"Nightwing, Gotham Knight? Are you there? Did you find Batman and Robin?"
Bruce tilts his head away from Dick and Jason. "We're here, Oracle. We're still at the Medical Facility, but we're leaving for the Arkham Mansion right now to retrieve Dr. Young and her research notes."
"Oh," says Barbara. "Okay then. Hey, what's up with Robin's tracer? It's not showing up on the scanners."
Dick and Jason look at Bruce. Pressing his lips together in discomfort, Bruce sighs. "He…he's been captured. By the Joker."
There's a long pause.
"Alright, well what do you need me to do?" Barbara finally asks. The fear in her voice is not hard to detect. "Do you have an idea on his location? I can –"
"Oracle," interrupts Bruce. "We need to get Dr. Young's notes first. We cannot risk them falling into Joker's hands."
"Trust me, Oracle, we've already said everything you could possibly say to Batman about this," Jason cuts in bitterly.
Another beat of silence. "Right," Barbara says. She sucks in a breath, and when she speaks next she sounds a bit more in control of herself. "Okay. Well, before you go, you might want to look at the stuff I found. Is there a computer or something you can plug into? I don't think your gauntlets are equipped to display the massive amount of info I'm sending over."
"I think there's an office across the hall," Dick says, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.
Bruce passes between Dick and Jason without comment, and leads them across the hall to a security office. Inside is a single desk equipped with a rather old-looking computer.
"This computer is fairly outdated," Bruce comments, frowning at the dusty equipment. "But we'll try it."
"I sent all of the info to your wrist's data device," says Barbara. "It just finished downloading."
Bruce lifts his left arm and presses a short sequence of buttons on his gauntlet. He waits for a second, then pulls out a small memory card from a thin slot by the underside of his wrist. Walking over to the computer, Bruce turns on the monitor and pushes the card into the computer's reader. Immediately, a small blip on the screen pops up, alerting the user to the newly detected device. Bruce clicks on the folder, and dozens of files begin popping up.
By now, Jason and Dick had come up to either side of Bruce to get a better look at the monitor. The moment the files began opening the two of them lean in closer, narrowing their eyes at the odd data and charts being shown.
"What is all of this?" asks Dick.
"Bane was part of a project Dr. Young was heading," Barbara replies. "It was big – lots of funding. The first document is of the last notes she filed, but I can't make sense of them. What does it mean?"
Bruce's brow creases in concentration as he skims through the files. "It looks like she was experimenting on the Arkham patients." On the screen rotates a digital image of some type of chemical compound; a second tab opens up on the right side of the screen, displaying what seems to be a mutated version of it.
"Check it out," Jason says, pointing to the data scrolling beneath both images. Below the compounds pop up labels in bright yellow letters; on the left side of the screen, 1.0A Venom, and on the right, 2.0B Titan.
"I've never heard of anything called Titan before," muses Dick.
Bruce waves his hand at the right-hand image. "This new chemical only barely resembles the original Venom compound. There are a number of changes that appear to amplify the strength of the drug." He rubs a hand across his chin, thinking. "Based on what I can gather from these notes, even a small amount of this could trigger a Venom-like transformation in the host, eliminating the need for the storage tank Bane requires."
"So this is what made Bane so…hard to take down," Dick says.
"And Bane had pretty much been skin and bones before Joker pumped him full of this stuff," points out Jason. "So if Titan can beef up skeleton-Bane to that extent, think of what it could do to a healthy person."
A grimace slips onto Dick's face.
"Hang on," says Bruce. "These notes aren't complete – the Titan formula itself is missing."
Dick edges closer to get a better look at the screen. "I'm gonna take a wild guess and assume that that's what Dr. Young is so anxious to get from the Arkham Mansion."
"And I'm betting Joker has found out where she's going by now," Jason says. "Since he's been so camera-happy all night."
Bruce pushes away from the computer and ejects the memory card. "We have to get to Dr. Young before Joker does," he says, sliding the card back into his gauntlet. "If Joker gets a hold of that formula, he'll create an army of a thousand Banes."
Jason lets out a groan, pressing his hand to his forehead. "That sounds both ridiculous and horrible," he mutters.
"Be careful guys," says Barbara. "And…don't hold off too long on going after Tim."
