Red

By Drakelah Whip

Summary: Bruce Wayne observes two of his future foes at their innocent beginnings.

Author Notes: This is a one-shot piece. I was inspired by the more psychological look at villains in "The Dark Knight" and I wanted to write a scene that could possibly be in the style of the new Batman films. So this is a little less dependent on the actual origin stories and more of my interpretation.

Please review!

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Bruce stopped to adjust his tie in the hallway mirror.

"Sleep well, Master Wayne?" It was Alfred, just out of his visual range.

"Well enough." The response was little more than a sigh, "No new bruises to report. Do I have anything interesting on my schedule today?"

"Besides running one of the world's largest and most profitable businesses?" The butler chuckled, "Yes, you do. You have an appointment at East Gotham Hospital Psychiatric Ward."

"And here I was thinking you approved of this whole Batman thing."

"As much as I would like to commit you sometimes, this isn't about you. Do you remember the incident that happened with Wayne Enterprises' South American Division?"

"Everyone was slaughtered, that's a little more than an incident."

"Forgive me, but it's a little early in the morning for discussions of mass murder. Anyway," They began to walk down to the kitchen, "It turns out that not everyone was killed after all."

"It's been three months."

"Yes, well apparently, three days ago a survivor wandered in a remote little town and was airlifted back here last night. They want you to be there when they interview her, since she just happens to know exactly what transpired."

Bruce took the cup of coffee that his oldest friend was holding out, and sipped it thoughtfully, "I was under the impression that Guerrillas attacked the building."

"Oh everyone knows that Master Wayne, it's the "other" events that she knows about. Your presence is requested just in case there is any controversial information that you as a concerned business owner might want to know before the media does."

His eyebrows raised and he put the coffee down.

"I knew you hadn't forgotten," Alfred handed him his coat and pulled on his own, "Shall we get going then?"

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"Doctor?"

The voice made her stop pacing, and she checked her watch, "Are they here?"

"Yes."

"They're early."

"Mr. Wayne is always early." The attendant left, uncaring of what wasn't his business.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit." She picked up her lab coat from where it lay, neat and pressed, on her desk top. Each button was fastened up methodically, and her folder, considerably stuffed with information, reports and observations, was on the right corner of her desk. Her glasses her on the left corner, no sense in not using good space. Out of instinct, her hands went to her hair to pull it back into a pony tail. Something disappointed her that it already was.

Glancing around to make sure she was alone, she stilled herself and starred into the tiny mirror on the back of her door, "You can do this. You are good at your job. You can do this. He's just like any other client, he can't fire you."

The little voice in the back of her head hissed at her, "But he can get you a promotion, don't screw up!"

She tried a different approach, "Remember, it's not about you, it's about helping the patient. Selfless dedication, selfless dedication." As she spoke, her eyes closed and she kept repeating the phrase over again until it suddenly stopped.

Glasses on, folder tucked neatly under her arm, she walked out into the hallway.

An older man, with a kind grandfatherly face, tapped the younger man, the suit, and he turned toward the doctor. He wasn't bad looking, but he had a certain severe nature to his face, like he couldn't be trifled with and appreciated the effort even less. It was, to her disappointment, ungenerous.

"Mr. Wayne?" She extended her hand.

He took her hand, "It's Bruce, please."

Not wanting anyone to feel left out; she next shook the hand of the older man, "Sir?"

"I'm Alfred, Mr. Wayne's butler."

"I'm Dr. Harleen Quinzel, chief psychologist of East Gotham Hospital."

Bruce sized her up. She was a tiny blond thing, with glasses that were stylish a decade ago. Her big blue eyes were a little scared of him, but the rest of her appearance was meticulously styled to make the most professional look she could. He found her slightly endearing, that one side of his personality perking up that this was someone whose childlike innocence needed protecting.

"Gentlemen, if you would follow me, I'll brief you in the observation room."

The walk was silent and to everyone's relief, short. She led them into a small room with the concealed side of a two way mirror composing one entire wall. The observation room was empty for now, with that sterilized white table and two plastic chairs under bright lights. The real observation deck, the one they were in, had comfortable chairs, and was rigged high tech. Ever since the destruction of Gotham General, the East and West smaller facilities had been getting a good amount of the funding. Some of Gotham's premiere psychos had come through here on their way to Arkham.

