The Universe's Mixer

BLOOD AND GORE AND MURDER WARNING.

The performances, for the most part, had gone off quite well. Hannibal had great pride in his orchestral companions. He also had great pride in Erik's skill of putting things together, of finding the right parts for the people that he employed, of knowing their strengths and weaknesses.

There was only one issue in the whole night, and he couldn't be positive why it had happened. Hannibal was sure that if this was a regular thing, that he would have noticed before now. It took a little investigation to discover that the target of his ire was an understudy. An understudy who did very little in the way of study, from what he could gather. He supposed that not being ready could be forgivable, if one would just admit to it, most of the time there weren't things that kept the musicians away from the stage. He'd seen a flutist play through a persistent cough without making a single mistake. Whatever had happened to the regular bassoon player had to be fairly significant. But what it came down to was a man who was not in any condition to play as a replacement.

At the best of times, the tone was flat. As if the understudy didn't fully grasp the nuances of the instrument he held. To make it worse, there were some decidedly sour notes that hopefully the audience didn't pick up on. They had, thankfully, more than one bassoon, and the argument could be made to himself that the others had done enough to drown out the horror of the one. But he heard it. And no doubt, if he heard it, Erik had too.

It was a humiliation that Hannibal was not willing to shoulder. He would not allow Erik's beloved opera house be sullied by somebody who was less than worthy of being there. He would not allow himself to be grouped in with a person who did not see playing as a craft, and did nothing to hone the skills that needed to be present in order to play well.

Hannibal stalked his prey easily. He knew that he likely shouldn't be doing such things within Erik's domain, he didn't want his friend to get into trouble, but he was also unwilling to risk that there might be somebody waiting at home, or that the man wouldn't go right home. The blight needed to be ended swiftly. As soon as possible. Which meant the monster needed to devour the lamb before it had a chance to escape, or bleat out and alert anyone else to the danger.

He was kneeling in a prop storage room, a knife in his hand, and a body leaking blood when he heard the door open. Despite the imminent threat to his freedom and possibly his well being, Hannibal did not panic. He stayed crouched, and looked back over his shoulder to see who might be intruding upon his delights. If they, too, needed to be removed from the world.

Jonathan had called his friend earlier, and now waited for the man to arrive. He hadn't specified why he wanted to see Hannibal, simply inviting him for tear, figuring that it was something he wanted to discuss...up close and personal. He winced as he tried to reach for his teapot, instinctively moving with the hand strapped to his chest, before switching hands and opening the lid of the pot, moving to pour hot water into it, watching as the steaming liquid covered the loose tea leaves, turning it a murky brown.

He had been shot just that morning and already he was annoyed and frustrated, but he swallowed the emotions down, burying them. They weren't important right now..and he could whine to Edward about it later.

Setting the pot on a tray, he added two cups and saucers, as well as a tin of cookies, frowning at the display, wishing he could make it more...pretty, but there was only so much he could do.

(Backdated to this night)

The hanging clock read 7:39. Erik finally rose from his desk chair and eased his way toward the door. With the help of his assistant, they'd managed to call everyone to cancel the evening's work schedule. Tomorrow, he was sure the City would mend the damage done to his precious Opera House, and practice and work would go on as usual. He would not allow the season to be set back yet again. It had suffered too many delays already.

Fortunately, the Hulk's destruction had not harmed any of the ones who worked here, although some of those with more delicate constitutions who had been within the Opera House walls were shaken. He was uncertain he could say that the sets and props were undamaged, however. He needed to see for himself.

Gritting his teeth, he moved carefully down the evening-lit hall toward the stage. Light headed, he set his gloved hand against the wall and kept it there, letting it help him walk toward his destination. There were none within the Opera House now to see his weakness. But the climb up the steps backstage was far more difficult than it should have been. He was obliged to pause half-way, his grip on the railing so tight as to bruise his palm.

Fred sat in an empty apartment, confused. Her hands rested on her lap as she tried to figure out what happened. She knew what had happened, but that didn’t mean she understood it. Why had the City taken away one of her friends? It did like taking her friends away, but she supposed everyone had lost someone. Or someones. She wasn’t the only one, and again, she knew this even if she couldn’t make herself accept it.

She’d been left the apartment, as if it was her new place of residence, but that didn’t make any sense. How could she live here? She couldn’t really afford it, could she? Not without taking cases again; she had been working on finding a new place to start the business, Angel Investigations.

