Batman was as ready as he'd ever be.

Armed with the long-range EMP rifle Lucius developed and armed Batman with over a week ago, he stood vigilant atop one of the highest points on the west side of Gotham. Lucius hadn't been able to stop the drones, but Batman knew where they were coming from and what their target was. He didn't know if Miriam did it on purpose or not, but it was too much of a boon to have been a mistake. He took that as a sign that there was enough in her that remained whole.

He was worried, he'd be foolish not to be. No sooner had Lucius sent the coordinates to Batman and informed him of his progress on diverting the drones than the sounds of gunfire and screams overshadowed Lucius' voice before the line went dead. Batman knew where he needed to go next, but this came first.

Jets zoomed overhead as dusk settled on the city in a heavy blanket, bringing the cold with it. The wind was especially strong from atop the skyscraper that overlooked the Gotham River, but his perch overlooked the direction the drones should be coming from. Lucius had also managed to give Batman one more advantage in the revamping of his suit: it was augmented to pick up energy signatures. He could see the ones particular to the drones in the approaching dark when they got in range after Lucius synced his HUD to the signal.

Gordon was somewhere far below, working to contain the riots. While he stemmed the tide of total upheaval, Batman was the force that would keep the crippled system from crumbling completely. The Joker did his work well, and now it was Batman's turn. There could be no hesitation, no doubts that could hinder him from succeeding. He entrusted Gordon with the task of keeping the people of Gotham safe, and it was up to him to ensure Gordon could succeed.

Armed with his rifle, his utility belt, and the ability to glide through the air, Batman had nothing else to help him now. Perhaps it was arrogance, too much self-assuredness and hubris, but he felt like the odds were even in this specific theatre. He could do this. Batman had no other choice.

The drones might have been near-silent, but the fighter jets weren't. When the first missile shot through the air, Batman readied himself, watching the horizon for the drones. A burst of fire lit up the darkening sky, debris falling in arcs of smoke to the river below. The jets screamed past, getting ready to chase the other three, but Batman couldn't leave anything to chance. He had to get them before their paths diverged for their different targets.

With his modified specs, Batman could see the three heading right for him. Bracing against the small ledge of the high-rises' uppermost floor, he aimed the EMP rifle. Lining up the sights and holding his breath, he fired. There were no human pilots to worry about, and if he got them early enough, they'd fall into the river.

The effect wasn't as immediate as the fighter jets' missiles, but Batman saw his first target go dark and fall right out of the air. Lucius had also told him about a design flaw in the drones—something they hadn't been able to fix with the manufacturer: the might be silent, autonomous, accurate, and now incredibly deadly, but their outer skin wasn't thick and didn't have the shielding properties to protect it from electromagnetic pulses. Especially ones as powerful as this one.

Batman couldn't allow himself to linger on the single drone falling through the air; there were still two left.

Just as he hefted up the rifle to aim again, the two drew closer, weaving through buildings to avoid the tracking of the jets that zoomed after them. A swell of urgency hit Batman until he saw that they weren't splitting from one another like he knew they should; they were staying together in their previous formation.

Was Lucius wrong?

It didn't matter. He didn't have time to dwell on it. The jets would have a harder time hitting the drones once they got past the first line of buildings that led to Midtown. Attaching the EMP rifle underneath the same glider pack Lucius developed for his impromptu visit to Hong Kong, Batman took note of the drone's trajectories and leapt off his perch.

Falling through the air for ten gut-wrenching seconds from the top of the over three hundred metres highrise, Batman landed on one of the wings of the incoming drones as it passed, scrambling to hold on with the rubber tips of his gloves. He grunted and groaned, using every ounce of strength he had as the wind threatened to tear him off to pull himself up onto the drone. Stabbing a tethering spike into the drone's shell, Batman clipped himself to it to keep from being blown away.

Using the pneumatic cutter attached to his gauntlet, Batman sliced an opening into the drone, exposing the central lines of wiring that allowed it to function. The drone next to him was gaining the lead. He needed to be faster. Jamming his fist into the wiring, he pulled them out until the altitude of the drone faltered. The remaining drone was still ahead, and he hoped Gordon fulfilled his end and evacuated this area of Gotham. The gap was wide and failing to jump to the next one meant plummeting to his death below.

There's still enough time. You can make it.

