AN: Here we are. This is…the final chapter. Well, I have an epilogue after this, except it is extremely short (meaning a few paragraphs). I am both overwhelmed and incredibly sad that this is the last chapter. I stayed up all night this particular night (it is currently 6:26 AM) on a whim to write this, because I didn't want to go any longer without finishing the story up for you lovely amazing readers…and for myself as well. I wrote the epilogue almost a year ago, so you can't imagine my excitement when it came to finishing this chapter…

But wow, it's been a year writing this (filled with months of absences..sorry about that.) I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I hope it's as good as the last have been. Just to make some things clear: I mention a baterang later on, and I guess that's the name of Batman's weapon he uses that resembles a boomerang but is much more lethal and bat-shaped. If not…my apologies  Also, I tried to follow the bare bones of the final scene of the Dark Knight with this last chapter, but I obviously took (many) creative liberties in making it Joker/Rachel-centric and whatnot. If you don't remember from the movie, during this scene Batman has radar/phone-vision and so he can see things with this odd blue static instead of actual visuals, so I tried to incorporate that too, just so people don't read it and wonder what I'm talking about. Also…some people may despise me for the ending & the subsequent epilogue, but it's what I always envisioned this 'fic ending like, so I love you despite your possible hatred of me 

Thank you all so much for reading & the kind words and encouragement. I couldn't have finished this fanfic without you all. You are AMAZING. The epilogue will be up in a day or two…maybe even later today.

Love,

Xxnadsxx.


Dark Humor

Seventeen

"What doesn't kill you...only makes you stranger."

--The Joker



Tonight would be a celebration.

He pranced about the floor, kicking legs up in the air and humming merrily in anxious anticipation for his much needed guest to arrive. Rather late, the Batsy boy was, but if he insisted he may just have to crash his party in the middle of the…fireworks. A delicious glee filled his body, prickling head to toe, a chuckle rising from scarred lips. The whimpers of his captives all about the building only empowered him, filled his entire being with lust, strength, energy. He could see the ferries from his position in the building, yet pressed a blood-stained glove against his forehead to mimic a captain gazing from the bow of some great ship to faraway seas. They were glowing, practically sparkling in all the delicious chaoswithin. His heart pumped rapidly in tandem with what he could giddily imagine to be the hearts of the civilians, the prisoners, all struggling to make that seemingly difficult choice of killing the other to survive or retaining their humanity in death.

When all the cards were dealt, sometimes you had to cheat your way through to win. No one wanted the Joker, to make them lose the game they so feebly played with all their pathetic little chips. A groan from behind brought his attention elsewhere; agitation filled his brain, his rushing thoughts brought to a momentary halt, a twitch in his eye. His little Rachel was moaning, perhaps coming to, or three or four, if her mind were in such tiny little pieces—! He imagined her lying in the discarded heap he had left her in, soaked entirely with beautiful blood, the color red oh-so-flattering for her pale, corpse-like frame. Sheer beauty, the way her supple little body was so deliciously cut, like prime meat slashed across the skin, waiting to be devoured raw. Pity she wasn't awake to celebrate, but he rather liked the sight of her defeated, subdued, a corpse with the tiniest bit of air still inside of her, the heart slashed open over time yet still beating…if not much, much slower.

But the laughter. What lovely music to play in the background of his genius! Though not as lovely as his own, it was quite the pleasant surprise, along with the tastiness of her blood, bitter and dry against his knife. As he thought, he pressed the knife to his tongue, savoring the dried blood that lumped against it, eyes rolling to the back of his head, lids blinking in undiluted bliss. How lovely indeed it was to taste the blood of one so restrained, so protected, so ferocious; to have the liquid running free like a fountain, to have him prance and lick and fuck so ecstatically and freely, to ravage and violate and destroy.

Such things were what fed his insatiable appetite. And as he smacked scarred lips against the other, twirling the knife in his hand, he wondered faintly if the girl were to survive long enough for him to have a longer…taste.

