Chapter Text
1. Adhuc sub iùdice lis est
[The case is still awaiting trial]
Orazio, Ars poëtica, 78
GOTHAM CITY – Arkham Asylum (Arkham City)
17/12/1976 – Afternoon
Arkham Asylum.
The sound of the alarm echoes scratched and low against the gray and ruined walls of the enormous room, spreading through the air as a lamp protected by a rusty grate and nailed to the wall rotates on itself, softening with an orange color the dirty floor composed by large dark tiles.
Yaku waits in silence, his hands finding refuge inside the long double-breasted coat and, while waiting for the armored doors to open through-and-through, he brings his chestnut brown irises to stare at the prison guards in front of him, eyes slipping from their blue helmets and uniform of the same color to focus on the jackets with 'Security' written on them, a simple word enough to break the dark monochrome characteristic of their uniforms.
«After you».
He hears one of them saying when the deafening sound finally ceases to cleave the air, and he makes a nod of thanks before overcoming them both, the agents he brought with him from the police headquarters following him a few feet away. In the distance he can hear a background of moans and screams penetrating the incessant sound of rain, while he can hear it falling like a tearful ride on the wide and high grating windows of the corridor consecutive to the supervised entrance.
«How long ago did they catch him?»
Iwaizumi materializes at his side immediately after passing the guards room, and Yaku does not need to look at him to become fully aware of how that news is still difficult for him to digest, he who has worked for many years at the Penguin case without being able to have enough evidences to consign him to Justice.
Not that he hadn’t tried to do that in the past, it has to be said: Inspector Iwaizumi came in his department at least ten years before, and Yaku is pretty certain he have seen him spending at least the last five ones trying to catch the criminal now behind bars, showing at some point a commitment close to devotion.
In the end it has been necessary for Yaku, a few months before and taking advantage of his being the highest ranking of his district, to force him to move forward, revoking his permission to consult night after night the memos transcribed by his colleagues years before - or those circumstantial evidences now on statutes of limitations - and asking him to participate to the new cases occurring in those days that would have allowed, perhaps, to Inspector Iwaizumi to go home before dinner at least once a week: an alternative the other one had not taken very well, but that had avoided him ruining his health and sanity in front of that sudden change of attitude Penguin suddenly had.
«A few hours ago, they should have taken him to an isolated cell in the Intensive Treatment Center».
He answers as they are stopped by another couple of security officers, this time armed. He shows - for what he’s quite sure it’s the third time in the last ten minutes – his GCPD badge, the leather cover opened horizontally just to be closed again shortly after, seeing one of them moving back and relaxing the shoulders.
«Commissioner Yaku, GCPD. They are Inspector Iwaizumi and Chief Superintendent Ushijima».
He states, quickly turning around to indicate the two men behind him; he can see both of their hands slipping off their coats to pull out their identification cards, showing the silver badge concealed in the cases containing them, before bringing the attention back to the agents in front of them, nodding weakly in response to their approval nod.
«Are you here for Penguin?»
«Exactly. We need to ask him some questions to make sure of his guilt».
«Haven’t you already done it? He wouldn’t be there by now, otherwise».
Yaku’s gaze remains motionless, fixed to the agent who asked the question while his long green irises leave grooves on that initially skeptical face, remaining there long enough so that a clear discomfort starts to make room in that expression so confident until a few moments before.
Eventually the guard gives up, and eyes go to slide insecure out of his sight and on the walls, looking for nonexistent leaks or damp and mold spots (actually already widely present almost everywhere) that can easily be seen in the corners, propped up like ants traveling in the highest parts of the room while chasing exposed pipes or ghosts of the ones hidden behind reinforced walls.
«Cell 117».
Yaku nods, waiting for the agent to turn around and lift the arm up to give the permit to a third person on an elevated watch tower to open the steel and cement tailgate; he does it too, in his case raising his arm to mention a thanks, before walking through the door following the long corridors, paying attention to the large circled numbers that appear from room to room around him.
Intensive Treatment Center is one of the largest and deepest structures of the whole Asylum area: it spreads over three floors dug under the ground, and it is adapted to contain up to three hundred criminals at different levels.
Led by one of the uniformed guards, the three policemen pass a series of huge doors horizontally cut, probably apt to lead to other sections of the Asylum prison clearly precluded to them. That results clearer as they go on, the guard accompanying them who seems to allow the exclusive opening of some precise armored doors, and while Yaku sees him talking to the transceiver to request another authorization his gaze drifts to the cameras placed around, between each one of those gray walls, just above red and rounded lamps that illuminate the columns dividing one cell from the other one.
