Slipping Into Entropy - Part 8
Limping his way slowly back to the hellhole of an apartment complex he'd made into a temporary base, he picked a pocket along the way, going to a well-known pawn joint in the slummy area of town. He knew he'd get the other piece of equipment he'd need there, and without a lot of hassle and attention.
When he finally reached the little one-bedroom, he dumped his goods on the couch, returning to the bathroom to get ready before setting everything up.
Renewing the familiar colors to his face, he sneered at the reflection in the mirror, lamenting the fact that he'd had to change his hair. Soon, though... Returning to the living room, he ignored the dead body, focusing on setting up the video camera instead. Gathering up his ill-gotten gains, he flashed a mad smile at the little black lens.
"Hello, Gotham. I do hope you remember me. Remember what fun we had, the last time? I had to take a little vacation, but as you see, things are now... back in business, eheh..." Licking his lips, he leaned forward, cupping the edge of the camera in one hand like one would a lover's face. "Of course, I owe all that to dear Bat Man. Thanks so much, Batsy. Don't you worry, you'll be seeing more of me soon," he giggled, face going distant for a moment before obviously snapping back to his original train of thought. "Now, the reason I've called you all to this little... board meeting, heh. It seems that Gotham's little Goodie-Two-Shoes, it's... Industrial Pride and Joy, so to speak, has been wearing a little halo while sweeping its dirt under the rug..." Fanning the papers out for the film, he chuckled and shook his head. "You should pick your friends more carefully, Brucy Boy. Unless you're in on the little shin-dig. Have fun with the...invasive...probing and investigations."
"As for the rest of you, don't think I don't have any surprises planned for you. Oh no. Watch. And Listen. Care...fully." Cutting off into peals of laughter, he turned off the recorder with a sudden movement. Gathering up the tape and the papers into a plastic garbage bag and tying it with a red ribbon, one calling card threaded through the cord, he stepped out. Time for a drive-by... sliming.
With Lucius at work looking into whatever the Joker had stolen, Bruce set out after him on foot. There was a trail of mayhem down the street where people had swerve out of the Joker's way, but it only went so far. Bruce jogged along the sidewalk searching for more drops of blood knowing that the longer he took the farther away the Joker was getting. It didn't take long for the trail to thin out though. There were a few stains of red on the curb here and there, but soon there were none. Before he headed back to the hideout, he managed to gauge the general direction the Joker had gone, Gotham's slums.
Gathering supplies back at the lair hastily, Bruce strapped them to himself as best he could. Gadgetry from Batman's belt didn't fit extremely well in his pockets, but in the middle of the day this would have to do. Alfred was less than pleased with his young employer upon his arrival. The old man gave him a new phone to carry after Bruce told him what became of the last one, along with the rest of the events at Wayne Enterprises. He could see how worried Alfred was easily. The man's lifelong blood and sweat went into that company and its family. To think the Joker had taken to lurking its corridors was distressing at best. Bruce switched on the television monitoring programs and hooked the police monitor to his ear. Whatever the Joker was up to, he probably wouldn't keep it a secret for long.
It certainly wasn't. "Borrowing" a car hadn't taken much effort, and the nearest police station was only 7 minutes away. Throwing the package at the front doors and waiting until he heard the thud as it hit, sending curious policemen to investigate the source, he sped away. It was time to return to his impromptu lair - to plan and recover. The day's marathon had really taken it out of him, and it wouldn't do to keep leaking blood and give the game away.
The receiver in Bruce's laid out the news first. First there was a possible bomb threat at a station on the outskirts of the Narrows, apparently someone had tossed an unlabeled bag into the building and took off. Once the initial threat subsided it was difficult to make out what was going on. Bomb squad was sent away, and patrol cars were sent in search of the car that had dropped the bag and its contents. A team was ordered to check the station's CCTV footage, so obviously no one had gotten a good look at the car and its driver.
