9 9: Weed and Madness

Ivy's hands shook ever so slightly, "$80,000…"

"Give or take a few thousand, yeah," I nodded.

"In one night…?"

"Tidy little profit, huh? Of course, it helps that this was your grand opening."

The business idea I'd proposed to Ivy had finally come to fruition. It took a few weeks of work — I had to get the right permits and licenses and set up a workspace for her — but it was all worth it. Ivy's Ivy officially opened for business this past midnight.

Honestly, it should have taken longer than it did to get everything in order. I suspected Bruce had a hand in that, either as Batman or as his public persona. It was a good rehabilitation strategy for Ivy, after all. Or at least, the start of one. With Ivy's Ivy, Ivy could make money legally and she wouldn't have to turn to crime to fund her grander goals.

As promised, the shop operated out the back of the Dead End. Also as promised, it was covered by my policy of neutrality. Thanks to those things and the obvious protection any shop run by Ivy would enjoy, we didn't run into any problems on opening night.

Everything came together almost perfectly. You couldn't ask for much more from a grand opening. Ivy had enough stock ready to smoke out the entire city. Mister Freeze and his wife were more than happy to volunteer their assistance after what I'd done for them. The customers queued and waited patiently and peacefully. Even the Dead End had seen more business due to the proximity.

The opening of Ivy's Ivy was broadcast live too. Another story brought to Gotham by Vicki Vale. She seemed to think that Ivy's Ivy fell under our exclusivity deal from a week or so back. And since she was giving us free advertising, I wasn't going to dissuade her from that assumption.

Vicki's first story on the Dead End did numbers. Gotham was fascinated by the concept and execution of what I was doing here. No one really liked to say it out loud but villains in Gotham were basically celebrities. Hate them or love them, they were some of the most interesting people in the city.

So a place where villains could gather and interact peacefully? And even heroes were welcome? It was an instant hit. Not just for the good that could be done by the bar's neutrality but for the entertainment value of it all.

We saw another surge of patrons after the story aired. More people on the gray side of society, of course. But also normal people, and most importantly, bored rich people. It was almost like tourism.

Kids with silver spoons in their mouths and kids with no pot to piss in were coming into contact for the first time. The Dead End was quickly becoming the city's premier melting pot. It was just about the only place that opposing worlds like those could collide.

People were talking to those they would have never had the chance to meet. And they were finding out that they weren't so different after all. People were people, not nearly as different from each other as they may think. Hell, with neutrality to keep the peace and alcohol on tap, they were even making friendships that crossed those societal barriers.

The Dead End was on Gotham's mind. And as the one to break the story to the mainstream public, Vicki's name was rising with it. Just as she'd dreamed, Vicki was becoming the most famous reporter in Gotham. I was pretty sure she saw me as her cash cow/golden goose at this point. I knew for a fact that she was diligently defending her 'territory' from all comers. It was kind of cute.

She was still trying to figure out a way to report on the stories I told. They started rumors and legends in their own right. But no one believed them unless they visited the Dead End themselves. You had to hear the stories from my lips directly to not dismiss them as fairytales.

My stories became half the appeal of the Dead End. Those who heard them directly swore by them and those who heard them secondhand were skeptically interested. Many and varied, they were just as entertaining as watching the villains and heroes interact. For me as well, though that was mostly due to the reactions I got.

I don't think I'd ever get over the way people flipped out over the things I'd done or the way Barbara impotently growled and grumbled at me when I spoke of memetic hazards and things beyond mortal comprehension.

Vicki herself was a near-constant sight at the bar these days. I didn't let her film or record in here but she was free to take notes. Seeing the potential profit and ratings to be had from my insane stories, she'd already filled a whole notebook with them. Not that it would do any good when no one outside of the Dead End would believe her but I suppose she could always write them as fiction.

I don't think she'd had that idea yet though. She was still bashing her head against a proverbial wall by trying to make people believe impossible things. So when we announced the grand opening of Ivy's Ivy, she leaped at the chance for a new (actually marketable) story about the Dead End.

With Vicki's help with advertising, Ivy's grand opening was a grand success. That $80,000 Ivy mentioned? That was pure profit from only five hours of operation. The shop's stock needed almost no investment thanks to Ivy and Harley had even come up with an idea to boost sales.

See, Harley's medical license had never been revoked. She could still practice psychiatry as Harley Quinn just as she could as Harleen Quinzel. So technically, she could still prescribe medicinal marijuana cards. Even if she was, say, working on-site at Ivy's Ivy.

It was honestly such a good little hustle. Harley charged a (very small) fee for walk-in appointments. Then she could diagnose her 'patients' and prescribe them a few good joints. All they had to do after that was walk out of her 'office' and fill their prescription.

