Maxie was satisfied. He took his leave—"Rest pleasantly"—and closed the door behind him, leaving Cathy alone.

Her body's response was automatic.

She shuffled straight to the bed. Not even bothering to pull back the sheets, she hopped onto the lofty mattress in a last burst of strength that she thought had been depleted entirely. Once her hands and knees sank into the lavish plush, her elbows gave out, her body relinquishing just to be nearer. She toppled like a chopped sequoia, the entire world coming down with her and bouncing along with her landing. The resulting three bounces were as sufficient as being rocked to sleep, and Cathy's head swam with washed over relief, her body finally, finally given the chance to collapse and rest.

She swore she heard very soft, discreet knocking—one, two, three, four—at her bedroom door at one point. Could have been ten seconds, a minute, maybe five after Maxie left, she didn't know and she didn't care to know. In a few moments, caller or not, she drifted away entirely.

Cathy awoke in heavenly comfort. Her fluffy blanket was held to her chin, and the pleasant warmth of her bed was luxurious. But the smell and sound of bacon sizzling was too tempting to ignore. She opened one bleary eye and glanced about her bedroom, looking for her robe. Snatching it off the bedpost, she snuck a view outside the window. The sun shined beautifully over Park Row this morning.

She exited her bedroom and followed the short hall to the galley kitchen to find her dad standing at the stove. He held a whisk and turned bacon over using barbecue tongs in his other hand. A black and white checkered apron was draped over the grey business suit he wore, and on his head sat a tall, white paper chef's hat.

"Morning, Catherine," he chirped.

"Morning, Dad," she returned. She lifted her tipped over bookshelf off the dining table, swept her loosened books off, and sat down.

The apartment's front door was lying flat on the floor in the entrance way, giving an unobstructed view of the seventh floor hallway. Kicked in most likely, but that was okay, she'd glue it back into place later. Her dad didn't have the key, how else did she expect him to get inside?

Her dad sliced a banana into sections and let them fall into the frying pan along with the bacon.

Out of the corner of Cathy's eye she spotted a third person in the room, sitting on her couch in the living room. Turning her head, she found the whispery man from the courthouse basement staring at her with his deathly pale eyes. He blinked but didn't seem to want to move, and Cathy hope he'd stay there long enough for her to eat her breakfast in peace.

The air was quite chilly in the apartment. She hugged the robe tighter around her and made a mental note to let her landlord know about it after breakfast...

Cathy's eyes snapped open. She hadn't realized she'd been holding in her breath and slowly exhaled through her nose. The white marble fireplace stared back at her, and the calm bliss of innocently waking from sleep was interrupted by her brain catching up on every event that happened to her in the last twenty-four hours. Her cozy apartment was long-gone, likely looted, and she was now in the hands of Maxie Zeus.

No, no, no, oh please, no.

She shut her eyes tight to try and wriggle back into the disappearing dregs of her dream, to the place she wanted to be most of all—home. Her eyeballs were under so much pressure that little squiggles of colorful light started dancing against the black. Try as she might, she couldn't grasp that dream again, the only hope that her current reality was the actual dream. Or nightmare, rather.

Heavy-hearted, she stirred in defeat and sat up. She'd been so tired earlier that she never drew the blankets over her before falling asleep. Her bare toes were chilled, but the layers of her clothing did a satisfactory job of keeping the rest of her body warm. Still, she badly needed her shoes back.

A dusky light filtered through the window beside her, weak enough to surmise that it had to be somewhere close to sundown. She was at a loss as to how she could have slept the entire day away. But she felt more rested—relatively, at least—than she ever had since Arkham City closed it's walls around her and swallowed her whole.

Placing her face in her hands, she rubbed her eyes in massaging motions. What was she supposed to do now? Wait here? Let someone summon her?

The fluffy mattress underneath her cradled and conformed to her shape. The bed itself was a blessing, but she could not ignore that it didn't belong to her, and it made her feel in a way like she'd stolen it. She didn't even really think of the bed as being someone else's until now. It truly belonged to Maxie's sister, the true Hestia. Cathy just prayed that she'd be able to make her escape before Maxie's real sister decided to show her face. If she wasn't lost somewhere in Arkham City.

Wiggling her toes to make sure they were awake too, she gingerly lowered herself onto the hardwood. At least the floor wasn't frozen tile like the grander areas of the Olympus.

