The room was what one would call intimate. Aside from the visitor center, where inmates could speak to said visitors, there were a few rooms right next to it for private conversations. Basically, they were used when a police detective wanted to interrogate an inmate without dragging them down to the nearest precinct.

It was this room that Bruce found himself in. There was a short table right in the middle of it, a metal bar on either side, each approximately one third of the way from the edge of the table. Bruce was handcuffed to one of the bars, sitting in a metal chair that scraped the floor every time he tried to get comfortable.

And on the other side of the table was Lois and Clark.

The three of them were complete opposites of each other. Bruce was in orange prison clothes, his face in dire need of a shave. The two reporters were well-groomed, dressed in professional attire, and no doubt had showered before coming here if their scented soaps were any indication.

Clark was currently playing with his tape recorder, making certain it was working. Lois just gazed at him sadly. It wasn't an "I'm so disappointed in you" look, but more of a "I'm sorry this is happening to you" look. Their silence made the room seem deafening.

But it was for a purpose. No doubt Blackgate had the room bugged. They had to be careful with what they said lest they give something incriminating. Bruce knew this. Lois and Clark knew this as seasoned reporters. They weren't going to give anything away.

"Alright, I think we're good," Clark announced, setting the tape record down between them. "This is Clark Kent and Lois Lane, and we're here with Bruce Wayne at Blackgate Prison. The date is October 8th, approximately nine in the morning."

"You look like you're having a rough time, Bruce," Lois remarked.

"I hadn't noticed," the imprisoned man grunted.

"I was surprised you were willing to talk with us," the dark-haired woman continued, ignoring his response, or just rolling with it, take your pick. "After all, you're blatantly ignoring the local press, which isn't going to endear you to them. Why talk to us, if I may ask?"

"That's easy: I'm guilty per any news publication in the city right now. Each one is gunning for the moment that I admit I'm guilty, so each and every question will be geared for that one goal. I've read your and Mr. Kent's work before, so I know you're professionals."

"And are you? Are you guilty?"

There was an apologetic look on Clark's face, but Bruce wasn't offended. For their audience listening in, Lois had to ask that question. She wouldn't be doing her job if she wasn't. "No, I'm not," he answered.

"Why don't you run us through what happened the day you found Ms. Fairchild?" Kent suggested. "In your own words, of course."

This was to give Kent an idea of the crime scene. Since access was restricted, he would want to get a first-hand account, which was his. Of course, the Kryptonian could literally hover outside of his office and use his X-Ray Vision to look at the room, but the police no doubt had cleared any vital evidence away.

"I entered my office and found her lying in the middle of the floor," Bruce said. "The room was a mess, as if there had been a struggle. I went to check her to see if she was alive, determined she wasn't, and ordered for someone to call 9-1-1. That's pretty much it until I was arrested."

The two reporters stared at him, Lois picking up a pen to write something on a pad of paper. "It's our understanding that there was security footage of two people entering your office in the early hours of the morning. The police clearly believe it was you and Ms. Fairchild. Your thoughts?"

"It wasn't me." At this, he spoke with determination.

"So where were you then? If you weren't at your office, what were you doing at this time?"

"Nothing that is anyone's business."

Clark hung his head slightly, shaking it from side to side. "There aren't any reports that you were enjoying one of your infamous party nights," he pointed out. "So everyone knows you weren't at a club that night."

"I hardly go out to party these days; I'm a family man now."

"So you claim," Lois commented. "A daughter, is that right? We couldn't find much on this girl, so it does make it hard to substantiate that claim."

"She's not one for the paparazzi."

"She can vouch for you though, right?"

Bruce shook his head. "She was with her friends."

"Meaning you were alone that night."

"...yes."

"Then what exactly were you doing?"

"Like I said, it's no one's business."

"It kinda is, Mr. Wayne," Lois refuted. "You are charged with murder and having a good alibi does remove you as a suspect."

That was a fair point, but what he was doing that night was not something for the public to know. "Suffice to say, there isn't any corroborating evidence to confirm my alibi, even if I was willing to say it," he answered.