The hustle might have been a bit suspect if someone already had it out for us. But it was completely legal, as far as we knew. And often, Harley's diagnoses were actually legit. Anxiety seemed to be a common ailment in Gotham. For some reason…

So with free advertising, our name on the city's mind, and Harley's hustle, we made a tidy little profit tonight. 80 big ones, not counting the usual profits from the Dead End itself. It was about 5:30 in the morning at this point and both of our businesses were closed.

We'd formed a strange gang of employees at this point as well. Didi and I were unique for obvious reasons. Then there was Harley and Ivy — a mad psychiatrist and a weed-growing nature goddess. Finally, to round us off, there was Mister Freeze and his wife Nora. Together, the six of us sat around the bar, shooting the shit and counting our money.

"Hehehehe~!" Harley cackled. "Tonight was fun~!"

Didi smiled, "It was, wasn't it? Congratulations, Ivy. Congratulations, everyone, in fact."

"Tonight's operations were acceptable," Freeze said blandly.

Nora sighed, "I suppose a job is a job. I know I can't hope for many more opportunities for Victor. Even I have a large gap in my resume that won't look good without an explanation."

"If you don't want to work here, you don't have to, Nora," I assured. "We can find something else for you to do if you still feel the need to pay me back for healing you."

"It's not that," Nora shook her head. "I don't mind working with Miss Ivy. I just hoped to be doing something more with my degree and intelligence than working a register."

"You could start working on the development side of things," Ivy suggested. "I want to do strains with different effects but I don't fancy figuring them all out with trial and error. Having a qualified chemist would help with that."

That suggestion made Nora perk up, "When you say different effects…?"

Ivy shrugged, "Different effects. My powers can replace the THC and CBD in the weed with just about anything. But I'm a botanist, not a chemist. So your expertise would still be very useful, Nora."

"Caffeine?" Nora immediately sprouted what I could already tell was a science-fueled ladyboner.

"Easy," Ivy confirmed.

"LSD? Psilocybin?"

"Bit more tricky but sure."

"Designer drugs?"

"We'll have to try a few things."

"What about something purely medicinal? Acetometophan, for example?"

"I think I could manage it with your help."

"Can you tweak the chemicals themselves? Remove side effects and such?"

"Not on my own. At least, not comfortably. That's where you would come in."

A wide smile stretched across Nora's face, "Ohohoho~ Yes, I think this could be intellectually stimulating enough for me."

"You know, we kind of have the perfect line-up for a business like this. Ivy, of course. But then a psychiatrist and a chemist as well," I observed.

"We're going to put Big Pharma out of business!" Harley cheered.

"And make bank while doing it," I smirked along with her.

"If it makes Nora happy, I will happily cooperate," Freeze said.

Nora was already lost in potential dreams, "If we figure out a way to offer a safe alternative to many of the harder drugs in circulation… I could be the woman who kills addiction."

"It's a good place to start changing the world," Didi nodded. "I've always thought certain addictions were a fate worse than Death."

"And you'd know, wouldn't you~" I teased her.

Didi sighed, "Not as well as Deliri…"

Harley cocked her head at the two of us, "Huh… What's that about?"

Ivy shook her head goodnaturedly, "Leave them to their secrets, baby. We've got plans to put in place now that we have a steady source of income."

"Oh~! We can finally go on that trip to restore the Amazon rainforest you're always talking about~!" Harley wiggled excitedly in her chair, a motion that did wonderful things to her… well, everything.

"That trip wouldn't even set us back at this point," Ivy agreed. "As soon as we can afford to leave Gotham, I'll be looking into the necessary arrangements."

"Without having to commit crimes and clash with Batman, that might be sooner than you think," I pointed out.

"Aww~," Harley suddenly pouted. "I just realized we won't be able to mess with Batsy anymore."

"There, there," Ivy consoled her. "We can always do it when he visits the bar."

"He might have visited already even," I smirked.

"Really?" Harley asked skeptically. "I haven't seen him."

Ivy was trying very hard to conceal her giggles, "Perhaps~ He might have been right under our noses this whole time~"

"Hmm…" Harley considered that. "Nahhh. Batsy is a drama queen even if he'd never admit it. There's no way he could be hiding in plain sight like that and not do something to give himself away. He'd probably do something silly like talk to us in his civvie identity."

Ivy lost the battle against her giggles, "If you say so~"

"Shame the rest of the Bat Family hasn't been able to come around recently," I said.

"Where are they all, anyway?" Harley asked.

"I think some idiots have their attention right now. A cult or something?" I said with a shrug. "It's Gotham. You know how this city is."

"I miss little Dami already," Didi commented with a slight pout.

"I still cannot believe you tamed the Robin with headpats," Freeze deadpanned.

