"Am I cursed?" Talia asked herself. "Is that it? Is this ninety years of bad karma just throwing me down and sitting on me?"
She'd been able to read through both the doctor's vague answers to her questions, and the odd queries he’d made of her, and understand her situation. Batman had asked the doctors at Arkham to hold her for a brief period of time - no more than a day or two - allegedly because she had information he needed for a case. This struck her as an immense violation of her civil rights, but of course Bruce considered himself above the rules and regulations of the justice system. Something she'd always admired about him.
Whether that was because her father also considered himself above the rules, she didn't want to know.
She was being kept sequestered from the dangerous patients, which suggested that at least Bruce didn't intend for any harm to befall her. But she was also being kept away from any telephones or other means of outside communication. The doctor seemed to think she was some kind of delusional madwoman with a touch of megalomania.
Now why did THAT diagnosis sound familiar? Still, the one thing she didn't know was what he hoped to accomplish in such a short period of time.
At any rate, she'd been left alone. The infirmary had just one other occupant, a red-haired woman of some beauty sleeping several beds away. Except she wasn't sleeping, she was comatose. Of course Talia recognized her as Poison Ivy.
As recently as the disastrous attempt to lure Bruce to her penthouse early that year, Talia had studied extensive files once a month on the freakish villains who he encountered most often in Gotham. Part of her dedication was a desire to understand these lunatics who dared to array themselves against her Dark Knight . . .
Talia sighed. She'd really been besotted with him, hadn't she? Such melodrama was worthy of a silly adolescent, not a woman of her years.
She'd done it to keep abreast of his activities in Gotham, perhaps even to live vicariously through these people who saw the Batman more than she did. And she'd wanted to know why an endless series of victories over these people meant more to him than she did.
As such, she already knew that Poison Ivy had slipped into a coma after an unexplained head injury some time ago, and that she had not woken since. Talia had been pleased at the time. One less reason for him to remain in Gotham.
And now they were sharing a hospital room. The irony, for once, did not escape her.
Talia lowered her head. By the time she was released, Vandal Savage would be in Ra's al-Ghul's hands, and she would receive a generous share of the blame. In fact, by then Savage might be an ordinary mortal, and her father the immortal he'd wanted to be.
She acknowledged that her father obtaining immortality was perhaps a bigger problem than her own troubles. But did she receive credit for it? Of course not.
The door opened, but instead of a doctor, a young woman in an outfit like hers entered. Her only notable feature was her blonde hair tied in two pigtails. She padded over to Poison Ivy's bed, but as she neared the unconscious woman, she noticed Talia for the first time. "Be right back, Red," she whispered, squeezing one of Ivy's feet briefly before coming closer. "Hi!" she said brightly. "What're you in for?"
Talia stared at her. "I'm innocent, actually," she said.
The other woman giggled. "Where do you think you are, Stonegate Prison? This is Arkham Asylum." She leaned forward. "Here you say you're sane, not innocent," she whispered conspiratorially.
This woman, she realized, was Harley Quinn. She was used to see her in a mask and tassels. The daffy, dippy sidekick of the Joker. If anybody in this room was delusional and fixated on the wrong man, it was Quinn.
"I'm sane too," Talia replied coolly.
"Then why are you the one in restraints?"
Talia glared at her and looked away.
Harley either didn't get the message or didn't care. She sat on the edge of Talia's bed. "You know, you're not going to last long with that attitude."
"I was told the likes of Poison Ivy have much worse attitudes than mine. When she's awake, that is."
The blonde frowned. "She's got the reputation to back it up. Who the hell are you?"
Talia turned her head. "Talia al-Ghul."
"Who?"
Talia sighed. "Trust me, I know all about you and your band of madmen."
"Hmph," Harley said, sticking her tongue out. "What makes YOU so special?"
"My father is the Demon's Head, Ra's al-Ghul."
"Huh?"
Talia blinked. "You must have heard of him. He is the Batman's greatest foe."
