A/N: Hey everybody… I hope you like this fic, but it's coming to a close within these last two chapters. Don't worry, I've already begun planning a sequel and a possible branch off of that sequel.

Special thanks to FalconHorror for helping me clean up this chapter and for following my story so long. Also thanks to Spyden for great tips and for giving me the ability to stop using 'God-lines' for the most part.

Two Sides: Depression and Fury

Wayne Manor: In the Process of Reconstruction

Bruce woke up, but kept his eyes closed; all of his memories of the previous night still vivid in his mind.

Rachel was dead.

The woman he loved had just been murdered by a lunatic who thought everything he did was funny. If only he had fought harder, worked faster, stayed with her the night she got kidnapped rather than rushing off because of some newsflash, she would still be alive. It was his fault, Batman was consuming him. She had been right; Bruce Wayne never came back from his journey. This symbol he had created came back instead. He was disgusted with himself. He had let Batman use him, rather than the other way around. He opened his eyes to see that he was in the reconstructed guest room in the bed, with bandages around his abdomen. He attempted to move and realized that he had forgotten about being shot by Penguin and falling out the window onto the Tumbler, he was in an extreme amount of pain.

"I see you've woken up, Master Wayne. Quite a fall you took, sir."

Bruce had a flash back to falling down the well. The bats. He had become his own fear and pain, leaving the true Bruce Wayne behind. It cost him a good friend and his best chance at happiness in many years.

"Yeah… how am I still alive Alfred?"

"Well, I noticed that you had a bullet in your stomach and, not being able to explain where it came from to a hospital, I called Lucius Fox, he took it out. He also did the honors of taking the Tumbler to Wayne Tower until you were physically able to use it again, sir."

"That's two times I owe you guys my life you know."

"Well, consider us even Master Wayne. From how much I know you have done for the entire city, we are actually far from it, I still owe you quite a few times over," he said with a chuckle. "In addition, I do believe that Mr. Fox knows as well, even though you haven't told him."

"Well, if he doesn't know, he's pretty thick considering he's lent me all my gear. How long was I out this time?"

"Almost a week sir, the Bat-signal was lit for the past two nights."

"Great, that'll increase Dent and Gordon's trust in me," Bruce said sarcastically.

"Sir, did you hear about Rachel?" Alfred asked hesitantly, still unsure about whether he should have asked or not.

Bruce was quiet for a moment, still dwelling in his sadness.

"Yeah Alfred, I heard," he choked, tears welling in his eyes.

"I'm terribly sorry sir. I know how much she meant to you."

Bruce went silent and stayed that way until Alfred left the room. He waited a while, and got up, still in extreme pain. He was able to ignore it partly due to his training and partly because he was still in shock over Rachel. He got dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and went to the Bat-Cave.

The Bat-Cave

Bruce looked at his suit. The one he used to do his real business in Gotham City, the Bat Suit. It was the suit that had caused him to sacrifice everything… no, the suit was the mark of the symbol he had become. Was it the training in Asia? No, that only gave the beast skill. Was it his travels with criminal affairs? No, that wasn't it either. He traced it all the way back to his parents' murder, the reason for everything. His inner torment furiously bubbled up again. The Bat was a shield, something to hide behind. It called to him. He needed it almost like a drug. He shut the cabinet and walked over to his computer. His cell phone lay beside it. He picked it up and looked at the screen on the front. It read: "One New Message: RACHEL". He flipped the cover and read the message:

"Bruce, Joker's hideout is the abandoned toy factory in the Nar"

He clenched the phone shut, tears rolling down his cheeks. The clown would suffer the wrath of the beast within him. Bruce Wayne's pain was to be ignored, Batman was going all out.

Joker's Hideout

Joker was in a state of utter glee. The Batman was at his fingertips, ready to be crushed. Or possibly, he was going to retire, seeing as how he caused the death of someone who, according to Ra's Al Ghul, was very important to him. He had a phone on his desk in his office and saw he had a message on his machine. He played it.

"Hello Mista Jokah, if you don't mind, I think I prefer Mista Jay. Anyways, my name is Harleen Quinzel and I would absolutely love to do an interview with you for my term paper. Your friend Mista Cobblepot has my address and phone number if you decide to do the interview. Until then Mista Jay."

Joker chuckled and dialed the Penguin's number. "Mr. Pot, I want you to give my underlings the address of a Ms. Harleen Quinzel, she's going to be joining me for dinner, and maybe something else." He began to laugh uncontrollably.

The Office of D.A. Harvey Dent

Dent was furious. Between having no sign of the Batman for a week, and no developments in the Joker or Maroni cases, he was turning out to be a bad district attorney. He should've known from the start that he couldn't leave the crime in the city to some nut in a costume. He put brown make-up on his face to make it look like dirt, and tore up his sleeves. He put on a pair of fingerless gloves and took to the streets, looking to put an end to at least one of his cases.