"Just goes to show he's the smartest one of the Bats," Harley firmly asserted.

"And what does it say that I did the same to two Batgirls?" I asked, amused.

"The quiet one is smart but I think Girl-Bat is just thirsty. You should really do something about that, Gothboy."

"You know? I just might."

Ivy let out a dramatic sigh, "Oh, to be a thirsty Girl-Bat right now~…"

"Yeah, you're just a thirsty flower," I deadpanned in response.

"Then why won't you water me, Gothboy?!" Ivy snapped playfully.

I turned my nose up and sniffed, "I'm waiting for a good harvest."

Ivy glared at me, "I swear if Batgirl flowers for you before me, I will be very cross, Sean."

"Don't go getting your roots in a twist on my account, Ivy."

Harley giggled at our exchange as if she couldn't control herself, "Hehehehehe~! You two are so cute~!"

"We'd be even cuter with Sean's cock pollinating inside me," Ivy growled.

"Language," Freeze chided, his voice cold and monotone.

"O-Oh my…" Nora stuttered. She hesitated before asking, "Say, would it be possible to prioritize a strain of marijuana that mitigates or prevents hypothermia…? Over the addiction issue, even? For… reasons…"

A puff of cold air burst dramatically from Freeze's suit at Nora's question, "I too would be interested in that endeavor."

Ivy rolled her eyes, "I suppose at least one of us should be getting laid."

"Hehe~! Aww~" Harley giggled and cooed. "You've still got me, Red. We could even team up against Gothboy and Didi~! I've got plenty of love to spare~"

Didi blinked, "Wouldn't it be more effective if all three of us teamed up against him, instead of merely two on two? He's still only kissed me so far."

"We've just been kind of busy lately," I made my excuse with a shrug. "But I'm in no rush. These things are sweeter if you draw them out."

"Well, we won't be ignored for much longer!" Harley declared. "Isn't that right, girls?! We've got to unionize and fight for our rights to Gothboy dick~! Down with the restrictive, capitalist bourge-Ds~!"

"Hear, hear~" Ivy purred.

"You really shouldn't ignore the hearts of maidens for so long, Sean. I know you've been taught better than that," Didi pouted, sweet as sugar and twice as addictive.

A thought occurred, "Speaking of love and addiction… Harley, how would you like to be free of Mister J's influence over you? As in, how would you like for that insidious infatuation to be completely… and utterly… Dead?"

In an instant, Harley went from clever wordplay and teasing to still as a statue. From trying to rouse a woman's revolution 'against' me to staring at me with an unreadable expression on her face. She stayed like that for a few long moments before she spoke again.

"Damn, now I know how Red feels around you… Sorry, B-girl, I know he healed you but I'm about to thank him first…"

"Hmm?" I cocked my head slightly. "Harley?"

"Grab him, girls! Hold him down! I'm going to jump his stupid sexy s-bones!"

"Hold on, shouldn't we talk about this?!"

"We can talk after you make sure I'm leaking 'gratitude' out my goddamn ears, Gothboy~!"

IIIII

Barbara Gordon sneezed. Thankfully, her Bat cowl didn't fully cover her nose so it wasn't gross or uncomfortable. She'd never understand how Bruce managed with his. There was probably some tech in place to prevent that kind of thing from getting awkward. Knowing him, he had something for every bodily function… Barbara shivered slightly.

Still, what was that about? Was someone talking about her? Thinking about her? Both?

She allowed her mind to wander slightly. She hadn't been able to visit the Dead End recently. Maybe Sean missed her? Or maybe Ivy and Harley?

Barbara didn't have many other friends who it could be. Her lifestyle and duties didn't lend well to those kinds of casual relationships. That was why she held the Dead End in such high regard currently. Even with how utterly infuriating its owner could be.

Stupid sexy Sean. With his stupid sexy maybe-dyed hair and stupid sexy smirk and those stupid sexy headpats and the stupid sexy way, he looked at her like he could see right through her…

She didn't hate him though. She couldn't. Not after what he'd done to give Barbara her life back. Not even his problematic stories could dampen that. She found herself having more fun going back and forth with him than she'd had in years.

Barbara quickly found herself becoming a regular at the Dead End. More so than anyone else in the Bat Family. Except perhaps Damian. He regularly stopped by for headpats from Didi. Or as he called her 'She-Who-Gives-Perfect-Headpats'.

Barbara herself had been steadfastly avoiding any more of Sean's headpats. She didn't know if she could take that kind of embarrassment again so soon. Of course, Cass didn't seem to feel the same way. She was a regular as well now, stopping by before every patrol for a few quick headpats.