"One, Mistah J is Batsy's greatest foe. Ask anyone - okay, so most of 'em will say THEY'RE his greatest foe, but they'll know the truth! And two, if he's so great, how come none of us have ever heard of him?"
"He has grander ambitions than a mere city, Quinn."
"Yeah, whatever," Harley said. "Hey, I didn't give you my name!"
"Like I said - I know all about you."
"Uh-huh," Harley muttered as she stood up and walked off. "Snooty bitch," she added.
Talia shook her head. She'd slipped into loyal-servant mode so easily just now. Grander ambitions? What was so grand about them? And what the hell did it matter WHAT she thought when she was still trapped in here? It was so easy for people like Harley Quinn, seemingly able to escape on a whim!
She paused. She turned to look at Harley, her eyes narrowing. The younger woman was sitting beside Ivy and talking with her - or to her, anyway. According to her files, Quinn and Ivy were friends. They must be, for Quinn to visit her bedside.
"When is she waking up?" Talia asked loudly.
Harley looked up. "Any day now," she said.
"Is that what the doctors say?"
"Yeah, well, you see, they don't know Red like I know her. She can't spend the rest of her life in bed. She needs to be ordering people around."
"How long has it been?"
Harley shrugged. "Few months," she mumbled.
"And the doctors haven’t pointed out that most coma patients don't - "
"I know!" Harley snapped, annoyed. "They don't wake after forty-eight hours. Nothing's typical about Red. So what do they know?"
Talia nodded. "They know they like it better this way, I'd say."
Harley shot up. "Excuse me?!"
"Well, face it. Poison Ivy won't threaten the city again as long as she's in a coma. And you haven't tried to break out in - what, a few months?"
"How did you - "
"I have my sources," Talia said. "But it doesn't take sources to know that everyone - the doctors, the police, even Batman - would rather she stays that way. One less nuisance, perhaps even two."
"But, but - they're doctors! They're supposed to make her better!" Harley wailed.
"They're psychiatrists, Ms. Quinn. What do they know about making sick people better?" Talia said scornfully.
Harley turned her back defiantly. "Well, I say she's gonna get better. She has to!"
"Why?"
"Because it's my fault!"
Talia hesitated. "You hurt her?"
"Dunno. Bats said she got mixed up in something because of me." She trembled. "She's my bestest pal. I can't lose her."
"Really?" Talia took a moment to revel in the sheer audacity of what she was about to suggest. If THIS didn't prove she was quitting her father's organization, what would? "Because I know how to wake her up."
Harley chuckled. "Yeah, you're sane, all right. Okay, how?"
"Have you ever heard of something called the Lazarus Pit?"
"I call it the Lazarus Arm," Ubu murmured solemnly in answer to the underling's question.
The DEMON soldier reached over and touched the symbols engraved in the metal. "How does it work?"
"Here, let me show you."
Ubu picked up the device with his good arm. It must have weighed at least seventy-five pounds, but he seemed to exert no effort. It was sleek yet bulky, and made from a titanium alloy. The long cylinder curved at one end and could bend at a forty-five degree angle in the middle. Using his shoulder mostly, he inserted his withered arm in the larger hole in the curved end. There was a smaller hole at the other end, but his arm was too short to reach it. Then he turned some knobs on the end touching his shoulder, and a soft hiss could be heard. He grimaced for a moment, but when he let go of the Arm, it remained in place.
"The Arm locks in place at the shoulder," Ubu explained, "cutting off the flow of blood. My left arm becomes nothing more than a useless flesh appendage, isolated from the rest. My shoulder and upper back muscles support the weight."
"And you will hit people with the weight of your Arm?" the soldier asked.
"Not exactly. First there's the fuel."
"Fuel?"
Ubu extracted a small unbreakable vial from his belt and uncorked it. A pungent, hot odor rose from it. He poured it into a tiny opening near his shoulder. Then he put the vial away.
"What was that?" the underling asked, wrinkling his nose.
Ubu grinned. "Lazarus juice, my friend." Then he bent over as his face became contorted with agony.
