Deep within the basement of Arkham...
...the Joker was greatly enjoying playing with his new gift. Harley could tell by the way his grin spread so wide it literally met his eyes. The Boy Wonder, however, didn't seem to be having half so much fun. Harley didn't really understand his misery – she loved the care and attention her Puddin' would put into playing with her; in fact, she was even a little bit jealous.
And immensely enjoying herself.
They had managed to transfer Robin from the floor to the examination table so that Mistah J could more easily open his present. The bird boy was already covered in cuts from where the Joker had been a bit too over exuberant in slicing through the ribbon; and with the fight the brat had put up once his hands were free had him covered in bruises as well. Now they had him tied down with the straps attached to the table, pinning him across the shoulders, waist, knees and ankles, with a fabric gag taped in his mouth. Try wiggling you're way out of that!
But considering that this was the morgue, Harley couldn't help but wonder why they would need straps for corpses. Weird.
"Come now, Wonder Boy," Mistah J admonished from where he was perched on the edge of the table. He absently picked up a tool from the trolley beside him and fiddled with it. "Don't be so serious, I just want to have some fun!" The tool in his hand suddenly whirred to life, making the Joker jump and then wave it around it eagerly. "What do you reckon this thing does?"
"It's a Stryker saw, Mistah J," Harley helpfully supplied. "They use it to cut open the skull so they can see the brain."
Joker's eyes widened with glee as he switched the saw to his dominant hand and leaned over the Boy Wonder. Robin was trying to inch away, but he was well and truly trapped in his bindings. The saw lowered closer and closer to the boy's forehead, slicing through half of his bangs and scattering strands of hair everywhere. "Like this?" Mistah J asked.
"Yep, Puddin'!"
Robin had to be terrified as the rapidly spinning blade began to cut through his skin, but he refused to make a single sound. Blood sprayed across Joker's stark white face where it caught in the saw blade's grooves and flicked all over the place. Harley leaned forward eagerly, idly wondering if she should bring a chair forward and mark it as part of the 'splash zone'.
The saw cut deeper; grinding on bone. A small noise of pain slipped unbidden from Robin's throat.
"Nah."
Mistah J slouched back and switched off the saw with a shrug. Harley pouted at him in disappointment, just missing the barely audible sigh of relief from the Boy Wonder. "Sure, open brain surgery is fun, but I'm just not feeling it. Too quick."
Harley nodded in understanding, even though she thought removing the bird boy's skullcap and toying with his grey matter still would have been fun. She wondered if it was true that by poking the different parts she could make Robin do weird things – that would be so cool! Maybe they could do that next time. "So what do ya wanna do, Puddin'?"
Joker stroked his chin in parody of his dark detective counterpart. "Well, I've always had a love of a good ol' crowbar beating, that never gets old," he pondered thoughtfully, holding an imaginary crowbar and swinging it experimentally, before miming tossing it over his shoulder. "But the setting's all wrong, don't you think? That's got more of an abandoned warehouse vibe..."
More plans for their next date! Harley could feel herself getting all excited and closed the painful distance between herself and her Puddin'. She threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against his neck; her tongue and teeth coming in to play as she pressed herself close to his side. If Joker noticed her presence, he did a very good job of ignoring it. On the table, Robin looked away from the display in disgust.
"What can we do in a morgue...?" Joker muttered, his eyes roaming all over the Boy Wonder as he clearly imagined several scenarios. And then he chuckled darkly and lifted a pale hand to trace a shape across Robin's chest. The boy tried to shy away from the touch, but there was only so far that he could breathe in and struggling was pointless with the way that he was bound. "Well, there's really only one thing, right Wonder Boy?" he asked, a finger trailing from Robin's collar bone down to his navel. "Tell me, would you prefer a Y, or a T?"
And Harley realised exactly what game Mistah J wanted to play; and it was going to be so. Much. Fun.
"Nurse!" Joker stood abruptly, knocking the unsuspecting Harley Quinn to the ground with a startled ooof! But she was up again in an instant when she saw Joker hold out a hand expectantly. "Scalpel!"
"Yes doctor!" she exclaimed eagerly as she got right into her role. She picked the biggest, sharpest blade she could spot and handed it over, coming round the table so that she would have the best view.