A dog barked. His little puppies, chained to a column. He snarled and barked in response, speaking to them in a language only beasts and he could understand, as were the words of the inhuman, the chaotic. He was snarling, on his purple knees, pushing bloodied hands forward 'til he was on all fours, snapping his scarred white jaw and crawling forwards, closer, closer towards the dogs that barked and drooled and howled. For a moment, as he came so close he could feel their uneven, rampant breath against his cheeks, they tensed and silenced, as if appraising him. Three of the dogs merely glared at him with vicious, yet subdued eyes. A curious dog in the center, more furious than the others, barked once. His smile twisted upwards as it barked again—a warning, perhaps—and, ever so curious; the Joker merely craned his head to the side, watching it silently.

Finally, it leapt forward and sank its teeth into the Joker's cheek, gnawing through scar tissue. At first the Joker yelped, yet it was a yelp of ecstasy, as the dead and living nerves of scar tissue and raw skin set aflame, as the blood gushed from his suddenly all-too-open wounds, as he felt so undeniably alive alive aliveand the viciousness of the creature with its teeth inside of him made his blood boil, his pants tighten, his fists clench. Such ferocity, such sheer power; he craved it, he needed it, he alone wanted to possess it. Mine, mine mine mine mine,you can't have it you little bitch, you can be strong and cha-otic but you can't overcome me, that power is mine, for I rule you, I have something you don't have, and that's insanity—

As soon as the dog released its jaws from the Joker's blood-soaked face, he tore forward in retaliation, his bare human teeth digging straight into the dog's throat. It seemed to pierce deeper even than the dog's sharpened maw, his canines digging into the jugular vein, the dog screaming and whimpering and scrabbling its feet desperately as his teeth sank deeper and deeper into the skin, the frantic beating of a heart against his mouth, blood spurting in thick currents against his chalk-white face. In an instant, he pulled himself away, taking the dog's throat along with him in a bloody spray that engulfed the other dogs' silent faces and covered the perimeter in slippery, slick redness. The skin that hung from the Joker's teeth fell in a mangled mass before the three dogs, and he chuckled silently before licking at the blood around his mouth and cheek.

"Dig in, boys!" He announced in a merry squawk to the canines before him, who had already begun to feast on the skin lying against the ground, lapping up the blood as if it were the most delicious thing they had ever tasted.

He turned away in fading interest as he imagined the dog's corpse to be devoured in the next few minutes; predictable. For as animals did, so did humans. Yet they had those oh-so-pesky laws and regulations to get in the way of all the fun.

And as the thought of the fun being spoiled crossed the Joker's mind, a flash of grit teeth and a fluttering black cape against the pitch sky made him croon in both ecstasy and frustration. Batsy-boy was here, all right; yet he may have a fighting chance of stopping the party…and that would be most unfortunate.

Another groan behind him, as if on queue.

Scarred and bloodied mouth curled into a satisfied leer as the plan began to formulate within his mind. He saw his pretty little corpse lying behind him in his head, Batsy's horrified face…yes, this was going to be on helluva final act to remember.

One of them would go down in fireworks by the time the night ended, and he highly doubted it would be himself.

*

Think.

Ras Al Ghoul's voice filled his mind, an echo of a distant memory. Back when he was a child, back when he was filled with rage and self-loathing, the feeling all-but subdued until now, come alive in violent torrents that threatened to tear his mind apart as he flew through the streets at break-neck speed. Visions of him training, his sword clenched in hand, his body tensed, nothing but the blood lust and the anger and the need for power, the need to control filling him, a point past the adrenaline, of mental confusion akin to insanity.

Don't just attack me like some crazed fiend. Think! Plan your battle; conquer your rage!

The streets passed in a blur; eyes narrowed, adrenaline pumping, the building loomed before him like a silver knife cutting through the darkness. His vision was blue-tinted and static, the objects before him nearly indiscernible shapes save for the rough geometric pattern of their frames, the static nothing more than a hum against the mental rage within him. The faint shriek of police sirens began to take part in the crescendo of noise and panic, tailing his trail, while he willed the voice in his mind to continue;

Think. Calm yourself. Think.

Batman's composure was still held; his eyes narrowed, mind fixed upon the mission. Yet as he neared the half-finished doors of the massive building, bile rose in his throat; his jaw clenched. The vigilante's fist slammed upon a button against the handle of his bike and he was thrown into the air, cape ruffling, arms spread, wind whipping at his thick suit as he flew into the sky and descended upon the ledge of an unknown floor.

