Gordon had his gun aimed at the door, unsure what or who would be trying to get in next - although by that point, he'd say he had a pretty good idea. Alfred, on the other hand, preferred to keep a gun to Kathryn's temple. No one had removed her cuffs, there was damning evidence in Gordon's pocket - enough to set up a trial for her, yet the casual way she leaned back in her seat perturbed the butler.
Sounds of crashing lamps, shifting chairs and tables scraping on the floor erupted outside.
"Enough nonsense from this stuffy aristocrat!" Alfred moved Kathryn's head with the strength of his barrel trained on her head. "You tell me what I need to know right now, or I'm blowing your damned head off!"
"Hey..." warned Jim, though not too sternly, his gun still pointed in the direction of the shut door.
"That's all?" asked Kathryn, unimpressed. "I'm getting threatened with a gun in the middle of a station, in front of the reigning Captain himself, and all I get is a 'hey'?"
"I'd say this situation is a little unconventional. Bruce Wayne's butler holding a gun to your head is the least of our problems right now," replied Jim with a sarcastic smirk.
"Damn it!" yelled Alfred, right before he smacked her across the temple with the back of his gun, knocking her out completely.
Jim winced. "Was that really necessary, Alfred?"
"Whoever it is that is out there is coming for her, alright? You know that and I know that. Now can you bloody get her cuffs off so we can take her somewhere else?"
Still trained on the door, Jim hesitated a moment, then pulled the key from his breast pocket and threw it over to Alfred. Alfred caught it mid-flight, and immediately set to getting the cuffs off Kathryn.
Right then, an imposing shadow moved through the smoke and kicked open the door. Stepping into the room was an iron-plated Barnes, the former Captain of the GCPD, now driven completely insane. Jim began shooting at Barnes the moment he came into view, but he only managed to squeeze out two bullets before his gun got sliced into half by the axe that Barnes had affixed onto his left hand. Neither bullet managed to hit anything, having ricocheted off the iron. In mere moments, Jim found himself lifted off the ground, his throat wrapped tighter than a Christmas present by Barnes' other hand.
"Jim Gordon!" boomed Barnes. "You're found guilty of corruption and misconduct within the field of law-enforcement. How do you plead?" Jim couldn't reply, all he could was to gasp for breath.
"Jim guilty of corruption?" Alfred blurted out, still standing over Kathryn. "His 'misconduct' pales in comparison to the evils this woman has committed. This woman that you're trying so hard to rescue."
Nathaniel Barnes turned to Alfred with a genuinely vested interest in what he had said. He lowered Jim to the ground. "And who are you?"
"Alfred Pennyworth, butler under Bruce Wayne's employ. This woman, Kathryn Monroe, is single-handedly responsible for the kidnapping of my employer. If you're a believer in the system, then you'll arrest her first."
Barnes glared at the unconscious Kathryn, dismayed that he couldn't pass a proper sentence on her with her not being consciously in attendance. "Thank you civilian, I'll bear that in mind for when she wakes up."
Still clutching onto Jim's throat, Jim tried desperately to swing a fist at the ex-Captain, but the ex-Captain was decked out like a 15th century knight. Jim knew he wouldn't get anywhere in a fist fight. Like a child with a new toy, Barnes tossed Jim onto a wall behind him and went after Kathryn instead. Jim took the impact to his back, and slipped to the ground, groaning in pain as he went down.
Following that, there was just seconds between Alfred pulling out his own gun, Barnes slashing it into half with a powerful lurch, and knocking Alfred out in the process.
Still recovering from the blow, Jim could only watch on helplessly as Barnes picked Kathryn up, placed her over his shoulder like a large rag-doll, smashed a hole in the wall and left the station through the hole he had made like a lumbering iron gorilla.
Jerome Valeska was enjoying a lazy afternoon, stretched out on his mattress in his cell. Just three cells down the row, Hooper was howling like a dog again. Five more on the other side, Glenda was balancing a mix between crying, laughing and screaming. Occasionally you'd have a guard come in and yell something rough to quieten down the inmates. It rarely ever worked beyond a few seconds though. Like the conductor of some abstractly genius orchestra, Jerome waved his imaginary stick around, melding the sounds into a single rhythmic melody. It was pure gold to his ears - the sounds of utter chaos and insanity.
But just as he was about to drift to the comfortable embrace of sleep, there came the sharp yell of a man dying, the slicing of what sounded like a blade, and a guttural gurgling. Hooper and Glenda quietened down in apprehension, while the sounds only worked to excite him instead. He leapt up, and stuck his nose as far between the tiny little bars that the window in his door allowed him to. Unfortunately he couldn't see crap.
The jiggling of keys followed next, and the beep of the security door getting unlocked. Someone was trying to enter the domain of the musical geniuses. Jerome wanted to know who it was. "Yoo hoo!" he called out. "I spy with my little ear, someone with a little knife... hmm," he gave it some thought. "Switchblade? Or razor? Might need to use my helpline." Glenda began screeching like a bird on steroids. "Thank you for the suggestion Glenda. I'll take that into consideration."
Footsteps down the corridor, right up to his cell. That's when he saw the man who made those sounds. He had a smooth shaven face, gel-ed up hair, very model-esque, Jerome thought - moderately buff build, and dressed up as a prison guard. That moment passed by quickly, but he made certain to remember what he'd seen.
"Ooo, hello there beautiful," he said with a wink as he beamed widely. The intruder didn't reply. Rude... thought Jerome. On the upside though, the man did leave a present behind. Slid under the door was a bloodied switchblade wrapped in a piece of paper. Jerome picked up his gift as the man walked away. "Hey everyone! Christmas' come early!" he boasted proudly to the others.
Gerald, the old guy living directly opposite from him, poked his face out from behind the bars, straining to see what Jerome had been given.
"Guess you wish Santa had visited you too," he said smugly. "Let's not be jealous though, we'll all share a part of this present."
Carefully, he opened the piece of paper that had been given to him. It was smudged with the blood of whoever was gurgling before. The blood went on his fingers, making it shiny and red. Turning his attention back to his present, he picked up the weapon, and noticed there was writing on the piece of paper. Turning it in the correct direction, he proceeded to read the note out loud. "71 Welling Avenue." He turned the paper the other way, there was nothing there. He turned it back. There was just a single line of writing. He frowned - what an anti-climax. "Hmm... 71 Welling Avenue," he repeated loudly, trying to figure out what it meant.
"Seventy one!" Hooper cried out. Glenda followed in sync. And very soon, the two rows of cells were chanting the words '71 Welling Avenue', in a mess of hoots and hollers. In the midst of all the cacophony, the compound alarms were triggered. A few seconds after, the unlocking of their cell doors following a loud beep.
Jerome pushed at the door to his cell that was usually kept sealed - except now it was open. He walked out. So did others living near him. They looked as confused as he was. He slid the knife and the piece of paper into his pocket nonetheless, and began walking down the hall. All the doors were open, even the thick security doors. Peering into the guard room, he noticed three guards stacked on top of each other, and a pool of blood gathering beneath. The monitors were all displaying white static. If Jerome had to guess, the clean shaven guy was likely the one who did all this.
He must be a Bobby, Jerome thought to himself, and all at once determined that Bobby would be his next best friend. Bobby would be hunted down to be personally thanked. Till then though...
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is time to parrrrtaaay!" he exclaimed out loud as the patients of Arkham Asylum increasingly poured into the corridors through unlocked doors, all of them headed for the exit.
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