CHAPTER TWO.
contamination protocol
　

　
The air in Gotham had begun to curdle. It wasn't just the usual smog and dampness; there was a subtly metallic, vaguely vegetal undertone clinging to the October cold, a smell that Faith had initially dismissed as the city's persistent, low-grade decay. But now, only seventy-two hours after the initial reports of the "aggressive flu strain," that decay had accelerated into a visible, terrifying rot.

Faith, needing a semblance of normal routine amidst the rapidly intensifying paranoia, had insisted on making a coffee run into the Bowery ━ a task both Dick and Kate had sternly advised against, but ultimately conceded, understanding Faith's need for grounding rituals. The streets were already unnervingly sparse, echoing with a silence that Gotham rarely knew. Those who were out moved with a rigid, fearful pace, frequently pulling collars high over their mouths or wearing masks, their eyes darting sideways.

The street was eerily silent. Every shop gate was pulled down, secured with rusted chains and padlocks. The usual stench of stale beer and exhaust was overlaid with a new, sharp, acrid odor ━ a smell of damp earth and something sickly sweet, like decaying fruit left out in the sun.

She was approaching the alley where the coffee cart she'd visited frequently over the years should have been, her hand resting subconsciously near the utility belt hidden beneath her hoodie, when she heard the sounds. Not the siren of a police cruiser or the distant sound of breaking glass, but something else entirely.

The noise came from the mouth of a nearby drainage tunnel. A figure was curled there ━ a man Faith instantly recognized as one of the long-term inhabitants of the area, known only to locals as 'Pipes' due to his habit of nesting near the steam conduits.

He would be huddled near a stack of overturned garbage bins ━ a fixture of the street, usually muttering harmlessly about ancient conspiracies. Today, however, 'Pipes' was rocking, emitting a low, guttural rasp that wasn't a cough or a groan, but something infinitely wetter, a sound of internal breakdown. Faith stopped, her pulse immediately hammering against her ribs, the fight-or-flight response kicking in despite the civilian clothes.

His exposed hands were the first clear indicator that the disease had moved past merely infecting the human body and had begun to repurpose it. The skin on his knuckles was stretched taut, shiny and inflamed, but interspersed with that tight redness were small, porous lesions ━ pinpricks that rapidly grew into shallow, mottled pits. Then, with an audible pop, the disease breached the dermal layer.

A thick, yellowish-white filament, resembling the immature stages of shelf fungus, began to emerge from the back of his wrist. It wasn't delicate; it was robust, pushing aside the skin with repulsive force, spreading outward in layers. The homeless man emitted a sound ━ not a scream of pain, but a wet, choked roar of animalistic frustration.

Faith instinctively dropped the coffee tray. The splattering brown liquid seemed to move in slow motion, forming oily pools around the man's worn boots.

The fungal growths accelerated across his neck and face with impossible speed. They weren't smooth; they possessed a chitinous, horrifying texture, like dried coral or petrified wood, turning his features into a mask of grotesque, green architecture. A bulbous, shelf-like growth pushed out from his left cheekbone, distorting his mouth into a perpetual snarl. His greenish-black veins pulsed visibly beneath the diseased skin, seeming to feed the eruption.

His movements were no longer human. He didn't stand up; he unfolded, his limbs moving with a jerky, unnatural stiffness that reminded Faith of someone possessed in those horror movies she'd watch with Dick. His head snapped toward a woman walking by, completely oblivious, clutching a shopping bag. The moment their eyes met ━ or rather, the moment the creature's ruined, blood-soaked eyes locked onto her ━ the last vestige of coherent thought seemed to dissipate.

The attack wasn't predatory; it was purely reactive, a mindless lurch fueled by contagion. He didn't bite or stab; he simply threw himself forward, a sound like tearing fabric accompanying the collision. The woman screamed ━ a high, sharp sound of pure shock, immediately cut short as the infected man began clawing at her exposed skin, his fingers tipped with soil and rot, attempting to embed the contamination into her flesh.

