Try to remember

by Faff

Sixteen year old Kenny McKormick must adapt to his new life in Gotham City, while the same is also true for his eldritch alter ego, Mysterion. But while the agnostic angel of Denver makes his mark on Gotham, the Justice League and hero community at large must adapt to the emergence of this little mystery person who knows far more than he lets on…

17. Blood Loss

Try to Remember

Chapter 17: Blood loss.

—?M?—?M?—?M?—?M?—

The night was a warm one, midsummer was fully underway and even though Gotham tended to be lukewarm even during the hottest of seasons, tonight was a night where even the moon shone hot. The sky, stained red by the bygone sunset, gave way to that self same moon as it came over the opposite half of the gothic sprawl.

With car headlights and streetlamp's twinkling below him, Mysterion rested atop a particularly nondescript apartment building. So undefined was this building, that the only thing which seemed to set it apart from the rest of the skyline, was his own humble shadow, crouched upon its eaves.

Binoculars held up to his eyes, the hooded guardian was in the process of observing the equally ordinary building across the street. A building that would've also been utterly unremarkable, if it weren't for the balaclava wearing, gun-toting figures who were stalking about on it's roof.

Mysterion had begun his night with the intention of heading uptown to where, as a live news report had told him, infamous madman 'The Joker' was robbing some sort of charity fundraising event. En route however, Kenny's keen midnight eyes had picked out the cabal of black-clad bruisers utterly failing to look inconspicuous.

His immediate thought was, why bother breaking into somewhere so unremarkable? It looked like any other building on the block, some sort of rundown office space for rent seemed to be the purpose, judging by what mysterion could glimpse through the windows. So what were these four guys doing waiting around on it's roof, guns at the ready; two with machine guns, two with pistols. What were they going to do, and who were they waiting for.

When the sound of a helicopter approached, Kenny scuttled away into the darkness of the fire escape, as the black chopper came around in the air, swaying to a stop over the building the four individuals were occupying.

Risking a closer look, Mysterion retook his earlier position and brought the binoculars back up to his eyes. The helicopter, glistening black against the post sunset burn, hovered for a few seconds, before slowly descending onto the rooftop. Immediately, the four lurkers ducked their heads and scurried over to the opening doors of the vehicle.

From within came five new individuals, one of whom was dressed like the rooftop goons, but three of whom were being corralled and bundled ungracefully out into the night. They were struggling hard, kicking and thrashing around, but unable to get free or make a sound due to the fact that they were quite obviously bound at the hands and feet, and with black bags over their heads it plainly earmarked them as unwilling guests to whatever this group was planning. Bar the pilot, one other person stepped out of the helicopter. A tall man dressed in a charcoal grey suit, with a colourful blue tie offsetting the drab suit. By the angle at which he stooped to step out of the helicopter, keeping his head out of the way of the machine's lethal blades, Kenny was unable to get a good look at his face. Then he turned and waved the pilot away, before shouting something at the masked goons and pointing towards the rooftop entrance to the building.

Shouldering the struggling hostages, the kidnappers, now five in number, not including the fellow in the suit and tie, made their way into the building. When they had vanished inside, Mysterion leapt into action. Unloosing his grapple line, he performed the practiced motion of spinning the hook around, before releasing it across the chasm between the two buildings. The rusty hook arced through the air, clattering down on the roof opposite. With a few experimental tugs Kenny assured himself that the line would hold him, before he dropped off the ledge and swung across to his new destination, telling himself that if this Joker character was really as dangerous as the Gothamites said he was, that Batman would be dealing with that problem uptown. This however, required immediate attention.

Instead of proceeding straight to the roof however, Kenny took a more sedate pace for the purpose of glancing in at the windows he passed, checking if the people he'd just seen would emerge onto any of the open plan office floors.

He caught a glimpse of shadows through the window three floors down from the roof, but not willing to risk being seen as he cracked the window open, Mysterion quickened his climbing, safe with the knowledge of where the kidnappers had stopped.

On the roof he found the fire escape door that led inside had already been broken open, a clumsy hack job no doubt performed by one of the four individuals he'd spotted in the first place. Taking a deep breath to calm his slowly boiling nerves, Kenny prepared himself for a fight; outnumbers but with the element of surprise. He could do this.

He made sure the door closed as softly as it could behind him, before he took a look down the stairwell that now presented itself. Checking his equipment he reminded himself of today's arsenal; one smoke grenade (special courtesy of Ned), two lines of firecrackers, and his pistol. Those were his combative options, aside from that it was only the gear he used to traces Gotham by rooftop. Once more he reminded himself that there were three hostages; he needed to be careful.

