User:Nextoy/Batman/2

“Morning everyone.” Professor Strange spoke into the microphone. His voice echoed out into the facility. “We have a very special procedure today. In fact, I want to say that we are preparing for a celebration.”

Arkham was not a place of celebration. Not in any stretch of the word. In fact, the joy in Dr. Strange’s otherwise professional tone put some of the inmates on edge.

“I want everyone, barring the kitchen staff and outer guards, to assemble in the lounge immediately. I will unveil something grand to all of you in half an hour.” Strange ordered, remotely opening up all of the inner gates within the facility. The asylum was now free for everyone to wander at their heart’s content, but for what reason? This gave some of the inmates an opportunity to find out what was going on, at the very least.

Edward Nygma, Oswald “Penguin” Cobblepot, and Terry Kase would quickly find out. The three for them came together as they usually did when exploration would allow it.

“We all know here that a celebration can only be a bad thing in this place.” Nygma spoke. He was always the first to state the obvious, probably as a habit from his days with GCPD. He was known for hopping between careers with an engineering degree in tow, so he picked up a great deal of skills, talents, and strange habits from each job.

“Well ye dun hav’ta speak the bloody obvious, mate.” Penguin pointed out, his thick cockney accent always showed off his anger issues prevalently.

“Calm down, Mr. Cobblepot.” Terry ordered. Not much was known about Terry Kase. Middle eastern, middle aged, checked himself into the asylum for “Paranoid delusions regarding people hiding in the shadows lurking to kill everyone he knew.”

“Oi! ‘Ow bout you shuddup wit’ yer damned cool guy attitude already?” Oswald shouted. The englishman was, despite his upbringing, one of the crudest men in Gotham. The two often argued, given Nygma ample time to slip away while they were distracted.

As he slipped into the halls of the asylum Nygma had already decided what he wished to explore first. He had friends in here from his days with the GCPD, and they needed a visit.

“Hello Commissioner.” Nygma introduced himself, walking up to Gillian's cell. Gillian Loeb, the former GCPD commissioner, found himself in Arkham after getting his operations with the Falcone family blown open. Nobody ever really knew if Gordon or Falcone himself put the man in there, but he won't be getting out any time soon.

“Go fuck yourself, Ed.” He replied, turning away and laying down on his bed.

“But didn’t you hear! The good director wants us all to meet up in the lounge!” Nygma pointed out gleefully, perhaps a little too proud of himself for the little plan he had set up.

“So what, you’re gonna escort me? Be my fucking chaperone?” Loeb asked, sitting up and glaring daggers at the joyous detective.

“But of course, Commissioner!” Edward agreed, popping open the cell with a key he’d pilfered from one of the guards. “But I want to make a stop first!”

“I refuse to play your games, Ed.” Loeb assured, getting up and stretching out his arms. “Still, I know better than to try and force answers out of you.”

“That’s right, Commissioner! Now, shall we get going?” Nygma more ordered than asked, trotting along knowing that the former cop would follow curiously. Granted, where they went was someplace out of the way: a secret surveillance room that Nygma - with some help - had set up.

“What… is this?” Loeb asked, looking around.

“Our key to the world, Commissioner!” Nygma announced, flipping on a switch to turn all the monitors on. “Shall we gaze at the world around us?” He asked. The room hooked into the security feed used by Dr. Strange and the security staff, but since it originates from the same location as the primary feed via proxy it would be difficult to notice when Nygma tapped in unless he wanted his presence to be known.

“Eddy… how did you..?” Loeb asked, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer. He could see them all. The primary populace in the lounge, Penguin wandering about the outer perimeter harassing the guards, Dr. Quinzel escorting Dr. Jervis to one of the “interview” rooms. They were more like inquisitional torture chambers for people who didn’t play the doctor’s games correctly.

“A magician never tells his secrets.” Nygma answered, pointing to a very peculiar screen. In it, Dr. Strange sat upon his desk. Nygma had always wondered why there was a security camera inside the office, but none facing the door itself. For that matter, why only the first room of his office, but not the second? It puzzled him so, but that was not what he found interesting on this particular day.