Bruce set down the receiver and dialed Gordon's number; he picked up after several rings. "Gordon."
Though the number showed up as Private, Commissioner Gordon knew the voice immediately. "Batman. We've got some bad news down here." Just as Gordon started relaying the details, all three news stations Alfred had taken over monitoring livened up. A disturbing message was broadcast, the Joker's painted, laughing face taunting not only Batman, but now Bruce Wayne as well. The man in concern's hopes fell. Somehow, the Joker was boasting proof of foul play on the part of his company.
Batman had no leads to give Gordon and his team, nothing better than to assure him, as though Gordon needed assuring, that he was set on finding the Joker no matter what it cost him. He had a feeling that he was saying it more for himself. He needed to stop thinking about himself, and start thinking like Batman again. The Joker.....had frightened Batman, in a way. It was something that could not be done by conventional means, but the Joker was nowhere near conventional. He eased under Batman's skin all too easily and brought something frightening out inside of him. So much so that he'd been retreating into Bruce Wayne more than ever today.
Hoping he hadn't missed all the excitement, Joker flipped on the ancient TV set in the den, kicking it a few times when it hissed and sputtered a grey haze at him. Settling down to watch all of the anxious chattering, vague theories and inflammatory speech wound around little bits of pictures and film, he couldn't help himself. Rolling on the floor in laughter, he finally calmed enough after a few minutes to get back to his feet, dusting off the dried blood that had stuck to his clothes in the process. An irresistible thought occurred. Let's check on how the Bat is doing, eh? Leaving the room again, knowing this trip would be even briefer than the ones previous, he hummed a merry tune as he jingled the change in his pockets.
Walking a short distance to a payphone, long enough that it would make it difficult to call-trace and pinpoint a search, he finally reached a very battered, much-tagged and painted box. Picking up the earpiece and giving an experimental listen, he realized he could only look up the number to the correct household, not a direct line to the man himself. Coughing and putting on a convincing pseudo-disguise to his normal timbre, he plopped the coins inside the slot and spun the roulette. Ring, ring. Can the Bat come out to play?
While Bruce was on the phone with Gordon, Alfred intercepted a call that came through to his own cell phone. Apparently the receptionist at the penthouse was holding onto an urgent call for Bruce Wayne. She seemed convinced that he take it. Alfred motioned for Bruce, who hung up on Gordon, and sent the call to Bruce's cell. Something cold crept up Bruce's spine.
"Who am I speaking with?"
"Not quite the warm reception I was expecting, Batsy. Did our little chase today make you cross?" Peals of laughter rang out from the other end, a strange sound punctuating the background; it sounded like a hand slapping glass in mirth. "Oh, you're just so much fun. So close, so close, and yet you just don't get it. Nothing that I can't fix...."
Bruce's hand tightened around the phone and he seethed into the receiver. "You have got nothing on me, Joker. You think that going after Bruce Wayne is going to solve all your troubles? You want me to see this light of yours? It won't work." Batman's voice slipped easily into his tone, more fluidly than ever before. He tapped away at the keyboard at his desk, searching out the signal his cell was picking up.
Laughter was all he got in reply. "Ever so predictable. You really need to learn to lighten up. Have a laugh now and then. Laughter soothes the soul," he crooned, voice cracking at the end as he couldn't keep a straight face. "Besides, I know you better than anyone else. Better than yourself. You live for the chase. Bringing the Baddies to Bay, then Beating the Bajeebus outta the Bastards. You're just the same as me. You think you're doing it for some noble ideal, or to make the internal crybaby stop his weeping for awhile so you can sleep." There was a rustling on the other end. "You and me both, we know it just ain't true. You get your kicks from it, don'cha...." Another muffled giggle. "Come and get me, Bats. I'm waiting..." There was a click, and then the line went dead.
Nothing but silence resounded through Bruce's ears. "Where?" hung on his lips. Where are you, Joker? Bruce stared in fury at his own phone.