Just as the drone he was kneeling on took a nosedive, Batman unclipped himself and leapt. His arms swung in the air as he flung himself forward, the bright city lights blurred and blinding as his senses heightened with the adrenaline. He just missed landing on the middle of the drone and barely managed to grab hold of the tail end. Crying out, he struggled to maintain his grip. A violent force of vertigo made his head spin, but he forced himself past it.

I will not fail.

Managing to get an arm up to drag himself into a better position, the comms unit beeped in his cowl. Someone was patching themselves through. Bruce ignored it. Alfred would know better than to call, but he didn't necessarily need to do anything for it to answer all on its own.

"Hello, can you hear me?"

Lucius.

He was eager to speak to Lucius before engaging the drones, and now all he could be was hopeful that he had a different solution that didn't involve him hanging off the back of a drone until he lost his grip and plummeted to his death.

"Busy right now," he answered, grunting as the turbulence and wind whipped at him. Gotham was a city he never tired looking at, but all he wanted to focus on was never seeing it quite like that ever again.

"Yes, I can imagine. You need to stop those drones."

If Batman had the ability to roll his eyes at that moment, he would have.

"Working on it," he forced out between gritted teeth as he managed to extend an arm and drive a spike into the metal as it took a steep bank to the right, nearly throwing him off. His grip on the spike kept him from falling and, using every ounce of upper body strength he possessed, he grabbed the cable attached to his belt and hooked it to the tethering point. Lucius kept talking all the while.

"No—they're not heading for their original targets. They're being redirected to Wayne Enterprises—the R&D Department."

This was new.

Why are they heading there? Unless…

Unless someone changed the coordinates. He doubted the Joker was aiming to go out in a suicide mission. That would defeat the purpose of everything else he'd done. No, if it wasn't him, then there was only one other possibility.

Miriam.

The roar of the cold wind around his head was suddenly eclipsed when, in between weaving through the dozens of buildings leading to Midtown, one of the jets caught up to him, following and waiting for a clear shot. Batman looked over at the jet just as a missile was launched in a spark or red, orange, and gray smoke against the electric blue of the Gotham evening skyline.

"That… would have been good to know earlier."

It didn't take Harvey long to find the address Joe Bandano sent him. A trainyard in Gotham's west-end; the stations packed with the hundreds of people rushing to get out of the city. Dusk set upon them, making the sky warm even as the wind took a bite out any exposed skin. Salvatore Maroni wasn't waiting with the rest of the passengers. He sat in his black limo, gearing up to flee.

Cowards. All of them.

Maroni wasn't looking to bask in the aftermath of the hell he helped unleash, and it was to Harvey's advantage that the man was foolish enough to stay in Gotham long enough for him to find his undoing. He might have been the new king of the Mob's empire after Carmine Falcone found himself involuntarily committed, but kings meant nothing if you destroyed their symbols of power. The Joker had destroyed their throne, burned their treasury, and looked to tear the castle down, brick by brick. Harvey had no interest in their struggle, only the urge to kick at their ashes until it dispersed completely and nothing remained.

Harvey used to fantasize about the day he could prove in court, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Maroni was guilty of all the crimes he committed and more, thrown in a cell to rot for the rest of his miserable life. That fantasy was gone, only to be replaced with one involving blood. Rivers of it. His would be included, too. He knew there was no precluding him from this. His body belonged in the stack of those he was amounting, but it'd be on the top. The last one after his work was finished.

Parking a fair distance away, Harvey waited as he watched Joe Bandano acting as a lookout for Wuertz's arrival. He didn't know that Wuertz would never come with his promised information on Harvey, and he just had to wait until the man turned his back to make his move.

Going quickly, Harvey snuck up behind Joe and wrapped an arm around his throat, choking him as he dragged him back away from Maroni's car. The intention wasn't to kill him—he had no reason to have Chance level her judgement with so little time, and the man was but a peon in a larger game he held no control over and not worth Harvey's efforts. He aimed for the king, and there was no use in treating a pawn in the same manner. Once Joe wouldn't be able to get up right away, Harvey took his place at the car, hopping into the back, on the driver's side, with his gun drawn. They wouldn't expect this.

And he was right.

