What the flip

Nolan sat cross-legged on the thin mattress of his cot, back pressed to the cool cement wall, eyes distant and unfocused.

His cell was quiet. Arkham itself was never truly still some distant scream, some metal clatter always reminded him where he was but here, in this moment, it was quiet enough to think.

And he was thinking hard.

How do I make a call… one hundred percent secure?

No bugs. No ears. No watchers. Not here, not in Arkham.

His mind began running scenarios. Not just the logistics where the call could happen, when it could be done unnoticed but also how. How to build a location where surveillance would fail, even just for thirty seconds. It was impossible… or it should have been.

But then something strange began to happen.

He was building it. A map. Piece by piece. Detail by detail.

Starting from his cell, he visualized the hall that led to the cafeteria tiled walls, numbered doors. Turn left, ten paces, the hall dips slightly. There's a camera above the second light panel, which flickers every three seconds. Then the visitor wing. The offices. The staff bathroom behind the intake desk, and its cracked mirror.

Nolan's brow furrowed slightly. He wasn't just remembering Arkham. He was reconstructing it. Rendering it. Every detail. With eerie clarity.

By the time he reached the staff wing in his mental reconstruction, he could see things he hadn't directly noticed before exits he'd only caught glimpses of, corridors mentioned in passing. He was filling in gaps with frightening accuracy.

'This…' he thought. 'I've never done this before.'

'Not like this,' Quentin replied in the back of his mind. His voice was wary. Curious.

'Your memory's always been sharp,' Kieran added. 'But this is beyond memory.'

'This is architectural recall,' Vey said, sounding almost amused. 'Tactical cognition. Like watching the maze build itself around you.'

Nolan exhaled slowly.

He didn't know whether to be impressed or afraid.

He hadn't tried to do this—it had just happened. As if something inside him had evolved. As if everything he'd endured since the arrest, since the war in the undercity, since he'd started living in this fractured mind… had sharpened him.

He closed his eyes, letting the full image of Arkham hover in his thoughts.

Not just the halls. The blind spots. The shift changes. The vulnerable routines. The loose bricks.

The plan hadn't taken shape yet but the landscape had.

And now he knew something with quiet certainty,

He could find a way.

***

The clack of plastic echoed under the overcast sky.

Chess pieces moved across a scratched stone table in the Arkham yard, the wind tugging lightly at Nolan's sleeves as he stared at the board. He rubbed his temple, exhaled slowly, and tried tried to concentrate.

'Knight to E5,' Quentin said firmly.

'No, no, you'll expose the bishop. Castle the king first,' Kieran advised.

'You're both idiots,' Vey muttered. 'Push the pawn on the left and set a trap. Aggression wins games.'

Nolan pinched the bridge of his nose. Harvey Dent watched him with bemused patience, half of his mouth twitching in amusement.

"Any day now," he said, rolling his coin between two fingers.

Nolan moved his rook. Five turns later, he was checkmated.

Again.

"Goddamn it," he muttered.

Harvey leaned back with a grin. "That's six and oh, partner. I'm starting to think you enjoy losing."

Nolan offered a half-hearted smirk. "It's the charming company."

Harvey gave a mock bow from his seat. "Naturally."

Nolan stood, brushing imaginary dust from his pants. "Think I'll take a walk. Clear my head."

Harvey gave a distracted nod as he began resetting the pieces.

Nolan walked away slowly, keeping his pace casual, eyes scanning. He passed the usual clusters Crane sunning himself like a lizard; a few others pacing or smoking or muttering. No guards watching too closely. No cameras mounted where he was headed.

He turned down a side path that led toward the far utility fence out of bounds, technically, but not completely off-limits during rec time.

A rusted shed stood a short distance off, long disused. No obvious lights. No visible cameras.

He stepped into its shadow.

Nothing.

Just the breeze whispering through the chain-link.

Nolan's eyes scanned again corners, ceiling joints, nearby walls. Still nothing.

'This is the best we've found,' Kieran murmured in his mind.

'Yeah,' Quentin agreed. 'No line of sight from the towers either. No good audio range. Couldn't've planned it better.'

'Perfect spot for a body too,' Vey added, sounding entirely too pleased.

Nolan ignored that part. Sometimes Vey's jokes were just awkward.

He breathed in slowly. This was it. If he was going to make a call, or speak without being overheard, or pass something hidden this was the place.

Nolan crouched beside the rusted utility shed, his hands steady despite the adrenaline tickling his spine. In the shadows, the pieces of the slim flip phone came together smoothly, precisely. It hummed to life as he slid in the battery and closed the case.

No cameras.

Certainly no recorders.

Best of all the guards were watching the big crazies.

He dialed quickly.

One ring.

Two—

"This is Stitch."

Nolan allowed himself the briefest sigh of relief. "I have to keep this short. How's the hotel?"

Terrell's voice came through calm and collected, a scratch of humor beneath his low tone, "Better than we thought. That write-up we paid for's working reservations spiked. Got a couple international clients booked for the next two weeks. Oh and Deadshot checked in."

Nolan raised an eyebrow. "He did?"

"Yup. Gave him full service. No complaints."

Nolan nodded to himself. "Make sure he gets a coin before he leaves. The real one."

"Already done."

A moment passed. Nolan's eyes scanned the area. Still clear.

"I need you to shift focus to the jury," he continued. "The judge seems clean, but he lives in Gotham. That means something. Look deeper family, debts, habits. I want to know what pressure points exist before selection finishes."

"We were already starting to dig," Terrell replied. "We've got Marcy and her people filtering names. Dre's boys are working the judges' routes. Quietly."

Nolan nodded. That was good.

"What about Black Mask's end?" Terrell asked, tone shifting slightly. "There's a gap—everything's up for grabs. With what we stole, we've got his rot mapped. If we don't move now, someone else will."

Nolan paused.

Quentin stirred in his mind, 'This is it. He'd do the same in a heartbeat! You gotta jump on shit like this boss!'

'The power vacuum won't last. If we wait, we lose our leverage.' Kieran said as if it was the easiest task in all the lands

Vey whispered in satisfaction, 'Take it. All of it."

"Use what you have," Nolan said quietly. "Take over his routes. Secure them. Piece by piece. But stay relatively low key we don't want another turf war."

"Understood." Terrell's voice was solid, dependable. "You holding up okay in there?"

Nolan smiled faintly. "I'm still breathing."

"That'll do. We got the rest."

"I need to go. Stay sharp. I'll reach out again when I can.."

"Oh by the way black mask put a hit out on me, do sumthn that show we aren't fucking pussy's stich."

Terrell was quiet for a moment before carefully replying, "Of course Quentin."

He hung up, broke the phone back down, and slipped the pieces back into hiding sole of his shoe, waistband, the hem of his shirt.

The yard remained quiet.

He rose, dusted his palms on his pants, and walked back toward the rest of the inmates calm, even composed, like nothing had ever happened.

—

A/N: we are hitting the gas now ladies and gentlemen sorry for the slower chapters but these next ones hopefully bring excitement.