The two reporters would know what he was talking about. Each of them knew what he did at night, but they had to ask regardless. Anyone listening would be curious if they didn't. "Then what about the murder weapon?" Lois asked, changing the subject. "That belonged to your father, did it not?"

"Unfortunately."

"If you didn't kill Fairchild, how did it show up at the crime scene?"

"I don't know," he answered truthfully.

"Where was it kept?" Kent inquired.

"In a gun safe at Wayne Manor."

Kent raised an eyebrow. "You aren't exactly known for being a gun enthusiast."

"The gun was my father's and he kept them secured when I was little. I never got rid of them and completely forgot they were there—until now at least."

"That still leaves you as the main culprit, I'm afraid, since you're the only one that knew they were there."

"Wayne Manor is currently being rebuilt," he pointed out. "Meaning there's plenty of construction workers around."

"Are you saying one of them stole the gun?" Lois questioned.

"Or at least someone posing as a worker. The manor is rather big and anyone can slip away at a moment's notice."

Suddenly, Lois reached out to the tape recorder, hitting the pause button. "Alright, off the record," she said. In response, Bruce's eyes sharpened, a scowl appearing on his face. Why the hell was she going off-script?

"How are you doing—for real, Bruce?"

"I'm in jail," he deadpanned. "So not very well."

"Then why call for us? Surely you have people working on this."

"Because Lucius thought it would be best if I got my version of things out there to compete with the 'Bruce Wayne is Guilty' narrative. A mutual friend pointed out you two were out there, so here we are."

Lois raised an eyebrow. "What friend? You don't have any friends."

She wasn't exactly wrong about that. "I'm certain that isn't true," Kent interjected, clearly trying to smooth things over. Lois hadn't been nice about her statement.

The dark-haired woman glanced at her colleague. "I've known this guy longer than you, Smallville, so I know what I'm talking about."

"It wasn't exactly a nice thing to say," he rebutted.

"But not inaccurate either."

Kent held up his hands in surrender, allowing his partner to return her attention to him. "So tell us what this is really about; honestly, Bruce."

"Like I said, it was Lucius' idea. Right now, the deck is stacked against me and I have to play my hand the best way I can. You're that play."

"And how can we possibly help?"

"You're accredited reporters with solid reputations. If you put out enough pieces to make people think that they should slow down their jump to conclusion, it might help."

"What, you couldn't find a reporter like that in Gotham?"

Bruce gave her a look. "Jerri Prudence."

Lois grimaced. "Fine, you have a point. Is the press coverage getting to you, or something?"

"I hardly care what they say about me," the dark-haired man grunted back. "They've been exaggerating my life since I was a child. They can call me murderer until their faces turn blue if they want. But right now, that's all anyone is hearing, and there is no way I'll get an impartial jury if that's all they can think about."

"So you basically want us to subvert the narrative—lovely." Lois slouched in her seat. "You do realize that we'll be putting a target on our backs by doing this."

"And when you're proven right, and I'm released, you can expect an exclusive," he reassured her. "In fact, I'll only speak with you, beyond this story even, the Gotham press be damned."

The reporters shared a look. Clearly they understood the implications of this deal. Admittingly, things didn't look good right now, but they had a rather enticing carrot dangling in front of their faces.

"Look, I'm not telling you to pull your punches," he added. "The last thing you need is someone to be convinced you're in my corner. All I'm asking is for you not to trumpet that I'm guilty like everyone else."

"That sounds fair," Kent replied.

"Then turn that recorder back on. You've got notes to take."


At one time, one could have considered Rex Calabrese a handsome man. His blonde hair and beard gave him a look reminiscent of his nickname, the Lion. Wrinkles creased his forehead, his skin clearly not receiving adequate treatment over the years of incarceration.

He had put on a little weight too, the hints of a gut hiding behind his orange jumpsuit. From behind bespeckled eyes, Rex—or rather, Leo—stared at her through bulletproof glass. Selina picked up the phone receiver and placed it to her ear, Leo doing the same.