"It isn't true." Bruce looked up, catching Alfred looking down on him. "Whatever he said, it's not true." How on earth could Alfred know that?
"Of course it isn't," Bruce scoffed dejectedly. He knew he didn't get his kicks from beating people senseless on the streets. It was the Joker who didn't see that. Just because the Joker was too thick to get that through his skull - there he went again, Bruce had to take several deep breaths. He didn't reason with criminals like this. He had spent years figuring that out, learning to understand desperate men when he was younger, sometimes becoming desperate himself.... But he'd learned a lot in the end, and he needed to start putting it to use.
"Get the Bat-pod ready, Alfred. Tonight we're finding this Joker."
Walking at night was, perhaps, not the best idea. Or perhaps it wasn't the best idea for others with plans that were a bit over their heads.
"Hey, dawg, whatchoo doin' out so late? Skinny little fag punk... 'dis 'ere's our 'tory. Yew wanna use our phone, yew gotta pay." The rest of the ragtag bunch of teenaged brats flocked behind their leader, circling and trying to flank. Joker's shoulders slumped, then shook with quiet laughter. "'ey, whatch'ye laughin' about, punk?!? Gimme yer wallet and maybe we won' beat th'shit outta yew..."
Circling in closer, one of them bent down slightly, peering at their intended victim's face. "Hey man, check out th' freak... What, yew trying to walk th' crosswalks wi' th' girls?" The scornful tone and leer in his grimace made it clear that the "girls" were anything but.
"Oh dear. Apologies, gentlemen. You're right... I should've visited you right away to pay my respects. Let me... correct... my oversight..." Hands having moved to his pockets, feigning an attempt to free a wallet, his hands resurfaced with two shining silver claws. The dance was short, but sweet, the desperate cries and struggles to escape at the end the most amusing of all.
As satisfying as it had been to give his assailants their reward, it had ripped opened his wounds for the second time that day. Lip curling in a sneer at the circles of red that had spread around each puncture, he limped his way back home. He refused to use the walls and building edges as a brace; it wasn't beneath him, it might just provoke another attack as a further sign of weakness. Ignoring the crimson droplets that trailed behind his footsteps, he finally allowed himself a moment to lean on the banister once he reached the right apartment complex.
In no time Batman was flying high over the towers of Gotham, headed for the murk of the Narrows. The entire area was noticeably more decrepit than the rest of the city. Smoke oozed out of buildings too old to still stand properly on their foundations. A constant smog seemed to hang over the slum like gloom. Every time Batman entered it, he couldn't help but notice. This was where he belonged though. This was where he most easily fit into the shadows that slithered through the streets, and this was where he found he was most needed. He'd left the Bat-pod behind in a narrow street when he took to the air, he liked to keep his toys close at hand. He had a mission.
All sorts of crooks roamed the streets tonight. He passed through them unnoticed, listening for whispers of a man in makeup with dingy green - no, no longer green, but blond hair. Batman shook the memory of those few seconds he'd seen under the Joker's makeup from his mind. He focused on the scars instead. Even without makeup to enhance them, they'd looked awful. There was little word to be found however, still Batman searched tirelessly. He followed a nasty looking group whose partner's had gone missing further into the hovel of a town. When they discovered their partners, dead, mangled, all with faces disfigured into permanent grins, Batman knew he was right where he wanted to be.
When the group of men scattered, severely upset, thinking this had been the work of a rival gang, Batman took over the scene. It would be a while, if ever, that one of those men would call their find in to the GPD. For now he had the area to himself.
The men looked like they had been killed in a hurry, no calling cards were left behind, only their carved grins. Blood splattered in all directions. Bloody footprints lead away from the bodies in a sick cartoonish parody. Batman followed their lead. The footprints dried up not far away, but Batman's eyes were sharp tonight, spotting droplets of blood spattered along the ground. He followed them to a dingy building.