Moving slowly down three floors, Mysterion saw no sign of the kidnappers. Even as he listened at the door leading into said floor, he heard and saw no trace of their presence. Inching the door open and peering out into the hallway beyond, also provided him with no clue as to their existence here. His brow furrowed in mounting unease, as he huddled against the deeper shadows of the wall and moved along the corridor. All lights were off, and the interior of this dull building appeared to affirm his previous assumptions on looking through the windows. It was a series of office spaces, mostly for small business to rent. But this floor in particular, judging by the signs on some of the doors, was solely under the ownership of one outlet, The Gotham Grapevine. It was a newspaper, one Kenny himself had seen his own foster mother reading. From what little he'd gleaned it was nothing but an everyday tabloid, printing the latest celebrity gossip alongside advertisements for this or that vacation. If the general depressed design of their offices was anything to go by, the Gotham Grapevine had fallen on hard times.

Using his own internal compass, Kenny oriented himself towards the side of the building he had only just been climbing. Logic dictated that the rooms on that side of the building were where he would find these criminals, so that was the direction he swept the corridors in. Taking a little time to stop and listen at each door, it was inevitable Kenny would soon find where they had sequestered themselves.

From behind a set of double doors came the sounds of heavy objects being shifted across a carpeted floor. There was occasionally a hushed voice, several urgent tones cutting across each other as they went about whatever business it was they had here.

Cursing his own stupidity, Mysterion realised he should've taken more time at the window, got a better idea of the rooms he was about to bust into. But there wasn't time to go back now. Taking the smoke grenade from his belt, Mysterion weighed it in his hand. The little he could recall of the rooms interior was that it was big, open plan, and filled with desks. He didn't know where the kidnappers, or the hostages would be. Lamenting his lack of intel and preparation for this task, he momentarily considered using the community Batman had given him to call for aid. He quickly dismissed that thought; he'd succeeded in endeavours like this before, he hadn't needed backup then and didn't need it now. Even if it would've helped immensely, even if the Bat might've been willing to provide it.

Pulling the pin and cracking the door open, Mysterion rolled the canister in. A few seconds later a sudden hissing sound pierced the near silence within, followed by an upraising of voices, determinable from the gabble were phrases like "Boss!?" "It's Batman!" and "Oh shit."

Giving the smoke a brief moment to spread, Mysterion flung the doors open with force. They crashed against the walls and the voices within the now smoke filled space erupted with shouts of indistinct aggression. A foray of gunfire opened up out of the darkness, muzzle flashes sparking in the dark folds of smoke, and bullets hailing through the now open doorway.

But Mysterion had expected that and compensated for it in his entrance. He'd swung around the doorframe, close to the ground and moving as quickly as he could. As such he avoided the burst of bullets and found his way to a nearby desk, which he proceeded to hide under as the earsplitting cacophony stopped.

As the smoke billowed heavily into the air, Mysterion cast his eyes around the lower half of this room, searching beneath the fog for the legs of these attackers. He spotted a pair not far off, along with a few that were slowly being obscured by the smoke.

Taking action before the smoke made his own vision even more difficult, Kenny darted out from beneath the desk, snapping like a snake over to another covering, before lashing out at the other side, remaining level with his targets ankles the whole time. With both hands Mysterion wrenched the goons feet out from under him, and with a terrified shout the man came down with a thump. Cries of worry went up from the others, but Kenny was already upon his prey, pinning them to the ground and proceeding to threw a hefty and precise punch at just the right part of his targets head. With a whimpering cry his first opponent was down for the count.

Things were already going better than he had hoped, as he snatched away the man's machine gun and stowed it under a nearby desk, before darting off to a hiding place under a similar table.

The rest of the criminals were arguing about whether or not to open fire, go ask their boss for help, or to just throw caution to the wind and spray the place with bullets. The counter points in all these arguments set Kenny's curiosity ablaze. In any normal circumstance Mysterion would expect 'the boss' to have come to investigate the sporadic gunfire. However one of the kidnapper's argued that 'interrupting the boss' was always a bad idea. Kenny steeled himself and decided that whatever 'the boss' was doing, it was something that needed interrupting.

Their arguing nevertheless provided Mysterion with an excellent opportunity to locate them more precisely. There were two standing in the centre of the room, and seemed to be the more enthusiastic about simply opening fire and letting all hell loose. But there was one of their number who stood off in the corner where the smoke was less dense, who seemed to be a lot more wary about just shooting up this office.

The duo seemed to be the best point of attack next, Kenny reasoned, slithering from hiding place to smoky nook with nary a sound. When he was close enough to see the vague silhouettes of the arguing kidnappers, Mysterion withdrew two items from his pockets. His lighter, and a line of firecrackers.

As he flicked the catch and held the flame to his fireworks, Kenny heard one of the kidnappers freeze and say. "Wait, what was-" But his words were taken from him as Mysterion lobbed the firecrackers over to the other side of the duo, where they fizzled and exploded, snapping and banging with impunity.

The two goons yelped in shock and let off a few panicked shots in the direction of the noise, as they stumbled backwards away from the bright lights and sharp sound. They walked right into his arms, gripping them by the nape of their necks Kenny leapt up and between them, nearly lifting the two off their feet before forcing them over. They lost balance and Mysterion's gloved hands guided the faces directly into the floor. One let go of his gun, the assault rifle skittering off over some nearby desks, while the other's pistol arm was trapped beneath his body.

