Had she been anyone else, Kate would have been freaking out. She was in the back of a truck with no way to tell where she was going, or for how long she had been on the move.
But this was the plan. The Birds would be keeping close watch, if not following the truck. It wasn't that hard to spot after all. There would be a delay with them getting onto their bikes and following at a safe distance, but they had to be right behind her. All that was left was to sit back and wait.
It wasn't until she heard the shrill scream of the brakes that she felt the truck slow down. Then there was the sense of backing up and then halting again. Kate perked up, glancing around and seeing the same old walls of the truck. It was time to get into character.
The back doors swung open and a bright light nearly blinded her. Kate let out a terrified cry, holding her restrained arms up to shield her eyes. Damn, that was irritating. The light was partially blocked by them and she peered around her raised arms, seeing Lock-Up's towering body climbing into the back of the truck.
"Please, don't do this," she pleaded, trying to push herself away from the man, but her back was against the far wall. She couldn't go anywhere. "Let me go, please. Just let me go home."
"You are home," Lock-Up grunted at her as he came to stand in front of her. "Let me show you to your room."
He reached down and grabbed onto her arm. Kate shrieked as she thrashed her legs. Lock-Up just yanked her up off the bed of the truck, forcing her to clumsily stand on her feet. "Stop that," he barked at her before he pulled out a taser. Two metal prongs jutted out of it, a bolt of electricity dancing between them. "Keep calm, or I shock you right into a seizure, got it?"
Kate whimpered, but nodded her understanding. Internally, she seethed at the threat. It was like listening to a security guard bullying prisoners. They just had to act like an alpha male, or whatever bullshit they were spewing.
Satisfied with her meekness, Lock-Up dragged her to the back of the truck, dropping out of it, and landing with a thud on the ground. He hauled her out of the truck, laying her across his broad shoulder like he had done to Ralph at his house. He spun around to shut the doors to the armored truck one after the other.
This gave Kate a chance to see her surroundings. They were in some sort of docking bay, a metal door sealing them inside. The front of the truck was facing it, Lock-Up having backed his truck through the door and into this bay.
Kate found herself turned again as Lock-Up began walking away from the truck, still carrying her over his shoulder. The disguised woman had to turn her head to see where they were going, spotting a wide-open door. A chain link fence gate was pulled open, allowing the two of them through. Lock-Up stopped long enough to grab onto the gate and pull it back into place.
It was here he hauled her off of his shoulder, plopping her down on the ground. Kate stumbled a bit, her heels not allowing her to land properly. Lock-Up grabbed onto her upper arm, stopping her from collapsing to the floor. It also allowed him to yank her down the hallway they were in, dimly lit from a lightbulb in the ceiling.
The sound of their footsteps echoed off of the floor as they walked. Kate turned her head back and forth, trying to feign nervousness. Well, perhaps she wasn't pretending; she did feel nervous.
Eventually, they reached a door with a metal push bar at its middle. Lock-Up pushed it open and they immediately entered something that looked like an intake area for new prisoners. Kate had been in enough of them to know their basic layout.
Where the hell was she?
Lock-Up continued to lead her further into this place. Once they left the intake area, they were in a place filled with jail cells.
Oh, yeah, this was definitely a prison.
"Welcome to your new home," Lock-Up announced as he continued to drag her down the walkway. "You'll have plenty of company, some of whom you may already know."
Kate found out what that meant almost immediately. As they passed one of the cell, she saw someone inside, sitting numbly on a rotting mattress. It was only a couple of seconds, but she could see it was a man wearing a disheveled suit. There was a look of hopelessness, of numb acceptance on his face.
The next cell was of another man, looking just like the first one. The same could be said of the next two cells, though these men were dressed in either workout clothes or pajamas.
Then came a cell with a man Kate immediately recognized. Dressed in shorts that went past his knees and a wife-beater shirt, there sat Samuel Pierce, his eyes watching her and Lock-Up as they passed by. She had seen a picture of him in his case file, so she knew who he was.
The next cell had yet another man in a suit, but Kate also recognized him from the picture on his missing person's file. This was Erick Pence, who flinched away from the sight of Lock-Up.
One by one, she saw every person she had been investigating. Jack Dorsey, Donna Grier, Freddie Jackson, Ralph, they passed by them like a slideshow of victims she had been viewing for far too long. Each new person was in various states of desperation, a stark contrast to the first ones she had seen. It was like looking at a spectrum of despair to acceptance.
Finally, they reached a cell, one with its door wide open. It was then that Kate realized what was going on.
Lock-Up wasn't killing people; he was imprisoning them.
With a shove, the hulking man pushed her into the cell and then closed the door with a loud BANG. Spinning around, she had a look of terror on her face. Even from beneath the mask he wore, she could see the smirk on Lock-Up's face.