Slamming the door shut in rage, his glee from his earlier victory and the subsequent taunting nearly vanished, the stench from the body strewn in the den did nothing to help his temper. Slamming his two bloodied knives into the kitchen countertop, leaving them quivering upright, he skulked into the bathroom to try to patch things up. Stripping off the ruined shirt and dropping it carelessly onto the floor, he shrugged out of the matching pants to see just how far the wounds had reopened.
Batman surveyed the apartments quickly, finding few lights on in the rooms. Not many were occupied. With hook and skill he climbed the walls, listening carefully, inspecting everything. It was a faint smell that caught his attention; decay. Something had died here. He moved closer, the reek increased slightly. It wasn't unbearable, Bruce had come across some truly awful smells in his time, but it was more than noticeable. He slithered easily into the window it belonged to, finding a man's body on the floor. It had been sitting there for some time. Only one light flickered in the place, and it came from the bathroom. Stalking past the kitchen, Batman noticed a pair of ugly looking knives sticking out of the fake wooden counter. Adrenaline picked up in his veins as he moved noiselessly forward, catching a glimpse of skin, an elbow, bare; a wisp of hair.
Ripping pieces off the ragged towels hanging in the little room, he ran a sizable strip of cloth under the rusty water that poured out of the small faucet. It wasn't the cleanest, but it'd have to do. Swiping the damp rag over the first of the reddened mouths, he bit his lip against the moan it summoned up, eyes rolling back slightly. ...damn. Rewetting the little square, Joker leaned against the wall for support, grabbing one of the metal towel bars in case his legs buckled under him.
Batman heard a clanging, crashing sound from within, catching the sound of breathless gasping that been entrenched in his memory since the previous night. He moved behind the door which was cracked almost halfway open.
And there was the Joker, held up against the wall, obviously in pain. His teeth were gritted, eyes wedged shut, head thrown back, and a bloody piece of cloth hanging from his hands. The knife wounds in his gut looked worse than ever.
Still clutching the sliver of fabric close to his hip, his ears caught the sound of slight movement in the doorway. Lower lip still caught in his teeth, his eyes slitted open, mixed pain and pleasure clouding the green irises before the gears in his head clicked. Eyes widening in shock before narrowing just as quickly in animalistic rage, he literally snarled at the man in the doorway. "No! It isn't time yet, damn you! We're nowhere close to finished!" As angry as he was at being cornered before he'd planned, pain from the bloody cuts still lanced through him, sending lust curling through his gut and filtering into his eyes.
Batman's blood boiled; he lunged. "To hell with your schemes!" He gripped the Joker's jaw and forced the man down, dragging the back of his skull against the wall. "I'm here now, and your game is over." Blood and pus from the Joker's barely healing wounds was dripping onto the floor and though Batman kept his body physically apart from the Joker's, some of it dripped onto his boots. He was too close. This kind of closeness was like having a translucent sheen of red close in his vision, making him furious.
His breath came out in a low, shuddering moan, washing over the black leather, his eyes rolling back in his head for a moment before his gaze flicked up to the other man's face, expression completely changed. The cornered, sniveling animal at bay was gone, replaced by a different predator. A predator both determined and hungry. Tongue darting out, Joker pushed back, the scars along his cheeks stretched close to risking a tear as he pressed and leaned forward like a starved wolf. "...perhaps a different game then, eh Bats?" A toothy grin twisted his face even further.
"NO!" Batman was furious, he was slipping just like had the night before. The Joker's laughing, taunting grin, enjoying himself, enjoying pissing Bruce off so very personally, enjoying taking apart his precious city....without remorse, and without reason. No reason that Batman could discern anyway. It was senseless, and that was where Batman got caught up. The Joker was everything he feared would one day descend upon Gotham. Senseless destruction, all with a mocking grin.
Bruce had once been afraid of bats. Now they were a part of him; his very being was symbiotic with them. He lived in the dark places they did; he relished their company. The Joker, with his lashing tongue, scarred face, writhing motion....was not unlike what those bats used to be. Fear, panic, adrenaline, evil.