Bruce is quiet. Then he turns on his heel and heads towards the door. "Come on," he orders.
Jason and Dick exchanges glances, then hurry after Bruce outside the Medical Facility. Together, they shoot their grappling hooks at the roof's edge, and swing up through the air, propelling themselves in the direction of the Arkham Mansion. None of them speak as they move across the building tops, each too wrapped up in their own thoughts.
"Guys?" Oracle's voice comes in through their comms.
"Go ahead, Oracle," answers Batman.
"I've been digging deeper into Dr. Young," Oracle says. "According to her bank records, there have been multiple payments, starting last April until two months ago, then nothing. The payments came from a company owned by a Mr. Jack White."
"One of Joker's oldest aliases," says Batman. Suddenly, something catches his eyes and he twists his head around, looking down onto the grounds beneath him.
Below is a group of about seven Blackgate men, surrounding and closing in on two unarmed Arkham security guards. Conflicted, Batman hesitates; he'd rather not be delayed, but he knows that they can't leave the guards. Dropping down, Batman smashes his feet into the back of one of the thugs, sending him flying. He throws his fist into another man. "So," he says. "Joker pays Dr. Young to create his army and all of the sudden stops. Doesn't make any sense."
"Hey, this is weird," says Oracles. "The payments to Dr. Young's account didn't stop exactly. They were declined. Dr. Young put a block on her account."
By now Nightwing and the Gotham Knight have joined in on the fight. Oracle hesitates at the muffled sounds of bodies being hit and pained grunts coming through the comm. "You…guys alright?"
"We're perfect," Dick answers cheerfully, flipping over the head of a Blackgate thug and landing in front of him. He takes the man down in two punches.
Dropping to the ground behind a different thug, the Gotham Knight jams his elbow between the shoulder blades of the man, causing him to stagger forward. He kicks the man in the lower spine, sending him crashing into a wall. "Back to Dr. Young though," he says. "It sounds like she had a change of heart, doesn't it?"
A Batarang soars from Batman's hand, knocking over another man. "It was her who tried to block the payments. Joker doesn't like it when his partners try to back out."
"So Joker decided to have Harley and their buddies get sent to Arkham to help break him out, and together they would find the Titan formula," Nightwing concludes, grabbing onto the arm of a man and flipping him onto his back.
"Hence the convenient Blackgate fire," adds the Gotham Knight.
Ducking beneath the swipe of a thug's knife, Batman springs up and jams the heel of his palm into the man's jaw, snapping his head back. He then swings his foot out, taking out the thug's legs from beneath him and sending him crashing to the concrete. "Exactly," growls Batman. He smashes his boot down onto the man's face, knocking him out.
Batman raises his head to see Nightwing and the Gotham Knight standing amongst the other Blackgate men's unconscious forms. Off to the side stand the Arkham guards, looking rather stunned. Ignoring the guards, the three of them begin to drag the men over to an outside plumbing pipe and securing them to it.
"I've hacked into Young's email accounts," Oracle continues. "Two emails stand out. The first is a resignation letter, dated last week. Sounds like she was trying to get away."
Batman pulls out a pair of handcuffs. "And the second?"
"A message from the Joker, well, 'Jack White,'" answers Oracle. "It's a long thread, and she's begging him to stop the experiments, says it's too dangerous, he's not listening…let's see…random threats to her family and a couple of bad jokes…a picture of a dead baby, along with more threats…"
Having finished binding the last man to the pipe, Batman straightens. "Go on."
"He says, 'I'm coming for you, I want what I paid for.' And then a joke about wheelchairs. Lovely."
Nightwing's hands clench ever so slightly at that.
Batman shakes his head. "No mystery as to why she's so scared. Is there anything else?"
"No," Oracle says. "But I'll keep looking."
"Good," says Batman. "We're almost to the Arkham Mansion. We should have Dr. Young soon, and then we're going after Robin."
"Okay," Oracle replies. "Good luck."
The comm link cuts out, and Batman turns to the two Arkham guards. "You alright?" he asks.
The guards nod nervously. "Th-thanks," one of them stutters.
Batman doesn't answer as he grapples to the nearest building's rooftop.
"Stay safe boys," Nightwing says, giving a salute. He and the Gotham Knight follow after Batman, and soon they land on the roof of the Arkham Mansion.