The soldier came to aid him, but Ubu pushed him away with his other arm. After a few moments he screamed in pain, finally stopping as he took great, gulping breaths of air. Nothing else seemed to be different.
"Servant of the Revered One?" the other man asked. "Are you all right?"
Ubu wiped the sweat from his brow. "Oh, yes."
"What have you accomplished by this?"
"For approximately two hours, my other arm is healed. Better than healed, actually. It has power. I need the Arm to keep the energies in place. My arm is healed, but fragile, and an injury would be - most damaging. It also prevents the Lazarus fluid from entering the rest of my body, mainly my mind. Thus the side effects are avoided."
“Side effects?"
Ubu paused. "I order you to forget I said that."
"Said what, sir?"
"Cute."
A second soldier entered. "Servant of the Revered One! The convoy is approaching! It is only a few miles away."
"Good," Ubu murmured. "Our master wishes for this Savage to be his guest. Let us deliver the invitation."
His Arm actually seemed to hum as he led the others outside.
Harley Quinn meandered through the hallway at Arkham. She appeared to be having a running conversation with herself. That was her way of thinking.
"Crazy lady - why does everyone in this place have to be so nuts? Like some magic pond scum is going to make Red all better. Oh, and ALL I gotta do is break her out of here today! And we gotta bring Red with us! What kind of bimbo does she think I am? If it's so great, why can't we bring it to her . . . hey, Dr. Crane."
"Harley," the Scarecrow said as he passed by. "What news this morning?"
"New patient in the infirmary. She thinks she's God," Harley said.
"How boring," Jonathan Crane yawned. "Perhaps I could introduce her to the concept of Hell."
"They're keeping her in isolation. No visitors."
"Hmph," he replied as he was led on his way. "Unless you're Harley Quinn, Miss I-can-go-to-the-infirmary-any-time-I-want-because-my-precious-Pammy-is-sick. Why does she get privileges?"
"Maybe if you didn't escape every three weeks," one of the orderlies shot back.
Harley shrugged. Even if she did think it was true, Puddin wasn't in Arkham. Even if he was, he wouldn't help. He didn't care if Ivy ever woke up!
Just like the doctors here . . . they had started giving her free access after she stopped trying to slip out of Arkham "against doctor's orders". Were they giving her privileges because she was the good little patient?
Harley started steaming. "I oughta break out of here just to show 'em how bad I really am," she muttered. "Okay, let's say for shits and giggles, I wanted to break out. Can't do it on my own, especially cuz somebody's got to carry Red. Need someone big like the Crocster or - "
Her hair seemed to rise of its own accord as she got a look in her eyes. Then she started skipping in another direction. No one stopped her.
Because, after all, she had privileges.
"No visitors," one of the oversized orderlies grunted.
"Pleease?" Harley cooed, trying to look winsome.
"Beat it, Quinn," the other one said. They always did get the biggest meatheads for the crazies with the muscles.
"I got news!"
"Ah, come on, guys, let her in," someone said from inside the room.
They looked grim. "Ten minutes," one told her.
"Thanks, sweetie!" she said cheerfully as she squeezed past them. "Oof. Eat a piece of fruit some time," she added under her breath.
The room was empty except for a glowing yellow barrier in the center. It emanated from the ceiling and went all the way to the floor, creating an enclosed circular space with one occupant.
If you could call him that.
Clayface took on a vaguely humanoid form as Harley bounced over. "Hey, Harley," he said. "What's new?"
"Got a new patient," she said. "She's kinda - weird."
Matthew Hagen had neither eyes nor optic nerves, but he had no difficulty creating the illusion that he was rolling his eyes with the clay his body was made of. "This is your news?"
"Says her father is the greatest enemy of Bats."
"Her father? Geez, talk about riding someone's coattails. She'd better not be saying she's my kid," Clayface added. "I got enough problems without paying child support for some starlet I got pregnant back in the day."
Harley smiled. Like she'd told Talia - everyone was Batman's biggest enemy. "Says his name is - uh, Nazgul?"
"She works for Sauron?" Clayface asked dubiously.
