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PART ONE — CHAPTER ZERO
PROLOGUE.

2016
now

IT WAS A COLD DAY, even for the likes of the middle of autumn. Arkham Asylum stood proud and tall against the distant skyscrapers of Gotham City. The steel gates at the front entrance slowly swung back and forth with help from the wind, producing a squeaky melody from rusty hinges. A swirl of grey hung over the hospital, only growing darker. The clouds were hiding the sun that day, but even if they weren't, it wasn't very likely for it to shine anyway.

Not in a place like this, for a place like this.

The blonde simply known as 'Two-Ten' between the cold walls of the asylum was in the process of dragging her feet on the ground as the guard led her down to the calling booth. Her wrists were in shackles and they were already turning blue. Two pigtails rested on her shoulders that were covered by a cream-coloured jumpsuit. Her eyes were dark and puffy, both from her unhealthy state and the abrupt awakening by the guard not even five minutes ago. Her mind was still wandering, still lost in visions that only dreams had the power to produce.

A heavy sense of dread began filling her bones the closer they got to the end of the hallway. Something had been happening in Gotham. Although they never told the patients anything, things were easily discovered when doctors and guards alike were nervously discussing the outside world together. More men and women bouncing around in silly costumes, threatening violence and whatnot— everyone knew they weren't much to worry about, they were only trying to draw him out of the shadows.

The idea that The Batman was back wasn't an impossible one. He always knew how to stay hidden, even if he had the entire world chasing after him. But if he had returned, it only meant something even worse was out there. Sure, the dark knight was a felon, but before all of that he was just Gotham's protector. Maybe someone hadn't given up on their forsaken city after all.

That feeling in Two-Ten's gut told her today's meeting had to do with exactly that.

The guard unlocked her shackled wrists as they stopped in front of the room and gestured for her to go ahead. The heavy metal door swung open, revealing a line of chairs, phones, glass windows, and the exact same setup looking back at them from the other side.

Two-ten only ever had one visitor nowadays. She hated his visits, not because of him, but because of herself. She didn't want the man who raised her, the man who loved her like her own father should've, to see her as one of them. As one of the freaks, the disgusting people who lived within these walls. So she kept her head down as she approached the booth, slid into the chair, and slowly grabbed the phone connecting her to him.

Silence. No one said a word for about a minute.

What was he thinking?

What did he have to say?

What did she have to say? That she was halfway into The Legend of Sleepy Hollow? She got a brutal case of food poisoning from last week's Sunday Surprise? That she'd had yet another near-death experience when another inmate snuck past the lazy guards, breaking into her room and attempting to suffocate her with her own bedsheets?

Bringing up the book might be the better option of the three.

Her chin slowly raised, eyes following suite. But when Two-Ten looked up, she wasn't met with the kind smile of her old butler. Instead, the thick glass revealed the tired and distant face of none other than her father, Bruce Wayne.

She could feel herself tense up. It was as if her entire body shut down when she looked at him, and he looked back at her.

It couldn't be.

"Dad..." the nearly twenty-one year old whispered, feeling as if she was that little girl she used to be when she last saw him.

He had a careful look on his face, and a careful tone when he spoke. "Hey."

The poor girl's eyes had widened in shock. All she could do was let out a tiny, "Hi," despite all the years of brutal thoughts and planned out confrontations when he eventually made his way back to her.

It was like she was a thirteen-year old kid again, standing in the porch of Wayne Manor, seeing but not believing he had finally come home. She remembered every detail about that moment, about that day, that old life. She could still recount how many times her heart had beaten, how the hairs on her arms and legs stood up in warning, of thinking how she wanted to run into his arms but her body would not obey.

His usually slicked-back brown hair had grown out. He was older, just like she was. His face was freshly shaven, as if he'd done it just before he got here. Must be a special occasion. A baseball cap covered his head, probably so the famous Wayne could avoid any attention bound to find him. Lame disguise, but it worked. And he didn't wear a smile. He knew that would only make things worse.

Bruce nodded, looking at her hair. "Blonde suits you."

She pressed her lips into a thin line, suddenly averting her gaze from him. "I wanted to dye it pink. Nurse Nance said that the bleach was enough."

He chuckled, his lips twitching upwards the faintest bit. She looked up at him again just as the slight smile disappeared. Nothing in his eyes changed when he saw her, as he was particularly good at hiding his composure. Despite her unnatural hair and unhealthy condition, she was as beautiful as the dawn. Despite the thick scar running from her right eye to the top of her lip, or the limp in her walk, or fracture in her posture, she would always be perfect. How could something he created ever be anything less?

He opened his mouth to speak again, but Two-Ten was suddenly leaning forward and cutting him off before he could even begin. "Save the formalities," her voice was unwavering, as cold as it had gotten within her time in this pit of hell. "What do you want?"

"To see my kid."

She scoffed. "You're about five years too late for that."

