"All rise for the honorable Judge Martin," called the police officer.

Elena rose gingerly to her feet, along with the Prosecutor. Besides the two of them, the courtroom was empty. She had expected the Monster to at least show up at her trial, but he was nowhere to be found. His absence was starting to put her on edge more than his presence did.

"Alright, it's ah… Miss Moretti is it?" the Judge asked, squinting down at her through cloudy eyes. He was an old, squat man who had thin white hair on his head and coming out his ears. Perfect, just perfect.

"Yes, your Honor," she answered in the sweetest voice she could muster.

"Where- where is your attorney? I got the time correct, didn't I?" His gaze traveled around the room, searching for a clock.

"I'll be representing myself, your Honor."

"Objection, your Honor," shouted the Prosecutor. He was much taller than her, and wore a dark navy suit- probably name brand- and had brown hair greased back on his head. "The defendant is not mentally competent to serve as her own attorney."

"All defendants have the right to defend themselves, and I believe my mental competence or incompetence has yet to be determined," she challenged. Where is Mr. Finch? she wondered as she spoke. He had promised to help her, yet here was some slimy yuppie trying to throw her into a mental institution, clearly paid for by Falcone.

"True, very true. I believe, Mr. Rodríguez, I'll have to side with the Defense on this one. You understand what you're getting yourself into, young lady?"

"Yes your Honor," she replied, flashing a bright smile. Rodríguez muttered under his breath in the background.

"How do you plead, then?"

"Guilty, your Honor."

"So you admit to killing the deceased, now what was his name again? A Mr…"

"Jacobs. And yes, I killed him and was perfectly aware of what I was doing when I killed him." And she did the world a favor too.

"Well, uh, Mr. Rodríguez, what are you charging her with?"

"Nothing, your Honor. We believe Miss Moretti was suffering a psychotic break at the time of the murder and should be sent to Arkham for rehabilitation."

"And you have one of those… whatchamacallits to support this?"

"Yes, Doctor Crane is a psychiatrist at Arkham and evaluated Miss Moretti yesterday."

"Well, bring him up."

A familiar face walked past her and got up on the witness stand, wearing the same suit she had seen him in the day before. Jesus, when did he get here? she wondered. As the officer was swearing him in, she could have sworn she saw a smirk on his pale face. Slimeball.

"Now, Dr. Crane, you met with the defendant yesterday, did you not?" Elena finally sat down, grimacing slightly as she did. The bruises from her last encounter with Falcone still had not improved.

"Yes, that is correct." It seemed like he was looking right at her as he spoke and she stared back defiantly. Creep.

"And what, in your expert opinion, is the state of Miss Moretti's mental health at this time?"

Oh, 'expert opinion' is it? Be careful, Mr. Rodríguez, she thought, inflate that guy's ego anymore and his head might explode. God, that would be really convenient, if his head just up and exploded right now. She began to focus all of her energy into making that happen.

"Miss Moretti is suffering from schizophrenia, whose symptoms commonly occur during young adulthood. In the time I spent with her it became very clear to me that she suffered from this disease, along with an acute persecution complex." Persecution complex, really?

"And what, do you believe, is best for the defendant at this time?"

"In my opinion, Miss Moretti is as much a danger to herself as to others, and prison is probably not the best environment for her rehabilitation."

She wanted to slap that arrogant look of his right off his face.

"The prosecution rests, your Honor."

"Well then Dr. …err…. Crane, you're free to go," said the Judge.

"Excuse me, your Honor, I have a few questions for the witness," she said, quickly rising to her feet.

"Oh, al-alright then, but make it quick, now."

"Yes your Honor." She took a few moments shuffling her papers dramatically and organizing her thoughts. You're not going to win, but you can at least try, she told herself. She took one deep, cleansing breath and her face became a mask.

"Mr. Crane - "

"It's Doctor, actually."

"Alright, Doctor," she said, slightly annoyed. "You majored in Psychology at Gotham University, is that correct?"

"It would appear so," he replied, "Seeing as I am a psychiatrist."

Smartass.

"I'm sorry, is that a yes?"

"Correct, Miss Moretti."

"But you weren't just a student, were you? You became a professor at the age of twenty-four."

"Correct again."

"That's very impressive. How did you manage that?"

"I'm good at what I do."

"So why were you dismissed from your position?" His eyes flashed, and a thinly concealed look of contempt appeared on his face. Gotchya Elena thought delightedly.

"Objection your Honor," cried the prosecutor. "Relevance?"

"Goes to the credibility of the witness, your Honor," she replied.

"Oh well… I guess… hmmm…"

"I'll answer your question," said Crane, and seemed to spit venom as he spoke. "I was dismissed due to the narrow minded nature of the University in question –"

"But on the report," she interrupted, "It says that a student was injured during one of your unauthorized experiments."

"They had been planning to remove me for a long time, and that was just a convenient excuse for them to use to get rid of me." Bitterness was etched into every word he spoke.

"And who is "they" Jonathan? The administration? The government? CIA?" He could tell that she was mocking him, though no one else in the room seemed to be able to.

"The board of administration, yes," he said, with as much contempt as he could.

"Talk about persecution complexes," she remarked, just loud enough for him and the prosecutor to hear.

"Your Honor, objection!"

"Yes, is there a point to this line of questioning, little lady?" the Judge asked, clearly not comprehending what was going on.

"Yes, your Honor. This man has clearly shown a complete disregard to his profession, and it's a wonder that he still even has his license," she answered, gesturing to Crane as she spoke.

"The defendant is testifying, your Honor." A note of panic was in the prosecutor's voice now.

"Yes, well that would be a hell of a cross examination," she remarked to no one in particular.

"Your honor!"

"That's it. Mr. Crane, you may go now. I'll give my verdict tomorrow. Now get, all of you. I need to go to the bathroom," the old man grumbled unhappily.

"C'mon you," said the officer gruffly, slapping handcuffs on her once more and pulling her out of the courtroom. As she limped out, she turned and shot one last glance at Crane. He was still staring at her, with those blue, piercing eyes. Congrats Elena, she thought to herself, You just pissed off the guy that runs the mental asylum you'll be going to.