"No, er, Ghoul! Al Ghoul! Sounds like someone right up Dr. Crane's alley, if you ask me," Harley suggested.
"Huh," Clayface said. "Ra's al-Ghul, eh? Heard of him."
"You have?" Harley asked, surprised.
"Big shot out in the Middle East. Back when I was in Europe, before Morgan Edge had me shipped and bagged to his home," Clayface told her, "I heard about these guys called DEMON. Guns, prostitution, narcotics - guy's got a piece of it all. Guy's got serious delusions of grandeur, though. I hear he claims to be a few hundred years old."
"Ha ha! Yeah, that is delusional," Harley said, bothered. "Unless he, you know, had something called a Lazarus Pit."
"A what?"
"The woman in the infirmary. She says her dad has these Pits that keep him young. She also says they can bring people back from the dead." Her voice dropped. "She says they could even wake Red up."
He chuckled. "So La BDSM is still out of it, huh?"
"Damn it, Clayface, you know she hates it when you call her that!" Harley hissed at him.
It was well-established that Poison Ivy had little use for men, unless they were under her control. She got along poorly with most of the male Rogues, especially her Puddin', because Red just didn't get that he loved her. And Two-Face, because Red tried to kill him once - or twice.
And then there was Clayface.
Ivy had never been entirely clear on what comment of his had provoked her wrath. Whatever it was, it had led Ivy to announce to the Iceberg that it was fate Matthew Hagen was turned into mud and filth, because he was an utter pig.
Harley suspected he was more than halfway right when Clayface later claimed she hated him because she couldn't kill him, poison him, or affect him with her pheromones - in other words, the one man in Gotham she had no control over.
Since then, Ivy and Clayface had refused to be in the Iceberg together. After a week of catty remarks from whoever happened to be in the Lounge on a given night, Doctor Crane had compared them to "two rivals for the high school homecoming tiara".
The next day, a love-addled Scarecrow had attempted to rob a bank while wearing a prom dress.
At any rate, Clayface had taken particular pleasure in coming up with imaginative names for her. More than once he'd compared her to Katherine, "the Shrew". Then he'd suggested that at the rate she chased men away, in thirty years she'd be Lola from "Copacabana", drinking herself half-blind with faded feathers in her hair.
And then he'd called her "La Belle Dame Sans Merci", after a lady in a Keats poem. Finding it a mouthful, he'd shortened it to "La BDSM". Soon everyone assumed he was referring to her preferences in the bedroom. He hadn't bothered to correct them, and Ivy had been enraged when she learned he accidentally started the rumor that she enjoyed being spanked.
If Ivy had been conscious, she would have flat-out refused to seek Clayface's help.
But she wasn't conscious, and Harley didn't know what else to do.
He did look suitably abashed. "Sorry, Harl," he muttered. "Forgot she's your pal."
"Uh-huh," she said. "Look, if this keeps up, she and I are both going to spend the rest of our lives in here."
"Why don't you just leave?" he asked, surprised.
"Because I promised I'd be here when she woke up," Harley said.
"A promise? Quinn, it's been months. That's not keeping a promise, that's signing an unbreakable contract."
She glared at him. "Forget it," she said, getting up.
"Hey, hey, hey, wait a minute," Clayface said, holding up a hand. "Don't go. I don't get many visitors."
"You don't exactly chum around with the others, Matt."
"Unlike some people, I'm not crazy," he retorted, "and I resent always being put in here like I am. So no, I don't want to be seen as one of the crazies, okay?"
Harley rubbed her eyes. "Do you want to help me escape or not?"
Clayface's eyes literally popped out of his face for a moment before retracting. "You actually believe this half-baked story she can bring your friend back?"
"She says if I think she's lying at any point, I can do whatever I want to her," Harley said.
"What, make her eat trick gum?" Clayface asked sardonically.
"Make me think she can cure Red? And then I find she's lying?" she shot back. "I'd make her eat a lot worse than that, Clayface."
The way she snarled her response made him believe her.
"So," he said carefully, "these Lazarus Pits? They bring you back from the dead, cure aging?"
