DC: A Cop in Gotham

Chapter 36: Arkham at the Same Time

————————————————————

The large-scale power outage caused by the earthquake seemed like a minor episode to most people. After all, the power supply was restored quickly. Life in Gotham had its share of catastrophes, and people had become accustomed to brushing off incidents like this.

But for certain places, a blackout could be catastrophic. In Arkham Asylum, any disruption was an opportunity—one that the inmates were always watching for.

It wasn't long after the earthquake when chaos erupted in Arkham. The sound of metal clanging against metal, shouts of rage, and deranged laughter echoed through the asylum's cold, concrete halls. Inmates were smashing, looting, and setting fires, their madness unleashed without restraint. Young guards, overwhelmed and unprepared, were overtaken. Bloodstains marked where some had been dragged away, their lifeless bodies thrown into electric chairs. Blue sparks crackled on charred flesh, and the stench of burnt bodies wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of smoke and ash.

In the midst of this madness, Killer Croc sat quietly in his corner. He pulled a toothbrush from his massive jaws, spitting out foam with a bored expression. Despite the noise outside, he seemed unfazed.

"The garbage outside is really noisy. Just a little bit—poof!" he muttered, dismissing the chaos as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Clayface, his cell neighbor, glared at him. "Are you so easily satisfied, Killer Croc? A slightly bigger bed and a curly-bristle laundry brush are all it takes to buy you?"

Clayface's tone dripped with disdain. Unlike Killer Croc, Clayface was agitated, pacing back and forth in his cell. He knew there was an earthquake, and he knew chaos had broken out. This was the perfect opportunity to escape.

"What a waste," Clayface muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the closed alloy baffles separating the special ward from the rest of Arkham. The regular cells might have been breached, but the special ward had its own power supply, leaving them still locked inside.

Killer Croc didn't seem to care. After finishing with his toothbrush, he lumbered over to his iron bed and stretched out on it. The reinforced bed groaned under his massive weight, but it held firm. "Clayface, I know you're anxious, but don't get ahead of yourself," Killer Croc said lazily.

"Don't get ahead of myself?" Clayface repeated, his frustration evident. He shot a glare at Croc. "There's a riot going on out there! Do you even understand what this means?"

Killer Croc remained indifferent. "Arkham is unguarded now. Escaping is just a matter of time. Besides…" He gestured toward the other cells with a clawed hand. "You don't even know who's imprisoned here."

Clayface stopped pacing, his expression darkening. He glanced at the sealed doors of the other cells, unease creeping into his thoughts. Killer Croc was right. Arkham housed all kinds of monsters, and not all of them were as cooperative as he might hope.

Killer Croc smirked, his sharp teeth gleaming. "Patience, Clayface. This place isn't going to hold us forever."

The sound of distant explosions and screaming echoed through the corridors. The Clown Gang—fanatics devoted to the Joker—were undoubtedly involved. They were lunatics who had given up their identities and past lives, dedicating themselves entirely to their deranged leader. With faces painted in grotesque grins, they would do whatever it took to free the Joker.

"They're all lunatics," Clayface muttered, shaking his head. "And Arkham has no shortage of lunatics."

"If the price of freedom is cooperating with that madman," Clayface continued, his voice filled with disgust, "I'd rather stay here."

Even for someone like Clayface, who had committed his fair share of heinous crimes, the Joker was a line he didn't want to cross. The clown was unpredictable, manipulative, and entirely untrustworthy. Cooperation with him often ended with a knife in the back—figuratively or literally.

The Joker's madness was unlike anything else. He didn't need reasons or motivations. His chaos was pure, and that made him terrifying.

"Boom!"

The sound of an explosion reverberated through the special ward, interrupting Clayface's thoughts. The partition door opened, and a group of injured prisoners staggered in.

The newcomers had blood smeared across their faces in the shape of smiles, and their eyes gleamed with fanaticism. They moved with purpose, heading straight for the control panel. It was clear they'd done this before.

As the alloy baffle slowly rose, the Joker emerged. He yawned, stretching his arms as if he'd just woken from a nap.

