WARNING: There's some dark/graphic stuff in this chapter. Just a heads up.
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Breathing heavily, Batman wipes away the blood dripping from his mouth. He pushes himself to his feet, glaring down at the eight Blackgate prisoners now sprawled out across the Secure Treatment Transfer Room. All are unconscious, and most with broken bones. Spitting out a glob of blood so that it lands at the feet of one, Batman turns and hurries to the broken glass wall Robin had disappeared over. He shoots his grappling hook and swoops over the edge of the chasm, soaring through the cold air and landing on the metal surface covering the bottom.
The thud of his boots echoes loudly throughout the space, only highlighting the horrible fact a simple look tells him; he's alone. Batman pulls out a flashlight and crouches, examining the floor. Around his boots, blood speckles the gray surface. Trying to calm his rapidly rising anxiety, Batman twists around in the tight space, searching for anything else of use.
Not three feet from him is a ventilation opening. A gate used to be there, but it's been pulled away and thrown the side. Hope surges in Batman as he bends down and crawls through the opening. He only goes a few yards before coming upon another gate that had been torn off. Pushing himself through it, he drops into an empty hallway. The moment his feet touch the ground, an overhead security monitor crackles to life.
"My goodness, Batsy, you're starting to show your age!" says the Joker. "For a moment, I was worried you weren't going to win that one."
"Where's Robin, Joker?" Batman snaps viciously.
The Joker laughs. "You really should keep a better eye on your birds; they have such a habit for straying too far from the nest. Dear little Robin is on his way to Harley as we speak."
The screen cuts away from Joker to footage of Robin lying unconscious at the bottom of the air conditioning shaft. Blood seeps out from a bad gash on the side of the side of his head, and his left arm sprawls outwards, his wrist bent at an awkward angle.
The camera suddenly shifts, widening its frame to show an Arkham security guard crawling through the ventilation opening and moving to Robin's side. Immediately, Batman recognizes the man he's worked with before while bringing prisoners to Arkham. "Officer Boles," he growls.
Grasping Robin's ankles, Boles roughly tugs the boy towards the opening he had just crawled through. Boles and whoever is behind the camera make their way into the hallway Batman is standing in now, dragging their hostage between them. Soon Officer Boles reaches the second ventilation opening and drops to the ground; reaching up, he takes Robin's limp body from the cameraman. Boles then slings Robin over his shoulder and turns away from the camera, walking down the hallway.
The footage cuts back to Joker, who looks positively giddy. "The boy is in good hands, Bats, don't you fret! Harley's a pro at keeping your birdies company. But…if you try to follow me, he dies!" He chuckles. "Dear little Harley's looking forward to it. Hey, maybe I'll film it and post it on the internet!"
The panicked fury rising in Batman is making it hard for him to think clearly. "If you harm him –"
A laugh bursts from the Joker. "You already did that when you let my test subject drop him thirty feet, Bats! But if you want to avoid him acquiring any further broken bones, you'd do well to stay clear of me until I'm ready for you. Got it?"
The screen cuts to black, leaving Batman frozen in shock. For a long moment, all he can do is stare. Then he whips out a Batarang and with a cry of rage throws it at the monitor, shattering the glass.
He can't lose Tim. He can't lose a second son to that monster. He can't relive the misery of those months during Jason's disappearance all over again. He can't.
Batman paces back and forth, forcing himself to push down his terror. But Jason's bloody body keeps springing up in his mind, repeatedly replaced with Tim's broken form, and he just. Can't. Focus.
Finally he stops, pressing his hands to his forehead and closing his eyes to center all of his attention on the simple act of breathing. A few moments pass before he opens his eyes again, feeling a bit more in control.
There has to be a trail. There must be something left behind that he can follow. Taking out his scanner, he holds it up to inspect the hallway before him. The device picks up a few drops of Tim's blood, but they stop after a couple of yards. Boles or the thug working the camera must have bandaged Tim's head, either to stop the trail or to simply keep Tim alive. After all, a dead Robin wouldn't make a very good hostage.