“Thank you.” She sent out a soft word to Jack, wherever he was, and sucked it up. She stood and headed out to find dinner. There was also a set of offices that she wanted to peek at before actually walking through them. Once she found the offices, she stared into the small spot that wasn’t papered over, all after having walked around the building as much as she could. It was in a nice neighborhood - for now anyway. It seemed welcoming. It would do nicely if she could afford it.

With the building looked at, she started to look for something for dinner. Unfortunately, all she could find were high end boutique food shops. Gourmet all round, and while she could find something to eat, it felt odd going to such nice places. Plus, she wasn’t exactly known for her cooking. Though...some cheese could be nice.

“Cheese it is.” She started toward the cheese shop.

( ---- )

Hannibal carried in his hands a copy of the official report that he'd made about Enigma and her state of mind, and the not-official writeup of his time with her. A full account of the whole thing, beginning to end. The authorities would never see that part of it. He'd done it specially for the person that he was going to see now.

The cab dropped him off at the doors to Arkham despite the argument of the cabbie that he didn't feel comfortable getting that close. Hannibal had persuaded the man that it was in his best interests to not make his passenger walk from the front gates. It wasn't a long walk, per se, not in the grand scheme of things, it was just the principal of the matter. Hannibal had hired the car to take him to Arkham Asylum, not anything else.

He'd come because he wanted to know more about the family ties Enigma had spoken of. He wanted to see the complexity for himself. And more than anything, he wanted to get Jonathan's reaction to the encounter. He wanted to watch Crane's face as he read what Hannibal had done. Possibly see that other face there, too, those other eyes gazing out of the darkness.

"I'm here to see Doctor Crane." Hannibal told the front desk person. "No, I do not have an appointment, but I think he'll see me anyway. Tell him it's Doctor Lecter. If he still states he doesn't wish to be bothered, I will go. But only then."

Hannibal waited.

Enigma lay on the cot in her private cell, staring at the ceiling, absently rubbing her wrists. She was still on a suicide hold, pending her psychological evaluations, and she couldn't wait to get it over with so she could be moved to the general population. She was slowly going insane, left alone with her own spinning thoughts.

At least at Arkham they had windows...and the occasional other screaming patient to break up the monotony.

She sighed, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, giving the restraints she had been in not too long ago a dirty look, reaching her hands up to braid her long pigtails, curling her legs up under her as she started humming to herself. Yes, it might have made her look utterly insane, but she was so...freaking...bored.

"Oy, give me a magazine at least!" she yelled, knowing the hidden microphones in the room would pick it up. She wasn't suicidal, but she was tempted to strangle herself with her own pigtails if she had to deal with this much longer.

The past season had been truncated, a regrettable truth that the manager of the Opera House was eager to rectify. The summer season opened in two months, but instead of adhering to standard custom, Erik instead planned for the last opera of the season to be played in a month's time. Another was written and waiting, and the summer line up was complete, if not yet published. His assistant was working out the details with that particular duty, and Erik had full intention on pressing the young man if the summer was not announced by the close of the business day.

But it wasn't Mike Deal that Erik had called to his office today.

The door to his office at the Opera House was open. A full tea set was waiting on a small table by his desk. And on the desk sat a freshly bound score entitled only 'La Mer.' Erik worked through last-minute design features of the upcoming opera while waiting for his star pianist to appear.

Rufio had a problem. An embarassing one, too. He'd been battling a group of thugs when one had pulled a knife and glanced his side. He was an expert swordsman, yet somehow the street scum had gotten in when he was running another thug through, and he'd just barely dodged in time.

Finishing the group off quickly wasn't hard. After he'd killed two the rest took off, and the youth stopped, breathing heavily and looking at his side. It wasn't a deep cut, but it was long, running just below his ribcage. And there was a lot of blood.

He sheathed his still bloody sword and took off into the air, flying to the hospital. He knew what it was for, but the idea of just strolling in there and having them take away his sword was inconcievable. Instead the boy flew around till he found a window in the back which looked into a store room. Breaking in was easy enough, he was still small enough to slip through a window pane that would keep out a grown man, even if he did leave a fairly obvious blood smear across the pane. Inside the small closet he looked around, searching for bandages. He could mend himself without the help of any grownups, he'd only lost enough blood to make his head a bit foggy, after all.

