Under the Foundation

by cringethinking

The death of Max’s sister destroyed her childhood and her family. Twenty years later she still digs for the truth as a journalist in Gotham. When she meets someone on a fringe website called Nigma, the layers of her foundation and that of Gotham’s inexplicable corruption begins to crack. Based on the universe of Matt Reeve’s Batman and Riddler Year One comic.

1. Mr Trunks

Chapter 1: Mr. Trunks

Home is in a blue elephant stuffy. It's revered with such innocent comfort. Tucked under a chin, squished under an arm, pillowed under a head. It carries the smells of all places it's been. It carries all the memories its caregiver holds. In small stains of grass and dirt, paint, milkshakes, and sweet, sticky little hands. My prints on its floppy ears and long trunk are the meaning of home. I look into its beady plastic eyes and give it life with a baby toothed smile. Giving it a voice, a laugh and a song. In a child's mind, anything can be true. The importance of a stuffed animal is no different than the dearest friend in a child's mind. For these small years it would be my true love, the most important thing. The epitome of happiness woven in wool and cotton. In years to come it would dust in an attic or be given to another child to bring it back to life. But these years it existed just as much as my mother and father. My sister. My love for swings, tea parties and daddy's hugs. It would sing all of the same songs and play the same games. Attached to the hip, Mr. Trunks never left my side.

Even through five states, sixteen gas stations, seven campgrounds, and eleven playgrounds, Mr. Trunks was always on my lap. A sweet fellow I liked to imagine with a British accent and eloquent kindness. A whimsical laugh like the excited hoot of an owl. When he'd get scared, excited or sad, he'd blow his trunk like a car horn— flap his ears back and forth and swish his tail. He was the life of the tea party, always chatting up the other guests and eating up all the shortbread cookies. He loved to sing songs with me, especially wheels on the bus— his personal favourite. He was not a fan of the bath. For some reason anytime he had a bath, he'd vanish for hours on end, leaving me totally distraught. Then he'd always return in my mom's hands smelling fresh like the dryer sheets, and all of his memory stains gone.

He was an honourable part of our family. He always had a spot with me at the dinner table. He'd play with us during hide and seek, tag, and horseplay. My sister, Celeste, addressed him only as Mr. Trunks, and always let him come into her room with me whenever he'd like. If he was to go missing, it would be unearthed panic in our suburban home. My father would rearrange the furniture trying to find him, my mom would trek the backyards, my sister expedited the house like it was a full-blown man hunt. Then me, a wailing, flailing mess on the kitchen floor; not giving my lungs relief till he was back in my arms. When he was found, celebrations were thrown. Music and singing and games. He was a monumental part of our lives, of my life. When he was around, everyone was smiling. If he was gone, we wouldn't smile till he was back home safe.

There's not really a story of how he came into my life. My mother forgets each time I ask her, bringing a different origin. He was adopted at a garage sale down the street, he was at the local Blue Valley pawn shop, we found him stranded and alone at a playground, he was a baby shower gift from sobo and jiji. Who knows? I like to think I made a wish. I don't remember when, but I knelt down by my windowsill, saw a shooting star, and he came to me. Of course, he made a grand entrance tooting his trunk and gracing my ears with his aristocratic accent.

"Oh! Hello, Miss Maxine! How do you do? A spot a tea for a sporting gentleman elephant on this fine evening? Hoo-hoo!"

Yup. Definitely something like that. It happened and there was no way anyone would convince me otherwise. Mom and Dad heard the story, and they loved it so much it was basically history. Even Celeste knew, but she liked to twist the story a tad. That he came down floating from a violet umbrella. That he was a gift from the star people above, wanting me to have the greatest friend. That he was actually supposed to be her teddy, but I used mind magic to make him like me more. Nevertheless, he was mine. My sticky hands were on his paws all hours of the day. His flappy ear on my cheek as I slept in my bed. At five years old, Mr. Trunks was my entire world. But when the late hour shadows crept in, where not even my night light could scare the monsters away. I would crawl from my bed with Mr. Trunks in tow. My sister's bed was always the first port of refuge. It was always open, always warm and loving. She'd sweep her lady bug blanket to the side for me to squeeze in. She'd wrap her little arms around me and hold me tight, assuring I had nothing to be afraid of. She'd give me a kiss on the head goodnight, and a kiss for Mr. Trunks. Safety was home, and Mr. Trunks and Celeste were the raft over storming seas. My voyage partners that made our family vacations the greatest memories.

