The Great Escape
Dec. 25th, 2007 05:22 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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jla_watchtowerArkham Asylum
Ten minutes until midnight.
Floyd left the car at the access road. Pulled it behind some scrub brush that the grounds crew still hadn't cleared out. Typical. The laziness of the Arkham employees was one of the main reasons that the place had a revolving door on it. Inmates danced in and out, seemingly at will.
One was going to tonight.
Floyd crept from the car to a point between the rear loading gate and the wall outside of what, if his memory was correct, was the cell of Dumfree Tweed. The severe threat block was deeper inside the monolithic building, containing all sorts of walking nightmares, when they were at home, that was. Joker. Killer Croc. Mr. Zsasz. John Dee, the human skeleton called Dr. Destiny. He was one of the only ones in Arkham who actually spooked Floyd, deep down, with his ability to reach one spidery hand into your head and claw out your nightmares.
He didn't have the current duty rosters. Didn't have the current floorplan. So, if they'd changed things substantially since the last time he'd been inside, there could be trouble. Best to have a distraction, and a plan. Because the moment the shooting started, he'd have about 7 minutes at best before the Bat, or one of his people, showed up to respond.
Whoever he sent, Floyd just hoped it wasn't the Huntress, or that kid. He couldn't shoot a kid. Wouldn't shoot Huntress.
Anyone else? Fair game. They walked into his sights, they'd better know a good orthopedic surgeon. Maybe that chick at S.T.A.R. who always rebuilt Vic Stone.
He checked the loads in the wrist magnums, left, then right. Right hand contained a clip of ezpolsive-tipped shells. Left hand contained rubber bullets. No kill shots with the left, unless they were point blank. Right hand was to blow a way out when everything shook loose.
Time to party.
Twenty steps to the loading gate. Duck beneath the camera, wait for it to swivel left. He crossed the twenty steps in time to miss the revolution of the camera and pressed the buzzer twice, the signal for a prisoner drop-off, counting on the guard shift to simply pop the door.
They didn't disappoint.
He aimed low, coming in rolling, and shot twice, one rubber bullet into each kneecap, the new silencers working like a charm. A buzz like a particularly quick flying mosquito, and another, and the two guards were clutching their knees, rolling on the concrete.
"Shh," was all he said, pulling the mask into place, and slipping a blackjack from his belt. Two swings and the guards on back-door duty were out like a busted Crime Alley streetlight. He had about ten minutes before the roaming guard made his way back to the door on his usual rounds. Just enough time to lug these lumps into a supply closet.
He had to fire three more times before making his way to the block containing Harvey Dent. Nothing lethal. If he got popped again, he had enough murders on his jacket to make sure that Zoe wouldn't ever see him again, unless it was through plate glass before they popped a needle into his arm. He wasn't going to be taken alive. Noah had instructions, and the keys to his Cayman accounts, to make sure Zoe was set up for life should anything happen.
He wasn't going to be looking out of the inside of one of these cells again, that much was certain.
He reached Harvey's cell without incident, sliding the prepped security card he'd recieved in one of his mail drops from the Calculator.
"Counselor," he said. "Your ride's here. I figure we're about two minutes from an appearance by somebody we don't want to see. Clock's ticking."
Ten minutes until midnight.
Floyd left the car at the access road. Pulled it behind some scrub brush that the grounds crew still hadn't cleared out. Typical. The laziness of the Arkham employees was one of the main reasons that the place had a revolving door on it. Inmates danced in and out, seemingly at will.
One was going to tonight.
Floyd crept from the car to a point between the rear loading gate and the wall outside of what, if his memory was correct, was the cell of Dumfree Tweed. The severe threat block was deeper inside the monolithic building, containing all sorts of walking nightmares, when they were at home, that was. Joker. Killer Croc. Mr. Zsasz. John Dee, the human skeleton called Dr. Destiny. He was one of the only ones in Arkham who actually spooked Floyd, deep down, with his ability to reach one spidery hand into your head and claw out your nightmares.
He didn't have the current duty rosters. Didn't have the current floorplan. So, if they'd changed things substantially since the last time he'd been inside, there could be trouble. Best to have a distraction, and a plan. Because the moment the shooting started, he'd have about 7 minutes at best before the Bat, or one of his people, showed up to respond.
Whoever he sent, Floyd just hoped it wasn't the Huntress, or that kid. He couldn't shoot a kid. Wouldn't shoot Huntress.
Anyone else? Fair game. They walked into his sights, they'd better know a good orthopedic surgeon. Maybe that chick at S.T.A.R. who always rebuilt Vic Stone.
He checked the loads in the wrist magnums, left, then right. Right hand contained a clip of ezpolsive-tipped shells. Left hand contained rubber bullets. No kill shots with the left, unless they were point blank. Right hand was to blow a way out when everything shook loose.
Time to party.
Twenty steps to the loading gate. Duck beneath the camera, wait for it to swivel left. He crossed the twenty steps in time to miss the revolution of the camera and pressed the buzzer twice, the signal for a prisoner drop-off, counting on the guard shift to simply pop the door.