Faith acted on reflex, shoving herself toward them, grabbing a discarded scaffolding pole nearby. She didn't aim to kill, only to incapacitate the host without risking contact with it. The metallic clang as the pole struck the creature's back was shockingly loud, a discordant note in the suddenly silent street. The creature turned its ruined form toward her, its breath rasping wetly, a cloud of fine, nearly invisible spores seeming to mist around its mouth and surrounding growths.

Faith's eyes widened at the sight before her. She stumbled backward, covering her mouth and nose with her sleeve, her stomach churning, the sheer horror of the sight momentarily overriding her tactical training. This wasn't Joker gas or Scarecrow toxin; this was organic, a biological mechanism designed to spread without mercy or malice. She was sure of it.

The brief moment was enough. The woman, bleeding and hysterical, scrambled away before the creature could attack her again. Faith didn't linger either. The creature, seemingly confused by the loss of its target, turned toward an alley wall, scratching uselessly at the brickwork with its distorted hands, before shuffling off into the shadows, leaving behind the horrifying scent of decay and damp earth.

Faith didn't stop running until she reached the relative safety of her vehicle. Her heart felt like a trapped bird trying to punch through her ribs.

　
🦇
　

The journey back to the Manor was a blur of frantic thoughts and choked-back sobs. Faith's hands were still trembling, her knuckles white. She tried to replay the events, to find something she could have done differently, some heroic act that would have saved Pipes, or at least contained him. But there was nothing. Just the horrifying, undeniable truth: the virus had evolved. It was no longer a strain of flu; it was a biological weapon that transformed its victims into something monstrous, something beyond human.

When she finally burst through the entrance to the Manor, her face was ashen, her clothes rumpled, and her eyes wide with a terror that rattled even Alfred, who was meticulously polishing a priceless antique vase in the main foyer.

"Miss Faith? Goodness gracious, are you alright? You look as though you've seen a ghost," Alfred exclaimed, his voice laced with immediate concern, setting the vase down with a soft thud.

Faith couldn't speak, not immediately. Her lungs burned, her throat was tight with unshed tears and a primal scream that was trying to escape. She just shook her head, a silent, desperate plea for understanding.

From the adjacent study, where the low hum of monitors and the murmur of serious voices usually emanated, Dick and Kate emerged, drawn by the commotion and Faith's uncharacteristic frantic arrival. Dick, ever observant, took one look at her face and his own expression tightened with alarm. His easy smile vanished, replaced by a deep furrow in his brow.

"Faith? What happened?" Dick asked, his voice low and urgent, crossing the room in three long strides. He reached for her, his hands hovering, unsure if he should touch her, sensing the fragile edge she was on.

Faith finally managed to gasp, her voice raspy, "It's... it's worse. So much worse than we thought." She looked from Dick to Kate, her eyes pleading for them to grasp the magnitude of what she had witnessed. "I... I was in the Bowery. Just for a coffee. And... and I saw someone." She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice, but the words still tumbled out in a rush, desperate to be heard, to escape the confines of her own mind. "A man. He was... he was changing. Not just sick, not just violent. He was... his skin... and his eyes... totally gone... he attacked someone. He wasn't human anymore."

The words hung in the air, heavy and chilling. Kate's face, usually a mask of stoic determination, paled noticeably. Dick, however, was already moving, his hands gently but firmly taking her shoulders, his thumbs stroking comfortingly over the fabric of her coat.

"Hey, hey, take a breath, Faith. It's okay. You're safe now. Just tell us, slowly," Dick murmured, his voice a balm against the raw terror in her own. His eyes, usually bright with warmth and mischief, were now filled with a deep, consuming worry, scanning her face, her body, as if searching for any sign of contagion, any hidden horror clinging to her. He was careful, though, not to openly reveal the depth of their connection in front of the others, maintaining a professional distance that still hummed with unspoken intimacy.

