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"I always thought the ACE Chemical Plant belonged exclusively to the Joker," Darren muttered under his breath. "I didn't expect other villains to set up shop here as well."
He crouched low behind a stack of rusted barrels near the perimeter fence, eyes sweeping the desolate grounds.
No movement. No silhouettes in the broken windows. No faint glow of cigarettes from hidden lookouts.
Hmm...
"If that old Penguin didn't lie to me, then Two-Face must be very confident that no one would think to look for him here. He doesn't even have lookouts posted."
Darren considered the possibilities. Two-Face had only recently clawed his way back into Gotham's underworld. The mall attack—the one that made the papers—had reportedly been carried out by Harvey Dent alone. No crew, no backup.
Maybe he simply hadn't had time to reassemble his old gang yet. Or maybe he didn't need them for whatever he was planning right now.
Either way, the lack of guards was an opportunity.
"I'll sneak in and take a look first."
He spent several careful minutes studying the exterior of the plant. The main entrance gaped half-open, one heavy metal door hanging crooked on its hinges. Beyond it lay only blackness; whatever lay inside was hidden from the moonlight.
Walking straight in through the front would be asking to be spotted.
He needed something quieter.
After circling the building once, Darren found what he was looking for around the rear: a massive waste discharge pipe, easily four feet in diameter, jutting from the foundation like a forgotten artery. It had once carried toxic runoff straight into the Gotham River. Now it was dry, crusted with years of sediment and flaking rust.
"Not elegant," he whispered, "but it'll do."
He slipped on a pair of thin gloves, pulled his hood lower, and ducked inside.
The pipe smelled like death remembered. Even though the chemicals had long since evaporated or hardened into harmless crust, the ghost of them lingered—a sharp, acrid bite that clawed at the back of his throat.
Rust and mildew layered beneath it, thick enough to taste. Darren breathed shallowly through his mouth and moved forward in a low crouch, knees and palms pressing against the cold, uneven metal.
Every few feet he paused to listen. Only the distant drip of water somewhere deeper in the plant answered him.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only ten minutes, the pipe opened into a wider maintenance junction. From there, a narrow ventilation duct branched upward. Darren tested the grate; it came away with almost no resistance. He pulled himself inside, wriggling until he could crawl on elbows and knees.
The duct was cleaner than the pipe, at least. Cooler, too. He followed it slowly, guided by faint sounds drifting through the metal: the low murmur of voices, the scrape of a chair leg, the soft pop of wax from burning candles.
Eventually the duct widened into a horizontal run that passed directly over what had once been the manager's office.
Darren eased himself into position above a loose ceiling panel and peered down through the narrow gap.
The room below should have been a ruin—coated in decades of dust, littered with overturned furniture and broken glass. Instead it was… tidy. Almost disturbingly so. Someone had swept the floor, wiped down the surfaces, even arranged a few items with care.
Several candles burned steadily on the wide desk, their flames throwing long, wavering shadows across the cracked walls. No electric lights; the plant's power grid had been gutted years ago. Restoring it would require weeks of work even for professionals.
Behind the desk sat an old swivel chair, its back turned toward the room.
"Boss, we've contacted everyone," a deep voice said. "They'll be returning to your command soon."
Two large figures stepped into the candlelight. Twin brothers, identical in build and features. One wore a red jacket, the other blue. The one in red—the older of the two—spoke again.
"Good. At least they still remember their master."
The chair turned slowly.
Half the face revealed in the flickering glow was handsome, almost aristocratic. The other half was a nightmare of scar tissue, burned flesh pulled tight over bone, one eye milky and blind.
Two-Face.
"Boss," the younger brother in blue asked, voice thick with something close to worship, "once everyone is gathered, what do you plan to lead us to do this time?"
"During the two years you were gone from Gotham, we waited every single day for your return."
"What do we do?" Two-Face answered, voice flat and cold. "Revenge, of course."
He leaned forward slightly, the scarred side catching more light.
"Two years ago, because of a moment of carelessness, I was ambushed from behind by that brat in the Robin suit. Otherwise, Batman would have died by my hand long ago."
"Because of that disgraceful defeat, I was mocked by the Joker…"
The name hung in the air like smoke.
A jolt flickered across the twins' faces.
Above them, Darren also smirked. Being bitter about getting mocked by the Joker, yet hiding here.. in the very place that had birthed him.
"Boss," the red-clad twin ventured carefully, "could it be that the people who hijacked the prison transport back then were…?"
"It was the Joker's men who rescued me."
Two-Face spoke through clenched teeth. The admission clearly cost him something.
"Being saved by him was a humiliation I still haven't repaid."
He paused, then changed the subject with brutal abruptness.
"Is the task I gave you finished?"
"Don't worry, Boss," the blue twin answered quickly. "The court has been set up. You can begin the trial at any time."
"Very well." Two-Face's good eye gleamed. "Then it's time to capture the sinner."
Whoosh!
A single playing card sliced through the air and buried itself an inch deep into the wooden desk.
"Who's there!"
Two-Face and his men snapped toward the sound.
"The vent!"
The twins bolted, heavy footsteps pounding toward the duct opening.
Two-Face remained seated. He reached out with deliberate calm and plucked the card free.
In the candlelight, he could clearly read the elegant, mocking script written across its face:
♦—The twins who lost themselves fall into darkness,
Carrying out a hypocritical trial upon the world.
When the gavel of fate falls for the seventh time,
Silver white wings shall descend with the moonlight,
Bringing redemption to that tainted soul.
Sincerely,
—Kaitou Kid—♦
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