Disclaimer: "The Division", "CSI: Crime Scene Investigators," "Birds of Prey," "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit," the characters, and situations depicted are respectively the property of Lifetime Television, Kedzie Productions, Viacom Productions, and Paramount [The Division]; Jerry Bruckheimer Television, Alliance Atlantis, and CBS Productions [CSI: Crime Scene Investigators]; Tollin/Robbins, DC Comics, and Time/Warner via the WB [Birds of Prey]; and Wolf Films, Universal Network Television, and NBC [Law & Order: SVU]. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognised characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "The Division", "CSI: Crime Scene Investigators," "Birds of Prey," "Law & Order: SVU," Lifetime Television, CBS, the WB, NBC, or any representatives of the actors.
[Please do not fold, spindle, or mutilate. Thank you. Shatterpath]
Author's Notes: This was written on 1 March 2003, while I was at the Creation Convention in Seattle, Washington, waiting for Roxann Dawson to come onstage. It's the third of 3 stories written at that time
I can't believe it.
Right under my nose all this time. The bane of my existence. The person thwarting all of my plans to take over this damned town for my Mr. J.
And I could have stopped her. Could have killed her.
But no… I chose to make her one of my minions, however short-lived. If it hadn't been for the crippled bat, I'd have had the Huntress as my plaything.
And now? Locked up in my own asylum. Still separated from my pookie. And still not running New Gotham. Not yet…
I truly hate those damned flying rodents.