"I wasn't expecting to see you again," Leo grunted through the receiver. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Paternal advice," she responded flippantly. She wasn't afraid of the recording devices being on; a few greenbacks into the right pockets took care of that. "It's something I found myself missing the last few days."

Leo raised an eyebrow at her. "I rather doubt that. Are you having a problem with this scheme of yours?"

"More like a hiccup. There are a couple of farmers holding up the process. I was wondering what you would—"

"Kill them and dump their bodies in the fields."

Well, that was straight to the point. "What, you don't want me to dig a hole first?" she responded sarcastically.

"It goes without saying." Leo leaned forward, his head nearly touching the glass. "Is this really why you came to speak with me?"

"I don't have any other reason to be in your company."

He stared at her, a lion stuck in a cage. Though she was safe, Selina felt like if the glass suddenly vanished, he would strike out at her—again, much like a lion in a cage, or rather a zoo exhibit. "This is basic business," he reprimanded her. "You better not have shown such indecision in front of the family. Weakness is not tolerated."

"Yeah, yeah, it's a dog-eat-dog world."

"Listen to me." Leo's face hardened. "You cannot show weakness. There are people just waiting for you to stumble so that you can be removed. Hesitate at your own peril. Now, you have some country boys who aren't playing ball. No doubt you've tried the honorable thing in offering to buy them out. They've refused. You probably even counter-offered and they still refused. Kill them and be done with it."

"But they have families," Selina growled back. "Wives, kids."

"All of whom are collateral damage. You're the one that wants this plan to work. I told you to drop the Shreck business. You didn't listen, so now you have to get your hands dirty."

"What happened to the good ol', tried-and-true method of intimidation?"

"Intimidation is for street-level thugs and punks. It's for the blacks and the browns and the yellows when they want to gang up on people. Real gangsters don't bother with such methods. They don't flash their guns around to be tough. When they pull them out, they are going to be used right then and there. Now quit acting like some loudmouth pretender and take what you want."

A pit formed in Selina's stomach. She had a feeling this was what her father would say, but to have it so bluntly laid out was removing all doubt. She hated the idea of killing off entire families; it just felt wrong to her.

But did she have a choice? If there was one thing Leo was right about, it was that she couldn't appear weak. She had proven her resolve after Vincent Callo and his boys went hunting down the Iceman, only to come back crippled or dead.

This was just so wrong.

"Is that all?" Leo asked. "Or do you have any other moral quandaries you wish to discuss?"

Yeah, better pass on that. Really, what else was she expecting? She should have known better; she did know better. "Sorry for ruining your recess time," she couldn't help but snip back.

"It's the best part of my day, especially with Wayne around."

That gave her pause. "As in Bruce Wayne?" she questioned.

"Is there any other Wayne worth knowing?"

Now, Selina was familiar with what was going on with Bruce Wayne. Claimed to have found a dead girl in his office, turned out he was the killer, and now he had been arrested and sent to jail for it. She hadn't known he was being held in Blackgate, though.

It seemed she had another reason for coming here.


"So run this by me again. We have Wayne and Fairchild in this office. Where do they go, when do they get there, how do we end up with her in the middle of the room getting shot?"

"There's a number of ways this goes down," Diane Weiss replied. "We know they started arguing, Fairchild pulls out her phone, then Wayne slaps it out of her hand. We believe she runs into the bathroom then, where Wayne breaks the door down, smashes her face against the mirror and then takes her back into the office."

Van Dorn nodded her head. "Then where?"

"Well, if I was Wayne, I'd probably thrown her across the desk. We found a lot of his desk stuff on the floor. Then after the desk, most likely around the room."

"Do we know this is how it happened or are we guessing?"

Diane shrugged her shoulders. "It's a lot of guesswork right now. Even the cops haven't quite narrowed down how the beating went."

"Well, we need to have the order set. Green will poke holes during the entire presentation unless we know exactly how it went down, step by step. Now let's run through it again."

