Life is strange. It's remarkable how circumstances change. Just a few months past bounty hunter Jonah Hex was tracking desperados in the Wild West, encountering animals of the four legged variety in his pursuits. Now fast forward one telegram later and here he is in gargantuan Gotham City, teeming with animals of the two legged variety, enlisted by the police in the search of a killer. Talk about a fish out of water. While he has trailed numerous killers before, the whys and wherefores diverse, he has rarely worked with officials, plying his craft alone.

It's been years since he's even seen a city, that sojourn after the war. It's a different milieu than he's accustomed, one so vast it's growing horizontally and vertically, with hotels offering hundreds of rooms. It is indeed a massive city with subsequent problems, the one pertinent to Hex the killer, an animal more vile than any he's confronted, rising from its claustrophobic confines and mean streets.

There is little room within the downtown district, a suffocating setting requiring awareness of your surroundings. The vermin here are legion with the city itself the incubator. He heard tales recounting Gotham as a living breathing entity and understands how the myth evolved. The fear is palpable, an aura hanging heavily over the city. No wonder it's birthed some of the strangest and scariest scoundrels in the country, establishing a reputation for that fact. Fuse that to a population of two hundred thousand and you have the ember of an inferno.

Hex's familiarity with outlaws and their rural environs provided an edge out West. Gotham however is a different concern, requiring the involvement of the police, a situation which exasperates him endlessly. If that wasn't enough there's another factor, psychologist Amadeus Arkham, exacting an even tighter straitjacket about him. While Hex is no stranger to probing the mindset of his prey, this tactic is beyond his approach. His protestations will not matter however. Dr. Arkham is along for the ride.

"Mr. Hex, I realize my involvement is new to you, but the commissioner himself requested my help, so hopefully our union can prove both accommodating and beneficial."

"I have nothing against you, Doctor. While I may appear a simple man with simple means, my results speak for themselves. You'd be surprised how often others do more harm than good."

"I assure you I have no intent on impeding your progress, nor do I fancy myself a physical man or hero. My expertise resides in cerebral realms and at that I am most skilled. You have nothing to lose by hearing my input."

"That learned talk is all fine and dandy, but when my life is on the line I rely on my instincts. Unfortunately time is short. The three days it took to get here has me already on my heels. Four people are dead at the hands of this bastard and I intend to make it no more."

"On that we agree. One reason I was enlisted was the brutality of the killings, giving the impression of pleasure derived by the culprit. I have worked with troubled minds and patterns are seen."

"I'm well aware of patterns. Whether a country boy or city slicker people behave in like ways. What about this brutality you mentioned?"

"It appears the victims were afflicted by pain before their deaths, as scowls were affixed to their faces. An examination of the bodies revealed no wounds or trauma, leading to the possibility of a drug or poison used. Unfortunately its determination will take time, as the science of toxicology is in its infancy."

"I've seen fear on the faces of men in deadly situations. Heart attacks maybe?"

"One person, possibly. Four people, three of whom were young and healthy? Doubtful. Too coincidental, and I don't believe in coincidence."

"Neither do I. Who were these people? Were they related in any way?"

"At this point the police have found no connections. This is a big city with more arriving each day. This too will take time."

"Then it's up to you and I, Doctor, and why I was called. We're partners now, and make no mistake, either through your know how or my spite we will find this man. Now I need to check into my hotel. We can meet for a few drinks later if you'd like. You do drink, don't you?"

"I do indeed, and I know just the place."

The fine doctor is not the only one able to size up an individual. Hex too is astute at picking up traits and mannerisms, already spotting a few in Arkham. Not the man you'd want beside you during a fight, but for his purpose quite welcome. Hex has no ego or qualms about sharing credit for the capture of any criminal. It's whether they help or hinder his cause that's his concern. He knows he's out of his normal environment, though confidant he can track any man anywhere.

His presence in Gotham is no happenstance. His reputation has resounded from the western territories, where his exploits are the stuff of legend, to the far reaches of the eastern seaboard. In this case it was the Reading Railroad that led to his employ. On numerous occasions he has recovered property for them, saving the railroad undue cost and public embarrassment. They provided the transport gratis to Gotham as a token of their gratitude.

It was a restless ride however, consumed by concern and doubt. Hex has never felt comfortable in the city, preferring his work alfresco. The snakes have a different bite from vantage points no plateaus can copy. He's confronted rabid animals before, wild on whisky and fueled by the devil's ire, but the madness here gives thought to any sane man. It's a brave new world, a psycho circus filled with freaks and clowns hell bent to hurt, a frightful dream come to life. Welcome to my nightmare.