The search for a lawyer who was not City born was a short one. The names that came up were very few. Hannibal was a little surprised by this fact, but glad of it as well. He needed to find somebody for River very quickly, and he didn't want to have to visit too many offices to discover just the person he needed. A City born lawyer wouldn't have the experience that Hannibal was looking for, the drive, nor the passion. He didn't trust the abilities of one who had never been outside the wall and didn't believe they would do enough.

He chose a name to begin with. Lindsey McDonald.

What he found at the office when he arrived was a nicely appointed space, not tacky, not too flashy. A lovely girl sitting outside a door with the attorney's name tastefully displayed. It did not take Hannibal much to convince her, Andrea, to let him wait inside despite not having an appointment time. She was loyal, he could see, but easily manipulated. He didn't know if this was a trait that she'd been chosen for specifically, or if it was just kind of a bonus. She knew enough to do her job, though he doubted she would be able to explain much of what went inside the inner sanctum.

Once in, he took the time to look around. There were adornments, things picked with care. None of it struck Hannibal as personal. He saw not a sign of what he would consider a man's true taste. He saw things that were expected of lawyers. Books on the law neatly arranged on shelves. Plush leather chairs for prospective clients or rivals. A beautiful wooden desk that was just a hair too big, but still on the right side of obscene. Swords on the walls. Such things that spoke of virility, power, conquest, nothing that could be construed as weakness.

Hannibal took up residence in one of the chairs and sat quietly, waiting.

The garden had seemed the finest place to stage his wedding. It would have been far more proper to wed his bride in a cathedral, and Erik could not deny that she deserved as much. But neither could he bring himself to set foot inside another church again. The Roman Catholic God, if he dared to exist, had cursed him for all his 38 years with a face that all of humanity hated. No, Erik could not bring himself within 10 feet of a church, except to admire its architecture. And never, ever for a religious occasion. None of these things had he expressed to his Christine.

But a proper Roman Catholic wedding mass his wife would have, and he had seen to that much. Every detail was in its proper place - up to the small choir and piano and orchestral backing, all managed discretely through the church from which he'd drawn the services of the priest himself. Erik expected the mass to be an arduous affair, with only the music to save him... but as the liturgy came to a close, Erik could only find himself thinking how wrong it was that Christine consent to such a union - and how selfish it was for him to allow her. No. More than selfish. He would never allow her to be free of him ever again. It still baffled him that she seemed perfectly amenable to these chains.

Under the mid-morning sunshine, Erik's skin seemed paler than usual. His recent recuperation had left the composer thinner than usual, but the cut of his tuxedo concealed it. It was possible, however, that the paleness of his skin had nothing to do with his recent illness. The priest's voice cut into his thoughts, then, and Erik swallowed.

"---by a special sacrament so that you may assume the duties of marriage in mutual and lasting fidelity. And so, in the presence of the Church, I ask you to state your intentions.

"Erik and Christine, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?"

Hannibal had taken River from the jail and gotten good food into her, made sure that she ate until she couldn't manage to do it anymore. From there, they had gone by her apartment, and his room at the Bates Motel to gather up things that they both thought they might want close at hand. Hannibal had found a very nice suite at a very nice hotel and gotten them set up inside. He doted on River and made sure she wanted for nothing.

After getting her cleaned up with the shower and then insisting that she also take a nice long soak in the giant spa tub, Hannibal had needed to leave. It was an interruption that he didn't want to have, but was necessary. He needed to at least make an appearance at the gala for Carmen's opening night. He had convinced River to take a sedative and sleep, and he would be back before she woke. With the happenings of Erik that night, he had managed to keep his promise and woken her to inform her of the surgery and to give her instructions to continue the sedatives and sleep more, leaving her a bottle by the side of the bed.

He had let her sleep on and off for a couple of days, waking her to make sure that she ate and bathed. Plying her with the richest foods that he could find, buying her exotic scented oils and bubbles for her baths. Spoiling her as much as he could, knowing that once they finally got down to business, it would be an unhappy task, and wanting her to have as much downtime as possible before she had to face the truth.

Now, with Erik's needs behind him, Hannibal returned to the suite once again. It was time, he knew, to help River with her needs. He had not supplied her with more sedatives in the past 12 hours, wanting her sleep to be more natural and her head to be clear when she woke. In his hands he carried a gourmet breakfast, which he began to set out at the nice little dining table that their suit contained.

He would let these things happen as River dictated them, but they would happen today. He didn't think it wise to let it linger any longer.

