Barbara had endured bad nights before. Her years as Batgirl had offered more than their fair share, and even after the incident. It wasn't as though life as Oracle had been gentle either. She knew some in the hero business would scoff at the idea.

  How bad could it be, sitting behind a computer?

  Sometimes it was worse.

  She had all the pieces in front of her. She could see everything unfolding in real time, every camera feed, every alert, every desperate call for help. And she couldn't do a damn thing but watch.

  Watch as Gotham began to break.

  Bit by bit, the city was cracking.

  Arkham breakouts were unfortunate but not uncommon. Usually, it was one inmate, maybe two.

  Not the entire goddamn asylum.

  The scramble to put a lid on it had been chaos from the start, but it hardly mattered. Whatever had ripped the inmates out and scattered them across Gotham had already done the damage.

  They had gotten lucky in a few cases. Freeze, Firefly, and Zsasz had been rounded up quickly and sent back to Arkham.

  Yet despite their best efforts, it felt like trying to stem the sea.

  Barbara grimaced as she cycled through the feeds stretching across Gotham. Pandemonium barely covered it. Every vilin they hadn't caught was running wild. Even the gangs had gone to war footing, openly fighting in the streets.

  Her eyes caught on one particur feed.

  The library, she had spent the past few years working on fixing up.

  The cameras showed the street outside getting torn apart, cars overturned, storefronts shattered, and smoke curling into the night sky. The block was turning into a literal warzone.

  Her hand twitched toward the comms to call someone.

  But she looked at the icons marking the Family's positions across the city. Everyone was already stretched thin.

  She couldn't redirect someone for something personal.

  "Damn it," she muttered, her fist striking the desk.

  A soft click interrupted her. A small pte slid into view, followed by a teacup pced carefully beside her keyboard.

  "Perhaps some lunch to take your mind off things?" Alfred asked mildly.

  "I need to keep updating them about the situation," she shot back, not looking away from the Batcomputer.

  "All seem to have their assignments, yes?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "Then I see no reason to hover," Alfred finished smoothly. "Perhaps keeping Master Bruce occupied so he does not tear himself out of his bed will ease your urge for work."

  It was phrased like a suggestion. His stare made it clear it was not.

  The seconds ticked by. She tried to muster up an argument, but Alfred simply continued to stare.

  "I could eat," she grumbled.

  "Wonderful."

  Reluctantly, she lifted the teacup and took a sip.

  She groaned at how good it tasted. The warmth spread through her, easing the knot in her shoulders just a fraction.

  God, she was exhausted. She would have bet she was the most irritable person in Gotham at that moment.

  The sound of gurney wheels squeaking against the floor made her turn.

  Scratch that. Second most irritable.

  Bruce was wheeled in, wrapped in swathes of bandages. From the waist down, he looked more like a mummy than a man. His usual brooding expression had shifted into something closer to a sulk.

  She held back a chuckle.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked.

  "Good enough," he replied gruffly. "Report."

  "You mean after you eat?" Alfred interjected, reappearing with two ptes.

  "I'm fine," Bruce insisted, the protest coming out almost boyish.

  Alfred simply stared at him.

  Bruce tried to return the look, but even the Dark Knight couldn't win against Alfred.

  "We can eat while we work," Bruce relented.

  "Very good, sir."

  Alfred pced sandwiches in front of them. Barbara took a bite and sighed softly. As always, it was excellent. She shot Alfred a thumbs-up.

  Across from her, Bruce chewed with visible reluctance that slowly gave way to reluctant appreciation.

  "Report," Bruce said between bites, his attention already shifting back to the screens.

  "Damian and Dick are near the Cridge building, handling a series of Bck Mask attacks. Cassandra and Huntress got pulled into a csh with the League of Assassins. Tim, Stephanie, and Duke are tied up in a skirmish with Cyface and a couple of other escapees. Jason's st message said he was busy dealing with his territory." She exhaled as another feed flickered across her monitor. "As of now, we've recaptured about a third of Arkham's inmates. The rest either went to ground or sent their cronies out to cause chaos."

  Bruce frowned, studying the shifting map overys. "Any insight into how they escaped?"

  She took another bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly as she pulled up the diagnostic overys again. "None. I ran every scanner we have. There's no trace of Zeta Beam radiation or Boom Tube distortions. There is an energy signature, but it's nothing I've ever seen before. My best guess is magic or some kind of metahuman ability, but I don't have anything concrete."

  Bruce leaned back slightly, though even injured, his eyes remained ser-focused. "There are other forms of teleportation across the gaxy. Several alien races have their own methods." His brow furrowed as he studied the patterns. "But this escape doesn't add up. The inmates weren't coordinated. They were teleported at random simply for wanton chaos. That suggests deniable involvement. The Reach or perhaps the Gordanians could have motive…"

  Barbara stayed quiet while he worked through the logic. She had never shared Bruce's or Tim's near-obsessive drive for pure detective work.