Kate watched as the team went through the events of Vesper Fairchild's murder. It was a morbid thing, but they needed to have every corner cleared, every rock overturned, and every possibility accounted for. All it took was for one shred of doubt and the case would unravel.

Or so the theoretical version went. A lot of people believed Wayne was the killer, so that was in their corner. Perception was a powerful weapon if used correctly.

But she wasn't here to see the DA and the ADA go through the Wayne case. She only found herself watching because a lot of her fellow lawyers were watching too. There was always a big case going on, but very few reached the levels the Wayne/Fairchild case had. No way was Van Dorn going to let a conviction this big slip through her fingers. It could very well win her the next election alone.

Leaving the audience, Kate headed for her desk, setting her purse down. She put on a show of turning on her computer, but she was searching the room, specifically for Ralph's office. The door was closed, the blinds down, indicating he either wanted privacy or wasn't there. Obviously it was the latter in this case.

Seeing as she wasn't the focus of anyone at the moment, Kate left her desk, her heels clicking and clacking across the floor. She headed for Ralph's office, slipping out a lock pic case hidden up her sleeve. Anyone that had an office usually locked it up when they left for the day, the only other person able to enter being the janitor.

Opening the case, she pulled out a pic just as she reached the door. Sliding it into the lock, she worked the tumbler before unlocking the door. Opening it, she slipped right into the office, closing it quickly.

Alright, it was time to get to work.

Though there was a large filing cabinet in the corner, Kate had no reason to go rifling through it. Instead, she went right for the computer. Striking the power button, she waited for it to boot up, then the log-in window to appear. She typed in Ralph's username and password, something she obtained from the man one day when he had forgotten something and called her to log-in and email it to him. The brunette had written the information down because you never knew if you were going to need it for a rainy day.

Once in, she went right for his case files. As expected of an ADA, he had hundreds of them. That's where a flash drive came in handy. Now, while she was favoring not bothering with the recent cases, it was best to be thorough. So she copied them all, downloading them onto the drive. It went without saying that this was going to take a few minutes.

While that was going on, Kate decided to run a search. So far there had been tenuous connections between every person kidnapped so far, so she wanted to see if any of those connections included Ralph. She started with Donna Grier since it was most likely the two of them had seen each other in court at some point.

Because of the download, the search took a moment, but eventually a new window appeared with a few files in them. There were twelve in total. Opening the first one, Kate found a case file, one in which Grier was the defending council. So there was at least that connection. Scanning through the file, it was a plea deal for a drug offense. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Closing the file, she checked another one and another one. Both were plea deals for various offenses. However, the next file she checked got her attention.

The moment she saw Samuel Pierce's name, she felt she was onto something. This one had also received a plea deal, one for two years for a illegal gun possession charge. Seemed kinda light, but perhaps it was a first offense.

Closing the window, Kate then did a search for Pierce. Again, the download slowed it down, but eventually she got a result, this one with three cases. Opening the first, she found the previous file she had seen, confirming her first offense hypothesis. So she opened the second and third, again finding plea deals for each one, the accepted sentence going for a couple of years each.

Seriously? For repeated illegal gun possession offenses? Hell, by the third time you were at least double digits in your sentencing. Ralph was really shortchanging here. Then again, Grier could have played hardball during negotiations and got the lighter sentences.

This did at least confirm that Lock-Up was going for specific people connected in some form or fashion. That helped narrow down the list they had for who would be the next target. Checking her download, she saw it finally completed. Ejecting the flash drive, she placed it in her blazer pocket before shutting down the computer. Heading to the door, she slowly cracked it open, searching for anyone that may look her way. After seeing none, she slipped out of the office, making certain to lock the door before closing it behind her. Then she confidently walked back to her desk.

Hmm, who knew breaking into one of the offices here would be so dang easy? In broad daylight too.


Following his interview with Lois Lane and Clark Kent, Bruce expected to be led back to the general population. That's how it started as well until another guard stopped them, said something to the one he was with, and then he was redirected.