"If you would just have a seat." She motioned with her hand as she locked the door behind them.

"Due to the sensitive nature of this case, I wanted to talk to you privately before we bring in the other specialist on these types of matters."

"Are you the one that called us then?" Asked Bruce.

"Yes, Mr. Wayne, I am. The subject was brought to me directly after she landed at the airport with what was described as severe emotional trauma and possibly permanent damage. After I did the preliminaries, I began to understand the situation a little better and I wanted to bring you in on this. Some of the information she gave me seemed like it was extremely confidential, and I wanted it brought to your attention before any orderlies or nurses decided to run to the press."

"This must be some kind of volatile information then." Murmured Alfred.

"Very," She nodded, "If you'll forgive me," She paused and looked up at him, "there's not too many people I would do this for, as it does violate some medical trust issues. However, what with her not being a guilty party, I feel less guilty myself."

"Why me?"

"Mr. Wayne, if the accusations made by this woman are correct, then the global repercussions could be severe. Your companies built the schools I studied in, funded my research, and have donated more money to charitable causes than anyone I know. With the media being the circus that it is, this could be used a weapon against you. I'm loathe to remove one of the few honest companies left in Gotham."

"Thank you. So what happens if we deem her a liability?"

"I think she's far from a liability, if anything, once she's recovered, I think she will be more than willing to testify on your behalf. Her recovery has already been made public, and the people will start asking questions."

"You're very astute, Dr. Quinzel." Alfred remarked, smiling at her.

She blushed, "Thank you, now let me brief you on the subject before she comes in," She flipped open the big folder and handed each of them a single sheet of paper. There was the obligatory terrible photo in the top right hand corner.

"That photo was taken before she left about two years ago. She's been an employee of Wayne Enterprises Chemistry and Environmental Protection Division for nearly ten years now."

"Both divisions?"

"She's primarily a chemist, but she's been working for the environmental division for quite awhile according to her employee records. From what I've seen of her so far, she's close to being of a genius level intellect. Hopefully that will lend her to a quick recovery, although at the moment…" She trailed off a bit, suddenly reminded of yesterday's events.

"Doctor?"

"Well, while she's willing to talk, a lot of her physical needs seem to have regressed. When she came in the other day, she just wanted to sit in the sun until dusk and then she sat up all night underneath an ultraviolet light. It was almost as if she was scared of the dark."

"No one is scared of the dark," Bruce commented offhandedly, "They're scared of what's in the dark."

Harleen looked at him, "That makes a lot of sense."

Silence fell over the room; all three were regarding each other with a sort of grim understanding. The events of the last year had driven all the citizens of Gotham further into themselves. He was gone from before their eyes, but the night that he'd brought with him had left little but a few stars to illuminate the lives of the innocent.

There was a knock on the door, and someone unlocked it, slipping inside.

"Gentlemen, this is Dr. Kane. He's going to be monitoring the subject while I conduct the interview."

The obligatory greetings took place and Dr. Quinzel called for the subject to be brought in. A nurse, whose name was probably Helga or Greta, marched an average sized woman into the room and practically forced her down into a chair. She chanced a look at the mirror, knowing that there were people watching her behind it.

Harleen got up and left the room. Dr. Kane flipped on the computers. Bruce shifted in his chair and sat up. Alfred relaxed.

Dr. Quinzel reappeared only a few moments later in the clean white room. Through the microphone, they all could hear the door clicked and the scrapping of the chair on the linoleum floor.

"Mr. Wayne is here." The woman noted, suddenly, jolted like a psychic vision had slapped her.

"Yes he is."

"Is he going to try to – " A break in her voice, "Keep me quiet?"

"No, he just wants to know what happened. He hasn't heard everything yet."

"Oh." She leaned back and hugged herself, but she didn't rock or sway.

"Now, we're recording this interview. Will you please state your name for the record?"

"Dr. Pamela Isley."

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a chemist for Wayne Enterprises, I'm working on rainforest preservation."

"Where did you work?"

"At the South American Division. Sometimes we were in Columbia, or Ecuador, or Brazil, depending."

"What happened at the South American Headquarters, Dr. Isley?"

"We were attacked a few months ago, by these people who lived in the jungle."

