using his long leg to trip her up and slam her face-first into the ground. Jessie made the first noise she had since the attack, a harsh grunt, and sucked in her breath in preparation to scream her lungs out only to feel Jonathan's knobby knee come down hard on the back of her neck, pinning her against the floor and cutting off her airway.

"Do not move, do not breathe, and do not even dare to scream, Jessie. One noise and I will break your neck," Jonathan hissed in her ear, his greasy hair falling into mad eyes. "Do you understand?" She made no agreeable sound, only gagged for air and pawed at the ground with her free hand. "I said DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" He gripped her hair in his fist, jerking her head up and allowing her to gasp in a ragged breath. She coughed and began sobbing wordlessly, her eyes wide and staring at him as best she could in such an awkward position.

"I shall take that as a yes. Excellent. You're new, so I feel the need to explain that fraternizing with inmates, even in the most platonic and serene of settings, is prohibited. And do you know why?"

Jonathan placed the book on the ground by her head and allowed his broken spoon to slip down his wrist and into his awaiting hand. Pressing the thick, sharpened edge to her neck, he gave a mirthless chuckle. "This is why. You never know when the person you speak to is a drooling vegetable who thinks he's the Queen of England, or a homicidal maniac who knows how to utilize things around him to get what he wants."

The girl choked, trying to move her head away from the pointed object at her neck. "N-no…pl-please…"

Jonathan leaned his head close to hers again, taunting in her ear. "And do you know what I want, Jessie?"

The girl sobbed and shook her head, begging for him to stop. "Not that! P-pl-please!" she whispered breathlessly.

Jonathan tilted his head, grinning. "What? You…oh no, darling, no…that is not the reason you are here. No see, my desire is not of the flesh, my dear…and besides, such a fleeting moment of pleasure will not help me survive here at Arkham. No, you've already given me what I need. But to get out of this cell, I need assistance."

She stuttered, tears forming in her lashes as some began to roll down her cheeks. "You're t-trying to break out of h-here?"

"Questions, questions…goodness me, you are a curious one aren't you? Do us a favor and open the door. Then you can scream and holler all you want if I choose not to slit your pretty little throat for asking too many questions."

The girl sobbed again and shook her head. "Please don't…I b-beg you pl-please…"

Jonathan opened his mouth, ready to scold her for her pathetic begging; that it made her look weak and even easier to manipulate. But something caught his attention for that instant, tearing away his thoughts from Jessie. He frowned, lifting his heartless eyes to the ceiling, and watched as the lights flickered. He felt Jessie wriggle again under his knee, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. He was intently staring at a fluorescent tube high above his head on the ceiling, a scowl settling on his face ever so slowly.

"Something is wrong…" he murmured, glancing through the window of the cell door as the lights in the hallway also dimmed.

"Wh-what is it?"

"Shut up," he snapped at the woman, drawing his "weapon" back against her throat just enough to nick the skin. The second he did so, everything went black as if on cue.

Jonathan tried to gather his wits as he stared around him the best he could. He wasn't dead or unconscious, at least he didn't think so. No…he could still feel the girl's neck under his knee and her hair in his fist. Most certainly alert and fully alive.

"What's going on?" She whimpered, trying to turn her head to look up at him. "What happened to the lights?"

"Exactly what I'm wondering…" Jonathan listened as the heavy sound of footsteps rang down the hall.

Someone running down the corridor. For her.

Jonathan swore under his breath and leapt to his feet again, groping for the book on the floor and taking the girl with the other hand. "Open the door."

"Wh-wha—"

"OPEN THE DOOR!" He roared, making his way through the dark towards the door. He knew his quarters well enough to visualize where the steel entrance was. He pressed behind her, making sure to keep her close as she fumbled with the lock blindly. "What part of 'open the door' is so hard to comprehend?" He snarled in her ear as she gave a shudder and finally shoved the key into the door and yanked on the bar to open it. He heard a loud clatter as the bolts opened one by one and gave a barking laugh. "Well, it looks like you are good for something, hm Jessie?" Jonathan flung her back over his shoulder and listened as she yelped hitting the ground. Perhaps she twisted something.

Oh well…the darling should have been more cooperative.