Scanning her room, the situation begged to wonder, had she missed dinner? She hadn't been briefed on how things worked around here. If these people hadn't figured out her lie yet then perhaps it was highly likely that they'd ask her to dine with them again, and for every meal afterward. But did someone need to summon her, or was she simply supposed to know what time to arrive.

Weakening, orange sunlight drowned out the browns and beiges of her room as she paced about, trying to figure out what to do with herself. Even the fireplace was temporarily stained with the setting hue. She glanced out the window quickly. The view was much better up here than it had been in the foyer last night. Facing in the same direction, she could still see the crumbled overpass she climbed down, way in the distance. The sun hovered just above it, over the political prisoners camp, and appeared to be sinking inside it for the night. In all likelihood by now, the camp must have been completely cleared out, looted, or under new management.

A restlessness overtook Cathy. Leaving the window, she paced, shaking out her hands at her sides. Her fingers developed a minor twitch while she organized all possible scenarios in her head. She needed to get back to the lower floors to her raft, that was for sure the bottom line. But was it so easy as to just leave her room and wander down there?

With trepidation, she reached for the door knob, fidgeting just inches from it as through the metal was scalding hot. Bracing herself, she gripped and slowly turned the knob, letting the door creak open a crack. She didn't know exactly what she was expecting; guards? Security cameras?

Sneaking a peak outside, she peered down one end of the hall and then the other. Save for art, a sculpture, and potted plants, this wing was entirely deserted. Still, she regarded the other doors uneasily. Any of them could be behind one.

Rehearsing an excuse in her head in case anyone spotted her—"Ah, so good to see you, I was just on my way to the dining chamber. T'was this way, correct?"—she slipped out of her room and slowly, carefully closed the door behind her, muffling the sound into her back. Eyes roving, she spotted no disturbances. This was her chance to get the hell out of this place. She could almost hear Gotham's shore calling to her, pulling her.

The strip of richly purple carpet with gold lining thankfully muffled the patter of her feet. Not that she was moving fast enough to really make a sound even on hardwood or tile, but small blessings were few and far between and she was grateful for every single thing that went in her favour.

Cathy adopted some sort of loping tip-toe, for it covered a little more distance and still kept her quiet. It made her feel almost cat-like. Still, she slowed down the pace to take her time, wary of corners. There was no point in going through all the trouble to just get caught. The staircase appeared up ahead. She remembered this particular one from the night before. Descending quietly, she came to a four-way intersection of other wings. The dining hall was to her right. She knew that because of the left turn Maxie took to the staircase when he led her to her room. So she needed to go straight.

It would be a strange notion at any other point of her life, but Cathy infinitely preferred running into him rather than the other three, and that was saying something. Dionysus, Calliope, and Hephaestus. Dionysus didn't seem so bad, but that was based on only a single, fleeting interaction between the two of them. His silence and servitude could very well hide a violently loyal side. When it came to Maxie, at least she knew the basics of how to placate his temper. More than the others, at least, if they were just as moody. She managed to escape his rage once, but she wasn't holding out much hope that she'd be lucky enough to do it again.

The fact that Calliope was a woman meant nothing. The female lookout from the political prisoner's camp had regarded Cathy with suspicion. There was no such thing as instant camaraderie in Arkham City, even between minorities.

As for Hephaestus? The orange of his jumpsuit did all the talking.

Following the trail of art that she memorized along the way earlier, she found another staircase. The bust of the woman's face in the corner! Excitement sputtered her heart. She managed to reach the hallway of Greek god statues. Passing through it, the dazzling foyer greeted her at the very end. In the early morning darkness when she first saw it did no justice. Truly it was spectacular, with every detail coming alive in the light. Underneath the ceiling-high windows were lounge sofas upholstered in rich, red velvet, likely for club guests to casually mingle outside the dance ballrooms and business wings.

But Cathy didn't have time to look at some pretty interior decorations, and forgot about them just as soon as she saw them. She knew exactly where to go now. Entering through the much smaller corridor to her right, a skip of anticipation thumped in her ribcage. This was it. The room she broke into was the very last one. It's door was even still left open, she could see it all the way down there. All she had to do was slip on her socks and beanie, which had to be dry by now. Shoes be damned, she didn't care if they were still wet, she was leaving.

The squared little room was exactly the way she left it, save for a little more lighting. Entering past the door, she headed straight for the fireplace. The fire burnt itself out to nothing but ashes and a few misshapen logs. Plucking her rolled-up socks from the hearth, she was pleased to feel that they were dry. Slipping them on, she picked up her runners next. Unfortunately they were still damp. They would have to do, though. Pushing her feet in, she shivered from their frigidness. The insides soon warmed to her body heat, but she could feel moisture beginning to seep into her socks. She pushed herself to ignore it, shoved her beanie down her shirt for safekeeping, and hurried to the window.

