Chapter Three

Emily Daggett is a spoiled little brat, to put it kindly. After being raised by one of the wealthiest and most manipulative men in all of Gotham, she's grown accustomed to her luxurious lifestyle. She never expected to get caught up in the utter chaos Bane inspires, nor did she ever expect what horrors she would face after ending up in the hands of the honorable Judge Crane.

TW: Mentions of drug and alcohol use.

XXX

Emily did not like police stations. She didn't even like police, for god's sake, why would she want to be put in the middle of a place where they attended to all their business? Immediately upon her arrival to the station, she had about a million questions thrown at her, and she felt as though she had committed the crime and she was being interrogated; which, of course, she didn't like one bit, and caused a defensive sort of aura to come over her.

"No, I don't know where Bane went. And no, I DON'T know where he put the body!" she said irritability, raising her voice considerably. "Officer Blake didn't tell me I was coming here to be worked up by a bunch of fucking second-rate officers. I'm the victim here! I witnessed the murder!" She glared viciously at the officer questioning her before snapping, "Bring me some food, I want some food."

The officer - whose badge read the name Wilson - did as much as he could to smother the aggravation and sarcasm developing toward Emily and replied, with as much calmness as he could muster, "All right, Miss Daggett. What would you like to eat?"

"Soup," she answered instantly. Admittedly, she probably should have had something a bit more filling, but she didn't know if she could stomach it.

The officer left the room quickly, but was sure to spare a hateful glance at Emily before he was gone. She simply snorted and disregarded the look, whipped out her cell phone, and sent a quick text message to someone she hadn't contacted in quite some time.

Jared, I need whatever you've got. Do you have any green, or pills, or something?

She chuckled to herself when she realized that she was pursuing drugs in a place like this - a police station, for Christ's sake. But she needed something to take the edge off of these intense emotions. That was also what she'd turned to when she couldn't handle things, ever since she'd turned thirteen-years-old and was introduced to cigarettes. Cigarettes she was hardly fond of, but weed she had grown accustomed to; but only if she truly needed it.

Or maybe she could make due with some alcohol, that was always an option…

Her phone buzzed a moment later in her pocket, and she fished it out and opened the text message immediately.

Yeah girl, I got you. How much you need? And I've got anxiety pills and painkillers…

The list droned on to name the number of drugs that her dealer possessed, but before Emily could completely read it, there was the erratic sound of what was clearly gunfire outside the room she was currently in. Hearing this and the screams of demands and arguments also leaking from the room, she immediately ducked behind the nearest filing cabinet and shoved her hand against her mouth, biting the skin to prevent her from making any audible noise. Moments later, several men she recognized as mercenaries (she'd come in contact with them once or twice before, through her father) burst into the room, clutching Officer Wilson by his neck with a gun pressed against his temple and shouting at him, "Where is she? Where's the girl?"

Wilson looked up in a frenzy, gazing about the room in a desperate for search for "the girl" - who Emily assumed was herself - before exclaiming, "She was in here, I swear! I left to get her food and - and-"

"Well where is she now?" hissed a rugged mercenary, pressing the tip of the gun so hard against his temple that he emitted a pained whimper.

"I don't know, I swear!" Tears were pouring down his face, but all Emily could think in her head was that fucking coward, due to him selling her out.

But then again, she hadn't treated him very nicely. But what sort of excuse was that?

"Search the room!" Wilson shouted. "She couldn't have gone far, just please, please don't shoot-"

Emily looked away as the mercenary pulled the trigger, sending the sound of a gunshot echoing across the room and forever silencing the fucking coward. She would've smiled had she not been so anxiety-ridden about being found.

In only took a moments worth of searching for the mercenary to find her, and she was torn up from the floor by her hair and pressed against the wall, the tip of the gun now pointing in her direction. She felt an uneasy pang of fear rattle her insides.

"You have to have the wrong person -" she began in a panic.

"Emily Daggett," said the mercenary, with a smirk that was able to unease her, "you have a court date for your crimes against the People of Gotham."

