Author's Note: I hope everyone is having a Happy New Year. Take care out there and celebrate within reason. Hopefully this chapter helps with the hangover. Enjoy.

Atop Mt. Crumpit

An open door was an invitation, but it was always polite to still knock. Just because a door was open did not mean anyone was in the room behind it. It did allow you to see in, though, and Montoya took that time to look in before giving a few knocks on the open door.

From behind her desk, Commissioner Maggie Sawyer glanced up then returned to the documents she was going over. "Detective," the commissioner greeted.

Back straightening, Montoya stepped into the office, an unfolded piece of paper held in a transparent evidence bag. This has come in recently, and all in the know had come to the same conclusion that this needed to get to the commissioner ASAP.

"We received this a half hour ago. It's been tested by forensics already so we're still waiting for preliminary results." Montoya stood in front of the large desk as she laid the evidence bag on it. Stepping back, she fell into a familiar stance, one with both of her hands behind her back. Some would call it standing at attention, but for her it was a way to assert control over something that had all the potential to get out of control. Considering what happened last time something like this arrived at the department…

The short-haired, blonde commissioner stared at the evidence bag, regarding it like it was a live cobra. With all the caution of a snake handler, Sawyer held the bag up and read what was on the unfolded piece of paper. Montoya had stared at it long enough to know what it said, the images of the pastes on letters still fresh in her memory.

The first artist to sign his work he made dinos and amphora that stand the test of time.

No comma, and whoever made this went out of their way to find a period. This was a combination of newspaper and magazines that was put into this, cut out painstakingly, and glued onto this paper. This wasn't the first time the department had to deal with something like this. There had been riddles once, something that stood out from the death threats, ransom notes, and trolling that came in.

Sawyer read it more than once, and when she spoke, "Are we still looking at the envelope?"

Montoya shook her head. "This came in from the Gotham Museum of Art. The curator found it in his office. He might be a little paranoid, but he came down here as soon as he could. We've already checked for his fingerprints." No need to say that the museum curator had physically touched this note and needed to be eliminated as a suspect.

The commissioner nodded, turned the bag so that it tilted to its left. A frown creased her face. "Does it seem a little off to you?"

Sawyer had picked up on that. So had the other detectives. They were familiar with Edward Nashton's riddles, each one having a certain flow to them. This, in comparison, seemed a bit blunt. Like it was hitting you on the head with how obvious it was.

"It doesn't seem to be his style. All the same, we have officers on route to Arkham to double check that Nashton is still in custody and not getting out of his cell," the detective informed.

An accepting nod approved. Even if this didn't feel like it, it nevertheless was a hallmark of the self-styled Riddler, announcing his intentions and hinting at what he was going to take or do before he did it. It was up to everyone else to figure it out and do so hopefully in time.

If it wasn't Nashton, then it was a copycat. If it was a copycat, there was a good chance to stop whatever plot was afoot in their city. While the list of maniacs this city made seemed to grow longer by the year, it was still a short list and those that tried to follow in their footsteps were missing something integral.

They were so much easier to stop.

To her credit, the commissioner maintained her composure while setting the evidence bag back on her desk. "Keep me notified of anything new. When our officers get back, have them report to me directly. Let's try to keep this one quiet, it's the holidays and we don't need to start a panic. If it's the best case, it's some creep trying to get attention. Worst case, I don't think I need to say anymore."

Montoya nodded, retrieving the evidence bag. Hopefully it was just some nut trying to get a rise out of them; however, experience urged them to fully investigate this. Gotham was just trying to enjoy another Christmas, a time of year that had so far had the least activity in regards to crises. The regular burglaries and suicides were far more preferrable.

It did not need to be said how with Nashton everything had fallen under the radar, and had remained that way until it had been too late. Not this time, not again.

Turning away, Montoya left the commissioner's office, leaving the door open behind her. If Sawyer had wanted it closed, she would have asked. The detective was keen to get this letter of theirs back to forensics for further testing. As she moved with long strides, she passed by a young woman in a wheelchair—Barbara Gordon. The former commissioner's daughter.

