Setting the Stage, Part 1

} This is the second installment of what is meant to be a bookend to The Karlo Anthology. Read “Reprise” for the complete narrative up to this point. {

 

Int. Belle Reve Penitentiary - Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana; 6:57 in the morning

 

Jack Kovacs tugged at the knot of his tie, neither interrupting his hurried stride to his office, nor the endless stream of objectives that raced through his mind.

 

*Consult with John before releasing any of the past operatives’ names to the public.*

 

*Two flights of stairs down, at the end of this hall*

 

*If that Lane journalist shows up again, reaffirm that Task Force X is non-functional as of now, but is set to be conceptualized as an entirely legal strike team under the United States government’s management.*

 

*A right at the next corner*

 

*Don’t make suggestions to Waller about improving the inmates’ personal quarters. EVER again.*

 

Kovacs rounds his final doorway, looking to sit down and rest his mind, only to be met by the sight of a maintenance worker situating a large potted fern in the corner of the room opposite his desk. The intruder turns and notices him before Kovacs can question any of it.

 

Worker: Higher-ups wanted some embellishment for when we get visitors. Guess they don’t think your pretty face is enough to convince people anymore, huh?

 

Kovacs (setting his briefcase aside): It looks fine… Eh, I didn’t think we were planning on being in the media’s eye for quite some time still…

 

The worker is already walking to the door. But instead of leaving, he shuts it in front of him.

 

Worker (over the shoulder): Pal, you’ve been live for quite some time already.

 

At the intimidating statement, Kovacs moves back a few steps, only to then regret not pressing the alarm beneath his desk.

 

Worker (walking back into the center of the room): Hey relax, ominous remarks are just an occupational hazard for me. Guess it rubbed off on me from…

 

He nods at the fern in the corner, whose pot is now erratically lurching off the floor. A dull sienna substance spills over the side, slowly molding itself higher and higher, until there stands someone both familiar and alien to Kovacs: yours truly.

 

Kovacs: Basil Karlo. I… really didn’t think you’d come. Hell, I didn’t think my letter would reach you, past all this security.

 

Myself (wearily leaning against the wall): Jack…

 

Kovacs (pointing at the “worker”): Who is this? You didn’t need to bring anyone else into… Actually, you know what, HOW is he here?

 

“Worker”: Harry Sims. I’ve got Karlo’s back. And I’d advise not underestimating my ability to fabricate the identification badges of lower-paying staff.

 

Kovacs (noting the severed cords sticking out of the cameras in the ceiling): Or your ability to dismantle state-of-the-art security monitors, it would seem. We’d already be in cuffs if you hadn’t.

 

Myself: JACK.

 

I catch myself before I instinctively go to grab his shoulder. A dissolved ligament would not do, just now.

 

Myself: Prove to me it’s really her.

 

Kovacs: Basil, I’m a figurehead for scary people in suits that don’t want their shady deals to be seen. I don’t have any real clearance here; I can’t just pull up a database of the prisoners for you to browse. But I recognized her when they brought her in. I know we haven’t exactly stayed pen-pals, but I’ve… been following along with your situation for years. The ups and the downs… I have to know, why on earth did you abandon an alliance with BATMAN and all those kids he trains?

 

Myself: I’m not doing this right now. You have to know where they’re keeping Cassie. Just direct me there and we’ll be on our way…

 

I falter, extending a hand to the desk to keep from collapsing.

 

Sims (to Kovacs): You’ll direct ME to Cassie. He shouldn’t have even come; I told him I could do this myself.

 

Kovacs: What is happening with..?

 

Sims: Scarecrow did a number on him.

 

Myself: I’m unstable. Holding any humanoid form has become… taxing. So tell me where to go, PLEASE.

 

He bows his head, and lets out a harsh sigh.

 

Kovacs: You’re going to find her four levels down from here. Cell B-8. Hand-scan access for the guards stationed there.

