A/N: Well well well. This is going to be at least a two-shot. Most ideas pertaining to this chapter come from my little brother who, for all purposes of this fic, will be called AC. Brilliant kid, only ten. My strengths lie in "decorating" plots, if you will. Adding detail and imagery. AC is good at plots, a coherent thread of events. Even if you never review for normal chapters—which I totally think you SHOULD, by the way—review this? I told my bro that if he helped me people would give feedback, you know, tell him what they liked, what he can improve on?

Anyway, next chapter will probably be a rescue mission. So enjoy!

/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/

His footsteps don't echo, even through the puddle-strewn warehouse. Batman's silent as he skulks along a corridor, neither gauntlet nor boot slipping from his shadowy camouflage.

There's a sinking pit in the middle of his stomach—he shouldn't been here, not alone—and while he doesn't believe in hunches (detectives simply don't), he knows that his subconscious is capable of picking up on details he can't decipher. So, no, it's not a hunch, but he's suddenly sure he should have listened to Alfred.

In fact, he's about to request backup if for no other reason than to calm his frozen veins when a cackling hyena skitters across the smooth concrete on unsure claws.

He follows it, completely sure it's a trap and that he should have brought help, but there's nothing to be done now but follow the mutt to its owner and get the Joker back to his probably-still-warm bed in Arkham Asylum. Bruce simply can't imagine who he'd have brought in any case; he was currently on the receiving end of a silent treatment from Barbara, Jason had all but gone off the deep end with the return of his murderer, Dick—who would have been the most logical choice—lived in Blüdhaven, and the Joker breaking out was not something that Batman 'put off.' He could've always enlisted the help of Robin, his ten-year-old son, but couldn't bring himself to even tell the kid who he was going after with the knowledge he'd want to go after the criminal. Tim had been involved with the clown before, but it was different.

Jason was back and he wouldn't let another Robin—Red or otherwise—be taken by the fiend. Jason, no doubt drinking himself into a distraught coma somewhere in Gotham's slimy underbelly, reminded Bruce that these vigilantes he associates himself with are children. Could be killed. Barbara being back on her feet, though remarkable, was a reminder that she'd been crippled for years because of this man, this demon. This trickster.

The laughing savanna-dog leads him to the main part of the warehouse, one of three identical rooms, if Batman remembers the schematics right (and he does). He stops short after passing the threshold, not unsure but observing. Not counting the ten-yard boarder of emptiness around the walls there were floor-length mirrors propped up everywhere. Mismatched, some with heavy, intricate boarders and others attached to cardboard backing, all forming narrow passageways. A maze, a funhouse. Or, 111111111111111111rather…Joker's idea of a funhouse.

Batman steps forward cautiously and raises a Kevlar-covered finger to the silver trim of an expensive wardrobe, and frowns. A face stares back at him, though not his own. Some normal commuter, with a beat-up tie and a worn leather briefcase. Sidestepping, he lands in front of a basic mirror, which could have been mistaken for a sheet of glass unless you noticed the reflection. A dark face looks at him through this likeness, brown eyes making a perfect replica of his own confused, cowled expression. He turns around to find an Asian girl looking back at him, the same telltale crease between her eyebrows as his own.

Each mirror holds a new face, all baring an identic match to his countenance. The Joker's somehow manipulated the mirrors to all show a different person with his reflected image. It's unnerving even before the Joker's laugh resonates through the moist air, bouncing and ricocheting from each slab of glass.

Bruce does his best, with little success, to not whip around for the source of the voice. It takes him a few moments with the way it's thrown through the expansive space to verify that it really is the Joker and not one of his snickering pets. The sound seems to distort itself a little more each time it reverberates through the maze, making it impossible to locate even the direction it had come from.

Turning left he passes through some similar-looking mirrors and, true to form, the two faces that stare at him could pass for siblings. The laughter's dying away now, but he thinks it's coming from ahead of him.

"Boo." One word, quietly spoken as the Joker retains his mirth to the best of his ability. It comes from behind, and Batman turns on his heel only to be stopped by the barrel of a revolver, or rather—by the bullet that escapes the chamber.

Bruce goes down, hard. The shot's ripped through the Kevlar and a couple inches to the right of his spine. His thoughts go fuzzy too fast for it to be from blood loss, bringing him to the hazy conclusion that the Joker's nicked something important in there. He rolls on the floor making what in Batman's voice is a mere grunt of pain (but in Bruce Wayne's voice would be a scream of agony) and stares up at the wide-grinned, bloodshot-eyed face of his shooter as he presses the button in the second compartment to the left in his belt. A hyena by his ankles pads forward confidently and starts to lap at the blood pooling on the ground as Batman's distress signal is sent to the cave.

"Ha!" the man laughs, more in pleasant glee than in victory. "Now, I'm getting a sense of déjà vu…No, I'm positive of it—I've seen this before…" He takes a breath enough to blow the smoke from the barrel. "Urgh! What was that little bat brat's name? Let's see, Bat Lady? Nah… Miss Batty Pants? No, nonononono, that can't be right. I forgot, you people have that thingagainst pants for some reason…" Batman growls up from his broken position on the floor, mind racing from what's probably his body going into shock.

That bullet went straight through the Kevlar like it was tissue paper…new kind of bullet? Or maybe it was the gun. That's dangerous, I'm going to need to look into that. Hey, the Joker's still himself in the reflections. Strange. I hope Alfred sends someone soon, I'm having a little trouble focusing.

"Ah, who knows? I mean, you do of course, Bats, but I don't even know if you're conscious anymore with that mask on. All I know is that the kid gets the advantages of handicap parking now." His smile widens as Batman clenches his fists. "So you are awake, are you? Good, this would be no fun if you were already asleep."

He turns to the dog still lapping at the puddle. "Sick 'em, boy."

/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/

Alfred, having picked up a sort of sixth sense for when things were going to go awry, had kept to the Cave all night, even resorting to dusting twice when there was nothing left to be done. Meaning it was nearly two in the morning when an alert message started flashing on every screen throughout the Cave.

With a long-suffering sigh, he found the specifics and put out a call on all open coms.

"Anyone in the area, Batman requires backup at dock B-76."

"I'm in the area," came the reply.

"Red Robin, do be careful."

"The docks?" The butler can hear a faint whoosh as Tim's pulled along by his grapple gun. "So he actually went after the Joker alone?"

"Against my advice, I'm afraid, young sir." A leisurely smile of fond gratitude pulls Alfred's lips out. If there was one person in the family capable of keeping their head around the Joker, it was Tim. Tim, and his contingency plans. Some people take warm baths when they can't sleep, Tim listens to rap-metal and thinks up another way to ensure his success against any one of Gotham's villains.

"Of course. You know, for the 'world's greatest detective?' He's not too big on common sense sometimes."

"Finally. A body to understand my woes," Alfred jokes, relief spreading. Bruce is as good as home. "We can discuss it over tea tomorrow. For now…do be careful, Master Timothy."

"I will."

"No, I don't doubt you will."

The link cuts off and Alfred finds himself alone, surrounded by grey walls and sweaty training equipment. Even though he's already restocked the medical supplies just hours before, he wanders to the med bay and flips on the lights to await news of his charge.