She also — as always — had no concept of personal boundaries. Barbara knew it wasn't Cass' fault, but when she was the one keeping her silent sister-in-Bat-costumes from copping a feel to go along with her headpats, Barbara felt it was more than fair for her to take… notice…

Not that she was jealous! That would be ridiculous! Why would she be jealous of Cass being so forward about receiving more headpats?! If anything, Cass was like an excitable puppy. Definitely not a rival… Because Barbara didn't even want more of Sean's headpats or maybe more than just headpats!

… Okay, that was a lie. And even Barbara could acknowledge that much. Sean was as insufferable as he was entertaining and Barbara wanted nothing more than to have him rock her frickin' world! Did you see the way he played with Vicki Goddamn Vale?! He had the mature, sexy reporter eating out of his hand! 

And the less said about his relationship with Ivy and Harley, the better for Barbara's sanity. Honestly, Sean was an unrepentant tease and player. Barbara didn't even know why she liked him when he was so obviously not committed to monogamy. But, well… after a three-year forced dry spell, maybe she was open to a little bit of experimentation…?

'Here for a good time, not a long time,' Barbara thought sarcastically. 'Especially with my lifestyle. And he already knows my secret identity. Bastard… Still, he's probably one of the only non-heroes who could make a relationship with Batgirl work.'

Barbara had been content to play things by ear with Sean so far. After he'd healed her, she just wanted to thank him. Then she found herself sticking around. Then the rest of the Bat Family and Bruce happened and the Dead End was officially designated as a 'place of interest'.

While she wasn't unsatisfied with the current state of their relationship, a thought kept coming back to Barbara these days, 'How much longer are you going to be content with just your fingers?'

Don't get her wrong. Her fingers were a godsend. Well, being able to feel anything below her navel was a godsend. Her fingers were just the tools she used to capitalize on that godsend. But she knew there were more sensations waiting for her healed body and — to be poetic — Barbara yearned for the touch of another.

At the same time… she was basically a virgin at this point. Making the first move was out of the question. Punching bad guys? Barbara could do that any day of the week. Asking out a (not so) regular guy? In her civvie identity? You might as well ask her to beat Supergirl in an arm wrestling contest.

'I should see about texting Kara,' Barbara absently mused at the reminder. 'Maybe she has some advice for me. Or maybe not, considering Sean's… Sean-ness.'

Barbara knew Kara was just as, if not more pent-up than her. With the things in Sean's stories, there was a very real, non-zero chance he could survive sex with a Kryptonian. Did Barbara really want the additional competition?

'Then again… could I forgive myself for withholding this chance from Kara? And would she even have to be competition?' Barbara reasoned to herself.

There was an idea. So far — not counting Cass —, Barbara's real 'rivals' were Harley and Ivy. A blonde and a redhead. Like Kara and herself… Wouldn't it just be leveling the playing field?

Well, there was still someone else to consider. Didi… Barbara couldn't help but shudder slightly. Why did the literal embodiment of Death have to be so nice?

The call Bruce got from Zatanna was enlightening, to say the least. Did it change anything? No, not really. They'd already marked the Dead End and its owners as anomalies. But there was a difference between knowing there was an anomaly and knowing who that anomaly was.

Thankfully, according to Zatanna, Lady Death was as friendly as she seemed. It was a bit odd to see her hanging out in the mortal world, but it was ultimately unimpactful. The concept of Death hadn't up and stopped during Didi's 'vacation' and she seemed more than happy to simply hang around Sean.

However, it did raise the question of what exactly Sean was. Barbara doubted Bruce was going to get an answer to that any time soon. Sean liked playing with people too much to come right out and say it.

'I can't believe I'm considering this but maybe I should ask Didi for advice.'

It was an unbelievable thought. Asking Lady Death for help seducing the 'man' she worked for. But in Gotham, for the Bat Family especially? It almost seemed like the right course of action.

'Oh, yeah, duh, I'll just ask Death for relationship advice with the guy she's almost certainly already in some sort of relationship with…"

Barbara shook her head. Stake-out thoughts were always weird.

For the moment, all of this was theoretical. She'd been too busy to visit the Dead End for the past two nights. All of the Bat Family had, though Barbara was almost certain Cass and Damian slipped away at some point to fulfill their headpat quotas.

Something was happening in Gotham. Yeah, yeah, what else was new? But this was something a bit more sinister than the norm for the city. Things were moving in the dark. Not the gangs or villains. The Dead End made it quite easy to account for them.

No, this was a movement. A very dark, very concerning movement. This wasn't a protest or other form of political activism. It wasn't even a criminal conspiracy. No, by Bruce's best estimates, Gotham had a new cult.

It started with vague flyers. They bore nothing more than a strange, ominous symbol. An 'A', enclosed in concentric circles. And they were everywhere. North, South, East, and West, from the poorest areas of the city to the richest.