Indeed.

The young man hung by the now unlocked cell door, waiting until the footsteps were nearly in front of his cell, when he suddenly slammed his shoulder into the steel to fling wide the entrance.

There was a resonating thud of flesh against metal and the guard who had been running down the hall crumpled to the ground in a heap of unconsciousness. Jonathan poked his head into the hall, enjoying the cool rush of air hitting his face instead of the stifling presence in his cell.

He spotted a beam of light rolling across the floor and figured it to be a flashlight that had fallen from the guard once he was knocked out. As Jonathan gripped the book in his hand, blindly working his narrow fingers into the binding of the book to retrieve his map, the other hand grabbed the mobile flashlight.

Hurry Jonathan, the girl is still in your cell…she'll get up and pull the alarm.

"There is no alarm," Jonathan murmured to himself, whipping around and slamming the cell door closed just as Jessie let out a screech for help. "Or it would have gone off. The emergency lights are not even on. For some reason the generator hasn't started up yet."

Jonathan shone the flashlight on the man on the floor, then into the cell through the window. The girl was rising to her feet when the light hit her, and she froze like a deer in the headlights. "Going somewhere? Sit on the cot now." Jonathan hissed at her, grinning like a loon, and stooped back over when she had obeyed his order. Jonathan snatched the taser in the guard's pocket and sniffed at it indignantly. "So we meet again…stupid piece of—"

Jonathan heard a shout and knew the guards were rounding up to make sure everything was alright. He went back to the cell window and waved to the young woman. "Before screeching like a banshee, be sure to get this man out here some medical attention. He'll have one hell of a headache tomorrow, that's for sure. Good day to you, miss." Jonathan gave a sweeping bow, dropping his book to the floor with a thunk and tearing off through the hallway, his light bouncing in the darkness. He had what he needed, his hand-drawn map of Arkham. Now all he needed to do was follow the escape route he had planned. He knew this place like the back of his hand, anyway.

The wails and screams of the inmates echoed through the dark, sending a rush of adrenaline through him.

What a delicious sound, hm? They're so afraid…afraid of the darkness, Jonathan…

The young man smiled lopsidedly, skidding around a corner and nearly falling over before catching his footing and continuing. "Well, although it is a delight…I'm simply curious as to how. The generators should have started up by now, the delay isn't this long…why aren't they? Especially at night, when the need for light is most important." The fleeting thought of Talia crossed his mind. Had she returned? Had she caused this power failure to happen in order to break him free? No…she was too prideful. She had already disgraced and humiliated him. It was something else…something that he was intrigued to find out.

Jonathan slid to a stop at the stairwell and listened closely to the eerie silence around him. He knew that the director was already home by this time of night. And no guards were upstairs in the office areas. Excellent. It was the perfect opportunity to retrieve his personal belongings that had been confiscated.

Jonathan bolted up the stairs, keeping his flashlight poised on each step and skipping over one or two thanks to the long stride of his lanky legs. His footfalls echoed off the concrete walls, and he panted heavily as the manic grin on his face stretched to unnatural proportions. He was almost out…he could taste the freedom…the freedom of getting away from Arkham.

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Rachel Dawes was nearly asleep in her cell, though she could never truly fall asleep here. Not with the leers and stares of the guards watching her every move. She hated it, hated them all…she just wanted out.

It was then that the humming fluorescent light in her room flickered and died. Rachel's quivering eyes shot up to the door immediately, thinking it was one of the guards and his stupid jokes. But it was pitch black, utterly dark. Her heart leapt into her throat as she slowly sat up on her cot, gazing around the room. Power failure? Here?

Rachel pushed herself off the bed and shuffled across the concrete floor, her head tilted curiously only to hear the sound of soft footsteps. She sucked in her breath, listening to noise outside her door. Calm, well placed and even; steps not at all panicked or frantic like she would have expected. Perhaps it was one of the guards up to his antics.

Rachel pushed the thought out of her mind and slowly backed away from the door, her heart still thundering in her chest. Even if it was just one of the attendants, she didn't want to be anywhere near the door.