"Alright, let's begin the autopsy," Joker announced like an actor on a TV show. "The date is the 23rd of December 2010, at 2.16am. Subject is Boy Blunder; male, age 12, scrawny."
Robin actually made a noise of protest at that description, making Harley giggle.
"Beginning incision," Joker described, his voice becoming more excited as he lowered the blade and pressed it into the dip of Robin's left shoulder until it sliced through flesh. Blood immediately began to ooze from the cut and trickle across the contours of the boy's chest; making Harley chew on her lip in anticipation. A low groan escaped Robin's gag, but he didn't allow himself to make any more sound.
Harley wanted to remove the gag and hear him scream.
Slowly, ever-so-painfully slowly, Joker dragged the scalpel through the vest; having to saw the knife a few times to cut through the reinforced fabric. The hardest part was getting through the stylised R emblazoned on the boys chest; the blade stabbing deeper into the muscle with every hack and tear at the symbol.
"Always a pleasure watching you work, doctor," Harley couldn't help but murmur as she watched her Puddin' play. She wanted to be close to him and feel his muscles work as he carefully carved the Boy Wonder; but she knew that he didn't appreciate her touching him when he was busy. Instead she memorised every facial expression and movement for later so that the conjugal part of her visit could be more... satisfying.
Once the top part of the incision was done, creating a V shape that spread across Robin's shoulders, Joker began the cut down the boy's abdomen, slicing through the yellow catches that held the suit together. The blood was flowing freely now, all over his chest and stomach. His breathing was becoming hitched and panicked, which just made the scalpel slice deeper.
Joker stopped at Robin's navel, and then handed the bloodied blade back to Harley. And then he dug his fingers into the incision and tugged experimentally. Robin arched in shock and pain, a muffled yell trapped by the gag. "How do you...?" Joker asked as he continued trying to peel the skin back.
"Don't ya have ta break the ribs or something, doctor?" Harley suggested, almost clapping in glee at the delicious mix of pain-filled moans and tearing flesh.
"Right you are, nurse," Mistah J agreed, pulling his gore-covered hands out of the Boy Wonder. "Where did I put that saw...?"
"HEY!" a foreign voice yelled as the door to the morgue slammed open. Standing there was one of the asylum's guards (obviously a newbie, considering that he had just walked in on the Joker armed with nothing more than a cellphone...) who took in the scene in an instant, gulping in horror and terror when he saw the sliced up Boy Wonder. "What the hell are you doing in here?!"
Mistah J sighed tiredly. "Harley, be a dear and see to our visitor."
"Okie dokie Puddin'!"
Severe blood loss and head trauma...
...is not overly conducive to forming escape plans. But it is good for playing possum.
At least, he hoped he was playing possum.
Robin was trying to hold himself together (somewhat literally) but he knew that he wasn't in good shape. Even before the Joker had started his games he was sporting at least one cracked rib and an almighty knot on the back of his head; but now...? Now he was in real pain.
His forehead burned from the saw, and he could feel too much blood clotting in his hair and running uncomfortably into his ear. The small nicks and cuts that littered his body had dulled to background aches along with the bruises from his earlier bid for freedom. He could have handled all of that though. He had been able to stay quiet and relatively calm as he tried to plot how the hell he was going to get out of this mess; right up until the moment that the Joker had teasingly traced the Y across his chest.
Just the thought had practically paralysed him. He was trapped and helpless; no belt, no gloves – just a small knife in his boot that he had no chance of getting to. He had no way to defend himself as the Joker performed a fricking autopsy on him while he was still breathing.
Robin was almost grateful for the gag. He wasn't sure that he could have stopped himself from screaming otherwise.
And then as if being cut open like a cadaver wasn't bad enough – then the fricking Joker had used his hands to try and pry him open. The psychopath's fingers were literally under his skin – tugging.
He blacked out.
"HEY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?!"
Robin blinked open his eyes behind his mask at the new voice. White hot burning pain assaulted him but he pushed past it so that he could find out what the new factor was and whether or not it could help him. What he saw as he tilted his head slightly (ignoring the fresh river of blood that dripped over his mask lens) was an Arkham guard standing in the doorway. Gripped tightly in his right hand was a cellphone, which Robin guessed meant that the guard had been on his break or something when he had accidentally stumbled upon them.