"Guerillas?"

"Yes, I think so."

"They took everyone hostage, killed them. They destroyed most of the equipment, all the research, all the plants."

"You don't seem too upset over that."

She looked at her, "The dead are lucky."

"What happened to the Guerillas?"

"They died too."

Bruce perked up at this statement.

"How did they die?"

Isley shrugged, "I think I killed them, but I can't remember."

Alfred's eyes moved to glance over at the young Master Wayne, he seemed to be listening intently, his eyes fixated on those plumped red lips.

"Dr. Isley, if I could have you go back to the day when the Guerillas attacked, then perhaps you could take me back to the beginning of this whole incident." Quinzel was baiting her, and they knew it.

"That's not the beginning. The Guerillas were the best part, they stopped everything."

"What did they stop?"

"Dr. Woodrue." Dr. Isley didn't wait for the next question. She was sick of the next question and she hadn't even heard it yet, "Dr. Woodrue was experimenting on us, all of us, even himself! He lied to us, he told us that Wayne Enterprises was demanding that we take extra vaccines and vitamins to stay safe, he had these reports that looked authentic, and we were so isolated out there."

Pamela quieted down again, "I was his favorite and when I found out what was going on, it was too late."

"Why were you his favorite?"

"I could take it," She rubbed her temples, "My immune system is different, it's hyperactive. You've seen those kids in the bubbles? I'm the opposite, my body is some sort of fortress against diseases and poisons. He knew that, he wanted to see…. If he could kill me."

Harleen was intrigued, not having heard the in-depth details such as these.

"Dr. Woodrue was down there for years, you know? He volunteered to be there by himself, out in the jungle, studying, working with the plants. He discovered something out there."

"What did he find?"

"Poison. He thought that if he made all the plants poisonous, then maybe people would leave the land alone, that they couldn't graze cattle because the grass would kill them. His experiments all failed though, but he kept the poison."

"I don't understand, how did he go from plants to humans?"

"Money, it had to have been money. I think he was good in the beginning, but he knew that Mr. Wayne wouldn't fund his particular type of research. People found him, warlords, dictators, the bad people. If he couldn't save the world, then he wanted all the money from the destruction. Every damn penny."

Isley looked like she might cry, "One green or another."

Alfred nudged Bruce, "Did you have any idea that all this was going on?"

"No, we got regular reports from our S.A. Division, Lucius checked up on them. There wasn't even a penny missing."

"If he was getting funded by warlords, he wouldn't have needed the money."

They nodded and turned back to the interview.

"So, he gave you poisons?"

"Yes. Everyday he would them to us. Some people got sick and died, others got better. Nothing ever happened to me. He claimed it was malaria, or the fever, or some other kind of sickness."

She took a deep breath, "One of my best friends kept getting sicker and sicker. I thought he had allergies, so I began to watch his food and I caught Dr. Woodrue. He took the plate and broke it against my head. When I woke up, I was bleeding and I could feel these gashes on my face."

Her hands were shaking, clenching and unclenching. Dr. Quinzel reached forward and took one of Dr. Isley's hands in her own and squeezed it, "You're safe here, no one will hurt you."

After a minute or so, the chemist calmed down enough to continue, "All of us that survived the toxins, he put us into these jail cells that he made. We were tied up, he started to inject us right into our blood. He kept going on and on about how he was gonna make us perfect, he could perfect humanity itself. It didn't work, and all my friends died, one after another. I was the only one who lived."

"My God." Alfred could be heard to barely breathe the phrase.

"It went on for months. I don't know what he told headquarters; maybe they thought we all had suffered from strange illness. Every day, he upped the dosage until he told me I had enough poison in me to kill all of Gotham city."

"That's incredible." Harleen was dumbfounded.

"That's when the Guerillas showed up. They broke in, killed everyone. I remember when they dragged me out of my cell, I saw him. He had one of those needles jammed into his neck and he was this disgusting shade of purple and green. Some part of me is ashamed that I was so happy that he was dead."

"He tortured you, most people would be happy."

Pamela nodded, "I guess."

"So what happened with the Guerillas?"