A knock appeared at Strange’s door. He was annoyed by it, but overall not surprised. The staff of the asylum often showed their incompetence head-first. He called in whoever it was in his usual tone, and was surprised to see his ambiguously arab patient walk into the office.

“Terry Kase, is it? Why aren’t you in the lounge?” He asked, not looking up as he fished out the patient file for the man. Course, it said barely anything other than that he had been unemployed ever since moving to America and that he had checked himself in for paranoid delusions.

“I think we both know why, Hugo.” He answered, closing the door and standing behind it.

“As skilled as I am in psychology, I am regretfully unable to read minds.” Dr. Strange informed in his typical, disinterested monotone.

“Be that as it may, we both know that you understand at least part of my true nature.” Terry pointed out, seeming annoyed. “I did not come here to see you play the fool.”

“Very well, Mr. Kase. Then tell me, what sort of scheme are you up to know?” Dr. Strange asked. “Surely you're not sitting here, perfectly healthy, without reason.”

“Indeed I am not Doctor. However, to outright state the future would be foolish, would it not?” He asked, walking up to the desk. “No, I am here to help you, Doctor. There are those who wish to blow open the little pet project you’ve made of Arkham Asylum.”

“There is nobody that could do so.” Strange pointed out, finally looking up at his guest.

“I beg to differ. Three are already investigating in secret; Commissioner Gordon, Harvey Dent, and their good friend…” Kase explained, letting Dr. Strange finish the thought.

“...The Batman.”

It had been a long time since either Gordon or Dent had played detective. It reminded them of when they both were still fresh in the police department. A detective and a prosecutor, though on the same sides it was surprising how often they’d butt heads. Dent was much better than most of the prosecution office though. He tried to help Gordon and Bullock when they were on cases.

Gordon had been unable to do any real investigation himself, however. The GCPD had been on edge since the different criminal and mafia organizations have been on the fritz. Nobody was acting, but everyone was inches away from starting a war.

However, this gave Dent and Bruce some interesting opportunities. During the confusion they could move more freely than before, especially Batman, so long as they weren’t needed for their own day jobs. Thankfully, lawyers aren’t expected to do anything between cases and Bruce was more of a supervisor to the Wayne Enterprises Board of Directors at this point more than anything else.

What made things better is that, for once in his life, Dent was making headway compared to the others. Despite Bruce’s resources and Gordon’s manpower, Dent had a distinct advantage over them: he prosecuted at least a third of the cases that ended in someone being sent to Arkham. In fact, maybe even half.

Or so his coin told him.

A few names in particular came to mind: Edward Cobblepot, Gillian Loeb, and Edward Nygma. Thinking of the three of them together in one place made him feel uneasy at best, but only Penguin seemed out of place there. Only crazy part about him is that he not only responds to that silly nickname, but it's actually pretty fitting between his strange facial features and the suit he wore. But between the megalomaniacal tyrant “Commissioner Loeb” and the puzzle driven “E.Nygma” he had to wonder if perhaps Penguin’s insanity plea was more than just an easy way out of state penitentiary.

“Come on Dent, is that all you have? Can’t think of anything actually worth our time?” The voice spoke to him again. He hated that voice, and did everything he could to cover it up.

It was true though, what he currently had was rudimentary at best. However, it did lead to one very important detail that he was sure Gordon would miss. Maybe not Bruce, the man was a goddamn genius, but whether or not he’d follow it up properly was the question.

There was a man in Arkham that was filled in as a patient, but never had a sign in date. “Jack” was his only name, his last name crossed out like some kind of government document, and he seemed to only be in there for PTSD. A soldier, from what he could guess, but the details were never written down. Whoever this “Jack” is served of some importance, no doubt, but why? Why would a man like this be in Arkham with so much missing information?

