Chapter 2.

A growl escaped her lips, as her eyes narrowed to a pin-prick. She squeezed her eyes shut and slid the needle through the pieces of skin, that were split into the open wound. Occasionally, she would think about how she managed to cut her shoulder open. 

A fraction of it continued to bleed, as she continued to stitch herself up. She gave a frustrated growl, as she finalized sealing her wound. Countless, crimson, stained, washcloths hung off the small sink she stood in front of.

 A small light buzzed over her head. She refused to seek help from a local Hospital, knowing there would be countless questions about how someone could get a massive gash on their shoulder.

Although most would lie they got drunk because it was Halloween, it was hardly believable, and the GCPD might as well have gotten involved. Y/n gripped onto the porcelain sink and stared into her reflection. Her eyes had deep-purple bags beneath her eyes.

 A couple of minor bruises decorated her shoulders, while her back was covered with scars. Her fingers raked through her short, ebony-coloured, undercut. She began to examine her sharp jawline as it ached. Going to work wasn't promising. She acknowledged instantly she would receive a couple of questions from her co-workers. Whether it involved domestic abuse or a recent injury.

Each of her scars told a story of its own and shaped her into whom she was today. She continued to clean the wound with a cloth and some hydrogen peroxide. Decontaminating the wound and saving herself time and money from an ugly infection forming.

Likewise, it wasn't as horrible as the injuries the group received in the subway. In contrast, hers seemed pretty equal. Although it wasn't proven, she knew that she did well. After Y/n bandaged up her shoulder to where the wound was breathable. She retreated to the sofa in the living room of her small apartment.

Her apartment was small but affordable. It had one bathroom, two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. Judging by how most people lived in Gotham, she was financially stable.

The light of the TV flashed across the grey walls of her apartment, she watched the debate being broadcasted between Don Mitchell Jr. and Bella Reál. Bella Reál was the candidate that she was voting for, despite the Vale family being good friends with Mitchell. But she saw through those kind smiles and empty promises.

Initially, Bella seemed like a better candidate for Gotham's mayor, she spoke with confidence, regarding Gotham's changes. She had big plans to reform Gotham's political structure, along with its deep roots of corruption.

Despite Bella's painting this perfect image of herself, Don Mitchell had more connections, and easily the people would vote for him, blind by the corruption he has caused. Y/n's eyes began to grow heavy, as the morning sun began to greet the horizon of Gotham. The gloomy clouds continued to briefly conceal the morning sun.

Before sleep embraced her with open arms, her instincts kicked in. Her eyes snapped open, realizing she had work in a couple of hours. But for her, it proved to be impossible to get up in a couple of hours. Her vision could barely focus on the glow of her phone, she began to text her boss a brief reason for not showing up for work.

Y/n began to despise the politically corrupt, for that they had the Police right in their front pocket. Something about Falcone disgusted her, but she couldn't wrap her head around why. Maybe it was something she was told by her co-workers.

Her childhood was never kind to her, it made her have trust issues.

From the day she was born to the age of 16, now at the age of 26, it left heartache and anger she could never shake. But there was only one person who could describe her upbringing through the letters she wrote to her good friend. The day she got adopted was perhaps a death wish for her.

Every second she wasted thinking about those moments made her blood boil. But what she truly desired was to learn who her biological parents were, like any orphan's deep desire.

 
But so many perceived that pain. She recalled the feeling of sadness and helplessness in the orphanage run by the Waynes. Once filled with tranquillity and comfort. But the funds began to flag down as soon as the Waynes perished by a bullet.

As written in short terms of how they died, they described it as a robbery. But deep down she felt as if it was something more. Even though robberies were soaring the charts by each day, the Waynes stood as a beacon of hope to Gotham. 

A perfectly painted picture of generosity hung over them, but she saw it as something much more. Something was off about them. She deemed that not all billionaires made money through their generosity and inventions.

But maybe her theory was incorrect.

Maybe it was all in her head, maybe she felt as if there was something that didn't add up with the Waynes crystal image.

*****

Contrasts of blue and red flashed across the series of structured buildings. Sirens screamed throughout the streets as Police raced to the scene of a distress call. The victim was confirmed to be deceased. An hour late, the Police began to do a sweep throughout the mansion.

 A couple of Officers began to question the maid that found Mr. Don Mitchell Jr. dead in his study. She could hardly get a sentence out, she couldn't sit still and began to hyperventilate. The medics took her through a series of instructions to get her into a calmer state of mind.

