Bane stood at the end of the corridor in Arkham's ward, feeling as though a layer of cold, damp moss had clung to the surface of his mind. He even found himself momentarily dazed-
What exactly did I come here to do today?
"You're looking for weapons. It seems you still need me."
Bane spun around, but the man behind him merely stood there quietly, wearing a white coat and a featureless black wooden mask.
The mask seemed to have been broken and repaired, but Bane paid that no mind.
"Jeremiah Arkham," Bane said in a low voice. "Or... someone else."
"The name doesn't matter."
A calm voice came from beneath the mask, lacking the director's usual warmth without sounding deranged either. "You think Arkham holds wild beasts, and opening their cages will unleash their claws? Wrong."
He strolled past Bane. "Wild beasts don't get sent to Arkham. I have to admit, Jeremiah Arkham has provided these patients with effective treatment. But there are always a few venomous snakes hiding in the darkest corners."
"Please follow me."
He led Bane deeper into the ward. "The Special Containment Unit may have the people you're looking for. Don't worry. Jeremiah gave both the orderlies and security staff the day off, separately. Even he doesn't know this place is empty today."
Fingerprint, iris, and voiceprint verification passed in succession. As the doors slid apart, the hiss of compressed gas being released sounded especially harsh in the deathly silent corridor.
"First, let me make one thing clear," Jeremiah Arkham-or someone else-said. "There are no powerful warriors here like the ones you're imagining."
He led Bane past one observation window after another.
"Linda Fritawa." He pointed at a woman in the room whose entire body seemed a sickly white. "She helped Scarecrow distribute and sell