Delivering that same textbook blow to the pistol carrying criminal, Kenny brought his elbow up and around as he rose from the floor, catching the other man directly in the stomach as they made an attempt to stand and scurry away. One of his two victims subdued, Mysterion flew round and followed up his staggering blow with another to the chest, aimed to further deprive this opponent of breath, and a final one across the temple which sent him too clattering to the ground.

The split second he remained standing seemed to be too long, as from the corner came a quick succession of gunshots. Mysterion hit the floor instantly, checking himself for any wounds. One bullet had grazed his should it seemed, a red streak across his shoulder showed that, but the other bullets seemed to have been fired in the quaking hands of a shaken man who had just seen his allies drop, so they had thankfully missed his head. Now Kenny realigned himself in the room, sneaking around the desks to where the gunfire had come from.

"Shit, shit, shit." The man's voice, whispered and afraid was accompanied by the sound of his hands jostling with the magazine of his pistol. Clumsy, Mysterion thought pragmatically, as he lunged out of the smoke and darkness to welcome this criminal to the silent sleep of unconsciousness.

Locating the room with the hostages and 'the boss' was not difficult it seemed. Within the open plan space was a single door, a window paned with frosted glass taking up it's upper portion and a bronze placard attached to it that read. 'Norman O. Sullivan, Editor in Chief'.

Readying himself to leap out of the way of gunfire and goodness knows what, Mysterion pushed the door open. Inside he found a cluttered office, containing a few filing cabinets, a desk, a small window, and three hostages tied up in the corner. You know, the regular office supply kind of stuff. Behind the desk, in the process of opening the window, was the man in the grey suit.

"You always get here early and ruin the-" Then the owner of the voice turned full face towards him, and froze in confused astonishment. "Surprise?" The man's face was chalk white, as if it had been bleached. His blood red lips were spread wide in a gaudy smile that was so large, so broad that even the most minute of movements displayed a gallery of expressions. Right now the corner of his mouth was lightly twisted in displeasure, but he grinned nonetheless, seeming all to stuck in confusion for anything more. If his green hair and obvious, copious application of make up wasn't clue enough, then his eyes were the final nail in the coffin. This man was The Joker. Those eyes, that had blinked out from a thousand television screens, the had looked out from a hundred thousand photographs in the newspapers, those wide, green as acid, and mad beyond reckoning, were truly the eyes of Gotham's most notorious villain.

Kenny had seen pictures of the man, of course. Heard about the crime sprees and crazed criminal exploits, but he'd never gone so far as to consider the man anything more than just that; a man. A mad man. But here, in the most mundane of places, wearing a cheap, charcoal grey suit and sky blue tie, standing behind a desk looking for all the world like he belonged there, was something far more than just a man. It was the eyes that told him so, the venomous green orbs almost spiralling in their utter fixedness, staring at him like he was the only thing in the world. Then when The Joker flicked his eyes away to glance at the three hogtied hostages sitting in the corner, Kenny noticed that this was the way The Joker looked at everything. Complete clarity of focus, a level of effortless attention that was, in anything but a panther or vicious predator of the animal kingdom, terrifying.

The meeting being unexpected for the both of them, Mysterion had time to think about his answer, if he even answered at all. Sadly he didn't take that time and spoke without thinking, as he so often did. "Aren't you supposed to be fundraising?"

Joker blinked rapidly, computing the almost amiable response before quickly replying. "That thing? Ah, just a decoy, a little shake 'em up. Fun for all the family! Also, who the hell are you?" His voice was something to unsettle as well, animated and vibrant, running up and down in pitch and range at a rate only accomplished by children, or children's cartoon characters. When he was happy, he was ecstatic. When he was curious, call him Sherlock Holmes. When he wanted an answer, as he was now, he did verbal and tonal somersaults to get that answer.

Mysterion did not give The Joker his answer. "If that's fun for all the family, what is this?" He had been expecting some low rent mob boss, some opportunistic Inzerillo or conniving Marcone, someone who wasn't infamously insane. Someone who hadn't eluded, confounded and played The Batman for a fool for a good number years.

"This…?" In a brief moment the Joker seemed uncertain what his new acquaintance was referring to, before he shot another glance at the struggling captives in the corner, and put two and two together. "Oh. This is more of a personal business opportunity."

"Right…" Mysterion drawled, keeping a close eye on the clown even as he examined the hostages in his peripheral. They were slumped against the wall, the black bags removed rom their heads to show their terrified, bruised faces. Two men and one woman, all of whom seemed in various stages of fear.

"Ugh, just look…!" The Joker rolled his eyes and threw something at the vigilante. Mysterion had to restrain himself from throwing his body out of harms way, being that there was no trusting what this man might throw at him, both literally and figuratively. The object proved not to be a bomb, knife, or otherwise lethal projectile, but a rolled up newspaper. Kenny held it dumbly for a second, not taking his eye of the Joker. "Look!? Look what they printed about my queen of hearts!"