It's evening and Hex's walk to his hotel traverses a rough section of town. Besides vendors hawking their wares and thrill seekers on the prowl the streets are bare. Anyone with any sense would heed the cautions of the police and stay indoors, but things are never that simple. People display an impervious manner toward crime, with the regrettable "Why me" epitomizing last words of the hapless victims.

His own experience with killers has been straightforward. It was personal. Not the case here, where the victims appear to have been chosen at random, making the killer's identity harder to fathom. The murders took place within three square miles, a critical factor in a city of Gotham's size. The precinct contains numerous night spots, indeed a significant aspect of it, with one in particular, the Polar Den, notorious for its excess and sinful clientele. It may be just the place to start.

"Doctor, are you familiar with the Polar Den?"

"That's the place I referred to earlier. How'd you hear of it?"

"Just talk. What do you know of it?"

"It's a hot spot catering to the seedy element. Odd since it's run by the head of one of the leading families of Gotham."

"Who might that be?"

"Cobblepot, Oscar Cobblepot. The entire family is involved in politics, but not above filling their coffers from the pockets of criminals."

"He sounds like just the man to see. Tell me more."

"He's not an easy man to meet, despite always being at the club attending to business or entertaining certain patrons. Despite its notoriety the Polar Den is the place where the pillars of Gotham society mingle with its trash and enjoy every shameful minute of it."

"Nothing strange there. As for Cobblepot leave him to me. What's he look like?"

"He has unique features, being short and rotund, with a face only a mother could love. Apparently childhood classmates taunted him endlessly while tagging him with a name that has stuck to this day. He's extremely sensitive about it. Word is some of those youths received their comeuppance tragically, and no one with any sense or a desire to stay healthy will dare utter it in his presence."

"What the hell is this name?"

"The Walrus."

Hex has decided it would be in everyone's best interests to explore the Den alone, a low profile approach enabling him to move freely without attachments or distractions. The club's entrance is impressive, employing a frozen tundra motif, with polar bears, seals, and penguins providing flavor. Security is present to forbid the unwanted riff raff, whoever they may be. Once inside he discovers an interior as spacious and elegant as any five star hotel, marveling at the inspiration involved in creating such a unique venue.

Despite its size it's difficult circulating with the throng in attendance. Discerning who's who is no mean feat, with his unfamiliarity with the local scofflaws placing him at a disadvantage. The women are magnificently dressed and exude a sophistication rarely seen. Even the men are notably attired. The saloon girls equally stand out with their stylish penguin outfits. While appropriate for Gotham Hex reflects on its oddity in comparison to his normal haunts, again making him feel displaced.

A quick look reveals no one fitting the description of Cobblepot. A man with his features would surely stand out, plus he'd be shadowed by bodyguards. The drinks are flowing freely adding to the atmosphere. Just as Hex is about to order one a commotion flares between a guard and a young woman, who appears to have been scolded. While bothered she turns, smiles, and seats herself at a table. Piqued by curiosity and bored of his own company Hex senses an opportunity, as she may be the one to confer for info. Of course it doesn't hurt that she's beautiful as well.

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

"You sure you want to? I'm not the most popular girl in the joint."

"I saw. What was that about?"

"The owner thinks I have something of his."

"Do you?"

"What business is that of yours, stranger?"

"None. Just between you and me I'm more interested in him than his property."

"Why?"

"I'm hoping he can lead me to some one."

"What are you, a cop? You're not from around here."

"Yes, and no. Any other questions?"

"What do you want with Cobblepot?"

"He seems to be a man who knows many people, certain types of people. That kind of man can be helpful to me."

"Who you looking for?"

"A killer."

"You are a cop. Aren't you out of your jurisdiction, sheriff?"

"Does it matter?"

"Cobblepot doesn't know anything. He's as worried as everybody else. Whoever this clown is is someone all to himself playing his sick games, and probably having a good laugh while doing so."

"Then it's time to shut this joker down, don't you think?"

"Right now I have other concerns."

"You did take something from Cobblepot. What was it?"

"I'm an animal lover. The item in dispute is a jade lynx."

"They say possession is nine tenths of the law."

"Tell that to him."

"If he can't help me the hell with him, though you might want to reconsider the company you keep."

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"You're an interesting woman. Under different circumstances…. Maybe we'll meet again."

"I like you, stranger. Now don't take offense, but that scar of yours. Anyone ever call you Two Face?"