They are all different in their own way: some of them are open and dark inside, other ones are empty, others are closed, while others seem to be almost conscious and screaming, while whoever is on the other side of the security door slams against it, scratching it by the inside or laughing hysterically.
«Nice place».
Iwaizumi comments a few meters away, and Yaku can’t sincerely help but agree with the other one’s obvious sarcasm as they arrive in front of a giant elevator, grates dark and rusty due to moisture creaking while the guards in defense of the lift open it, letting the four of them enter in that enormous room. Yaku looks at his subordinates, and just as it has been happening for years he’s not too surprised either by the absolute lack of emotion that seem to lodge on Ushijima’s face, nor by the feeling of skeptical disbelief than Iwaizumi’s one seems to transpire.
When they get to the set plan, however, he rediscovers himself still unaccustomed to certain emotions. Because although it is not the first time he goes down there, nor probably the last, he finds himself every time unbelievably newbie at that knot in his stomach that awaits him as soon as the voices of the detainees come closer, more agonizing, hysterical screams that give way to secret hissing and incomprehensible phrases that are repeated like a dirge for the whole duration of the corridor.
On narrow walls – dividing cells at the sides in orderly and parallel sequence – flat panel displays show the prison symbol twirling lazily around its axis, while the recorded voice of the Mayor expresses in the background an optimistic and politically correct string of concepts and supposedly respectable utopias – to which, moreover, Yaku is quite conscious not even the Mayor himself truly believes no more.
“(…) When Amadeus Arkham founded this noble institute, few imagined it would have become a center for analysis and psychiatric rehabilitation for criminals of national level (...)”
He turns to see, as well as to hear, one of the jailed reciting softly the Mayor’s words: he could clearly distinguish the fingers tightly wrapped around the bars, or the way his face seems to be unnaturally caught between the grates, yet the attention is aimed at those big wide and bloodshot eyes looking maniacally at the monitor. Eyelashes don’t blink, and the pupils don’t fall anywhere else other than those two A combined while circling idly to form a rhombus, the writing 'Arkham' clearly visible at their center.
«We're almost there, he’s at the end of this corridor».
The guard's voice catches his attention enough to make him turn his gaze forward again, and while advancing he notices – as a blessing, really – that those screams, after being a backdrop to their walking until now, are becoming more sporadic until disappearing completely, nothing more than a distant background in an almost completely empty room.
«We put him away from others to avoid problems, he’s pretty good at convincing people to get their hands dirty in his place».
«Trust me, you are not saying anything new».
Yaku hears Iwaizumi replying through clenched teeth, and at those words he reaches him, raising a hand and squeezing his shoulder to force him to just lower his face, meeting his eyes.
«If you want, I’m going in only with Ushijima».
«No».
Iwaizumi answers immediately, staring at him intensely until Yaku sighs, pulling his hand away and turning to follow the guard in the anteroom of the cell.
«As you wish. We’re entering then. After you, Inspector».
°°°°
Cell 117 was not only different in the space it was located, being as much as possible away from any useful exit and in a place more isolated and more monitored by the cameras compared to the other ones: that would have been rare, but definitely not a single case.
What made it really different was the internal construction of the room, which was – contrary to the others – divided into two parts, separated by a steel grating where two cement benches were placed one in front of the other – evidently an appropriate position to allow doing an interrogation without forcing the guards to attend the prisoner's movement around the jail.
The lights, vertically more narrow and horizontally longer than the average, were located at such a height not to allow even the highest human to get themselves too close, to touch the wires or simply to find a handhold to use as a lever to grab on; It might seem an odd choice, but it was a precaution became necessary since the last prisoner had tried to tear the structure from the ceiling, searching in the ducts probably hidden beyond a possible escape route.
Not that these countermeasures were really needed, knowing the ways – incredibly astute ones, dangerous as only the bureaucratic foolishness were meant to be – through which The Penguin used to escape from the law.
°°°°
The Penguin / (?)
Occupation: Restaurateur, Racket Boss
Real Name: Suguru DaiShou
Appearance: Man, green hair with side fringe, pitch black eyes
Features: Crime and finance genius, expert in close combat.
