Slipping Into Entropy - Part 1
Title: Slipping Into Entropy
Authors: razothredfire & loony_lucifer
Rating: Mature
Notes: Batman(Bruce)/Joker
The skinny man hunkered down in the corner of the cell, the scars around his mouth twisting oddly under the florescent lighting as he stared absently at the door. The staff had drugged him to unconsciousness, scrubbing his skin and hair clean of the layers of grime and makeup, but a sense of alienness still clung to him despite the best efforts of the staff to impose a sense of normalcy on their patients.
Joker showed no sign of tensing as the door opened, admitting a short little brunette with a loaded trolley. Smiling and waving away the guard that nervously hovered at the door, she padded around to the other side of the cart, readying her supplies. "It's time for your medicine. Now, you aren't going to give me any trouble today, are you, hon?" she asked with just a hint of a tremor, knowing just how unpredictable the man could actually be.
"Who, me? What sort of trouble do you think I could possibly do in this, sweetie?" he chuckled, rustling the straps of his straitjacket to emphasize the point. "I am curious, however. Insatiably. What're all the juice in those little tubes actually supposed to do?" Playing at 'slow progress' had been a pinch these last weeks - people's minds worked in such predictable patterns, saw what they wanted to see.
Contrary to popular belief Bruce Wayne did watch the news. He did so regularly, more than regularly; he did so obsessively. He was never short on television monitors, placed in a variety of areas throughout his home. He could be watching a program in the bedroom, wander into the kitchen and never miss a line of the anchorman's story. It would follow him into the bathroom, where he could watch a little screen on the left side of the sink mirror. Alfred had been complaining for months about forgetting to turn them off when he went out, and a few choice things about them being a little bit fanatical as well, but Bruce felt entirely "unplugged" if he wasn't wired in to the city.
He had them on now, three of them actually, placed on the walls of the living room, but he wasn't paying attention. In spite of his dedication, GNN often got pushed to the outskirts of his awareness. Instead he was working on a new routine. What sparse furniture he had had been moved to the corners of the area while he spun, kicked, and punched the air in the middle of the padded space. Sweat rolled down his chest and back, gathered at the roots of his hair, but neither it, seeping into his eyes while he flung around a particular way, nor the droll of the news buzzing in his ears disturbed him. He was very much in his zone. He liked it here, in his penthouse high above Gotham. It felt like a fortress that he could perch atop, ready to leap from at a moment's notice should the people below need him. He even felt more comfortable here than in his old home. It was too far, much too far, from his city. His new routine felt like zen personified. He finally felt like his life was going in the right direction, like he was making some progress.
It was over far too quickly. The charade had worked, and he had played up the pity card to his advantage. Stripping the uniform off the prone form discarded on the floor, he had to tug for a moment as an edge caught on the needle embedded in her throat. Shrugging into the slightly-splattered white, he twirled the broken jacket for a moment on the tips of his fingers, giggling before dropping it without another glance on his former nurse. "They just don't make 'em like they used to, eh, sweetie?"
Picking over the veritable arsenal left in the cart, it took only seconds to dispose of the guard outside. Sweeping up the key card from his pocket, he rubbed the thin plastic between his fingers, a gleam growing in his eyes as he mulled over his options.
Less than five minutes later, the doors of every holding cell and security door swung open, releasing a spray of maniacs upon the asylum staff to the merry tune of sirens. The other freed patients were marvelous at creating distractions at just the right time... and human shields and fodder whenever the time wasn't just right. No longer restrained, the madhouse began to finally resemble the name as the insane flooded through the hallways. Generously passing out keys to whomever happened to be closest and catch his favor, the maniac clambered into an ambulance, screeching away as other inmates made use of his gifts and did the same... in several directions.
Heart racing at the freedom, the lights racing by and the sounds of people scrambling and screaming, he absently mulled over where he should head first. So many options, so much time...
Bruce flung himself down to the floor face first. One. Two. Three. Four push ups, and he was back on his feet, arm thrusting out parallel to the floor, back arching at a thirty degree angle, then spinning to switch positions. And then down on the floor again. One. Two. Three. Four push ups until he once more sprung from the carpet to the air.
He had gotten so into it that it that he was oblivious to the world around him. It was some time before the monotonous noise of the televisions filtered through the ears of a resident in Wayne tower, and unfortunately it wasn't Bruce. Alfred hurried into the room in a flurry of quiet panic, Bruce had come to think that he was the only person he knew who could flip out in such a dignified manner, and nearly got a foot in the face for his rush.