Then came the whispers. A bit of madness here. A bit of insanity there. All cloaked with a paradoxical sense of purpose. Something was coming.

The Dead End was a great help here as well. With it becoming the place in the city for people from all walks of life to gather, there was plenty of information to be overheard. More than a few people were curious about the flyers and their meaning, likely playing right into the movement's hands.

With the whispers, the flyers, and some good old-fashioned detective work, the Bat Family had narrowed the likely focus of the cult down to Arkham Tower — the recent replacement for Arkham Asylum. Because of course, it would be Arkham…

That led Barbara back to what she was currently doing. What the whole Bat Family was currently doing. It was Stakeout Time™.

"Yaaaaaaaayyyy…" Barbara deadpanned to herself.

She was more than aware that stakeouts were a necessary part of the job. Especially when they had very little to go off of — like they did with this cult. Even as Oracle, she'd been a part of this process. Barbara was of the (objectively correct) opinion that digital stakeouts were much better than physical ones.

Unfortunately, they didn't have any other options in this case. The Bat Family's investigation hadn't turned up anything of real note. The cult had been very careful to fly under the radar. They were remarkably focused on whatever scheme they had in the proverbial oven.

Usually, with cults like this, there would be something. Evidence of recruitment. Mass gatherings. Preaching or trying to spread their message in some way. Causing general chaos and unrest with many little events and crimes. Something.

There hadn't been any of those things in this case so far. This cult was keeping strictly to the shadows until it was time for their grand reveal.

The Bat Family only knew to focus their efforts on Arkham Tower thanks to Bruce's knowledge of occultism and symbology. The 'A' on the flyers was stylized in the same way as the 'A's from Amadeus Arkham's signature — the founder of the original Asylum. And the concentric circles were some sort of occult ideogram.

Thankfully, crime in the rest of the city was down since Sean's bar started making waves. Bruce even coordinated with Sean to offer drinks half-off for a few days to make sure crime stayed that way and to give the Bat Family the necessary leeway to focus on Arkham.

They were prepared for anything. But all that had come out of the stakeout so far was three nights of monotony. It was boring work but necessary. They were watching Arkham in shifts. And Barbara's current shift was just about done. By the bottom of the hour, she should be able to get out of her costume and get a shower.

'Or visit Sean~' A traitorous voice teased in her mind.

Barbara shook the thought out of her head. She turned back to the Bat-puter connected to her gauntlet. It was plugged into Arkham's system and she had access to the whole Tower with it. Flicking through the camera feeds just showed the same thing as when she checked 10 minutes ago.

There was a soft thump on the rooftop nook of the Tower Barbara was using as a stakeout position. Just from the sound of the impact, Barbara knew who it was. Bruce's cape would have ruffled ever-so-slightly. Damian would have made absolutely no noise when he landed. Terrifyingly, Jason was in the same boat as Damian. Cass would have already poked her. Tim and Steph would have been louder than the soft thump and accompanied by the sound of their grapple guns.

"Here to relieve me, Dick?" She asked.

"Yeah, Babs. Any movement?" Dick answered and asked in return.

He came up beside her, crowding in to look at her screen too. Barbara naturally leaned on him. She'd missed this sort of natural camaraderie in the field when she was out of commission. She fondly remembered doing this exact same thing with Dick when they were both younger.

'He's a good few inches taller now though,' Barbara absently mused.

He was her brother in all ways that mattered. All ways but blood. A brother she'd once wanted to fuck but still. She'd gotten over that crush during her time as Oracle. Now, she was just happy to be in costume next to him again.

 "No movement. Same as when I came on shift. The Tower is basically asleep right now. Except for the usual suspects."

"The moment we catch Joker sleeping is the moment when I settle down," Dick joked. "Maybe see if Supergirl is still interested? Or Miss Martian? Or Cyborg? Or Aqualad?"

"You're such a slut," Barbara rolled her eyes. "Kara would crush your pelvis into powder."

Dick nodded sagely, "But what a way to go…"

"And then Superman would get involved to make sure you weren't hurting his cousin," Barbara deadpanned.

"Err… on second thought…"

"Manwhore."

"Dweeb."

"Jackass."

"Virgin," Dick shot back.

"I've had sex, Dick!" Barbara snapped. "It's just… been a while."

"Suuuuurreee, you have," Dick smirked and patted her shoulder condescendingly.

Barbara stuck her tongue out at him because she was obviously the more mature of the two of them.

Dick chuckled, "Anyway, you should be clear to relax here in a second. Let me just plug myself in and then you can go."

Barbara sighed, "Haaa… Which means it's also time for paperwork."