"I've been called worse. What do they call you?"

"Due to my passion some call me the Cat Lady, but to my friends I'm just Sabrina, Sabrina Kyle."

Hex ponders his conversation with Miss Kyle. She's a thief, yet undaunted by the likes of Cobblepot. Add her intoxicating looks and feline wiles and the upshot is a woman not to be taken lightly. As for Cobblepot he appears to be a dead end. While not productive directly the night wasn't a total wash, as he's getting a feel for the town and the animals that stalk it. It's living up to its standing with a cast of characters worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy. The pertinent question to Hex is what role he plays, and how he can strike gold while doing so.

Given the unrelated nature of the victims, the next avenue to explore is the toxin used in their deaths. Hex has encountered numerous drugs and herbs in his travels. The Wild West is known for plants capable of all manner of mind alteration or physical encumbrance. Under similar conditions he would consult a shaman. While their presence in Gotham is doubtful, there should be related practitioners like spiritualists, mediums, or horticulturists he could enlist for info. A chat with Arkham produces a name, Patricia Isley, a botany authority and environmentalist, a new principle to Hex though one he understands. May she have the answers he seeks.

"Miss Isley, thank you for seeing me."

"My pleasure. Please, come in."

"I understand you already talked to the police. Now it's my turn. What can you tell me?"

"Let's start with the basics. There are few plants known to man that can cause death, nonetheless painful ones. Most produce a soporific effect that could induce coma, but even those are rare. Negotiating the problems of identification and acquisition is the first step. There are books that contain this information. However you still have to refine the plant to its concentrated form. Few require ingestion to produce the results. They're not potent enough. Large quantities are needed, which is not only impractical but improbable. This demands training and equipment, narrowing the field of suspects dramatically. Ergo this is no common criminal but one of intelligence and conviction. Either that or he has help."

"You sound like a fan. Who might have this training or equipment?"

"Two people I know. Dr. Arkham…..and me."

"Interesting. What do you know of Arkham?"

"He means well, though he's haunted by demons. His grandfather and mother suffered from madness, triggering a psychotic fear inside him. This obsession has been transferred to his work, which is all consuming. I empathize."

"I hear you're an environmentalist. For a simple country boy like me, what is that?"

"I believe in the preservation of the earth and its flora. Unfortunately we are inflicting damage by our profligate ways and it's only getting worse. The industrial revolution with its belching smoke stacks and noxious waste was just the beginning. It's a radical problem requiring radical means, and there are some willing to do what's necessary to avenge those wronged."

"You make it sound like they're people."

"I feel their pain."

"Are you one of these radical people?"

"Perhaps."

"I've been in Gotham one damn day and you're the second woman I've met full of piss and vinegar. What is it with this place, the water?"

"The water, air, earth and what it gloriously bears."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm a man of nature myself. All the same I know change is constant, much as I may dislike it. However using its darkness to further light is a path best forgotten."

"We must follow our hearts and damn the consequence. Let history be the arbiter of our actions."

"I'm not sure your role, but I would hate for us to end on opposite sides."

"A rose is a product of nature, beautiful, fragrant, symbolizing love and devotion, yet defended by gallant thorns. It's a striking example of nature protecting herself, though not nearly enough. It needs an advocate, icon….Poison Ivy."

"Be careful, Miss Isley. Prisons are filled with rebels with a cause."

"My conscience is clear, Mr. Hex. Is yours?"

"Our values are alike, though I have the law behind me. When you take matters into your own hands trouble awaits. You're an attractive woman. I'd hate for something bad to happen to you. Fight for what you believe in, but heed my words. If you're involved I'll be back."

"If that's what the fates decree, let the side of right prevail. Good day."

In the span of twelve hours Hex has met two of the most provocative women in his entire life. While Miss Kyle's plundering appears to be confined to Cobblepot, the same cannot be said for Isley. Her unease is vast and fiercely focused. She's a woman with a keen desire to punish the world for its ecological sins. Though vindictive it's hard imagining her as killer, though accomplice is possible. For that to happen the victims would require some connection to the environment.

And what of Arkham? Were her remarks a way of deflecting attention, or is there substance to them. His family history and personal anguish are germane, plus his office is near the murder scenes. Does he have motive, though madness requires none. For answers Hex needs to speak with commissioner Howard Bullock to learn if anything new has been uncovered on the victims. A ray of light shed on Arkham's sanity would help as well.

"Mr. Bullock."

