Nolan stirred awake on a thin cot that felt more like metal than mattress. The flickering light overhead buzzed weakly, casting long shadows across the gray cell walls. His head throbbed with dull pressure. The air tasted like rust and bleach.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't meant to sleep. Not in this place.
His limbs were stiff, his throat dry.
From the cell across the hall, a voice called out gravelly, low, and amused.
"You new here, kid?" the voice asked. "What you in for?"
Nolan blinked the haze from his vision and turned his head.
Across the corridor, perched casually on the edge of his cot, sat a man with a split face half charred, pitted and raw, the other disturbingly pristine. The clean side smiled.
Harvey Dent.
Or what was left of him.
Nolan cleared his throat. "Yeah… just got in. They've got me locked up for some bullshit. Something about… multiple personalities."
He regretted the words the moment he said them.
'Careless.' Kieran's voice slid through his mind, low and warning, 'People could be listening. You want a collar on your brain the next time a doctor walks in?'
Nolan stiffened slightly. "It's nothing," he added quickly, louder this time. "Just what they scribbled down to keep me here."
Harvey's smile didn't falter, but his good eye sharpened. "Mm-hmm," he said, tapping the edge of a worn coin against his thumb. "And is there any truth to it?"
For a second, silence hung between them.
Nolan's jaw tightened. "No."
The coin flicked up, spun in the air, and landed on the back of Harvey's hand scarred side up.
He gave it a glance and let out a short breath through his nose. "Sure. No truth at all."
He slipped the coin back into his coat.
"You'll get used to them watching," he added. "Cameras, microphones, guards with pens pretending not to write down your every blink."
Nolan leaned forward, elbows on knees, scanning the corridor. The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. No other voices. Just the buzz of the lights and the distant squeal of metal on metal.
"You've been here long?" Nolan asked.
"Long enough," Harvey said, shifting back. "Long enough to know that the shrinks are the real inmates. And the only time anyone leaves here is when they're being dragged or bagged."
He gave Nolan a sideways glance.
"You don't look like the usual headcase. Too clean."
"I clean up well," Nolan muttered.
Harvey smirked. "Right. What'd you do?"
Nolan hesitated. Then spat, "allegedly I robbed a bank. Organized crime. Maybe a murder or two. You know the stuff they love to pin on an innocent business man like me."
Harvey gave a low whistle. "You make friends fast with that kind of résumé."
Nolan shrugged. "I already have plenty of those."
The coin flicked again this time higher, faster.
Harvey caught it without looking. "Well, word of advice: don't let them see you twitch. You twitch, they medicate. You medicate, you slip. And once you slip in here…" He leaned forward, face half in shadow. "…you don't come back."
Nolan swallowed.
He hated how much of that sounded like a promise.
'You're not going to slip,' Quentin said in his mind.
'We've survived worse.'
'Watch him,' Vey added coldly. 'He's gauging you.'
"I'll keep that in mind," Nolan said aloud.
Harvey stood, stretched his shoulders. The ruined half of his face pulled oddly as he smiled. "You seem smart, Kieran. Real smart. Just don't be too smart. Smart ones go crazy the fastest in here."
Then he turned, walking back toward his cot like the conversation had never happened.
Nolan sat still for a long moment, staring at the cracked floor between his feet.
Arkham was already beginning to press in around him.
And this was just the first morning.
As he laid back down Nolan came to a haunting realization..
He never told Harvey his name.
***
The glow of the Batcomputer cast long, pale reflections across the cave's cavernous walls. A dozen data feeds streamed across the screen surveillance footage, audio intercepts, banking transactions, city traffic cams. In the center of it all was one very incarcerated man, Nolan.
Bruce stood rigid before the main terminal, cowl off, jaw tight, eyes locked on a spiderweb of red threads connecting photos, locations, and names. The feed from the Janus Cosmetics robbery played again in silence a thermal vision sweep showing masked individuals moving with uncanny accuracy.
He narrowed his eyes.
They were more organized now. More efficient. More ruthless.
Even without Nolan at the helm… they'd accelerated.
His eyes shifted to a new string of data feeds activity spikes in The Narrows, weapon stockpiles moving through Old Gotham's tunnels, reports of rooftop ambushes in the East End, and a surge of encrypted communication near the South Tracks. The faction was thriving.
Nolan's lieutenants hadn't folded.
They'd multiplied.
Bruce's hand hovered over the terminal as the system pulled up several known names: Terrell Gaines. Marcy Liu. Dre Matthews. Naima Rez. Photos. Past offenses. Recent sightings.
He knew the names, he even knew the locations yet, it was near impossible to find them. They weren't like normal thugs, no these people were accustomed to living in the shadows, moving at a moments notice.
Each name clicked into place on the map of Gotham and all of them led back to one man.
His hands clenched into fists.
Nolan was behind bars, locked up in Arkham awaiting psychiatric evaluation. And yet his organization hadn't just survived it had adapted and kept running, using the resources they gained from robbing black mask they have doubled their business.
"He built something real," Bruce thought grimly.
"And it's still growing."
The Batcomputer chirped.
A secure channel opened logo, Mount Justice.
"Batman," came the voice through the comms. It was Aqualad. Urgent.
"We need you. It's happening again."
Bruce took one last glance at the map red dots flaring like embers across Gotham before his fingers moved to accept the call.
The screen switched. The shadows of the cave deepened behind him.
But the city burned on.