Then he held up his hands, one holding a key. The other he waved towards her, gesturing for her to come to him. "If you want your restraints off, you'll come here," he told her.
Meekly, she slowly approached the bars, holding up her restrained arms. The moment she was close, he reached between the bars and grabbed the restraints, shoving the key into a hole that she couldn't see. With a click, they came off, and Lock-Up pulled his arms back through the bars, taking the restraint with him.
"Leslie Kupp, you have been judged guilty of corrupting the law. Your sentence will be carried out here until you realize the error of your ways," Lock-Up announced. "You will receive three square meals a day. The rest of your time will be spent on self-reflection. When you come to terms with your actions, we'll discuss giving you more privileges."
"You can't do this!" she protested. "I have a family! Friends! They'll notice I'm missing!"
"You should have thought of them before you decided to pervert the law. Enjoy your stay; you don't have any other choice but to."
"A shocking twist in the Wayne/Fairchild murder case!" Jerri Prudence proclaimed. "It has just been revealed that the presiding judge, Judge Stanley Turnball, has been accepting bribes. An anonymous source sent what appears to be bank statements to the Daily Planet, which has just released the story just hours ago."
What fresh hell was this now?
"According to the source, Judge Turnball has been accepting payments, some as much as a hundred thousand dollars, for months now. Though it is unknown who has been paying these bribes, it has been confirmed that these payments were made to Judge Turnball's personal account and not given as campaign contributions.
"I, for one, am shocked by this latest bombshell from this story. Absolutely shocked."
Maggie just stared at the television hanging from the wall. A few of her officers were also watching, a few with case files under their arms, a couple with cups of coffee and half-eaten donuts, and one that just had their thumbs hooked around their belt.
"We'll be going to our panel now," Jerri Prudence said. "Allow me to welcome—"
"This just turned into a shitshow," Detective Allen grumbled next to the Commissioner.
"Correction: a bigger one," Maggie corrected. "It was already one with Wayne's association to the case." She resisted the urge to sigh. "Give me some good news, Allen."
"Wish that I could."
Great, what else was wrong? Ever since she became Commissioner, it was like all she ever heard was bad news. Lawyers were hamstrining them, catching officers on technicalities; suspects with weak alibis had enough evidence to support them being released; and now there was the Fairchild case and the media circus that circled it.
She was getting sick of that one.
"Montoya and I went to Wayne Manor and we found a footprint in the study where Wayne's gun was kept," Allen told her. "It was a partial, but it was pretty clear someone had been there."
"Gill, what to you make of this bribery scandal?"
"I don't think anyone was expecting this," Gill answered. "But it does present the prosecution with an opportunity. A new judge is going to be needed, what with the almost inevitability of Judge Turnball stepping down. This gives them more time to strengthen their case against Wayne if they had any weaknesses."
"Is it enough to suggest another person?" Maggie questioned.
"Well, considering the dust the print was made of looked just like the gravel in the driveway, my first instinct is to say no."
Well, that was something at least. Ever since Jerri Prudence had that one businesswoman poke holes in the Fairchild case, Maggie's phone had been hit with phone calls from some prominent figures in the city. Guess what they wanted to talk to her about. "We just need to confirm it then," she said.
"That's where we have a problem, Commissioner."
"What chances do you think that Bruce Wayne might be the briber here?" Jerri Prudence asked. "We don't know where the money came from, but if it was made by a wire transfer, surely that can be traced."
"That's an excellent point, Jerri," a woman agreed. "And it would be a bold strategy on Wayne's part. If he can prove those payments came from him, then he could make the claim that Judge Turnball is compromised in his favor and—"
"Whoa, whoa, Linda," Gill suddenly interrupted. "That doesn't make any sense. If Wayne was bribing Turnball, he wouldn't be in Blackgate prison, would he?"
"I don't think I'm following you, Gill," Jerri responded, a confused tone in her voice.
"Think about it. Would Bruce Wayne be sitting in a prison cell, or would he be in his penthouse suite if he was bribing the judge? I mean, if I was giving a guy money, I sure as heck wouldn't want to be sent to jail by that man."
"What's the problem?" Maggie asked.
"Seems like Wayne's daughter caught wind of our visit to Wayne Manor and pretty much cut off all cooperation between us and Wayne's people. If we want to get at that footprint, we're going to need a warrant."
That wasn't a problem so much as it was a complication. "Weren't we working on getting a warrant for Wayne Manor anyways? What's the situation with that?"
"It's sunk like the Titanic," a new voice answered. Turning their heads, Montoya was walking up to them. "Guess which judge was going to be signing the warrant."