The guard was clueless, terrified, and completely unprepared.
"Harley, be a dear and take care of our visitor."
Robin squeezed his eyes shut again, not wanting to see what happened next. But he couldn't unhear the shink of blade being thrown and the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. He couldn't help the poor, unlucky guard – he couldn't even help himself. Guilt and relief warred within him – he had unintentionally gotten the guy killed; but at the same time the guard had interrupted; stopping the Joker before he could find his saw. And perhaps, Robin thought as he just about managed to get his mind back on track; given the Boy Wonder an opportunity...
"All done, Mistah J!" Harley called triumphantly, and then she picked up the Stryker saw that they had been looking for before. "And look, I found this!"
The Joker just sighed despondently, looking like a kid who had woken up on Christmas to find out that Santa hadn't been. "There's no point now," he sulked like a teenager. "He ruined my game!"
Harley put down the saw and patted the Joker's arm sympathetically. "It's okay, Puddin', we'll play a different game."
"I don't wanna."
Harley carded her fingers through the Joker's short, dark green hair as she pressed against his side and brushed her lips against his ear. She whispered something that Robin couldn't hear (and most likely didn't want to) and then leaned back with a twisted smile. The Joker grinned too, and then looked down at the Boy Wonder. "Okay," he said in apparent agreement with Harley's suggestion. "But there's something else we've got to do first."
"What's that, Mistah J?"
"Well, my dear, it's Christmas isn't it?" the Joker asked, to which Harley nodded. "Then shouldn't we be cooking Christmas dinner? I know there's no turkey; but a Robin will do, don't you think?"
Harley's eyes widened with realisation, and then she danced over to the wall just out of Robin's line of sight. The low background hum that he thought sounded like an oven before suddenly became louder as the squeak of metal hinges announced the opening of a door. The hum was now more like the roar of flames. An incinerator.
"Let's roast this bird!"
Robin let his body go lax (which wasn't all that difficult) and pretended that he was unconscious. Near where his hand was trapped against his side a scalpel had been dropped, and he quickly grabbed it and hid it loosely in his fingers. He felt hands begin to undo the straps across his knees and ankles. It took all of his self control not to leap up the moment that he was free – he had to time this perfectly.
He wouldn't get another shot.
The Joker lifted Robin under the arms like a sack of potatoes, causing pain to flair in his chest and his breathing to hitch; though he forced himself to keep his body un-tensed. Harley took him by the feet, and between the pair of them they managed to get him off of the table and towards the incinerator. Robin waited until he could feel the heat on his bare skin; and then he acted.
Well, he intended to anyway. But he couldn't move. His body wouldn't respond to his commands; he was too tired and weak and in pain. He internally struggled with every shred of willpower he had left, but he stayed completely still in his captors' grip; right up until the moment they tried to shove him into the incinerator feet first.
That was when his body's survival instinct finally kicked in.
His boot heels touched the metal surface inside the industrial-sized oven; the intense heat sending a spike of pain shooting up his legs and jolting his body with some much-needed adrenaline.
Finally, his arm responded as he lashed out with his stolen blade; catching the Joker by surprise as he sliced the clown across his cheek. He simultaneously yanked his legs out of the incinerator and kicked out at Harley. They both dropped him – the pain of smacking into the concrete not hitting him until later – and then he was up on his feet and running. Well, running is probably exaggerating. It was more like staggering as quickly as possible towards the door. Adrenaline could only do so much after all.
As he reached the door he stooped a little lower to collect up the downed guard's abandoned cellphone, ripped the taped-on gag off of his mouth and then kept moving on to freedom.
Now he could only hope he stayed free.
After the rude interruption of the guard...
…and with it the inevitable and eventual alerting of the rest of the staff, meant that soon Joker's fun would have to come to an end. There would be alarms and manhunts and signals to a certain bat-shaped do-gooder; and as much as Joker would love to have that dance, there were other things in play. He couldn't afford to let the Bat catch him with a broken bird. The Injustice League had bigger and better plans; and although he didn't care much for world domination – he sure did love their toys!
And so once Harley had taken care of the guard and it was clear that the game had come to an end; there was only one thing left to do. Get rid of the evidence.
"Let's roast this bird!"