Faith leaned into his touch for a fleeting moment, drawing strength from his unwavering presence. "I... I saw him. The transformation. From start to finish. It was... it was like something out of a horror film. His veins, they were green, glowing almost, then these... these nodules. They pushed out of his skin, exploded, I think. And the smell... oh god, the smell. Like rotting earth, but worse." She shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, the image refusing to dissipate. "He wasn't rational. He just... attacked. Blank eyes. Pure, primal aggression. He... he hurt a woman and I... I couldn't do anything."

Kate stepped forward, her voice low and grave. "Faith, are you certain? Fungal growths? You didn't get any spores on you? You weren't in direct contact during the attack?"

Faith shook her head vehemently. "I... I hit him with a pipe to distract him from killing the woman. He turned on me. I didn't get close enough to touch him directly, not with my skin. But the air... I could see the spores coming from his mouth. When some of them burst, I could see them. I could smell them. I tried to cover my mouth, but... I don't know." Her voice trailed off, a fresh wave of panic washing over her. The thought of those tiny, unseen particles, invisible seeds of horror, settling on her skin, being inhaled into her lungs, was utterly paralyzing. "What if... what if I breathed them in? What if I'm...?" She couldn't finish the sentence, the unspoken fear hanging heavy between them.

Dick tightened his grip on her shoulders, his worry palpable. "Don't even think that. We're going to get you checked out, right now."

Kate nodded curtly, her gaze fixed on Faith, a mixture of concern and grim resolve in her eyes. "He's right. You were too close to the infection, and we can't take any chances. We'll need to collect a sample and analyze it immediately. Bruce and Damian need to be informed about the situation as well." She turned to her right. "Alfred, could you prepare the decontamination chamber with a fresh solution? And seal off the lower level from the primary ventilation system as a precaution."

"Of course, Miss Kane. Consider it done," Alfred replied, already moving with purpose towards the hidden elevator that led to the Batcave. His usual cheerful demeanor was replaced by a somber efficiency.

Dick gently guided Faith towards the hidden entrance to the Batcave, his hand slipping from her shoulder to her lower back, a subtle, reassuring pressure that was meant only for her. Their eyes met for a fleeting second, a silent exchange of fear, but also of a shared, unspoken promise to face whatever came next, together.

The descent into the Batcave was usually a source of renewed focus for Faith, a sanctuary where the chaos of Gotham could be confronted with precision and resolve. Tonight, however, it felt different. The air was heavy, charged with an unsettling anticipation. The vast cavern, usually bustling with purpose, now seemed to hum with an almost ominous silence, punctuated only by the whirring of equipment and the soft pings of data streams from the main console.

Bruce Wayne, ever the silent sentinel, emerged from the shadows near the central analytical station where he'd been hard at work with Damian, his expression grim. He had already been briefed by Kate by means of text message when they were in the elevator, his posture radiating a quiet intensity that always seemed to precede a major crisis. His gaze, piercing and analytical, swept over Faith, assessing her state with an almost clinical detachment that nonetheless conveyed a deep underlying concern.

"Faith," Bruce stated, his voice a low rumble, devoid of any unnecessary inflection. "Kate told me you were coming down here and informed me of what you witnessed. It appears the pathogen has mutated, or its advanced stages are now manifesting publicly. We need to verify your exposure status immediately. Dick, prepare the bio-containment lab."

Dick, his face sober and determined, nodded, ushering Faith towards a separate, sealed-off section of the Cave, a pristine white lab with airlocks and specialized filtration systems. Faith felt a fresh wave of anxiety ripple through her. This wasn't just a precautionary measure; this was a response to an unprecedented, terrifying threat.

Inside the sterile confines of the lab, a masked and gloved Alfred, already having made the preparations, stood by the medical bay. He offered Faith a small, sympathetic smile, though his eyes were serious. "Right this way, Miss Faith. Just a few routine procedures, to be absolutely certain you have not been exposed to the infection."