Keeping a close watch on the pale faced lunatic, Mysterion unrolled the paper, and perused it's front page. It was a copy of The Gotham Grapevine, dated August 15th of this year. Immediately Kenny saw what had grabbed the Joker's attention, and the puzzle pieces began to slide together.

The article read…

'WHORE-LEY QUINN?

Does the Joker get his jollies knowing that every dime store criminal gets his rocks off over a pin-up of the clown princess? In recent villainous escapades the Joker's ingenue, Harley Quinn (formerly Dr. Harleen Quinzel PhD) has been seen sporting attire that this reporter would describe as anything but decent. Emphasis on the Butt-'

The picture that the article bordered was, needless to say, a little less than modest. Mysterion was hardly one to keep up with the fashion choices of any person, hero or villain, but this photograph made Kenny McKormick start to think that such a pasttime might be worthwhile. Apprehensive of letting the Joker see what he really thought of that tight-fitting corset Quinn was wearing in said photoprah, he instead expertly essayed his expression to one of indifference. Having seen enough, Kenny tossed the paper back at the Joker, who caught it, and with a balled up fist began to shake the tabloid around, shouting. "Trash! Trash I tell you! I had half a mind to write a stern letter of complaint!"

"So why didn't you?"

Joker took the question to heart, throwing the pair down on the desk and slamming his fist on it several times in violent protest. Then he focused his stare on Mysterion and appear to be about to launch into some maniacal diatribe, when his expression changed tack dramatially. The shift was so sudden, so sharp, it was almost funny. Now the very picture of seriousness, Joker stood up straight and addressed Mysterion as if he was greeting him in a job interview. "Because I had a better idea. Why not turn this awful unfounded insult, into an opportunity? Branch out? I've been running this game for a while now, and I thought it was about time 'Joker Entertainment Inc LLC' took it's first steps into the wide world of journalism and news media!" Stretching his hands out in front of him, Joker almost looked like he was casting his gaze over the night sky, despite the fact he was actually looking at the ceiling of a rather dingy office. "With that very first step being to squash out any and all of the garbage competition." He didn't so look at them, but his blatant reference made the three bound civilians squirm and whimper.

"And the three hostages?" Mysterion added, bracing himself for an unpleasant answer.

With a genial smile the Joker corrected him. "I prefer to think of them as freelance reporters."

"So what about your 'freelance reporters' then?"

"They used to work at this rag." The Joker's voice had pivoted again, this time to a grumbling grouchy tone. Before again his bipolar attitude swivelled and he became once more the merry vision of a happy, smiling clown. "Now they work for me! I figured, what better way to get to grips with the media racket, than to really pick the brains of three of it's former frontrunners."

The obvious question needed to be asked, so Mysterion indulged him. "… Who wrote that piece about Quinn?"

"She wrote it. He approved it. And he took the picture!" Each one was listed off and identified with a fierce jab of the Joker's finger.

"You don't think you're, overreacting?" Kenny tried, the understatement of the century tasting strange in his mouth. But keeping the Joker talking seemed to be working remarkably well. The only problem was, Mysterion didn't have an end game to this stalling tactic.

"Overreacting!?" Screeched the Clown Prince, eyes bulging out of their sockets.

"Yeah." Was Mysterion's sedate, patient response.

This time the madman remained on his euphoric high of outraged emotion, detailing. "How would you like it if some bunch of greasy creepers took photos of your girl!? Huh!? Oh don't tell me you've got Batman syndrome." Crossing his arms and letting out an exasperated sigh, the Joker gave Mysterion a patronising look.

Kenny, for his part, could only look confused. "Batman syndrome?"

"Batman?" Joker began, before holding out a hand as one would if they were indicating someone's height. "Tall guy? Mask, cape, dresses like a bat? Old friend of mine, you know him?"

Playing along again, Mysterion mused dully. "Yeah, i think I know the guy."

"Yeah, well I've tried to set him up on blind dates a few times, like a good friend should! But it's never gone well, that man just doesn't want love." Not wanting to think about Batman of all people on a blind date, let alone with someone of The Joker's choosing, Mysterion made to reply when they were interrupted by a terrified, angry shout coming from one of the hostages.

"Are you just gonna stand around talking or are you gonna get us outta here!?"

Joker's head snapped round to glare at the man, who cowered under the force of his gaze. "Hey, shush! We're trying to have a-" The man's impatience and terror was, it seemed, as good an opening as any from Mysterion's point of view.

Rushing forwards Kenny reached over the desk and grabbed the Joker by the lapels, and using all his strength, pulled him across the desk. As the Joker gave a bark of surprise, Kenny crouched down and directed the man's body over his head and towards the open door behind him. The Joker, enjoying the experience it seemed, let out a joyous "Wahoo!" As he sailed back into the main office floor.

Far from being battered or beaten, the Joker rolled with this sudden movement, and pirouetted to a standing position, facing Mysterion with an eager expression. "You're a sneaky one aren't ya? I like that!"