The moment Montoya looked up to the television, Maggie couldn't help but groan. "Don't tell me it was Turnball."
"Well, we'll see what happens as we learn more details about these accusations," Jerri was saying. "And we'll have more after this commercial break on the Jerri Prudence Hour!"
"Which means just about any and every warrant and subpoena with his name on it is going to be frozen," Allen sighed. "We basically have to start over from scratch."
"And whatever judge we approach isn't going to like the fact we've been to Wayne Manor without a warrant to begin with," Montoya pointed out. "And I doubt some talking heads on the news are going to be justification enough for them to sign one either."
"Wayne's the prime suspect in a murder trial," Maggie responded. "We'll just use that as our justification."
"Assuming the judge doesn't think the evidence we've already collected is sufficient enough," Allen said. "This shitshow just keeps getting bigger and bigger."
Wasn't that the truth. "Well, put on your shit kicking boots because we have a job to do. If that footprint you found can confirm Wayne was the one to remove the gun, we just strengthen our case against him."
"And if it does the opposite?" Montoya inquired.
"Then we're really going to be neck deep in shit."
She was late. This was not a good thing.
Cassandra fumbled at the buttons on her shirt. She had been up quite late last night, making certain Turnball was about to have a rather bad several months in front of him. That had been satisfying.
She had gone through a number of media contacts her father had and found one with the Daily Planet. They weren't part of the Gotham media, and considering everything that group had done to demonize Bruce Wayne, she felt the people best able to report on this was someone outside of that group.
The Daily Planet didn't have the conflict of interest the Gotham media clearly had.
However, that wasn't the reason why she had woken up so late, her alarm going off for who knows how long. She had slept right through it somehow. Finishing off the last button on her blouse, she plopped herself on the edge of her bed and picked up a pair of shoes, shoving them onto her feet. She spared a glance at the clock on her bedside and grimaced. There was no way she was going to make it on time.
Standing up, she waited a moment to get used to the short heels she wore before she walked over to the nightstand and picked up her phone, removing the charging cord from it. Accessing it, she pulled up the number for Lucius Fox, stared at it for a moment, let out a sigh, then reluctantly made the call.
It rang three times before she heard an answer. "Good Morning, Cassandra," she heard Lucius greet her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I'm sorry," she immediately started. "I'm running a little late today."
"Is that right? And why are you running late?"
"There was a…family emergency I had to see to."
"What kind of 'family emergency'?"
Cassandra winced at that response. She could practically hear Lucius' dubiousness. No doubt that was a result of many years of hearing similar excuses from her father and the older man's tolerance for it was gone.
Though this was an excuse, it was entirely real. "Damian came to me last night. He's run from home and had nowhere else to go."
"Wait, wait," Lucius interrupted. "The little boy Bruce fathered? Is that who you're talking about?"
"Yeah, I am. I…I took him in last night."
"Took him in," he repeated. "That doesn't sound like an enviable position. Why did he run away, if you don't mind my asking?"
"He came to me with a lead on someone that is possibly behind my father's arrest. We were following up on it when we discovered a connection with the judge."
There was silence. "You're the anonymous source on that bribery story, aren't you? You two were certainly busy."
"Yes, we were."
There was a sigh. "Get to the office as soon as you can. We're going to need to have a talk about punctuality, especially if you're going to continue your current position. Your father's habit for tardiness has seemed to rub off on you."
"Thank you, Mr. Fox. I'll see you soon." Cassandra hung up the phone. She made one more call to the desk downstairs, telling them to have her ride ready. That just left one last thing to see to.
As she left her bedroom, the sound of her shoes clicking and clacking on the floor, she made a few adjustments to her clothes as she walked. She wasn't being the least bit quiet about it either.
Which was the intent. Before too long, the doors to the master bedroom flew open and Damian appeared, his hair a bird's nest of dark hair. He had a robe on, no doubt one belonging to their father as it seemed to swallow him up, the sleeves bunched up around his arms and the hem dragging on the floor. "Do you mind?" he snarled. "Some people are still trying to sleep."
Cassandra just gazed coolly at him. After they had done their work last night, she had brought Damian to the penthouse. For a short moment, he had stared at the place with fascination, right up until he wanted to know where he would be sleeping. The couch had been offered and that was the first instant of turmoil.
Suffice to say, Damian demanded their father's room, and he took it despite her protestations. While they had been out late last night, that fight was also a part of why they had gone to bed later than intended.
"I'm off to work," she told him flippantly. "You are to stay here until I get back. There is food in the fridge and cabinets, so make yourself something."
"That is a woman's job," the boy sneered. "Make me my breakfast before you go."
Cassandra stared at him. "You have hands, don't you?"