We were on one of our annual, long, and loud trips through the states. One indifferent Sunday afternoon my father brought home a sky-blue camper van. I remember seeing its headlights like eyes, and the fender over top a big, bushy unibrow. We named him Big Brow, and obviously holding a deep, east coast accent, he welcomed us inside. Big Brow was the essential tool during our vacation, the main body of comfort through forty-eight states. Unfortunately, Hawaii and Alaska were out of the question, as they were out of range. We were in the sunniest state on a mid summer afternoon, California. We were cruising through Coast City. Celeste and I opened our windows, and the smell of crystal blue oceans and meat on the grills by the beach etched a memory. We took it all in excitedly, far from the pine and prairie of Nebraska. We looked up to palm trees waving hello. I held Mr. Trunks up to the window to catch a peak, "Look, Mr. Trunks! Noodle trees!"

Mom and Dad had Footloose from Kenny Loggins on the tape player. Celeste and I loved that song, and mom would sneak a peak as if she needed the affirmation we were dancing along. Of course we were, she was too. Even my dad who had both hands on the steering wheel was bobbing his head, making his large glasses wiggle over his nose. All of us painted in these blissful grins, not a worry and not a blemish. 1998 fashion was daisy dukes, tank tops, crop tops, and denim— so much denim. Of course, the occasional track suit was spotted out our windows on the boardwalk. So many people enjoying the summer in California, purely in their element just like us. It was confirming our fun, that vicariously we were all in a flurry of good times. The sun shone down through fluffy white clouds and baby blue skies, giving everyone a glow. Summer air joined with ocean mist was a smell you couldn't help but swoon in, even as little as me. An all-American simple thing. Summer, denim, barbecues and California waves. The perfect atmosphere for a sweet childhood.

I was swinging Mr. Trunks arms and legs back and forth, dancing to the music with me and Celeste. She had the same sight as Dad, but her glasses somehow made her eyes like big bubbles. When she was swinging her arms back and forth and beaming a toothless grin, I couldn't help but squeal a laugh. Anything and everything my sister did seemed to make me giggle. She was three years older than me; she took her role as the big sister with honour. That included honing any chance to make me crack a laugh at her antics. Such as silly dancing and goofy noises (her personal favourite). We were so busy in our little bubble of fun we never paid mind to what mom and dad were saying in front. I heard something about 'gas' and 'get the girls something'. That was enough to catch my attention. Then I'm saying 'Daddy' over and over again till it was so loud it could reach the clouds.

"Yes, baby!"

"Where are we going?"

"Do you ladies want ice cream?"

Celeste and I were a siren of joy, "YES!"

My mom and dad would sputter in laughter at our excitement. We pulled into a gas station service. Mom was the first to get out and retrieve us from the seater in the kitchen. She got to my seat belt and I stuck Mr. Trunks into her face.

"Kiss for Mr. Trunks!"

My mom gave him a quick peck and then smothered me with playful kisses to my cheeks and nose, making me bleat a giggle. Celeste was out the van with dad, and I was always carried indulgently by my mom, still trying to keep me as her baby. I'd wiggle and protest it, wanting to feel my pink shoes tap on concrete after sitting for hours. We skipped to the convenience store. When I walked in we were hit with a fresh chill of air conditioner. Shelves after shelves of snacks, essentials, and tourist merchandise.

"Wow! Look at all the things!" I remember saying at first glance, holding Mr. Trunks up to take a good look, too.

Celeste and my dad were right behind us. She took my hand, and we went exploring carelessly as mom and dad were stuck at the counter.

"Girls! Stay where we can see you." My mom's voice faded behind shelving.

We were far too busy appreciating all the colours and different shiny things. We would watch the slushy machines spin, the hot dogs twirl on the belt, the pizza slices glow in their clear boxes. It was all so spectacle, even if it was just scenery to the grown ups. To us, every place held a small glimmer of magic.

