It was as dank and gross as she remembered it to be.

Catwoman wanted to gag. The stench was unpleasant, to put it nicely. A mixture of sweat, excrement, rotten food…

It was now that she realized that perhaps would be helpful to equip her costume with some sort of facial mask for tasks like these.

Shimmying through air ducts, Selina Kyle was on a mission. She knew the path like the back of her hand. Being a former inmate afforded her true privileges. While others counted their numbered stays with ticks on the wall, the inmate formerly known by a series of numbers plot her escape a multitude of instances. While occasionally she was let go by some form of administrative handling--Bruce’s doing, no doubt--the Cat was able to obtain enough information needed should she desire getting out on her own.

The planning came in handy.

Making a right turn at what she deemed an intersection of ducts, the lithe Cat of Gotham City estimated that she wasn’t far from the series of various admin offices, clustered together far away from the residents themselves.

Arkham Asylum was infamous for its clientele--some with temporary stays for fleeting insanities, others with more permanent mental illnesses that required months of a stay, if not permanent. While many contained within its thick concrete walls and barbed wire security fences were ordinary citizens, Arkham Asylum was often home to Gotham’s undesirables. Household names like Harleen Quinzel and Pamela Isley were among the frequent visitors.

It was no coincidence that this very pair sought out Selina’s assistance. It seemed that something was off with the greenery of Gotham--what little the city did have. Plants were dying at alarming rates. Parks once lush with flora now appeared dull and lifeless. Tufts of grass refused to grow in the cracks of cement, and the trees that lined the posh Diamond District even took a direct hit. In addition to the green failing to thrive, the entire city seemed to be in shambles. There was chaos in the streets--fights, crime, and general disturbances. Even for their metropolis it was far too much. Ivy was concerned that a new inmate she’d discovered in passing attributed to this crisis. Someone unfamiliar, she believed he carried a sickness and that she needed to know more about him. About it.

Harleen, being the supportive partner-in-crime that she was, also wanted to get to the bottom of the mess so she could help dispose of it. And because Selina was the stealthier of the Sirens…

She continued to wiggle down the path, making sure not to alert anyone of her presence by causing unnecessary noise. Catwoman needed to make it to the large storage area where all patient files were being kept. While she didn’t have specifics on a particular patient--or even a name--Selina was clever enough to know where newer files were being kept. Asylum inmates who were deemed dangerous were automatically quarantined. Catwoman figured that anyone brought in within the past six months and were deemed too dangerous to be within the general population would be handled separately. It wouldn’t take her too long to comb through the documents to get names, ailments, and any other interesting information.

Selina paused. As if her breathing could be heard, she bit down upon her lower lip and slightened her exhales to a minimum. A gaggle of doctors were contained within a space, discussing an inmate referred to only by number. They seemed to discuss a batch of results from some sort of testing. The Cat frowned. Arkham Asylum wasn’t a stellar facility for mental health care--but one should not have to be forced to consent in experimental procedures and treatments.

Listening further, Catwoman attempted to memorize the inmate’s number as well as the code word they seemed to continuously throw around. “GR-27,” she murmured to herself in hopes that the letters and number stuck with her while she fumbled through documents soon enough. Seeing as the physicians referred to the resident in past tense, it was a prime chance that they did not survive whatever was being administered to them. She decided she’d check with the deceased records first to see what would turn up. It was likely that whatever was going on was not the act of an individual, but rather a group of psycho-scientists performing trials and experiments on those unwilling or unable to fight against them.

Resisting the urge to sneer, Catwoman pushed forward--not far from the sealed files she needed to dig through.

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