  Her technical skill more than compensated for it most days, but alien tech remained frustratingly out of reach. No matter how much she studied. There were simply technologies beyond her understanding.

  Still, if there was even a possibility this was some alien bck ops…

  "We need to call in League support, Bruce."

  His expression tightened at the suggestion. She loved Bruce like family, but his insistence on treating Gotham as solely his responsibility was one of his most aggravating traits. He always had rational arguments prepared to justify it, offering sound reasons like potential escation or criminal retaliation.

  At the core of it, though, it was simply stubbornness.

  Fortunately, while Bruce was a stubborn ass, he was not a fool.

  "I already did," he admitted.

  She narrowed her eyes. "I'm sensing a 'but' there."

  "Almost all of our heavy hitters are on Mars countering the Reach. The rest are stationed on the Watchtower in case the Gordanians break the treaty and attack."

  "…Shit." Barbara finished the st bite of her sandwich, the taste only a mild balm against the tension in her shoulders. "Who can make it?"

  "Zatanna, Green Arrow, and Vixen are already on their way," Bruce replied. "Beyond that, I don't know who they can spare."

  She exhaled slowly. "Nothing against them, but I would feel a lot more confident if Crk or Diana were avaible."

  Bruce grunted in agreement. There was no argument there.

  "I'll have Zatanna stabilize my injuries and head out as well," he added.

  "Bruce." Barbara shot him a warning look. "You know Z's healing is threadbare at best. She can patch you up, not rebuild you."

  "We need all hands on deck, Barbara."

  She scowled because he was not entirely wrong. "Fine. Only if you go where I tell you."

  "I—"

  "If you argue, I'll lock you out of the computers and have Alfred keep you under house arrest. Bruce, if I'm not 'safe' in my tower, then there is no universe where I let you limp back into the field half-stitched together."

  He leveled his legendary stare at her.

  It lost most of its intimidation factor when delivered from a bed wrapped in bandages.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  "…Fine," he relented.

  "Great," she said, carefully not smiling as she turned back to the Batcomputer. "Last I checked, the Riddler had set up some kind of eborate—uh…"

  "What?" Bruce asked sharply.

  She leaned closer to the screen and adjusted her gsses. "No… it's just. Riddler and Scarecrow are both back in GCPD custody. They're in an ambunce heading to Arkham."

  Bruce's brow arched slightly.

  Curious, she hacked into the mansion's security feeds where the takedown had occurred. Within seconds, she was rewinding the footage.

  It was difficult not to feel amused.

  Watching Riddler's entire theatrical monologue get completely ignored before he was mobbed by civilians was oddly cathartic. Seeing Crane get his ass handed to him was equally satisfying.

  Bruce, meanwhile, was watching with a contemptive stillness.

  "There's something off," he murmured.

  "He got lucky taking down Riddler and Crane," Barbara replied, rewinding again. "A metahuman with some kind of toxin immunity, maybe? A lucky match-up against Scarecrow."

  Most metas had powers that barely counted as parlor tricks. Some sort of toxin or poison immunity, though, would be extremely useful in Gotham.

  Bruce's gaze went distant, gears turning. "Do we have a file on him?"

  "Give me a second." She tapped into GCPD's system. "Jean Valjean… seriously, that's his name?" She skimmed the record. "Arrested a few times. Petty theft, a couple of bar fights. Nothing major. No indicators he's an alien, a magician, and no known dispys of metahuman powers."

  "Hmm."

  She gnced at him. "What's bothering you?"

  "He was too lucky," Bruce said. "Suspiciously so. It may not have just been immunity. It could be probability manipution."

  Her fingers paused over the keyboard. "Luck as a metahuman ability? That sounds… far-fetched."

  "John Constantine exists," Bruce replied ftly.

  She grimaced. Fair point. Though that was more the supernatural end of the spectrum.

  "Is the group he's building becoming a problem?" Bruce asked.

  "Actually, no," she answered, scanning live feeds. "They're not looting. Several gangs are being… pacified, oddly enough. Last update shows him heading into Two-Face territory."

  She pulled up a street camera.

  Onscreen, their supposed metahuman stood in a bathrobe, holding a makeshift pole with the shredded remains of Riddler's costume hanging from it like a war banner.

  She stared at the screen for a long second.

  "What do we want!?"

  "Money!"

  "How are we gonna get it?"

  "Crime!"

  "Who are we?"

  "GOON UNION! GOON UNION! GOON UNION!"

  The chant echoed through the street with almost religious fervor.

  Barbara and Bruce stared at the screen in silence.

  She heard Bruce sigh.

  She felt a migraine forming behind her eyes.

  God, she really hated Gotham sometimes.

  ***Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices.

  I have advanced chapters on my if you wanna read ahead.