Originally built as the residence of Arkham Asylum's founder, Amadeus Arkham, the old structure now holds nothing more than doctor's offices, a library, and the Records Room. Though still beautiful in its architecture, it's condition has suffered greatly over the decades. Moss and weeds have overtaken the grounds and outer walls, and the inside reeks of mildew and old plumbing. Having once been a greatness to behold, the mansion is now only another victim of Arkham's decay.
Batman leads Nightwing and the Gotham Knight to a gate that opens into the mansion's main ventilation system. Without a word, he tears it away and attached his grappling hook to the edge of the opening, swinging down into the darkness.
"Not gonna lie, I'm kind of sick of crawling through vents," comments Dick, bending over to peer down the air shaft.
"I'm kind of sick of Batman's general lack of verbal communication," Jason says irritably.
"Maybe it's a guilty silence," Dick replies with a shrug. "I doubt it, but one can hope. Since we should be going after Tim right now. At least, you and I should be."
Jason turns, gazing off in the direction of Intensive Treatment. "We could just leave," he says. "Bats is already down there; he wouldn't catch on for at least ten more seconds. That's plenty of time."
Dick smiles, but shakes his head. "Tempting, but Batman's probably going to need backup on this. Besides, he said we'd go after Tim once this is done."
"Right," snorts Jason. With a shake of his head, Jason swings down into the vent, closely followed by Dick.
The three of them move through the ventilation system quickly enough, and eventually drop into the west wing corridor of the building.
"Hey," the Gotham Knight whispers. He nudges Nightwing in the side and bobs his chin forward.
Nightwing and Batman turn their heads in the direction the Knight had indicated and watch as Officer Aaron Cash stumbles out of a room up ahead. A Blackgate thug emerges after him; in his hands is a shotgun, the barrel of which he keeps pressed into Cash's back.
"Keep moving!" the thug orders.
"Yeah, yeah," Cash mumbles in annoyance. "I'm going."
Two more men come out of the room, both carrying weapons.
Batman, Nightwing, and the Gotham Knight glance at each other, and then rush forward.
Cries of surprise erupt from Joker's men, but even with their weapons they prove to be an easy take-down for the Dark Knight and his partners. Within three minutes the thugs are subdued, tied up, and locked in a storage closet. Once he's satisfied that they won't escape, Batman turns to Cash, who holds the collected weapons the thugs had been using.
"Thanks," Cash says. He rubs the back of his neck, looking rather embarrassed. "I guess I did end up needing help after all."
"It would have happened to anyone," assures Batman. "Now, where is Dr. Young?"
Cash shakes his head, a worried expression creeping onto his face. "I'm not sure. We had just barely made it to the west wing when we were ambushed by eight of Joker's men. Somehow, they knew we were coming and were waiting for us." He shifts, adjusting his grip on the weapons. "I told her to run to her office and hide. I managed to take out a few of the men, but in the end I was just too outnumbered."
"How long ago did this happen?" inquires Nightwing.
"About twenty minutes ago or so?" Cash answers uncertainly. "I'm not sure. They kept me in that room for a while with some other Arkham guards."
"And where are they?" the Gotham Knight asks.
Cash averts his gaze, and a mournful sadness comes into his eyes. "They…didn't make it." He sighs. "Joker's men were taking me outside to kill me too, until you three showed up." Then he looks back at Batman, his eyes once again blazing with their usual determination. "But I need to find Dr. Young."
"Her office," Batman says. "Is that where she keeps her records?"
"Yes," replies Cash. "That's where we were heading before we were attacked."
"I need to get those notes before Joker does," says Batman. He frowns, gazing down the corridor as he thinks. "There's a possibility Dr. Young wasn't able to get to them in time. Which office is hers? I'd like to check and make sure they aren't still in there."
Cash points down the hall. "Turn the corner, and it's the second office on the right." He drops his arm and gives Batman a curious look. "What is so important about those notes anyway?"
"Joker wants them. That makes them important enough."
"Whatever you say," shrugs Cash. "Well, while you three are doing that, I'm gonna try the radio and take a look around. Maybe there are other guards nearby that can help out."
Batman nods. "Contact me if you need anything."
"Sure thing," says Cash. "And good luck."
"You too."