"They took me upstairs; they were all fighting and yelling at one another. Their leader was this grotesque man, when I couldn't understand him, he threw me up against the wall and hit me a few times. I think he was going to rape me. He picked me up and forced me to kiss him and that's when I blacked out, and when I woke up… I was covered in blood. They were all dead, and some of them were in pieces. Little tiny pieces."

At this point, Isley broke down and began crying, "How could I kill them and not remember it?"

'You were defending yourself."

"Defending yourself isn't leaving people like they went through a meat slicer!" Her tears dripped down her cheeks and onto the table. Clearly, Pamela felt like the victim and the offender all in one.

Harleen was now holding both her hands, "It's okay, you have to believe me."

Isley didn't seem to hear her, "I left, and I was wandering for God knows how long. I just kept going until I found this village and they took care of me."

"You've been through a lot."

She nodded and shuddered. Dr. Quinzel released her hands, "You stay right here, I'll be back in a minute okay?"

Again, another nod, but no words.

She left, and after a moment, appeared behind Bruce and Alfred.

"Mr. Wayne?"

He turned, "Yes doctor?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're right about her. She's harmless to my company, and if anything, her testimony does prove that this Dr. Woodrue was operating outside of our knowledge. I'll have my people run some reports to make sure that this wasn't something we ignored and we'll look into this Woodrue character. Dr. Quinzel," He stood up and shook her hand, "Please give Dr. Isley the best care possible, Wayne Enterprises will cover her."

The billionaire's face was concerned but distant, almost as if he had moved on from any semblance of caring and into trying to figure out how this had happened.

She shook hands with Mr. Wayne and agreed to his terms. Alfred followed right behind him and instead took both of the young doctor's hands in his, "You'll have to excuse Mr. Wayne, he's got a lot on his mind, you know. Please be assured that we're very interested in Dr. Isley's recovery."

"I think she'll be okay. She seems to be more concerned with what happened during the blackout period than all those human testing experiments. Hopefully, I can help her to wrap her mind around the incident without so much guilt."

"Well, we wish you the best of luck, dear."

"Thank you Alfred."

They were gone then. That sound of shoes squeaking against the floor became more and more distant as she stood there.

"Dr. Kane?"

"Yes?" He appeared beside her.

"I'm going to go talk to her alone. I need you to go look after the other patients."

"Sure." Dr. Kane was easy to deal with. With him gone, she locked the observation room door and went around to the other entrance.

Pamela looked up, "Are they gone?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."

"Are they upset with me?"

"No, God no. They're worried about you and they can't believe that they didn't know this was going on or they would have stopped it."

"Yeah."

Harleen pulled the chair to sit next to Pamela and sat down, "Look, I think I can help you."

"Really?"

"Yes, you've been through an experience unlike anything I've ever seen before, and I want to work with you to get through it. The only thing is, you have to tell them that you want me to be your primary doctor."

"Why does that matter? Can't you just do that?"

"Well, I'm being transferred and if I put in a request and you agree to go, then you can come with me so I can give you more attention than if you stayed here."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm getting moved to Arkham Asylum, they want me to analyze their new inmate."

"Will I have to stay in a cell?"

"No, there are some nice rooms there, contrary to popular belief." Harleen laughed lightly and stared at the patient.

Pamela Isley was a woman in her early thirties; her face was untouched by makeup. Surprisingly, she showed little trace of aging, and her skin was pale and soft.

"You don't have any scars? From the plate?"

Two heavy lidded lovely green eyes, so tired and so unsure, looked at her, "I'm a fast healer."

Quinzel noticed that her eyes were being pulled a little and she saw that her hair was pulled back so tightly that it was hurting her. She reached out and pulled on the tiny band. Long red locks cascaded forward, slightly curly after being freshly cleaned.

The doctor ruffled the patient's hair a touch, "Those nurses, their hairstyles give you headaches."

Isley laughed and shook her head a little.

"Do you trust me?"

Those green eyes again, "Yes, I do, actually. I don't know why, but I do."

The two women regarded each other for a moment before Quinzel realized that she had to make her rounds for the day.

"I'll put in a request for your transfer. I promise that I'll get you something that doesn't feel like a prison cell and you won't have to deal with any of the others."

Harleen got up and made to leave the room.

"Why do you have such an interest in me?"

The psychologist turned and looked at her, thinking about it, "I think you remind me of me in some way, we just have that style about us."