Eyes fixed on the taller man's hidden features, the wet cloth dropped limply from his fingertips. That close, one could feel the tension suddenly increase in the air as well as see the nearly nude man wind up, muscles tensing as his pulse visibly began to race. Giving an odd, spine-tingling, inhuman laugh, his feet suddenly lifted off the ground, pushing into the wall as he made a leap for the dark-clad hero, smile resembling a feral snarl as his hands curled into claws.
When they collided, angered as he was by the Joker's presence, Batman failed to react. His hand shot out for the ceramic sink, but wet from use already, he lost his grip. They went down in a heap on the tile floor, the back of Batman's head slamming sharply against the other wall on the way down because the bathroom was that small. He landed heavily with the Joker's weight atop him, and shook the dizziness from his eyes.
He spared no moment to pouncing, clawing at the cowl with one hand as the other tried to tear away the weapons at his belt, mouth snapping and biting and licking and growling like some rabid thing. He paid no attention to the fact that the heavily-armored man had the advantage over his own bare, scarred skin; the dark abyss behind his eye had opened up, swallowing up all the light just as his lungs threatened to pull and devour the soul from Bruce's body.
In all his years of training, Batman had not seen a move as lighting quick as the one Joker pulled with his mouth. Batman twisted his shoulders, delivering a blow to the sensitive area of the Joker's stomach after they fell, but the clown's mouth was already on him before it landed. He was sure it hurt the man considerably, but it didn't seem to register; in fact it seemed nothing shook him from his current focus which in turn was fast becoming Bruce's current focus. Misshapen lips and cutting teeth were trying to eat him alive, and it fit perfectly with how furious Batman had been. For a good few moments he didn't notice that his anger, that their entire struggle, had shifted from inflicting pain to pleasure. For those terrifying moments, the difference between the two didn't exist anymore; he was simply bound and determined to give it all to the Joker, every single buried emotion he had, ready to be thrown like knives at this man.
Finally wrenching the black hooded mask off, dialated green eyes flickered up to drink in every feature, his own expression never changing. Victorious fingers threaded through dark hair, twining and pulling back the taller man's head, screaming and laughing and humming his raging insanity into his rival's mouth until it should have rattled his teeth. Every blow he took seemed to have the opposite effect, only making him cling tighter instead of driving him off. At once point his eyes closed tightly for a moment, a laugh turning into a moan as a hint of tears rimmed his eyes.
Bruce's heart had shifted into overdrive when the mask came off. For a moment he was frozen. With the Joker's hands in his hair he felt utterly exposed. All he could do was gasp for air and stare into the madman's face which had made no noticeable change from its previous wanton ecstasy. In a subdued part of his mind, he knew that this was the first time the Joker could have seen a hint of fear in his eyes since they'd fought. Though the Joker had seen him on his own security television, this was the first time he'd lost the safety of the hood in his presence. But Bruce was nothing if not stubborn. He decided there that he could make Bruce Wayne just as terrifying as he could the Batman. With or without the mask, he was Batman. It was all a battle of will now. The shock faded from his gaze and a snarl replaced it; Batman's snarl. He bit the Joker back, then lifted his head from the man's grasp and punched him hard across the face for removing the mask.
Reeling from the blow, flowing into it and sinking into the pain with a sigh, Joker arched his back, chuckling quietly as he looked almost... serenely down at the furious man beneath him, half-lidded eyes still full of some dark lust as a line of blood dripped from his smirking mouth. Sliding the length of his body along the other man's armor, he tilted his head in a birdlike motion. "...why so serious, Bat? You should just learn to... enjoy..." Darting back down, his mouth fixed on Bruce's neck, gentle for the moment but hinting at a threat that lay just beneath the surface with the scratch of jagged eyeteeth.
