The night is dark and thick with rain that pours down as unrelenting as the iron framework that keeps this facility cut off from the civilized world.
This particular extension is even more secluded, furrowed away from the main building and holding cell for the criminally insane or at least those lawyered up enough to feign such a sentence. Lawyers and anarchy what a thin line.
The metal bomb shelter of a box is not just high security but ultra, nuclear, security. Not many get in and those who do wont get out, at least not without a lot of persuasion.
Computer imprint scan reads: Mirrianna Savauge: Psychological Chemist.
Even the guards on 72 hour watch are locked in. They wont take any chances, not any more. Not with him. But she will be the exception to this rule and for the better if she has anything to say about it. She is a rather serious looking woman, young but mature, whose dedication to her beliefs and work can see her come across as almost robotic and cold.
Authorization under Commissioner Gordon: Cleared. Enter.
The large metal doors she stands before slide open revealing one behind that pulls up into itself, like the lowering entrance of some grand fortress. She enters feeling just before the tug of apprehension that warns her there will be no coming back once this line is crossed, but she has worked so hard, come so far, what’s a little further?
“Does he know me?” She wonders. “Would he even remember? Did he even care?”
She is hand scanned by security before another large door that reads: High Security Isolation Ward, in big bold letters above its entrance sparking the reminder of neon greens that point to the exit, one last reprieve, one last chance to turn around.
“Was I just another poor victim of circumstance? A sideliner; never a thought given to? A casualty in heart and humanity alone? No body to add to the list so forgotten in the ruble of the chaos. Would he even know my face?”
But she will not so the thick doors open and she walks down another long sterile secluded hallway; a deep tunnel of what it precedes: isolation from all things human and natural.
“They say he’s a genius, yet how far does that supposed genius go? Will I surprise him?”
She halts at the end of the long hallway only to be scanned by unseen monitors, rays and security.
“It doesn’t matter.” She continues to herself.
Again the large door opens, a sign that she’s been cleared. She steps inside as it closes tightly behind her cementing her fate. She is now in a very small room. It is like the entryway in a humble home or a walk in coat closet. Yet she does not stand alone. Before her is Jim Gordon Gotham City’s Police Commissioner. Her eyes sharpen with laser focus and in an instant all doubts and questioning fall out of her mind, for she has the only answer, the only reason she needs:
“I have work to do.”
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