CHAPTER 22 – GAME OVER

So, this was what it felt like to be mad.

A world devoid of light, hope or reason. This was what Batman had always assumed insanity – real insanity – to be. And his current situation seemed to fit that definition perfectly. Buried, face down in the dirt, the desecrated corpses of his parents inches from his face. Trapped – alive – in his own grave. Blind panic and terror threatened to consume him, to smother all his mental faculties in a blanket of blind hysteria.

He wanted to scream. The Joker had done it. The ultimate victory over his mind, body and soul. Batman was going to die the most horrific death imaginable, buried alive, unable to lift a finger to save himself. He could feel the walls of his mind straining and crumbling; he knew now that by the time he took his last futile breaths, he would have completely given in to the madness. He was going to die here, terrified, insane, and alone. No, not alone. His parents were here with him. Buried with their corpses, the symbolism was not lost on him. This was not just the death of Batman, but his cause, all he had stood for. Bruce Wayne might as well have died with Thomas and Martha Wayne outside the theatre on that fateful night.

The Joker had won. And he wanted to scream. Scream and scream, not caring that nobody heard him. Let the dirt in and the madness out. One last burst of defiance before giving in to oblivion. He wanted to scream. He needed to scream. He had to scream!

And he did.

At last, he had control of his movements again! The first hope of their return had glimmered as Batman was being driven to the graveyard, when he had felt his right pinkie move. At first, he hadn't been sure if he had just imagined it. But then it had happened again. He had no control over it. It was little more than an involuntary spasm. But it was movement, and that was hope. He could only pray that The Joker or Two-Face didn't see it, and inject more of the toxin into him.

As The Joker and Two-Face had dragged him into the cemetery, a freezing chill had run through Batman's spine. It wasn't until he'd noticed the headstones that his blood ran cold and the sheer hate burned through his veins like a building cancer.

This bastard, this evil monster, the Anti-Christ himself, had dug up the bodies of his parents, hauled them out of their coffins and dropped their decaying bodies back into his freshly-dug grave. Batman wanted to disembowel this…wretched creature! Burn him alive from the inside out!

Then, the fear had hit him like a sucker-punch to the gut. The soul-crushing realization of what lay in store for him. Pure horror overcame him as The Joker tauntingly dangled him over the abyss. He wanted to throw up, he could feel the vomit working its way up from his gut. But he didn't have the necessary reflexes to eject it. The memory of the pinkie, and the faint hope that came with it, had been quickly forgotten. His body was useless. He was at the mercy of a monster that had none. And his parents…

Mother…

Father…

Those were the words playing over and over in his mind when they dropped him into the grave and started re-shoveling the dirt onto him. And they were the words in his mind now, as he screamed with blind fury, and sputtered as the soil filled his open mouth. And as the scream ended, the movement began, his whole body twitching violently back to life.

Anger burned into adrenaline, and the adrenaline accelerated his body's battle against the paralysing drug. He regained control of his motion, starting to flex and move as the dirt began to weigh against him. He started to dig his way through, desperately trying to hold his breath. He tried not to think of the shifting and shattering of his parent's bones beneath him, he couldn't afford to. He could only think of his own survival. His desperate tug-of-war with madness and death.

It felt like the more dirt he pulled aside with shaking hands, the more slid down to take its place. For a few fleeting moments, his mind gave way to the terrifying prospect that he wasn't even digging upwards, that he was digging down even deeper into this man-made Hell. And again, he found himself fighting panic and hysteria. But finally, his hand reached the surface. He started clawing his way out, fighting for life. And it was like the dirt didn't want him to have it, collapsing in on itself and attempting to suck him back in. But finally, he was able to pull his entire body free, rolling round onto his back by the side of the grave. Gasping and sobbing, he took some deep breaths of air. It had started raining heavily, but Batman didn't care. He knew how lucky he was to be alive.

But he could only take a few moments to bathe in relief and the primal joy of survival, before he had to gather his senses and struggle to his feet. His legs gave way under him on his first attempt. But he tried again, standing on shaking legs. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, until his legs steadied. At last, all effects of the neurotoxin were neutralized. And all that was left standing, caked in mud, rain pouring in cascades down his body, was Batman.

Frantically looking around, Batman saw The Joker's van in the distance making its slow, careful way through the winding road of the graveyard. He still had a chance to catch up with them, cut them off. But he'd have to be quick.

The Joker thought he could escape from him? No. Not this time. This time, there would be no escape from the final retribution. Batman was going to do what he should have done a long time ago.

He was going to kill him.

…

The Joker and Two-Face hadn't exchanged a word as they sat together in the front of the van. As they finally turned out of the graveyard and back onto the streets of Gotham, The Joker stared forward grimly at the road ahead, lost in his own thoughts. It was left to Two-Face to break the silence.

"So…"

"So?" The Joker asked in response.

"What now?"

The Joker sighed pensively, waiting for several seconds before offering a measured response.

"I don't know."

Not a joke. Not a laugh. Not even a smile. Two-Face didn't know how to react.