It was then she was sure her heart would burst as she heard the cell door clatter open and squeak on its rusty steel hinges. Then there was no sound. Only the noise of her breathing and her heart pounding in her ears.

She felt her lips move and found her voice, breathing out a pathetic, "Who's there?" and closing her eyes as her voice betrayed her and cracked.

"Hello Rachel."

Rachel's eyes shot open and stared into the shadow. "Who…h-how do you know me?"

There was a gruff laugh. "Don't worry, Dawes. You're in good hands."

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Jonathan cursed under his breath as he opened rummaged through the desk of the director. Where the hell were his belongings? He had looked everywhere! The closet was empty, save for some rolled up blueprints for an idea of a new wing that should be added to Arkham.

"Puh, like Gotham would ever pony up the money for that."

He had already combed through the desk with precision, but there was nothing. Not a single trail of where the director had left his things. Jonathan glanced quickly around the room, craning his head around to look at a storage cabinet beside the closet. He blew an irritated breath out of his nose and scrambled towards it, flinging open the doors. It had been hard enough to get into this room, and he didn't need to make it more annoying by playing "Hide and Seek" with his belongings.

Jonathan stared at the bare cabinet and cursed aloud. Resting his head on the shelf and breathing raggedly. "This is ridiculous. Where the hell did this nitwit put my things?"

"You look lost, Crane."

The sound of the hammer of a gun being pulled back caught his ear and Jonathan froze. So…not every guard had gone to check up the other inmates. Well done Jonathan. Biggest blunder yet…assuming too many things.

There was nothing he could do. To take on an armed guard would be suicide. What did he have other than his own fists and a stupid little taser to escape?

Jonathan's quivering hands slowly rose up by his ears as he stared at the empty cabinet in front of him. So close…so close to tasting freedom.

The voice emitted a gruff chuckle behind him. "Don't gotta put your hands up, Crane. This ain't no robbery."

There was a loud clatter, followed by a gentle rolling sound that came to a stop when Jonathan felt something hit his heel. His heart raced and mind scrambled to assess the situation.

Tear gas?

Bomb?

Hesitantly, Jonathan tore his gaze away from the shelves and dropped his eyes down, pausing when he saw his feet. A silver cylinder rocked gently near his toes, the moonlight streaming through the slats of the blinds and casting a gleam off the polished surface. A crude yellow label taped onto the object was clearly displayed as Jonathan slowly tilted his head to read it.

WARNING

70 Phen. Solution

#665829

Jonathan swallowed back a lump in his parched throat, wincing at the sandpaper feel and dragging his gaze over towards the darkened doorway. "This is mine."

"I know. Got my hands on it earlier. Thought you might be looking for it." There was a rustle of clothing as the man behind him stuffed the gun back in a holster. "Go on, pick it up. We need to get—"

Jonathan smirked, shaking his head and laughing softly. "Do you take me as some sort of fool? You probably gassed an attendant and want my prints on the can…just to lock me up again. Is that what you want, Mr. Dent?" Jonathan laughed again as he turned fully, his hands now back by his sides. A puzzled Harvey Dent stared at him from his spot in the shadowed doorway. "Oh, did you think that hiding in the shade was clever? That I wouldn't be able to tell who you were? No, I know your voice well enough. Ingenious idea, though. A very dramatic entrance, if I do say so myself."

Harvey ambled his way from the dark into the moonlit office. "Do you have to be an ass about everything, Crane?"

Jonathan pushed greasy dark strands of unruly, unkempt hair from his frigid blue eyes and quirked his head to the side as he got a first look at Harvey when hints of light illuminated the man's face. "My, my, Mr. Dent," he purred, a sneer crossing his lips, "it seems you had a little accident, did you?"

"Well you're not lookin' so hot yourself, Crane," Harvey moved forward, taking Jonathan's chin in his hand and jerking his head sharply to the left. A dark bruise with yellow tinged edges stuck out against his pasty-white skin. Jonathan's eyes narrowed and he struggled to gain back control of his face. Harvey snorted in contempt. "Rache told me some brod you been seein' did a number on you." He laughed roughly and shoved Jonathan back a few steps. "And here I thought it was a double entendre. Happy to be proved wrong, cause I really can't picture a chick in any sort of intimate proximity with you." Jonathan resisted the urge to snarl. "Though it's nice to see a girl that throws better punches than I do."