After much apologizing on the young athlete's part, Alfred finally relayed the reason for his distress, cutting Bruce off and turning up the volume on one of the viewscreens. The anchorman wore a serious expression, there was flashing red text running across the bottom of the screen.
"Mass patient break-out occurred this evening at the Arkham Asylum institute. There is no word yet of arrests made, but police have been called into the scene. Residents in the area have been cautioned to stay in their homes. Among the escaped reported, are - " Bruce shut the program off before he had a chance to hear it. He already knew.
"Thank you, Alfred," he said, apologetically meeting the eyes of the butler who had proven far more attentive than he. "Time to go." He grabbed his jacket and hurried for the door, trying to think about containing the entirety of the situation and not one escaped inmate in particular.
Bruce dug around in the jacket and pulled free his wireless communicator. Far less sophisticated than the sonar device had been, but it could pick up on police airwaves more than efficiently. He stuck it into his ear and tossed the coat aside while his pace picked up. There was a hidden room at the end of the hall, there were on all levels of Wayne tower, along with hidden elevators, and the all led to the same place. It was a miniature version of his underground warehouse. He needed to keep supplies as close as possible at all times, and so he had gone so far as to build an entire structure sectioned off inside of the tower. It was at times like this when he felt it had been worth the cost and hassle of secrecy in such a public place.
He scrambled into the suit, grabbed essentials, whatever he could find, and hooked them to his belt, then exited the interior structure as quickly as possible. He took a tiny stairwell leading straight to the roof, and paused for a moment to listen to the radio waves. Police were calling in, just now arriving at the outskirts of the asylum's grounds. They didn't know what to expect yet, and Bruce felt a pang of anxiety for their sakes. He leapt off his tower, one of the tallest in Gotham, and spread his "wings" wide to catch the wind, hoping he would be fast enough to reach them.
By the time Batman arrived at the scene, Arkham and its surrounding streets were in chaos. He caught sight of several emergency vehicles with lights ablaze rushing from the building just as others were rushing to it. Some were driving erratically. The police had attempted to set up a perimeter around the institute, but a good portion of the patients had gotten out of the building long before they arrived. As it was they were guarding a small group of inmates who were negotiating surrender. Staff and nurses were mixed up with the crowd, some simply caught in the building, unable to get to the police through the group of patients, one or two being held with the patients, no doubt facilitating their chances of negotiation.
They were the ones he went after first. They barely noticed him descending out of the night sky until he was bowling them over. The entire group, three to four patients and two nurses, went down with him. One of the nurses escaped immediately and fled toward the wall of cops. She even beat Batman to his feet in her hurry. He was impressed, but not far behind, getting hold of the other nurse and tossing her as gently as possible out of the fray before the inmates gained their feet. It wasn't a long fight, but the men here were desperate, having found their freedom and having it crushed so quickly. The police converged, and Batman was gone barely in time to escape them himself.
Now confined to the ground, Batman had to move extra quickly to get out of the spotlights. More cops were arriving, many being sent out in pursuit of the missing patients. He couldn't gauge how many there had been exactly, but he got the feeling there had been a lot of them. He found refuge by an adjacent building, a small one used for grounds keeping storage. He climbed atop it, using its height to reach an old fire escape on the side of the Arkham building. He scanned the area as he climbed, but his mind was wandering. A chill was forming in his chest in spite of the temperature underneath his armor. He had a very bad notion about who was responsible for this chaos. Most patients would enjoy any freedom they could get by themselves; somehow these ones escaped like a row of dominoes.
Reaching the top of the asylum, he listened in on his earpiece again. Police and their operators were covering the airwaves. He tried to follow threads in their reports. Some prisoners had been cornered seven blocks from the institute, others were being pursued, but he was searching for something special. He closed his eyes and listened, trying to calm himself and enter the zone he had found earlier that day.
Zooming down the street like a *heheheh!* bat out of hell, the ambulance weaved randomly down the street, paying no mind to the laws of traffic or the flaming chaos it left behind. Screeching to a halt as it passed an Assisted Living building, it backed up just as suddenly, the driver eying the front door with a manic grin. "It's about time for your monthly checkups, isn't it now?" Swinging out of the driver's seat and into the back section, he poked briefly through the equipment stored in the little compact drawers, stuffing whatever caught his fancy into his pockets.