"Basically, yeah."
"I wonder if they'd cure my condition too?" he asked, wistful.
"What condition?" she said blankly.
He stared at her. "Hello? How about not being human?"
"Oh, right, sorry," Harley said. "Sometimes I forget you weren't always like that. I don't know. If it can make dead people living again, why not?"
Clayface frowned. "You and I would be grasping at straws, you know."
Harley took a moment to fondly remember the time she'd said that while dangling from a billboard. Then she got back to the matter at hand. "Oh, like we're sacrificing so much. Gee, wouldn't it be hard to leave this?" she asked sarcastically.
He chuckled. "That's true."
She leaned even closer, so that her nose was almost touching the barrier. "How soon could you get us out of here?" she whispered.
"Me? Don't you have a plan?"
"My plan was you! You've always got pieces of your body on the outside. Can't they just seep in and break you out like they always do?"
"This is MY body, Quinn, not a team of trained rodents."
She felt a push on her back, and her nose got zapped as she encountered the barrier. "Ouch!" Harley whined, rubbing her nose. She turned and looked at the orderly who had pushed her. "What was that for?!"
"Sorry, couldn't resist," Clayface said.
"Huh?"
The second orderly pulled a lever at a console. The barrier shut off.
She looked at him. "They're working for you?"
"Oh, please. They ARE me."
Harley's jaw dropped. "You've been your own guards the whole time?! Why the heck didn't you escape sooner?"
"I've been using them to set things up for me on the outside," he replied, unperturbed. "I was just waiting for a reason to go. Come on." He transformed so that Harley was now seemingly surrounded by Arkham guards. "Infirmary, right?"
Harley nodded, astonished.
"Natch."
Not even for a second did anyone try to stop them. The only person to even comment was, once again, the Scarecrow as he was escorted from a session. "Well," he said. "Looks like someone finally got put in her place."
Batman scowled as he waited for monitor duty to end. He preferred not to have monitor duty when it was nighttime in Gotham. He allowed himself to be scheduled for this night, however, because J'onn would be taking over for him in the morning.
He had recorded his conversation with Talia and Ra's al-Ghul over the phone, as he always recorded such conversations. It was his hope that by replaying the tape for J'onn, he could get through to him. Talia was too unstable, too much of a risk, for J'onn to become involved with, no matter what he might feel in these first days.
Batman wished someone could have said that to HIM when he was younger. Then again, Talia had decided she was in love with him after the Count Vertigo incident, maybe even before that. Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered if he had kept her at arms-length from the beginning.
Anyway, she was safely tucked away in Arkham, so there was no possibility of her contacting J'onn and concocting some excuse for her actions. Maybe a couple sessions with a licensed psychiatrist would even help her. He had considered keeping her at the Batcave, but he didn't feel like explaining that to Selina. Arkham had seemed the best alternative.
If the police, even the commissioner, had brought a strange woman to Arkham and asked them to monitor her for two days, no questions asked, the doctors would have responded with a polite bur firm no. For Batman, however, they were willing to be accommodating.
Considering how often he went there with the latest escapee, it was the least they could do for him.
A blinking red light quickly woke him from his thoughts, and he looked to his right.
He frowned as he punched a button to bring the display up on the big screen. The red light meant an emergency was being reported in one of the cities that were most important to the League members - Metropolis, Gotham, Central City, Washington D.C., etcetera. The Watchtower paid special attention to those cities, either because it might mean one of the League members was in trouble, or because it was a matter the relevant Leaguer would want to handle personally. If the Joker was reportedly escaping from Arkham, for example, Batman didn't want just anybody swooping into his city to catch him. He wanted to be notified first.
Batman quickly determined that the emergency was a transmission going out over one of the Kasnian military channels. That of course meant Diana, and he signaled her commlink. "Wonder Woman here," she said momentarily. "What is it?"
"I'm patching into an emergency transmission in Kasnia," Batman told her. "Sounds like one of their convoys is under attack from a rebel force."
"A convoy?" Diana asked quietly. "Patch me through."