"It was less of a punch and more of a stiletto," Jonathan hissed, stooping down and grabbing the silver canister while, at the same time, keeping his eyes locked on his adversary.

Harvey rolled his shoulders back, throwing a look over his shoulder.

"Whatever. Just get your stuff and let's get out of here."

"Get out of here?" Jonathan muttered as his fumbling spidery fingers dealt with the Velcro straps of the canister, latching it onto his arm. He wiped his clammy, oily forehead with shaking palms then smeared the sweaty residue on his bright orange jumpsuit, leaving a streak on the material. Immediately his eyes locked on Harvey's. "Am I supposed to believe you're here to help me?"

"I could have shot you," Harvey murmured, shrugging as he held out a circular object in his hand. Jonathan stared at the pristine head of a silver dollar, frowning, and turning back to Harvey. "Luck came out in your favor. Now do you want to get out of here, or should I just lock you back in your cell? Maybe flip the coin to see if your luck has changed?"

Jonathan stared Harvey down, studying the severely scarred half of his face with intrigue. Every inch of melted skin spoke volumes, etched with deep gouges and pits where the skin and muscle had been eaten away. His hair was frayed and patchy and his eye was glazed over in a milky white film…bloodshot…

"What happened to you? You look like hell, Dent."

"That doesn't answer my proposal," Harvey muttered through his teeth, half his face pulled back in a sharp snarl. "Are you coming or not?"

"Why are you helping me?" Jonathan growled, only to feel Harvey grab his collar and hoist him into the air effortlessly.

"Honestly, Crane, I ain't here for you. I'm here for Rachel."

"Dawes? That brownnosing little nuisance?"

Harvey glared at him. "Watch it, or I give you a broken jaw instead of a pretty bruise…"

"…did you do this? The power outage?"

Jonathan hollered as he fell from Harvey's fingertips and knocked his head against the edge of one of the cabinet shelves. "Yeah, so hurry up."

Go with him, Jonathan.

You honestly trust this maniac? Jonathan thought to himself, rubbing the spot on the back of his head.

We shouldn't be the ones calling people maniacs, Jonathan.

true.

The young man nodded reluctantly, stretching out his quivering hand. "Alright," Jonathan smiled, hints of his lunacy peeking through his pearly teeth as Harvey grabbed his hand to help him up. "But if this is a trick…"

"No trick. I need some assistance, and you're desperate enough to help me when I ask you," Harvey said in a business-like tone, locking his grip with Jonathan's.

Jonathan sneered. Desperate? He wasn't desperate…

The man huffed as he watched Jonathan bolt to the opposite side of the room as soon as he was on his feet, splitting apart the blinds on the window, and peering down below. "Hey, Twiggy! What part of 'we-gotta-go' is not getting' through to you?"

"S.W.A.T. is due to arrive at any moment," Jonathan breathed, his lips so close to the glass that the window fogged when he spoke. He jerked his head around and peered at Harvey. "Do you have a way to get out?"

Harvey squinted as the spotlight of a helicopter passed over the window just as Jonathan shut the blinds, illuminating the room. "The front door was clear when I came in. Why not just go out through there?"

"Typical," Jonathan snipped as he pushed past Harvey. He inspected the sturdy wooden chair by the door and scrambling towards the hallway with the chair hooked around his elbow. "You come in here to play the savior yet you fail to have a plan."

Harvey scowled, following close behind the twiggy young man. "Typical. You're still an ass."

"Yet," Jonathan paused in the middle of the hallway and whipped around, squaring up with Harvey and pointing a bony digit in his face, "I'm an ass with a better way out."

"Oh yeah?" Harvey snarled. He was a bit shorter than Jonathan, but far stronger and much more intimidating. "And what's that, princess?"