The knife came out of nowhere and darted through Mysterion's guard in a split second, too quick for him to react. But what the Joker didn't know, was that to Mysterion; knives were nothing. So if the mad clown expected him to go down he had another thing coming. Kenny drew back, wrapping his hands around the Jokers wrist and prying the knife from his grip as he removed it from his stomach. In the motion, Mysterion slid his gloved hands to two distinct points on the Joker's arm, one around the join between hand and wrist, the other at the joint where the forearm met upper arm. Then the knee came up from below to snap the wrist.

Joker knew what was happening as fast as he did though, and as Kenny drew his leg back to bring the break home, Joker's own foot came in and kicked him where the knife had pieced him.

Mysterion could waistband an unholy amount of pain, but he still had to recoil with the force of the kick. The knife flipped up in the air between them as they broke apart, and that fraction of a moment, they both made the same choice. They came crashing back into each other as both grasped for the briefly airborne blade.

Joker was the one whose aim was true and his pale nimble hands seized hold of the weapon, immediately as they collided together, Joker took a hold of him with his free hand and brought the knife down into the space between his neck and collarbone, a triomphant smile on his face. To the Joker's surprise, Kenny reared back his head and then snapped it forwards, a resounding crack issuing as forehead met forehead.

Stumbling backwards the Joker once again relinquished the knife, instead of being in the air though, this time it was still embedded in it's victim. Keen to use it to his advantage, with a harsh breath Mysterion drew it out of it's fleshy sheet. Blood began to stream out of th wound, some important vein no doubt, not that it mattered to him. Indeed the only difference in him was the darkening of his shirt as it became stained with his own blood, appearing almost black in the moonlit office.

Wasting no time, Mysterion lunged forwards, reversing his grip on it into a military style with one swift motion. As he leapt forward, his opponent darted to the side, moving quickly between two rows of desks. The Joker made fast work of reaching voer one desk to a pot of stationary on an adjacent one, and as Mysterion descended on him with his own knife, the Joker came back around with a stapler in his hand.

Mysterion made the gambit of a downwards diagonal slash, slicing a clean cut through the Joker's dark clothes. However, as little as Kenny reacted to the atack, the Joker matched him for laissez-faire.

As soon as he made his attack, the Joker's choice of weapon made more sense, as the pale faced clown tugged Mysterion's hood down over his face. The next thing Kenny felt was the solid smack of metal against his chin as the Joker stapled his hood to his head.

Letting out a bark of anger, Mysterion back peddled, blindly swinging the knife in front of him with one hand, as he wrenched his hood back with the other. The precious seconds were lost, but in the next few Kenny had pulled the hood back off his head, the staple that had impaled itself in his tearing out a patch of skin on the left side of his lower lip. Blood now began to trail down his face, giving him the appearance of some raging carnivore that had just bitten off a mouthful of bloody meat.

Now able to see again, Kenny's eyes were presented with only the view of the empty office space, the Joker had disappeared. When he felt a heavier metal object smash him across the back of the head, Kenny realised that no, of course the Joker hadn't disappeared.

Kenny's ensuing shout was borne more out of rage than pain, as he span around and came face to face with the Joker once more. Leaping over the computer monitor the lunatic had clobbered him with, Kenny once again dove in with the knife. But the Joker was ready for him, sliding one foot back and leaning just the right amount to avoid the thrust. Then with a flurry of movement the Joker brought something up, under, and over Kenny's arm. It was a long tangle of cables. With a motion that gave much more force than Kenny anticipated, the Joker levered against him and flipped him over and onto one of the desks in a move Mysterion could recognise as a belonging to the martial art of Judo specifically.

Mysterion landed with a great thump, the breath being expelled from him immediately as he impacted the plastic surface. He didn't hit it with his full body weight, otherwise Kenny felt like the entire desk might collapse beneath him. But maybe that was unfortunate, as the Joker used his surprising strength to stretch Kenny's knife arm out across the surface, using the coil of cables that bound him right at the should to manipulate the nerves and workings of his joint, not enough to do anything serious, but just enough to restrict his movement.

The Joker then leant against Mysterion, using the elbow of his right arm to keep pressure on the wound in his collar and supply enough pain to keep him down.

"You're a pesky one, let's put an end to that, eh?" The Joker was out of breath, clearly, but sounded about as enthusiastic as a man could sound. He was like a mad child, or a ravenous hyena.

Kicking a leg up onto the desk, the Joker pinned Kenny's forcibly outstretched wrist to the desk, still leaning his body against Mysterion so that movement was incredibly difficult. The Joker's face was so close, that Kenny could see his nigh demonic face in minute detail, the red bloodshot area around his eyes as they bulged, the flaring nostrils, he was so close he could feel the man's breath, so close he could feel his heartbeat; frantic and fast, like a hummingbird.

Now Kenny was left with a choice; lose his arm and give the Joker something to write home about, or not lose his arm. It would be easy to pull the bait and stab; losing his arm and catching the Joker of guard while he was figuring out what to do with an arm. But somehow Kenny didn't fancy taking the easy way out this time. Many were the times where he had treated his life like what he knew it to be; nothing but a joke. But when the few times crept up on him that he felt like showing the forces of the universe that he could fight against them, well, those times were special.

