"It's a terrible idea!" Adriana said to Lucius.
She was ranting in his office while he sat as his desk.
"He needs to stay put until it's time for him to leave the country," she said. "All this has nothing to do with him."
"Except it does," Lucius said. "You're being targeted because of your previous involvement with the Joker. And is was the Joker."
"So..that's it?" Adriana said, feeling her heart pounding so hard she was getting dizzy. She moved to sit in the seat in front of Lucius' desk.
"Two days in the city," Lucius said. "As you saw during his work finding the Catwoman, he is quite the expert at tracking people down with little to go on."
"And what if he find them?" Adriana asked.
"You just told me he agreed not to interact," Lucius said. "He will tell us. We will handle it. I don't believe we have anything to worry about, Adriana."
"You should have told him he can't go," Adriana insisted. "And that it's a terrible idea."
"Adriana," Lucius said. "He's a grown man. He's not being held prisoner. He is free to do as he wishes."
"I know that..."Adriana said.
"I've given him subtle adhesive facial prosthetics," Lucius said. "No one will recognize him, not even the most sophisticated facial recognition devices."
"I Know.." Adriana repeated.
.
.
.
Bruce descended on the elevator platform into his former batcave. The place was dark, cold and empty. He held the small box of vials he had gotten from Madame Twyla in one hand.
He knew that it would be easy and he was not nervous at all. He would see the Joker, he would see the security team extract him, he would listen closely to hear if any of them mentioned where he was being transported to or any other clue of where he should go next.
He had six vials, enough to see six hours. Twyla told him he simply needed to concentrate on what he wanted to see. It was noon, and even if he needed to use all of the vials, he had left work extremely early and would return home on time.
Bruce placed the small box onto the floor with one vial in hand. He opened it and swallowed it quickly. He thought to himself that he wanted to see the Joker and then he walked over to a wall and slapped his hand down.
Instantaneously, he saw himself and then realized his mistake. He wasn't specific enough and it was now too late. He had wasted the first vial. He was looking at himself, the Batman. He was standing, waiting for the man chained to the floor to wake up. The Joker was still unconscious.
Bruce wondered if another vial would allow him to start over and skip ahead, but he decided not to chance it. He could sit through this hour. He leaned against the wall and watched as the man woke up.
The Joker opened his eyes. His face was bare, his expression was neutral. He looked at the Batman and began to look around. Bruce heard him ask about Adriana. He wanted to know if she was dead. The entire interaction seemed so different now that Bruce knew the whole story. Bruce watched himself turn his back and leave. Seeing himself in his suit, the power in his walk, the darkness and mystery. He saw himself how others did and he was proud.
A minute later the Joker was alone. Bruce watched him look around at the expansive empty room around him and the machine that would dispense food. There was no bed, no chair, nothing but the floor and a sink and a drain under a showerhead. He walked over to the sink and then looked at the back wall. He then ran over the where the chain was attached to the floor and began to pull it in all directions with enough vigor that Bruce was almost convinced he would break it.
After half and hour, he collapsed in fatigue. The chain was not going to budge. The Joker leaned against the wall and stared ahead. Bruce saw the look in his eyes, the realization of his predicament. He saw for ten minutes before getting up again and struggling to break free from the chain. He pulled the cuff as hard as he could around his ankle. So hard that he began to bleed. As the struggle became unbearable to watch, Bruce watched him fade away. The hour was up.
Bruce wondered if he should feel more guilt, but he knew the Joker deserved what he had gotten. He would be fine. A team would be arriving and would take him away from this place.
Bruce picked up the next vial and tried to imagine the Joker's release. He thought of the Joker interacting with people. Thanking them for coming, telling them to unchain him. Bruce swallowed the second vial.
What he saw next almost made him fall over. He saw and underweight man with a long beard and hair crumpled on the floor. It took several seconds for Bruce's brain to register what he was seeing. It didn't make sense.
There was food, there was water. The machine had enough food for years. He didn't understand how the Joker had gotten so thin. Bruce walked closer with his hand still on the wall. He walked to the corner and turned to walk right up to the man on the floor.
He could see his hip bones sticking out through the side of his pants. Bruce looked down and saw him move and then cough. The Joker then sat up and Bruce could see his face.
Gaunt, hollow, dark. He looked worse than any homeless drug addict Bruce had ever seen. He was ill.
He had massive swelling on the side of his face. An infected tooth, or several infected teeth, Bruce guessed. He was in pain. He grunted in agony before crawling over to the sink. It looked like his hips and legs had become almost entirely useless. His joints were visible through his clothes and they were visibly swollen.
The Joker pulled himself to his feet at the sink and Bruce watched him brace himself.
"Wha-" Bruce heard himself say as the Joker slammed the side of his face against the sink.
He was trying to knock himself out. That was how much pain he was in. It didn't work. He needed to slam his face even harder. Bruce watched his legs shaking but then the Joker's head turned quickly as if he heard something.
He turned and looked off into the dark abyss in the room in front of him and began to talk.
"Not now," Bruce heard the Joker's deep and hoarse voice say. "Go away."
Bruce could see that the man had lost what remained of his mind.
"Because I need a bat to the head," the Joker said to no one. "Got one of those handy? No?"
"Who are you talking to?" Bruce spoke to himself.
"I don't see why you leave heaven to come here," the Joker said. "All the way down to hell-"
The Joker stopped talking and began to cough profusely. He leaned forward and spit into the sink. The thick, strange colored fluid that came out of his mouth was horrifying. The infection was serious.
"You're nice to look at," the Joker said. "But Adriana, you're making it worse. Leave me to suffer. Don't come reminding me of-"
He coughed more. Bruce realized he was hallucinating and seeing Adriana.
"Laughing potion," the Joker muttered. "I created it. It killed you...and now.."
The Joker thought she was dead. Bruce felt his guilt growing. Perhaps if he would have told him before he left that Adriana had survived the shot, he wouldn't be seeing her even though she wasn't there.
"Pardon me," the Joker said and turned back to the sink. He rammed his head into it and fell out cold.
As Bruce watched him on the floor he wondered when exactly this was happening. There was no time down here. No sunshine. No indication of the date at all. He could tell by the Joker's condition that he would not live very long like this. He would become septic if he wasn't already. He had a fever, his body shivered in his slumber. The room was cold and the hard concrete floor was even colder.