We would answer to dad's voice always, hollering they were leaving with two ice creams they'd eat if we didn't hurry up. I got mine, Celeste had hers. When we came out to the hot, summer air my cherry ice cream would drip over Mr. Trunk's head. I'd just wipe him clean with the ruffles of my dress and carry on. Big Brow was fuelled up, snacks were stocked, and our smiles were able to continue contently. My dad strapped us back to our seats. I ordered my dad to give Mr. Trunks a kiss.

"Now Max gets a kiss!" His moustache would tickle my cheeks as I'd cycle my legs and scream giggles.

He'd try to give one to Celeste, who as her grown eight-year-old self would only raise her her finger scoldingly, "Don't even think about it, old man."

My mom and dad shared a laugh, but he abided it. "I'll get a smooch one day, Cece. Just wait."

Celeste and I serenaded giggles as he goofily walked out the back of the camper van like a sad monkey. We were back on the road again. Ice cream painted my fingers, sticking them together. Likely painted my face, too, no doubt. I was too ignorant and happy to care. We were stopping in Webbler Springs, a small town outside Coast City. There was a campground just outside the town limits where we had a lot waiting for us. A night spent here, then onwards to the next state. There was a decent amount of woodland around us, but dry badlands surrounding most of the town. There was always a gruel process my mom and dad would have to endure whenever we reached a campsite. I didn't understand most of it, but they worked together better and better each time. Celeste and I sat at the picnic table with our toys, role playing a house game with Mr. Trunks and one of her dolls. Time went by quickly whenever we played, so fast the smell of roasting wieners and hamburgers was in the air by the time we noticed mom and dad were all done. Mom brought out some plates, pop and chips for the picnic table. Dad was at the grill, setting the cooked meat on a plate. Sometimes we'd eat out at a restaurant during our vacation, sometimes we'd have a cook out. Both were equally fun and exciting for me. My mom would set down some cold salads in hopes we'd try them, but we never did. Celeste and I were eating fast, mostly because we saw a playground just a few lots from our campsite.

"Mommy! Daddy! Can Max and I go to the playground now?" Celeste asked as she set her empty plate in the firepit.

I scooted off the picnic table and did the same after I was done my hot dog and strawberries.

"Uh. Sure. You two have to come back in an hour, though. I'll call you."

"Can we take our bikes?" I asked.

Dad got our bikes from the back of the camper van. I had a pink tricycle with streamers. Celeste was just off her training wheels, riding a blue and purple bmx.

"Stay at the playground. Don't go exploring. Cece, make sure you sister stays close. She's a wanderer."

"I will, daddy."

We got on our bikes and cycled down the dirt road. I looked back to wave to mom and dad. I saw them holding each other with such tenderness, pecking lips and laughing on our way down the path. Even so little, seeing them entwined together in those ebullient smiles was security. To know these two people loved each other wholly, only to create my sister and me from that same love. It surrounded all of us, weaving us together like a crocheted blanket.

"Hurry up, Max!"

I squawked back, "Okay!"

I peddled as hard as I could, but Mr. Trunks kept slipping out from under my arm. Celeste would stop and wait, sighing grievously as she did so. I yelled out, "I'm coming, Cece!"

"Come on, we only have an hour!"

I peddled behind her to an opening with a fence. Out of the trees we could see the playground now, and a little space in the fence to fit our bikes through. There was something so easy and careless about leaving our bikes to thunk on their sides and scurry to a playground. That first run before reaching the equipment and feeling the wind sweep through our hair and into the fine fabric of our clothes. No problems or plights to wrangle with. A happy life paid from the loving actions of our parents. Where running to a playground and honing the bragging rights of getting there first was our only struggle.

"Max, come to the top with me!"

Celeste was at the point by the slide, and a little steering wheel just before it. My little feet took longer, but worked hard to meet my sister at the summit. Like a mountain climb we both took in our height from the equipment.

"Slide!" I went down the slide first, it twirled down to the gravel. Made of thick yellow plastic. I let it take me on a short but entrancing journey. The world spun with me then, and I reached the pillowing ground. I laughed loudly and ran back up the steps for another whirl. Celeste was right behind me, shouting happily as she reached the bottom with me.

"Max, you wanna play pirates?"

"Yes!"