Tonight was one of those times.

As the Joker manoeuvred to amputate his limb, Kenny drew upon all his strength to push the man up and off of him. It didn't yield much except the Joker and he lifting off the desk for a fraction of a few seconds. But throwing the heavy weight of the clown off completely, hadn't been his aim. As the two bodies came back down on the desk, their collective mass prevailed, the plastic office furniture gave way.

They descended a groaning, splintering sound, accompanied by the Joker's mad yelp of surprise and Mysterion's guttural shout of exertion. Kenny had been banking on this though, and twisted his arm and body free of the Joker as the desk gave way beneath them, so when they both toppled to the floor atop many pointed and uncomfortable bits of desk, Mysterion was free to extricate himself and roll off to the side.

When he'd returned to his feet, Kenny came around to see the Joker had gotten back up in a similarly fast fashion. "You can take a beating, i'll give you that." The clown prince ground out, whatever humour in him having been dampened by Mysterion's refusal to show pain.

"Yeah. Can you?" Kenny seethed back, and in the moment where the Joker looked taken aback by the aggressive promise of violence, Mysterion stowed the knife and came at him with fists raised.

Blades out of the picture, Mysterion brought his own fighting style to bear, his heavy, dirty, fighting style. The first punch caught the Joker in his jaw, much to the clown's surprise it seemed, as he careened backwards letting out a shocked and yammering laugh.

Mysterion's other fist came down on the top of Joker's head, while his right knee snapped up in quick succession, sending the Joker down the back up at a brutal rate. The opening flourish had taken the clown prince off guard, but as he readapted his footing, Kenny came fist to fist with the man who had tortured Gotham for so long.

There was blood staining both of them, not only Kenny's since his second blow had caught the Joker across the nose at just that delicate angle which easily, messily, breaks it.

Their fight went on for longer than Mysterion could ever remember fighting for. Nothing on the streets, in the back alleys and bars, nothing in the gym, in the clubs and classes, on the rooftops, beneath the streets, had ever pushed him this much. The Joker threw punches and kicks at him that he recognised, not only from many different classic martial arts styles, but from moves that he threw himself. Through it all the Joker laughed, and not just a single laugh, but a palette of insane guffaws. Short sharp Ha's, longer, deeper Hoo's, sharp and childlike Hee's, snorts and chuckles, booms and wheezes.

Until, out of nowhere, the Joker said. "Sorry to cut this short, but at least you can say you went out with a-"

There was the unmistakable sound of a gun being unholstered, but as the mad clown brought a pistol around to fire on the hooded teenager, he found that the same had been done to him. Mysterion, bloodied and bruised, pointed an unwavering hand towards him, gun cocked and ready to fire a bullet that would sink right into the Joker's skull. An action which the Joker himself mirrored.

Time practically froze as they stood there, mere feet from each other, gun's trained on the other's head. Mysterion's luger to the Joker's revolver.

"Bang?" The end of his thought twisted with confusion while a myriad of emotions played across his face. The Joker tilted his head, mouth twisting first in befuddlement, then thinning in annoyance, before finally settling on a wry smirk of appreciative amusement.

Mysterion made no reply, the half of his face that was visible showing the bloody streak from where he'd been stapled, and an offset jaw that may have been fractured.

"I wonder though…" The Joker began to move, slow graceful steps, like a dancer, although each one was deliberately moving away from Mysterion. Who in turn matched him step for step. "Would you actually shoot me?"

"Believe me, I really want to." His response seemed to clash with what the Joker expected from him. It provoked another bout of laughter, throughout which his aim never moved a inch.

"Oh, I could get used to this. You know, the guy I usually do this with isn't much for conversation, bit of a downer if you ask me. He won't even let me meet his kid! Can you believe that? Rude, just plain rude."

"Somehow I doubt you're allowed within five miles of anyone's kid."

"Oh oh oh! Now now, don't you go being rude too."

"What's the matter? Can't take a joke?"

"You wouldn't know a joke if it hit you in the head at two thousand five hundred feet a second."

"Why don't you put that to the test."

"Oh, I like the sound of that."

"On the count of three?"

"One."

"Two."

"Wait! On three or after three?"

"Three." Immediately Kenny threw himself sideways, diving behind a nearby desk and letting off a shot not intended to hit the Joker, just to cause him to react similarly. At the same time he heard the Joker's gun fire.

In the seconds where Mysterion landed there behind his cover, and the seconds where he decided what to do, he heard the door groan open and slam shut. That spurred his next instinctive action; he came to his feet, twisting to a standstill, his gun aimed at where the Joker had been. With a quick sweep of his electric blue eyes, Kenny took in the immediate area eager not to be fooled. But it seemed the Joker had truly disappeared this time, and its even the few seconds head start the clown prince had, Mysterion knew he wouldn't catch him.

