Chapter Thirteen
Arkham Asylum loomed above them, seeming to stretch on forever as it disappeared into the darkness. The night was still. Nothing seemed to move as if all creation were holding its breath, anticipating the storm to come. Ever since Joker had first made his appearance, the tension had been rising and now, crouching here next to Sal, waiting, it was almost too much for Nightwing to bear. "Let's get this over with," he growled.
"Patience," Sal replied. "You asked for my help and we've put a plan in place. It wouldn't do to mess it up now."
Nightwing knew he was right, but the inactivity was driving him insane. He just wanted to move, to get this over with once and for all. A voice crackled over his communicator.
"Are you in position?"
Nightwing almost nodded, but realized Batman couldn't see him. "Yeah. Is everything ready?"
The reply came in the affirmative. It was time.
Though they were working together, Sal still didn't want to reveal all his cards, which Nightwing respected, but which also meant that he didn't know where Sal had gotten his information. Such knowledge of Arkham and possibly other places as well could've been useful. He was also sure that the mobster had a backup plan for if Nightwing betrayed him to the police, but he needn't fear on that account. The vigilante had no reason for turning on him. If he became a problem in future, he could be dealt with, but Nightwing didn't think he would touch him even then on account of his connection with Huntress. Nightwing grinned slightly, ruefully. The heart was a curious thing. He just hoped that his wasn't as filled with darkness as past events had led him to believe.
However, these thoughts were cut short. It was time to move.
"Let's go," Sal murmured.
Nightwing didn't reply, simply led the way to the trapdoor, nearly invisible in the gloom. What had prompted its creation or that of the tunnel it was connected to, Nightwing could only guess at. However, it was their way in, Sal the key to this mission's success. So Nightwing didn't ask questions. Silently, the trapdoor opened on oiled hinges, surprising Nightwing who would have thought it rusty and obnoxiously loud in the still night. A rectangle of blackness, darker than the darkness surrounding them appeared in the ground and he hesitated.
"What's the matter?" Sal asked, though there wasn't actually a scrap of concern in his voice, "Why are you stopping? You of all people aren't scared of the dark, are you?"
"No," Nightwing replied. "Just of the things that lurk there."
Without another word, he leapt down and fell, falling for what felt an eternity, down, down, into the darkness, into a world he was very familiar with, that threatened to swallow him whole.
He struck what felt to be a metal floor and rolled to break his fall, crashing into a metallic wall, the sound of crashing metal ringing in his ears. Nightwing regained his balance and stared about in confusion and annoyance, unable to see a thing. Feeling about blindly in the darkness, he found he could touch every side of the - could it really be called a room? - at once. The horrible thought that this was a trap, that there was no way out and he had been tricked into entering his own prison, threatened to overtake him, consume him with fear, take away rational thought. He fought the fear and drove it back, searching for an explanation. Suddenly a rope dropped down from above, the end slapping against his shoulder. He could hear someone sliding down it and before long Sal stood next to him.
"How do we get out?" Nightwing whispered, the small room amplifying his voice.
"There's a vent somewhere around here," Sal replied absentmindedly, running his hands lower along the wall than Nightwing had. "It'll be all crawling from here on out, through the ventilation system."
"Do you think anyone heard us drop down?"
"I find it unlikely."
Nightwing wasn't so sure, but left it at that.
Crawling on his hands and knees through the ventilation shaft wasn't the most comfortable experience. Little was these days. He just hoped he wouldn't be too stiff when he got out on the other side. A punch a fraction of a second too slow could make the difference in a fight.
He stopped over a grate that allowed him to look down into the room below. It was the first opening he had come across and they'd been moving for longer than he cared to think about, giving him hope that their far from stealthy entrance had indeed gone unnoticed. He could see men moving around below, obviously thugs, though he wasn't sure whether they worked for Scarecrow or Joker. Probably didn't matter now anyway. Or maybe it did…
"Stop grinning like that," Sal whispered in an annoyed tone.
"Up for a little fun?" Nightwing asked.
"No."
"Trust me, this will help us defeat the Joker and save Huntress."
"What do you have in mind?" Sal asked suspiciously.
"With Scarecrow's and Joker's forces combined, they have twice the number of men. But perhaps we can use that to our advantage. What if we turned them on each other, got them to fight amongst themselves?"
"Maybe." The mobster was obviously considering the idea. "But how would you pull that off?" A pause, then, "I thought I told you to stop grinning like that."
"I wouldn't," Nightwing replied. "You're going to. I hate to say it, and I mean no offense, but you look more like one of those thugs than I do."
"No offense?" Sal growled, grabbing Nightwing by the collar.
"Look, I'm sure if we had the room, you would lift me off the ground, but this shaft is a little too cramped for us to start fighting."
Sal let go and sat glaring at Nightwing, but was obviously thinking about what he had said.
"So how exactly would this go down?"
"Pretend you're one of them. Sit back and listen until you can determine which men belong to which group. Then make some comments, throw around some insults, make sure whichever group you side with will back you up, then enrage the others, turning them against each other. Make sure as many people are there as possible to ensure the biggest brawl, but make sure neither Scarecrow nor Joker are around. Once the fight starts getting thick, make your getaway. Simple as that."
"Simple," Sal guffawed.
Nightwing slapped his hand over Sal's mouth, glancing down through the grate to make sure no one heard the outburst. Sal threw off Nightwing's hand and threw him a glare that would have made most stop in their tracks. But Nightwing had been reprimanded by the Batman on many occasions, so to him it was a pitiful attempt at intimidation.
