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Deep in Blackgate, an entire prison of inmates rioting around him, whirling in a violent storm of crashing and shouting and chanting and banging bars with fists and mugs and shivs and heads - deep in Blackgate, Roman Sionis sat silent and still, mask un-moving, eyes fixed ahead. He watched, listening to the riot. Inmates, thugs, murderers, rapists . All Gotham's worst. And him. The absolute nadir. There were others, some with faces quite opposite Sionis' visage, but they were less...purposed. Driven. Ambitious. Sionis was the best of Gotham's underworld, at least according to him. And many others, depending who you asked. And when you asked them.

Vicious. Sadistic. Ruthless. Narcissistic. Criminal genius. Psychopath. Oh, the penitentiary's shrink had endless words for him. Sionis had one: efficient. He had more, too. A ruler. Lord of Gotham. Leader of his Society. One that worked for him now, in and out of his temporary shackles. Beneath the mask, his scarred skin curved skyward in a twisted smile as he heard the clicking of heels down the corridor. The Warden, Martin Joseph. Right on cue. Sionis took a breath and stood, an intimidating figure despite the fluorescent orange of his prison jumpsuit. The mask did it; it was naturally unnerving. It was why Sionis had created it, pushed himself into becoming something more than just a man. Roman Sionis? No. Black Mask. He lifted a hand to the seam between his mask and his neck, feeling the tight and puckered skin, the blistered wood. Black Mask, forevermore. The warden appeared.

"Aahh. Martin." Sionis said, standing mere feet away from the man, iron bars the only barrier between them. He watched the warden flinch slightly as Sionis used his name - a power play. Sionis had no compunctions about the two men's relative standings. The warden had two guards with him, flanking his sides, but both men knew they were little protection were the bars not in place. The warden swallowed, Sionis watching the muscles of his lower jaw and neck flex and shift, and then he opened his mouth to reply.

"What's your game, Sionis." He said, and Black Mask didn't move, just kept watching. His black eyes bore into the warden from within his mask. He shuddered, and continued. "The chanting, Sionis. What's your game? Think we'll release you by popular demand of your...'peers'?" He sneered, and Sionis let him have his moment of pathetic self-amusement. Martin Joseph was a bully, but held no power over Sionis. He almost pitied him. Such superficial control. What intangible power, nothing like Black Mask's hold on Gotham in the prime of his Empire. It made him chuckle, then, to think that soon, very soon, he would be showing him exactly how superficial his power was.

The chanting that had Joseph quite so agitated was of Sionis' name. Not his given name, no, of course not. His chosen name, his taken name. Cries, ecstatic, agonized, impassioned cries throughout the prison of "[b]Black Mask[/b]", accompanied by rhythmic banging. There were False Face members in the ranks of the prisoners, both legitimate and planted. The arrested had been easy to rally; the planted had been given their purpose. There were a few guards paid off too - just the right ones. Black Mask didn't want to waste more money and resources than was necessary. Somewhere below and behind him he heard a slow, dull rumble. It escaped the notice of the ignorant warden. 

"My game, Martin?" Black Mask replied. His voice was smooth, velvety but threatening, an edge of menace and a slightly off tone that curled his words. A persuasive voice that threatened to force you if you didn't comply willingly. And always, always that [i]mask.[/i] "I've enjoyed my stay, but...I have a pressing business meeting I must attend." He smiled again beneath the mask and nodded at the guards flanking the warden. The left placed a heavy hand on Joseph's shoulder, and the right moved over to a locked control box on the wall opposite Sionis' isolated cell. He unlocked and opened it, and then, flipping a few switches, threw the lever to open Sionis' cell - and a few others besides. False Facers or not, Black Mask didn't really mind. More people to thank him for freedom. More criminals fresh on the streets looking for work. Sionis walked forward out of his cell, and looked sideways at Joseph, who was visibly panicking and squirming under the iron grip of the guard he'd brought with him. The wrong guard. Black Mask was almost dismissive of him. But still, he might get bored. He looked at the guard holding him. 

"Bag him." The guard nodded, and suddenly wrenched a black bag over the warden's head, and then took him away. The other guard stepped to the side, allowing Black Mask to go first. He escorted him to the visitor's reception. There was a dry-cleaning bag there, and Black Mask opened it to reveal the pristine suit within. Tailor-made, a thing of beauty - he changed immediately, smoothing his lapels and doing up a single button. So much better than the ratty jumpsuit. When he stepped out into the lobby, the guard was wiping his face, layers of concealer coming off. His face - and indeed, the rest of his body - was completely covered in ink, patterns among patterns among patterns. Black Mask's lieutenant. 

"Tattoo." Sionis said. "Good to see you." Tattoo nodded, and then they strolled out, like they owned the place. Black Mask chuckled as he stepped into the jet-black bentley that was dutifully awaiting him, another Facer behind the wheel. Soon, he thought. Soon, he would. They drove away.