Damian blinked his eyes at her. "What does that—"
"Then you can make your own food. Now, I am late, so I have to be leaving. Your mother's assassins are no doubt searching for you, so you need to stay out of sight. No sight-seeing, or I will send you back to her with a ribbon and bow."
The boy's trademark scowl was on his face. "You will make me my breakfast, girl. It is not my fault you are running late. You should have planned better."
Oh, she was not in the mood for this. Now she was scowling. "I don't have time to bow and scrape for you."
"Then you better make time."
Alright, enough of this. Cassandra spun around and marched over to the kitchen. She opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a box of raisin bran and plopped it down on the kitchen counter. "Breakfast is served," she announced before she headed for the door.
"That is not breakfast!" Damian shrilly screamed. "I demand a balanced breakfast!"
Cassandra stopped in front of the front door, one hand on the knob. "If you want that, then make it yourself. Beggars can't be choosers, so either enjoy the cereal I have provided you, or figure out how to turn on the stove. Bye."
Before Damian could scream his fury, she promptly opened the door and stepped out, closing the door behind her. Now that had been mildly satisfying. Now onto the rest of her day. Cassandra sighed. She didn't look forward to this talk Lucius was going to have with her.
For perhaps the first time ever, someone left prison with a smile on their face. That person was Talia, the dark-haired woman smiling as she walked up to her car. Opening the back door, she slid into the back seat, her driver immediately driving them off when the door shut.
Last night had been exactly what she needed. She had been missing her Beloved's affection for these many years and she had received it in abundance. Prison had certainly made him pent up. He had enjoyed her as much as she enjoyed him.
The best part was waking up in his arms. That was something they hadn't done since he served her father. It was something she had desired since coming to Gotham. Unfortunately, it had come to an end when a guard announced they had ten minutes left. That didn't leave much time to get dressed and amuse themselves with each other again. Perhaps if she had waved some more cash around, it could have been arranged for more time. Alas...
Though the affection was greatly appreciated, that wasn't the only gift she was leaving with. She had received her Beloved's reassurance that he believed she was not the one behind this plot to incarcerate him. She knew his detective's mindset and he would follow each clue, each lead to their logical conclusion. Being presented with Damian's discovery of that blasted phone would have certainly led him to the same conclusion their son had come to. That he didn't believe it was relieving.
But now she had to figure out who had planted that phone. It had torn apart her family and she did not like that one bit. If she were to reunite with her son, she needed to find the perpetrator.
"Where do we stand?" she asked her driver, the last signs of her happiness vanishing from her face as she got to business.
"The prince is still with the Detective's ward," the driver immediately responded. "She has given him refuge in the Detective's apartment. We are keeping it under surveillance."
Talia nodded. This whole situation was making for strange bedfellows. Though she had encouraged Damian to interact with the girl, she never dreamed it would have led to this. Still, it opened the door for future possibilities should they emerge victorious from this situation.
Hopefully the girl wouldn't do anything to her child. Should something happen, she did not care if the girl was the daughter of Lady Shiva, she would exact revenge. Then she would go to her father and hope that he would…
Her father…
Now that was someone that might be able to help her with this sorry state of affairs. If there was anyone that could help, it would be him. His vast network of assassins could go places that she couldn't dream of. Though her Order was one of his many Fangs, it didn't hurt to receive more help. The case against Bruce Wayne was receiving substantial news coverage, so much so that it would have reached an international audience. At the very least, her father would have followed along.
It would be even better if he had performed his own investigation.
Of course, a phone call wasn't advisable. This situation, though exhausting and terrible, did not warrant an emergency call to her father, not like the time when the Black Glove had targeted her Beloved. No, this required an in-person visit. One did not remain in his position by exposing himself to the vast network of communication that existed in the world, where his very words were being actively sought by supercomputers and recording equipment.
Damian would be safe with the girl. Surely she would tell her Beloved and he would order her to care for him. That would ensure his safety. Still, she would keep a few of her Order nearby for insurance. One could never be too safe.
"Go to the office," she then ordered her driver. "Arrangement needs to be made for my impending absence from Gotham."
"Where do you intend to go, Princess?" her driver asked.
"I need to go see my father."
The driver jerked her head so that she could look at Talia better through the rearview mirror. There was a flash of surprise on her face that Talia saw, but then the driver steeled her features. "Yes, Princess," she responded. "The arrangements will be made."
Talia leaned back into her seat, crossing one leg over the other. The startled reaction from her driver spoke to inexperience, something she did not condone in one of her people visible to the world. They would need to be replaced for someone more appropriate for the role.
Glancing out the window, she saw Blackgate Prison. The road they were on had curved, allowing them to drive alongside it at a distance. Behind its walls, her Beloved was trapped.
The next time she came here, she would make certain she would be leaving with him.