"Don't stop for lights, cops, nothin'," Maroni said, looking out the window with a smug grin. When he turned his head to peer out the front of the car, he didn't see Joe. He saw Harvey. With nowhere to go and a revolver out and a finger on the trigger, Maroni made himself sit still, even as the sweat started to collect along his back.

"Going to join your wife?" Harvey asked at last. He stared out the window, embracing the feeling of numb acceptance that came with his maintained high of adrenaline. He sounded conversational, surprisingly friendly for a man who swore to make Maroni pay through the legal system. Now it was clear that wouldn't be Maroni's fate at all. "You love her?"

Familiar with danger and unbalanced men aiming guns in his general direction, Maroni adopted a practiced air of calm. Antagonizing Harvey or doing anything to set him off would get him nowhere. His best option lay in placation until he could either get away or put a bullet in Harvey's head himself.

"Yes," was his simple reply.

"Can you imagine what it would be like to listen to her die?"

Maroni looked at Harvey with confusion. Where was he going with this?

"What're you… your woman didn't die."

Harvey turned to look at Maroni full in the face and he sucked in an involuntary breath. His sources told him what happened to Harvey and Rachel was beyond brutal, but he never thought someone with injuries that extensive and raw would be able to do much beyond laying in agony somewhere. Maroni's own injuries were agonizing enough after what Batman did to him, but they paled in comparison to Harvey's. It would have made sense if Harvey sought retribution for his ruined body, but why mention the woman he loved dying? As far as he knew—and his knowledge was extensive—Rachel might have been in intensive care, but she was still alive.

This guy's lost more than a few screws, Maroni thought.

Maroni, in addition to being able to maintain a sense of calm, also had a practiced silver tongue. If Harvey had indeed left rationality and sanity at the door, then Maroni needed to bring it back.

"Look, if you're looking for someone to blame, take it up with the Joker. He's the one who made you… like this," Maroni said, motioning to Harvey's disfigured face with his eyes.

Maroni might have played a role in the attack on Gotham, but he was by no means the mastermind. He had no way of knowing what the consequences of his actions would be. To Harvey, that's exactly where the problem lay. Men like Maroni ruined lives without a thought, searching for short-term gratification while crippling others to get it.

"Don't you LIE to me." Harvey's voice, hard and biting, silenced anything else Maroni might have tried to say. His teeth ground together, exposed muscles in his jaw jumping with the tension he wouldn't let go of. "The Joker's just a mad dog. I want whoever let him off the leash."

Is he being serious? Maroni thought. Surely Harvey couldn't mean that—or know entirely what he was saying. He really had lost his mind. How could Harvey not see exactly what the Joker did, how he played them all for fools? Maroni didn't consider himself unintelligent by any means, but he felt like a moron in the aftermath of the Joker's actions. He enabled a terrorist and gave him the means to succeed, but that didn't leave him as the culpable one. He didn't make the Joker, or anyone else really, do anything they didn't already want to.

"I ain't lying—"

Harvey levelling the gun at Maroni shut him up quickly. Harvey didn't want to listen to reason. Unless something changed and he was unaware of it, then Harvey was fed the wrong information, and nothing Maroni said would likely change his mind. He could only keep himself pressed against the back of his seat as his heart sped up.

"I took care of Wuertz, but who was your other man inside Gordon's unit? Who picked up Rachel? It must've been someone she trusted."

Now vengeance was something Maroni understood. His own family's blood feuds with the Dimitrov and Falcone families were proof enough. If Harvey was looking for the people who betrayed him, then Maroni was more than happy to offer them up on a silver platter.

"If I tell ya, will you let me go?" he asked. Self-preservation was another feeling he knew well and embraced. Its driving force was the only reason he'd managed to live as head of the family for so long.

"It can't hurt your chances," Harvey replied.

Maroni took it as all but a guarantee. Exchanging information for a life was a routine procedure. He had no reason to doubt that's what would happen here. He didn't know that Harvey wasn't really the one making decisions. Not anymore. Chance, in his mind, is what would steer him as he took on the role as its oracle and enacted its will.

"It was Ramirez," he said with an air of conspiracy, as if they were playing for the same side and exchanging secrets.

The revelation hit Harvey as no surprise. He'd investigated Ramirez in the Internal Affairs department and knew she didn't have the iron will to refuse bribes. She was easy to manipulate and buy, and now Harvey finally would have his chance to act on what he couldn't before.