Wayne Tower

Batman found the Tumbler easily, and took it to the streets. He drove and the cars seemed to part, welcoming the return of the Batman from his week-long absence. He drove to the bridge that would lead to the Narrows; it was raised. He could take the time to go to Lieutenant Gordon to get it lowered, or he could try the new toy Fox gave to him. He chose the latter, and the Bat-Boat powered its way across the river into a cave in the side of the island known as the Narrows.

Gotham's Criminal Underworld

Harvey Dent was huddled by a can-fire listening for anything that would lead to Maroni.

"But the boss said that we needed more people before we started our war against Gotham," he heard. He spun his head and saw two men in conversation three feet behind him. He walked towards them.

"Yo, you guys lookin' for an extra man? I'm lookin' for some money," he said.

"What's your name? You look familiar," said the taller thug.

"John Smith, what the hell does it matter? You need another guy or what?"

"Well, yeah, but maybe we should take you to the boss, he makes the final call on who joins this operation."

Dent smirked. Not only was he being taken to Maroni's hideout, he was going to be able to hear his plot.

Joker's Hideout

Harleen Quinzel was at home, watching the news to see if her beloved Joker would make an appearance, when the doorbell rang. She turned the television off, got up, and walked to the door. She looked out the peephole and saw two men in suits outside, she chained the door and opened it.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" she asked.

"We think so. Are you Harleen Quinzel?"

"Yes sirs."

"Our boss wants to see you."

She momentarily panicked, but then realized that the Joker could be their boss.

"Just a moment." She shut the door, unchained it, put shoes on, and reopened it. They escorted her to a car. They drove until they reached the bridge to the Narrows, still raised. One of them said: "We've got her," into a walkie-talkie and the bridge lowered itself. She couldn't believe she was about to meet the Joker himself.

They pulled into a make-shift parking space in front of the abandoned toy factory and she got out. They went inside and she was taken to what she recognized as his stage. Then she saw him, in all his glory. The dark-green hair, the white skin, the black lips, the giant grin, the purple suit, all of it was there.

"Hello dear," he said. She was speechless.

"I daresay you know who I am, and you are Harleen Quinzel, the involuntary volunteer for my little experiment," he cackled continually for five minutes straight.

The Hideout of Boss Salvatore Maroni

Salvatore Maroni, age 54, was sitting at his desk enjoying a martini. With the clown distracting Gotham, he would be able to easily smuggle drugs and weapons in, and then he could start his master plan. Life was good, but in case his followers got sour, he had a shot glass full of acid on his desk. He heard a knock on his door.

"Enter." His two best thugs walked in and were accompanied by what would seem like a bum, at least to anyone to whom memorizing a face wasn't important.

"Well hello, Mr. Dent," he said. Dent looked shocked as the thugs grabbed his arms.

"Dent? I knew the face was familiar!"

"So, Mr. Dent," Maroni continued, "you fooled my thugs, and I refuse to believe that you wanted to join my little operation, so I can only assume you wanted to bust it. Too bad, now Gotham will have to find yet another district attorney."

Dent worked fast, he broke his right arm away from the thug on the right and whipped out the gun he had concealed in the back of his pants. He shot the thug on the right who was baffled by the escape and immediately turned and fired on the thug to the left. Both fell with gunshot wounds in the head. He pointed it towards Maroni who was a little surprised, but not shaken by the gun in his face. Dent pulled out a coin with two heads sides on it, one was scratched up.

"Heads, I'll take you to jail and you'll never see the light of day. Tails," he showed the scratched side, "and I'll blow your brains out right here." He flipped the coin and caught it, and looked at his hand. As he opened it, he felt liquid splash across the left side of his face and it began to burn. Maroni had thrown the acid onto him. He dropped the gun and clutched his face stumbling out of the office, a man in a black mask walked in after his departure.

"Everything alright, sir?" he asked.

"Yes, Roman, everything is just fine."

Joker's Hideout

Harleen Quinzel had been subjected to many tests and they all flashed through her mind as she lay in her new bed. Gas, lots of laughing gas, and fear, fear that she would lose the Joker now that she had him. Her door opened up and the Joker walked in.

"How are we after our little game of operation? I hope I didn't make your nose light up!" He began laughing hysterically. He escorted her to a bathroom. On the way, she looked down at herself. She was in a red and black, one piece, full body suit complete with gloves and feet. Still dazed she felt on top of her head, something was clinging just above her ears, a jester hat. When they got to the bathroom and she looked in the mirror, she would have screamed, if she was capable, she found it funny. Her face was white, with a bandits mask spirit-gummed to her eyes and she had black lips, which curved sharply upwards into a smile.

"Now," Joker said, "I think a little bit of a name change is in order my dear. You now get to be; Harley Quinn."

Harley laughed because it was all she could do. She was now just like the Joker, and she began to like it.

A/N: Okay, so Dent's transformation has begun, Harley Quinn is introduced, and BTW, for those of you that didn't know, Roman is Roman Sionis (The Black Mask) yet another Batman villain. Please R&R! Next chapter will be the last! Batman will confront Ra's yet again and… the Joker!