Now that he thought about it, Dent had to wonder how long it's been since Jeremiah Arkham had been assigned as the director of the facility. Or was he transferred in? Could it be that he was replaced, and word had never reached public ears?

Searching the web was more of Bruce’s thing, but Dent knew a little bit more than basic knowledge of google. After a good hour of searching and being mocked by him Dent found out that apparently Jeremiah was currently a patient at the Asylum, but no director was listed.

Also, Bruce had eerie timing when it came to phone calls.

“Harvey Dent speaking.” He answered, even though the beauty of Caller ID was a thing.

“I take it you’ve been doing homework?” Bruce asked, his voice seeming a tad smug. They say that Batman has no superpowers, but Google was proof of otherwise.

“You’d be surprised how hard it is to balance work and school, Richie.” Dent retorted playfully, getting the rare genuine chuckle from Wayne The Stoic.

“Looking into Arkham directly might not be so good for you, Harvey. Even me and Alfred are having problems figuring out everything about that place.” He admitted, though his voice more serious than before.

“Yeah, well, since I was the guy who put a good deal of them in there-”

“- By finishing my job -” Bruce interrupted

“By doing my job,” Dent corrected, “I have the most access to that place as anyone could have without being an administrator there or a government official.”

“The fact that you AREN’T a government official already is what surprises me.” Bruce pointed out, giving one of his fake chuckles this time.

“I keep turning ‘em down, always had a hard time keeping at my desk.” Dent pointed out, laughing a bit at his own weakness.

''“That's right, laugh. You know it's gonna kill you.”'' That damn voice reminded.

“Well either way I’d be careful, make it seem like it's apart of your other work.” Bruce suggested, worry poorly hidden in his voice.

“On it boss.” Dent teased before hanging up, knowing that it would probably make Bruce groan a bit.

And right he was, much to Alfred’s delight.

“I assume Master Dent is getting all excited again?” The butler asked in his typical, “politely” condescending tone.

“You have no idea, Alfred.” Bruce shook his head and sat at his chair. He’d be busy the next few days, that’s for sure.

“Oh, but don’t I?” He asked, walking towards the kitchen.

“And what do you think you're walking off for?” Bruce called back in a mockingly angry tone.

“To do my best Clark Kent impression.” Alfred called back, both of them starting to laugh. Annoying as it was at times, if they didn’t have these kinds of banter on a regular basis they’d both probably die of stress and boredom. Though before they could relax and do battle once more, Bruce had one other person he needed to call.

“GCPD Commissioner Gordon speaking.” Gordon answered, knowing all too well who’d be able to call him directly. It always came down to either Dent, Wayne, or the current mayor being pissy again.

“Gordon, I was wondering how things were going on your end.” Bruce asked. Gordon was glad it was Bruce rather than Dent or the Mayor, he didn’t want to deal with either of them at that moment.

“Slow, as per usual. What about you Bruce, any luck?” He asked in return.

“Nothing solid, might have to actually poke around inside.” Bruce pointed out. “After all, I wouldn’t be the “World’s Greatest Detective” if I just went around punching everything.”

Normally he’d have to be secretive about his identity, but Fox had long since set up a secure line between Bruce and whoever he wanted to talk to at any given moment. Having a friend on the company payroll gave both Fox and Bruce some rather interesting options.

“What, that’s all the kids care about anyways.” Gordon teased back, both of them chuckling. “Either way, I assume that you’ve already warned Dent about going in too deep?”

“Like he’d listen to me even if I tried.” Bruce pointed out, “Not to say I didn’t try though.”

“Well just make sure you can keep the streets clean for me, God knows how much work my office will be doing just dealing with Falcone’s downpour.” Gordon asked, sighing. “Who’d think he’d cause more problems after we finally put an end to his schemes?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna head out tonight anyways. I’ll talk to you more when I get the chance.” Bruce told him before hanging up. Alfred brought him a roast beef sandwich and a pot of tea with a sly grin on his face.