He would work his way up. Static crackled against his helmet, the blue light of his cell phone sensor casting a pallid glow upon the area. Shapes surrounded him and his body tensed; he reached for the nearest weapon at his side and paused at the sounds of…whimpering? The sounds of sirens ceasing caused his head to turn slightly; they were going to send the police force up to his level, and he had very little time to act. He cursed beneath his helmet and went back to examine the strange scene before him; clown-masked criminals, their guns pointed to hostages tied all around him.

Clowns.

The masks caused something within him to stir; something to gnaw at his nerves, setting them completely aflame. In an instant his baterang shot through the air, cutting through the nearest mask and causing the man behind it to emit a series of panicked groans, falling to his knees. His fist landed in the man's stomach, and he fell limply to the ground without so much as a struggle. Another clown went down immediately after as he kicked at his ankles and punched him square in his masked face. He fell just as the other clown had; limp, groaning, while the hostages sat silently without a word, without a struggle…

Something was amiss; something was…

"Batman! My men are arriving on your floor! We'll take it from here!"

Gordon's voice on a loudspeaker; he cursed and grabbed the nearest fallen clown, flipped him over, unmasked him.

A pair of terrified, bulging eyes stared back at him, the man's groans made soft little whimpering noises by the thick layers of duct tape against his mouth. An almost inhuman snarl rumbled from Batman's lips as he tore the mask from the other clown's head, found a sobbing, half-conscious woman beneath it. Casting his gaze around the entire perimeter, at least 10 more hostages struggled beneath their masks, the actual clowns leering at him from their positions against columns. His stomach twisted as gunshots rang below; how many people had they already killed?

"Fox," He hissed into the mic attached to his helmet, felt his assistant poised and ready to take instructions, "The clowns are ploys; they're the real hostages! The Joker set us up, we have to stop the police!"

"Right. We'll have to slow them down. I'll cover you."

He nodded, as if to himself, and the first wave of policemen ran up the stairs, their feet frantic and shuffling, their guns poised. Batman didn't know whether it was the careful planning his former mentor had always encouraged or pure mad, berserk rage, but as he made a mad dash for the heavily armored team before him, his fists acted of their own accord and rammed into the first set of policemen's faces. They fell backwards without a struggle, shots ringing into the ceiling. A spray of gunfire whizzed through the air like horizontal rain, bullets thudding hollowly against his armor. The wire of his grappling gun shot forward as he pushed himself backwards and shielded his face with his arm from the gunfire. The wire wrapped around the nearest column, vaulting back like a boomerang on the other end, spreading lightning-quick to wrap around the ankles of the shooting men. They let out astonished cries as it wrapped a second time around the column and spread in a thick line, entangling their bodies and dragging them across the ground to dangle from the ledge like toys.

Even from this height, he could hear Gordon's confused shout. There would be more and more waves of policemen; he didn't know what to do, except hurry and take advantage of what little precious time he had between the oncoming onslaughts. Propelling his body forward, Batman flew through floor after floor, pulling the masks from the clowned men's faces, shoving kicks and punches into impostor hostages, his face slicked with sweat and tension beneath the helmet that weighed upon him like lead.

"To your left!"

Fox's voice rang through his helmet; in an instant his baterang collided with a raised gun; the SWAT officer yelped and clutched to his bleeding hand as a punch to his stomach knocked the air from his system and a sidekick sent him sprawling to the ground. More figures ran forward, more shots splayed through the air, a swift kick sending another gun flying, a quick wince and shudder of pain as a stray bullet managed to work its way through thick armor into his back. He spun on his feet and sent another closed fist straight into a man's face, the impact throwing him backwards against rows of others. They were dazed enough for him to run up the next flight; he counted, prayed, needed them to realize the masked men the hostages, standing naked and vulnerable before their weapons.

How many people are you going to let die because of you?

A pang of guilt was washed away with adrenaline; he ignored the voice in his head, willed it to die and burn, concentrated only on the mission, the necessary. The Joker.

He had to find him. Had to subdue him. Then, and only then, could he stop the bastard from destroying what remained of Gotham city. Then and only then could he stop him from killing the people on the ferries—

Then and only then could he sleep at night.