What else. Come on, think. Batman frowns, recalling everything he can on Frank Boles. A rather aggressive, impolite sort of man, he wasn't one Batman enjoyed working with or had much respect for. Boles was a known alcoholic, and he had shown up to work hungover multiple times, as well as being caught drinking on the job more than once. However, despite all of the rules he'd broken and all the warnings that had been given, he had never managed to get fired. That always struck Batman as odd.
Yet even with Boles' habits and his constant rude behavior, the idea of him working for the Joker was almost laughable until tonight. Batman grinds his teeth as he walks, annoyed that such an important piece of information had gone unnoticed by him.
Batman turns the corner of the hallway and stops, his eye caught by the glint of something in the shadows. Bending down, he picks up a thin hip flask. He doesn't need to guess to whom it belongs. As the object tips in his hand, a thin dribble of liquid spills out onto the tiles. Crouching closer to the small puddle, Batman holds out his scanner.
42.19% alcohol
99.82% whiskey
Rather surprised at the convenience of finding such a valuable clue, Batman wonders if perhaps Tim had woken up at some point and managed to tear off the flask from Boles. Regardless of how it got here, this is exactly the break he needs. If he can follow traces of the alcohol in the atmosphere left by Boles' bourbon, he should have a new trail to follow.
He moves quickly, holding out the scanner and moving it from side to side as he goes. Every few feet or so he manages to pick up traces of the concoction, which form a pathway before him.
"How's it going, Bats?"
A frown crosses Batman's face as Joker's voice comes in through the overhead speakers.
"I'll bet you're wondering how I did it! Was there a clue the great detective missed?" Joker's voice switches from mocking to annoyingly cheerful. "Oh, me and Franky go way back! In fact, he got to know the last Boy Blunder fairy well."
Batman falters at that.
"Without dear ol' Frank, I never would have been able to spend as much time with little Jay-Jay as I did. Why don't you ask the kid about it sometime? I'm sure he has plenty of stories about Boles somewhere in that scrambled up brain of his."
Heat surges through Batman's body, and he clenches the scanner in fury. Refusing to answer Joker, he picks up his pace.
Rounding another corner, Batman sees two of Joker's men standing guard ahead. His movements fueled by fresh rage, Batman swiftly comes up behind the closest one and violently kicks him in the back, slamming him into the wall. Batman then grabs the man's head and smashes it into the brick surface, knocking the thug unconscious.
"Hey!" shouts the second guard. He raises his gun, but Batman instinctively dodges out of the way, and a shot echoes down the hallway. With a vicious snarl, Batman rushes forward, shoving the gun upwards and grabbing onto the arm holding the weapon. Holding the outstretched limb in place, Batman slams his hand down. There's a crack of bone, and the man cries out in agony, releasing his hold on the gun. A punch is delivered to the thug's stomach, causing him to bend over in pain. Then Batman thrusts his knee into the man's face, and the man crumples to the ground with a pitiful moan. Batman doesn't pause as he steps over the thug, disgust in his eyes as he kicks the gun away.
"Bravo, Bats!" claps the Joker. "Oh, I almost forgot! I have a surprise for you up ahead. Courtesy of a fellow inmate. Just a little something to slow you down, since you're such an annoyingly determined man."
His chest heaving, though more from anger than breathlessness, Batman glances down at his digital map of Arkham; he's nearing the end of Intensive Treatment. He comes up to the exit door of the wing and pushes it open. But upon going through the doorway Batman stops, staring in disbelief.
Slumped up against the wall is Boles. An expression of horror is frozen on his face, and his eyes stare upwards, unseeing. Painted across his chest in deep red are two words:
DEAD END
Batman stiffens upon seeing the blood. Panic shoots through him, and though logically he knows it wouldn't make sense for Joker to drain so much of Tim's to use for the message, he has to check. Lowering himself so that he's propped up on one knee in front of Boles, Batman takes a sample of the blood and puts it on a scanner attached to his gauntlet. A second passes, and then a name match blinks on the scanner's screen.