Pulling back the hammer on the revolver, Harvey dug his hand in his pocket and took out his now two-sided coin.

"But you said—"

"I said it couldn't hurt your chances," Harvey interrupted. Flipping the coin in the air, he caught it and slapped it against the top of his other hand. Drawing back, he stared at the verdict. "Lucky guy."

Harvey shrugged. Chance said he couldn't kill Maroni directly, but there were other ways to see if the outcome he wanted could be made into a reality. Flipping the coin again, Harvey repeated the process.

"But he's not."

Reaching around, Harvey grabbed his previously discarded seatbelt and strapped in. Maroni took in all his actions like he was staring at a madman.

Maybe he is.

"Who?" Maroni asked, the fear making his voice high.

"Your driver."

Pointing the gun to the back of the driver's headrest, Harvey shot the man in the head as Maroni lunged. No one else wore their seatbelt, and so when the car veered off the road, over the guard rail to the underpass five meters below, Harvey was left with more injuries but the satisfaction of staring at another dead man.

Stumbling out of the smoking wreck, Harvey limped off and ignored the fresh flashes of pain. He had his next target, and he wouldn't stop until he saw his mission through. Fate and Chance had guided him this far, and he had no doubts or qualms about what lay ahead.

The Joker hadn't known this kind of fury in a long time. Its forcefulness, made worse by Miriam's unending laughter, spun him into a storm of uncontrollable anger.

She was still going, laughing, falling on her knees, holding her stomach. The glass the Joker shot at was thick, stopping his bullets before they could go through and hit his target. He knew he needed to kill Miriam, but he imagined something more intimate than this.

But that didn't matter anymore.

Miriam ruined everything. If she did what he thought she did—and I know she has—then they had no time at all before the HAVOC drones pancaked them into Gotham's bedrock.

"One morning when I was out shopping
Though you'll find it hard to believe
A little blue man came out of the crowd
And timidly tugged at my sleeve."

What is she doing?

He knew the song—of course I do. During Miriam's little adventures into Concussion Land, she'd told him a lot of things. One of them was that this song scared her. It's why he hummed it at her the morning his boat blew up. She was singing it back to him now, giggling in between the verses and humming the 'I wuv you' bits along with the melody. She'd really lost it.

Yeah, it'd be a turn-on if it wasn't in celebration of our death by impending-fucking-fireball.

"I hurried back to my apartment
I rushed in and I closed the door
But there on the desk stood the little blue man
Who started to tell me once more."

It took almost an entire clip to make the glass completely shatter, and when it did, he smashed through the rest and tackled Miriam to the ground. She was still laughing. It was hysterical, mad, something he craved before but now wanted to never hear again because it was directed at him. The Joker wanted to break her—had all but guaranteed she would—and now that he stood in the consequences of his work, he hated her for it.

And she was still singing, even as new lines of blood coated her chest and the small halo spreading from the back of her head. It was haunting, unsettling, under his skin and filling him with an emotion he didn't recognize.

"Shut up, shut up!" he roared. Miriam kept laughing, tears pouring out of her eyes as she stared past him.

"For weeks after that I was haunted
Though no one could see him but me
Right by my side was the little blue man
Wherever I happened to be."

It was hard not to see the connotations—how it so intimately related to the two of them. He shook her hard and still she didn't stop. His weight should have been crushing her, but where she had so sweetly begged before, she looked like he wasn't even there. Miriam had reached the point he had years ago. She just didn't care. Total self-destruction was the only thing that mattered.

Looking up at the computer terminal, he could see exactly where the drones were heading. His suspicions were confirmed. Miriam had set them both up to die, locking the electric doors so he couldn't get out. He could shoot her in the head and try to stop it, but there wouldn't be time. No matter what he did now, the end would be the same. She'd taken away the punchline and he allowed her to do it. Miriam knew she was going to die either way and now she was making sure he did, too. Even as he looked on and his chest swelled with impotent fury, she still kept singing.

"One evening in wild desperation
I rushed to a rooftop in town
And over the side pushed the little blue man
Who sang to me all the way down."

He roared again and wrapped his fingers around her throat, his gun forgotten. The Joker was nearly frothing at the mouth in rage. She gasped and choked, but she didn't even try to pull his hands away, only smiling as her eyes went red from oxygen deprivation.