Cash leaves in the direction of the eastern wing, and Batman, Nightwing, and the Gotham Knight head to Dr. Young's office. The door is locked, but Jason picks it easily enough, and soon the three are inside, gazing about the cluttered room.
Stacks of files lay about the room in haphazard piles, along with dozens of miscellaneous books. In the middle of the room is a large desk, which is rather bare on its surface, except for a generic office computer and a few bottles of medicines and herbs. Beside the desk is a metal trash bin, from which a faint burnt smell emanates from. Bruce looks into it to see the charred remains of a thin pile of documents. Completely blackened, they're impossible to read.
"Cheery place," Jason mutters, gazing about the dimly lit office.
"Look," Dick says. He points to the far wall, in which a safe had been built into. The door to the safe hangs open, revealing only emptiness inside. "Someone already got to the safe. Which is where I'm guessing Dr. Young's research notes had been."
Jason makes his way over to the safe and pokes the door open even wider. "So the only question now is, who opened it?"
Bruce glances back at the office door they had just come through and the surrounding windows that face the hallway. "No sign of forced entry," he observes. "Whoever opened the safe knew the combination." He walks over to the computer and pulls up the security camera video history for the office. Jason and Dick come up to the desk as Bruce starts the video from the time stamp of about twenty minutes ago, and together they watch as Dr. Young rushes into the camera's frame. Opening the safe, she snatches a file from within it and pulls the metal trashcan over to her. She drops the research notes into the bin, and then grabs a box of matches from her top desk drawer. Lighting one, she tosses it onto the file.
Seconds pass, with Dr. Young simply staring at the notes, as though doing so would make them burn faster. Flames lick upwards, but they never leave the safety of the trashcan. Suddenly, two Blackgate thugs burst into either side of the camera frame and grab onto Dr. Young's arms, pinning them behind her back. She struggles against them, shouting insults and protests as she is dragged off screen. A third man hurries over to the trashcan and stomps out the fire. He leans down, and the look on his face is enough to see that he realizes the research notes are destroyed beyond usage. The man shouts something, and then moves out of the frame. Another second passes, and then Bruce ends the video.
Dick runs a hand through his hair nervously. "Well, at least she burned the notes."
"Yes, I'm sure Joker is kindly thanking her for her services as we speak," says Jason.
"He's going to torture the formula out of her," Bruce says grimly. "That's the only thing left he can do. We need to find her before he gets it."
Dick sighs. "Okay, so where do we look? She could be anywhere."
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Bruce turns back to the door leading into the hallway. "We might have our answer stuffed in the west wing's storage closet." He waves the boys forward and walks over to the door. "Come on, we've got a few questions to ask some Blackgate lowlifes."
/
The hood that had been pulled over Dr. Young's head is starting to itch…a lot. It also smells, but Dr. Young knows better than to complain as she is led out of the Arkham Mansion and across the grounds of the island. After what seems like at least ten minutes of walking, she is led down a staircase of some kind. Wherever they are now, it's much colder than it had been at the top of the stairs. Dr. Young wonders if they're underground – perhaps in a maintenance tunnel. She is pushed forward a few yards, and then turned to the right.
Finally, the hood is yanked from her head, revealing a simple iron door with a tiny glass window. Before Dr. Young can adjust her sight to the dimness to peer through it, a guard comes forward and unlocks the door, pulling it open.
"Get in there," the man holding onto her arm growls. He gives Dr. Young a hard shove, and she goes sprawling onto the floor of the room. An instant later the door clangs shut.
Dr. Young groans as she sits up, rubbing her arms against the chill seeping into her body. There's no furniture in the room of any kind, except for rows of shelves lining the walls to the left and right of her. They're mostly empty, save for a few empty plant pots and some rusty gardening equipment. The vague scent of mold and, oddly, what Dr. Young can only guess to be vomit lingers in the air, making her feel sick. Scrunching up her nose, she turns around to get a better look at her surroundings. Upon seeing what had been behind her she freezes, staring in surprise.
"Robin?" she breathes.
The boy is tied to a chair pushed to the back of the room, his arms wrenched behind his back and his legs securely bound. His uniform looks filthy, and he's missing his cape, boots, and utility belt. Wrapped around his head is a blood-soaked strip of cloth servicing as a rather poor bandage.