She gave a nod and a warm smile to the young woman who reciprocated. Barbara's eyes happened to glance down at the evidence bag, but the detective was moving fast enough that that would have only allowed for a second's worth of a look. Montoya hoped that the young Gordon did not see anything, and if she did, then she would keep the information to herself.

In the back of her mind, it occurred to her that Barbara was also in forensics. Hmm, she might end up on the case anyway. If so, then she would be instructed to keep it on the down low.

Confident, Montoya continued with a day that hopefully would not have anything else to add to it.

Selina had found herself enjoying the finer things in life, and much to everybody's surprise, she liked it. Like your typical housecat, she had found a new turf and had claimed it all for her own. Her territory. Her crime family. Her wealth.

But there was something to be said about the skintight, black outfit that most knew to belong to the one and only Catwoman. Consider it her power suit if you would. Lately, it was what she had been wearing outside of the high end designer clothing that sometimes felt like you were wearing air. A lot of troublemakers had decided to make trouble at her construction site, and she had needed to put them in time out.

It was annoying. Beware the annoyed housecat for when they struck, it would be with the brutality of their much larger cousins.

Now, thanks to those troublemakers, word was spreading to the investors, and of course Bruce Wayne's phone call could not have come at a worse time. She knew who to blame for this, there could be no other. It had to be Max, salty that someone else was getting his prize.

She knew that this couldn't have been easy—wouldn't have been. No one complained about fairness like rich people, the irony. Stealing the man's dream was going to be difficult, and Max was not one to give up without a fight. These were his troublemakers, people she had been assured were called The Helpful Union Guys.

The name, it was so on the nose. Now, how was she going to handle this? A call to the inner circle, naturally.

"I don't know what lawyer tricks you need to pull, but you're going to need to pull them," Selina told the stoic, diamond up his ass consigliere. Chris could shove it with his stoicism; it wasn't helping. "Thanks to them, we have Bruce Wayne breathing down our necks and wanting to pay the site a visit. We're going to have to give it to him if we don't want to scare him off, but I want this sabotage problem handled yesterday."

"What precisely do you need me to offer them?" Chris Ward asked, his face hard as stone. "These are a group of individuals who aren't intimidated easily."

"And who are we again?" Selina snapped, glaring at the lawyer. "Union they claim, but they're mob all the same. You should be able to handle that. Give them the only warning we'll ever give."

"Threats?" Chris inquired, only raising one eyebrow as he stood as tall as a beanpole. Always needing to tower, this guy.

Now her glare was a sneer. "Promises. How are we going to back them up?" Here, she turned to her cousin, Antonia. The woman who had to be around her age had taken a page from Chris' instruction manual on being stoic and was returning her look for look. "That's where you come in. If Chris can't sweet talk them, as soon as he leaves, you go in and end the problem. Permanently."

A blink of the eyes was the only surprise betrayed by the Calabrese, but then the posture straightened and a sharp nod was given. Antonia understood, and it seemed she agreed with that course of action.

"Oh wow, a bloodbath! Count me in!" cheered the only male cousin Selina knew herself to have. Nick here was as relaxed as anyone could be in an organized crime outfit. Hell, he was slouching in a chair, practically sinking into it. Legs were up on a coffee table, propped up there and completing the look of complete relaxation.

"Not so fast, you," the leather-wearing woman quipped in interruption. "There's another matter we need to deal with, and that one is with the regular enterprises. Tell me what you found out. Some of ours are in the morgue and people are watching."

She could see Chris shifting where he stood. Even he knew how bad it was for that deal with the Triads to go south. Both the merchandise and the money were missing, and important people wanted answers now.

Nick waved a hand dismissively. "I've been snooping, just like you asked. Really boring, you know? Now, getting to see big sis in action—"

"And now you're on a parental block. Keep to the topic before I spank you and no, it will not be kinky," Selina interrupted. One of her hands gripped the whip in which she would fulfill that painful punishment.

