He had a gun in his hand. He felt the handle, firm and strong and smooth, and tightened his fingers around it in resolution as he opened the doors to the Asylum. He strode past the guards into the cell block – they knew him and trusted him. That was to his advantage. They wouldn't be prepared for it. No one would see this coming. But it had to be done. It was the only way. The only way to stop the madness.

The first cell he arrived at was Jonathan Crane's. The man looked up at him, unafraid. Fear was Crane's speciality, and how brightly it shone in his eyes as he raised the gun and fired a bullet into his head. Just one single bullet, and the madness was over. The fear was over. No one would ever be afraid of the Scarecrow again.

Opposite him was Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter. A dangerous mind, dangerous and now dead, as he fired another bullet into his brain. Speaking of dangerous minds, there was Edward Nygma, the Riddler. He had told his last riddle. How simple, how easy it had all been in the end. No more games and riddles, no more challenges, no more fighting. Death was the only way to peace. They would all be at peace now. And so would he.

Two bullets for Two-Face – that was only right. That was how he would have wanted it. It was the least he could have done for Harvey. Well, Harvey Dent had died the day he had become the monster. Harvey, the real Harvey, would have preferred death to living as that creature. He was doing him a favor, something he should have done for his friend a long time ago. How simple, and how right it all was in the end. He didn't know why he had resisted it for so long. As he saw the blood pool at his feet, he had never felt more calm or more certain in his life. He had been wrong for so long, but now, at last, he was making everything right.

This wasn't evil. It was wonderful. And it was easy. So easy. All the fighting and all the struggling, all the self-denial and sacrifice, when the solution had been there all along. He had been too blind, too pig-headed to see it, too self-righteous and moralistic and silly. This wasn't evil. This was freedom. Release. Mercy. Bliss. All the pain and suffering and fighting over. Over forever.

Poison Ivy tried to fight back – silly woman obviously hadn't realized that death was the answer, and the salvation. The end to struggle and chaos, at last, at long last. He was doing her a favor, riddling her body with bullets, even as she screamed in pain, even as the blood poured from her like rain from the flowerbeds. There was no need to fight anymore. He had saved her from pain and suffering and madness. Just as he had saved himself.

There was one final cell at the end, and he kicked open the door. There was the clown, smiling at him. His smile grew as he saw the gun, and he laughed, one of his maddening, aggravating laughs, as he held open his arms. "C'mon, Bats," he whispered, grinning. "Do it. You've been wanting to for a long time. Give in to the madness now. You've finally seen what I've seen all along, haven't you? That life is madness, chaos, pain, fear, misery, some sick joke. Nothing to laugh at. While death…death is a far more pleasant joke. To live, you gotta be mad. And you are mad now, aren't you? You've joined us at last. So save me from the madness, and embrace it yourself. C'mon, Bats. Do it."

He raised his gun and aimed it as his grinning, mocking face. "Mr. J!" shrieked Harley Quinn, rushing into the room and throwing herself in front of the Joker, glaring back at him. "You ain't gonna hurt him!" she shrieked. "You gotta kill me first!"

Easily done. Three bullets to the chest, and she fell, without a scream, with only a single gasp. The clown caught her body and she gazed up at him in adoration. "M…Mistah J," she breathed, lifting her hand to his face.

"Three slugs, you're out, kid," he whispered, grinning. She choked out a laugh, and then she was gone. Then she was at peace. He lay her little body gently on the cell floor and then laughed hysterically. He stood back up, facing him, still laughing. Blood covered his body and he threw out his arms again. "C'mon, Bats!" he repeated. "Don't tease me like this! Just kill me! You know you want to! I knew you'd snap one day, and I'm glad I lived to see it! But now I ain't got nothing else to live for, so you might as well do it! Life won't be any fun now that you've lost your mind – what other villain could possibly compete with Batman? Y'see, Bats, the only way to stop us, the only way you were ever gonna stop us, was to become us. And now you have. You've become the punchline to your own joke. Ain't that a great gag, Bats? Don't it make you wanna laugh?"

And he laughed maniacally, that horrible, hysterical, mocking laugh. He raised his gun again and shot the smile off that grinning, leering face. He kept firing, but he kept laughing. "Stop it!" he shrieked as he shot him again and again. "Stop laughing at me! Stop laughing! Stop! Stop! Stop!"

Bruce Wayne awoke from the dream with the laughter still ringing in his ears. He sat up with a start, sweat pouring off him. It had been a nightmare, a terrible nightmare, but it had all seemed too incredibly real. His hands were shaking as he leaned back, staring at the ceiling and trying to steady his breathing.

The dream had been terrifying not just for the things he had done in it, but for the way he had felt. He had felt that all he had done was right and justified. And he realized with a shiver of fear how easily the dream could come true, how little it would take to push him over the edge with the way he was feeling right now. There was nothing else for it. He would have to give up being Batman.

For a short time only, he assured himself, rising from bed and pulling on his robe. Dick could handle things – he would have to. Bruce was going to take a vacation, a long vacation, with Selina, if she wanted to come, away from Gotham. Away from the night and the shadows, away from the murderers and the lunatics, away from Batman. For the sake of his own sanity, Gotham would have to find another babysitter.

He left his room and went down the stairs to his study, flicking on the lightswitch and staring at the potrait of his parents. He had done so much in their name, in Gotham's name. He needed to do something for himself now, however briefly. Something to keep him sane. Some small taste of happiness. And then, if he had to, he would condemn himself to being Batman for the rest of his life. But he had to do this. He had to be selfish. Just once.

"Sir?" came Alfred's voice. Bruce turned to see him standing behind him, puzzled. "I saw the light – I thought you were asleep."

"I…had a nightmare," murmured Bruce. "But it's over. For now," he whispered, shutting the door. "Alfred, I've reached a decision," he said, turning to him. "I'm going on a vacation. I need it, I…I don't think I realized how much I need it. I've let Batman rule my life for so long that I think I almost forgot what living was like. Selina…Selina makes me remember. Is it wrong of me to want that? Is it wrong of me to want to be…happy?"

Alfred smiled softly at him. "No, sir," he murmured. "It is not."

"Dick can handle things while I'm away, can't he?"

"I'm sure he'd be honored, Master Bruce," said Alfred, nodding. "And may I just say, sir, that I personally believe it is the best decision you could have made."

"It's the only decision I could have made, the way things are," sighed Bruce. "As usual. My life has never seemed a choice, Alfred."

Alfred lay a hand on his shoulder. "But it is, sir," he murmured. "You must remember that. Your life is your choice. Batman does not need to be a part of that. I hope this vacation will help you see that."

Bruce nodded slowly. "I hope so too," he whispered.