°°°°
Yaku enters in the small room, but he’s not surprised to find the criminal lying on his back, hands elegantly placed on the sternum, closed eyes and short straight hair, colored as thick green oil while softly resting on a plasticized cushion left on the bare mattress. Commissioner takes a few steps toward the bench, without ever raising his eyes from him, and he can almost feel the mocking atmosphere that the other one can transpire: that sarcasm with which he thinks about them while, fully aware of how everyone has finally entered inside, corners of his lips tilt upwards in a subtle but incredibly annoying way.
God: it is already enough to procure a slight tic to Yaku’s eyebrow who, however and perhaps not in a totally unexpected way for the detainee, decides just to beat his knuckles firmly on the bars, starting then to talk in a tone barely higher than usual.
«Penguin, we have some questions for you».
He announce harshly, observing with increasing irritation as the only effect of those words is the way in which the corners of the other’s mouth become sharper, the position that remains entirely similar to the one adopted previously his request.
«Commissioner, what an honor to see you going so down just to see me».
Those narrow eyes open up, and sneaky irises stare at the group on the other side of the bars as a clearly provocative smile opens that smooth and milky face, probably amused by the ambivalence of that sentence pronounced by himself.
«Same pleasure to see you here, Penguin. I must say that the atmosphere of a psychiatric prison suits you well».
The Penguin hisses a laugh through clenched teeth before finally deciding to sit, a long and wavy lock that goes to move completely on the left side of his face, leaving uncovered both his narrow eyes and thin eyebrows.
«Too bad your trip was a waste of time, Commissioner: I have no interest in answering your questions, whatever they are».
His pupils become thinner while he says it, and in the consecutive silence Yaku can clearly hear Iwaizumi moving irritated next to him, vibrating like a wild dog waiting to attack. Maybe it really wasn’t a good idea to take him down there.
«Penguin».
Yaku turns towards Ushijima, remained silent until then and still motionless on his left, and for a second that tall and impassive gaze make him feel like he’s in front of Wakatoshi’s father, that austere and careless expression he has seen so many times on honorary portraits around the department belonging to previous commissioners who have brought honor to their district.
«Commissioner Yaku can have the willing to meet you halfway–»
Yaku frowns, reflecting upon where the other wants to actually get with that speech. If someone else had told it he could think of that comment as an attempt to weaken his position, but considering is Ushijima the one talking right now, skepticism is high enough to make him reconsider it rather quickly.
« –But I don’t forgive who obstructs Justice».
His voice is low and husky, yet for some reason there is no heat in his words, only the ice and humidity of the cell that all of a sudden seem to become even more extreme and unbearable, leaving an uneasy feeling that with all chance makes The Penguin silent for much longer than he intended. Yaku sees the villain staring at his subordinate carefully, all of a sudden serious again and incredibly attentive to the other’s words, and Ushijima’s pupils reflect in his own, silence lasting into the small room while waiting to be hatched by its cocoon of expectations.
«Ah– How difficult it is to be innocent on these times. One might almost make false statements to avoid having to submit a second too long at those inquisitors eyes».
The Penguin finally raises his hands, arms folded while shoulders lift for a few seconds, his face shaking slightly at the sides.
«Too many guards made me questions during these hours. But you are not like them, right? You feel special, that's why you're here. I feel it on my tongue---»
And indeed in saying it he slips out that tight muscle, slightly forked on the tip, indicating it with the long pale index and long nail, his face up while it rolls upwards and downwards for a few moments, testing the flavor of the atmosphere around him before retreating back into the warm cavity behind his lips.
«I feel the air stagnating with doubts and questions that you drag behind. Your smell of decency and Justice is almost sickening, my tongue haven’t collected such clean odor molecules for a long time. Not even one of the guards who took me here was half the smell you seep, I can’t imagine how it must feel to be in the minority in a place where you should all be loyal to certain visionary ideals».
«Our guards do their job, Penguin. We didn’t take you here to submit them to a test of loyalty».
Yaku responds slightly piqued, his arms crossed as he moves just enough to force the criminal to put the attention on him again, attracted by the movement like a snake looking for a possible prey.
«It's better for them then, ‘cause I'm not sure how many would pass the test, otherwise. But stop calling me Penguin, it is a name they gave me too long ago and too many times I have – how can I say? – changed my skin, in the meantime. Although that inspector does not seem to be particularly conscious about it, considering how he’s looking at me since he came in».