"Fine, fine, I heard something about a new gang," Nick sighed melodramatically. "They keep it small on purpose, going for quality over quantity, but the thing is no one knows how they recruit, if they even do."

It was a start, at least, and Selina had her way around the criminal underworld. While the thrill of the hunt and the chase was what she lived for, finding out information about reclusive individuals paid off in dividends later when it turned out they were going to be the newest addition to Arkham. Information is what you needed to keep your head down and out of the mess.

It also meant that there were subtle clues as to how to find those involved. They tended to be the same clues no matter who was involved. Before bringing those guns out, she needed to hear more from Nick because the little rat was still withholding. Whimsical he might come off as, the kid had some brain cells. Just enough to get this far, but that was enough.

"Any names thrown about? Something to strike terror in the hearts of beta men," the thief turned kingpin drawled. Slipping her hand away from her whip, she extended it to its rightful place: stroking the fur of Isis. The black cat purred in contentment in response, signaling all was right with the world.

"Funnily enough, there is a name making the rounds," Nick remarked. "You are not going to believe this one."

"Try me," Selina deadpanned.

Answering first with a smirk, Nick let the suspense build before bestowing the fabled name. "Scarface."

A few heartbeats passed before a snort. "Really? Scarface? Somebody has a pair," the black-haired woman retorted.

Despite the contempt, she wasn't kidding about the pair. There had only ever been one Scarface, and that had been Al Capone. Like with the jersey numbers of certain players on certain sports teams, a nickname could also be retired. Capone had made that name legendary. That some new upstart was claiming it now exposed a fragile ego barking out loud to make its self-importance known.

Nick gave a shrug of his shoulders. "That's what's been floating around. Some of the smarter guys are keeping their distance because of that."

And they would. Mobsters were like housewives in that they loved gossip. Sometimes they were even worse.

"So a new player wants to act big, hmm? I suppose we should give them a formal Gotham welcome followed by eliminating them from the gene pool. You're going to be with me tonight, Nick." Selina stood up to her full height, leaving Isis a little unsatisfied with the abrupt end to her petting session. The feline, though, picked up on all the subtle cues and took the chance to get up and leap onto one of her human's shoulders.

"Oh? And what pray tell are we going to do?" her cousin drawled out, wiggling his eyebrows.

"We are going bar hopping," the not quite retired thief threw out.

"And you're looking for?" Chris interjected.

"Simple. Guys who come into money are quick to spend it. I highly doubt the crew running with this Scarface are any different. So, we're going to the one place they are guaranteed to flash a little of our cash, and you can count on it that they will spend it on booze," Selina explained. "Nick is just going to be finding out who's doing the spending, and I will be the one to get some answers out of them."

"Don't you—" the lawyer began.

"In this, I am much better suited than you," she interrupted. "And you have some helpful union guys to convince to stop with their sabotage. If old Daddy Rex was still around, he'd agree to your part in handling things minus the convincing. Has my way led you astray yet?"

Silence could be worth its weight in gold, especially when it could only say that you were right.

The BatCave was just as welcoming as ever. You had to crawl through a literal sewer to get to it, but once there, you got the full experience of damp air, the ever-present sound of rattling chains that dangled from the ceiling, and the bright fluorescent lights that kept this place going.

As Stephanie entered the lair, Harper closing the door behind them, they glanced around at their digs before they spotted the super computer, which was on. Was it ever really off? Perhaps not since the third member of their team followed directly in her mentor's footsteps.

She was their captain, assassin-taught, Bat-mentored, and more socially stunted than a rock.

She was Cassandra Wayne.

Oh yeah, forgot to mention she was the daughter of the wealthiest man in the city.

Who also happened to be the Batman.

Some girls had all of the luck.

And speaking of luck, Cassandra was on the second level, sitting right in front of the computer. It hadn't been all that long ago that she had been forced—by edict of the Bat himself—to sit in front of that computer and do little else. It had to be a humbling experience for someone of her level.