A minute later, after he had caught his breath, found Mysterion looking at the knife in his hand. In the wooden hilt of the small switchblade was engraved a small smiling face. Stepping back into the smaller office, he made his way over to the hostages and kneeling down, slipped the blade through the ropes that bound them.

The three of them watched him warily and didn't say a word, each one rubbing at the red marks on their wrists where the bindings had scraped their skin raw. Still none of them knew what to say, or whether to say anything at all. Until he turned to leave with nothing but the words. "Call the police, they should get here before any of the others wake up."

"Who are you!" It was the man who had interrupted before, he was broad and stocky, with a bristly moustache jutting out over his top lip.

Now that the adrenaline was slipping away, Kenny was beginning to feel the wound he had received from the Joker. Numerous cuts and bruises, no doubt a few broken and fractured bones, along with the larger knife wounds in his collar and stomach. It was the blood loss more than anything, he had run around with missing limbs before, but even that was something he couldn't do forever. So his reply came in the form of one word, as he swept out of the room.

"Mysterion."

"Wait! We need to know-" The rest of what the man said faded into the distance, as Kenny picked up his pace upon leaving the office, crossing the now distraught workspace with long strides.

—?M?—?M?—?M?—?M?—

The red and blue lights of police cruisers flashed far below them, and the two caped figures stood looking down on it from a building further along the street. Out of sight, but perhaps not out of mind for the police officers, victims, and perpetrators that swarmed around the vehicles.

Batman had showed up so quickly, Mysterion could almost believe he had been waiting for him. Leaning against a protruding air vent, Kenny inquired. "How'd you know he was here?"

"Quinn's a fast talker." Once again Batman's expressiveness left much to be desired, but when silence hung between them there was the tingling sense of things being left unsaid.

"You were at that fundraiser?" The question was rhetorical, and Mysterion's next musing carried with it a weight of knowing sarcasm that on a good day he would've held back. But bleeding and bruised, Kenny didn't care too much for conversational niceties right now. "Figures. I guess tonight would end up with us running into each other, however it played out. I was heading there too, when I saw this shit-show."

Regarding him with a stern eye, Batman told him. "You shouldn't have taken on the Joker alone."

"I can handle a clown." He replied, absent-mindedly thumbing at a bloody gash in his sleeve.

"Joker isn't any ordinary clown." Batman's voice was serious, which wasn't anything new. What was different however was the heaviness with which he said it, resigned and quite possibly regretful.

On that point Kenny felt he had to concede. "Yeah, I guess you're right." That fight had been one of the longest and most enduring, he had constantly gotten a sense that the Joker could've delivered to him a killing blow, but held back, going instead for smaller, but no less debilitating injuries. On any other person it would've rendered them incapacitated in no time flat, the accumulation of dozens of cuts and stab wounds. But in Mysterion it merely invoked a sense of irritation and anger; the blood loss would eventually put him into a state of unconsciousness, but like with any injury, it would take a while to affect him, unless he let it carry him away. "I didn't know it was him at first anyway."

"Would you have called for backup even if you had?" Batman's question was more familial than Kenny had expected. Since their last encounter he'd been expecting his next meeting with the Bat to involve at least some discussion of the events at the tower of fate, or his refusal of Keny Nelson's offer, or even his true identity. But tonight's troubles seemed to have allayed those queries for now.

To his question however, Mysterion didn't see any reason to give anything but the truth. "No."

"Why not?"

"Who am I gonna call?" Shaking his head in exasperation, Mysterion gestured at the caped crusader with a gloved hand. "You? Fat chance." The time to broach the subject it seemed, was now, as Kenny continued to complain. "Give you another opportunity to try and needle information out of me, give Nelson another chance to try and convince me to hand over my soul or whatever the fuck."

"Nelson doesn't want that." Batman held up a hand to stop any further tirade from the younger hero, and began to speak openly. "Neither do I. But from where we stand you're dangerous, more than dangerous. You're unknown. And Kent is desperate…" There was a lowness and personal truthfulness to the Bat's voice that stalled Kenny's rising disregard and indignation with the whole state of affairs. "He's an old man. Passing on the mantle of Dr. Fate isn't just something he can do, it's something he must do. That Helmet is a part of him, back in the days of the Justice Society of America, Kent Nelson wore that helmet to war. He's a hero, and he doesn't want any harm to come to you."

Batman's final statement was somewhat sobering for Kenny, who heaved a sigh and replied. "… I get it. He wants to pass the torch before it's too late. I get it, I do. I'm just not sure it's a torch I should carry." Which was true, his refusal of the sorcerer's offer wasn't in any part due to Nelson himself, it was to do with what accepting that offer would mean for his future. The fact that Nelson had fought in world war two, operating as Dr. Fate was a startling truth. If he were to become Dr. Fate, what would be required of him? Right now, as Mysterion, he had no responsibility outside of his own desires. He protected people because it was the right thing to do, because it meant keeping Karen safe, because it meant finding out what he was. What would happen to that duty if he became this avatar of Fate that Nelson had spoken of, this conduit for a being he knew next to nothing about. It was a daunting prospect.