A voice crackled through his head as he made his way to the highest floor; he paused for a moment,

"Fox?"

"I managed to get a hold of Gordon. His squad found something amiss with the hostages; you're good to go."

"Good. Now I can take care of what needs to be done to stop all this."

"Bruce?"

A pause, silent and tense. Batman hadn't heard his name uttered in a very long time, had almost failed to recognize it.

"Yes?"

Fox seemed to pause and take a slow breath before continuing,

"Don't let him kill you…any part of you."

It was Batman's turn to pause. Yet before he could register the full meaning of Fox's words, he heard a low, perverse cackle from what seemed to be nearby yet echo all about him at once. So close…where are you hiding, you son of a bitch?

A click. Fox was off the line, and Batman was searching.

Hunting.

The geometric shapes before him nearly confused him; columns, ledges, debris and rubble, half the floor in unfinished rafters, the other exposed to the cold black sky. He turned around several times, struggling to catch where the cackling came from, all the while alert and tense, poised on haunches like a predator waiting to strike. A chuckle again; he whipped around, caught sight of the slightly hunched figure of the Joker before him, several feet away. His sinister leer was a contorted shape of jagged lines against his face, white lines outlining his body like a wraith.

"Oh, Batsy! How wonderful of you to come! And boy, you didn't disappoint one bit. You let lots of people down there die, and you even held out farrrrr too looo-ng for your little Raaaa-chel!"

The Joker made a scolding "tsk" noise, wagging a blood-soaked finger back and forth, a disappointed sigh reverberating along his lips like a song. Batman's insides churned as if every organ in his body were being clenched into a fist. Sweat prickled along his nape, yet all that registered upon his face was rage. His lip curled and his fingers dug into gloved hands,

"where is she, Joker? Your games end now!"

A half-hearted shrug from the madman, and he gave him a look of what almost seemed to be genuine disappointment,

"oooh, my darling Bat, let's not get ahead of ourselves now! I have a few more games to play before you insist on being the party poo-per. I have a few friends that would be dyingggg to meet you—!"

Batman's mouth opened to retaliate, yet nothing more than a cry of shock and sudden pain could be heard as the snarling of hungry dogs tore the air like an open wound. He had no time to react as the first two massive forms lunged at him, snapping jaws and beady blood-shot eyes bearing down upon him. He fell to the ground, shielding his face with an arm that was rendered useless as a pair of sharp jaws sank into the limb, penetrating the armor and sending sheer pain through his entire system. He struggled to shake them off but another dog was on its way, snarling as it bit into his stomach, the other mauling his shoulder—with a frenzied cry the grappling gun flew into the hungry eyes of the dog assaulting his arm, drawing a line of blood across its whimpering face. His freed arm unleashed a baterang straight into the dog's head at his shoulder, it too falling away in a whimpering mass. He kicked and punched ferociously at the dog at his side, and it fell backwards clumsily, leaving him precious seconds to kick at the fallen animals, one dog flying off the staircase, another struggling by biting onto his heel, causing him to push a button quickly and unleash a jagged projectile from his arm, sinking into its side like a knife. He kicked it roughly down the staircase, the final dog vaulting for him. Swiftly he jumped in the other direction as the canine leaped for him, and it missed him within an inch of its snarling maw, hitting its head against the edge of the gap between stairs and floor, falling backwards and leaving a slick trail of blood from the impact.

His body heaved with effort as he pulled himself to his feet, patches of his armor torn to reveal the blood-caked skin beneath. Batman's breath was ragged yet heavy with determination as he stumbled forward, hand grazing the wet, bloodied gash on his side.

"You can't win, Joker," he rasped, his eyes parallel to the Joker's burning gaze, "I'm going to show you that Gotham and its people don't go down so easily."

A white brow furrowed; the Joker giggled in response, cocked a head in his usual childish demeanor. Batman could read him, now, the way he moved so confidently, a mockery of childish curiosity as he pretended to be confused at Batman's words. There was something hidden beneath his eyes, something sinister in the dull black spark; his throat tightened at the thought of what could cause him such dark joy.

"is that so, Bat-sy? Because not many people really act the way you claim. Not even yourself."