“I suppose you’ll be getting ready for your nightly outings soon, Sir?” He asked, stepping back.

“And what if I am?” Bruce asked, playing along despite being unsure what his butler was planning.

“Well what’s a good butler that can’t help put on his master’s pajamas.” He teased, opening up the way down into the Batcave. Neither of them really knew why that name was chosen for his little hideout, but it really didn’t matter much either way.

“Finally remembering your job, Alfred?” Bruce replied, smirking.

“You say that like I ever forgot.” He replied simply, walking down. “Come join me when you're done eating, I know it won't take long.” As in, Bruce will just eat it as he walked down.

When they reached his “lab”, as Lucius Fox sometimes called it, Alfred placed his hand on a biometric scanner and turned everything on. Only three people were registered to the machine and their defense systems were top of the line, so it would be difficult for someone to randomly wander into this underground facility or try to infiltrate it.

“Now what’s your game, Alfred?” Bruce asked, growing a bit suspicious. After all, Alfred being generally nice was a shockingly rare sight despite his employment of choice.

“Oh, I cancelled your dinner with Ms. Smith.” He pointed out happily.

“Smith? Really?” Bruce asked, scoffing.

“They get less creative every year, Sir.” Alfred pointed out, walking over to help Bruce with the truly excessive machinery, or so the butler had always thought.

“Well, no matter. Something about the JLA I’m sure.” Nobody would deny that Batman was a member of the Justice League, but his attention was always focused elsewhere.

“Undoubtedly, considering that I had her reschedule for tomorrow. Quite insistent.” His normal snarking gave way to a much more direct form of disappointment. Or boredom, the two were similar from him.

“Well she can wait a day, I have much better things to do. I’m sure Gordon’s busy enough with me playing pretty boy.” He pointed out, putting on his suit and grabbing whatever utilities he might need for the day. Battling hook, bat pellets, batarangs, bat gun… bat gun? I may as well humor Fox on that.

“Isn’t that a bit excessive?” Alfred asked, an eyebrow cocked.

“Of course not, it's exactly what I need.” Bruce pointed out, chuckling to himself.

“Oh, but what about your “Anti-Everything Spray”?” The unconvinced butler pointed out.

“Still working on it.” Bruce retorted in a completely serious manner.

“And I’m sure Lucius is helping tremendously.” Alfred asked, rolling his eyes.

“Nope, told me to tackle this one on my own.” Bruce answered as if just to state a simple fact.

“Huh, almost as bad as Adam West…”

“Did you say something Alfred?” Bruce asked, having not heard the butler’s murmurs of disappointment.

“Not at all Master Wayne, carry on as you were.” Alfred told him as he took inventory on their medical supplies. Always low on something, no thanks to Gotham’s Daredevil. “I have always wondered though, why does everything have to have “Bat” in its name, anyways?”

“Cause I’m the Batman.” He answered. “Who comes out of the Batcave with his Batmobile or Batcopter, ready to take out my opponents with my Bat-”

“Right, forget I asked.” Alfred interrupted in an annoyed, almost dejected, tone. He couldn’t tell which was worse, the shear ego of his employer or the way he presented it. “After all, last thing we want is someone turning the tables on us and making a Man-Bat.”

“Alfred, that’d be ridiculous. Even if that did happen I’d use Anti-Bat Bat Spray.” It was then that Alfred realized that he had not gone over his head, as more rather jumped off of a hot air balloon without a bungee or parachute and expected to raise over the basket.

“Of course. Anything else you need, sir?” Alfred asked with his mind mostly focused on what his next few years in life. Goodbye caribbean cruise, plane rides home to England, whatever free time he thought he had; forever gone.

“Just make sure breakfast is ready for when I get back.” He answered, putting on his mask and running off towards the Batmobile.

“You heard him, butler. Do your job and ignore how your mighty employer gets himself killed every night! I could have you fired for actually caring!” Alfred shouted into the cave, oozing with sarcasm despite Bruce already being out of earshot.