Yaku takes a few seconds to figure out whom the other one is talking about, but the way Iwaizumi is looking at The Penguin is enough to get a clear idea about who is subject of the sentence, the inspector's eyes that become thinner while his jaw struggle to control his mouth, or perhaps anger, or perhaps both.
He tightens his lips, wondering for what appears to be the hundredth time whether he was right to take Iwaizumi with him, and he tries in the meantime to remember if there is one main reason why he did it. When he received the news of the capture of The Penguin, only a few hours before, he had initially been very unwilling to make the inspector Iwaizumi aware of it; but in the end, and considering the precedents, he convinced himself it was the right thing to do, assuming that seeing him behind bars might have helped his subconscious to compete with the other one, to realize he was true and human, keeping him away from the perception similar to a nightmare that he found himself chasing during the previous years.
But now, seeing him like this, he understand how the effects of that meeting are still impossible to predict, and doubt returns to insinuate toxic into his head as he strives to return to look at The Penguin, irritation increasing and always more difficult to contain.
«We know you’ve changed your way of working, and since you’ve opened the Iceberg Lounge your name is no longer intervened in any investigation, too. But about changing what you are─ tell me, then: how should we call you?»
Thin lips stretch out to draw a snaky smile on the villain's face, and a hand goes to rest on the chest while he stands up, emulating a bow before returning to stare mischievous at the Commissioner.
«Many now call me by my name, but you can call me Snake. However, Commissioner, I have to say I always imagined you taller, do you know? Instead you are short enough to seem like a little mouse, are you still sure you want to stay in this cell for such a long time?»
Ah, he shouldn’t have said this.
There aren’t many things for which Yaku is really able to lose patience, but surely the height argument is one that anyone, knowing him, has no difficulty understanding it is better not to mention in his presence. Pulsation on the left temple distinctly increases at the other’s words, and before he could avoid it he slams a distinct fist against one of the gratings of the cell, a sharp sound that echoes in the room for a few seconds while the vibration of the pole continues to silence some background noises.
«Learn your place, Snake. Wherever I want to stay is not your interest, and I didn’t come here for this. The only reason you're in this cell is to answer my questions, and it will be what you will do until I decide it is enough. Do you know what you have been arrested and taken here for, at least?»
God, if only he could remove that slight yet so incredibly arrogant smile from that snaky face.
«Mhm– I’d have a list of hypothesis, so why don’t we narrow it down and you tell me instead, little mouse?»
«As you wish, then. You have been charged for having carried out all the recent crimes committed this week in Gotham city: witnesses claim to be certain of your guilt for the robbery at the Gotham National Bank on last Tuesday, for the burglary at the Museum of Natural Sciences of this Sunday and for the fire started at Park Row yesterday. In these nights, as you know, many civilians have died, together with homeless, vigilant and guards. For this reason you are accused of false report, terrorism, premeditated murder and probably genocide, too».
«Aren’t these too many things to do in a week, Commissioner?»
«It seems like you got busy, but you’re the one who could tell us if that’s the case».
Silence falls in the cell, and Yaku can clearly see in Snake’s look a trace of something he might not hoped to see, but that he evidently can not ignore.
Confusion.
It lasts only for a moment, of course, ‘cause Snake is fast to put on the usual controlled and wiseacre facade, his smile stretched and his expression shrewd while he returns to his seat, one of the two hands serving as the linchpin as the other one goes in the air, palm facing upwards and his wrist bent while he shakes his head slightly, in denial.
«Ah, what an uncomfortable situation. You know, Commissioner, though it would be interesting to see what you are prepared to blindly accept just to be able to find convincing evidences to keep me locked here, I am sorry to tell you that I’m innocent. And that if there's one thing I hate more than to end up in this dump when guilty, it is to be here for something that I didn’t do. So, even if I’m flattered you thought of me for all these artistic performances, I hope you’ll be as far away as possible from Gotham when I get out of here, because I tend not to react well with people who lie».
Yaku tightens his jaw, while he can clearly see the guard at the entrance instinctively moving his hand on the submachine gun he has been kept lowered until a few seconds before, raising it slightly and just stretching out his feet, to gain a more stable center of gravity.
«No».
He just says, turning to face him for a few seconds and raising an arm in the air, motioning to stay back.
«No».
He repeats, this time turning to Snake and pointing his brown and determined eyes towards the other one, his eyebrows furrowed in a tough expression and his face dark and diplomatically hostile.
