The pain knew no limits. It became his entire world, his past, his present, and his future. The pain washed over him like waves crashing upon the shoreline, thrashing his nervous system. He was alone with not a single sympathetic soul to hear his screams. He had tried to be block it out and be brave as Bruce had taught him, but his life as the ward of the Dark Knight seemed as though it had been an eternity ago. The endless waking nightmare that was this ordeal brought more than mere pain.

It brought despair.

"Where was Batman?" That was the question that pounded through his skull the most. In between the thoughts of "God please just kill me" and "Joker I'll slaughter you" that were his few cognizant thoughts there was that one, persistent question. "Where was Batman?"

The Joker's words echoed through his mind on occasion. "He doesn't care. He never has. You're expendable."

Round and round in his head these words echoed. He could not banish these ruminations. Because of the pain it was impossible for him to think of anything else. They were the only thoughts that he could think of.

Tim almost preferred the pain. Almost.

In summation the Joker's plan was a recipe for disaster, as were most of his plans.

The human mind is perhaps one of the most intricate devices on the planet, cable of storing, observing, and decoding vast quantities of data. Above and beyond the prowess of even the most advanced supercomputer, the human mind was blessed with the abilities of comprehensive thought and self-awareness. To compare the human mind, or the mind of any sentient creature that populated the known universe with a machine would be a fool's errand, as the mind was so much more complex than that. And yet the comparison still stands, for, like any machine, there is only so much wear and tear, so much blunt trauma that the mind can take before falling apart completely.

That was the fatal flaw of the human mind. It was perhaps one of the most complex apparatuses in the world, and yet it was so easily shattered.

The first step was deprivation of rest, an easily attainable goal for someone determined to make it happen. The drugs and the shocks kept the subject's body in a consistent state of stress, allowing the adrenaline to keep flowing and the cortex to remain active. The nervous system was kept in permanent activity just enough to keep him conscious, but not so much that he could become immune to the pain or block it out.

Combined with repeated statements on the hopelessness of his situation and, of course, the endless agony that the serums and the shocks provided, it was only a matter of time before something snapped.

And snap it did.

Once again the rather inaccurate metaphor of the machine is brought into being. But on that night the comparison could be made not only to the mind, but to the body as well, for the body is much like a machine. Both require fuel, both require care, and both require constant maintenance, and like any machine there is only so much that the human body can stand before malfunctioning. Robin recognized this. And so his plan, born of desperation was hatched

It was his heart that was the key to the entire plan. The stress that the shocks had put it under had been almost too much for it to handle. The heart, like other parts of the nervous system requires electrical impulses of a certain kind in order to keep pumping in a proper manner. The shocks inflicted upon Robin's body threatened to disrupt this natural rhythm. Robin realized this. The memory came to him like a bolt of lightning. It was simple biology. What happened if the electrical impulses to the heart were disrupted?

Cardiac arrest quickly followed of course.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity something resembling hope entered into Robin's mind as a plan fell into place.

Without warning Robin slumped forward, his body limp. Despite the pain he tried hard not to move. He had long since screamed himself hoarse, so his screams had become greatly muffled and were thus easier to restrain. Harley, who had been on duty observing him while the Joker was out jumped from her seat and ran to the operating table upon which Robin had spent the last two weeks. Harley may have only achieved her doctorate in psychology, but years spent on the run with the Joker at her side had necessitated that she expand her knowledge into biology and medicine. After all, no hospital would treat them without calling the cops, and a life as the henchwoman of one of history's greatest psychopaths was hazardous to one's health to say the least.

And so without a moment's hesitation she recognized the signs. Heart attack or cardiac arrest probably, she reasoned. The kid couldn't be allowed to die now, not when her beloved sweetheart's greatest plan depended on him living.

And so, without even thinking she shut down the electrical current and undid the straps tying Robin to the table. She couldn't perform CPR with him on the table, as the table was placed into the vertical position and, in her panic, she forgot that there was a lever that could have lowered the table into the horizontal position. As soon as his left arm was let loose she went over to undo his right arm. And then, as she moved to unfasten the leg restraints she heard something.

She heard a harsh, guttural whisper that terrified her.

"Thanks."

Before she could even react Harley Quinn felt Robin's left hook impact into her cheek. It was a quick and desperate jab, enough to disorientate anyone for but the briefest of moments. In the time it took Harley to recover Robin undid the leg straps and lunged for Harley. He had not stood in two weeks. His vision was blurry. He could just barely think, just barely understand his surroundings.

The only thing that was clear to him was a small, feral voice in the back of his head shrieking the word ATTACK into his ear. And attack he did. The adrenaline coursing through his veins gave him a temporary reserve of strength, and so he lunged for the staggering form of Quinn.

Leaping forward he grabbed her, sending a concentrated kick to her solar plexus. Half from shock, half from pain, Quinn crumpled to the floor.

Robin was on her in a heartbeat. Like a rabid lion tearing into a wounded to gazelle he pinned her. And then the blows came. She was nothing more than a red and black blur in his eyes. And yet he knew that she had to pay. She had helped to hurt him, and now he would respond in kind. She deserved this. He deserved this. They all deserved this. And so he punched her. Again and again and again he punched her.

Left hand, right hand, each had its turn impacting upon flesh and bone. With each blow Robin's vision grew clearer, but with each punch he did not see Quinn.

CRACK!

There before him Robin saw the form of his deadbeat father Steven Drake.

CRACK!

And now there was Nightwing.

CRACK!

The Joker.

CRACK!

Batgirl.

CRACK!

Batman.

CRACK!