 

Myself: Sims can’t make it that far with his credentials. I should be able to hold a disguise for no more than 10 minutes.

 

Sims: Find a sentry to replicate; get in, get her out. I can erase you from footage and navigate your escape, if Kovacs can get me in front of a screen. I’ll slip out after you two are in the clear.

 

Kovacs: Now hold up. I’m well aware that you’re both here because of me, and despite this job being a less-than-fulfilling use of my drama major, I’m not jeopardizing the position I have here. I’m not getting further involved. Your friend Harry is going to have to find the security hub himself.

 

Sims: Thanks for nothing.

 

Kovacs (explaining further): Basil, my ex let me have joint custody of my kid, and full custody of his tuition, if you know what I mean. I had to fall in with creeps like this just to get by. I told you about Cassandra Cain… this “Orphan” vigilante, because I knew you were close. You were always sighted fighting crime together, and well… I think I owe an old friend a piece of his life back. But if this goes south…

 

He looks at me directly.

 

Kovacs: … My family, our livelihood, comes first. You understand? I’ll let you both go down if you get caught.

 

Myself (nodding): I expected nothing less.

 

Kovacs: I don’t understand it. You were only in league with Batman for a few months. These people will keep you under lock and key for the rest of your life if you fail. Is she worth the risk?

 

Myself: They run an off-the-books kill squad, and they have a member of the Bat Family in custody. They won’t stop until they know the identity of the Dark Knight himself, and they’ll torture her within an inch of her life to get it.

 

I limp out the office door.

 

Myself: She believed I wasn’t beyond hope, just as much as you did, Jack. I’m getting her out, if it’s my last act.

 

Kovacs (before Sims leaves too): He doesn’t sound like himself…

 

Sims: You mean, he doesn’t have the vocabulary of a pretentious dandy anymore?

 

Kovacs: The Basil I knew always hated change, as ironic as it sounds.

 

***

 

Sims and I peek around what feels like our hundredth corner. Only one guard had crossed our paths thus far, which was certainly ideal for our plan, but the vacant halls left in their wake foreboding uncertainties. When I had taken the life of the guard to replicate his handprint, it hadn’t felt like all the other times I had performed such grizzly deeds. It twisted my noble crusade into trading one life for another. I may very well have killed another Jack Kovacs; a man getting by, with no true allegiance to this job. Would he have helped us had we explained our purpose for being here? It was like pulling healthy teeth, forcing myself to think this way, after so many years of cruelty and disregard for humanity.

 

My accomplice had not been fazed in the slightest. I had taught him long ago to feel nothing for innocent bystanders. Even in a building as secure as this, Sims evades and disables the cameras for us with the ease of drawing curtains. After a few seconds of surveying the hall, he bobs his head and grunts with approval.

 

Sims: Alright, I have a guess as to where the control room is, based on the wiring of our little friends in the ceiling. You can make it the rest of the way to her cell. But listen, don’t let her out into the hall until I’ve deactivated facial recognition on these suckers. That’s the white light in the bottom corner of the lens. Wait for that to blink out. If you don’t and she’s out of her cell… Well, they’ll be able to hear the alarms from here to Gotham.

 

Myself (before I steal away to Cassie’s cell): … You should know that I haven’t taken all that you’ve done for granted. You’ve stepped away from your criminal legacy to help right my wrongs. I can’t begin to repay you.

 

Sims (refusing to look me in the eye): We had a good run. Times change. … Now get lost, will you?

 

I had to suppress a chuckle, as he had stuttered over his final words, trying to sound callous. With every job we had ever pulled, Sims had only refined his skill to expertly compose each moment of a heist. In all that time, however, he had not picked up any of my innate abilities as an actor.

