There were a lot of things the Joker hated. He hated it when people didn't laugh. He hated it when they didn't die when they were supposed to. He hated it when Batsy ignored him. He hated it when Batsy laughed at him. He hated it when Harley got in his way when he was having fun with his Bat-boy. He hated a lot of things. He also hated it when he forced into a game where he didn't hold all the cards. This was one of those moments.

Actually, this had been one of those moments for a while now, and he didn't like it. Not at all. It wasn't fun anymore. And anyway, there was only so much his body could take, he knew that, deep, deep, deep down, though he despised admitting it. If those bastards kept this up, he'd die, or they'd die. And the latter seemed improbable due to the circumstances.

At least the view was different hanging upside-down. Now he just had to hope no one would come to take him to another day of "testing" and "experiments". He spat and it hit the wall in front of him, a new splotch to add to his work-of-art-in-progress. I wonder if Bat-boy hangs upside-down, he thought suddenly and snickered. That would be adorable.

He didn't hear the door open, his sight and hearing had become too damaged by the electric shocks, but he felt rough, gloved hands grab his mangled feet, unclasp then from the ceiling, and drop him to the floor. He grinned.

Shit.

The hands tossed him onto a wheeled table and carted him out of the small cell, each turn they made, each bump sent jolts of pain through the Joker's body. He held his breath in attempt to stifle his yelps, keeping his face plastered in a perpetual grin. The bubble of spit in his throat popped when he opened his mouth to speak, a stream of discolored fluid dripped from his mouth down his chin.

"Gently now, big boy," he whispered hoarsely. Something hit him on the head, something hard and flat.

"Shut up and keep still."

Oh, that sounds like Joe-dearest. "How's it going with crayon-man, Joe?" A sharp turn sent waves of burning pain through his torso. Silence. Was the guard gone? The cart was motionless. Had his hearing gone completely? No, he could hear something. Something soft and quiet, the sound of trickling water.

Oh boy. Something new.

"I like your ride, Mr. B. I bet it's a chick-magnet, ain't it?"

Batman didn't move. His eyes were plastered on the gravel road stretching out before them. Harley Quinn huffed and pouted.

This is wrong, he thought. Harley Quinn in the Batmobile with him on the way to rescue…the Joker. From Arkham, the place he belonged. He, the Batman, was going to Arkham to save the Joker, who he had just put in there but six months ago. But…

"Ya gotta believe me, Mr. B!" Her voice was desperate and choked with tears. "We got an informant in Arkham that tells us what's goin' on in the big house, an'…an'…" She turned her eyes up to the Dark Knight, "They told me that my puddin's been missing for months! No one's see 'im! They thought he escaped after he almost killed a guy with a crayon, b-but…" She hiccupped. "They say one of the guards told one of the other guards, who told the guard for Jervis's cell, who told Jervis after being, y'know, mind-controlled, and Jervis told Dr. Crane, who told our informant…" She took a deep, trembling breath, "T-that m-my Puddin's been put into solitary in some unknown region of Arkham and has been the primary subject for…a-a series of new experiments…th-that involve…" She gasped and held her hands over her mouth. "W-when I was a psychiatrist, I heard about these new theories, b-but I never thought they would actually…I thought they had been trashed…"
Batman grabbed her wrist sharply. "What are they doing, Harleen?"

Quinn's eyes welled up with tears, "The theory involved breaking down the patient mentally a-and…physically…until they are in a harmless, child-like state, so th-they can be re-taught and…and…THEY'RE KILLING HIM IN THERE! THEY'RE TORTURING HIM! YA GOTTA SAVE HIM!"

She collapsed into a sobbing heap on the rough rooftop surfacing, her head shaking in her trembling hands. "Y-ya gotta…you're the only one I can turn to who can."

The Dark Knight was silent. His mind was racing. Is this a trap? A joke? A dream? He heard a voice speak in his head.

Let him die.

Let him die like all those people he's killed. Like Jason. Or scarred for life, like Barbara. Let him suffer.

But…

He was human.

Insane, yes; violent, yes; dangerous, most definitely yes. But he was human. He could still be saved. At least, the Batman liked to think so. He liked to hope so.