Batgirl in Arkham (Closed)

[BarefootNikki]

Barbara was sweating. That was what she noticed, now, above all else: the physical sensation of sweat issuing from her forehead, tingling uncomfortably in her armpits, beneath her breasts, between her toes. This ridiculous orange jumpsuit was to blame, of course, but counsel had lost their demand for her to wear civilian clothes much earlier in proceedings. Civilian clothes, held the judge, would aid the defence in their key claim that Barbara was a regular member of society, and not a costumed maniac.

Aside from her counsel, there were few people in her corner. Her father, of course, though one look at him in the public gallery told a sad tale. Deep frown lines, lack of sleep, and Barbara would bet a heavy odour of cigarettes and whisky surrounding him. Bruce, nominally there as representative of the Gotham elite, sternly looking down at the putative vigilante, the latest masked criminal to stalk his city.

“Miss Gordon,” said the calcified voice from the bench, and Barbara looked resignedly upwards. Judge Thomas Morley, seventy eight years old, and in the pocket of the mafia for probably seventy seven.

“Yes, your Honour,” Barbara said, voice still clear as a bell. The sweating, still, the only physical sign of her predicament.

“It is now my duty to sum up this case, and bestow a sentence upon you. I intend to preface this duty by informing the court that it has been my long-held belief that so-called masked vigilantes have been as much a blight upon this city as those criminals they purport to catch. It has also long been my suspicion that, in addition to gross self-serving populism, these vigilantes are themselves behind much of the criminality endured by decent citizens of Gotham. The findings made in your apartment and your storage facility sadly seem to offer ample confirmation of these views.”

Impeccable logic, thought Barbara. Seven kilos of heroin under her bed. Guns in the wardrobe, both used in gangland executions. A storage lockup in the outer boroughs, rammed full of counterfeit currency, three machetes, and the severed hand of a noted fence. Not to mention, of course, the sworn affidavits of three unimpeachable citizens, who had seen her transact a vast drug deal in broad daylight before shooting dead the Korean buyer at point blank range. It was laughable, it was a joke. A joke.

“My point, Miss Gordon, is that your crimes increase yet further in magnitude because of your attempts to present your alter-ego as a force for good in the city. This gross deception is both contemptuous of the public, and evidence of a mind so twisted and bent by criminality that I see no foreseeable hope of redemption. Accordingly, I sentence you to an indefinite period of incarceration in Arkham Asylum, with a recommended minimum term of forty years. I further advise the Arkham authorities that any and all methods of punishment, experimentation and testing should be deemed permissible, in order that we gain an insight into the workings of such a deviantly criminal mind. Take her down.”


***********

Such a vast city, thought Barbara, as the low-slung homes of the projects sped by through the dirty, barred window. She’d spent many nights in these streets, missions which had led to her enemies being placed in the very seat she now occupied herself. A seat, perhaps, was too grand a term; more a bench, and not a comfortable one. An hour previously, she had passed from the command of the GCPD, and father-considerate treatment, into the hands of Arkham orderlies, who would settle for keeping her alive. Maybe.

What would Arkham be like? Well, she knew one thing, and that was that the Asylum contained a vast number of her mortal enemies. She had little doubt, as the van rapidly approached the institution that would be her new home, that they would be intending to take a very long, unpleasant revenge.

As she mused on these unhappy thoughts, Barbara became aware that, from the front of the van, someone was staring at her. She raised her face, and looked straight into the eyes of the Joker himself…..

 

[Lucifers Tongue]

Joker had been there the entire time of course, for each and every day of the trial, hiding in plain sight, watching as the state chronicled the plethora of evidence against Batgirl, and paraded a series of witnesses to the stand. Evidence he had arranged to be found and witnesses he had manipulated or bought. Yes, he had insisted on being in the courtroom as his masterpiece unfolded, refusing to listen to those who warned him that Commissioner Gordon would be there, or that Batman would undoubtedly be watching.

They should have noticed the court reporter who seemed just a little too manly as she shifted in her chair, thick black hair surrounding her slender, angled features. They should have noticed the lanky bailiff who seemed to keep to the shadows at the edges of the courtroom, and giggled at the wrong times, or the sketch artist who hummed to himself and didn't seem interested in drawing anyone but the redheaded defendant. They should have known that the Joker would insist on being there to see innocent young Barbara Gordon brought low, but then again, they didn't know he was behind the framing.

And so he had watched Barbara's face, watched her demeanor as she went from noble denial in the face of the unfounded charges, to shocked disbelief as the evidence piled up against her, to numbness as every good deed she'd ever accomplished was sullied, the name of Batgirl dragged through the mud and grime that was the underbelly of Gotham. And then finally on the last day, as the judge had sentenced her, Joker had watched with glee as he saw the grim acceptance of her reality slowly spread across her face.

It was glorious. Every fucking moment. Glorious. And there was nothing Batman could do about it. Nothing Barbara's broken down old man could do to help her. Nothing that Gotham's citizens cared to do. And so, giddy as a school girl about to get fingerbanged by her math teacher, and dressed as a prison guard, Joker boarded the bus to Arkham, the same bus that had taken him to hell so many times before, the same bus that had transported his friends (if he could be said to have friends) and fellow psychopaths to Arkham.

They were ten minutes or more into the journey before the redhead actually noticed him, despite the fact that he'd done little to disguise his appearance or hide his trademark grin as they weaved their way from the court house toward the asylum. When she finally did notice him staring, he saw her eyes go wide, if only for a moment and the grin on his face widened. Effortlessly, Joker rose from his seat and made his way past the other three prisoners to kneel down in the seat directly in front of Barbara Gordon.

"I must say, I imagined you in the costume for this, but no matter. For now I'll just have to make do with seeing you in that lovely orange jumpsuit," he said, his eyes straying down over Barbara's body then back up to meet her gaze. "Congratulations on the titillating trial, though I was a bit disappointed that the Big Bats didn't show. I half expected him to burst through a window and whisk you away, but then again, he does have a habit of abandoning his young proteges doesn't he?"

"Do you wanna know what my favorite part was? Do you? Good, I'll tell you," Joker continued maniacally, not giving Barbara a chance to respond. "My favorite part, well, other than watching poor Commissioner Gordon's face, was our beloved Judge Morley. So eloquent, so steadfast in his devotion to protect the innocents from the criminal elements of Gotham....what was it he said?...'evidence of a mind so twisted and bent by criminality that I see no foreseeable hope of redemption'. If he only knew the truth of it."

Amused by his own humor, the Joker began to laugh uncontrollably, even as he laid down across the seat and kicked his legs up into the air. It took a moment to regain his composure, but when he did, he sat back up and studied Batgirl's face for a long moment before he spoke again, "I do hope we'll be able to...oh, how did Morley put it?...'gain an insight into the workings of such a deviantly criminal mind'. I can't speak for the other residents of Arkham, but I promise that I intend to do everything in my power to...penetrate you...so that I can understand what makes you tick."