"Mr. Hex, just the man I wanted to see. Come in."

"Anything new?"

"More bad news I'm afraid. There's been another murder. Same area, same M.O., male in his thirties. No marks or trauma. It appears to be poison again, though in that regard we may have a lead. Let me introduce our pathologist, Dr. Laura Thompkins."

"Gentlemen, if you'll follow me."

"Doctor, tell me about the poison."

"It took time but we narrowed it down. It's not plant based as originally thought but spider venom. However it's not venom alone but another element, nitrous oxide. It was the discovery of the N.O. that led to the breakthrough."

"How'd you come up with that?"

"We looked for it. You'll know what I mean when you see the last victim…..Here."

"All I see is the same damn scowl."

"That's what we thought, but let's view this from a different angle. Mr. Hex, have you been to the dentist lately?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Did he give you anything to deaden the pain?"

"Laughing gas."

"Exactly. Now look at the mouth and corner of the eyes. The effect on this one is pronounced, making me believe the killer has perfected his toxin. You see, this is not a grimace. It's a smile."

As if Gotham wasn't bad enough, it now has a monster murdering people with joker venom. Always leave 'em laughing as the comics say. Earlier Arkham mentioned patterns. As a psychologist he would be familiar with another aspect of evaluation. Profiles. What kind of man concocts killer cocktails for laughs. Sabrina Kyle made reference to it, not knowing how insightful she was. Meanwhile Patricia Isley suggested someone educated was involved. Why not Arkham, in league with a former patient. He would have quite the laugh investigating his own crimes. Though far from guilty signs point toward him, and if timing's everything it's time to turn the tables and test the good doctor's sense of humor. Let's see him keep a straight face now that Hex is in on the joke.

Arkham works at a sanitarium on the outskirts of town, a decrepit locale inhabited by the sorriest souls of Gotham. It's fraught with gothic architecture befitting the Victorian Age. Alas madhouses are nothing new. These chambers of horror have existed throughout time, as there's been no shortage of patients diagnosed as deranged. Treatment was lacking and research limited, so little curing occurred.

Arkham's interest in psychiatry stemmed from his grandfather and escalated with his mother. He soon discovered a profession comprising long hours spent in vain attempts to help those beyond salvage. It didn't help that his facility is deficient in equipment and trained staff. He's intent on establishing his own asylum founded on progressive, compassionate care for the mentally ill. It boggles the mind to think incarceration and lobotomies are still components of therapy. The twentieth century is looming and it's long overdue to bury the Stone Age.

Hex's plan is to examine records of Arkham's patients in the hopes of finding a name, any name, that may be connected to the murders. They could be the means to Arkham's mania but complicit nonetheless. Commissioner Bullock set up a conference with Helene Quinzel, an intern familiar with the flock. He arranged the meet after hours when Arkham would be gone. Given the context it's appropriate keeping the doctor in the dark.

"Good evening."

"Good evening to you, sir. Welcome to Bedlam."

"What a hellish name. What's a pretty young woman like you doing here?"

"It's my chosen profession and one I take seriously. We all need help at times."

"Some more than others by the looks of it."

"There are dark sides to life, Mr. Hex. You of all people know."

"I can touch the darkness I face."

"Appropriate metaphor, considering some of these people may not be here if they were touched as a child. A caress, an embrace….."

"Many of us had rough childhoods. We didn't become burdens on society."

"Everyone's not alike, and I don't see them as burdens. I consider my calling a blessing."

"I appreciate your concern and don't mean to sound callous, but I'm tracking a killer and he may reside here."

"That's yet to be determined."

"Bullock said you could provide information on the patients, especially the ones Arkham treated."

"I know you're interested in the violent ones. There is one, a Vincent Zsasz, who committed murders over a period of two years. The doctor made him a priority."

"How did he kill his victims?"

"Stabbing, garroting, bludgeoning. It was all quite gruesome."

"Did he ever use a drug or poison?"

"Not that I'm aware."

"The killer seems to obtain pleasure from these crimes, as if it's one big joke. Does that remind you of anyone?"

"Wow, you described John."

"John?"

"John Napier, a former patient. He had a fiendish sense of humor, mostly in good fun."

"Mostly?"

"His jokes could get mean. You didn't want to get on his bad side, that's for sure. But I liked him. There was a danger I found attractive, a walk on the wild side I suppose. He could be so intense. One moment he'd be all laughs, the next furious."

"Weren't you afraid?"

"No. I understood him, brought out his funny side. He liked being a joker and wanted me to play along. I wanted to please him…"

"Why was he here?"