Enjoy? Enjoy? Bruce was going to enjoy breaking the Joker's face. With one swift motion he jabbed an elbow into the side of the man's head and brought a knee up off the floor to flip them over. Once he was looking down at the other, he slammed the Joker's head into the bathroom floor, hard enough to hurt like all hell, but thankfully not hard enough to hear a sickening crack and squelch of skull breaking. Something in the back of Bruce's mind sighed in relief, but with the way he was feeling now, that irritated him and he did his best to ignore it. Satisfied with the blow he'd dealt, he took over what the Joker had started on his neck. But Bruce didn't feel like being gentle. It felt more like there was something inside him trying to claw its way out and into the madman, as though his rage had taken a physical form and was trying to leave his body. He ground a leg between the Joker's thighs and dug a hip into the other man's groin.
Eyes rolling back in his head for a moment as the world suddenly turned and stopped with a jolt and a painful crack, he was left looking up into burning embers that neatly matched his own internal pools of swirling insanity. Eyes widening in surprise as the man descended and bit at him like some starved vampire, a violent shudder rocked his whole frame as Bruce-Who-Wasn't pushed his whole weight into him. Writhing and struggling, it wasn't entirely clear whether he was screaming for Batman to stop and let him go... or keep going. Every thwarted attempt to escape or fight back only seemed to wind up some internal spring in the lunatic even more. Eventually he stopped fighting, melting into whatever touches or abuse the hero wanted to rain on him, clinging to him like he was drowning.
It took a while for Bruce to calm himself. He was hurting and writhing against a rag doll, but he couldn't stop. The voice of reason and justice in the back of his mind was pulling at him hard, but it was like skidding down a hill tethered to a ball and chain. Finally he stilled, body still tense, hips still firmly locked with the Joker's. He was breathing through clenched teeth. He couldn't bring himself to move away from the Joker, he wanted to pin him down forever and keep him like this - controlled, where he could bring about no more damage. A hurricane in a bottle. Where Bruce could be his jailer.... A little flutter of calm trickled through the Batman; it tasted like power. "You're not going to do any more harm."
Eyes that had been firmly shut, enjoying every moment, flickered open. His heart pounding, the manic pulse easily visible at his neck, a look that was all disappointment and rage and hunger, lust and fear and frustration, mingled and twisted his ghostly face. "...no. No, oh no-no-no. You can't, can't just stop, no you can't stop!" he screamed at Bruce, starting the struggle - the dance - all over again.
This time Batman held on tight. The Joker was wild with rage, but now Batman was enjoying it. Watching the man who'd torn apart so many of his most cherished dreams twist in frustration that bordered on agony beneath him was delicious. He was just as turned on as the other man was, he was so hard it hurt, but the satisfaction he felt in denying the Joker was worth every. single. ounce of the pain it took to deny himself. He bared his teeth and lifted his head, looking down at the Joker like something he didn't want to touch. His snarl felt like a grin though it wasn't. "That's the difference between us. I can stop. Whenever - " he drug out the word in a growl, " I want to." He pressed his weight into the Joker to emphasize the point.
Bordering on hyperventilating, he couldn't focus, couldn't decide whether to beat the man on top of him off and escape or desperately try to pull him down. Giving a tortured scream at being so thoroughly denied and, for once, completely trapped, fear closed in over his heart like a vice. Biting his own lip, enough to draw blood, the screams still came as he flailed like a mindless animal, scrabbling for something, anything. Arching violently back, he hit his own head against the floor with a crack, one hand moving up to claw at his own face.
The Joker was losing it, fast. Bruce scrabbled for his wrists, losing them and catching them again, using his weight to pin the man beneath him. He was hurting himself now and he seemed terrified. As he should be, Bruce thought to himself. The life he had known, whatever it may have been, was going to be over if Bruce had anything to do about it. Right now, he had every say in the matter. That must be terrifying to someone as defiant as the Joker; Bruce couldn't help the notion that justice was seeking its vengeance.