He did not intend to ignore the clear threat the other one has just done, but he does not believe it is wise to create a truly physical friction within a prison potentially full of enemies. The guard is probably young and has no idea of the revolts carried out in the last years within that structure; but Yaku does, and he doesn’t not plan to risk.
Not that day.
«Mhhm? No? So how about you pass me the baton and answer to my question? That’s my turn».
And Snake smiles again, his tongue that slides out of thin lips one more time while his eyebrows relax in a mocking expression.
«When you’ll let me get out of here, can I have you as my chaffeur?»
°°°°
GOTHAM CITY – Arkham Asylum Exterior (Arkham City)
17/12/1976 – Sunset
The cold air of the wind that lash the three policemen cheeks as soon as the last door of the Intensive Treatment Center building opens is like the heat of the sun kiss on a spring day, so it is silently awaited by all of them.
It's still not early but, though it isn’t even five o’ clock, evening is already oncoming, dark and moonless while few stars that should already be visible at this time are instead hidden by the thick blanket of smoke coming out as from the high chimneys on the edge of the town, as from public transports that make their pollution rise, climbing on the palaces; nevertheless, Yaku is pretty sure to want nothing more in that moment to be out there, even in his awareness of living in one of the most polluted cities in the world, his shoes that trample on the dry soil and the creak of the gates that accompanies their exit from the Arkham Asylum.
He can almost feel the grooves created on his back by the eyes of the guards who are controlling them from the distance, while located on a tower to the side of the grating they have just passed, but he pretends not to notice it as he approaches the car they have parked there a few hours before, Ushijima and Iwaizumi following. When they’re all inside the small doors close, but the car does not start right away, while Yaku turns instead to look at the two passengers on his right and behind him, his eyes watchful and his voice confidential.
«We need evidences».
If Ushijima remains silent to stare at him from the back seats, Iwaizumi instead scoffs at that, probably still in a bad mood because of the meeting just happened and that fortunately has not seen anyone losing their temper – something that Yaku, until the end and knowing how much Snake loves to instigate, feared would have inevitably happened.
«We have no choice, the clues are few and if we took now the case to the Prosecutor he would not pass more than twenty-four hours locked in that cell».
He whispers loudly enough to be heard even from the other two of them, his gaze moving down while the thumb and forefinger of his right hand give a little pressure to the eyes socket with the nose, frowning.
«What do you two think of his words, anyway? The fact that he claims to be innocent is─»
Weird, it is what he would like to say, but he does not finish the sentence because saying it out loud would be like admitting and making painfully real what all of them are thinking and that are not going to say: because if Snake was responsible for these criminal acts, he would have hardly articulated the conversation that way; because if he was really guilty, he would hardly have got caught; and, above all, if indeed he was the one who organized such a thing, he would hardly have them dropped so clearly in the argument, not without any attempts to get out from that situation as soon as possible. And this suggests that, although it is hard to accept, he’s probably not the instigator of all those crimes.
«Thinking about his words will not guide us to anything, anyway. In the end even Snake, though equipped with the gift of a somewhat irritating gab, is a psychopathic. Trying to understand how his mind works would be a war lost from the start. But unfortunately─»
And here silence falls again, because words at this point have to be measured well.
«... ─Unfortunately something is not right. We have not certainties, but hypothetically if he is not the criminal we’re looking for, or if he’s not alone, we can’t ignore we should try to find the culprit somewhere else».
He sighs then, like he has suddenly remembered about something particularly uncomfortable he had not considered until now, as he actually has.
«Knowing the Mayor, however, he will push to close the case before the election. Which leaves us little time to find concrete evidences to work on».
«We will seek information».
Iwaizumi’s voice is clear even if the man is still with his face down and his eyes closed, and Yaku stops to listen to him, seeing with one eye Ushijima turning to do the same.
He knows what Iwaizumi means with information, and he nods, agreeing with the idea.
«Perfect. I will go to the Department in the meantime, someone has to warn the Mayor about the news and sadly this is my job. Ushijima?»
But Ushijima is already out of the machine together with Iwaizumi. Yaku sighs, turning back towards the steering wheel and pulling out the car keys, remaining to stare at them for a few seconds before tightening them between his fingers and inserting them into the keyhole behind the steering wheel, starting the engine.
An other sigh, before looking at himself in the rear-view mirror, discovering a long and thick wrinkle separating the eyebrows and making explicit a tired and worried expression.
There will be long days, he can feel it.
«Ah─ God, I hope they have at least fixed the coffee machine».