The Universe's Mixer

Fred sat in bed and stared at the ceiling. She'd been in the hospital for a while, and she was more than ready to go home. Her head felt like it was still attached, and she could keep names and events in it. The doctors weren't sure she'd ever get her memory back fully, but the brainy female was sure whatever happened things would be as close to okay as they ever got in the City.

Jack was always around, and it was sweet how he looked after her. He'd only told her that they were friends, but Fred wondered if Jack wasn't the kind of guy who'd look after any head trauma victim this way. She believed him, yet he just seemed a little more champion than friend. She did look forward to his visits. Though, she was beginning to wish he wouldn't agree with the doctors about keeping her in the Hospital. There was no guarantee that whoever had shot her and burned her home down wouldn't come for her here. She was a target no matter where she was. At least outside she didn't have the nightmares.

The brainy female hadn't been overly sharing on the nightmares because she didn't want them to think she was crazy. She had small snippets of dreams that felt so very real, and she didn't like them, not even a little bit. They made her wonder about her sanity, and she'd only just gotten it back. Or gotten a step closer to it.

So, there she sat, wishing for some sort of outside contact yet not knowing anyone who could come "rescue" her. It seemed that none of the people she had known before were around anymore.

Bruce had finally had enough of seeing his wife-to-be being the playtoy of the criminals of this city. First it had been Joker, and now Jonathan Crane? Weren't the villians supposed to stick together, like the super heros tended to? Maybe Bruce had assumed that criminals flocked in the same patterns as the hero types. That wasn't a very safe assumption, but it had been the one that had made sense, though it was probably the idea furthest from the truth. Eddie didn't seem to be part of that group of elite criminals, or at least it seemed that way to Bruce considering he had been the second victim in the plot against the Nigmas. Both of the Nigma clan had been held against their will in the depths of Arkham Asylum by Jonathan Crane and Joker, something that was unforgiavble in Bruce's eyes. He had always been wary of Crane, the man just gave him a strange feeling every time he was around and he didn't like Enigma hanging around him. Especially now that Bruce knew how little Jonathan cared about her. The man was supposed to be her "step-father" after all, he should know better than to treat Enigma so poorly. Well, it didn't seem like Eddie had been treated any better and he was supposed to be Crane's partner. At least, that's what Bruce understood. How could something like this happen?

It seemed to Bruce that if someone didn't do something, Enigma was destined for a full body cast at some point in her life, and with their up-coming wedding he had a good idea that she would want to look like a noraml woman in her dress when she stood at the altar, and not wrapped from head to toe in plaster and bandages. Nor did he want her addicted to pain killers. She was already suffering enough from the broken elbow which she had some how managed to earn from Crane, another thing that made Bruce sick. He never wanted another man laying hands on the woman he loved, especially not with ill intent. Jonathan seemed to have crossed too many boundaries, and it was time someone stood up for the Nigmas, especially the littlest one.

Setting his feud with Eddie aside, Bruce agreed to go to Arkham to confront Crane about the kidnapping. He wasn't afraid of the skinny, dark-haired man in the slightest. Bruce wasn't one to jump head first into a fight, either, as it didn't fare well for his green beast, but something had to be done, and despite the last heated encounter with Dr. Crane, Bruce hoped they could set their differences aside and just talk like normal people. Hope being the key word.

Bruce wasn't interested in any scheme that Eddie might be formulating for Crane, having no idea what exactly was going on between them, only that it wasn't good. The elder Nigma was secretly trying to pit the Hulk against the beast inside his ex, and using Bruce as bait to draw out the Scare Beast was perfect. Too perfect. There wasn't anyone else immune to fear toxin, so that made Bruce the prime contender for the slot. When this was all over, perhaps Jonathan will learn something valuable. Not to mess with the people you love, and to know where your true allies were. Eddie had powerful allies, he didn't need Jack to back him up when he had a green monster at the disposal of his daughter. Enigma could get Bruce to do about anything for her, and this was a prime example.

So, with the idea of confronting Jonathan in mind, Bruce headed to Arkham to find the man responsible for holding his fiancee hostage.

He arrived via bicycle, leaving the contraption outside in the rack designed for such things, and headed inside, unaware of what direction exactly this was headed but he would find out soon enough.

He moved through the doors that lead into the lobby, and approached the desk for reception, asking the woman politely where he could find Dr. Crane, being pointed in the direction of the office he'd been at only once before. With a soft thanks, Bruce moved away from the desk and slipped down the hallway, approaching the too familiar door. It was closed, as usual, which didn't suprise Bruce in the slightest. Part of him hoped Crane wasn't there, or that he was with a patient. It wasn't out of fear, this building made Bruce uncomfortable to be in, and that wasn't good for his inner beast. Being uncomfortable was a doorway that lead to a world full of terrible things, a door that Bruce never wanted to open for any reason.

He approached the door, slowly, pausing once outside, lifting a hand to knock gently at the door, waiting patiently despite the discomfort he was feeling. This had to end now.

Oswin closed her eyes and waited patiently, calmly for her destruction. It didn't matter that her eyes weren't real, the asymmetrical neckline of her red crew dress wasn't real, the chair she sat in wasn't real nor was the keyboard balanced precariously on the arm of said chair under her manicured left hand. Her hands weren't even real. Oswin didn't have hands anymore.

She dreamed it all for herself because the truth was too terrible. Knowing the truth now didn't matter. She still preferred the dream. She still preferred to think of herself as someone with legs and long brown hair, even if she was tired of wearing the same little red dress and matching sneakers.

It all felt real, right down to the cowlick that liked to form along the hairline.

All she wanted was to be remembered for the girl that she was.

Her moment of selfless sacrifice was interrupted by the loud, angry honk of a car. Oswin jumped in her seat (it didn’t matter anymore at that moment that the chair wasn’t real), startled now by a chorus of honking cars.

When Oswin opened her eyes -- or eye, as it were -- to see she was no longer in the sterile white room of the asylum, but an open city street. Her ship -- because Oswin couldn’t bring herself to think of it as a body -- was parked in the middle of a busy intersection.

Traffic started to build up.

”Oh Chin Boy, this was you, wasn’t it? Where have you put me now, you clever boy...” In her mind’s eye she’d been talking, but they were really just thoughts.

Her real voice wasn't heard until moments later: "SORRY! SORRY!"

A few cars started to go around the dalek, which looked perilously close to her single walleyed eyestalk.

"OI! WATCH THE HARDWARE!" Oswin frowned. First day of freedom and she was spending it stuck in traffic. Brilliant.