She snapped her gauntlet closed and began to pack up, making sure to not forget anything. There wasn't much but she did just spend six hours on the roof of the Tower. Her Bat Chair™ was folded into its very small travel state and the remaining trash from her Bat Snacks™ was slid into her utility belt.

"Has anyone ever told you your naming sense sucks?" She snarked.

"Many people but I don't see it," Dick answered with amusement. "I'll remind you that I also came up with the genius of Bat Shampoo™ and Conditioner Gordon™."

Barbara paused, "… Okay, I'll give you that one. But that still doesn't make up for 'Wingdings'."

"Why does everyone have such a problem with my Wingdings?! I think they're great-…" Dick abruptly stopped his little rant, focusing on his own Bat-puter. "Movement, Babs. I think it's going down."

Barbara hung her head in exasperation, "Damn it… Right, I'll contact the others. What are we looking at?"

"The guards at Entry let in a bunch of cliched, robed figures then joined them," Dick recounted. "The rest of the guards in the Tower are joining them as well. I think the warden too. They're all going into the Tower's basement. A cell…? Why is there a cell down there?"

"The patients and inmates?" Barbara inquired, sending the standard Bat SOS™ to the rest of the Bat Family.

"They're completely unsupervised now but none of them have noticed yet."

"What about the cultists?"

"Can't see much past their hoods. They all look human, at least. Hopefully, that will mean they're not magically mutated or anything. The only one without a hood is this old guy in a vestment. Looks like a priest or something. So 'cultists' sounds about right."

At this point, the signal had been sent and Barbara was already getting acknowledging replies from the rest of the BatFam. Reinforcements were on the way and would be there in minutes. Minutes that they might not have as the cultists reached their destination — the lone cell in Arkham Tower's basement — and set about their ritual.

Rebooting her Bat-puter — which was luckily still connected to Arkham's system —, Barbara hissed as she recognized the man Dick mentioned, "Shit, Deacon Blackfire. How the Hell is he even here?! He's been dead three times over at this point! Wasn't he fucking erased by God's Judgment when he blew up the original Arkham Asylum?!"

"Damn," Dick chuckled. "I had my money on the Court of Owls."

"Not nearly enough owl-hybrids and rich people," Barbara dismissed. "C'mon, we've got to move."

Arkham Tower was a dreary and imposing structure. Unlike the Asylum of the same name, Arkham Tower wasn't located on the fringes of Gotham. It was built in the unfinished, towering, former lair of Hugo Strange. Which was located in the middle of the city…

'Whoever thought that was a good idea should be brought up on criminal charges,' Barbara thought.

Yet despite its location, Arkham Tower somehow managed to feel isolated. Constrained. Just as much a prison as the original. A monument of hostile architecture, it cut a jagged silhouette in Gotham's skyline.

Barbara had been sitting on one of the tower's sharp terraces — wide enough to get a good pace going — for her stakeout. Of course, that meant Dick had scaled a dozen stories to get to her. But that was far from surprising, really.

This position had been chosen for its anonymity and access to the Tower. There was an access shaft set into the wall that the two heroes could use to enter and traverse the tower. It would take them anywhere throughout the tower's interior. A fact that could be attributed to some crazy bastard on the design team and Bruce throwing discreet money at the project despite his reservations. After all, it paid for Batman to have a way to get around Arkham undetected.

If someone looked at Arkham Tower from above with X-ray vision, they would have seen a multi-story stack of Swiss cheese. Barbara and Dick entered the access shaft, prepared to use those many 'cheese holes' to their advantage. The most direct route to the tower's basement was already programmed into their Bat-puters and even as they rappelled down the seemingly endless empty shaft with branching paths, Barbara was focused on her screen.

"Do we have anything on this cell in the basement?" Dick asked.

"From what I can tell," Barbara answered. "It's a complete replica of Amadeus Arkham's cell at the original Asylum. Down to the millimeter. They even scraped the blood from the original and cloned it to use here."

Dick was bewildered, "What the…? Why would they even build that? No, why would they document going to such lengths to recreate the insane, bloody carvings?!"

"It's Gotham," Barbara deadpanned as if that answered everything. It did.

"Most likely, this has been in the works for longer than we thought. The legends of Arkham's founder must have gathered a cult following and Blackfire probably latched onto it for his own means."

"Does that tell us anything about their goals and motives?"

"With Blackfire leading all of this, it's probably something to do with the occult."

"Which never ends well. Especially not when combined with famously insane men like Arkham and Blackfire."

"And since the guards are involved as well, we'll have to do a full purge of the tower after this is done."

"We're also on a time limit," Dick pointed out. "I'll bet Joker is already noticing the lack of supervision. This is a mass breakout in the making."

Barbara's screen pinged, "Bruce and Damian are six minutes out. Sending them everything we think we know so far."