A change in expression. Something sad, something somber. "I apologize—"

"Just save it." She cut him off again. Her face was now near next to the glass as her eyes now held no readable emotion. Her eyes flickered over to the door on the other side where a guard stood checking his smartphone. "What's going on?"

Bruce sighed, and put the phone between his shoulder and his ear. He reached into his trench coat pocket, pulling out what looked like a piece cut out from a newspaper. He looked over his shoulders, checking if the useless guards were still distracted, before holding the paper up to the glass.

Two-Ten's face visibly fell. Her eyes widened, her mouth hung open only the tiniest amount. A tremor ran through her body, a sudden instinct asking if she should fight or flee from the scene.

All because of the tiny symbol one could barely make out. Only if you had seen it before. Which both remaining Waynes had.

"No..." the blonde murmured, recoiling from the screen in shock. Her now shaking hands threatened to drop the phone she held. "They're- they're back?" Bruce nodded, pulling his hand back and stuffing the paper back into his pocket. Two-Ten leaned back in her chair, holding her available hand to her face in distress. Memories came flooding back, of the fire, the screams, the day she lost someone. "I thought the League died with Ra's Al-Ghul," she choked out.

"So did I." He looked away, the older Wayne receiving the same flashbacks and even more from the time when his life had been nothing but dark. "But we— I was wrong." Their gaze held once more, and either could tell the other was simply exhausted. "Some of them are still out there," he continued, shaking his head as he went. "And they're going to burn Gotham to the ground."

The destruction of Gotham City. Suddenly, the fear in Two-Ten's face seemed to vanish. Stone cold once again. "Good," she muttered. "Let it."

Bruce squinted at her, shaking his head. "You don't mean that."

"How could you know that?"

She was right, in a way. He'd gone five years without seeing her, without knowing her. The first time had been even longer. He was never the father she wanted, never the father she deserved.

But he needed to convince her to join him. He needed her back.

"There are still people in this city you care about," he tried. Her right eye twitched. "That might not be me anymore, maybe not even Alfred, but Lucius, Cole, Barbara-"

"She's the one who put me here," the woman said in a near growl. It almost made him recoil. She bore nothing but hatred now. "She means nothing to me."

Bruce remembered when the two girls were inseparable. Always together, always plotting, always laughing. It was the happiest he'd ever seen his daughter before. But then... it happened, and the poor girl changed in ways that could never be restored.

He knew he was taking a big risk with the next thing he said. He had to try.

"Think about Jason."

She froze.

Another memory. Blood staining her hands, grief gripping her body, nothing but tears soaking up inside of her. Pain came after, and it hadn't stopped since.

A boy deserving of the world, who never even got to see the other side of what Gotham could be.

The job she failed to do. The people she failed to save.

Think about them.

"Good move," Two-Ten finally said after almost a minute in silence.

"I didn't want to have to use it. But I need you—" a pause, like he made a mistake, "I need you to be safe."

She stared at him for a few seconds before chuckling. She motioned around her, "You've clearly been doing a great job of that."

A small laugh. Then a choked sob escaped her lips. His heart broke. She buried her face in her hands, never more ashamed of what had become.

How did they get here? How could they let themselves get here?

Bruce lightly tapped on the glass. "Hey, look at me." She peeked out from underneath her hands, eyes already blurred and red. "You don't have to forgive me, and I don't expect you to. This city deserves nothing from you. I'm not expecting you to do anything. But you gotta come with me. Please."

She shook her head, sniffling.

He just wanted to hold her.

But he'd probably never get to touch her again, not after today.

The man took in a deep breath. He waited for the girl to find his eyes again. It took a while, but she did. So much was said between the two with not a word being spoken at all.

He pressed two fingers to his lips, before turning his hand around and pressing it up against the glass. His hand looked warm, inviting, promising. The young woman wished she was a girl again, tiny fingers lacing in the comfort of his, knowing she would always be safe when he was around.

Two-ten's hand twitched at her side, wanting so badly to return their old shared-greeting. But she refused, pride besting her. She thought of them. Jason. Rachel. Even Mama. She owed it to them to try, even she knew that, a 'clinically insane' patient or not.

A tear rolled down her cheek.

Bruce stood up, hand still outstretched though they couldn't reach each other. She had to know he was there.

That the words she'd been waiting so long to hear were finally being spoken, by the one person who mattered.

"It's time to come home, Jackie."

here we go! how was that for dark and foreboding flash forwards? if you didn't notice, this would be during the dark knight rises when bane comes to conquer (which takes place 8 years after tdk!)

i'm so sorry it took forever to get this out, i've just been swamped with tons of work and haven't had the time to be very active on here. but with it being winter break now i'm hoping to be posting lots of new content, both with my published books and some drafts! 

lmk what you guys thought! why is jacqueline in the asylum? what happened between her and bruce, how did those five years change her? we'll find out... someday...