The speaker on the radio channel was Kasnian, but both Diana and Batman spoke the language. "Repeat, we are under attack!" he said frantically. "They were waiting for us! Fifteen men, perhaps more! One of them has some sort of arm cannon, he's taken four of our men down single-handedly! They're focusing their energies on the second truck. They must know about the prisoner!"
"Hera," Diana whispered. "I'm in Milan. I'll be there in a couple minutes. Get me the coordinates now!"
"Diana?"
"Just do it!"
He gave her the location the transmission was originating from. "What's the situation, Diana?"
"It's Vandal Savage," Diana said grimly. "Audrey told me Gustav was moving Savage to a specially-made prison tonight by midnight convoy - "
"I'm alerting the rest of the League," Batman interrupted, flicking a switch that enabled him to communicate with all the members, not just Diana. "Incident in Kasnia, possibly an attempt to liberate Vandal Savage from Kasnian captors. Anyone in the vicinity, please respond."
"I can take care of this," Diana snapped.
"Vandal Savage shouldn't be taken lightly," Superman interjected. "I'm on it."
"Not if I get there first," Flash said.
"I'll continue to monitor the situation from here," Batman told them.
Diana muttered something Amazonian. "Very well," she said, "but I will have the situation under control by the time you arrive."
As Batman focused on the Kasnian crisis, he failed to notice that on the screen to his right, the red light was now alerting him to two separate problems.
"Arkham guards?" Talia asked, perplexed, as Harley undid the restraints keeping her in bed. One of the two men Harley had entered with was carefully detaching Poison Ivy from the monitors. "I didn't realize Isley's pheromones could be reproduced."
"This is about free will," the other guard said to Talia. "You sure Ivy can breathe on her own?"
Harley nodded. "Doctors have been saying that all she needs to do is wake up."
An alarm sounded somewhere. "Damn," the second guard muttered. "They must have noticed I was gone."
"Afraid?" Harley asked cheekily.
"Hardly." The first guard came over with Ivy in his arms. "Follow me. I know which way to go."
Talia followed them, discovering yet another orderly waiting outside the infirmary with one of the doctors. "Wait a minute," the doctor said. "Where are you taking these patients?!"
The third guard stretched out an arm. The hand morphed into a shapeless mass of brown goo that covered the doctor's face as the man beat helplessly at the clay. After a few seconds, the arm pulled back, and the man slumped to the floor, passed out due to lack of oxygen.
"Clayface," Talia realized.
"Talia," Clayface retorted. "Maybe you could throw in a hello for the guy who's getting you out of here?"
"I am sorry," she said, "but I was not told you would be coming."
"Yeah, well, you need someone to lug the witch – I mean, the nice lady," he mumbled, seeing the look of death Harley gave him. "Harley tells me you've got these pits that might be able to make me human again."
Talia looked disapprovingly at Harley. Evidently she hadn't explained the Lazarus Pits completely enough. However, it wouldn't do to dissuade the man helping her escape before they'd even reached the outside. "Thank you," she said instead.
"No problem. Here, someone take Pammy," he said. The 'guard' carrying Ivy roughly handed her over to a startled Talia. Then all three 'men' merged, forming one giant with trunk-like arms and legs. "Either of you girls thirsty?"
Harley and Talia looked at each other blankly. "No, why?" Talia asked.
His fists swelled and became round, like enormous maces.
"Because I brought the Orange Crush," he replied with a grin. Pulling an arm back, the burnt orange Clayface swung at the wall, smashing it. A second blow crushed a large hole in the wall.
Harley whistled. "Nice. Except the pun. Bad pun, bad!"
"This from the girl who wears a clown costume," he muttered as he took Ivy once more and led them outside.
"That was a lucky blow," Talia said coolly. "You brought us right to the parking lot."
Clayface looked at her witheringly. "You really think it was luck?" He sighed. "Come on, that van. We're blowing this dump."
"Road trip!" Harley cackled.
Talia blinked. Just what had she gotten herself into NOW?
To be continued . . .