Crouched down low amongst the scrubby bushes that surrounded the abandoned house Janice Porter owned, Batman surveyed the property. The house had been listed as deserted before being bought and now that it was owned, it still looked deserted. Although dark had fallen, no lights showed in any of the windows and the place had an air of neglect about it. Standing out on its own, separated from the rest of civilisation save for the rickety train track that ran along beside it, it was uncared for, an outcast lone sentry. Despite the stillness, Batman was convinced that Freeze was somewhere within its near-crumbling walls.

The crime-fighter tapped perfunctorily on the ground in order to capture the attention of Joker, who was crouched beside him. "This is what we're going to do," he began, sketching out a rough rectangle in the dust-like soil, hoping against hope that if the criminal was given a plan then he might just stick to it. He was interrupted by the dry crackling of twigs snapping back into place and looked up to find Joker disappearing across the lawn towards the front door in a purple blur.

Cursing under his breath, he gave chase.

There was no need to use the key he had taken a copy of in order to gain access to the house – his unlikely partner in crime-fighting had taken the front door off of its rusty hinges and it now partially sprawled on the porch, as if it had collapsed there in a drunken stupor. Mentally preparing himself for whatever might greet him on the other side, Batman clenched his jaw and stepped over the threshold.

One man, presumably one of Freeze's, was lying on the floor. Going down on one knee beside him, Batman was relieved to find a weak but steady pulse beating in his neck. The hired thug was bleeding from a head wound, most likely caused by the butt of the gun lying discarded beside him, but the injury didn't look too serious.

"You know, I don't ask just anyone this, but… do you want to know how I got these scars?" An odiously familiar voice came from behind Batman, causing him to stand up and turn around.

"Put him down, Joker," he commanded the clown who had the door guard's buddy by the hair with one hand and was holding a knife to his face with the other.

Joker considered this proposition, running his tongue across his bottom lip before glancing over his shoulder at the vigilante. Almost casually, he brought a booted foot up to connect with his victim's crotch. As the man cried out and doubled up in pain, Joker wrapped both hands around the hilt of his knife and slammed his clenched fists against the back of the male's head, uttering a shrill laugh. The unfortunate victim crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Batman supposed that had gone very well, considering who he was working with.

"We'll split up to look for Freeze. You take upstairs and I'll take down." He paused, and then added "Don't harm anyone you come across."

"Sure thing, Bruce."

The Bat's jaw clenched in irritation. "And don't call me that when I'm wearing the bat-suit."

"Okay Brucey, if that's what does it for you."

There was a steady thump-thump of feet as Joker ascended the stairs, speeding up nearer the top and then levelling out as he reached the landing. Standing and listening to the noises get further away, Batman forced himself to calm down. This operation would not go successfully if he allowed the clown to wind him up and anger cloud his judgement.

One hand hovering within easy reach of the arsenal of weapons stored in his utility belt, the Dark Knight worked his way systematically down the hallway, opening each door he came to and searching the room. He came across a lot of spiders' webs and furniture covered in moth-eaten dust sheets, but no costumed villains. After the first couple of doors, he became aware of a strange, uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He checked up and down the hallway, thinking perhaps some kind of survival instinct was warning him of approaching danger, but he was alone except for the dust. Instead of lessening however, the feeling of unease grew stronger.

He'd reached the kitchen and was starting to think that maybe he had been mistaken about the place being used as a hideout – clearly no one had been using this kitchen with its gaping cavity where an oven should have been and the broken refrigerator, its door hanging off to reveal starved insides – when the feeling of disquiet gave way to a low clamouring in his head. It sounded a little like the distant drone of heavy traffic, but they were far removed from any busy roads, and traffic wasn't usually made up of thousands of quiet voices all talking at once.

He might have stood there forever, hypnotised by those myriad disembodied voices, were it not for a train going past at that moment. The whole house seemed to shiver and quake as the great steel behemoth rumbled past and those sounds, hellish in the confined space of the kitchen, drowned out the noise in Batman's head.

Feeling unsettled by the experience, but at least able to continue with his task, the vigilante left the kitchen and made his way to the last door he had yet to inspect. Maybe it would prove more fruitful than the others, although he was starting to lose hope a little. Looking at it, he knew the door would lead onto the basement of the house because it was wider than all of the other doors and had an eerie air about it that was well known to any child who has ever been told to go and fetch something from down those dark, damp, rickety stairs… These were not his memories, they belonged to someone else.

Clearing his mind, Batman laid a gauntleted hand on the doorknob – and froze.