 

We parted, and I took the form of my most recent victim. It was agonizing at this point, but it didn’t matter. It briefly crossed my mind that, upon entering Cassie’s cell, she may be lying in wait for whomsoever dared to try and collect her. This didn’t matter either. I used my “borrowed” handprint on the scanner, hastily skirted by the fortified door, and found myself beholding another prison within the first; this one was transparent, not fit to confine even a large dog, and along the furthest edge, there was Cassie. No longer the alert and ardent crimefighter I had once known, she sat cross-legged, sagged in defeat. She was still geared up as Orphan, though the ensemble had numerous lacerations that revealed not-yet-healed injuries.

 

Damn them. Damn them all. She’s still a child.

 

Myself: Cassie. Get up. It’s Basil.

 

Cassie (almost unsurprised): Basil? You found this place?

 

Myself (moving to the second scanner without hesitation): We need to act quickly.

 

Cassie (blinking away moisture in her eyes): They… got me at my house. They had pictures of ME, not Orphan! How did they… is Batman here too? Are you helping him?

 

Myself (irritably): I’m helping you, Cassie, not him. If he even notices you’re gone, assume he’s already tried finding your replacement.

 

I expected her to berate me, tell me I, not the Dark Knight, had been at fault for our alliance failing. He was the one thing we never could see eye to eye on. She said nothing now.

 

Myself (throwing open her enclosure): Get up.

 

Cassie: Basil, I’ve been in here for twelve days. I haven’t been passing them by holding out on someone else to come and get me. I’ve been thinking things through.

 

Myself: What are you talking about? Come out of there now. I have a partner shutting down the facial recognition cameras, and then we can get you-

 

Cassie: What’s with you? You don’t even sound like Basil. Shouldn’t you be saying, “Young lady, were ’The Batman’ at all aware of your nonappearance, he would be busying himself with attaining your locum, not seeing to your retrieval”?

 

She follows this with a choked snicker at her own mockery, then turns her back again. I’m stupefied by her bitter tone. Her life had been harsh, and she had grown up too quickly, but she had never been a defeatist.

 

Cassie (still seated): I wouldn’t tell these creeps about Batman or the rest, not in a million years. But I’m not going to make-believe he’s even trying to find me, either. Whatever they’re up to in this hellhole, they’re putting together a death squad… and I want in.

 

Myself: Are you… are you listening to what you’re saying? Don’t be absurd.

 

Cassie: My parents didn’t raise me to be a clean-cut do-gooder. I’ll be more at home here than in some city infested with clowns. Get out of here, Basil. Believe you me, I keep can make a mess of my life without your help.

 

Myself (beyond patience): Foolish- … who put such nonsense in your head?

 

Cassie: YOU did, Basil. God help me, you, with your contempt for anything hopeful or redeemable, are probably as right about the world as you think you are.

 

The words pierce me like a blade. I stagger a few steps back, racked with unbearable guilt; a worthy companion to the pounding in my head and the fire shooting through my limbs. I’ve held this form for far too long. In fact, it’s time I disassembled more than just one of my guises. Up in the corner outside Cassie’s cell, the indicator on the security camera is still showing facial recognition is operational. I still have chance.

 

Myself (still laboring intensely just to make it to the door): Resent me. Renounce… me. But you’re… leaving this place today, Cassie. On my life, I’m… going to do something that’s right with… whatever time I have remaining.

 

With the final surge of strength I can extract from within, I mold myself into the perfect image of Cassie, and throw myself into view of the camera before Harry can terminate it. Just as he had warned, the siren is intolerably head-splitting, which I find myself actually thankful for; the blare drowns out my pitiful screams. Blacking out for only a moment, I find that I’m in my own form again, but with every last ounce of water in me sapped. For the first time in over a decade, I can’t feel other voices and characters swirling inside me.

 

Myself (Aloud or in my head, I know not): I can… hear… me.

 

Cassie stands over me, insistently offering the end of her cape for me to pull myself up with. She looks anxiously on, either watching for the opposition undoubtedly converging on our spot, or perhaps just hiding the redness in her eyes from me.

 

“… Alright, old man. Just like old times, then.”

 

} Part 2 of 7 {

Done