"They're going to be a little late to the party," Dick said as they landed at the bottom of the shaft.

"No, we're just fashionably early," Barbara joked.

"Shall we?" Dick asked faux formally, even going so far as to extend his elbow to her.

"We shall."

The basement was a strange space. Neither of them had been down here before or even seen blueprints of it. It was a cave of concrete and almost nothing else. In the very center, a lone cell stood on its own. Just a single box of concrete, unconnected from its already bland concrete surroundings.

There weren't any shadows to hide in so the two heroes had to watch from the vent in the wall that connected to the access shaft they'd entered from. The previously empty, cavernous basement was now filled with more than just the lone cell. Several dozen people crowded around, waiting with bated breath for something. Some were in robes. Others were in Arkham uniforms. Two stood out as special. One in an expensive suit and the other in a clergy's vestments.

The man in vestments stood above the crowd. Barbara couldn't help but muffle a giggle, "Looks like Blackfire brought his own soapbox to speak from."

Dick snorted but shushed her, "Hngk, shhh, Babs."

"My Flock… My precious Flock…" Deacon Blackfire said with gravitas and genuinely twisted affection. "We are on the verge of greatness. For too long, this city has been plagued by madness. Madness… Pure madness!"

"Joy," Dick muttered. "Like he doesn't add to that 'madness' at all."

"And here at Arkham! That madness has been allowed to fester!" Blackfire continued, preaching up a storm. "Fester and feast on itself. Growing like vines in the dark to cover every inch of this city."

"Ivy would take offense to that, you crazy undead bastard," Barbara grumbled.

"It was bad enough when Arkham was relegated to the fringes of Gotham. But now! It is here, in the center of it all… That cannot be allowed to stand. Today, we fight madness with madness!"

His 'sermon' was met with cheers and exaltations. Barbara shook her head, "I can see how he's gathered support in Arkham."

"Amadeus Arkham was a troubled man. There is no denying that. But he knew madness," Blackfire intoned solemnly. "And even to the very end, he fought madness with everything he had. Inside this cell is a direct recreation of his final works. The wonderful and genius Sigil of Madness!"

"Even the name he gave it sounds evil. Man, he just can't help himself, can he?" Dick mused.

"He's his own special brand of evil compared to our usual villains," Barbara said.

Blackfire's voice rumbled deeply, sinister and heavy as he said, "There is only one way forward… To activate the Sigil of Madness, we must perform a grand ritual. The fate of the city lies in our hands and our illustrious warden had volunteered himself as a sacrificial tribute… to madness! Rejoice, my Flock!"

"Aaannnndd…" Dick drawled. "That's our cue."

"Fucking cultists…" Barbara grumbled. "It's always human sacrifice, isn't it?"

They slid out of the hole in the wall that they were peeking through. Almost immediately, they were noticed. There wasn't anywhere to hide in the basement, eerily well-lit and empty as it was.

So instead of trying for stealth, Dick and Barbara announced themselves. A Batarang and one of Dick's comically named Wingdings whistled through the air to destroy Blackfire's soapbox. He fell on top of the wooden heap as it collapsed.

Blackfire's cowardly nature showed itself immediately, "G-Get them! T-Their madness stands before our fated mission! Take heed, my Flock! You must stop them while I hi-… Complete the ritual! At any cost!"

As if controlled by one collective mind, the robed figures and Arkham guards turned to face Dick and Barbara. Those with guns raised them into ready positions. Those without lumbered forward ominously and dramatically. While his Flock threatened the two heroes, Blackfire grabbed the warden and slipped into the sole standing source of cover within the basement.

Dick and Barbara were already moving before the armed guards could get a bead on them. Dick split right. Barbara mirrored him on the other side. The guards opened fire.

Dick's batons shot from his gauntlets into his hands. With well-practiced swings, he cleaved a swath through the unarmed cultists coming at him.

He weaved between bullets as if he had a sixth sense. As flexible and strong as a whip, Dick's body moved like a weapon. He ducked and struck. His batons left cultists and guards bruised and unconscious.

On the other side, Barbara slipped under the gunfire. A few pistol rounds pinged off her armored suit. She barely noticed them.

She slid, taking out the legs of her first cultist. They went down in a pile of limbs and robes. Barbara put them out of commission with a perfect strike to the temple.

In an instant, she was twirling around and putting down another. She didn't carry the batons Dick did but even unarmed, she was more than dangerous enough to match him. Her fists flashed like steel, hammering through unprepared defenses. Feet, knees, and elbows struck true, laying low everything that stood against her.

Barbara moved like a well-oiled machine. Her movements were effortless. Every dodge and strike, perfectly timed for the greatest effect, flowed from the last like water. Even in her prime, she would have struggled to match her current self.