"You're all so slow," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "I almost missed the carnival… But that's fine. I'll just throw an even grander party. We'll wait until the little bat finishes his errands before inviting him to the fun."

The Joker's men helped him to his feet. He turned to look at Clayface, his permanent grin as unnerving as ever. "Open all the cell doors. The more chaotic Gotham becomes, the more time I have to prepare."

"Yes, boss," one of the henchmen replied immediately, moving to carry out the order.

Within moments, Clayface and Killer Croc were freed.

"Didn't you just say you'd rather stay here?" Killer Croc taunted, his voice filled with amusement.

Clayface didn't respond. Instead, his body shifted and swelled, transforming until he looked exactly like Killer Croc. Without a word, he walked out of the cell with a confident swagger, blending into the crowd of escaping inmates.

Killer Croc stared after him, momentarily stunned. Then his expression twisted into anger, and he let out a low growl.

"That bastard!" he snarled, baring his teeth. He lunged forward, but Clayface had already disappeared into the chaos.

Killer Croc grumbled to himself, shaking his head. "Having too many faces lets you get away with anything."

Deciding not to waste his energy chasing Clayface, Killer Croc turned his attention elsewhere. He moved purposefully through the ward, heading for a particular cell he remembered.

When he reached it, he didn't hesitate. With one powerful swipe of his claws, he struck down the prisoner inside, their head smashing against the wall.

"Sybil, come with me," he said in low voice.

---

Amid the chaos that had consumed Arkham Asylum, the special ward stood as a bizarre oasis of relative calm. Outside its walls, inmates tore through corridors, wreaking havoc on guards and each other, while fires and smoke filled the air. Within the special ward, however, things were eerily quiet—except for the faint sound of rustling leaves.

Poison Ivy's cell was unlike any other. Greenery thrived in the confined space, climbing walls and draping over furniture. The scent of fresh soil and blooming flowers permeated the room, a stark contrast to the stench of burning and blood outside. Under Ivy's tender care, even the plants that had looked weak and shriveled the day before now stood vibrant, their leaves lush and full of life.

Cradling a sunflower in her arms, Ivy pressed her cheek against its golden petals. Her lips moved silently, as if she were whispering to the plant, her words meant only for its ears.

"Bang!"

The sudden, heavy sound of a body hitting the ground echoed through the ward, interrupting Ivy's moment of peace.

A cold, sharp voice followed: "All this chaos, and it's because of those fools and this damn earthquake. The Joker's escaped, and my treatment has to start all over again."

Ivy turned her head toward the source of the voice. She immediately recognized the figure standing outside the Joker's now-empty cell—a woman with striking blue hair, dressed in a blood-speckled white coat and holding a folded chair like a weapon.

The woman's appearance was jarring, but her voice was familiar. Ivy narrowed her eyes, trying to place the face that had dyed its hair such an unusual shade.

As if sensing the scrutiny, the blue-haired woman turned and spotted Ivy watching her. A flicker of surprise crossed her face before she spoke, "Ivy, why are you still here?"

Ivy's suspicions solidified as she listened. She knew this voice all too well.

"Of course I have my reasons for staying here," Ivy said, her tone measured. "But you… Harley, how is it that you've ended up back in Arkham, working as a psychiatrist?"

The blue-haired woman approached Ivy's cell and set down the folding chair. She crossed her arms, her expression firm. "First of all, I'm not Harley. I'm Harleen. Don't you dare compare me to that lunatic who throws money around like it's confetti and keeps dogs without even training them."

Her voice was defensive, even indignant, as if the accusation genuinely stung.

"Secondly, I am a certified psychiatrist with all the proper qualifications. I passed the exams and got into Arkham fair and square," she added, straightening her posture.

Ivy rolled her eyes. "Harley already told me about Arkham's hiring standards. They're so lax that as long as you have a license and are willing to take the blame for their screw-ups, they'll hire you—even if you're a dog."

A vine snaked its way out of Ivy's cell, moving almost lazily as it reached for the red-rimmed glasses perched on Harleen's nose. With a gentle tug, the vine pulled them off and brought them to Ivy, who studied the woman's face intently.