"He committed robberies dressed as a, well, it's almost too silly to mention."

"Go ahead. What was he dressed as?"

"A clown."

Finally a name, John Napier, a criminal with a sick sense of humor who enjoys parading as a clown. Plus he was attended by Arkham who released him despite the objections of others. It fits. While his past is void of violence his personality concedes the chance. He's not believed intelligent enough to concoct the toxin himself, though he did read books.

His whereabouts are unknown, but considering the murders took place in a small area he's likely nearby. He was released legally so he's not wanted by the law, though with his record they have every right to question him. The big question is why'd Arkham release him against the advice of others, and what role he played in the toxin. It's time for one last talk.

Despite spending most of his time at the sanitarium Arkham does enjoy a night life, frequenting The Cave, a tavern in the heart of the city. After a grueling day at work he would relax over a few drinks. The Cave fits its appellation, a dark, dingy joint, yet possessing an eerie ambiance. According to reports the doctor is in attendance. It's just a matter of finding him amidst the refuse drowning their sorrows.

Psychiatry is a conflicted profession. If one deals with scarred minds enough will theirs be next? Food for thought as Hex spies him fiddling with his glass. A modern day Nero while Gotham burns?

"Doctor, we need to talk."

"I can't say I wasn't expecting you."

"Anything you'd like to say?"

"The vocation of psychiatry is a trying one. The mind is a baffling thing. There are so few victories yet so many failures."

"Excuses mean little when people die."

"I'm not looking for absolution. Compassion maybe. If I knew at the time…."

"What the hell was going on? Where's Napier?"

"So you know about him. Our sessions were wide ranging, covering many topics, religion, philosophy, good vs. evil, the meaning of life. He was searching for something."

"We're all searching for something. It doesn't come at the expense of others."

"When dealing with the mind things are never simple. Your world is black and white. Mine includes shades of grey that govern the moral spectrum."

"For me it's a matter of necessity. It's guys like you in your white coats and apologies that make these bastards think what they're doing isn't wrong, and innocent people pay. I'm the one on the front lines while you're in your labs. Well I don't buy it for one damn minute."

"Our aim is to enlighten, not excuse, and hopefully affect positive change in troubled minds. It is complex and denying that complicates matters further."

"I've known you for only two days and already know what makes you tick. You reek of fear. While many regret the past you're deathly afraid of the future. You're terrified you'll go mad like your family, an ironic position for a man in your profession."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't troubled. I'm racing the clock to find a cure for something that may be incurable, though unlike most I have the means to help myself. My motive is just. The method…."

"What have you been up to in that god forsaken place?"

"Experiments. You talked about fear being at the heart of the matter, but along with that came another problem. Depression. Napier experienced it endlessly, mostly out of boredom, which was the catalyst for his behavior. Every method I tried produced no results, so I thought I'd try something different. We have nitrous oxide at the hospital for dental use. It not only deadens pain but elevates the spirit. Why not use it in connection with another drug to see its effect. That was only the beginning."

"Napier liked it."

"He loved it."

"Then one of you discovered the sick side to the experiments, the smile pasted on everyone's face. What was the other drug, Doctor?"

"A form of curare, which accounts for the paralysis. I first noticed it on another patient. A smirk was affixed to his face constantly. At first I didn't think much of it, but when I noticed it the next day I knew there was cause for concern. The same thing happened to Napier. He noticed it himself, but was not only unmoved he thought it hilarious. Things got worse from there."

"It twisted what little mind he had left."

"He said as long as he had a constant smile he might as well have some laughs to go with it. He struck me and escaped out a window. I never did release him. I faked the story to avoid discovery of the experiments. They were unethical. I would have been ruined professionally."

"So to save your ass you let a madman on the streets, and even when the bodies appeared you said nothing."

"That is something I will have to live with for the rest of my life."

"Where is he, Doctor? Where is Napier?"

"I'm not sure. He may be in an abandoned amusement park. He has gone completely mad, to the point of wearing a costume."

"Let me guess. He's dressed as a clown."

From Arkham's directions the amusement park is located. It appears to have been deserted for years, with litter blowing briskly by a winter wind. No gates or barriers are present to deter drifters from making it their home, or in Napier's case his lair. Strangely the rides are in working order defying their long disuse. It's odd picturing children enjoying the recreation in its state. Telling that someone would make this their hideout. Any sane person would run to the nearest exit.

