"Resign yourself to helplessness," Lady Shiva declared. She took a slow step back, stopping beside a tall iron lever that jutted from the floor like a stake planted into stone. Her calm was unnerving, her poise absolute.
"I'll leave you here for a while," she added, hand brushing the steel. "Think about your behavior. Reflect on the only right decision left to you."
With that, she yanked the lever toward herself. A hard click echoed through the chamber, and with a harsh lurch the section of floor I stood on sank half a meter lower.
"Let me tell you what this place is—"
"No need," I interrupted lightly. "I've already guessed. This is that death cell you like to whisper about, isn't it? The one even your League recruits dread." I smirked. "It must be terrifying if you use it to scare your own."
Something wet brushed against my feet. I glanced down and saw water flooding steadily into the lowered section. The cold hit instantly—icy, cutting, the same glacial chill as the water she'd drenched me with earlier. It rose swiftly, swirling around my calves before stilling at my knees.
Then it froze. Solid.
Apparently, that was the limit.
"This," Shiva said coolly, watching from the upper step, her dry feet far above the icy pool at mine, "is the simplest, yet most insidious form of torment. Cruel by its very nature. Harmless to look at. And utterly unbearable in reality. Cold is unlike pain. Pain can come in a burst and end. Pain eventually numbs. But the cold… the cold gnaws. Slowly, endlessly."
Her gaze cut into me like steel.
"With constant contact like this, your body will gradually betray you. You'll shiver, lose sensation, lips turning blue, fingers swelling, bones aching until they feel like they might crack. Minutes will drag into hours, and hours… into forever. You will crave warmth, dream of it. But it will never come. Sleep will evade you—because the water offers no reprieve. In time, you will beg for fire, for the sun, for even a single spark. And that desperation… will be ours to shape."
I tilted my head. "What if I end up with pneumonia?"
"We have excellent physicians here," Shiva answered matter-of-factly. "And, of course, our healing baths. I told you—death isn't our goal." She gave me a thin smile. "Bane himself once stood in that very spot. Chained as you are. Even he couldn't break his way out. It is impossible."
My eyes flicked to the collar.
"And should you be foolish enough to attempt breaking the shackles," she continued, "I strongly suggest you not tamper with that." She touched her throat in mimicry. "Even the slightest pressure—an attempt to remove it, say—and the collar rewards its owner with a discharge. Small to us perhaps, but paralyzing to you." Her smirk was sharp as a knife. "So think carefully, before you decide to test my patience."
*****************************
[Hall of Shadows – Nanda Parbat]
In a wide hall designed in the likeness of ancient Japan, a solitary man sat in silence, wearing a dark-green kimono. Before him on a low table, another flower—violet in hue—rested in a mortar. Patiently, methodically, he ground it with a pestle.
His hand was steady, movements deliberate as ritual. His mind—calm, controlled. It was clear he had performed this task countless times before.
Even when footsteps entered the hall, he did not raise his head. His grinding continued; the flower yielded to powder beneath his firm rhythm. Only his voice emerged, strong yet serene "Where is he?"
Shiva dropped to one knee. "I left him in the death cell, my lord. He is not yet ready to meet you."
Ra's al Ghul finally paused, though his eyes remained fixed upon his work. "I had wished to speak with him myself. To show him the reason. Persuade him, perhaps, to join willingly."
"Chief," Shiva said carefully, "I do not doubt your wisdom. But words will not bind this one. He is erratic. Intractable. Dangerous to his core."
The Master of Shadows shifted his gaze, study lingering upon the ground herb. At last he set the pestle aside. "Very well. You are my trusted hand in such matters. You've never disappointed me before." His voice deepened. "Still—do not forget, our time runs short. I need his strength. And soon."
"I have begun with the ice-water trial. I estimate three immersions will be sufficient to break him." Shiva's voice was steady, though aware of the man she addressed.
"You said he has tremendous willpower," Ra's countered. His eyes at last left the flower, rising to meet her face. "Will you manage it?"
"I have already dispatched men after his women," Shiva admitted coolly. "That pressure will… accelerate his compliance."
Ra's al Ghul nodded once. "Then so be it. As soon as his resolve falters, bring him to me. Understand this—the Detective will not ignore his absence. He will search. He has always had a nose for secrets. If he comes here, we must be ready."
Shiva bowed low. "I understand, my lord."
*********************
[Gotham City – Gotham Gazette Office]
"Victoria, that was marvelous!" The overweight editor gushed, grabbing her hands with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Outstanding work—exactly as always."
"Thank you, Chase," Vicki Vale responded, lips pressing into a polite smile as she tugged her hands free. "But if you wouldn't mind—personal space. We are not that close. Besides, I have a boyfriend."
The man laughed dismissively, eyes narrowing. "Boyfriend? You repeat that story endlessly, yet I've never once met him. Perhaps it's all fiction… a convenient excuse to thwart me?"
Her expression hardened. "Chase, enough." Her voice rose louder now. Snatching her handbag from the desk, she pushed past him. "If you don't stop, you'll regret it."
"Let me walk you home," he wheedled, intercepting her path.
But he didn't notice the tall shadow stretching across the rooftop outside. From above the Gazette, a dark silhouette had descended, perching momentarily before disappearing into the night—watchful, silent.
***********************
[Gotham – Club "Sniper"]
Amid flickering neon and muffled bass, socialite Silver St. Cloud stood immaculate, draped in elegance. Two suited men approached her.
"Mrs. St. Cloud," one reported, "we went over all the equipment. Everything's in working order."
"Excellent," she replied curtly. "Now confirm the quality of our product. We cannot permit an error. Tomorrow's gathering is too important."
"Yes, ma'am," both men echoed, bowing slightly before retreating.
Unseen, beyond the glow of the club's signs, a dark cloaked figure lingered above—silent guardian, eyes narrowed, tracking the movements of Gotham's glittering elite.
******************************
[Nanda Parbat – Death Cell]
Hours had crawled past.
More than three, by rough count. Still, the prisoner had not so much as shifted. The chains bound him immovably where he stood, knee-deep in the frozen water.
And yet…
He did not shiver.
His lips bore no frostbitten blue. His fingers showed no swelling from contact with icy liquid. His face remained colored by life rather than drained pallor.
Only the thick wisps of vapor rising steadily from his breath betrayed the bitter cold that dominated the chamber.
His head bent downward, eyes locked upon something invisible in the mountain spring's crystalline mirror.
Then suddenly—like a hunter sensing movement in the brush—his gaze rose. Straight toward the heavy door.
For the first time in hours, his lips parted—not in complaint, nor groan, but in the faintest shadow of a grin.
"It's time…" he whispered.
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