"Okay! I'll stir the ship! I'm the Captain! Mop the deck, ya ole' skally wag!"

"Aye, Captain!"

I huffed and hawed as I struggled up the equipment again. Celeste was already up there, despite her coming down the slide last. She was stirring our colossal vessel over still crystal waters. You could almost smell the salt off the seas like our drive through Coast City. The skies were salmon, glowing bright orange as the sun started to set over the coolies. The clouds reflected off this spectacle in warm pink tones, like the fairy canopy over my bed at home. I held the mop firmly in my grasp, sweeping the swishing water back and forth. Seagulls called in the skies, perching on the ship saying hello. Then a rumbling like a sea monster came from the distant waves. The imagery faded back to the playground and the dirt road on the other side of the fence. It was a white van, old and rusty. The smoke from its engine would make small rain clouds.

"Monster! Sail away!" I yelled.

Celeste called back as she twirled the wheel, "On it!"

The van continued to circle the park, as if it knew we were playing a game and needed to play the monster role diligently. Celeste and I would steer away from where it was, watching our ship drift away from the monster, only for it to circle back to our front again. After a while, Celeste stopped playing a long. She was now watching the van completely still. She was hardly blinking. I was still yammering on and on about the ship and the kraken gaining on us. The returned silence broke me from it. I asked her then, "Cece, what's wrong?"

She didn't respond, just watched the van continue to circle and drive right past the road into the campground. She muttered, "We should go back to Big Brow, Max."

I whined, "Why? No!"

"Just wait for the van to drive past again. We should go home."

"I don't wanna go home, Cece! No!"

Then the van turned down a road out the area. My sister watched it go, listened to the engine rumble away. There was a moment of silence, but I still didn't want to leave.

"Yeah, let's go back home, Max. I didn't like that van."

I whined back, "No! We didn't go on the swings!"

"Dad said I'm the boss so you have to listen to me and come back home. Let's go."

Celeste climbed off the equipment and was going back to the bikes. I protested again, but then it struck me in a sudden burst of panic. Mr. Trunks wasn't under my arm, he wasn't near my bike, he wasn't near me, at all.

In that moment I began to cry. I waited and fell to my knees in a heartache that one could only compare to the loss of a pet.

"Mr. Trunks is gone! I can't find Mr. Trunks! No!"

Celeste caught wind of my distress instantly and ran back to the playground. She knew that cry anywhere, it was only accompanied with the hysteria of losing a blue elephant stuffed animal.

"It's okay! Where did you see him last?"

"I don't know!"

"Okay… Okay. I'll help you find him, you don't have to cry. Go play in the sandbox and I'll find him."

I wiped away my tears and asked, "You'll find him?" I croaked and rasped for breath, my shoulders and chests bobbing against my own tears.

"I promise I'll find him. Go make a sandcastle and I'll find Mr. Trunks. He's probably sleeping somewhere."

"Okay." I whimpered, sniffling and coughing as I walked to the sand box. After a few minutes of my sister searching, I yelled back, "Did you find him, yet?"

"No, Max."

I looked back for a second from my mound of sand to see her walking back to the gate past our bikes. Looking to see if I dropped him when we came into the park. I was invested in my sand hill, using twigs and leaves to make a flag and bushes. The story of the hill and it's inhabitants were alive in my head. A castle for the ants and the butterflies to stay when it rains. A home for the bees when they can't find their way to the nest. It narrated so loudly I didn't pay attention to the similar rumbling engine behind me. It coughed and sputtered enough I should have, I should have. Then the wheels spun throwing rocks, and it drove away in a burst down the road and out of the park view. I didn't think anything of it. I wasn't cautious or assuming of bad things. Why would I assume when only good has happened to me since the day I was born? I was taught to expect good and nothing else. To know everyone surrounding us grown up or not was part of that same good.

I finished my castle, shot up and called for Celeste, "Cece! Come look at my castle! I built it for the bees!"

No response. No sounds. I looked around the park and couldn't see her. I ran back to the park in hopes she was hiding under the equipment trying to scare me. I saw the blue shade of Mr. Trunks underneath the yellow slide and squealed with happiness. I ran to him then and dusted off the residue from the gravel from his tummy.

"Cece! Cece, I found him! He was under the slide!"