The two girls found the staircase that led up to the next level and climbed it, making their way to the computer. They came to stand on either side of their captain, looking up at the large computer screen.

"So, Captain, what are we doing tonight?" Harper asked.

"The same thing we always do," Cassandra answered, not even sparing the blue-haired girl a glance.

"Try to take over the world?" Stephanie suggested helpfully.

This caused the dark-haired girl to actually look towards the blonde, Harper shooting her a smirk over their leader's head. They had gotten into the habit of trying to throw Cassandra off of her game with pop culture references. That's right, they were on a mission to integrate a Bat into the realm of having some kind of social life. One day soon, they were all going to walk the streets together and pretend to be your average teenage girls.

After that, well, the world would be their oyster.

"Why would we want to take over the world?" Cassandra questioned, just staring up at Stephanie.

"Because that's what two animated mice would do," the girl replied, keeping a straight face.

"Animated…mice…?"

"Yep."

"This is one of your TV shows, isn't it?"

"Yep," Harper chimed in. "And you should really see it. We got this big screen right here, we could do it here."

Cassandra turned her head to show her disapproval to the blue-haired girl. "This is not some entertainment system. It's a highly advanced computer system."

"With an internet connection and only missing a streaming service subscription."

"What about DVD?" Stephanie pointed out.

"Oh, right, DVDs."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "You two are messing with me."

"Just a little," Harper grinned. "But I'm not kidding about watching something on this monstrosity of a computer."

"...only if you're good."

The two girls perked up. That hadn't been a no. Were they starting to wear their leader down? It had only taken the better part of a year! World meet oyster!

But, like all good things, it had to come to an end. Becoming serious, Harper then said, "Well, if you want us to behave, then how's this for starters: this afternoon, Steph and I came across this incident at a basketball court."

"What happened?"

"There was this guy getting loaded up into an ambulance. The two of us scouted the scene afterwards and we didn't see any signs of a shooting or anything. Hard to tell if there was a struggle or not either; the place is pretty active with neighborhood guys playing hoops. But, we did see the guy getting loaded into the ambulance. He had something on his face."

"And that something was?"

"A word," Stephanie answered. "It was abuse."

Cassandra spun her chair around to regard the blonde girl. "Abuse?" she repeated.

"Yeah. Just seemed weird, ya know? We weren't close enough to determine if it was a tattoo or a brand, if it was recent or old or not."

"That's not a lot to go on," she remarked.

Well, the girl was right about that. "It could be the first of something, or one in a line of assaults," Stephanie suggested.

"Maybe. Or it could be nothing at all."

"Well, we do have this giant computer," Harper pointed out. "Maybe we can set it up where it will track similar assaults going forward."

That was when a sharp beeping sound was made, interrupting their conversation. Someone was trying to hail them, the equivalent of a phone ringing. Automatically, Cassandra hit a button on the keyboard. "Batclan," she answered.

There was a moment's pause before, "It's Oracle," came.

Harper couldn't help but frown. Apparently the old Batclan members were a little salty that they were using their group name, one they had given up when Nightwing shut them down. They had heard this through the grapevine and Cassandra made it a point to address them as such, especially when contacted by the older members. It was a little petty on her part, but Harper was on her teammate's side. They had all left their former team for various reasons; they needed to get over it.

"Just passing the word along that the GCPD got a riddle today."

And that frown became a scowl. There was only one guy that did riddles and that was the P.O.S. Riddler. Harper really didn't like that guy.

"Can we see the riddle?" Cassandra asked.

"I'm sending it over to you right now. I've also checked Arkham and the Riddler is still under lock and key. Doesn't mean he can't get his riddles out, but for now we have him under surveillance."

"Is everyone else getting a call about this?" the dark-haired girl inquired.

"Yeah. We don't need another city-wide crisis from this guy, so better safe than sorry."

That was completely understandable to Harper. And now she wasn't alone to face the jerk. She had a budding detective and Stephanie's mental database of trivia. Between those two, they should be able to break down whatever riddle was coming their way.