"And what will you be doing while this is going on?"
"I'm going to look for Huntress. As long as Joker has her, he can use her as leverage against me, us, whatever. And once she's free, that's another fighter on our side."
Sal regarded him with a thoughtful expression. "You try to sound so cold and calculating, as if she is nothing but another piece in your grand scheme to defeat the Joker. But you have feelings for her, don't you?"
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Nightwing replied, turning and continuing down the ventilation shaft.
"Hey Nightwing."
"What?"
"Good luck."
"Same to you. With any luck, this war will end tonight."
Without a sound, Nightwing dropped into the dark room, landing lightly on the tiled floor. Perhaps it would have been better if he had stayed in the ventilation shaft, but he couldn't stand it anymore. A sense of urgency filled his body and he had to move, couldn't stay trapped in that tiny crawl space. His fists were itching for a fight, longing to sink into the scarred flesh of his oldest foe. But considering the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he would settle for an unsuspecting goon right about now. Stepping to the doorway, Nightwing looked out into the hall. There wasn't anyone in sight and he set off at a light jog, not wanting to run into anyone, at least not without some warning. Footsteps came to him down the hall and Nightwing pressed his back against the wall, next to a corner, waiting for them to turn right into him.
The grappling hook wrapped around one man's ankle, pulling him off his feet and catching another in its coils, wrapping and twisting and slithering like a serpent with a mind of its own. Another charged the attacker, raising a gun. The gun flew from his grip and slid across the floor, a boot striking his hand and then his knee, dislocating his kneecap and eliciting a cry of pain. A sleeping dart found the last target and one of those caught up in the grappling hook rope's coils. The man still clutching his knee received a kick to the head and fell unconscious. Only the first man remained awake, struggling against the rope wrapped around his feet and one of his arms.
Nightwing crouched next to him, his face a mask of dark fury. Whether or not the rage was real or only an act, the better to intimidate, will remain forever unknown. The vigilante's voice cut the man like a blade.
"Where's Huntress? Where's Joker's prisoner?"
"Go to hell!"
The last word ended rather sharply as Nightwing struck the thug across the face. "Let's try that again," Nightwing growled, grabbing the man by the throat and leaning in. "Where's huntress?"
"You'll never make me talk!"
"Is that so?"
The thug had only one arm free and with this he had been desperately searching for his knife. His fingers finally found it and he raised it, ready to thrust it into this vigilante's face. Nightwing grabbed his wrist, his other hand still on his throat, and forced the knife around, back toward its owner. The tip pierced the man's forehead, a single drop of blood dripping down his face. Terror now filled his eyes.
"The Joker will kill me if I talk."
"Not if I kill him first. Tell me what I need to know."
"He'll kill me," the man whimpered.
"Not if I kill you first," Nightwing snarled, maintaining the pressure of the knife.
Another crimson bead dripped down the man's face, mixing with a drop of sweat.
"Time's up," Nightwing pronounced.
"Wait! Wait!"
"What do you know?"
"The girl, she's being held in a cell near the roof so Joker can escape with her in his chopper if he needs to make a quick getaway. That's all I know, I swear."
"Where is this cell?"
"I told you everything I know!"
"Then you're of no further use to me."
Nightwing tightened his grip on the man's throat, cutting off any oxygen that would seek its way to the man's lungs. The thug struggled, making strangled gurgling sounds, eyes wide until they finally fluttered closed. Nightwing stood and dropped the knife onto the ground beside its owner. The man wasn't dead, only passed out from oxygen deprivation. All these men would wake soon enough and he would have to be long gone by then. He was still underground and it was a long way to the upper floors of Arkham Asylum.
"You're resisting. Why are you resisting? Never had someone stay not crazy for so long. It's very… interesting… And yet not at all satisfying." The Joker stood, pacing back and forth before Huntress. "One of two things can happen, you know. You can either go insane, like me," he made an exaggerated mock bow before going on, "or you can give into fear and go that particular route of crazy. My… accomplice… prefers that road, but I do not. It's not nearly so fun. So tell me dearie, why do you insist on hovering on that side of things? It's terribly annoying."
Huntress remained silent. She couldn't have spoken even if she wanted to. It required all her willpower and concentration not to slip into the abyss from which no mind can return. She had been fighting it for so long, seconds turning into minutes, minutes into hours, days into an eternity. She wanted to give in. She wanted to so badly. It would be so much easier to let go, to live without thought for her own well-being or that of anyone else. To let her mind wander down easier paths, more interesting paths, more fascinating paths. The Joker wasn't so bad once you got to know him. He was really a rather sweet guy. He had called her dearie, hadn't he? Maybe she could be his queen… Huntress shook herself violently, bringing her mind back, continuing the struggle. No, he was evil. He was vile and cruel and he sought the insanity of all of Gotham. She hated him. She would kill him. As soon as she could escape this hell. This prison of the mind. These chains that held her in place, dragging her down, down, ever downward into what she knew not. But whatever it was, it wasn't good.
The Joker stood and watched her, her movements revealing something of the struggle within. And he smiled. He could see in her eyes when she had slipped. When she had almost given in to the insanity. Given in to him. It wouldn't be long now. Soon she would be his and that would be the greatest revenge imaginable against the little songbird who had risen like a phoenix and wrapped himself in darkness. He would break. He would break completely and would either die, or he would kill. Either way, the Joker would win. For if the little songbird killed his enemy, he would become the enemy, spiraling ever downward, his wings clipped, his morality lost. The Joker would never die. But if he did, what better way to go than to bring someone down with him as his replacement?