That redirection led to the visitor's center. Great, someone else was here to see him. He doubted it was his lawyer since they would've afford some sort of private room like the one he just spent some time in. Maybe it was Lucius and Cassandra again? He hoped not since being held in chains was not how he wanted to be seen.

Much to his surprise, a rather attractive face greeted him as he took a seat behind the bulletproof glass. A bemused look was on the face of Selina Kyle, the woman dressed rather stylishly. A black coat swallowed her up, a barrette placed strategically on her head. She looked as if she belonged in a fashion catalog rather than in a prison.

Why was she here?

Selina raised a hand up and picked up the phone receiver, placing it next to her ear. Bruce dumbly stared at her until she nodded her head towards his own phone. Picking it up, he heard her say, "So good of you to join the conversation."

"What are you doing here?" he couldn't help but ask.

"I heard you were having some legal troubles and I thought I'd come see you," she answered. "After all, you were the one that challenged me into hunting you. I can't help but say that you made it pretty easy to find you."

The gala. That's what she was referring to. That seemed so long ago, at least a month by his count. "Can't say I was expecting this to happen when I said that," Bruce said in response.

"Beggers can't be choosers." Selina kept up her smirk, but then suddenly lost it. "How are you doing, Bruce? Really."

The dark-haired man was in no mood to talk about his feelings, especially to an acquaintance. As Batman, he could ignore the question; as Bruce Wayne, he could flippantly play it off. He much preferred the former over the latter at the moment.

He sighed. "It's been tough," he forced himself to admit. "I hate it here."

"I can't imagine there's a lot of people that do like it here," Selina pointed out. "And a lot of people on the wrong side of the tracks see this more often than your privileged behind."

Bruce stared at the woman through the glass. "Is this what you're here for? To point out privilege?"

"A lot of rich people have no idea what it's like in a real prison and not that Club Fed you all summer at. Consider this a learning experience; feel what all of us unfortunates feel."

The billionaire purposefully looked her up and down. "I would hardly put you in the unfortunate category, Selina. I've seen you in rather expensive dresses mingling with even richer men."

"I didn't always have money," she countered. "What is it you wealthy people say? Oh yes, I'm new money."

"If you're done making fun of me, I need to be going."

The amused look was back on the woman's face. "Go where? Did you make some new friends? A good piece of advice: don't drop the soap around them."

And they were onto prison jokes, ones that weren't all that funny when one was actually in a prison to determine their veracity. Bruce began to move the receiver away from his ear and hang it up.

"Hey, hey, don't go," Selina whined. "I'm done making fun of you—for now. There is something I would like to talk to you about."

Bruce held his pose, his hand midway from hanging up the phone. He sighed again and then placed it back against his ear again. "What is it?"

"I just want you to know that I don't think you did it."

Well, that was actually nice to hear. It was one thing to hear about it from friends and family, but Selina was practically a stranger. Just hearing those words felt different coming from her. "I appreciate that," he replied, a grim smile appearing on his face.

"I know you're not going to have a good time here, but I am willing to help you anyway I can."

"I'm not certain how you can do that."

"I know some people on the inside. I can ask nicely on your behalf for them to look out for you. You're going to need protection, someone to have your back until you get out of here."

Faintly, Bruce wondered who Selina could have known. Though she admitted she hadn't always had money, did that mean she had some acquaintances that were thrown into prison? "That's nice of you."

"Of course, these services don't come cheap."

Naturally they didn't. "And what am I going to have to pay for these services?" he asked.

Selina adjusted herself in her seat, leaning forward. "I have a business proposition for you."


It was becoming increasing obvious that Max Shreck had nothing to do with the murder of Vesper Fairchild. The investigation at this office had revealed nothing. While it was possible any links between Fairchild and Shreck weren't kept there, it was more likely they had limited interaction.

Which meant Shreck was another dead end. That was becoming more and more frustrating. First, the shoeprint went nowhere. The Batclan hadn't heard from Talia, whom Damian claimed was looking into Lex Luthor. Now Max Shreck was crossed off the list of someone wanting to frame Bruce Wayne.