Frank Michael Boles
Blood Type: A Positive
The relieved breath that escapes him cannot be helped. Lowering his arm, Batman looks into Boles' pale face, and for a moment feels a twinge of pity for the man double-crossed by the lunatic he had been working with for so many years.
Then he recalls the taunt Joker had made about Boles knowing Jason. And suddenly, all sympathy is gone from Batman, and a darker part of him is suddenly not sorry at all for what happened to Boles.
In fact, though he hates to admit it, part of him may actually be glad.
He deserved it.
Gritting his teeth, Batman pushes away the grim thought and stands. He needs to focus. He can't lose control – he has to find Tim.
But now his best trail is gone.
Batman turns away from Boles' body and begins looking about him for any possible clues he could use. He only takes a few steps forward when he hears it.
Distant wails of terror. Pleas for release. Sobs of the damned.
Batman hurries towards the noise, and as he turns another corner he finds himself facing a large window that opens up into what looks to be a small employee recreation room. On the other side of the glass are about ten Arkham employees.
All of them are screaming.
"Help! Please, help!"
"No, NO! It – it's coming for me!"
"Stop! STOP!"
"Help me!"
Some are clawing at their own faces, tearing away blood and skin. Others are dragging themselves across the floor, or sobbing beneath tables. It's complete chaos.
Batman instantly recognizes the symptoms of Dr. Jonathan Crane's fear toxin. He frowns, wondering how long it had been since Joker had released Scarecrow, and who else he had freed in the past few hours. But now is not the time to worry about that; he knows that if the Arkham employees are left in that room for much longer, they will kill each other.
He needs to find a way inside. But a quick inspection of the room through the widow makes him pause in confusion; there are no doors. That can't be right. His frown deepens, but he doesn't have time to question it. Pulling out a Batarang, but takes a step back and heaves the weapon at the window. It strikes the center of the glass, and dozens of cracks spread out from it like an intricate spider web. But a second later, the cracks mold themselves back together and the window is as strong as ever.
Batman stares at the glass for a moment, perplexed. He hears the sound of footsteps and spins around, excepting Scarecrow to be lurking in the shadows.
No one is there. Trying to deny the hint of apprehension pricking at him, Batman turns back to the window.
Except that there is no window. The room is gone too, as are the people trapped inside. Instead, Batman is staring down a long, dark hallway lit only by eerie green lights. His muscles tense, Batman moves forward, eyeing his surroundings suspiciously. The walls are covered in mold and cobwebs, and the floor beneath his boots is slimy, making it hard for him to walk. It's strangely quiet, save for his footsteps and the faint sound of something dripping onto the floor.
"Bruce?"
Bruce freezes. "Jason?" he asks, turning around.
Jason stands before him. Bruce blinks in surprise, staring at the small boy; this is not the Jason Todd he knows now. This Jason is years younger, looking no older than he was the day Bruce had caught him stealing the tires off of the Batmobile. He's skinny, thinner than a boy his age should be. But that doesn't keep that fierce spark from burning in his vibrant blue eyes. Bruce's heart aches looking into those eyes; he hasn't seen that same brightness in them for a long time. His gaze then falls upon Jason's left cheek. It's undamaged, showing no hint of Joker's barbarous treatment.
Bruce reaches out, desperate to take the boy in his arms. But Jason pulls back, fear creeping into his expression.
"Where were you, Bruce?" Jason asks, his voice small and trembling.
Bruce's brow creases in confusion. "What –"
"Why didn't you protect me?" Tears well in the boy's eyes.
"Jason…"
"Would you have killed him for me?"
Bruce freezes at the familiar question. He stares down at the child, who is watching him with the utmost sorrow. An unbearable sadness takes hold of Bruce as he looks into his son's eyes, now seeing nothing but hopeless despair in them.
Then, without uttering a word, the boy turns and runs off.
"Wait!" shouts Bruce. Immediately he sprints after Jason, but somehow the boy has completely disappeared from sight, despite the fact they're in a straight hallway. "Jason!"