Before he could speak, the Joker raised a hand quickly. At first it seemed as if it were to silence him, but he followed the flick of his gloved wrist and realized he was gesturing to something beyond Batman's line of vision. He saw it then; something dangling off the building, as if from a very thin, fragile wire; then, as the confused white lines of his vision came together, he realized it was in the shape of…a person. A figure, small and frail, hanging from a cable…wrists tied to the ends. The feet dangled free within the air, as well as the rest of the body, as if a single poke or pressure would be enough to break the restraints and make the person plummet, hundreds of feet, into the ground below.

Sparks were at the end of the cable; something glowing. It took a moment for him to register the scene, but upon realizing his skin crawled and he began to run blindly forward.

"Nuh-uh-uhhh! Not if you want her to blow up into tinyyyy little pieces!"

He froze; logic made him stop, yet every other fabric in his being urged him forward, made him want to run and scoop up the woman dangling from the building into his arms, run far, far away from the bastard that was so close to killing her and forget the past few crazed days that they had all suffered so much.

Rachel.

"What are you doing to her, you sick bastard?!"

He couldn't control the rage any longer; it boiled within him, emulsifying his blood into frothing acid, making his lip curl. He could break this man's neck so easily, could tear him limb from limb with a few simple strokes of his baterang, and all would be well; no more Joker plaguing the streets and killing innocents, blowing up hundreds, blowing up Rachel. No more pain, no more guilt, no more sleepless nights…peace, quiet.

But if I touch him I fall to his level.

The madman seemed aware of the interior battle in Batman's mind; he pranced about him in a half-circle, giggling and making motions with his hand like a vocal mime,

"Ya see, Batsy m'boy, I'm not all that bad! I'm willing to…com-prom-ise, in my own little way."

His lips curled back from his teeth in an excited, near-perverse smile; the yellowing teeth were stained with trace remains of blood and decay, his lips scabbed and cracked along the puffy scar tissue. He appeared carnivorous, and Batman was sure he would do no less than spill as much blood as possible, if only to feed on his pain.

"I want Gotham to go down in fire-works tonight," he hissed in a low voice, the word 'fireworks' emphasized with a savage relish, "and I'm going to get them, whether it's the lo-vuh-ly people sailing on their ferries or our dar-ling little D.A.! And you are the one to choose!"

Batman's entire frame stilled; he was completely silent, save for the rapid breaths beneath his mask. The Joker was giving him a choice between the murder of hundreds of civilians, or the murder of the woman he loved. Either way would kill him inside, cripple him irreparably; and the bastard knew that. He gazed at the frail, vulnerable body hanging from the wire, at her closed eyes and bloodied face, a gruesome premonition to things to come if he did not think of a possible way out of this predicament.

I lost you too many times to lose you again, Rachel.

And yet the people on the boat…

Frustrated, a bestial growl tore from Batman's lips and he threw his fist straight into the Joker's cheek. The Joker yelped and howled with laughter from the impact, flying to the ground, blood spraying the air in thick red droplets to stain the floor. Batman was kicking thoughtlessly at his stomach, endless cackles and ecstatic whoops and howls on replay from the Joker's lips, his mouth stretching so wide for a sadistic moment he was sure the clown prince's scars would reopen and he would choke on his own blood.

"That's it, Batsy ! Hit me, hurt me, make me buh-leed, don't stop, I'm so close…!"

His perverse words caused Batman to sneer and growl at the cackling man beneath him, whose white-painted face was now nearly half-streaked with dark drying liquid.

Simply attacking does nothing. Think! Act!

Rachel's body was swaying before him on a cord, hundreds of feet above the air. If he touched her, the explosives would go off, and her body would almost literally implode in showers of blood and flesh and organs.

He kicked again, harder this time, his boot connecting with the Joker's jaw. The Joker's teeth chattered in response and a near-pained yowl tore through the air as he bit his tongue. Just a few swift blows to his vitals and he would be so close, but then what would happen to Rachel? How could you get her out? How could you stop the ferries? He must have a device—a detonating device, for the boats at least. But how do I help Rachel?!

He stopped kicking, as the green-haired clown beneath him spat out a shower of blood. His chest heaved and to his surprise the Joker did not bother to fight back, not yet. The mental attack was his arsenal, the almost literal pain budding in Batman's mind at the thought of making an actual choice.