Striding through the front glass doors, he grinned smarmily at the assistant who was wheeling an elderly lady across the foyer. Grin deepening as she stared, jaw dropping and hands going slack, he swiped his tongue over his lips, deftly grabbing the chair and sending it careening down the hallway with a violent push. The resulting squeal only made him chuckle. "I did get the right address, didn't I? 911 emergency service, right? Delivered to your door in 10 minutes or the emergency is on the house, free of charge..." Watching the lady as she beat a panicked retreat back the way she had come from, he peered down the hallway at the wrinkled matron sprawled on the floor, spilled from her chair. "Kids today, eh? No respect for the elderly."
Joker strolled leisurely down the hallways, delighting in the shocked reactions he evoked every time he ran into another unfortunate. An untimely victim of a heart attack was stepped over with a shrug - he was on a mission. He finally slunk past a room that contained what he was looking for. Sneaking past the comatose figure on the bed that was more a tangle of tubes and wires than a living being any longer, his gaze was locked on the supplies left on the room's small vanity. "Faugh. It stinks of old people in here. No offense, lady." Slender fingers exploring the little bottles and tubes and brushes cluttering the table's surface, he found what he wanted and got to work, glancing at the sleeping figure's reflection every so often. "And I hate to break it to you, but whatever your nanny's been telling you? Ain't the truth. You can pile on as much of this stuff as you want; you ain't fooling anyone at this point." Shuddering like a dog drying itself as the pale foundation slithered over his skin, he began blackening a ring around one eye.
Bruce's heart was slowing to a more regular pattern while the reports fed through his head. His breathing was concentrated. He ignored the sirens around him. He ignored the voice on the megaphone calling for Batman to surrender himself. It irked him, just a little bit, that he could remain one of their priorities in a situation like this, but he had to ignore it. He listened, and waited. More patients found, more captured, a list of names and descriptions was being aired now. Apparently the cops had gotten into the building and were searching through the empty rooms, taking stock of who was there and who wasn't.
And then it hit, the one he had been waiting for - Joker. Or the man with no name. He was listed on the operator's tongue as "alias: Joker", and that sounded a little ridiculous to Bruce. The chill in his gut thinned itself out slightly; he knew now whether the maniac had caused this breakout or not, he had been part of it. There was no uncertainty any longer, and that meant that for now, he had a purpose, a definite one. It eased his nerves as much as they possibly could be.
"Cars 852 to 176, we're getting reports of a disturbance in your area. Over," the operator's strained voice rang clearly in his ears.
"Can you be more specific?" a male voice responded.
"Building 2787, your street, Spring Meadow Assisted Living. They're reporting a break-in. Several injuries. Number of suspects responsible uncertain. They sound pretty rattled down there. Over."
"We're on our way," and so was Batman, as soon as their conversation was over.
Authors: razothredfire & loony_lucifer
Rating: Mature
Notes: Batman(Bruce)/Joker
The skinny man hunkered down in the corner of the cell, the scars around his mouth twisting oddly under the florescent lighting as he stared absently at the door. The staff had drugged him to unconsciousness, scrubbing his skin and hair clean of the layers of grime and makeup, but a sense of alienness still clung to him despite the best efforts of the staff to impose a sense of normalcy on their patients.
Joker showed no sign of tensing as the door opened, admitting a short little brunette with a loaded trolley. Smiling and waving away the guard that nervously hovered at the door, she padded around to the other side of the cart, readying her supplies. "It's time for your medicine. Now, you aren't going to give me any trouble today, are you, hon?" she asked with just a hint of a tremor, knowing just how unpredictable the man could actually be.
"Who, me? What sort of trouble do you think I could possibly do in this, sweetie?" he chuckled, rustling the straps of his straitjacket to emphasize the point. "I am curious, however. Insatiably. What're all the juice in those little tubes actually supposed to do?" Playing at 'slow progress' had been a pinch these last weeks - people's minds worked in such predictable patterns, saw what they wanted to see.
Contrary to popular belief Bruce Wayne did watch the news. He did so regularly, more than regularly; he did so obsessively. He was never short on television monitors, placed in a variety of areas throughout his home. He could be watching a program in the bedroom, wander into the kitchen and never miss a line of the anchorman's story. It would follow him into the bathroom, where he could watch a little screen on the left side of the sink mirror. Alfred had been complaining for months about forgetting to turn them off when he went out, and a few choice things about them being a little bit fanatical as well, but Bruce felt entirely "unplugged" if he wasn't wired in to the city.