The scene was gruesome and trashed. A small puddle of blood circled a small section of Don's chair. He remained slumped in a leather chair, with his head arched back. Cheap duck tape covered his face. Words were sketched across the tape that read 'no more lies.'

Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the narrow hallway that led to Don's study. Dim lights lit the room with a faint glow, and a crowd of cops stood at the entrance of the study. The masked vigilante followed a very underrated, lieutenant of Gotham City's Police Department, also phrased as the GCPD.

Jim Gordon was an African-American male who led most of the officers through the crime scenes. As predicted, the scene was extremely bloody. Throughout his years of working through crimes, Homicides, and kidnappings, he hasn't ever seen a crime scene this vague.

Gordon pushed the bridge of his glasses closer to his face as his eyes began to scatter across the scene. Jim inhaled deeply, and a staggering expression diffused across his face. Officers began to part away from the entrance, making room for Batman and Gordon to examine the scene, keenly. The officers exchanged looks with each other and hushed chatter, involving the scene or the sight of Gotham's vigilante.

An officer stepped between Gordon and Batman. Rudely, stopping the masked vigilante from proceeding further into the scene.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Police action," the officer spoke. The officer placed a hand on the vigilante's chest plate and stopped him from proceeding further.

"He's with me, Officer," Jim concluded.

"Are you kidding me, sir? You're going to let him in here?" the officer questioned the lieutenant's choice.

Batman's cold gaze narrowed to the officer, calmly he stood there, and allowed Gordon to do his job.

"Martinez, let him through." Gordon objected to Martinez's concerned questions.

The padding of Martinez's fingers drop, and an embarrassing sigh escaped his lungs. Martinez stepped aside and out of spite mumbled, "Masked freak."

Martinez's jaw snapped shut in frustration when the masked man didn't give him the response he sought for.

Flashes of light came from officers that began to collect evidence with their cameras. While the Blood splatter analysts began to examine Don's body, without moving his corpse.

Jim's face wrinkled in disgust, as he stared at the detective that stood next to Don's corpse. He held a flashlight over Don's head. Jim greeted the detective with a collected stare, masking his reaction to the scene.

"What do we know?" Jim began.

Judging by the scene, this was more than a murder, it was a political message. The vigilante's cold gaze traced over the small amount of light peaking through the window. The window was covered with front pages of Don and Bella's election. In large letters of crimson-coloured writing, read "Lies."

Batman began to wander around the room, examining the writing on Don's face. It wasn't a pretty sight, quite immoral to his mind.

The detective's eyes followed Batman. Jim snapped his fingers and brought the detective back to reality.

"Detective?" Jim called out to the detective.

The detective snapped back into reality and gave Gordon his attention.

"Sorry, Lieutenant." the detective awkwardly apologized.

"We got a blunt force trauma. Lacerations on the head. He got hit, relentlessly." the detective pointed out the details that were concealed by thick, bloody, clumps, of Don's hair.

Jim's face wrinkled. He flicked on a flashlight and examined the areas the detective pointed out, matching the description given.

As Gordon suspected, this was probably where the blood came from.

But curiously, he questioned the detective, "All this blood from his head?"

The detective shook his head, "No." he replied.

He rounded the chair to Don's left hand. A paper bag concealed his hand upon the arm of the chair.

Nearly crashing into the masked vigilante, the contrast of his costume blended in with the darkness of the room.

"Excuse me," the detective saved his embarrassment with an annoyed voice.

Quietly, he stepped to the side and allowed the detective to continue his examination.

"Most of it is from his hand." the detective concluded. He reached for an ugly paper bag that covered his left hand. His gloved fingers raised Don's wrist and revealed his thumb was missing.

"Thumb was severed." the detective mumbled.

Jim cringed at the sight of the disappearance of Don's thumb.

Batman's eyes caught that Don's watch remained on his wrist, crackled, but still worked. He deemed that this wasn't a robbery. And by the way, the thumb was severed, Don was alive when his thumb was taken off.

"May of taken it as a trophy," Gordon muttered.

"He was alive when it was cut off," Batman commented. His voice was on the deeper side, smooth, but not raspy.

The silence broke out between the detective and Gordon. Their attention snapped from the victim and over to Batman. His eyes focused on the dark bruise that circled the remaining blood vessels, over the stub of his thumb.

"Ecchymosis around the wound." Batman hinted at Gordon and the detective.

His eyes snapped from their confused expressions to something that caught his eyes. He moved from his position next to the corpse and followed over to the far side of the room.