Faith sat on the exam table, her hands clenched in her lap, her heart still thrumming with a nervous rhythm. Dick, having quickly donned a pair of sterilized gloves and a surgical mask, stood beside her, his presence a quiet anchor in the intimidating environment. Bruce and Kate observed from behind a reinforced glass partition, their expressions unreadable. Damian, leaning against a console, watched with an intensity that Faith found unsettling.

"Alright, Faith," Dick said, his voice muffled by the mask, but still gentle. "Just a small prick. We'll take a few vials for analysis. Plasma, white blood cell count, genetic markers for any viral or fungal traces. It's standard procedure, nothing to worry about."

Nothing to worry about? Faith thought, a bitter laugh almost escaping her lips. My body could be a ticking time bomb, a petri dish for a monstrous plague, and he says 'nothing to worry about'. But she knew he was trying to reassure her, to keep her calm. For his sake, and hers, she tried to breathe deeply, to slow her racing pulse.

She extended her arm, watching with a morbid fascination as Alfred, with practiced ease after years of taking care of Bruce when he'd first become Batman, applied a tourniquet and swabbed a patch of her skin with antiseptic. The cold sting of the alcohol was a stark contrast to the burning dread in her stomach. Then came the needle, sharp and precise. Faith squeezed her eyes shut, not from the pain of the prick, but from the chilling symbolism of it. This blood, her blood, was now under scrutiny, a potential harbinger of humanity's end.

She felt the slow draw, the faint pressure as vial after vial filled with her crimson life force. Each tube, capped and labeled, felt like a judgment, a silent question mark hanging over her very existence.

"There we go, Miss Faith. All done," Alfred announced, applying a small bandage. "Now, a few swabs. Nostril, throat, and any exposed skin surfaces."

Faith endured the uncomfortable swabbing, her mind a whirlwind of terrifying scenarios. What if they found something? What if she had breathed in those spores, so tiny, so insidious? What then? Would she be quarantined? Would she transform? Would she become one of those mindless creatures? The thought sent a jolt of pure horror through her. Dick, her anchor, her secret, beloved partner, standing right beside her. What would happen to them? Their stolen moments, their whispered promises, their future ━ all ripped away by this... this thing.

When the last swab was taken, Bruce's voice, amplified through the comms, cut through the lab's sterile quiet. "Faith, once Alfred has processed the initial samples, you will proceed to the decontamination shower. Every stitch of clothing you wore will be incinerated. No exceptions. We cannot risk cross-contamination."

Faith nodded, her throat too tight to speak. Incinerated. Everything she wore ━ a knitted beanie given to her by her mother, a hoodie Dick had gotten her for one her birthday last year, and her favourite sneakers ━ were to be destroyed, reduced to ash, just as her sense of normalcy was being consumed by this terrifying plague.

Dick met her gaze, his eyes behind the mask filled with an unspoken apology. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze through his glove, a silent promise of support.

Alfred led her to a massive, steel-paneled chamber, its entrance sealed by a heavy, airtight door. "Alright, Miss Faith. Inside, you'll find a series of high-pressure jets. The solution is a broad-spectrum antimicrobial and antifungal agent. Strip down completely. Leave everything outside the first chamber. There's a chute for your clothes. They'll be directed straight to the incinerator unit."

Faith felt a profound sense of vulnerability as she stood before the chamber. Stripping down, shedding her last connection to the outside world, felt like an act of ritualistic cleansing, a desperate plea to expunge the contamination, both physical and psychological. She peeled off her jeans, her hoodie, her beanie, her shoes, each item feeling heavier and more tainted than the last. The air in the decontamination chamber was cool, almost klinical, prickling her exposed skin. She placed her clothes into the designated chute, watching with a morbid fascination as the mouth of the chute sealed, the faint whirring sound signifying their swift, silent demise.