"We still got unfinished business. You wrecked Harvey Dent's last chance at happiness. You've still gotta answer for that. But on the other side of the coin, I owe it to you for bringing me back, when Dent had cast me aside like used goods. So where do we stand? What happens next?"

The Joker responded with more silence. He was thinking. It had all been so clear to him, when Batman was alive. So many thought that he was irrational, that his actions were senseless and random. But they were wrong. In The Joker's mind, it had all been so crystal-clear. His life, is every action, was all working towards finally achieving total victory over Batman. Now, Batman was dead. His life's purpose had been fulfilled. Now what? What did Odysseus do when his journey was complete? For the first time, The Joker's future felt vague, imprecise. A distant land of doubt and uncertainty.

"I don't know."

As The Joker spoke those words, a cascade of Batarangs flew into the side of the van. The whole structure of the van was rocked by the explosion, falling onto its side and sliding across the pavement for a few feet.

Batman calmly walked towards the burnt wreckage, kicking out the windows and finding his pale-faced target. He grabbed him by the collar, dragged him out of the shattered window, and flung him across the wreckage. But then, from behind him, he heard the click of a gun. Batman spun round, and found himself confronted by Two-Face. He was standing by the carcass of the van, a nasty cut across his forehead, with his pistol pointed at Batman.

"Forgot about me, Wayne?" he growled, "I'm back, like a phoenix risin' from the ashes…"

The ashes of Harvey Dent. Harvey Dent was gone, and Two-Face had returned. And this time, Batman was even more responsible for the transformation than he had been before. One more thing Batman had to live with.

But Batman didn't have time for Dent. Not now. In a split-second movement, he lunged forward, grabbing the arm holding the gun. It went off, a bullet skimming past Batman's head. He didn't care about that: he just wanted Two-Face out of the picture. He hit him with a devastating left-hook, knocking him right off his feet. Batman crouched down to get a hold of him, but Two-Face reacted quicker than he expected, hooking his forefingers into the sides of Batman's mouth, and yanking him downwards, his head connecting sharply with Two-Face's knee. He saw stars, rolling back onto the road as Two-Face struggled to his feet, pulling his coin out of his pocket.

"There's no judge, Batman. There's no jury. Justice isn't about all that. When you get rid of all the BS, justice is duality: guilty or not guilty, like two sides of a coin. And now I'm gonna reach a verdict on you, Batman."

Two-Face flipped his coin. Caught it. Looked down at the outcome with furious, hungry eyes.

"Guilty!"

Two-Face kicked Batman hard in the ribs.

"Guilty of treachery, guilty of…of abandoning a friend when he needed you the most!"

Another kick. Batman grunted in pain.

"Sentence is death."

Two-Face kicked Batman again, but this time he caught his foot, swiping the other leg out from under him, and knocking him hard to the ground. Batman grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved his head through the back-window of the van. Then he dragged him back and slammed him as hard as he could into a headstone, knocking him out cold. One down, one to go.

The Joker had regained his senses, and had begun crawling away from the scene, like some kind of wounded animal. He certainly couldn't look on that thing as human, especially when he considered what he had to do now. Batman noticed a tool-kit that had fallen from the van. Beside it, he spotted a tool The Joker had used before to kill another of his own. He picked up the crowbar, planning to use it to beat him as close to death as he humanly could, just like The Joker had done to Jason. This was it. The Joker had played his last sick prank. Batman was going to end this, once and for all. He was going to kill him, right here, right now. He was going to watch as those crazy, evil eyes rolled back into his head, and he was going to be there when that horrible laugh stopped.

And God forgive him, he was going to enjoy it.

"Batman!" sputtered The Joker, "What an...unpleasant surprise."

The Joker was scrambling backwards, away from Batman. He had already been beaten to within an inch of his life with a crowbar once in the recent past. He didn't intend on having it done to him again. And judging by the way The Bat looked, he wasn't going to escape with his life. Not this time.

"Hey, Bruce, don't take it personally," he said, "Heh heh, I was just making things right. In all fairness, you should have been buried with your parents way back when you were a little spoiled-brat kid."

But Batman didn't reply. The Joker crawled around aimlessly on the ground, trying to regain his bearings. But before he could get to his feet, the heavy footsteps of his mortal foe approaching began pounding closer and closer behind him. He would have to think fast. He spun round, pointing his gun at Batman.

"Stay back, Brucie! I'm not joking this time - now it's really loaded!"

But Batman just threw a Batarang, knocking the gun away from The Joker. He grabbed him, hitting a solid punch in his face. The Joker let out a pained whimper, which quickly turned into a desperate laugh.

"Funny how things turn out!" he feebly chuckled, "No! I won't be dying. I have so much to do. So many people to kill..."

The Joker through a smoke grenade onto the ground, and the area surrounding him erupted into green gas. The Joker used this opportunity to make a run for it, trying to exit the scene. Trying to get away from Batman. But none of his toys, none of his one-liners, nothing would help him tonight. Batman had become a storm, a force of nature, and nothing would get in the way of his vengeance.