No answer. No sights of the lady bug shirt or denim skirt. No sign of those bubble eyes looking back at me from her large glasses. Her black hair would stand out in the bright scape of the field and colourful equipment. Why was it not here? Why was she gone?

I remember the abandonment and fear. I was alone at a park I didn't recognize from home. I almost forgot the way back home.

"Cece!"

I was starting to cry, clutching Mr. Trunks to my chest as tears rolled down over his head.

I ran back to my tricycle; her bike was still there.

"Mommy! Daddy!"

I yelled their names over and over, crying as I did so. Soon my yells turned to screams as I peddled back to the campsite, knowing in my gut something was so terribly wrong. I reached the campsite and my parents shot from their tasks and back to me in a panic.

"Cece is gone!"

The next of what I remember following was a blur. A terrible, confusing and hopeless blur. Bits and parts come together vividly, so vivid they reanimate in my dreams. My nightmares. The faces of my mother and father were first. Their faces usually smiling and so warm in love. Now leavened in fear so intense it would bring me to harrowing tears. My father carried me back to that park bouncing against his speeding jaunt. My mother took me then, I was going back and forth from my parents arms so quick like it was game of hot potato. This wasn't a game, this was something I couldn't comprehend.

Then I saw my dad's face so close to mine I was able to see every blemish of his skin. His wrinkles stressing prominently between his brows, his eyes wide and bloodshot— sparkling in tears. He grasped my shoulders as he knelt down to me, I could feel his body shake with mine.

"Max, what happened? Where did you see her last?"

"Is Cece gone?"

"Answer the question, please?! What happened?!"

His voice was so sharp and grip so tight it scared me. I started to cry, but I managed to whimper, "White van."

"What?"

"I saw a white van. It took Cece."

He shot up from me then gripping his mouth, "Oh my God," he wept, "I'm calling 911!"

My mother was in fits of hysteria, bringing the frantic but concerned comfort of bystanders in the campsite with us. She wasn't even able to walk, she would buckle and fall to her knees making visceral cries in words I couldn't understand. I did understand a part of it.

"My baby's dead! My baby's dead!"

I didn't want to understand it, I only thought insects died. Dead was only a word for the spider under the sole of my shoe, where it would be squished and not be anymore. It would stop moving and stop thinking. No longer allowed to reanimate again. How could Cece be a dead? Was the white van a real monster the entire time and we didn't know it?

Then I remember being surrounded by flashing red and blue. The police were all over, but I thought they only came when we did something wrong? Did we do something wrong? Did I do something wrong? My mom and dad spoke to them in voices I never heard them speak before. I stood with Mr. Trunks in my arms, clutching to my dad's shivering hip. I cried to my dad, "Daddy, where's Cece?!"

He didn't respond. No one was responding to me. No one saw me, they were all in their own worlds of fear only confusing me more. The confusion was scary, every piece of it unfolding a new puzzle piece that wouldn't fit. All of the police officers were so big and scary looking. They had belts with all of these tools and guns. Broad shoulders and strange faces. One officer was not like the others. She came to me and knelt down giving me a smile like a breath of relief in an ocean of blurred crying and pallor glowers.

"Hey sweetie, is that your favourite toy?"

She was talking to me, and I nodded. I would usually swish his arms back and forth, hop in one place and give him a proper introduction. I wasn't able to speak now. I didn't want to; I was scared to.

"He's lovely. What's his name?"

I parted my lips and breathed out, "Mr. Trunks."

"You gave him that name, huh?"

"Yes."

"You're a smart little girl. I love that name, it's perfect for him. This all must be pretty scary, huh?"

She was the only one who wasn't cold or afraid. She was warm like my mother when she'd tuck me in at night, reminding me I was safe.

I nodded again. Then I asked, "Is Cece gone because of me?"

"No, baby. She's not gone because of you. I want to let you know I'm here to find her. I'm a detective, it's my job to find people who go lost. I need to ask you a question, though. Is that okay?"

"Okay."

"You saw a white van?"

"Yes. It was going around and around. It was a monster trying to get us, but my sister wouldn't let it get me."

"She's a very brave girl. Did you see who was driving the van?"

"No."

"Do you know what the van looks like? Did it have anything wrong with it?"