"River?" He called quietly as he placed the silverware.

Hannibal stood at the threshold of Erik's elaborate palace, waiting for the attendants that would grant his admittance. It was a routine that they had established over the past while, him having to wait on them, them knowing he would arrive, but not knowing when. He supposed that it would have made it easier for the staff if he'd set a schedule, but he was testing his charge with the surprise visits for a reason.

While he stood still, awaiting the response to his summons, he turned himself inward, wandering the halls of his Mind Palace. A place bigger than even Erik could have ever created. Not for the first time, he maneuvered his way to the room of Erik's surgery, decorated with a steel door, unlike the normal warm wooden ones he typically chose. Inside, the scene was set for the day that he had worked on the operatic genius' heart.

"The surgery is going to take a little longer than I originally told you, due to the wear you have placed on yourself since we spoke about it. Had you been in the health of that day, this wouldn't be so complicated. As it is, I enjoy a challenge." He had secreted Erik out of the Opera House and through a back door to the hospital. While Erik had not wanted to stay in one, Hannibal insisted that the operation itself take place in one. It was the only way he could be certain that he would have everything he could possibly need for every possible issue that might arise. He did, however, operate alone, not even bringing in a nurse to assist.

Hannibal's hands had been deft, his mind on his work and on the instruments around him at the same time. He was careful, sure, but quick. He needed to have Erik healed and out before anybody could question why a room was not booked for his recovery.

He had seen, before leaving the office, Erik's masterpiece, and the vial of morphine that sat beside it. His mind had worked over things very quickly, and had been confirmed at the sight of Erik's arm once the anesthetic took hold. Hannibal knew that he could not give Erik morphine for his recovery. He opted for the derivative, Hydromorphone. It would help Erik's pain, and perhaps even wean him off the actual morphine.

With precise cuts, he opened Erik's chest. Needing to do much work, he had to use a rib spreader instead of the more fancy laparoscopic techniques that would have saved much recovery time. It was a procedure that he would have had to do anyway, no matter if Erik had taken better care of himself, or worse. The man's heart was heavily scarred. It took Hannibal's careful hand a long time to cut away the damaged tissue and stitch together that which could be saved. And as he worked, he kept having one thought. One thing that kept returning to him.

Erik was a man that Hannibal admired. He respected him. Erik was many things, including intelligent, capable, headstrong, and talented. Hannibal had seen the darker side lingering where Erik tried to keep it hidden from the rest of the world. But like called to like, and it could not hide from the monster's adept red eyes. This continued to occur to him as he worked, and as he removed the last piece of damage, before he sewed up the last bit before he could begin to close the wound he had created in Erik's chest, Hannibal's blade bit into the muscle one last time. The piece was small, nothing that would be missed, but substantial enough for the doctor's desires.

He lifted it from the table with great care, eyes carefully on it, his decision made. Hannibal's movements had been steady enough that not even a single drop of blood fell from the section as he brought it closer...

Hannibal shifted his attention to the staff member that arrived and opened the way for him. There was a small nod in thanks and he passed through rooms and hallways, all decorated by Christine for the holiday season, without needing to be shown the way. After his first visit, it had all been mapped in his mind, and while some of the staff still tried to lead him, the smart ones left him to himself.

He stopped at Erik's door, knocking briefly to announce himself before opening it. Glad to see his patient in bed, where he should be. The bed rest would take more time than either man was happy with, but it was, again, Erik's own doing.

Hannibal had finally managed to track down the location of his beloved. He had thought to use Lestat and the vampire's powers and his connection to himself and River in order to do it. In the end, however, he discovered he didn't need to be quite so sneaky about it. He managed to discover the whereabouts of the girl who held his heart by simply listening to the conversation of an officer in the waiting room of the emergency department.

The two cops were there because one of them had food poisoning, but they did not stop talking about the strange girl they had in the holding cell. They spoke of the language the girl used, the way she moved. Hannibal knew without asking any questions that they had to be speaking of River. When they discussed - in hushed tones that the cannibal could hear quite easily - the crime she was accused of, he was more than certain.

Hannibal excused himself from work and made his way immediately to the police station. River had been here too long already, and far too long without him visiting. He was irritated, and he let it show in his tone and the way that he spoke. His words were far too long for the average person, let alone a City citizen. His distaste colored them. His displeasure bit at the officer behind the desk at check in.