The screams cut off suddenly, the man beneath him going limp and submissive. His eyes seemed to darken even further, the light going out of them as whatever beast lurked within his head withdrew into hiding, leaving an empty shell.
Bruce stared down in fascination. It was like the criminal had been knocked unconscious, but he could see that the Joker was awake. Something simply turned off inside the other man and he was no longer with him. Bruce's face fell, and he slipped into business mode once again. Pulling himself up, he grabbed his mask off the floor and pulled it back over his head. He stood over the man, unable to imagine what had happened.
The now-blond man didn't even blink as Bruce moved off of him. It was if someone had left an oversized, unusually realistic grotesquery of a doll carelessly on the floor; but for his shallow, stilted breathing and the trickle of red oozing from his lip, he could have been dead.
When Bruce, as Batman once again, had finished a very long once over of the man on the floor, he set his resolve back in place. They were going back to the underground warehouse, and Bruce was going to keep this man captive there. He would be jailer if it was needed of him, and he would do so without quarter. The clown at his feet deserved no more. Men had brought misery to Bruce's life for as long as he could remember; he was and would always be wounded, but he sought justice for it. If he could admit it deep down, he sought vengeance as well. Retribution for himself and humanity alike from those who sought to take advantage of others, from the liars, from those who used any excuse to abuse others. Batman held no mercy for them. Bruce wouldn't either. The Joker was one of those who had hurt Bruce the worst, and now it was time to show him how bad of an idea it was to mess with Batman. He bent down, uncaring for the Joker's lack of clothes, and picked up an arm and a leg and swung the slight man's body across his shoulders.
That was when the doll suddenly came violently back to life. Where there had been nothing in those black pits that passed for eyes, some inhuman thing rose up and howled. He clawed and pounded and kicked and scratched and bit every inch of the man that he could reach, rebelling against captivity with every last jolt of unreal energy he possessed. Even the man's screams sounded like something animal, wordless but full of feeling.
Caught by surprise, Batman stumbled out of the tiny bathroom door and into the hall of the apartment. The Joker half fell, half sprung from his shoulders, and one of his limbs landed a very well placed blow in Batman's temple. When he went down, the other side of his head landed on a screw sticking up from the worn carpeted floor. It sunk into the material of his mask and into his skin. A burst of pain opened up behind his eyes like a flood of light.
Barely having the presence of mind to claw up his coat as he fled, Joker tore down the hallway in a flash of white and purple and bloody red. The Bat wouldn't take his freedom; he'd never let it be taken away permanently again. Nearly falling down the stairs in his haste, he burst out the front doors into a fresh downpour of rain.
It took Bruce a while to find his bearings. His head was swimming, the pain wouldn't leave, and it was right behind his eye. He freed himself with a loud squelching sound and blood immediately poured from the wound. Covering it with one hand wasn't enough, so he stumbled into the kitchen, finding a towel very similar to the one the Joker had been holding earlier and pressed it firmly against the side of his head. He was dizzy, but aware. Coherent enough to be worried; if that nail had gone in a centimeter deeper, the Joker might have wound up dancing over his body. Nonetheless he pursued the madman into the street below, shaking the pain away from his mind fruitlessly.
Joker was nothing if not a master of the chaos of the streets. All it took was a few moments, unobserved, and he disappeared into the rotting warren that was Gotham's underbelly. It tore open his wounds yet again, fresh pain burning as the rain soaked his skin, but he had too much to do to get caught again.
Bruce lost him in the rain and the haze. Footprints in the mud were washed away within seconds, the smell of rain overtook everything, and Bruce's feet wouldn't move together in a straight line. The cloth on his head was soaked through, and he knew he had to give up. Frustration screamed in his head as loud as the pain. He stood in the empty street and shouted that anger across to the world.
"You'll never get far!" His breath was ragged with anger. "This city is mine!" For all he knew, the rain covered his words completely.