She could see through the window before her hands even gripped the sill, and the sight beyond was the most horrible she had experienced yet in Arkham City.

Nothing.

There was nothing out there on that ledge beneath the window.

Her raft was gone.

Cathy's fingers seized. With sudden urgency, she stiffly gripped the frame and hoisted it up, grunting under the strain of it jamming. Deliriousness granted her monstrous strength. The hope that the glass warped some sort of tricky mirage invaded her mind. The raft had to be there! It had to!

She managed to raise the window halfway. It was good enough for her and she stuck her head out, desperate to separate any and all barriers between her and the raft, she had to see it for herself with nothing in the way. The stone ledge looked to be submerged under a foot-high rise of harbour water. The tide. It had stolen her only ride out of there.

And with it went her hope and determination.

No, she moaned. The barren sight was too much. Cathy sank her head dishearteningly, collapsing into her arms, shaking in disbelief. The cold breeze tickled her scalp, and the last of the sun dipped out of sight, giving way to the twilight hour.

So close. She was so close to getting out. To getting away from not just these disturbed people, but also away from Arkham City in all it's horrid, bleak, lawless entirety. Phil's daughter, Mike's family. They were no closer to seeing them again as was Cathy's father to her.

A telltale itch blurred her vision. She wanted to cry, was even deperate to actually do it, but her body was in the midst of shellshock. The tears were there, but they weren't falling. Cathy lifted her head, staring out into the endlessly drenched city block. Where was she supposed to go from here? Her mind had gone blank, it didn't seem to have a clue what to do now that it was met with a sharp detour in the plan. She felt more stranded than ever before, like the Olympus Club was an island in the middle of the ocean, dangling Gotham mockingly in front of her but keeping it entirely out of reach.

A door closed somewhere down the hall beyond her room. Cathy whipped around at the sound, tensing. Watching the doorway, she didn't hear anything else afterward, but she knew. Somebody was down there with her. Her sorrow needed to be put on hold, it was time to go. Things would get even worse for her if she were caught doing anything suspicious, and she still didn't know how good of a liar she was to dig herself out of it.

Snatching her bag from beside the fireplace, she pulled her arms inside her topmost sweatshirt and raised the hem to her collar, slipped the bag over her shoulders, and lowered her sweater again. The bag was safely hidden underneath it. The lump on her back blended in with the bulkiness of her many layers, rendered almost invisible. She'd just have to avoid claps on the back.

Peeking past the door frame, she found the long hallway completely devoid of anybody. She regarded the emptiness with suspicion. She was sure she heard a door clicking somewhere. Nonetheless, she left the little room behind and tried to confidently walk. Were Maxie and the other three the only people living here? Maybe there were a few more hidden here and there, vagrants just like her. Maybe people who broke in for shelter, just like she did. Cathy crossed her arms protectively. It felt safer for her to have her hands at chest level and at the ready. Just in case.

Halfway down and still no disturbance. Fading, periwinkle light filtered through the large windows to one side, lighting her way for the most part.

Then, a figure emerged a few feet ahead, appearing from another room, blocking Cathy's path. She didn't have time to prepare herself, she stopped dead, arms dropping to her sides.

The woman at the table. Calliope.

She zeroed in on Cathy as if she had been expecting her, and closed the gap between them in only a few steps.

"You. Who are you?" she asked in a hardened tone, eyes narrowed. Golden medallions clipped on the shoulders of her dress glinted in crescent moons in the light, accentuated by her crossed, impassable arms.

Cathy went rigid. "I'm Hestia, of course," she answered, trying to sound as confident as if she had been called that name all her life. She held her shoulders straight, imperiously even, to adopt the role convincingly.

"No, no, no," Calliope said dismissively, swatting her hand with impatience. "I mean where did you come from, what are you doing here in Arkham City?"

Was this some sort of test?

"I don't know what you mean," replied Cathy coolly.

"Drop the act. For what it's worth, I'm not going to rat you out. Unless we're going to have a problem with you going to Maxie about me, that is." She let that hang in the air.