At the sound of the new voice, the messy head of hair lifts, revealing a pale, bruised face. Dr. Young sucks in her breath as the boy's gaze wearily latches onto hers; he looks incredibly young, especially for someone to be working alongside the Batman.
"Shit…" Dr. Young whispers, pushing herself to her feet and stumbling over to his side. "What the…what the hell did they do to you?"
"Who're…you…" slurs Robin. He licks his cracked lips, trying to swallow and wet his dry throat. The attempt isn't very successful.
"Dr. Young," she answers. Her hands immediately go to the ropes securing Robin's arms to the back of the chair and she begins tugging at them desperately. But as she pulls at the ropes enwrapping his left arm a horrible moan escapes the boy, and a closer glance shows her what is wrong.
"Your wrist…it's broken," she says in horror. "It shouldn't be tied back like this, it –" She clenches her jaw. "Did they do this?"
Robin shakes his head. "Fell," he mutters. "Hit my head too."
That doesn't do much to diminish Dr. Young's anger. Her fingers curl around the ropes. "Okay, I'm going to untie your arms, so prepare yourself – it's going to hurt."
Biting his lip, Robin squeezes his eyes shut and nods. Dr. Young works as quickly as possible to undo the knots, but every once in a while a small whimper emanates from the boy whenever she gets too close to the broken joint. By the time the bindings finally fall away, his face has taken on a sickly pallor.
Settling Robin's arms in his lap, Dr. Young leaves the broken wrist alone for the moment, unsure how to continue without any kind of medical supplies. She undoes the bindings holding his legs down and then straightens, gently tilting Robin's head up to get a better look at his injuries. He's still wearing his mask, but his eyes remain visible, allowing her to check them for signs of a concussion. Dr. Young pulls out a small flashlight from her scrubs' pocket and clicks it on; with one hand cradling the back of Robin's head, she flashes the light in his eyes. At first, Robin flinches away from the intruding brightness, but after a moment he adjusts and obediently looks into the light.
Sure enough, his pupils remain dilated. "Do you feel nauseous?" Dr. Young asks.
Robin nods. "Got a massive headache too."
Dr. Young turns the flashlight off and slips it back into her pocket. "Any ringing in the ears?"
Robin squints his eyes, as though remembering the answer to the question is more difficult than it should be. "At first…I think. It's not as bad now."
"Well, you definitely have a concussion," sighs Dr. Young. She frowns at the bruising peeking out from the edges of the left side of his mask. "What happened to your eye?"
"That…that was them," Robin murmurs. "I had an extra Batarang hidden up my sleeve…managed to escape after waking up the first time."
"With a broken wrist?" Dr. Young asks in disbelief.
A smirk pricks at the edge of Robin's mouth. "Yeah." He quickly sobers. "But they caught me before I could even get outside. The black eye was a warning."
Dr. Young grinds her teeth, outraged at the boy's treatment. "Bastards…" she mutters. "What else did they do to you?"
"They've pretty much left me alone since."
Shaking her head, Dr. Young turns her attention back to the broken wrist and carefully takes it in her hands. Robin flinches at the touch, but he doesn't try to pull away.
Her movements gentle, she turns the relatively straight wrist over, examining the swelling with a critical eye. "I'm assuming it had been at a pretty horrid angle when broken," she says. "Who set it?"
"Me," Robin answers. Dr. Young stares at him in surprise, but Robin gives a small shrug. "After I cut myself free, I knew it had to be done. So I set it." He grimaces. "Even though my headache and nausea had been a lot worse then."
Dr. Young's eyes catch sight of a shallow pool of vomit a few feet from where she's kneeling. She's not surprised to see it; it's an expected symptom for one suffering from a severe blow to the head to have, let alone a person who sets their own wrist while suffering from such a concussion. Giving Robin a sympathetic look, she rests a hand on his shoulder.
"So what're you doing here?" he asks, his voice faint. "I doubt Harley sent you just to be nice."
Dr. Young bites her lip. "Joker wants something from me," she admits. "I assume I'm just here to wait until he comes."
"You know what it is he wants?"
"Yes," Dr. Young says darkly. "But I won't give it to him, no matter what."
Robin nods, looking too out of it to respond. Dr. Young studies the boy's face momentarily before her eyes fall back to his left arm, which still lies limp on top of his leg.