"Crimes? On what charges? What did I-"

Before she could finish, she was hit over the head with the butt of the gun, and a familiar series of black circles appeared in her vision before unconsciousness fully engulfed her.

XXX

"Did you hear? About the football game?"

"Bane fucked that place up, that's for sure. You heard about the mayor, getting blown sky high?"

"You think he really gave that trigger to a citizen?"

"Dunno, but you heard about Crane lately? He's lookin' for guinea pigs to test his toxin on… tweaked it up a bit, I guess. Sure hate to be whoever he picks."

Emily paid close attention to the mutterings of the mercenaries guarding the crowd. Ahead of her was a man… a man of vague familiarity, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it… handing out citizens fates' as though it were the simplest thing anyone could do. She stood at the rear of the crowd, wrists bound (as she had tried to kick and scream her way out of things after she'd come out of her unconsciousness), her head throbbing and aching and the terror of where exactly she was finally settling in fully.

She was here to be tried. And neither exile nor death seemed a favorable option to her.

"Emily Daggett!"

Emily raised her head slowly from amongst the crowd of panicked civilians. She was still feeling a bit queasy and foggy due to being hit over the head, but she was conscious enough to realize that in this deranged courtroom setting, there were only two inevitable horrifying options. When she failed to move forward fast enough, her name was called again, and a mercenary poked her harshly in the back with his gun.

"You heard him, girl."

She walked forward with caution, as though that would save her from anything. Upon reaching the judge, or whatever it was he was exactly attempting to be, she looked up at him wordlessly. She made a weak attempt to not succumb to his apathetic gaze and obviously cruel mannerisms, but despite her best efforts, she could not stop her knees from shaking.

"Emily Daggett, you are being tried for your crimes against the People of Gotham," said the man calmly. His hair and suit were disheveled and the bags underneath his eyes were quite prominent, which left Emily wondering when was the last time he'd showered or slept.

"What crimes?" she asked softly, praying that the tremor in her knees would not travel to her throat and cause her voice to shake.

"Through association of your father, John Daggett, who would also be here to stand trial for his crimes had there not been a rather… ahem," he cleared his throat, "…unfortunate incident."

Tears raged in Emily's eyes. She wasn't sure what source of emotion they came from - anger, sorrow, terror - but she still fought hard to hold them back.

"I… haven't done anything. I can-"

"The matter is not up for discussion, as this is merely a sentencing hearing." The corners of his lips raised into a tiny smirk, causing Emily to shiver. "Your guilt has already been determined. So what'll it be? Exile?" He gazed out amongst the crowd as though gauging their reaction. "Or death?"

A million thoughts raced in Emily's head.

I'm going to die they're going to kill me like my father exile ends in death too it has too I don't want to die please somebody help me anyone please there has to be some way out of this-

She looked up to meet the judge's gaze, and he looked back at her with a certain amount of impatience, as though to say, Well, hurry up already. We have people waiting.

She examined his suit for a moment, as she could not understand why someone in such a high seat of "power" would allow themselves to be dressed so ruggedly. She was intrigued by his shoulder mostly, as it seemed to have bits of straw sticking out of one of the more prominent tears… What sort of suit was made of straw…?

She gasped under her breath, a sudden realization coming to her.

"Scarecrow," she murmured. "You're - you're Scarecrow! Or - or… Crane, isn't it?"

He smiled. "In the flesh."

"You need guinea pigs," she continued in a hurry, "you - you need people to test your toxin. You need-"

"Exile or death, Miss Daggett?" he interrupted calmly.

"I volunteer!" she blurted out. Crane simply raised an eyebrow, which eased Emily, as he no longer looked impatient, but rather intrigued.

"I'm sorry?"

She exhaled sharply. "I'll... be your guinea pig."

The courtroom had grown eerily silent. Emily felt for a moment that she was making a terrible mistake, but anything had to outweigh death, didn't it?

Crane said nothing for a minute, as though considering her proposition, before looking at Emily with another one of his unsettling smirks and answering coolly, "I accept."