The Joker knew how the song ended. Miriam didn't need to finish it for it to ring in his head as if she could still use her voice.

I whispered, "Thank goodness that's over!"
I smiled as I hurried outside
But there on the street stood the little blue man
Who said with a tear in his eye
"I don't wuv you anymore!"

This isn't how he wanted things to end. In his mind, he saw a final battle between two cosmic forces trapped in the bodies of mortal men. Yes, he didn't care about dying, but he wanted to control exactly how he went out. He wanted Batman to kill him. For his rage to overcome his morals and bury the Joker to rise like a cruel god and continue his work.

"Well, sweet peach, looks like you wanna get the last laugh, hmm?" he asked, squeezing tighter. The smile never disappeared, even as her brown skin went blue and she gasped for air. "Haven't you learned anything? I, ah—I tried so very hard to make you see that, uh, that's not how this works, Miri. Not at all."

But what exactly could he do now? Nothing. Miriam guaranteed that. Her hands finally went to his, but it wasn't to make him stop. They pressed on him, encouraging him to go harder. Her legs were squirming, her body fighting back even if her mind didn't want to. She didn't have to speak for him to know what she was saying. Miriam found the fight he thought he snuffed out, and he hated how beautiful she was for it.

'Finish it, coward,' she said with her eyes. It wasn't the first time she called him that, and even though she couldn't utter the insult, he could feel it in his burning blood.

"Looks like you're gonna get your wish, Miriam," he growled, pressing his weight on her throat as his arms shook. Her smile turned sweet and hands went slack. A thumb brushed across the back of his hand as her eyes closed, and he felt his grip involuntarily release.

Maybe you are a coward.

The Joker didn't know why he was doing it—he wanted to kill someone, but he doubted himself, suddenly overwhelmed by another feeling he wouldn't name. His hands shook around her pulsing throat as an earth-shaking boom! threw the Joker to the ground. Debris pelted against his back and dust coated his lungs with his intake of air. He thought this was it—how his life would end. He heard the rest of the glass wall shatter and felt it coat him in its biting shards, chunks of the supporting beams and ceiling tiles falling on him as he covered his head.

The shaking and rumbling and building materials hitting him and the floor with the violent tremors that shook the entire building in a deafening crash didn't last long. He could feel his blood flowing into his eye from a new cut on his head, the heavy weight of a metal bar across his back. All that information served to tell him he wasn't dead yet.

Then what the hell was that?

If he wasn't dead, that meant that Miriam's plan didn't work. Not entirely. Or perhaps more were on the way.

Doesn't matter.

The anger had cooled into frozen wrath. Arching his spine, he lifted the fallen materials off his back and blinked the blood and dust out of his eyes, his hand reaching for a knife in his pocket. Maybe he did let Miriam live too long, and now he was going to rectify that error.

Sometimes you gotta take Fido out behind the barn and put a bullet in 'em. This is no different.

Before he had time to draw up his arm and return to Miriam's prone body, something sharp took his breath away. Looking down, he saw why. Miriam's bandaged hand was holding a large chunk of glass, and she'd stuck it right between his ribs. The Joker was impressed; she got through the layers of his coats and clothing and shoved it deep enough to puncture a lung. He planned on repaying the favour.

"Oh, Miriam," he groaned, falling onto one side. "That's no way to treat a friend, is it?"

I sure know how to pick 'em.

Laughter of his own bubbled up as he looked into her eyes, and her wide smile was still stuck in place. Just like he surely was, Miriam was covered in dust and blood. More of it bloomed from her ribs. Faster than he thought she could move in her condition, Miriam straddled him—pinning him to the ground and making a choked sound the Joker took as laughter.

"Only for you," she forced out. He was surprised he hadn't completely crushed her trachea. Silent giggles overtook her as she took the glass out from his ribs, and he let her. "Just for you."

Miriam's giggles turned into full-blown sobs as she rested the tip of her makeshift knife against his throat.

"Why didn't you just kill me?" she rasped. The tears dripped from the tip of her nose onto his cheek.

The Joker had no answer to give. He didn't kill her because he thought she was fun, because he saw something in her that was so familiar that it ached in a way that he couldn't kill it a second time—not right away. Because he had a grand vision and she fit so well into it that he was unwilling to let her go. Because she was his and he liked being around her—because he was always one to break his toys rather than throw them away. This wasn't what he wanted—not in a million years—but perhaps it was fitting.

