Rated T for violence and mild language (on par with what is presented in the games, nothing more)

If daytime was unsafe in Arkham City, then that made nighttime a terrifying game of survival.

Catherine Jacob panted in alarm. She flew across the length of her living room, leaping over the tangle of blankets serving as a make-shift bed, stuffing anything else useful into a drawstring bag that had been prepared and ready to go for weeks. A loud, violent BAT BAT BAT pounded through her apartment door. Somebody was out there with the intent to reduce it to splinters. Rough, muffled voices chatted on the other side.

"Don't bust yourself, Joey, it probably ain't worth it."

"Nah, c'mon, help me out. There's gotta be loot in there, why else would it be locked?"

Adrenaline burned Cathy's limbs, making her fumble in throwing the bag's strings over her shoulders.

It had been packed for days while she awaited rescue, but many weeks had already passed. Nobody came, and she had concluded hopelessly that nobody was coming. These guys outside in the hallway were no rescue team.

Someone had to have known she was still behind Arkham City's walls, among others. Innocent people at the mercy of the worst Gotham City had to offer. They had protested. Many had evacuated the area when the proposal for a prison was approved, but some people would not be forced out of their homes so easily, Cathy being one of them. Bruce Wayne became their symbol, their hope. If one of Gotham's most influential people could get behind their plight, then they had a favourable chance—that morality, ethics, and decent human compassion would win the day.

Not even Gotham's favourite son could save them. The few people who opted to stay in the area were stranded and left to fend for themselves.

Power and plumbing soon shut down after that. Before the pipes cut off supply, Cathy had filled her bathtub, sinks, bowls, soap dishes, anything with a dent in it, to carry water. It grew stale after a couple days, but desperation made almost anything taste heavenly, and it had to turn much worse before she'd refuse a sip. Every drop was valuble. She had also shaved the ice in her freezer with a spoon before it could melt, catching the snow in a bowl, getting a decent amount to drink out of it. It tasted sharp and sour, having absorbed many odors of foods the freezer once held, but survival came first. Her lips still puckered as she drank anyway.

Rhythmic bashes rang. Cathy could see the door knob rattling from the force of every hit. The locks weren't going to hold out much longer.

"Almost got it."

The reason why Cathy never slept in her bedroom anymore was this situation exactly. Sleeping in the main area made it easier to hear who was skulking around in the hallways, and these two (possibly more) guys startled her awake. Forcing sleep away, she carried on implementing the escape she planned weeks ago. In case something like this happened. She knew she was going to be scared when and if it did, but never thought she'd be this pulse-poundingly scared. The jackhammering of her heart was right in her skull.

She swiped a half-used book of matches off the wooden sidetable and shoved them into her pocket, having no time for stuffing it into the bag.

"Couple more oughta do it, Donny."

Cathy resisted a squeal deep inside her gut, feeling like an animal being chased and soon to be cornered. She hoped she had everything she needed because there was no more time to think. With the drawstring bag bouncing on her back, she fled into her bedroom.

Making for the window, she worked to remove the plywood square blocking it. Her fingernails fumbled in peeling the duct tape off, she was shaking too much. Every resounding boom from the front door stopped her heart for a split second. Finally finding enough tape to pinch with her fingers, she yanked the strip right off, the other three sides coming with it. Moving the plywood square out of the way, Cathy thrust open her window with little care to the squeak and lifted herself through.

An enormous wall faced her, a mere fifteen feet across the fire escape—the wall that trapped her inside Arkham City. Cathy stumbled momentarily getting her other foot out through the window when the metal slide-frame snagged the sole of her ratty sneaker, but she managed to yank it free. She attempted to land cat-like to keep the fire escape's metal rods from rattling, but the thing was several decades old already, it rattled with the breeze. The shock of late-November cold didn't affect her, the building inside was already the same temperature. Still, the chilly breeze on her cheeks sent a shiver from her neck to her tailbone.

Righting herself, she swiftly reached back into her bedroom, grabbed the plywood square, and wedged it back into place. It could buy her some time if her intruders decided to give chase.

The square had just been settled back into it's spot before a tremendous, crackling crash thundered beyond it. Cathy jolted. Turning her back for good, she clutched the railing and started down the slippery stairs dotted with snowflakes. She refused to look back, as if doing so would somehow alert the two thugs to where she was. Cold air sank like a rock in her lungs as she panted it in and out, and it scraped her throat raw. But the need to escape made her feel almost nothing at all. The frigid metal bit her fingers, but she needed to hold on tight to keep from slipping down the stairs.

The last landing of the fire escape was still three floors above the ground. Cathy unlatched the rung ladder from it's hook above, let it slide through her hands, and climbed down.

Living in her apartment for three weeks meant no news of what level of chaos was going on outside. She heard things of course. Many things that she wished she could erase from her memory. One man, five floors below in the streets, begged for someone during seemingly being beaten. "Help, please!" he screamed, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. His voice got further and further away as if he was being dragged off. Cathy could only wrap her blanket tighter over her head. She never dared step outside. Ever afraid that someone would climb down the fire escape from above, she shut off her window with the plywood square to give her apartment the appearance of abandonment.

While that wouldn't have discouraged looters at all, in the time and noise it would take for a prisoner to get through the window, Cathy would have had enough time to open her at-all-times-locked-and-double-wedged door and take her chances in the hallway.

She stepped off the ladder, splashing onto the wet pavement of ground level. Arkham City's wall and the apartment building were so close together that they created a wide alley in between. Outside the safety of her familiar home, away from shelter, she now felt completely exposed.

The air was unsettlingly quiet.

Lawless territory.

Clad in a thin winter coat, Cathy huddled inside the collar to warm her face. Not that she wasn't prepared for the weather. Underneath she wore two t-shirts, a long-sleeve shirt, and a fleecy sweater. There was also a pair of jeans underneath her black, clingy sweat pants. It was all she could do to not freeze to death during the nights. Even though she owned a book of matches, building a fire in her living room would have been risky, if not stupid. She had candles though, and for the first few days she lit a few to warm her hands. When the rescue team took longer and longer to show up, she rationed the matches, and then altogether stopped using them in case they were needed in a future emergency.

Cathy knew she couldn't stay standing in the one spot, but she had no idea where to go, and again felt like a trapped animal. She stared through the alley's end which opened up to a street and trash bag strewn sidewalks. It all looked empty, like the City was deserted, but Cathy knew better. She pulled her black wool beanie further down over her ears and tucked every stray dirty-blond hair underneath, completing an unintentional but fortunate hobo-like appearance; one that made her look as unfeminine as possible.

No reminder necessary on why that would be a very good thing for her.

Snowflakes settled on Cathy's lashes. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, alone, and hearing nothing but the atmospheric hum of cold wind swishing through her ears.

A/N: Throughout the Arkham games, Maxie's been mentioned but never seen. There were lots of references to him going through intense electro-shock therapy and rumored to be dead. Of course, if you played the game, you can see that the Olympus Club has all it's lights on, so "plausibly" he could be in there, right?

This story was partly inspired by a comment Youtube user kNIGHTWING01 made on his Arkham City playthrough that I was watching about a year ago. He said at one point in front of the Olympus building that since the lights were on, maybe Maxie Zeus really was hiding out in his club, and the idea for this story was born.
Throughout, I might borrow just one or two elements from the one Animated Series episode Maxie Zeus made an appearance in.