At dusk, the sky over Gotham's uptown district was blanketed by heavy clouds. The day-long drizzle had just stopped, and the air was thick with the scent of damp earth. Water still pooled on the streets, reflecting the kaleidoscopic glow of neon lights, as if the entire city had been submerged in a hazy illusion.
Carter drove a black sedan slowly into the underground parking garage beneath Carter Industries headquarters. The tires rolled over the wet floor with a soft hiss, as though reminding her that danger had never truly gone away.
The last of the twilight spread across Gotham's skyline like a pool of blood about to congeal.
Carter's knuckles were white around the steering wheel. Her face was pale as paper, fine beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and her eyes betrayed undisguised panic and anxiety.
Her suit was rumpled, and she looked utterly disheveled. Her breathing came fast, her chest heaving violently, as if she had just jolted awake from a nightmare.
The car slowly drove deeper into the darkness of the underground garage. The lights grew sparse, and the shadows around her opened like enormous jaws, swallowing her whole.
Carter's heartbeat accelerated. She could still seem to hear the prisoners screaming in Arkham Asylum, along with Schiller's cold, teasing voice.
That afternoon, Arkham Asylum had still seen no sunlight. Its towering stone walls shut the daylight out, while the dim corridor lights cast distorted shadows. The air was filled with a suffocating sense of oppression.
The cells were crammed with kidnapped wealthy people, their faces written over with fear and despair. Some sobbed quietly, while others struggled madly to break free of their restraints, but it was all futile.
The cages that had once held their investments were so sturdy. Perhaps they themselves had contributed to