Wonder Boy was unconscious and barely breathing anyway – he wouldn't have been any more fun. Although it was a shame that he wouldn't get to see Batty's face when he found out that his precious sidekick was dead. Perhaps Bats would get a new one and Joker would be able to do it properly next time – maybe with a crowbar in an abandoned warehouse – ooh! With explosions too!
He grabbed the bird boy under the arms and heaved him off of the table; loving the odd squelch the bloodied, torn skin made when it was pushed back together. Harley took his legs and lifted them level with the incinerator door; and then it all suddenly went very wrong.
A spazm of movement and suddenly Joker's cheek burned as if he'd been slapped. He automatically let the Boy Wonder go as he clapped a hand to hurt cheek and pulled it back in surprise to see his own blood. Harley had been kicked to the floor and the damn bird boy was gone.
"Find him," Joker hissed at her, making her flinch back at his tone. "Find him and kill him!"
"Yes, Mistah J."
Now was not a good time to get lost...
...but the Boy Wonder had to have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Robin knew the asylum's layout; the building just one of scores of blueprints burned into his memory. But with blood dripping onto the lens of his mask and the pale green walls reduced to greyscale, there was the slight possibility that his recollection was less than accurate.
The fact that he couldn't breathe and he kept imagining his insides falling out wasn't helping.
He kept one hand clean and on the wall to keep him upright and minimise his blood trail, while the other hand clamped over part of the Y-incision across his chest. It hurt – Jesus Christ did it hurt – but a small, non-panicky part of his brain knew that it wasn't as deep as he imagined. Aside from his stomach where the Joker had shoved his fingers inside him, and the R-symbol where the blade had hit bone, the cut was mostly just a flesh wound. The Joker was more interested in inflicting the fear of an autopsy than genuinely performing one.
But that didn't stop his imagination from telling him that it wasn't just blood he could feel escaping between his fingers.
His head was spinning from blood loss and his breathing was strained at best; leaving his legs to move purely by instinct at this point. He was struggling to remember his name, let alone the building's layout... but he was pretty sure that he had had more of a plan than this...
Which was when he remembered the cellphone.
Staggering down another corridor, Robin stopped and leaned heavily against the wall. The hand that was trying to stop all of his blood from escaping also held the liberated device – he had forgotten that he was holding it before he had pressed it over part of the wound. It was soaked with blood, and as Robin flipped it open he could only pray that it still worked. He sagged in relief when it did.
His thumb moved automatically over the keypad, keying a number ingrained in his memory. There was one person he knew who could maybe make it in time – one person who would always answer his call.
The wet phone felt weird pressed against the side of his face, but really the discomfort was nothing compared to everything else. He put all of his effort into sounding calm and collected, as if maybe that would make him be able to think clearer as he used his only lifeline. He wasn't entirely sure what he had said or whether the conversation had been real or just a figment of his oxygen-deprived brain; but he couldn't really care less anymore.
Approaching footsteps.
Robin forced himself onto his feet and tried to move again. He made it maybe two or three steps before he collapsed. And then there was a shadow falling across him and he didn't know much of anything anymore.
Meanwhile, in Central City...
...Wally West was not awake. His phone was ringing; the tinny trill of Rocking Robin that his annoying best friend had set irreversibly as his ringtone disturbing his peace, but his sleep-clogged mind couldn't bring himself to care. Thankfully, for a certain bird's sake, his father thumped on his bedroom wall in annoyance, forcing Wally to roll over and silence the infernal device.
Clumsily he grabbed up the phone and hit accept. "Ugh, uh, hullo?"
"Hey Walls," Robin's voice sounded inhumanely chirpy to Wally's half-conscious brain; though if he had been more awake, he clearly would have heard the falsity of his tone. "You busy?"
Wally grumbled in irritation. "I'm'a sweep."
"Sorry," Robin apologised. Wally rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he resigned himself to being conscious. It was then that he noticed that he could hear Robin breathing over the static of the line – but it didn't quite sound right. And then there came a loud crash, whatever caused it eliciting a yelp from the Boy Wonder. And since when did Robin yelp? "I need your help."
"Where are you?" Wally demanded as he sat up and paid attention, already looking for something other than his boxers to wear. He grabbed his goggles as he listened to the strained breathing and odd background noise. "Rob?"
"Arkham."
And now Wally West was wide awake.