The Universe's Mixer

Lyra couldn't remember how she had come to be in this strange and creepy place. The only jumbled thoughts she had were of waking up in an uncomfortable bed made of starchy sheets, and lime green jello being thrown against the wall. They tried to take her compass away, but she had kicked up such a fuss that they decided to let the child be, and dose her up with some nasty medicine.

Everything made her feel sleepy, despite not wanting to sleep. She fought as much as she could, but it was really no use, and there was no way to fight off the horrid dreams that plagued her sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she'd see her mother's cold, calculating smile as she slowly began to sever the invisible bond between herself and daemon, Pan. Her ears filled with the screams of the soulless children crying out in despair, or perhaps they were her own? she couldn't quite tell. Either way, she woke up screaming, thrashing in a sea of starchy sheets.

Today the nurses had ushered her out into a large common room, and dug up some old dolls for her to play with. They remained untouched, and she instead flopped in front of the strange box which played moving pictures - was it called a television, or something? She couldn't quite remember. It had been such a novelty the first time she'd seen one in The City, now it became more of a hinderance. She just wanted to be able to think, but her brain felt dead, as if a zombie had taken a bite out of it.

"Its no bloody use" She muttered to the wilted tabby cat that had sprawled out on her lap. "This place is driving me bloody bonkers."

There was weird, Weird, and Sunnydale Weird -- and Oz tended to roll with all of the forms of weird that the universe threw at him in the same way. He'd think about what had just happened, re-arrange the way he looked at reality a bit if need be (often the explanation that something Sunnydale Weird was going on made things make a lot more sense) and then nod and sometimes say; "oh" or "I see." or "well that makes things make more sense." He rarely said this last one -- figuring in most cases that his "oh," or "I see" covered all that.

So when he woke up in a strange room, wearing strange clothes, his firs reaction had been ... "oh.".

He had been in Mexico. And now -- he wasn't sure.

So. When the going got tough, Oz tended to take off. But the door to the room he had found himself in was locked ... which was problematic. Memories of the Initiative were rather fresh in Oz's mind, and he had almost expected thinking that about that would make the wolf break out of the cage that Oz worked so hard at keeping it in -- so Oz did what he thought was best.

He sat down on the floor,and worked really hard at thinking calm thoughts, and on meditating. (He wasn't sure where he was. And he figured the wolf might be helpful in getting out of here -- but the thing with he wolf was, that once it was let out it was hard to rein it back in, until it was ready). So for now -- it was time to mediate.

Something was missing. Dinah knew it the instant her eyes opened. She tried her voice and, while she could manage to croak out some words, she didn't seem to have access to her canary cry. Panic coursed through her, as she remembered another time when she'd lost her cry. Her hands were bound to the bed, but she struggled against the bonds to get to her stomach. When nothing gave way, she glanced down. For a second, she thought she saw a trail of blood, felt the phantom pains of being gutted so long ago.

"Breathe, Dinah," she muttered to herself.

When she was able to fight through the memories, she took stock of things. As far as she could tell, there was no pain, save for the cloth restraints that bit into her skin. But she'd felt worse. Far worse. There was no cut trailing from her collar to her waist, no broken bones, and nothing else damaged except for her voice.

It was only after a few days of nurses visiting her room and shoving pills down her throat that Dinah started to piece things together. The pills had muddled her mind, so she couldn't quite place how she'd gotten here. They also must have suppressed her vocal chords, because she felt no sign of damage beyond the fact that she just couldn't use them properly. It took a few more days for her to remind herself to focus on one of the nurse's ID tags when they entered to give her a meal and her daily dose of medicine. Arkham. But why? How? Something must have gone very wrong with her last mission, but she couldn't remember the details of the mission or how she might have ended up here.

Dinah realized that the only way out was to play along for the time being. She needed to earn their trust so she could get out of the restraints.

Once she began to play along, Dinah was allowed the freedom to walk around her room, and to take the meds on her own instead of having them forced down her throat. This allowed her to hide them under her tongue, so that slowly she regained her wits. The next step in the plan was simple. She needed to find a way to get a message out to Oracle. Barring that, she needed to break out of Arkham.

After all, how hard could it be? It seemed someone was always breaking out of Arkham... Somehow, the thought brought her little comfort.



A few days later, Dinah paced her room. They'd finally released her from her restraints, though they had yet to let her out of the room. She'd started to piece things together during her time of solitude. She'd decided that this couldn't be Arkham. Not really. After all, Barbara had eyes all over Gotham. If Dinah had mistakenly ended up in Arkham, Barbara would have already sent a team to extract her.

So if this wasn't Arkham, then where was she? Who was behind it, and why? The who and why were perhaps more important, but Dinah didn't like this sense of being trapped somewhere without any idea as to where she actually was.

And that was always where her thoughts fell right back into the same loop. She might have been able to get out of taking a few of the pills they gave to her, but she hadn't been able to miss every dose, and there was still whatever they injected into her every few hours. All of that served to keep her mind in a perpetual state of confusion, as though the answers were right there, and yet she couldn't quite reach far enough.

The door opened and a kind-faced nurse grinned at her.

"You've been such a model patient lately, dear. The doctors have decided to allow you out for arts and crafts." Her voice indicated that Dinah was receiving a great treat.

Dinah stared at the woman as if she was, well, mad. Arts and crafts? She didn't paint, crochet, or anything else one might find in an arts and crafts class. She opened her mouth to tell the woman this, and then realized that this was her chance to get out of the room and hopefully learn more about her surroundings.

"Great," she said with a strained smile.

The nurse led her down the hallway, which oddly enough did look like one of Arkham's hallways. Dinah frowned, though she reassured herself that anyone could have recreated the design of the building. If they really wanted to make her believe she was inside Arkham, there's no telling what they might have done to pull this off.

It still didn't quite add up, but Dinah's thoughts were distracted as the nurse deposited her in the arts and crafts room in front of an easel. Dinah glanced around the room at the rest of the patients, some of whom were painting away happily and some of whom seemed just as perturbed as she was to be shoved into this situation.

She sighed and picked up a paint brush, forcing a grin. The nurse seemed satisfied with this and patted her on the shoulder.

"Have fun, honey. Someone will be back to collect you in an hour for lunch."

The nurse gone, Dinah took the chance to look around at her surroundings. From the view out of the one tiny window in the room, she would guess they were on the third or fourth floor. The room had one exit, and it was flanked by large orderlies. If she was at full strength and not drugged, she could easily have taken them out. But for now, she would just have to content herself to watch and learn more.