Naked, exposed, and utterly alone in the glass-walled chamber, Faith took a deep, shuddering breath. The jets whirred to life, a powerful spray of cold, then warm, then cold again, stinging her skin with its chemical solution. It smelled acrid, metallic, burning her nostrils, but promised purity. She scrubbed at her skin, vigorously, forcefully, as if she could scour away the lingering fear, the horrifying images, the very possibility of infection. The water ran down her body, washing away the grime of Gotham, but also, she hoped, washing away the invisible threat, the insidious spores that might have settled upon her. Each drop that beaded and ran off her skin felt like a tiny victory, a microscopic cleansing.

Is it working? Is it enough? she wondered, her mind a relentless torrent of questions and doubts. The cold, analytical part of her brain knew this was the best they could do. The terrified, human part of her simply longed for reassurance that didn't yet exist.

When the jets finally subsided, leaving her skin tingling and red and raw, Faith emerged from the chamber, wrapping herself in a plush, sterile towel offered by Kate, who stood nearby maintaining a professional distance. The world outside felt different, sharper, more dangerous. She was clean, yes, but the city wasn't.

Bruce was already focused on the glowing console where the preliminary blood diagnostics were running. The results of her blood work and swabs wouldn't be back for hours, but the gravity of the situation was already pressing down on them all.

As the hours dragged on, the city outside began to lock down. News alerts flashed across the Batcomputer's massive screens: a mandatory curfew had been issued by the Mayor's Office, travel restrictions were put into place, emergency services were overwhelmed, hospitals were starting to turn away patients. The government's official statements, once confidently dismissive of the 'flu,' now contained thinly veiled fear, their experts baffled, their measures failing. The once vibrant, chaotic pulse of Gotham was stuttering, giving way to a sinister, suffocating silence.

Faith sat in the medical bay, trying to focus on a data stream about fungal pathogens, but her mind kept replaying the horrifying transformation she'd witnessed, the frantic scramble of the city, the cold brush of the needle Alfred had used to collect her samples. Dick stayed nearby, quietly working on his own forensics, but always within her line of sight, always casting a reassuring glance her way. Kate and Damian were a whirlwind of activity, analyzing data, trying to piece together the puzzle of this unprecedented attack. Bruce remained at the diagnostic station, his face grim, eyes fixed on the progress bar of the genetic sequencing. Alfred had disappeared upstairs to make them dinner, which he insisted they all needed to eat so they could maintain their strength for whatever was to come their way ━ even if he had to bring the food down to the Cave for them to eat.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a chime echoed through the Cave. Bruce's posture straightened, a tense anticipation in the air. He leaned closer to the screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

"Results are in," he announced, his voice devoid of emotion, making it impossible to gauge the outcome.

Faith's heart leaped into her throat. She held her breath, her eyes fixed on Bruce's back, then on the screens where complex biological data began to scroll. Dick moved to stand closer to her, his hand lightly resting on the small of her back. Kate and Damian had wandered over, eager to hear what her results said.

Bruce turned, his expression softening almost imperceptibly as he looked at her. "Faith, you're clear. No signs of contamination detected. The viral markers are absent from your system."

A wave of dizzying relief washed over her, so profound it almost brought her to her knees. She hadn't realized how tightly she'd been holding her breath, how much tension had coiled in her shoulders, until it all suddenly released. She felt light-headed, a strange, hollow laugh bubbling up in her chest.

"Thank God," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Dick's hand squeezed her back gently, a silent celebration of her good fortune.

"However," Bruce interjected, not allowing the moment of reprieve to linger, "the incubation period, based on the earliest fatalities we have gathered from the hospital records, can range between twelve and twenty-four hours. We will repeat the full blood diagnostics tomorrow morning at 0700. Until then, you will not leave the Manor."

"Okay," Faith managed, feeling a sudden, bone-deep exhaustion now that the immediate threat seemed to have passed.

　
🦇
　

That night, the Manor felt like a fortress against the encroaching darkness, but even within its thick stone walls, Faith found no peace. The relief of her test results was quickly overshadowed by the lingering terror of what she had witnessed, by the chilling reality of what was happening to Gotham. Her home. Sleep felt impossible, her mind replaying the grotesque images, her senses still assaulted by the phantom screams, the smell of fear, of earthly decay.