"It sure took you long enough to get here." Another cop appeared and raised an eyebrow as Hannibal filled in his information on the sign in sheet.

"What do you mean?" The young doctor looked up, pausing in his writing to lay the full effect of his red eyes on the man who'd spoke.

"She told us to call you a while ago." The pair exchanged glances.

Now Hannibal was more than irritated. He was outright angry. The incompetence he was witnessing was enough to make him want to kill these two where they stood. Instead, he made a mental note of the names on their badges. Perhaps he would see to them later.

"I assure you both that if I had received any phone call about this situation, I would have arrived here with as much haste as I did today once I learned her whereabouts. The fact that I did not speaks to the inability of this outfit to follow through. The very least that you can be assured of is that I will be giving your names to your superior."

And maybe they would see the business end of a blade at some point in the future, when Hannibal could be assured that he would not be connected to their deaths or disappearances. He finished filling out his required paperwork and was led to the cell which held his girlfriend. Hannibal waited for the escorting officer to leave before moving closer to the bars. He hated seeing her like this, caged. And he felt horribly for not finding her sooner.

After weeks of practice and fine-tuning, the newest performance opened at the City Opera House. Unlike before, the star diva was Enigma, in the title role. Another bright point of the evening came from the inventive interpretation of the classical score from Dr. Hannibal Lecter, on piano.

Again, Opening Night came with its victory gala at the end of the performance. Again, the featured stars invited special guests, and again, the City Opera provided complimentary tickets to one Ms. Lois Lane and the City Mayor (plus 1, naturally). But the performance and gala were also open to all. And as the performance came to a close, the gala sprung to life downstairs in the Grand Foyer.

Maggie sat at the hospital's front desk, hands in the pockets of a tastefully battered denim jacket and a knit cowl scarf pulled high up over the lower part of her face. It wasn't exactly a surgical mask, but since she'd apparently come to the Twilight Zone, she wouldn't take any more chances than she had to. She wouldn't trust the note left on her bedside table that had claimed that her Kellis-Amberlee was now only infectious through her blood. If the past year and a half had taught her anything, it was how not to trust, especially where KA was concerned.

"Ms. Garcia?"

She looked up from watching the other people in the waiting room and jerked her head to the receptionist who had called her. "Yes?"

"We have a room open now."

She followed the nurse who came to get her, explaining that no, she'd really rather talk to someone before anyone took her vitals, and sat down gingerly in the exam room. It seemed friendlier than any of the ones she'd ever been in. The lack of blood testing kits and bleach sterilizers at the doors was definitely off-putting, though. She resisted the urge to flip through magazines, even with her gloved hands. Instead, she sat and waited, hands still in her pockets, trying not to jitter impatiently.

Carmen was two weeks away, and Erik had yet to cast certain minor roles. His orchestra was prepared and had begun learning the part -- all but one. Hannibal Lecter had yet to be told what was next after La Traviata.

Today was a strange day. Erik kept looking out the window of his office, expecting to see an overcast sky -- it felt like it should be darker out. But as always, the City shined brightly in its perpetual May pleasantness. Strange, this place. Strange, that his fancy should wander to weather, of all things!

With the score in one hand and a pad of scrawled notes in the other, the opera house manager bent over his work again. By now, the sun was sliding down toward the horizon, and practice was beginning on stage. Erik never watched the first day of any practice; it was far too painful to endure, and best left to his maestros to handle. As he waited for his assistant to return with his favored pianist, Erik began sketching out the direction for Act II.

A now-familiar shooting pain traveled down his left arm. He only rotated his shoulder and grunted at it, too busy with his notes to stop now. It had been a week since his return from "composing" and he still felt exhausted. But there was music, and there was his opera house, and that was worth pressing on.

Hannibal knew that they were meeting to go after one of the few remaining Asylum employees on the list they'd created. A list that existed only within his head, of course. He would never be so stupid to leave such a thing laying around where somebody might stumble upon it accidentally and have reason to implicate him in any of the crimes.

But Baba had told him that she had a little surprise for him. She would not give hints as to what it might be, even in vague nature. Because it was her, he could not bring himself to be irritated by the situation, just intrigued.

She had told him to meet her in the park and they would go from there. Many of their interactions had begun or ended in the park, so it wasn't a new or strange thing. It was nice because it gave them a meeting place where it wasn't noticeable if they went to walk off by themselves, and where most people weren't even paying attention to what they were saying anyway. They could blend in with the others and still say the things they wished without worry.

