Gotham was beginning to illuminate against the night. Electric lights sizzled and jagged in the main thoroughfares, gas-lamps in the side streets glimmered a canary gold or green. The sky was a crimson battlefield of spring, smoke mitigating the splendour, and the clouds down Kane Street were a delicately painted ceiling, which adorned while it did not distract.

Rahn flew through the sleepy city, a bizarre silhouette against an otherwise normal night. Once she turned into Mountain Drive, and Wayne Manor was in view, she vanished like a fabled phantom. Within seconds she was reappeared inside of the Batcave, and was not surprised to see Bruce exactly where she had left him; slouching in front of the wall of monitors.

"Did you get the costume?" Bruce asked without even bothering to look at her.

Rahn let her gaze lift to the screens. There were two switched to muted news channels covering a recent break-out at Arkham Asylum. The others will filled with schematics of the prison, a document detailing large sums of money donated to Arkham by Bruce Wayne, and dozens of crime photos. "The Small Bird convinced me that he is in more dire need of it than you are."

This time Bruce finally turned around. He said nothing to her but his glare was enough to convey that he was annoyed by this response.

"He will not cease his crime-fighting activities, even if I took his suit, so there was no point," Rahn elaborated. "Since it offers protection against your primitive human weapons, perhaps it would be safer for him if he kept it."

Bruce huffed and directed his attention back to the monitors, "I should have gone there myself."

Rahn shrugged off his anger and stared back at the crime photos. There was one in particular that caught her eye. It looked like one of those rainforests she had read about; all green chords and floral arrangements. The only difference was that there were two dead bodies this image.

One of the corpses had a tree growing out of its stomach, insects crawling around inside the opened abdomen, and flowers in his eye sockets. The other was naked, and his skin was decorated with a blotchy red rash; like he had bathed in Poison Oak. It was clear by the red and blue tinge of his face that he had been strangled. If that wasn't enough, though, there was a vine still wrapped so tightly around his neck that it had almost decapitated him.

She realised at this moment that Bruce was observing the same picture, his brow furrowed in concentration as Rahn spoke, "That is a very elaborate display of death, whoever did this must find more pleasure in the aesthetic of a murder than the act itself."

"Mhm," Bruce murmured, clearly much too lost in thought to give a proper response. He closed that particular image of the crime scene, typed something into his document folders, then enlarged another photo. This one was of a woman with a strange green hue to her skin and hair a deep crimson.

"What manner of creature is this?" Rahn asked curiously.

"Human," Bruce stated, "or, she was human once."

"I apologise, but your cryptic answer only raises more questions."

Bruce groaned impatiently. "Well, I don't have any answers for you. Whatever happened to her is beyond anything human science can understand."

"Oh, of course, I sometimes forget how antiquated your scientific methods are," Rahn hummed. "Perhaps I can figure it out."

"I doubt it," Bruce scoffed. "But be my guest."

"My thanks. I will have to observe her more closely, so if you have any leads, please contact me first."

"How, exactly, am I meant to contact you?"

Rahn opened the draw of his desk, located to Bruce's direct right, and took out a plain notepad and pen. Bruce couldn't help but wonder how she knew that he kept his stationary in there. Of course, he didn't ask. It would be admitting that he had failed to observe her in the same way that she had with him.

Bruce leaned back in his chair, watching as Rahn dragged the pen across the paper. Soon, she tore the note off the pad and handed it to Bruce. He was surprised to see a tangible, and very human, form of contact on there. An email address; ''

"...You have an e-mail address?"

"Orhysian technology processes data organically. My suit is able to connect to your internet and feed data into my synapses. The only reasonable way to communicate with you would be to utilise the pre-existing infrastructure, correct?"

Bruce had to admit, it made a lot of sense. Why use something else when humans already had a worldwide data network that was perfectly suited for communications?... Still weird though.

"Right..." He replied, turning his focus back to the dozens of screens and tucking the note inside his contact book. He liked to keep physical copies of all his private information, because if he ever got hacked, he didn't want them finding his closest colleagues and secrets.

"I have your lunch, sir," the tranquil voice of Alfred echoed through the cave as he stepped through the entrance. "...Miss Rahn, what brings you here?"

"I am here to observe The Bat at work, as per usual."

Alfred nodded, though a little uncomfortably, before sauntering towards Bruce and placing a bowl of curry on his desk. "I thought that you would be here to talk about the break-out...which, Master Wayne, I wish to discuss with you."

To Rahn's surprise, Bruce stopped everything that he was doing and turned to face the butler directly. She had never seen him so interested in another person's opinion. Usually, he kept his back turned or his mind on a case while someone was speaking, but Alfred had his full attention. It was clear that he respected this man above all else...which was strange to Rahn because he was just an employee.

"Yes, Alfred?" Bruce asked. The smoke from his curry was wafting into the air and obscuring their faces in thin wisps.

"You have been very generous with the people at Arkham," Alfred folded his hands in front of him, it made his lanky arms look almost elegant. "You've donated far too much money for their prison's security to still be this futile. It is clear that the funds are not being used correctly. Perhaps, in future, you should focus on purchasing what they need and giving it to them directly. No more money donations, just genuine security systems."

Bruce nodded, "Agreed. I'll see to it tomorrow... Thanks."

"My pleasure, sir."

As Alfred started back towards the elevator, Rahn's lips thinned into a line. She couldn't remember ever hearing Bruce thank anyone...ever. Apparently it was a common phrase of gratitude among humans, but she rarely heard it from him. She had assumed that he simply wasn't the grateful sort, but this threw that theory right out the window.

"You are quite close with your butler?" Rahn asked curiously.

Bruce's expression darkened, and almost as if to confirm that he had no interest in her or what she had to say, he turned his back to her again. "That's none of your business. Don't you have something better to do than ask me personal questions?"

"Not at the moment."

Bruce shook his head in clear frustration and, for a moment, it seemed as if he might answer her...but then he froze. His eyes flicked to one of the monitors; the one showing a news broadcast. He hit a button on his keyboard and the show unmuted.

"-maximum security penitentiary on Stryker's Island has been breached. It is unknown if there were any casualties, but the attack has been described as 'targeted'. All inmates are accounted for except for one; Rudolph Jones." The reporter continued to speak, but Bruce swiftly muted her again. His arms had tensed against the desk.

"Could this be related to the Arkham break-out?" Rahn pondered.

"Likely." Bruce got to his feet and moved towards his Batman suit, which was laid out on a small wooden table.

"Who is Rudolph Jones?"

"Parasite," Bruce answered bluntly. "He feeds on people's energy, absorbs everything from their powers to their memories. He's not likely to attack Gotham, usually focuses on Metropolis, but we should do a sweep just incase."

Rahn smirked, "We?"

Bruce paused, then tightened his grip on the suit. "I'm not deluded enough to think you'll stay behind."

She didn't say anything more as Bruce left to change into his armour and cowl. She didn't need to. Humans were fickle things, Bruce especially. She knew better than to comment on his choice of words. Even if it implied a certain degree of acceptance of her presence.

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