Dick turned on the siren and flashing lights of the car and took off the Nightwing mask. Though he still wore the rest of his costume, he figured it was dark enough that none of the passing drivers would identify the insignia. The driving itself would be nearly effortless that way – he could weave in and out of traffic as he pleased if all of the civilian drivers assumed he was legitimately a police officer. It would hardly take twenty minutes to get to Arkham at that rate.

As he took off down the freeway, the siren was louder than life, but it did nothing to drown out the screaming in his own head.

How dare Bruce not tell him what had happened? How dare Tim warn him not to get involved? How dare Barbara…

What had Barbara done?

Dick didn't know. He didn't care, either. He just knew that his anger was striking out against everyone in the entire world. Logically, he knew the Joker was to blame, but he had far too much rage to focus it in on a single man. The Joker was going down, and anybody who got in the way was going down, too.

So there.

Just barely making it through a yellow light, Dick crossed over onto the bridge to Arkham Island. He could hear the dull, hollow sound of the polluted water underneath and randomly wondered what would happen if the bridge collapsed and he tumbled into that tumultuous cesspool.

It wouldn't matter, he finally decided. As soon as he could get out of the submerged car, he would start swimming and end up at Arkham that way.

He wasn't going to be stopped. That's all there was to it.

Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately – there were no bridge collapses. Dick found himself navigating the dark streets of the Gotham Narrows even sooner than he could have suspected.

There was, actually, one minor deterrent. A gang of what appeared to be misdirected high school students decided it would be badass to stand in the way of his car and make faces. Dick imagined it was for reasons like that that the GCPD always went out to the Narrows en masse. More intimidation equals less threat, after all.

The gang held out for an impressively long time. However, when Dick gunned the motor of the four-cylinder sedan (even though it sounded absolutely pathetic) they scattered quickly.

Bet they'd never lost a game of chicken to a cop car before that day.

Heheh.

Arkham loomed out of the darkness soon after that, appearing to resemble a 1930s silent film representation of Dracula's castle. The Arkham family had been quite eccentric; that really went without saying. Putting their strangeness to good use – at least as they saw it – they constructed a medieval architectural monstrosity in the heart of metropolitan Gotham city, lived in it for a couple of years, and then donated it to the government to be used as an insane asylum.

To each their own, Dick decided.

He hadn't ever really had anything against Jeremiah Arkham or any of his family. Hopefully the doctor wouldn't be in that evening, because if he was, he would undoubtedly get in the way.

And as Dick had previously decided, that would be unwise.

He parked the car right in front of the entrance – a privilege reserved for civil servants – and pulled his mask back on. When he got out, he carelessly slammed the door shut and took off running up the steps. As the heavy oak door loomed before him, however, Nightwing realized that it would probably look suspicious to arrive breathless at the front desk. He tried to compose himself as quickly as possible before entering.

The asylum had this eerie, peaceful aura about it during the night. It was unnerving at first but decidedly preferable to the gurneys and straightjackets that circulated during daylight hours. Nightwing approached the front desk, his clenched fists hidden by the tall counter where the night watchmen sat.

"I'm here for an interrogation," Dick said casually. "On Batman's behalf."

"Of course," the officer replied, obviously familiar with the fact that Batman pretty much ran Arkham. "What patient do you need to see?

"The Joker."

Dick hoped the malice dripping from his voice wasn't as obvious to anyone else as it was to him. Though the watchman paused and bit his lip, Dick's tone was not the reason.

"I'm sorry, sir, but our orders regarding the Joker are very specific. He's in solitary right now, and won't be allowed out until the day of his trial."

"From whom did these orders originate?" Nightwing demanded.

"Commissioner Gordon," the man replied. "He was pretty firm."

Nightwing felt as though he should have been daunted, but he definitely wasn't.

"Gordon operates here at Arkham under Batman's authority," he explained, though he knew it was technically the other way around. "Orders from the Batman override his."

The watchman still looked unconvinced.

"John, what do you think?" he asked, turning to his fellow officer. John didn't bother looking up from his newspaper.

"You should know by now, Tony, Batman's word is law," he said gruffly. "Dr. Arkham sure bitches about it enough."

Nightwing probably would have smirked, under any other circumstances. However, he was in too much of a hurry. Not waiting for a confirmation from the original officer – Tony, evidently – he took off at a jog for the solitary confinement wing of the Asylum. Patients craned in their cells to get a look at him, but Dick hardly noticed. He was so focused that he was actually surprised when he found himself in front of the Joker's cell so suddenly.

Cell 24F. Same as always.

With trembling fingers, Nightwing keyed in the code that would unlock the Joker's door. As it swung open, he braced himself to tackle the cell's occupant.

But nothing happened.