The Riddler's Daughter

Drugged

A couple hours before....

~Emily's POV~

"Ha! What did that even do?" I chuckle, crossing my arms. The drug was preposterous, a foolish science experiment of a child gone wrong. Not only did I felt no different then I was before, the big needle wasn't even painful. Trust me, this was a big shock cause syringes were normally carried intense pain as they punctured the skin...well, at least the ones Crane used. Luckily, whatever it was that Gordon tried to do to me didn't work. I leaned all the way back in my seat, grinning a cocky, I'm smarter then you, smile.

"Awe did your little 'truth' test fail?" I place my hands on the desk and fold them nicely together. Gordon should know better. Police stations weren't meant to be scary, justice buildings worked like a fun, simple puzzle. In this integration room alone I could mess with people's brains, manipulate intelligence levels and play word games. "Riddle me this, what is age without wisdom, a man without knowledge and a- " I was cut off by a large officer yanking my hands back by the cuffs. Ouch. I roll my eyes, annoyed as the rusted metal cuts into my wrists. The marks left behind were a faint red.

"Lock her away. I'll interrogate her in a the evening. " Gordon spoke without a second thought in his tone. He wasn't rattled? Something was up, his face didn't look confused, frustrated or annoyed. Only this (kinda scary) serious look in it. A feeling came across me, creating these knots in my stomach. I didn't experience the feeling enough to know why it happened, only what brought it on. It became clear to me that I didn't know what was going on. I was missing something, big. The feeling that I hate, HATE most in this world was when I had not clue what was happening around me.

The officer nodded, obeying Gordon's command. His abnormally large hands yanks me from my seat."Watch it!" I snarl, glaring up at the guard. My shoulder was still in a lot of pain from the tiff with Batman and Robin. I stagger to my feet, putting up the fight he expected to give as I'm dragged to the hallway where they hold convicts for the night. Two fingers of mine slip into his pockets, lifting the keys off of him in one simple motion.

He contributed to parade me to the metal cage, throwing my body down on the floor. I could hardly catch myself for my hands were bounded by cuffs. I snarl, "Gee, Thanks for the lift."

Although the GCPD hold up area was relatively warm compared to most rooms at Arkham, I still preferred the Asylum. Yes, it sounds strange to someone with such a simple mind but I'll explain.

The GCPD was so much louder with unnecessary noises everywhere one could hardly think. Convicts from the cells next to me taint the air we share with a strong stench of alcohol. The attire these people wore was god awful. Tonight it was anywhere from a cheap prostitute to a bar junky.

Arkham Asylum is better by far, a place I like to call my second home. Of course I had a minor breakdown there last year yet the thought of being brought to Arkham excited me. It meant they thought I was a dangerous kind of smart. Not only did Arkham allowed all their inmates to be guaranteed their own room, guards who worked their held much more intelligent. Everyone who worked in the GCPD building barley obtained a community college degree from my point of view. Let's face it, there was no way donut face over there passed the police exam with flying colors. All he did was sit across from the door, drooling on some late paper work.

People who maintain a higher degree in education are much more fun to banter with. Plus it's an extra challenge to try and convince the doctors something is far opposite from what it seems. When I was younger I would tell many different stories, all of which fake about my daddy. I told them many different things so they would pity me and I would be allowed out. That period of time in my life was brought to an end fast by my father; easy escapes were not what my pops wanted to see. Besides those perks, Arkham even smelt better, cleaner than the Gotham City Police Department. The mixture of smells including alcohol, drugs and trash was sickening. I notice how they didn't put me into one of the overcrowded cells. Last time the police had made a huge mistake by shoving some drug dealer into my area. Their claim? They didn't have enough room to store us all separate. His fate was signed the moment he pulled out that bag of 'pixie dust' and tried to force it on me. I may have looked like a young girl who was out of place but people should know better then to judge a book from it's cover, especially in Gotham. The druggie didn't stand a chance against me. What happened? Well, I may have broke his brain to the point where he begged me to kill him. He even thought it was his idea. Idiot.