He gave her no answer. The tip of the glass pushed in harder as he reached back for his discarded gun buried underneath a small layer of rubble.

Anna Ramirez.

That's who was next on Harvey's list. It was nightfall by the time he arrived at the MCU. He still had Wuertz's phone, and he used it to tell Anna to meet who she thought was Michael Wuertz for a special assignment to find Harvey at the station. For a rat, she was awfully trusting. Anna showed up in record time, speeding into the Unit's parking lot and sprinting to the shadowed corner Harvey indicated in his texts. When she rounded the corner of one of the outlying buildings, she was greeted with a gun in her face. Harvey's face is what she saw next, and it was enough for her to fall to the ground.

This wasn't what she wanted. Anna never intended to hurt anyone, and now she was faced with the consequences of her inability to bear her burdens alone.

"Get up," Harvey growled. Anna, shaking, obeyed.

"Wh-What do you want?" she asked, her voice trembling with the rest of her. Harvey sneered. How dare she act like he was the one in the wrong after what she did. It was a great exercise of will not to just shoot her then. It wasn't his place to judge. Chance would do that for him.

"Need you to make a call," he said, pointing to the phone clutched in her hand. "Call the unit outside Gordon's house."

Anna looked at him in confusion until the answer struck her. Harvey didn't want anyone there that could stop him from doing the unthinkable, but she couldn't see why he'd want to punish Gordon for what happened to him and Rachel. Even to her, it was clear where the blame lay. Harvey, being beyond reason, didn't care to think about how he let the source of his pain slip through because he was now living according to an ideology that wouldn't hold up to scrutiny in the light.

"W-Why would—"

Harvey raised the gun higher, nearly pressing the barrel of it against her head. She choked and her eyes welled up with unshed tears, but she sucked in a breath and steadied herself. Anna was ultimately a creature of self-preservation—all that mattered was living, no matter what that life might have looked like. She knew she did something wrong—doomed Rachel to a half-life. She also knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself sober, but she didn't want to die either. Death and the uncertainty of the unknown made her willing to live as a traitorous bottom-feeder as long as it meant staying alive.

"Don't make me ask twice," he warned.

Anna didn't need the second reminder. Dialing the numbers of the officer's she knew were waiting just outside Gordon's house in the downtown core, Anna called them away—citing a need for assistance with the riots a few blocks from Gordon's house. They would find havoc alright, and a desperate need for help, but she knew she was sending someone else to die. When she hung up the phone, she stared down Harvey. This wasn't over yet, and he didn't lower the gun.

"They believe you?" he asked.

Looking at his face was challenging. She knew she was partially responsible for it, and she knew she was about to get exactly what was coming to her. The knowledge didn't stop the tears from falling. Anna nodded her head.

"That's because people trust you. Just like Rachel did."

How Rachel sounded when Anna took her to the warehouse haunted her and no amount of bourbon could drown out Rachel's screams.

"I—I didn't know—"

"'What they were going to do'? You're the second cop to say that to me," Harvey spit. The gun shook with the force of his shaking grip, and he resisted pulling the trigger. "What exactly did you think they were going to do?"

Anna's excuses weren't enough. Pitiful and insulting is what they were to Harvey. Anna and Wuertz didn't know because they didn't want to know. And that's what made it so much goddamn worse. She still felt the need to explain, to justify it to herself more than anyone else.

"I-I'm sorry—they got me early on. My mother's hospital bills and my—"

"DON'T!" he roared. At this point, he was beyond caring if anyone heard him. He'd purify this city with the time he had left. Let any stragglers come his way. He'd judge them, too. Taking out his coin, he flipped it in the air and caught it. Anna didn't fully know what was happening. She thought she could sway him with words alone.

"I-I took a little from them. Once they've got you, they keep you. I'm sorry, Harvey," she said. Her voice grew quiet when Harvey opened his palm, showing the coin he gripped so tightly. He let out a sigh of frustration before letting out a pent up breath.

"Looks like you get to live to fight another day, officer," he muttered.

Anna looked from him to the coin before he brought up the revolver and whipped it across her jaw. She was bleeding on the ground by the time he stepped over her. It wasn't the outcome he wanted, but it was the same chance he'd given everyone else. Anna had received her judgement, and now it was time for Gordon to get his. He was going to go to Gordon's house and take away everything that mattered just like it had been taken from him.