Gordon and the detective began to notice the small details, including the imprinted and graffitied window. They began to wonder who would take the time to vandalize the room and leave just enough evidence to work with? But most would argue that criminals would flee the scene after they were finished.

Batman began to overhear the lead detective speak about details, involving the time frame of people being present and Don's home. The vigilante's steel-toed boots stopped at a blood mark on the floor. A deep mark was etched into the floorboards of the room. The officer noticed his curiosity, as the vigilante began to piece together the scene. She took a quick photo of the unmarked spot of the crime scene. Batman turned away from the small piece of evidence and returned to the lead detective and Gordon.

"Security detail, downstairs, said that the family was out trick-or-treatin'. The mayor was up here alone, the maid was out, half-hour later she discovered his death. The killer may have came through the skylight." the lead detective detailed his theory of the investigation, piecing together the evidence.

"You said there was a card?" Gordon questioned.

"Yeah." the detective replied, simply. He handed him a green envelope, that was partly opened.

The Halloween card wasn't too detailed, it had a skeleton next to an Owl. The skeleton pointed towards the deep-purple-coloured owl.

"From your secret friend, whoo?" Gordon read. He flipped the opening of the card and his eyes began to trace over the message.

"Haven't got a clue? Let's play a game, me and you." Gordon implied the brief message, missing the messy, hand-written, message on the side of the card.

Gordon's eyes flipped from the printed words to the messy handwriting.

"What does a liar do when he's dead?" Gordon read the riddle.

"There's a cipher." the detective pulled out a large zip-lock bag that revealed a paper with encrypted numbers and syllables.

Gordon stared at the bag and couldn't wrap his head around the meaning of the clues.

"Does this mean anything to you?" he questioned Batman.

"What is going on here?" A raspy voice came from the crowd of Cops that parted for Commissioner Pete Savage. He had a negative aura and made the vibe of the room turn sour.

Commissioner Savage seemed to be older than Jim, by an easy fifteen years. Mr. Savage kept his focus on Batman. He thought it was unclear why his presence was there.

Gordon stepped forward, "I asked him to come, Pete." Gordon gave an honest reply to his boss.

"This is a crime scene." the commissioner reminded Gordon.

"It's Mitchell for crisp sake! I have the press downstairs" the commissioner added, pointing towards Mitchell's corpse.

Savage stepped into Jim's space, "I cut you a lot of slack, Jim, 'cause we have history. But this is way over the line." Pete explained to Jim.

Jim kept silent and showed him the envelope, it read, "To Lady Arkham."

"Who the hell? Remind me again, is he not involved?! Does he have a connection to this 'Lady Arkham?"

"No, he isn't involved-"

"How do you know?! He's a Godamn vigilante! He could be a suspect!" Pete began to impulsively yell at Jim.

"What are you doin' to me, Jim? We use to be partners." Pete began to condescend to Jim.

Batman stared at the evidence of Mitchell's corpse and the moment he heard the name 'Lady Arkham, his mind recalled a masked figure down at the subway station. He quietly kept that to himself. Batman reviewed the question in his mind, what does a liar do when he's dead? He stared blankly at the corpse until it clicked.

"I'm trying to find a lead, Pete," Jim argued.

"He lies still." Batman interrupted the two.

Savage's expression changed to one that was firm.

"Excuse me?" Pete said as if he wasn't insulted.

"The riddle." Batman implied to the riddle.

Jim turned over the card where Savage could see the writing on the card.

"What does a liar do when he's dead? He lies still." Jim added to Batman's input.

Seemingly, Pete didn't enjoy Jim, nor Batman's response to this investigation. The heavier man approached Batman.

A frustrated sigh escapes Pete's nostrils before speaking, "This must be your favourite night of the year, pal? Happy Fuckin' Halloween." Pete began to spit venom at the vigilante.

"Excuse me, Commissioner. They're ready for your statement." Martinez notified the Commissioner. By receiving not a single word from a man who doesn't speak many words, the Commissioner turned to Gordon.

He began to bark orders, "I want him out of here! NOW!" Pete snarled.

Even when the dark knight refused to give him a sign of acknowledgement, he continued to stare at the message written on Mitchell's face. Ignoring Savage's rash actions. Better yet, Pete's last name proved to be rather fitting for him.

Savage stormed off and out of Mitchell's study, Jim exchanged a quick glance with Batman.

"Come on, let's go," he mumbled.