Like other risky situations Hex has entered he quickly scans the surroundings, the ground and above. For now he's alone, along with his concealed prey perhaps. If he's here he may have established safeguards to alert him of visitors, possibly being aware of his presence already. No use delaying the inevitable. Step in to my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

"Napier!"

Silence.

"Napier! Where the hell are you? I've come a long way to see you."

"….And who might you be?"

"There you are. Well well."

"You have a lot of nerve coming here, alone. You're either a very brave man, or a very foolish one."

"A bit of both, I'm afraid."

"I don't take kindly to strangers."

"I don't take kindly to killers."

"Such harsh words, and you haven't introduced yourself. You have me at a disadvantage, sir."

"The name's Hex. I'm the truant officer."

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"No."

"In my house I make the jokes."

"I heard you fancy yourself a comedian, but I don't find murder funny."

"Murder can be a downright gas, get it?"

"The only punch line I'm interested in is the one to your face."

"Speaking of faces look at yours. Anyone ever call you Two Face?"

"Someone already beat you to that one. You need new writers."

"I'm capable of doing my own material, thank you very much. It's an art. It comes from within. I find inspiration wherever I go, whoever I meet."

"The people you meet don't end so well."

"Screw 'em if they can't take a joke."

"It's not so funny when the joke's on you."

"But it is. They all die laughing."

"Why? Just tell me. Why?"

"Would you believe to avenge a loved one, for money, simply for a few laughs? We're all fodder for the gods. Life is cheap and the joke's on us."

"It depends on whose life you're talking."

"Shakespeare said it best. We're but actors on a stage having our moment in the spotlight, then poof. Understudy!"

"Some of us are tired being cast in the same role chasing bastards like you."

"They say the villain is the juiciest role of all. Perhaps that's why I'm attracted to it. I was made for the part."

"You were made for a straightjacket."

"Now now, just when we're becoming friends."

"Guys like you, even at the end of a rope, the scales never balance. The pain you cause long outlives your cursed body."

"We're all cursed. Call it kismet, call it original sin. I refuse to play."

"You think you can make your own rules?"

"I play the joker but I'm no fool. I represent discord, conflict, chaos. The yin to your yang. Without me you're nothing."

"For a clown you take yourself too seriously."

"I never take myself seriously. Where's the fun in that."

"If it's fun you want there's this place called Bedlam. The name says it all, but I forgot. You've already been there."

"You know I like you. You're in the presence of a killer and nary a flinch. You can take a joke and dish one out. But with that face of yours you've probably been the butt of a lot of jokes."

"That's the difference between you and me. I didn't go crying to some shrink the first time life threw me a lemon. Arkham said you've been crying your whole life. Now what would your momma say?"

"That was below the belt. I'm not sure I do like you."

"Typical bully. Once you push they run."

"You'd be surprised how I can push."

"Playtime's over. Let's go."

"We'll see who gets the last laugh."

At that moment Napier rushes out of the building. Adjacent to the park is a walkway traversing a body of water reeking of filth and sewage. Beyond that is a grove a trees, that once inside, will be difficult to find anyone. The only way to the trees is across the walkway. It's a dilapidated passage with one misstep and it's a long drop to a watery grave.

Napier is reckless, finding the chase amusing. He doesn't seem aware of the gravity of his surroundings, thoughtlessly jumping hither and fro over the cracks in the walkway. Hex may be fearless but not rash, carefully choosing a path void of risks. The creeks of the boards elicit chills. It's madness just being on them. Napier continues to show disregard for his safety, straddling the side of the walkway to avoid missing boards. One slight slip.…..one slight slip…...and it happens. His balance is lost while losing contact. Hex is too far away to do anything but stare at the hapless joker. Strangely enough no fear is shown. Instead a smile appears, followed by raucous laughter as he plunges down toward the stygian darkness. Looks like he did get the last laugh.

Hex reflects on his experience in Gotham, a curious ordeal defined by its environment. It is a unique city inciting unique problems, crime being but one of them. He doesn't envy its lawmen. The town is too dark, too fearsome, creating a different class of criminal, Napier the first of its kind. Traditional enforcement techniques may not be enough. It may require someone outside the law, outside the constraints of statutes and courts. Someone just as dark to combat its elements, a clandestine force on the side of right. Not a sheriff or cop, but an outsider, a vigilante, one accountable only to himself and his conscious. Someone whose identity remains secret, an avenger cloaked in costume, serving the purpose of concealment while striking fear in the hearts of the superstitious and cowardly. Will this city birth such a man? Time will tell.