"Even if you dye your hair blue and ditch the ridiculous makeup, I can still recognize you, Harley." Ivy's voice was calm but resolute, her gaze piercing through Harleen's attempt at a new identity.

Harleen raised her hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. Even if I were that Harley, answer my question first—why haven't you left Arkham yet? Don't tell me you're actually staying here because of that little cop and his flower pots."

A small smile tugged at Ivy's lips. A branch extended from one of the plants in her cell, depositing a small bell into her hand. She rang it gently, the soft chime filling the room with a soothing sound.

"That little cop's name is Dean," Ivy said, her tone softening slightly. "And don't underestimate him. He gave me this bell, and it's special. It helps me resist the influence of the greenness of all things."

Harleen frowned, tilting her head in curiosity. "The greenness of all things? What do you mean by that?"

Ivy cradled the bell in her hands, her gaze distant. "Before I became Poison Ivy, I was just Ivy—a girl who loved plants. But over time, the influence of the greenness of all things twisted me. It made me see humans as enemies, as pests destroying the environment. This bell… it helps me remember who I used to be. It reminds me that I have a choice."

Harleen's eyes narrowed as she studied the bell. "So, what? A tiny bell cured your extreme environmentalist tendencies?"

"It's not just the bell," Ivy replied. "It's the flowers Dean gave me, the time he spent trying to understand me. This isn't about restraint; it's about choosing a different path."

Harleen's gaze lingered on the bell for a moment longer. Then, in a sudden movement, she reached out to grab it.

The vines reacted instantly, slapping her hand away with a sharp snap.

"Ow!" Harleen yelped, shaking her stung hand. "Ivy, that hurt!"

"Serves you right," Ivy said with a smirk. "And don't think for a second that bell would work on the Joker. He'd probably laugh at you and call you crazy for even trying."

Harleen rubbed her hand, her expression a mix of frustration and amusement. "Well, I guess that's true. The Joker's a whole other level of insane."

Ivy watched her friend carefully. She could tell Harleen had changed—or at least, she was trying to. The woman standing in front of her was no longer the lovestruck girl who had once been hopelessly devoted to the Joker.

"You've come a long way, Harley," Ivy said quietly. "Or should I say, Harleen."

Harleen gave a small, sheepish smile. "Thanks, Ivy. But I really should be going. The earthquake hasn't stopped, and I need to check on my house."

"Wait," Ivy said, tossing a spider plant toward Harleen. "Take this. I added a little something to it. It'll keep those lunatics from ruining your clothes. Bloodstains are such a pain to get out."

Harleen caught the plant and smiled. "Thanks, Ivy. I'll see you when you get out of here. Come visit me—my new place is…"

She rattled off her address, then hugged the plant close to her chest and turned to leave.

As she walked away, the sounds of chaos outside grew louder, accompanied by the sickening crunch of bones breaking.

Back in her cell, Ivy closed her eyes, focusing on the connection she shared with the seeds Dean had given her. Somewhere in the soil of Gotham, those seeds had taken root.

And they were starting to grow.

---

"What are you doing?"

Batman's deep voice cut through the silence as he stood watching Dean crouched near the soil.

Dean glanced up briefly before returning his focus to the ground. He was planting a melon seed with precise care, covering it gently with a small mound of soil.

"Orm mentioned there were two teams of stalkers planting bombs throughout Gotham," Dean explained. "He's lost contact with them, so I asked someone to help find the bombs."

Batman folded his arms, his gaze narrowing. "Who did you ask?"

Dean didn't answer immediately. Instead, he placed a hand on the soil, waiting for the seed to respond. Within moments, the ground trembled slightly, and a small sprout emerged. It grew rapidly, reaching for the sky as if eager to fulfill its purpose.

Batman didn't need an answer to his question. He already knew who Dean had reached out to.

"Ahem," Dean said, clearing his throat. He leaned closer to the sprout and spoke directly to it. "Poison Ivy, can you hear me?"