"I need to splint your wrist, before any further damage is done to it," Dr. Young says. She glances about her for anything she might be able to use. Then she looks at the chair Robin is sitting in, and a sudden light sparks in her eyes. "The chair! We'll use that. Here…" She bends forward and takes Robin's good arm, wrapping it around her shoulders. Then she helps him down to the floor of the room and settles him against the wall.
"I can help –" Robin begins.
"Not a chance," says Dr. Young firmly. "Just sit there and rest." Grabbing the top of the chair's back with one hand and the edge of the seat with the other, she tilts the entire thing so that it's slanted at a forty-five-degree angle. Then she slams her foot down onto where the back connects to the seat, and the wood gives a loud crack, falling away.
Taking what had been the chair's back, she brings her foot down again, this time breaking the frame and freeing the two planks of wood that had made up the main part of the piece.
"Ah-ha!" exclaims Dr. Young. She holds up the two lengths of wood in triumph and kneels down in front of Robin. Setting them aside, she begins tearing off strips of cloth from the bottom of her shirt. Then she reaches for Robin's arm. "Now, hold as still as possible."
Careful not to jostle the wrist any more than necessary, Dr. Young secures the broken joint between the two planks of woods, using the strips of cloth to hold it in place. It doesn't take long, though by the time she finishes, Robin looks like he might throw up again. He doesn't though, and instead gives Dr. Young a grateful look.
"Thank you," he whispers.
Suddenly, the door to the room unlocks and opens, and Harley Quinn all but skips into the room, flanked by two guards. Dr. Young spins around at the loud entrance; upon seeing who has entered, she moves herself slightly in front of Robin.
"Hiya, doc!" Harley quips. "I just came down to let cha know that Mister J is on his way as we speak. He's very excited to talk to you."
"Both of you can go to hell," spits Dr. Young. "I won't tell that son of a bitch anything."
Hardly bothered by the response, Harley's lips stretch into a smile. "We'll see about that." Her gaze pulls away from Dr. Young and focuses upon Robin. "How ya doing, junior?"
Robin only glares in response.
Dr. Young's anger quickly fades to worry. "Quinn, you have to give me some medical supplies," she pleads. "He's in desperate need of proper treatment."
Harley turns up her nose in a rather pouty manner. "That's cute! Asking for help after insulting both me and my pudding."
Dr. Young cringes, but remains undeterred. "Please, Quinn."
"Sorry doc, no can do."
"He's just a boy!" Dr. Young exclaims furiously.
Something flickers in Harley's eyes at that. "Well," she says. "He's certainly not the first one I've had under my care." She gives a shrug. "He'll be fine – for now. You, on the other hand, are coming with us."
"No, she's not," snarls Robin. He shifts, trying to rise, but Dr. Young holds out a hand to stop him.
Harley laughs. "You are in no condition to argue, little birdie." Her attention flickers back to Dr. Young. "Time to go, doc."
The two guards that had come in with Harley walk forward. One of them places handcuffs on Dr. Young's wrists and yanks her to her feet, all but dragging her to the door.
"Hey!" Robin shouts, lunging forward. But the other guard swings out a leg, kicking the boy in the stomach and slamming him into the ground.
"Don't touch him!" screams Dr. Young. "Don't you dare touch him!" Struggling against the man holding her, she's pulled down the hall and out of sight.
The remaining guard stands over Robin, who is curled up in the dirt and gasping for breath. The guard raises his foot once more, but then Harley speaks out, making him pause.
"Oh come on, Mikey!" she says. "Mister J will be here any minute, and I wanna be out front when he arrives."
"What about him?" the guard grumbles, nodding down at Robin. "The doctor untied him; we should secure him again."
Harley waves her hand nonchalantly. "He ain't going nowhere. Send over Ricky and Milo to stand outside the door if it'll make ya feel better. But I'm losing patience – let's go."
Looking unhappy with her answer, the guard nevertheless follows Harley outside. The door clangs shut again, and the locks slide back into place. By the time Robin manages to push himself back up from the floor, two new guards stand outside, guns in their hands and their attentions fixed on the room's door.
Frowning, Robin settles back against the wall, frustration rising in him as he tries to think of a new way to escape.