"I would have killed for you."
Bruce whirls around at the second voice. It's Jason's, as he sounds now – much older and far more weary than how he sounded as a child.
Jason – the Jason at his correct age – stands in the middle of the hallway. The J on his cheek is bleeding profusely, though he doesn't pay it the slightest of mind. He is dressed in his old Robin uniform, and it is as tattered and bloody as it was the day Bruce had rescued Jason from captivity.
"I would kill them all, if it would make you love me," Jason whispers brokenly. "Why won't you do the same for me?"
"Because he doesn't truly care for you," answers a new voice.
Bruce stiffens as the Joker emerges from the shadows, stepping forward so that he's standing directly behind Jason. The Joker pulls out a knife and curls his arm around Jason so that the blade is pressed against the boy's throat. Jason doesn't make any move to try and break free.
Joker smiles. "Not like I do." Then the Joker wrenches the knife to the side, slitting open Jason's throat.
"NO!" shouts Bruce. He rushes forward, catching Jason as he collapses. Choking, Jason emits gurgled gasps as blood gushes from his neck and onto the floor's tiles.
"No, no, no," Bruce mutters frantically, cradling Jason's head. "Jason, don't do this. Stay with me."
Jason's eyes drift aimlessly, unfocused and glazed over. He gives a sob, and more blood spurts from his mouth, splattering onto Bruce's front. Bruce is pressing his hands to Jason's wound, but there's just too much blood to stop. It keeps flowing, seeping through his fingers and drenching the both of them. A violent shudder ripples through Jason's body…and then, he falls limp. Final tears leak from Jason's eyes as they still, staring ahead blankly.
Bruce is openly weeping now. "No…no…"
"Now, now Brucey, don't feel bad."
Bruce snaps his head up, too much in shock to do anything but watch as the Joker crouches down in front of him and Jason.
Joker gives Jason's head a pat. "These birds weren't very sturdy to begin with; they were all going to bite the dust sooner rather than later. I think you and I both knew that. Trust me, you are much better off without them." He gestures to his left, and Bruce's gaze follows to the far wall, where two bodies lay.
Dick is sprawled on his back, eyes open and empty. A deep gash runs across his abdomen, wide and jagged. Tim lies across Dick's legs; his chest punctured by multiple stab wounds.
"No...please. No, no, no…" Bruce moans. "This can't be happening. This can't…"
Joker glances from Dick and Tim back to Jason, and he gives a casual shrug. "Well, I think I'll take this back then, since you won't be needing it anymore." Grasping Jason's body beneath the armpits, the Joker tugs hard, wrenching the boy away. Panic seizes Bruce, and he tries to throw himself forward, the need to protect his children overwhelming. But Bruce finds that he can't move a muscle; all he can do is watch as the Joker drags Jason over to where Dick and Tim are lying.
Dumping Jason beside the others, the Joker pulls out a knife from his sleeve. "Remember that wonderful night at the kindergarten, Bruce? Oh, what fun that was!" He taps the blade against his chin, then sends a malicious grin Bruce's way. "Why don't we do a repeat of that night? You missed the opening act the first time, so I'll let you watch now. Too bad there's only three of them, but maybe I'll mismatch more than just limbs this time. Eyes…tongues…oh the possibilities…" The Joker crouches down beside the bodies, twirling his knife between blood-soaked fingers.
"NO!" Bruce roars. He twists violently, desperate to break free from the invisible hold restraining him. Using every ounce of strength he possess, Bruce rips himself up from the floor, agony blazing through him as he does so. With both grief and rage propelling him forward, he lunges at the Joker.
The moment his hands touch the Joker, everything dissolves away into a giant chasm. Then Bruce is falling, tumbling through the air while deranged laughter rings loudly between the chasm's walls.
The edges of his sight are growing dim. Coldness seeps into Bruce's body, but he welcomes it. If this is death, he will gladly embrace it. Anything if it means seeing his sons again.
Down he goes.
Into the black abyss.