'There's nothing up here,' a voice said conversationally in his head. 'Except for us clowns in the closet – oh, this is nice, why would anybody have left this behind?'

'The telepathic link, it's working again! Strange must be close.'

'We are not alone.'

Instantly, Batman drew back from the door and retrieved a bat-shaped shuriken from his utility belt. With swift, precise movements, he surveyed the area around him, primed to attack. Laughter filled his head.

'Uh, no, Bats… Haven't you ever watched the X-Files? You know, "the truth is out there". Abandoned houses, telepathic links, bat-men, it's all a bit "zoinks Scoob."' There was a brief pause and then 'I'm coming back down.'

Waiting for the other man to join him and smarting a little at the implied criticism, Batman tried cautiously to open the basement door. He found it to be locked and the spark of hope that had been quietly dwindling away to nothing within him burst back into life. In a place such as this, the only reason a door would be locked would be if it led to something important, something secret that only the holders of the key were allowed to know about.

"And what is behind door number three?" Joker's voice came from beside the Dark Knight's elbow, its tone one of affected boredom and disdain.

Frowning slightly, he made an impatient 'be quiet' gesture with one hand. 'In your head; I think there's someone behind this door and I don't want them to hear us.'

Content that the criminal wouldn't speak out loud again, Batman traded his shuriken for the copy of Porter's key. Something told him that it had never been created for the front entrance at all, that it belonged to this door body and soul. Quietly, he slipped the key into the key hole. It fit perfectly and turned with ease, the door silently swinging open to reveal a dark flight of stairs, a faint light emanating from down below. Just as Batman had suspected, the door did lead down to the basement.

Without a word needing to pass between them, the two men began to descend the stairs. The construction was flimsy, seeming to sway a little beneath their combined weight, but amazingly the steps gave no creak of complaint. Not that Batman would have been able to hear even if they did, for the Joker's heartbeat was pounding through his head, pumping him with the other man's sick excitement. It was like a drug, but at least he was able to fight against it, even exert some of his own self-discipline over it.

'He's here!'

It wasn't as dark anymore, Batman could see where he was putting his feet, but it still wasn't enough to be able to make out the room they were approaching. The awkward, downwards slope of the ceiling above the stairs added to that difficulty, blocking the view of the basement. Therefore, he couldn't work out who the clown's exclamation referred to, and communicated as much to him.

'Doctor Strange,' was the prompt, slightly contemptuous reply. 'I can feel his thoughts… if you could, uh, call them that.'

The last puzzling statement was followed by barking laughter that made the bat-eared crime-fighter feel slightly nauseous. As far as he was aware, he couldn't sense any other thoughts apart from his own and Joker's. But he supposed it made sense that the other man could, as it had been Joker channelling his psychic energy into Strange that had broken the doctor's mind irreparably. That must have given them some kind of connection.

It was a mystery as to how Strange was involved in this whole mess, but it was useful to know that there was at least someone down there at the bottom of the stairs.

At that moment, they reached the point on the stairs where the sloped ceiling dropped suddenly away to reveal a large, open basement. The abrupt transition from the gloom into its glaring brightness left the two men nearly blinded. They stood helplessly, precious seconds rushing dangerously past them as they blinked furiously, trying to clear hazy red and purple spots from their vision.

Once they were finally able to see again, they found themselves faced with the bright expanse of what seemed incongruously to be a hospital ward-cum-criminal hideout. Various items of medical equipment and complex machines littered a white-tiled floor, fluorescent light picking everything out in harsh, blinding tones. Men, presumably more of Freeze's hired muscle, bustled back and forth across the expanse, carrying things and exchanging snatches of conversation in low voices. It was certainly a bizarre sight to come across in the basement of an abandoned house.

One of the men below happened to glance up and see the two immobile intruders. A look of almost comic goggle-eyed surprise passed across his face, accompanied by his dropping the box he'd been carrying. It fell with a loud crash, spilling out various pieces of metal and attracting the attention of the others, who also noticed the interlopers. At a shouted command from one of them, they surged forwards as a pack to neutralise the threat.

Whatever it was that fed the mysterious psychic link between hero and villain was especially strong down in the surreal basement. At the first sign of danger, the two minds became one, a single fighting unit. By mutual consent, a word never needing to pass between them, Batman and Joker remained on the stairs, knowing that higher ground is easier to defend.

Heedless of this tactical manoeuvre, the henchmen rushed forwards, intent upon their prey.