Batman seemed to realise this himself. "It's a lot of pressure for someone your age."

"You can say that again…" Somehow the inference to his age mattering in this didn't bother Kenny, perhaps it was the blood loss, or perhaps it was the fact that it was true. The honesty that now lay between them led Kenny to ask his next question, one that burned with anxious curiosity. "Do you… Do you know who I am?"

After a little silence, Batman admitted. "… No."

"But you could find out if you wanted to?" Kenny pursued, although his tone was not overly concerned.

The Dark Knight's reply illustrated to him what he had already known, in the back of his mind. "I could."

Mysterion gave a brief grunt of amused admittance, of course the Bat could find out. Was he lying about having given in to that urge to discover his identity? Somehow Mysterion didn't think so, but that begged the question. "So they didn't tell you?"

"Who didn't?" Batman's uncertainty proved another startling fact to him, one he had to confirm before jumping to.

"The person I spoke to at the Hall of Justice."

Batman's eyes narrowed as he seemed to come to his own conclusions. "… Kent Nelson is a stubborn man. We asked him who he'd called, but he wouldn't say."

"So you don't have any idea who it was?" That voice hadn't told Batman, and assumedly Black Canary, and maybe even Nelson, who he was. It was a two person secret, held unwillingly, gained unknowingly. It was fucking infuriating, and Kenny's tone displayed that appropriate amount of resigned annoyance.

"I have ideas, but no way to tell if any are accurate." Batman's lack of answers drew another heavy sigh from him, as Mysterion pushed off of the wall and stepped towards the Bat.

"I know that feeling. So the only way for me to really find out, is to talk to Nelson." It was seeming more and more inevitable as time went on, here on this rooftop standing across from Batman, the elusive hero who knew as little as he did, Kenny knew he needed to talk to Nelson and Dr. Fate.

"Yes. Nelson is currently on one of his excursions." The way Batman said the word 'excursions' made Kenny think that perhaps Nelson had a habit of disappearing at inconvenient times. "But he's left the Helmet of Fate in my care. Seems to believe the Tower of Fate isn't as secure as he thought. He mentioned you were partially to thank for that."

"Might've been." Considering how he'd apparently done something remarkable when he'd phased his way into the tower, not that he'd known it at the time. Then a point of concern came back to his mind, and Mysterion inquired. "Speaking of magic, how's Raven?"

Nodding, Batman explained amiably. "She's well, from what Zatara tells me. He's considering taking her on as a pupil, to learn magic alongside his daughter."

Raising his eyebrows approvingly, Mysterion smiled slightly and gave his thoughts on the matter. "That's a good idea, that girl could use a friend. A sister."

"She'll have a family, Zatara is an excellent choice for that." From what he had seen of the guy and his daughter they appeared to be a regular, wholesome sort. More so than most people he had known when he was Raven's age.

"What about where she came from?" Mysterion broached the subject, since with all the business of Dr. Fate, the eldritch goings on that had occurred beneath the streets of Gotham not too long go had gone unaddressed. "Have you found anything on that?"

Batman's answer was as straight forward and frank as ever. "No."

Lamenting the way information seemed to be eluding him lately, Kenny shrugged and said. "It's usually like that. These kinds of people are good at disappearing. Most of the time you don't even know they're there until it's too late." Turning his head to gaze down at the police lights and street glow far below them, Kenny felt subtly distant and a little nauseous. "Rats in the walls. One day you hear the scratching, then before you know it the whole house comes falling down…"

They stopped talking, the silence between them only exacerbated by the noise of the city echoing from all around. Kenny felt cold.

"Rats. Fuck 'em." Were his final words of the night, before stepping off of the roof.

The wind whistled past face, a pleasant rush like a bird in flight. It even fired something in his chest, something that let him feel alive before he died. His cape billowed, sound twisted, and he fell into unconsciousness before he even hit the ground.

But not however, before he felt someone grab him around the midriff, and his direct descent arced into a smooth swing upwards. Kenny didn't even care to realise that he was no longer travelling towards terminal velocity, when blood loss overcame him and he ceased to realise anything at all.

—?M?—?M?—?M?—?M?—

A/N: I didn't start this chapter expecting it to be 8,000 odd words, but these things just tend to happen, much to my chagrin since it makes them harder to proof read. The first half gave me significant trouble, just in terms of how it creates the geography/location of the scene, but the fight with Joker ended up coming out really smoothly. There's a short section of dialogue in there, between Joker and Mysterion where I used basically no prose to describe it. I was trying something a little different there, since I wanted an interesting way to convey how still that moment was, and how quickly their conversation is bouncing back and forth. Hopefully that came across as such, and not just an ultimately confusing way for me to skimp on writing ;)

I have a Tumblr now, pretty much specifically for things relating to this story, so if you're interested, or have anything you want to share/ask you can find the web address for it on my profile.

Until next time.—Faff