Her face was a mask of concentration. Mostly trying to limit collateral damage from the indiscriminate gunfire aimed at her. She took down several cultists before they could be caught in the crossfire from their allies.

On the inside, Barbara was practically giddy. It felt so good to be back in the field like this. To use her body as the dangerous weapon she'd trained it to be. She danced to the full extent of her physical capabilities and beyond.

Before being healed, she couldn't have imagined doing this again. Much less doing it better than in her prime. Sean called it 'Death of the Unhealthy Body'. Considering who they now knew Didi to truly be, that raised some concerns.

Still, Barbara couldn't argue with the results. She was faster and stronger than she'd ever been before. Her body wasn't just healed, it was restored to everything it would have been in a perfect world. Every injury, every setback, and every mistake had been eliminated as if they never happened. Barbara was raised to an impossibly perfect standard and maintained there.

For all intents and purposes, she was superhuman. At least, so far as how her body had achieved impossible levels of physical perfection and health. Barbara's body had been taken to the peak of humanity and elevated past it ever so slightly.

She twirled and kicked, spun and struck, acting more like a whirlwind of evasive offense than a mere human. She flipped over bullets and grasping hands alike. Like a harvesting scythe in a field of wheat, Barbara left cultists prone and unconscious.

Only when they continued to stand up, barely shaking off her initial knock-out strikes, did Barbara start to break bones. That was their one warning. Knocking them out was Barbara playing nice.

But these were zealots. If they could make themselves stand, they would keep coming. Their devotion to an ideal that was 'greater' than them drove them on unendingly. The only way to keep them from killing themselves was to make sure they were physically unable.

Knees were dislocated. Shoulders, displaced from their sockets. Ribs were cracked and broken. Flesh and muscles were bruised, left too sore to stand. Pressure points cried out, screaming sensations that immobilized the bodies they were connected to.

Barbara left the cultists as a mess of hospital bills and future aches. It was unsightly but necessary. For their own good, even. They were trying to kill her, prevent her from stopping an occult ritual that would do who knows what to the city. Barbara was only doing what she had to.

The violence she was dishing out was a means to a noble and just end. She took no pleasure in pain. If anything, she felt bad for the cultists. As she was now, fighting normal humans was almost bullying. They didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell…

Barbara made sure to be appropriately gentle because of that consideration. Well, as gentle as breaking bones and dislocating joints can be. Thankfully, her control had improved right alongside her body. She could dish out just the right amount of force every time.

Blinding the last guard with her cape, Barbara twirled around him. She grabbed his gun and disarmed him as she twirled. Dropping the mag and ejecting the round in the chamber, she slapped him upside the head with his now-inert gun. He dropped like a sack of bricks. As if the strings holding his body upright were suddenly cut.

Now finished with her side, Barbara looked to Dick. He was lagging behind her but not by much. It only took him a few more seconds to deal with the rest of his cultists. Soon enough, they were all disabled and he rejoined Barbara.

Together, they rushed into the recreation of Amadeus Arkham's cell. Only to find they were a moment too late. Arkham's warden lay in the center of the Sigil of Madness. Deacon Blackfire stood over him with a bloody knife in hand. A slitted gash ran across the warden's neck.

Dick and Barbara quickly subdued the cowardly deacon. As Dick watched him, Barbara kneeled next to the warden and began first aid. She was able to stem the bleeding using Batgel™, a quick-acting medical gel that sealed and supported wounds. The warden would live but the blood was already spilled.

Blood pooled into the Sigil of Madness below the deacon. An unearthly glow illuminated it. Barbara moved the warden out of the way just as the glow tried to peak. Without the source of blood for the ritual, the Sigil of Madness stuttered and failed. But only partially.

A flash of writhing madness tried to fill the cell. The roar that should have accompanied it came out as a mad whimper. The Sigil wasn't yet powerful enough to affect the whole city. But it did affect Arkham Tower, infecting it with even more madness than what already filled its walls.

All of the inhabitants of Arkham Tower received an unhealthy dose of madness. Including the just-arriving Bat Family. Thankfully, the Bat Family was already mad enough. Along with their indomitable wills, they were left relatively unaffected by the Sigil.

The patients and inmates of the tower weren't so lucky. Months and years of progress were reverted in seconds. Madness cackled from the walls around them. Inmates awoke, doors came unlocked, and in a mad symphony, a path was laid to escape.

Chief among them was the Joker. He accepted the madness into his soul. It didn't so much affect him as it did feed him, fuel him. A man of pure insanity, he fed on the unearthly madness as he and the others made their escape. Inside the convoluted corridors of his mind, something already thoroughly broken… cracked. But, like, in a funny way.