He wasn't going to escape.

Batman tracked The Joker's movements with his starlight lenses. He took out three of his throwing-stars and perfectly targeted each at pressure points on The Joker's back. The back, already injured earlier, seized up completely, and The Joker collapsed in a heap. He would be stuck on the ground for a while.

Batman walked towards the fallen clown, gripping the crowbar in his hands. No, there would be no escape for The Joker. There would be no clever getaways, no contrived innocent-in-peril situation Batman had to stop. It was just the two of them, and a crowbar. Batman finally spoke, echoing what The Joker had just said.

"Funny how things turn out."

And then there was silence. The only sound that broke the night was the heavy pounding of the rain, which had now escalated into a downpour. Slowly, painfully, The Joker looked up at Batman. He lay there on his back, looking up at his nemesis – back from the dead – and now the tables had turned; now it was him that couldn't move. Now how was that for irony? Everything he'd tried, Batman had overcome. And now, here he was, lying at the entrance of a cemetery, facing death. Batman may have expected The Joker to start whimpering in fear, or start begging for his life. But instead, he just started laughing.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA..."

The Joker tilted his head to the side, and spat out a wad of blood onto the ground.

"Well, here we are. You win, I lose. Now, why don't you kill me?"

The Joker stared at Batman, a mad glint in his eye.

"Come on, it's easy. Bash my brains in. You know you want to. Become what you were always destined to be. A maniac. A psycho. A killer."

The Joker giggled tauntingly at Batman.

"After all, I'm the only thing that keeps you from being just as crazy as all the monsters you hunt. If you kill me, you become me. You need me to give your life justification. You need someone to hate other than yourself. So go ahead and kill me. I can die happy, knowing the hell you're going to be entering."

The Joker closed his eyes, waiting for the fatal blow. They say that before you die, your life rushes before your eyes. But The Joker saw nothing of his wicked history. He only saw the future. A future without him, yes, but funnily enough, everything was clear to him once again. A smile slowly spread across his face.

"I kill you, or you kill me. Either way, I win the game."

Batman raised the crowbar, about to bash his face in, pound that demonic mask of hate into nothingness, and extinguish this vile mockery of a life. But then The Joker's laughter, ringing through his head, was joined by other voices. Images blinked back and forth in his mind.

The frenzied eyes of the gunman looking down on him as he kneeled by the side of his dead parents.
Jason, dead and freezing in his arms.
Seeing Barbara's tear-drenched face in the hospital after she was shot.
HIM shooting Sara Essen.
HIM laughing triumphantly in his cell in Arkham, knowing he has once again evaded justice.
Alfred, dead on the ground, with HIS grin plastered on his face.
Bruce's mother kissing him on the cheek before tucking him to bed.
Alfred telling him that everything will be alright, despite the emptiness inside.

What was before a settled certainty in his mind has become utter confusion. The Joker's laughter was more crazed than ever, because of his imminent death. And in that moment, Batman realised his plan.

He angrily swung the crowbar, driving it into the ground, an inch from The Joker's face. He dropped the crowbar by The Joker's head, looking down at the man who had caused him so much pain. Batman wanted to say something profound, something that would reflect everything going on in his head. But he couldn't. So he just turned and walked away.

The Joker opened his eyes. What had happened? He looked over, and saw the crowbar lying beside him, and then, with a wince of pain, looked up. His smile vanished as he spotted Batman, slowly walking away.

"Hey! What are you doing? Get back here and finish the job! Don't you walk away from me!"

But that was exactly what Batman was doing. Not even bothering to look back, he turned on the comm. He told Oracle the coordinates of The Joker and Two-Face so the police could grab them. They were already on their way.

The Joker was getting desperate as Batman got further and further away. He was almost out of the cemetery. No, this wasn't happening! He had planned so much for this, prepared for so long. This was the final act, the end. It had to be! Batman wasn't going to win, not this time. The Joker had to get him back, push him over the edge.

"Your mother was a whore! And your father sodomised Alfred on a daily basis! I've had sex with Barbara Gordon, I did her up the ass! HA HA! Are you listening to me? Are you really going to let me live, knowing what I could do to you? Knowing what I could do to your loved ones? Bruce! BATMAN!"

But Batman was gone. The Joker tried to get up to go after him, but his back froze up. The damage done by the throwing-stars meant he couldn't move his back, not until the swelling on the pressure-points went down. With an angered groan, he slumped back onto the ground. As he heard the sirens slowly approaching, he slammed his fist into the ground in frustration, letting out a scream of anger.

Batman staggered back into the cemetery, looking up at the sky. He allowed himself a moment to recuperate, to feel the rain beating down on his face. But then the sirens began to get louder, so he made his exit. He hurt all over, physically, mentally and emotionally. But he did have a sense of hope. Alfred may be dead, but he hadn't betrayed his memory by resorting to murder. He had remembered who he was.

He was Batman. And he was never going to become HIM. Never.