Music played in the background. The source was a radio, one with CD playing capabilities. It was an old radio, something that hadn't been seen since the previous decade.

Kate absently listened, but it really wasn't of any interest. It was just some background noise as she got ready. She had her body suit on and was working on pulling on her boots. The other Birds were in the Roost as well, getting ready at their own pace.

It was just like any other night.

"Now wasn't that a treat. This is Casey Keenum here, playing you the Top 40."

Now wasn't that sad? Casey Keenum had been dead for years by now and his old radio station still used his voice, recordings from his days as a disk jockey. It helped that the songs they played were the ones that were hot back in his day, so they didn't have to try and squeeze some new, current song and hoped it fit. You would have thought they would have found a replacement for the Shaggy voice actor by now, but apparently not.

"This next song is coming right from the turn of the millennium. Topping out at #1 on the mainstream charts, it was the lead single from this band's third album. Get ready to hear some screaming because here comes…

"Bye! Bye! Bye! Bye, bye!"

It was instinctual. The moment she heard the opening lyric, Kate threw an arm out. The back of her hand struck the radio and knocked it from its place on the table. It hit the floor with a loud crash, its plug pulling out of wall and effectively silencing the device.

"A tired convict is a peaceful convict," the words of Lock-Up echoed in her head. For a brief moment, all she saw were bars, keeping her trapped in a cell with minimal comforts. Her heart was pounding, her breathing increasing.

"Kate, you okay?"

The brunette flinched from the word, her head jerking…to see Dinah standing right next to her, giving her a concerned look.

Immediately, she took a deep breath and tried to slow her heartbeat down. She was alright; she was in the Roost with her friends; she wasn't stuck in Lock-Up's prison, waiting for help that may or may not come.

"Sorry," she murmured an apology. "I just…don't really like that song."

"I'll say," Helena responded, staring at her. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't look that well."

That must have been a sign of the times—Helena was actually concerned for her. Alright, that might have been a touch unfair. Yeah, they weren't the closest, but that didn't mean they didn't give a shit about each other. She had seen Helena nearly lose her shit when one of her school kids went missing. It sucked she had turned to Batman, but they hadn't really given her much choice. It was a sour feeling in her mouth to know they had used the "one life versus an entire city" argument. In a way, they were both right, but one choice had left a bad taste.

"It's okay to admit you are not well," Katana added gently. "It is not a sign of weakness."

Kate sighed. How could she really put up a tough front against this? When she first joined the Birds of Prey, yeah, she could have done it with ease. But that had been a long time ago and this was now.

"It's just…that song was one that Lock-Up played when he captured me. He kept everyone sleep deprived to break their spirits. I kinda had a flashback when I heard the song, that's all."

The other three Birds shared a look. "You know, if you need some time, none of us will think less of you," Dinah eventually told her.

"Hey, I've got this. I see a shrink and we talk. It's just something that hasn't gone away is all." Okay, that may have been a half-truth. She had seen a psychiatrist for perhaps a month or two, but she felt it wasn't of much help. She had this, she just had to keep herself busy and not let there be any silence whatsoever. Her job at the DA's office took care of the daytime and her role with the Birds took care of the night. A couple sleeping pills for sleep made certain she didn't have any nightmares of being trapped in a hole with no one coming to save her.

See, she had this.

She just didn't need any silent times…kinda like right now.

Kate immediately stood up, which caused Dinah to take a step back. "You guys ready?" the brunette asked as she snatched up her mask and began putting it onto her face. All she needed was her gear and she was ready to go.

"Yeah, just about," the blonde woman answered after a moment.

"Then get the lead up! Those muggings aren't going to stop themselves." Kate grabbed her utility belt and staff and moved around Dinah, heading for the door that led to the garage where their bikes were kept. The sooner they got onto the streets, the better. She could be Manhunter, scourge of the criminal underworld. She could actually fight back and not pretend to be a damsel in distress.

She could be the owner of her own destiny.