Hannibal found a bench to wait at, one in the full sunshine, and he sat basking in in. The day was pleasant as were most days within the City. An occasional slight breeze. The flowers were always in bloom, butterflies always flitting about. Some might find it boring, but Hannibal loved the beauty in it too much to be bored by the constant temperatures.

He wished briefly that he had brought with him a sketchbook. He would have liked to draw things while he waited for his partner in these bloody things.

Christine had refused to let her dancing lack due to her focus on her voice. Yes, her vocal training was very important and she spent a lot of time working on it. That was something which she was eager to continue given her father had tried to encourage her singing for as long as possible. With her father's words in her head every day she knew she had to push lessons. Had to push herself and her voice until she was more than capable at doing anything. Some may think it strange but it was one of the few things she lived for.

But that did not mean her dancing would suffer. She had been given permission to use one of the rehearsal rooms by Erik in the Opera House until he deemed it appropriate for her to use a room in the manor. After speaking with the ballet mistress and sitting in on a few lessons she had finally been given a good enough routine that she could practice alone. It may mean lifts and the like were impossible but it still meant she had the moves to work on and she could do what was possible.

Christine had found suitable clothing which were tight enough that nothing was in the way but loose enough that she could move. The Opera House had been almost empty as she walked in, just those who had to work there daily milling about, and once she found a suitable room she claimed it for her few hours of practice. The door remained open of course so that anyone may feel willing to come in if they had to. She eyed the piano in the room, wishing Erik was here for her to dance for, but she was unsure just yet if that was appropriate. So she put on the music she had found and after warming up her muscles she was soon working on the routine she had been taught.

Note: There is no posting order in this. We know that some people won't be able to throw in very often or as fast as we will. Don't worry about it. Just jump if you see a chance you want to take. Otherwise, we'll count your kids as there and witnessing what happens

Eric had sent out a messenger with the invitations to the actual wedding ceremony. A thing that would be small and intimate with only those in attendance who were important to either him or Baba or the both of them. He didn't think that this part of it needed to be in the public eye, and he didn't want any interruptions or missteps. This part of it was very important to him. Eric had not taken a wife since Aude. He'd never thought to ever again. He wasn't the sort of vampire who enjoyed living in a nest and he didn't require constant companionship that other beings craved. But he did love Baba and did want for this to happen.

The time he picked for it all to happen was late night. He wanted his vampires able to attend but not have to worry about too much time between the ceremony itself and when the reception would begin. The moon was full and the stars were out in force. It was warm but breezy.

Location had been a little more difficult. He didn't want it to be traditional, but he also didn't want it to feel as if they were getting married in a school cafeteria. In the end, he picked a building he had found when he'd first begun to be able to walk in the sun. It was an old building. It had been in the City for a very long time. It looked as if it had been transported from England, from a time before Pam was even born. It was also empty and had been for some time. It was unused and ignored. Eric had it cleaned and decorated. Everything was in darker shades of purple, even the flowers which were orchids and some of which were almost black. Candles were the only illumination, and there were hundreds of them. All carefully placed around the edges of where they would be.

Eric had gone with her suggestion of royalty in some ways, but not others. The colors for one. But instead of some garish kingly outfit, he was wearing a very nice and finely tailored Armani suit. On his head he wore a simple iron crown that was very much like the one his father had worn. Just a circle of metal with a little decoration carved out at four points. He had sent Baba a crown as well. Hers a little more fancy than his own.

He waited with the man that she had picked to officiate the wedding. Eric didn't know him, but knew of him. He would have known immediately upon meeting that this wasn't just some human, though he'd been told as much already.

It had taken a week and an army to return Arkham to it's former...glory.

But the grounds were cleared, the hospital returned to it's state of use, down to the graffiti he remembered being on the walls of the cells (he hand painted Edward's himself, not trusting the morons he hired to accurately capture a fellow Rouge's madness).

And now she was open for business, tours, inspections, and all the normal public interaction that came with running a government funded asylum, though, he was hopeful no one in this city would be as keen in inspecting (and trying to find their way to the Rouge's Gallery to see one of the resident Super Criminals in person), as they were back in Gotham.

He had enough trouble keeping his own staff from being stupid, he was no inclined to save the general population, and it just looked back when they got their faces sliced open on a tour of the facility.