They didn't disappoint.
He aimed low, coming in rolling, and shot twice, one rubber bullet into each kneecap, the new silencers working like a charm. A buzz like a particularly quick flying mosquito, and another, and the two guards were clutching their knees, rolling on the concrete.
"Shh," was all he said, pulling the mask into place, and slipping a blackjack from his belt. Two swings and the guards on back-door duty were out like a busted Crime Alley streetlight. He had about ten minutes before the roaming guard made his way back to the door on his usual rounds. Just enough time to lug these lumps into a supply closet.
He had to fire three more times before making his way to the block containing Harvey Dent. Nothing lethal. If he got popped again, he had enough murders on his jacket to make sure that Zoe wouldn't ever see him again, unless it was through plate glass before they popped a needle into his arm. He wasn't going to be taken alive. Noah had instructions, and the keys to his Cayman accounts, to make sure Zoe was set up for life should anything happen.
He wasn't going to be looking out of the inside of one of these cells again, that much was certain.
He reached Harvey's cell without incident, sliding the prepped security card he'd recieved in one of his mail drops from the Calculator.
"Counselor," he said. "Your ride's here. I figure we're about two minutes from an appearance by somebody we don't want to see. Clock's ticking."
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no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 06:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 08:29 am (UTC)There's not really a point if his operation doesn't come down with him."
Why is she even having this conversation?
"Exactly how do you plan on managing that without exposing yourself in the process? And me, since you've made me part of this now - thanks for that, by the way. I was just thinking that the only thing better than being wanted by a fucking crime lord would be also being wanted by the police."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 04:33 pm (UTC)"Harv spoke so highly of your character. I didn't expect you to be the 'love 'em and leave 'em to rot' type. Especially since you can't claim Montoya's excuse."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 06:25 pm (UTC)"Fuck you," Is the immediate response. "The Harvey I know wouldn't pull this on me. He's the reason I haven't turned you in already. And you do not get to guilt-trip the person driving your goddamn getaway car."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 06:36 pm (UTC)Unshaken by her curse.
"Which means my words are carrying the weight of truth."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 09:05 pm (UTC)"Fine, you off Thorne. What do you plan on doing to make sure no one takes over his operation? Or had you not thought that far ahead? Do you even care about getting sent back to Arkham again?"
no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 10:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-08 12:15 am (UTC)Of course, Sonia recalls a time when Two-Face had his own place in Gotham's organized crime networks. She's not so much afraid of becoming Thorne in the process of destroying him as she is of him becoming Thorne.
"You try to do that by taking it over and I swear, I'll put on the batsuit and bring you down myself. Harvey or no Harvey, I don't work with crime lords."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 10:42 pm (UTC)Then a shake of his head. "Crimelords. It's more trouble than it's worth. And besides, I can see the allure of what the D.A. has been using as his mantra. Embrace the gray. Embrace the gray."
Watching the Joker fall into his own blood again, as his thumb strokes the handle of his gun.
"The world is gray."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 11:59 pm (UTC)She runs a hand through her hair and sighs.
"I really don't like you right now."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-11 04:59 am (UTC)He slowly puts the gun away.
"Give it time. Eventually, you'll both love me."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-12 04:45 am (UTC)"You have a place to go?"
no subject
Date: 2008-01-13 04:28 am (UTC)Apparently so.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-14 02:02 am (UTC)For someone who can be so difficult to read, the message is fairly clear: she doesn't want to keep talking to him.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-14 11:31 pm (UTC)Slowly, as soon as they're on a long, winding road towards whatever boondocks where his hideout is nestled away, he starts to lean forward. It's almost imperceptible at first.
His eyes twitch a little as he inches forward, until his head tucks downward. He shakes a little - almost a shiver. His hand grabs what it can of the short hair on his head that's been growing since the Clown.
Eventually, he's hunched over, as if he's going to be sick.
As if he isn't already.
Then, finally, there's a whisper.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-15 03:02 am (UTC)No one would blame her if she just dropped him off and left, went straight to the MCU and told them where he was. Probably not even him.
But when she sees him hunched over like that she knows she won't. It would only give Two-Face more power, and destroy Harvey even further. And she can't do that.
Can't do that to her friend. Can't do that to her boss. Can't do that to the man who kissed her fingers. Can't do that to the only person who ever treated her like she was someone who should be protected.
No matter how pissed off at him she might be.
"I know," she says.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-15 06:57 am (UTC)Maybe it's because she's still driving him to hide instead of dumping him out of the car or bringing him into custody.
Maybe she gave him the only true affection he'd had since the acid.
But there's one more whisper.
Maybe it's a lie he needs to believe, in order to have something to fight for.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-15 08:07 am (UTC)Hunched over, he won't see her blink rapidly, as though there were something in her eye. He might not even hear her take that deep, steadying breath.
"Harvey..."
Her voice is soft, for the first time since he got into her car.
"You can't let him win."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-17 03:54 am (UTC)"If I win, we all win. Trust me."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-17 11:16 pm (UTC)"Shut up."
There's nothing else she can say to him right now.