Again…just like when Harvey was alive. And that tore us apart. This will simply end it. End her.

"Time…is tick-ing!" The Joker sang from underneath him in an enthusiastic wheeze, and Batman suddenly drew attention to the watch attached to his arm.

Ten minutes.

He had ten minutes to make his choice.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tiiiick-tock!" The bastard was chanting beneath him, his eyes round and wide like a child anticipating New Year's Eve.

Batman did all that he could do; he grabbed the Joker by his collar and hoisted him up against a column, eye-to-eye with the leering clown. Of course the Joker showed no fear in the least; instead there was a strange excitement in his eyes, a near-hunger, and he ran a long tongue over blood-caked lips in anticipation for Batman's next blow.

"If Rachel dies, Joker, you will be in a world of pain."

His insult rang hollow, falling upon deaf ears; they both knew he had nothing to back up his words. Batman's snarl appeared absolutely comical to the man he was grabbing hold of, who let forth another peal of laughter, spraying blood at Batman's chin,

"Oh and what would that world entail? I told you before, you have nothing to threaten me with! Now, if you're going to let those people on the ferry die, I'll have to let you know…Rachel's, ah, ex-plo-sives? They're wires that only I can disconnect, or…well…I guess she could, since the other device is located somewhere, ah, um…on her. But if ya touch the cable around her... she'll just go ka-BOOM!"

The chuckle was reduced to spasms as Batman banged the back of the Joker's head several times against the column, causing him to wince in what would have been pain save for the yelps of near-sexual pleasure from his scarred mouth.

"I'm going to help her, Joker. Your game will end…mark my words."

He was so close to the madman he could feel the decaying rot of his breath against his nostrils. At first the Joker began to roll his eyes, then let out a screeching cry of delight. Stunned, Batman fell backwards as pain bloomed against his leg. The Joker laughed and hopped forwards as Batman struggled to regain his footing, flaunting the long blade hidden in his shoe,

"Works every time! Getting a little thick there, Bat!"

Chuckling, he dove forward again, slicing at Batman's chest with the blade. Batman grabbed hold of the blade as it struck forth again, his hands digging into its sides while the Joker struggled to push it forward, dangerously close to the vigilante's throat. With all his strength he pulled upwards, causing the Joker's leg to give, and threw him back against the ground, hurrying to pull himself to his feet while the Joker was on the floor. Almost as quickly he rebounded in a blur of purple and green, grabbing a crowbar and beating at Batman with berserk speed. Batman fell backwards again, his body refusing to respond to his frantic mind, ten minutes, move, get up, come on, while the Joker cackled with glee and allowed the crowbar to smash at his helmet, fresh bruises appearing on his jaw where he struck away.

Try as Batman might, he began to weaken; yet he managed to cover his face with his arm, gazing at Rachel's hanging, limp form from the corner of his eye.

It's not going to end like this. It can't end like this. I won't let it. I won't let him win.

He saw her as if in a hallucination; the girl in pigtails, the smiling D.A. assistant, the strong-willed woman…the girl tied to explosives, wide-eyed and terrified, the girl sitting in a chair of her wrecked apartment, her expression lost and broken, the girl hanging before him on a wire, so close to snapping, so close to being lost forever…

A sliver of strength filled his muscles, and he cried out as he grabbed hold of the crowbar that had been battering at his head, throwing it aside from the Joker's grip. His kohl-rimmed eyes widened slightly as Batman shot a razor from his arm, straight for his face. He howled in masochistic glee as he fell backwards, giggling uncontrollably, grabbing onto the razor that had sunken into his cheek as Batman pulled himself forward.

5 minutes.

Blood pooled from the Joker's cheek as, overtaken with fits of laughter, he pulled the razor agonizingly slowly from his skin, seeming to savor every pinprick of nerves from his body. Batman was hovering over him, his dark form a menacing shadow over the Joker's subdued frame. A square hulk of metal with a large button lay near his body, having fallen from his coat.

The detonator.

He had five minutes.

Rachel.

He was too numb to acknowledge the tear that coursed down his cheek. Too numb for any of it.

Walking out slowly toward the ferries that floated still in the water as if awaiting death, he flung the object into the ocean.

There were no fireworks.