His death was inevitable, but he'd bring balance first. They'd all get what was coming to them and it would be fair. Unlike what happened to him. There was nothing fair about that. He'd do this for Rachel and bring her justice from beyond the grave.

Harvey just didn't realize he was doing it all for nothing.

Batman only managed to cut the line tethering him to the drone just as the jet's missile hit its target. Creating a flash of fire and a blowback that knocked him off course, Batman unfurled his glider and tried to steer away from the impact of the explosive hitting the six by 10-meter drone, but he didn't act in time. The force of the explosion made him spin out of control, narrowly avoiding running headlong into the glass of an oncoming highrise.

But the missile and Batman were too late.

The drone wasn't destroyed completely, and it was making its descent. Batman recognized the landscape hurtling towards him. They'd made it into Midtown, and the R&D Department was coming up quickly. The drone hit first, crashing through the five floors that made up the side building attached to the main branch of the company.

Batman had nowhere else to land without finding a way to soften the impact of hitting the sidewalk without breaking his knees. He took the next available option to him. Tucking in his arms and breaking his downward descent, he shot through the air and dived into the hole left behind by the drone.

Fire and wreckage surrounded him as he rocketed past the first two floors, landing hard on a pile of smouldering beams. Groaning, he pushed himself up just as more debris from the roof above plummetted down—nearly hitting him in the head. Righting himself and tapping his comms unit, Batman looked for the nearest set of stairs to take him down to the first floor.

"Lucius, you still there?"

"Yeah—what the hell was that?" he answered.

"Dropping in on things," he answered, kicking open the door leading to the stairwell. "Tell me everyone got out with you."

"As far as I know, Miriam and the Joker are the only ones left."

That made Batman's life easier in some ways and infinitely more difficult in others. He could already be too late.

No, you can't afford to think like that. Time to find that bastard and make him pay.

Batman was flying down the stairs, taking three to four at a time. He was nearly on the first floor when a loud shot rang out and stopped him dead in his tracks. That was gunfire. He listened, waiting for any other sound to break through—a cry of pain to know who it was that could be dying. When he heard nothing else, instinct and training took over and he rushed through the door, willing Time to be kind—for him to not be too late.

AN: Holy catfish, Batman, we're almost at the end! Only three more chapters and this part of the story comes to a close. Now, to make everyone's lives a little easier I'm releasing the last two chapters at once (which I'm still hoping will be on the 22nd of June or so) because they will be more of a wrap-up and an epilogue, and there's no sense in making you wait for both (especially since they will be shorter). They will also act as a set-up for the sequel to this story, which I plan on starting in the end of July/beginning of August. I'm not sure how to best alert you all to that when it comes out since I think it's unfair of me to ask you to follow me as an author. If anyone has advice on that, I'd love to hear it!

And (as always!) thank you so, SO much for all the love, support, and reviews you've given in this wild journey of mine. I feel so incredibly lucky to have readers like you and I genuinely hope you've enjoyed this story. I've put a lot of time, tears, and thought into it over this last year, and I sincerely hope it's paid off. Thank you for sticking with me and for giving me so much love, I will always be incredibly grateful! ❤

Now, a few reminder details: Miriam is singing "Little Blue Man" at the Joker in this chapter. Some of you may remember all the way back in chapters 10, "Cry Havoc," that the Joker hummed this as a way to unsettle Miriam. He didn't finish the song, which would have foreshadowed how his relationship with Miriam in this fic was meant to end: with her pushing him over the edge and invoking his wrath and quite possibly her doom. You'll see how that ends exactly in the next chapter, but Miriam singing this now has the same effect on him that it did on her - it's unsettled him and reinforced the bond his actions brought.

Things with Harvey seem to be going along with canon right now, but that plotline isn't finished either. Not everything will be tied up at the end of this story, but the sequel will be markedly different from the canon trilogy of The Dark Knight. Rather than following anything from The Dark Knight Rises, I will be almost entirely adopting comic book storylines with my own plot for the sequel. I'll tell y'all now that characters like Jason Todd, Dr. Hugo Strange, Jonathan Crane, and the Joker will feature heavily. I hope that gets you excited for what's to come!