"It was rusty. It had no windows. Just windows in the front."

She pulled out a pad to write, "Very good. Good girl. Now, do you know where it went when it took Cece?"

I pointed to the road I heard the rumble drift down after it threw the rocks, the detective wrote it down, "So good. Okay, sweetie, this has been very helpful. You just helped me in finding your sister."

"Can you please bring her home?"

The detective took my hand and beamed a warm smile, "I promise I'll do everything I can to bring her back home."

Then she was gone, she spoke to my parents briefly, got into her police car and drove off. I felt my feet leave the safety of ground, and into the insecure hold of my father. He carried me back to the camper van without the fold of love, just a means to carry me like heavy luggage. I was put immediately to bed, listening to my mother and father in hushed arguments and sudden tears. I felt like I was sinking into the mattress, falling away into the dark. I wanted to, I wanted to leave the room and get away from their panic. It was becoming mine, and the worst was not understanding why. My dreams carried Celeste's face. They were haunted by the white van. Mr. Trunks comfort was no longer salvation against this terror.

I was old enough to feel these emotions, but not understand them. I could comprehend something bad was happening, but I didn't know why. I knew Celeste was missing, but I didn't know the manner of why she was. Why anyone would take her from the arms of her family. Was there such thing as monsters? Is this what a monster does when it finds you in the dark alone? Celeste saw the monster, she was taken because of it. Would the detective lady save her? Why are mommy and daddy crying if the detective will find her?

Those couple of days went by slow and each moment unfolding like I was watching it underwater. I was driven to a police station multiple times a day, always on the hip of my mom or dad. They were always there but they were completely gone. I was invisible to the plight that took their whole attention. Their whole being. The worry that would come to play at home when Mr. Trunks went missing was an entirely different setting now. It got me thinking for a moment as I sat on the waiting chair at the police station, listening to my mom scream at the lady behind the desk. Much how I would scream when Mr. Trunks left my arms and hid from our eyes. Is that how mommy and daddy felt? That fear, that panic, that terror. Whenever Mr. Trunks left me, my world would slowly crumble until he was back in my arms. Mom and Dad must have been feeling the same way for Cece. If only they knew she would come home safe, just like Mr. Trunks does every time. They are grown ups; they should know better than me.

The television inside the station kept showing Cece's face. Why was it showing my sister?

The lady said she was kidnapped, amber alert, panic. So much panic. Everyone is looking for her. Just like how we'd all try to find Mr. Trunks. Everyone, all the police, all the California city people, all the campers. She was going to come home with that many people looking for her. A whole search party of the concerned and good. Back home it was only the four of us looking for Mr. Trunks and we still found him. Yet, my mom and dad are still always crying. Why can't they see things are going to be just fine?

We would go back to the campsite. I'd sit alone on the floor inside the van. I'd try to play with my toys but my imagination was blocked. I'd stare down to Mr. Trunks and my dolls and just see plastic and wool staring back at me. She helped them come to life. The pit in my stomach grew to my throat as I began to wail. If she wasn't here to play with me, then the meaning of play was gone. Why hasn't she been found yet?

Celeste was the name constantly uttered by my parents. My mother would even whisper it in her sleep, when she finally did. The name would repeat like a song stuck in my head. People would come by our camper van with strange faces, all providing food and money as if she was gone for good. I remember speaking to my jiji and sobo for a few minutes on the phone. I wasn't able to talk about much, but they kept saying how much they loved me and Celeste. They would say it out of nowhere, slip it into a sentence without the relation to the topic initially. Then the night the red and blue lights returned outside the windows. I could hear their engines whirring outside and tires crunch on the dirt. My mom and dad raced to the doors. Celeste's name was said many times in that conversation with the officers and my parents. My mother fell to her knees. She wailed a visceral cry that I tried to block from my mind then and thereafter. Never to be revisited or thought out as it was too dreadful to imagine. My father tried to hold her in his arms, but she would struggle from his embrace. I was so small in that space, clutching to my elephant toy as if it would make the screams go away. It never did, they stayed with me from that day on. Always to be revisited in the worst of times. Cementing the tears and despair my parents had felt since Celeste's disappearance. That she was gone, and she was never coming back.