"We. Go. Up." At those words, the young man raised his hand. He was tall enough to place the tips of his fingers on the ceiling, and leaned up on his toes just enough to push the tile up slightly. He worked his fingers a bit, focused solely on the task, and managed to shift the tile aside, revealing a space large enough for a person to fit through. Jonathan smiled at Harvey's disbelief. "I know this place like the back of my hand, Mr. Dent. When I was director here, I had to know every possible escape route. It was necessary since one never knew when a riot would occur. And I wasn't about to let one of my patients slip, nor would I be one to get locked somewhere with no plan B. After being stuck in here since my arrest, I refreshed my mind and studied every corridor, every doorway, every office, cell, and room."

"You need a new hobby, Crane," Harvey grunted when Jonathan turned his back on him. "So you were just biding your time? You could have gotten out of here at any second?"

"'He that can have patience can have what he will'," Jonathan murmured to himself as he brought the chair forward, positioning it below the space in the ceiling carefully.

"Fabulous," Harvey gave a sarcastic clap. "You think that up all by yourself, Confucius?"

"Actually no. Benjamin Franklin did the thinking for me." Jonathan glanced over his shoulder as he stood on the chair. "But I shouldn't have expected you to know that."

Harvey rolled his eyes and peered behind him. "Whatever. You go on ahead. Rache, come on, you're holding us u—"

"Waitaminutewaitaminute…Dawes is coming with us?" Crane sounded disgusted and glared through the darkness at a figure approaching. "Brilliant plan, Dent. You do recall she's an incompetent boob that will only slow us down, correct?"

Jonathan gasped and collapsed off the chair as Rachel's fist came from nowhere and struck him in the groin.

"Incompetent? Only because you got my stuck in this hell-hole Crane! You little worm…"

Harvey crowed with laughter as he stared at Jonathan writhing on the floor in mute pain. "Ladies first, Jonathan…you know better. Go on, Rache."

Rachel made sure to crush Jonathan's hand under her foot as she made her way onto the chair. There was a massive clash under their feet and Harvey cursed, leaping over Jonathan's body and helping Rachel up through the hole in the roof. "Hurry hurry hurry…the S.W.A.T. is already inside. Come on stop goofin' around, Crane!" Harvey barked.

Jonathan's face twisted in anguish as he forced himself to kneel, and finally stand to his feet, wobbling a bit. Harvey was already swinging himself up and into the hole, still yelling for him to hurry up.

Jonathan said nothing, biting his tongue for once as he scrambled onto the chair and pulled himself up with quivering arms.

If she doesn't get shot by an officer…I'll kill her myself!

"Put the tile back. Now which way out?"

Jonathan leered at Harvey "We go down the left, and since we are on the top floor, the rafters are higher, thus we can walk more easily. Oh, I hope you like rats. I see them scurry through the halls once in a while before crawling into the wall." He saw the look of distaste on Rachel's face as he stood to his feet and hobbled after the duo.

There better be one that gives Dawes the Plague.

One can only hope…

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Talia sat on the long, L-shaped couch, fiddling with a nail file as she stared at the flat screen television across the room. She yawned, half of her hair flowing across her shoulders and the other half tied up in a simple braid. She had stopped the channel on a local news network, listening to a tragic list of events that occurred in Gotham that day. But it wasn't uncommon for people to get mugged, shot, or beaten around here, so she was quite indifferent to the newscaster until she heard something that piqued her interest.

"Breaking news in the Narrows; A power failure resulted in the S.W.A.T. being called to control any potential riots or escapes."

Talia froze in mid stroke of her nail file and stared intently at the screen.

"So far all but 2 inmates are accounted for, one female attendant and one male security guard reportedly injured in the escape of one of the inmates. Officials are also saying Batman was seen in the vicinity only minutes ago, and many are wondering if there is a connection between the masked 'hero' and the power failure."

Talia spat something in a foreign language and hopped to her feet, reaching for her cell on the coffee table beside her. She pulled her hair from it's braid and loosened the tie on her robe as she made her way across the room with the cell already attached to her ear.

It rang only once before a gruff voice answered the other line.

"Get ready, meet me downstairs in the lobby. We have trouble at Arkham."

"Arkham? You think it's Crane?"

"I don't think. I know. But he's not important now. The bat is there…so get the men ready. We need to leave immediately!"

She clapped the phone shut and stared at the window. "Clever, Mr. Crane. But you managed to flush out the bat. Perhaps I won't need to kill you just yet."