The first one to reach the pair was backhanded powerfully away, his jaw cracking, by the Joker who instead of exhibiting his usual frenzied excitement, moved with the controlled discipline of a trained combatant. The attack was mirrored by Batman, who efficiently kicked back a second hired grunt with a boot to the chest. There was an ethereal quality to their movements, an elegance that was above the everyday confrontation, as the grace of a born murderer combined seamlessly with the ruthless determination of a man who fights out of necessity.

Still not realising the power of what they faced, the henchmen continued to attack. One launched himself up onto the stairs behind the two, throwing both arms around Batman's neck to choke him. Seeing the opening in the Bat's defence, another two men swarmed forwards to take him down. One of them never even made it, as before he could get too close, he found himself grabbed by the front of his sweater. For a moment, he looked into a scarred, painted face as frightening that of Death's, and then he was being launched over the side of the stairs to land on his back, snapping his spine.

However, whilst Joker was distracted, the remaining men surged forwards past his defence, their numbers managing to overwhelm the Bat. Under the sheer accumulated weight of their bodies, he went down on one knee, still trying to fend them off. It was an awkward position and he teetered on the step he was precariously balanced on, almost going down. But he was hardly aware of this – his mind was with that of the other man, who plunged into the array, hauling off the hired muscle until Batman found himself free to stand once again.

With machinelike efficiency, Batman and Joker fought their way to the basement floor, which had become littered with unconscious and groaning henchmen. The attack had dwindled away to nothing, unable to compete with their combined power. Uncomprehending of his surroundings, knowing only that he had emerged victorious from the fray, Batman lifted his eyes and caught sight of something that had escaped his notice before. It was enough to pull his own consciousness back into his head, separating him from Joker with a painful wrench that was almost audible.

Dazed, the connection broken, the crime-fighter and criminal staggered apart, exchanging dazed looks between each other in the few seconds it took their individual personalities to reassert themselves. When they did, Joker barked out a high-pitched laugh which turned into a snarl when he glanced up and his eyes alighted upon the sight that had separated their consciousnesses.

Previously shielded from sight by the comings and goings of his hired henchmen, Mister Freeze dominated the far side of the basement. He stood with proud resistance, his chin tilted up slightly and a sneer was visible on his face through the helmet's glass. Slightly behind him was the most bizarre sight of the night so far – a hospital bed, looking odd and out of place even though it was surrounded by the usual medical paraphernalia. One of his gloved hands was resting protectively on the head frame of the bed, and beneath its covers, cocooned in the gently beeping machines was Doctor Hugo Strange.

Batman has suspected that the good doctor was somehow involved, but it was still a disorientating experience to find the man in the basement of an abandoned house, being looked over by the latest terrorist threat in Gotham City. Even more disconcerting was the fact that far from being in a coma as the Dark Knight had suspected, Strange was awake, his glazed eyes rolling uselessly in their sockets and his mouth gaping automatically like a landed fish. But he was awake.

As if confirming that fact, Joker's voice spoke up in the crime-fighter's head. 'The Doc's broken. Even I can't understand what's going on in that head of his.'

"Batman," Freeze interrupted coldly, although of course he was unaware of having interrupted anything, "I congratulate you on having found me. However, I must admit I expected you sooner. I also expected you alone. Why have you brought…" there was a brief pause in which ice blue eyes ran dismissively up and down the purple-clad form of Joker, "that along with you. Is he perhaps your lucky mascot?"

In that moment, in a complex burst of painful emotions, Batman fully understood why Joker had offered to join him, why he was so eager to help in the destruction of Freeze, and although he was not a man who was easily scared, the intensity of the hatred terrified him. If that passion were to be released tonight, he knew that he would be unable to control it.

The Joker's intense loathing of Mister Freeze stemmed from the man having threatened the clown's ego, made demands for the limelight he considered his by right and now he was insulting Joker further by failing to recognise him. It took all of Batman's mental strength to keep the Joker from launching an attack.

It was obvious that if this confrontation was to be a success and result in minimal loss of life, then it would have to be over with quickly. The best way to ensure that was to set a deadline.

"It's not me that needs to explain myself," Batman growled, smoothly extracting a heavy gun-like weapon from where it had been concealed beneath his cape. Calmly, he turned a dial on its side, cranking the timer on it up to read 5.00. Having done so, he hefted the weapon smoothly up onto one shoulder and fired. Something splatted onto the wall behind Mister Freeze and with each firing of the gun more of the small round objects, red numbers flashing in their centres, appeared on the walls in strategic positions around the basement. As the little timers hit the wall, stuck there by what looked like transparent putty, they began steadily ticking away a second at a time.

Over Joker's sudden comprehending laughter, Batman said "You have exactly five minutes to tell me what's going on."