The tightness between Cathy's shoulders didn't lessen, but it did switch cause. By the woman's tone, she wasn't in on Zeus' joke—or rather she was but was simply playing along with his game in order to keep him satisfied. Or was this just a test to gauge if she was the real Hestia? Calliope had regarded her suspiciously when they were seated at the table. Maybe she knew what Maxie never saw. Maybe Dionysus and Hephaestus weren't fooled either. For that reason, Cathy remained tight-lipped, at a loss for an appropriate reaction. All she knew was that she was in deep.

Calliope's stern expression turned callous from Cathy's lack of an answer. "Fine, then, keep your secrets. Then at least tell me, why aren't you in your room?"

Cathy felt like she'd lost the opportunity forever to tell Calliope how she ended up stuck in Arkham City, the woman's tone was that finalized. Cathy didn't want to miss this new one, silence was as good as admittance of guilt. Her rehearsed excuse must have leaked out of her ears, though, because not a single word of it came to her.

"I was hungry and couldn't remember where the dining room was. Wasn't sure if anyone was coming for me," she tried.

Calliope's resolve didn't budge an inch. Cathy desperately tried to feign innocence and maintain eye contact, but it was hard keeping her eye-line dead-on with Calliope's dark green, unforgiving eyes. The woman had all the appearance of maturity and self-assurance. Her pert, angled eyebrows were sharp, giving way to only the most miniscule, almost undetectable sag around the brow bone, placing an approximate age at maybe early to mid-40's.

"I went looking for you when you weren't in your room," said Calliope, ignoring Cathy's excuse. "When you passed the foyer, I saw you and followed. And let me tell you now, don't do that ever again."

"Why?"

Calliope looked irritated. "You have no idea how much danger you've gotten yourself into. Follow me. You're going back."

Cathy hesitated. Was Calliope going to bring her before Zeus in order to be punished? She thought of the wad of cash still sitting at the bottom of her bag. Maybe Calliope could agree to a little bribe in exchange for silence.

"Look, I've got money," Cathy said.

"Money? You think I need money in a prison? In case you don't already know, Hestia, it's completely worthless here. Now hurry up."

Pivoting, she signaled for Cathy to follow. Lifting the hem of her billowy column dress, she marched down the hall swiftly. Cathy matched step. She had no choice.

"It was bad enough with me and Dionysus," Calliope grumbled. "It's hard enough as it is. Now we've got another one, I can't believe this." The slap of her sandals bounced off the walls.

"Dionysus?"

"The man who poured your wine."

"I know. I mean, what about him?" Cathy was confused. Calliope wasn't sounding very much like the loyal member of a criminal gang she made herself out to be during the meal.

"He and I are employees in this place," explained Calliope impatiently. "Or, we were when it was actually in service."

Cathy felt shame in the revelation that the woman considered her an extra, unnecessary burden. But why? "And what about Hephaestus?" she asked to the back of the woman's hair.

"You stay away from Hephaestus, do you hear me?"

"Yes," squeaked Cathy quickly, shutting up. Not that she needed telling from anybody.

The woman stopped short at the entrance to the foyer and looked over her shoulder at Cathy. "Remember Persephone, the maiden Maxie mentioned at breakfast?"

"Yeah," replied Cathy hesitantly.

"She's dead. And you will be too if you don't commit to your role one hundred percent."

Cathy took pause. A long one. She searched Calliope's eyes, trying to find some sort of confirmation. For what, she wasn't sure. Everything wasn't adding up, there was no pattern, no rhyme or reason to these people. "I-I don't understa-..."

"Honey," Calliope said without a hint of sweetness, "you're not safe here."

"I'm sorry?" asked Cathy, but she wasn't deaf, she heard the words loud and clear.

"You're in as much danger here as you were out there."

A/N: Welp, give yourself a round of applause, ladies and gents, you managed to make this story surpass 4,000 views total. I know that's not visitors total, it's views to each chapter, and some people are counted more than once, but it doesn't matter. That's still a huge number, and I'm ecstatic!

LurkingLady - No, no, I like long-winded when it comes to other people's perception of this story, I find it fascinating when hearing about all of this from another perspective. Interpretations vary. The longer the better, I say.
The DVDs are worth it, I love mine. Thanks a bunch for saying that about Cathy! It's great feedback, I love it.
Yep. If anybody likes reading about the political prisoners as well, or wants to know how they'll end up, don't worry. They'll be making many appearances again, time-compared with what's going on with Cathy.
Thank you so much for your review, it was wonderful! Loved it, and I hope this chapter was satisfying.

madison - And I love you! C'mere, lemme hug ya! Thanks for reading.