A large, furry hand pushed open the chamber door.
A bizarre, werewolf-like creature came into view. Batman slowly turned where he crouched, Batarangs clenched in both hands, ready to strike.
Tonight's encounters had been far too strange. He had thought finding the suspect poisoning the water pipes would bring him close to the answer, but instead, it had hinted at connections to Arkham's past and the Court of Owls.
Now it seemed the madness inherited by the Arkham family was not so simple, either.
The torn-away face in the portrait and this monster, mutated from Ezekiel Arkham, were proof.
The werewolf bent down and sniffed around the room, from the doorframe to the metal racks, then to the scrap metal piled in the corner.
As he did, his gaze repeatedly swept over Batman and the prisoner behind him.
Had this guy lost his mind when he mutated?
Perhaps this was the perfect chance to escape.
Batman patted the hand of the person behind him and pointed toward the door.
He could have sworn his head had turned no more than fifteen degrees throughout those movements. Yet in that brief instant, the werewolf had vanished from sight.
Almost simultaneously, hot, fetid breath washed over the side of his face.
Batman held his breath and slowly turned his head back.
A strand of thick, black drool hung before his eyes.
The next instant, the werewolf's gaping maw clamped down on Batman's shoulder. His razor-sharp teeth pierced the Kevlar armor without resistance, like a hot knife through butter.
More terrifying still, he lifted Batman clear off the ground using nothing but his neck muscles, then grabbed his shoulders with both hands and pulled outward.
The searing pain tore an agonized roar from Batman. Holding a Batarang in a reverse grip, he stabbed the