Bruce keeps having nightmares. His parents are sitting in a tea party. But they cannot reach their cups.

"Bruce!"

"Help us!"

He cannot lift the cups. They will not budge.

"It will give us tea or else it gets the hose again."

Little Bruce shakes his head, but daddy keeps being mean.

"Or else it gets the hose again."

Little Bruce shakes his head, screaming.

"Stahp!"

His mother sighs in pain.

"It's because of all that candy we gave him as a child."


Gordon steps fuming out of the holding cell.

"Alright, which one of you jokers was it?"

The officers of the law look puzzled at their leader.

"Sir?"

Sparks shoot from his eyes as he stares down the closest insolent nobody.

"I swear, I turn my back for one damned minute and this happens!"

"What did?"

He storms back into the holding cell, everyone and their mother fast on his heels. He points a trembling finger at the man in the cell.

"That," he snarls as they gasp in horror. "Someone's stolen Harvey Dent's face!"

The radioactive cricket-men in the next cell chirp as everyone takes a long, good look at Harvey Dent's completely faceless head.

"I don't know sir," says a nameless cop, "I don't think I've ever seen him so peaceful. Maybe he likes being this way."

Gordon's heart-attack grows ever nearer. He brings his quivering mustache up close and personal.

"We can't really ask him, now can we?"


The Mad Hatter crashes through the front door in a go-kart. He is dressed dashingly, and refuses to leave. Bruce reclines on the rail of the balcony.

"O-o-oh! Give me salt to eat so that my tongue might shrivel and my sorrow fall silent!"

Stephanie is quick to respond.

"Right away, Bruce."

He eats the salt, and goes quiet.


"We have with us here in the studio accomplished dancer, singer and chiropractor, Bane Garcia Banezales, and his translator, a clown."

The Joker smiles at the cameras, while Bane looks slightly annoyed.

"Now, Bane, can I call you Bane?"

Bane says nothing, but the furious glare might mean assent.

"Bane, you recently published the book Inner Peace: A Three Step Journey, to critical acclaim. With rising violence in the streets of the city, do you stand by the claim you make in your book, that more violence is the answer?"

He nods.

"Absolutamente."

The clown smiles.

"Absolutely."

The reporter nods thoughtfully.

"And would you say society is in some shape or form to blame?"

Bane flexes, perhaps involuntarily.

"Pero, por supuesto."

The clown ponders this one.

"Dogs, of course."

The reporter is excited.

"Dogs?"

Bane takes a deep breath. The clown turns to him.

"Was machen die Blumen jetzt, wenn sie haben keinen Freund oder Geliebte?"

The muscle man growls as he turns to the reporter.

"This is ridiculous! I speak perfect English."

The reporter watches the clown with great expectation. He lifts a finger.

"Hold on a second, not sure I got that myself." He turns again to Bane. "Und das Schiff? Mit act Segeln, und mit Funfzich Kannonen?"

The veins stand out healthily all over Bane's arms. He shakes with fury, or foreignness.

"Maldito payaso. Enough! You will stop babbling, she will start listening or I will leave."

The reporter smiles hopefully at the clown as he turns to her with an awe-stricken look.

"Why…this is something completely unexpected! Mr. Banezales has just proposed to me!"

Everyone gasps. Bane jumps to his feet and moves to exterminate the clown, only to slip on a handy banana peel and fall onto one knee. Everyone gasps some more.

"And I have said yes!"

Joker giggles giddily, waving a shiny ring that has materialized on his finger. The reporter swerves her head back.

"Bring out the dancers! The music!"

They do. There is rice and excitement everywhere, people swarm the stage in a flurry of excitement, the camera zooms in on Bane as he grits his teeth and flings people this way and that, all while trying to rid himself of the Joker, who has flung himself into his strong arms and simply refuses to come off.

Seated before her television, Harley stares with great intensity at the proceedings as blood flows freely down her face, from her many popped blood vessels.


"Wow, Talia. You've changed."

"Yep."

"Those are some serious muscles."

"I know."

She pulls back her sleeves and starts flexing.

"Wait a minute."

She does not. A single drop of sweat runs down her arm.

"Those aren't biceps."

Talia blinks. Everyone takes a closer look, through the prism of the sweat drop.

"That's Harvey's face!"

Indeed it is. Talia's biceps are, in fact, Harvey's face. Bruce looks ready to crack some skulls over this matter.

"Stop, Bruce."

Dick's hand alights on his shoulder. Alfred's hand soon follows. As does Cass'. And lots of other hands.

"This isn't some nightmare or trap, no fever dream or chaotic illusion or a load of bullshit. This is life. Stop trying to run from it."

Bruce's breathing calms. His eyes fall on the Mad Hatter and his go-kart ride. He runs over to the magnificent vehicle and jumps in, swinging his hair back before putting on a Bat-helmet. He looks at his proud family with emotion in his eyes.

"If anyone needs me I'll be down there in the city." He lets out a deep breath, and smiles. "Living."

The go-kart screams off in a black cloud of smoke, and soon they are out of sight.


Dick steps out to go for a walk on the manor grounds. The sun is shining, he feels the pleasant heat on his skin. All over the skin on his forearms there are little hairs, neat and organized, but some seem out of place. He looks back up at his picturesque surroundings and wonders just how badly the scientists have fucked up his life. The gravel road crunches under his feet, every grain in its right place; his shoes the grinder, they the corn. There is a light breeze in the air, and it brings with it the pleasant fragrance of summer. Through lidded eyes he watches the perfection of the garden, the tiny blades of grass swaying. He slows down at the pond and reaches down into the cool water. The coin he pulls up is too grimy to be inspected closely, he coolly drops it in his pocket, he will decipher its meaning later. He keeps walking, peering up into the clear, blue sky. He smiles confidently to himself. He knows they are watching. A bird tweets somewhere in the trees. He runs a hand through his slightly sweaty hair, the fakeness of his surroundings is getting to him. He shakes off the indecision and keeps walking. There is a lion up ahead, on the gravel road, staring at him. He crouches and coos a few 'here boy's at him. The lion roars and jumps him, but he hugs it before it can harm him. Soon it is running away, casting the occasional scared glance back. He stands and keeps walking, he is a friend of all living beings, apart from them, but they're not real living beings, just scum. His feet keep moving, almost completely on their own, he watches the clouds above for discrepancies but finds none so he checks the bushes, but someone asks him what he's doing so he plays it cool and walks away, pretending not to hear while trying to hear the things they didn't say, the things that really matter, but the person is wily, like they always are, and he doesn't hear a thing they don't want him to. Sometimes he thinks about just how quickly this world would crumble if people realized how fragile it is. The whole thing runs on faith. He goes off the gravel now, wanting to silence his footsteps, and wanders among the foliage. A hand sticks out of one of the bushes. He casts a quick glance around to make sure no-one's around. With little fingers he shakes the hand. He is pulled into the bushes and the voices tell him how it is, about the hidden meaning in every lie told and the symbolism of even the most ordinary fence post. He runs away singing 'I want to break free' at the top of his lungs, but off key, to stay off radar, and all the while thinking furiously that his name is something other than it really is, to make sure they can't pick his identity out with their machines.

Ftera lla, fi ouy an'tc rustt het andh hatt eedsf ouy, how anc ouy rustt? Nylo ofyursel. Hety ryt to akme ouy elibeve ou'yre elphless loane, utb ou'yre otn. Once you make it to the woods they can't track you without being physically there. This dnoca you.