So what did that leave them with? There were still the text messages. The cloned phone they believe sent them was off, unfortunately, so the computer couldn't trace where it currently was. Chances were it was destroyed the moment its use was no longer needed.

What the hell were they doing wrong?

Batgirl couldn't help but feel like they were missing something. Of course, they were missing something. They would have found it and her father would be free by now. He would have found it already, she was certain of it.

Of course, her frustrations weren't just hers.

"Surely there is more than what you've found," Damian proclaimed. "I will be disappointed if you tell me otherwise."

"This is all we've found," Bluebird deadpanned.

Damian glared at her, silent all the while. Then, "I am very disappointed."

"Yeah, well, so am I."

"This isn't as easy as finding a smoking gun," Spoiler pointed out. "The police already found that. A lot of this is ruling out what it wasn't before we get to what it really is."

"Is that right?" the brat snapped. "Then let's try it your way. What this isn't: my father is a murderer. We can rule that out as a possibility."

"And how would you know?" Bluebird lazily asked.

"Because I know my father."

"Bzzzt, wrong answer. Unfortunately, our courts don't work on 'trust me, I know my daddy.' There has to be proof."

"He was out as Batman during the murder," Batgirl said. "There are reports of his patrols throughout the night. Unfortunately, we can't use that since no one knows that he is Batman aside from us."

"Which leaves those two people on the security feed entering Wayne Enterprises," Spoiler added. "The woman is probably Fairchild, but we don't know who the man is. The footage isn't good enough to positively identify him."

"But we know he was at Wayne Manor," Bluebird said. "We found that shoeprint of his in that study, the one with limestone and rust."

"And no place in the city with those two minerals," Damian rebutted. "Find something else."

"And what would you suggest?" Bluebird countered. "Believe me, I'm all ears."

The boy glared daggers at the blue-haired girl, but had no other response was forthcoming. "That's what I thought," Bluebird said triumphantly. "Quit being impatient because it's not gonna do anything to help your dad. We've checked out the crime scene; we checked out Wayne Manor; we even checked out that creepy Max Shreck guy, and we've come up with bupkis."

An alarm went off, causing the four of them to look to the computer. "Incoming file transfer?" Spoiler questioned.

"We're receiving audio from Shreck's office," Batgirl replied, striking one of the keys on the keyboard. A moment later and Shreck's voice filled the Batcave.

"—seven sounds like a lucky number. The more places that go up…the higher the likelihood we…get our land."

"You can't be serious," Spoiler whispered lowly. "They're really going to go through with it."

"I was talking with the gas guys," Shreck's son replied. "What we'll need are places that have the old piping. There are flaws in them we can exploit."

"Makes sense. What places do you…have in mind?"

"Most of 'em are in East Gotham. You know that old factory on Shuster?"

"The one with the swordfish?"

"That's the one. There's nothing there but cobwebs and rotting fish."

"What's the next one?"

"A project on 74th. Just filled with gutter trash. No one will miss 'em."

"74th?" Bluebird repeated sharply. "That's where I live!"

Spoiler's hands rose to her mask-covered mouth. Damian just stared at the girl while Batgirl turned her head to regard her. "These maniacs!" Bluebird shouted. "How could they?!"

"They're talking about blowing up parts of the city," Damian said drolly. "Clearly they don't care for collateral damage."

"I'll show them collateral damage," the blue-haired girl seethed.

"Shuuuush!" Batgirl hissed. "There are more locations."

"—that gas station on Englewood is perfect too, since it's got all that gas as well. We can turn the entire block into a fireball," Shreck's son was saying. "Then there's this street by the old Monarch Theater that went up."

"A street?" Shreck repeated.

"The one those Waynes got killed on."

"Ah, Crime Alley. Heh, wonder how ol' Brucie boy will feel…when that place goes…up."

"Guys, I don't think we're gonna be able to cover this," Spoiler said softly. "All of those places are far apart. And if they go after them all at the same time…"

"We won't get to them all," Batgirl finished for her. "We're going to need some help."