After an hour of tossing and turning, staring at the ornate ceiling of her room, the silence amplifying her anxieties, she couldn't bear it anymore. She needed comfort, a tangible reassurance that wasn't a scientific report or a decontamination shower. She needed Dick.

She slipped out of her room, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet of the corridor. The Manor was quiet, the only sounds the creaks and groans of an old house settling. Her heart pounded a soft, rhythmic drum against her ribs, partly from the fear gripping the city, partly from the anticipation of breaking their unspoken rule. Their relationship was a carefully guarded secret, a fragile bloom in the harsh landscape of their lives. But tonight, the rules felt flimsy, inconsequential against the weight of global catastrophe.

Dick's door was usually shut at night. Tonight, however, it was ajar ━ just barely. A sign, she knew, that he had been waiting, hoping she would break first and come see him tonight.

Faith pushed the door open the rest of the way and slipped inside, closing it gently behind her. The room was dark, lit only by the faint, eerie purple glow filtering in from the Gotham skyline.

Dick was already in bed, laying down on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, blue eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling seemingly in deep thought. He turned his head to look at her the moment she entered.

"I thought you might come," he whispered, his exhaustion visible even in the dim light. He uncrossed his arms from behind his head and patted the space next to him.

Faith accepted the invitation without hesitation and walked toward the bed, her legs trembling slightly. She didn't speak; she simply crawled onto the mattress, burrowing under the duvet until she was pressed tightly against his side.

He immediately wrapped his arms around her, a slow, deliberate embrace that seemed to gather every loose, frayed thread of her composure back into a whole. He smelled of soap and old spice and the clean, comforting scent of him.

"It's okay," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "It's over. You're safe."

But his words, meant to soothe, only served to crack the dam she had held so tightly since the morning. The pressure released in a sharp, painful catch in her chest, and she began to cry. Not the quiet, dignified tears, but deep, racking sobs that shook her entire body and broke his heart.

"I was so sc-scared, Dick," she admitted, her voice choked, raw with vulnerability. The words were difficult to utter, a confession of weakness in a world that demanded strength. "Today... seeing Pipes... it was... it was like something from a nightmare. And knowing it's out there, everywhere... what if it gets us? What if we can't stop it?" Her voice broke, a fresh wave of sobs racking her body.

He held her tighter, pulling her even closer against him, pressing a reassuring kiss to her hair. He let her cry, didn't try to stem the flow, just absorbed her fear, her pain.

"I know," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, his own fear palpable beneath the surface calm. "I know. I was... I was terrified too. When you came back, and you told us what happened... God, I was so fucking scared that I was going to lose you. More scared than I've been in a long time." His confession, stripped bare of his usual bravado, was a rare and precious gift, a testament to the depth of their connection.

Dick shifted slightly, lifting her chin with a gentle finger, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. Her eyes, red-rimmed and tear-filled, met his own in the dim light. His eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were shadowed with a deep, weary concern. He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away, but she didn't. She yearned for it. For him. Their lips met, soft and tender at first, then deepening into a kiss that was a desperate plea, a shared understanding of the terror that lurked outside their protective bubble.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, he didn't let go. He simply pulled her back into his embrace, holding her against the steady rhythm of his heart. She nestled her head under his chin, listening to the soft, comforting sound of his breathing. The world outside, the fungal nightmare, the crumbling city, felt distant, held at bay by the warmth of his arms, by the quiet strength of their shared intimacy. He just held her, and in that simple act, she found a momentary reprieve, a fragile, temporary peace from the encroaching horror.

"Stay with me," she whispered pleadingly, her voice husky with depleted emotion.

"Always," he promised, kissing the top of her head. "Now get some rest. I'll be right here, I promise."

a/n: What a close call for poor Faith. All the poor girl wanted was some coffee and now she's scarred for life lol. But she's still not completely in the clear as she still has to be tested in the morning 👀

Also, how about that ending? Gosh, her and Dick are so fucking cute. I just adore them so much!