For a moment, there was no response. Then, from the sprout, Ivy's voice came through, cold and distant. "Tell me the terms of the transaction."

Batman's eyes flicked to the sprout, his jaw tightening. Poison Ivy's ability to communicate through chlorophyll had always been a thorn in his side. It made her almost omnipresent within Gotham's plant life. But now, with Gotham in chaos and communication lines nearly paralyzed, this ability was proving invaluable.

"There are two groups of weirdos in diving suits roaming Gotham," Dean said. "Find their locations and relay the information to Robin and Nightwing."

"And what do I get in return?" Ivy's tone was sharp, almost playful.

Dean turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Batman. It was clear that Dean wasn't the one in charge of this negotiation.

Batman exhaled, his voice steady. "You'll have a one-month observation period. If you perform well during that time, I won't intervene or cause problems for you."

"A deal is a deal," Ivy replied smoothly.

The sprout stretched, its leaves trembling as if Ivy herself were stretching her body. Suddenly, with a loud bang, a dense clump of vegetation shot out from a potted plant in Arkham, punching a hole through the wall.

Dean watched silently, his expression unreadable. Batman, however, was focused on something else entirely.

"How did you do it?" Batman asked, his tone low and probing. "Was it the bell or the treatment you developed?"

Dean looked at him, tilting his head. "What are you talking about?"

Batman's gaze didn't waver. "Poison Ivy. Was it the bell or the chemical treatments you gave her that calmed her? Could it be applied to the Joker?"

At the mention of the Joker, Dean's expression darkened. "Don't even think about it. Poison Ivy's aggression was external, influenced by the greenness of all things. The Joker… he's pure madness. There's no external force driving him, only chaos and destruction."

Batman remained silent, but his mind was racing. He didn't disagree with Dean's assessment, but the faint hope of curing the Joker was a thought he couldn't entirely let go of.

Suddenly, a notification popped up on the Batcomputer. It displayed an alert about Groudon's sudden change in trajectory.

Dean straightened and looked at Batman. "Tell Cyborg to open the blast channel," he said without hesitation.

Batman nodded and relayed the order.

Moments later, the blast channel opened. Dean stepped through without hesitation, his surroundings transforming in an instant. Before him stretched a vast, endless ocean, the water glistening under the bright sun.

"End this, Manaphy," Dean murmured softly.

From his arms, Manaphy floated upward, its blue form glowing faintly. The sea breeze carried it forward, and it began drifting toward the tide. The waves seemed to embrace it, welcoming it back to its rightful domain.

Dean watched with cautious optimism. As long as Manaphy could complete its transformation and establish telepathic communication with Groudon, this entire ordeal could be brought to a close.

But just as Dean began to relax, a sphere of water suddenly enveloped Manaphy.

The water floated unnaturally, shimmering in the sunlight. Then, from the distance, a figure emerged.

Standing atop the Mediterranean waters, Vico reached out to catch the water sphere, his eyes filled with a dangerous intensity. "Finally, I've found you, King of the Sea."

Dean's expression hardened. He hadn't anticipated this.

"Vulko," Dean said sharply, his voice low and steady. "Orm returned the throne to Arthur. He's already King of the Sea. Why do you want to capture Manaphy?"

Vulko's laugh was dark and humorless. "Shut up. My King Arthur merely reclaimed what was his. But he deserves more—far more. With the power of the Spirit of Existence, King Arthur will dominate the seas entirely."

Dean's eyes narrowed. The term "Spirit of Existence" echoed in his mind. He had heard it before—from others, too. It seemed to be what both Vico and others like Ra's al Ghul sought.

"What exactly is this 'Spirit of Existence' you're all after?" Dean muttered, his voice barely audible. Then, louder, he said, "You know what? I'll ask again after I'm done breaking your hands and feet."

He lowered his head slightly, and in an instant, a sniper rifle materialized in his hands, along with the trusted blade Hoshikudaki.

"Let's see how far your madness takes you, Vulko."

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

If you like the story please support me by giving powerstones, comments and reviews. Your support will be very much appreciated!