Even from the outside, Arkham Asylum's chaos was obvious.
The mix of criminals inside looked like a carnival of lunacy — men in tactical gear pacing like soldiers, thugs in sleeveless shirts swinging axes, and others… giggling at trees.
Felicity steered the drone like she was playing a stealth video game, eyes gleaming with focus as she guided the craft through shadows and around heat signatures, whispering real-time updates to the command van.
Then — clang!
The screen jolted violently.
Before anyone could react, the feed stabilized — and a figure in a bulky, space-suit-like exoskeleton filled the camera. A man holding a massive, frost-blue weapon shaped like something out of a science-fiction nightmare. He stared at the drone for one stunned second — then grinned, raised his weapon, and pulled the trigger.
A white mist burst outward. The feed crackled, shimmered… then turned to static.
The van fell silent.
"Mr. Freeze!" three voices blurted at once.
Felicity dropped the controller onto the couch like a child whose favorite toy had just been smashed, pouting as she sprawled out in defeat.
Thea frowned, trying to recall the name. "Freeze… wasn't he some scientist? Something about saving his wife?" Her memory was hazy — it was hard to keep Gotham's tragic villains straight. She glanced expectantly at the locals.
Commissioner Gordon, halfway to pulling his hair out, finally explained. "Victor Fries. Cryogenics expert. His wife Nora had a terminal illness, so he tried to cryogenically preserve her. During an accident in his lab, he was exposed to chemicals that changed his physiology — he can't survive above freezing temperatures anymore. That's why your drone didn't pick him up — he has no body heat."
Thea nodded slowly. "So, another walking science project."
Barbara's brow furrowed. "If Freeze is there too, then Scarecrow can't be the one in charge. There has to be someone higher pulling the strings."
Exactly what Thea had been thinking since Penguin's face showed up on the screen. A former underground kingpin taking orders from a college professor? Not likely. And now with Freeze joining the mix, the picture was clear — there was someone bigger behind all of them. Three notable villains already in one place… odds were good there were more.
Is this world conspiring against me? Thea thought grimly. All because I tried to do things differently — mobilizing citizens instead of solo heroics — the universe decides to throw every named villain in Gotham at me?
She sighed. "This is getting ridiculous."
Objectively, their little team was badly outmatched. She could maybe count as a top-tier hero on her best day — the rest were solid but strictly second-string. And with Arkham's complex terrain and no option to retreat, this fight was going to be brutal.
Unless—
She turned to Gordon. "Commissioner, if we're going to rescue anyone from Arkham, we'll need a full mobilization. Just the few of us isn't enough."
He blinked. "What are you suggesting?"
"All police units. Every officer who can still stand. And every veteran in Gotham who's ever handled a gun. Whether you call it through the GCPD or City Hall, we need a controllable armed force — fast."
Her gaze flicked to Lyla. "A.R.G.U.S. can assist too. You'll have to help identify patients who are only moderately insane."
Gotham's citizens were, in a word, a mess. A generation of war veterans discarded by their government — traumatized, unemployed, and half-feral — filled the slums. Many had gone from soldiers to mercenaries to criminals. Some had names, like Deadshot. Most didn't.
Thea had always avoided arming them. The city's atmosphere alone could drive a saint crazy; add PTSD and automatic weapons, and you'd get a riot in ten minutes. But now… there was no choice. If they were going to have a chance, they needed cannon fodder — preferably cannon fodder that could shoot straight.
She exhaled and started issuing orders. "Felicity, draft a mayoral broadcast — something stirring. Patriotism, justice, the American dream — whatever sells. Broadcast it citywide, radio and net."
"But the mayor's still a hostage of Bane," Lyla reminded her.
Thea's lips curved. "The public doesn't know that."
With Felicity's editing skills, splicing old footage and deepfake overlays was child's play. As for Bane countering it with propaganda of his own? Let him try. In a cyberwar, Felicity could wipe the floor with him before breakfast.
No one objected. Even Gordon, stickler for rules that he was, didn't care much for the current mayor anyway.
So while Felicity got to work faking speeches and firing up emergency channels, Thea turned to the others. "We can bulk up our numbers, but we'll still need allies. Anyone you can call in?"
Barbara and Robin both shook their heads — still rookies, still nobodies.
Catwoman hesitated. "I'll… try to find a few old contacts. No promises."
Thea nodded. Any warm body helps.
When the others dispersed to their tasks, Thea pulled Lyla aside. "Agent Michaels, I really appreciate your help," she said softly.
Lyla smiled faintly. "You're thanking me for the easy part. What's the real favor you're about to ask?"
Caught. Thea grinned sheepishly. "You wouldn't happen to have any sort of… mass-effect tech, would you? Something like the toxin Scarecrow used — but, you know, nonlethal. Maybe knock everyone in Arkham unconscious? Save us the trouble of walking into that death trap."
For once, the sarcasm in her voice couldn't hide how serious she was. Because the last thing Thea wanted… was to step foot inside that madhouse herself.