*

Laughter.

It filled her mind, made her ears ache. She felt as if her body were swelling, overwhelmed; she felt faint, as if she were flying. If anything, she wasn't on ground—but whether she was hallucinating or not, she didn't know. Nor did she seem to care. Eyes fluttered open; she felt curiously awake, no trace of fatigue, as if she had awakened from a very deep, satisfying slumber. Yet the laughter wouldn't stop. It came from what sounded like far away, though she knew it couldn't be possible, because the edges of wherever she was seemed to reverberate with it.

Her eyes scanned the darkness around her. Pinpricks of light in the sky, the open air chilling her to her bones. She was hanging, somehow—was it a cable that was holding her? –and she was facing a scene soaked with blood. Blood covered the ground in slick, dark puddles, dried between cracks of debris, covered the two figures who were before her. One was dressed in black, one in purple. One stood, stone silent, his eyes solemn and crestfallen behind the mask, one lying upon the ground, caught within the most hysterical fit of near-contagious laughter.

Something tickled at her throat at the sight. Something about the scene before her made her very bones ache with hatred. She couldn't remember at the moment; couldn't register anything but her struggling to loosen the cable around her wrists, her bare feet as they swung forward to touch against the cold, solid ledge. She struggled to make sense of what was going on, but her mind seemed surrounded in a thick haze—then a lump of something solid weighed against her pocket, and her fingers stroked the edge of a pistol at her side.

The cable lay ominously behind her—memories flooded, overwhelming her.

Lying against a chair, tied with thick rope, digging at her skin. Her body, cold and clammy against the night sky, bared like an offering at the top of a warehouse. Countless barrels of oil before her, surrounding her, like black epitaphs of what was to come. Screaming to a man on the phone, hysterical, telling her how much she loved him, the panic in her voice, the biting panic and fear and the awful horror of knowing she was not the one to be saved, that he was going to abandon her, let her die to save Harvey instead, she was worthless and she had no use to him and she was going to die, die right there, and what was the point of life anyway if she could die so easily?

"No!" She had screamed, cried, thrashed as Batman had pulled her away, away from the barrels of oil, away from the fire that had begun and threatened to scorch and devour them. She was struggling to pull herself into the fire, to kill herself, because there had been nothing to live for, nothing after Harvey, since all that was left was decay, since she had died inside even if she had not exploded into bits and pieces, and she knew then all she could do was rot and die away…

'It's crazy business, the way you people work, thinking you can lock away every corrupted person in Gotham when we're all corrupted, even the people you trust the most, when even your little Batman turns his tail on you after finally seeing you as what you are, and that's bait—'

The soft pitter-patter of her feet was almost mute as she made her way, with her feeble strength and quivering frame, across the cold ground. Her bare feet touched the wet blood upon the floor, dipped within it, milk white against crimson. The laughter had stopped; the Joker lay there, silently, watching her from the corner of his eye, knowing she was there all along, knowing everything. Batman's eyes went to the cable, as if bidding a silent farewell—then he turned, his gaze widening to an unreadable expression as he took in the sight of the girl who stood still before him and the madman still sprawled against the ground, her chest heaving, her body battered and stained with dried blood.

"Rachel."

His voice was a mere whisper, so soft it was almost drowned by her heavy breaths. A realization seemed to overtake him; he stared at the Joker, his gaze hard, his voice clipped,

"You lied. There were no explosives. You wanted me to abandon…"

"This ends now."

She spoke, but she couldn't feel it; the words fell from her dry, cracked lips, her throat tingling with the effort. Her voice was strong, determined; hell-bent. As Batman registered her words, he raised his hands, shaking his head furiously,

"No. Rachel. You can't."

Her fingers gripped the pistol in her pocket, held it with more strength than she had ever held the weapon in her entire life. Her hands did not shake; she aimed it precisely, toying with it, going from the Joker's head, to the amused grin upon his white face, his heart, his stomach…

"Rachel! Stop!"

Batman's voice was a panicked cry, so loud and frantic she could almost feel the ground shake. She shook her head, and turned the pistol to her intended target. The Joker tore the tense air with a loud, rapturous cackle.

Bruce watched in horror as she pointed the gun straight at his own forehead.

"No."

She pulled the trigger.