Batman again. The tears were welling in his eyes. Of all the people in the world who could have kept this from happening it could have been him. People always said that Batman could do anything, that out of every superhero in the world he was by far the greatest. If he was the World's Greatest Detective as many had claimed, then why hadn't he deduced where his ward was?

Where was the Goddamn Batman when he was needed the most?

The Joker's words echoed through his mind once more. You're expendable. He only cares about himself. He doesn't care about you.

"Well, well what have we here?"

Robin looked up, his vision clearer now than it had been. There, in the door way stood the Joker. In his hand he held a simple 9mm pistol, pointed lazily at Robin.

"I can't leave for thirty minutes just to get milk without having to worry that you'll burn the house down. Ah well, this is all probably just a desperate cry for help."

Robin looked away from Joker at the body lying before him. Quinn had resumed her natural form in Robin's addled mind. She was conscious, and she was groaning in pain. Weeks of torture made Robin's mind a fog. Natural fight or flight instinct took over that which mental restraints and discipline had long held in check. Desperation drove what happened next.

Grabbing Quinn by the shirt, Robin lifted her into a sitting position, put his right hand on the top of her head, and placed his left hand on her lower jaw.

"Let me go. NOW!" Robin tried to sound intimidating, but his parched throat proved to be an impediment. He sounded like a sick frog.

Never once did the Joker's death's head grin leave that face of his. In fact, the ruby red lips appeared to stretch even further apart, his yellowing teeth parting. It was a smile that would have given the Cheshire cat a run for its money.

"Or what?" He asked softly.

"I'll snap her neck." Robin responded.

"Really?" The Joker asked, sounding for all the world like a little kid who had just watched his grandpa perform a really good magic trick, the excitement palpable in his voice.

"Yes. Now let me go!"

"This is turning out even better than I had hoped." The Joker said. He placed the gun in his pocket and planted himself firmly in the doorway. "Go on Junior, make me proud."

For a split moment Robin hesitated. And then he tightened his grip on Harley's head. Could he do this, could he really do it? He hesitated again. He loosened his grip just slightly.

Yes. He could, and nothing could stop him come hell or high water.

Or a sharp strike to the face. Quinn, sensing that Robin was going to go through with his threat swung her head backwards as Robin paused. The back of her head connected with the front of his. Blood spurted from his nose. He could taste the coppery sensation as blood pooled in his mouth. Quinn leapt to her feet and ran to the Joker's side as Robin's grip slackened.

His last hope was gone. There was no way out. He had blown his one shot. And then he heard it, a slow rhythmic clapping. The Joker was applauding.

"Bravo bird boy, you passed the biggest test of all. Welcome to my world."

"Your world?" Robin asked, terror filling his numb body at the realization of what he had almost done.

"Yes, my world. For the first time in your futile crime fighting career you let go of all inhibition. It doesn't matter that you didn't get the chance to go through with it. You tried. You were going to do it. The only snarl in an otherwise flawless plan was that your reflexes were a little slow. The only difference between you and me Robin was that you and all the other costumed do-gooders had one rule. You just threw that rule away. What would Batsy say if he had happened upon us during that little scene?"

Robin knew what would happen. Batman would have been furious. His rule was absolute and inflexible. Nothing warranted the taking of another life in his mind, not even the life of someone as foul as the Joker. It had always been his way or the highway when it came to that rule, or any of Batman's rules for that matter. Robin had never been able to fully satisfy the old man's stringent requirements. He had never lived up to Dick's reputation as Robin in Batman's eyes. Batman had never said anything, but Robin had always suspected it to be true. He was nothing. He was the son of a no name criminal. Who had he been kidding? He had failed. He had tried to do the impossible, to live up to the requirements of the Dark Knight, and like all the people that had come before him he had been found wanting.

He had trained, he had sacrificed, he had given everything, and it had all been for nothing. He had lost everything. No one was coming for him.

He had been forsaken.

"You see now don't you?" The Joker asked.

"Yes." Robin replied. "But, but I can't go back. I WON'T GO BACK! I'd rather die than feel pain like that again. Please don't put me back on that table. Please."

"You don't have to go back." The Joker smoothly responded.

"W-what?" Robin asked, timidly, his entire form shaking as the adrenaline left his system and exhaustion set in."

"You know what I need from you Son. We are a family after all. And families don't keep secrets from each other."

Robin knew what he meant. Sanity dangled by a thread on the precipice of oblivion. He stared down into the gaping madness of bloody hell, and where once he would have shown defiance there was now only acceptance.

This was the way the world was. There was no fighting it.

He could only embrace it.

Without hesitation his shaking hand reached up to his face and removed the mask covering his eyes.

For what seemed like an eternity the Clown Prince of Crime and his henchwench stared at the person before them. Their mouths stood agape, the smile wiped from the Joker's face as the connections were made. They both recognized this kid, as unlikely as that was. They had seen and heard of him before. He was always in the background on the TV or in the papers, always in the company of Gotham's greatest son, this boy's guardian, and, they both realized, the man whose cowled form had struck fear in the hearts of criminals the world over. Everything made sense now.

"It can't be…" Harley said.

"he! he! he! he! he!" Tears streamed down the unmasked face of Timothy Drake as he chuckled at the pointlessness of it all. Insanity beckoned, offering him sweet release from the troubles of reality. He accepted the madness gladly, and all the while he mourned what had once been.

That was the nature of madness, to be glad and to be miserable all at once. His descent was complete.

The Joker looked upon his new son and felt the world turn beneath his feet. Everything had fallen into place. He saw now the things that had so long been hidden from him. This revelation would certainly spice up the game a great deal. There was only one way for him to respond to this new truth. There was only one thing for him to express.

HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!