He had them on now, three of them actually, placed on the walls of the living room, but he wasn't paying attention. In spite of his dedication, GNN often got pushed to the outskirts of his awareness. Instead he was working on a new routine. What sparse furniture he had had been moved to the corners of the area while he spun, kicked, and punched the air in the middle of the padded space. Sweat rolled down his chest and back, gathered at the roots of his hair, but neither it, seeping into his eyes while he flung around a particular way, nor the droll of the news buzzing in his ears disturbed him. He was very much in his zone. He liked it here, in his penthouse high above Gotham. It felt like a fortress that he could perch atop, ready to leap from at a moment's notice should the people below need him. He even felt more comfortable here than in his old home. It was too far, much too far, from his city. His new routine felt like zen personified. He finally felt like his life was going in the right direction, like he was making some progress.
It was over far too quickly. The charade had worked, and he had played up the pity card to his advantage. Stripping the uniform off the prone form discarded on the floor, he had to tug for a moment as an edge caught on the needle embedded in her throat. Shrugging into the slightly-splattered white, he twirled the broken jacket for a moment on the tips of his fingers, giggling before dropping it without another glance on his former nurse. "They just don't make 'em like they used to, eh, sweetie?"
Picking over the veritable arsenal left in the cart, it took only seconds to dispose of the guard outside. Sweeping up the key card from his pocket, he rubbed the thin plastic between his fingers, a gleam growing in his eyes as he mulled over his options.
Less than five minutes later, the doors of every holding cell and security door swung open, releasing a spray of maniacs upon the asylum staff to the merry tune of sirens. The other freed patients were marvelous at creating distractions at just the right time... and human shields and fodder whenever the time wasn't just right. No longer restrained, the madhouse began to finally resemble the name as the insane flooded through the hallways. Generously passing out keys to whomever happened to be closest and catch his favor, the maniac clambered into an ambulance, screeching away as other inmates made use of his gifts and did the same... in several directions.
Heart racing at the freedom, the lights racing by and the sounds of people scrambling and screaming, he absently mulled over where he should head first. So many options, so much time...
Bruce flung himself down to the floor face first. One. Two. Three. Four push ups, and he was back on his feet, arm thrusting out parallel to the floor, back arching at a thirty degree angle, then spinning to switch positions. And then down on the floor again. One. Two. Three. Four push ups until he once more sprung from the carpet to the air.
He had gotten so into it that it that he was oblivious to the world around him. It was some time before the monotonous noise of the televisions filtered through the ears of a resident in Wayne tower, and unfortunately it wasn't Bruce. Alfred hurried into the room in a flurry of quiet panic, Bruce had come to think that he was the only person he knew who could flip out in such a dignified manner, and nearly got a foot in the face for his rush.
After much apologizing on the young athlete's part, Alfred finally relayed the reason for his distress, cutting Bruce off and turning up the volume on one of the viewscreens. The anchorman wore a serious expression, there was flashing red text running across the bottom of the screen.
"Mass patient break-out occurred this evening at the Arkham Asylum institute. There is no word yet of arrests made, but police have been called into the scene. Residents in the area have been cautioned to stay in their homes. Among the escaped reported, are - " Bruce shut the program off before he had a chance to hear it. He already knew.
"Thank you, Alfred," he said, apologetically meeting the eyes of the butler who had proven far more attentive than he. "Time to go." He grabbed his jacket and hurried for the door, trying to think about containing the entirety of the situation and not one escaped inmate in particular.
Bruce dug around in the jacket and pulled free his wireless communicator. Far less sophisticated than the sonar device had been, but it could pick up on police airwaves more than efficiently. He stuck it into his ear and tossed the coat aside while his pace picked up. There was a hidden room at the end of the hall, there were on all levels of Wayne tower, along with hidden elevators, and the all led to the same place. It was a miniature version of his underground warehouse. He needed to keep supplies as close as possible at all times, and so he had gone so far as to build an entire structure sectioned off inside of the tower. It was at times like this when he felt it had been worth the cost and hassle of secrecy in such a public place.
He scrambled into the suit, grabbed essentials, whatever he could find, and hooked them to his belt, then exited the interior structure as quickly as possible. He took a tiny stairwell leading straight to the roof, and paused for a moment to listen to the radio waves. Police were calling in, just now arriving at the outskirts of the asylum's grounds. They didn't know what to expect yet, and Bruce felt a pang of anxiety for their sakes. He leapt off his tower, one of the tallest in Gotham, and spread his "wings" wide to catch the wind, hoping he would be fast enough to reach them.
By the time Batman arrived at the scene, Arkham and its surrounding streets were in chaos. He caught sight of several emergency vehicles with lights ablaze rushing from the building just as others were rushing to it. Some were driving erratically. The police had attempted to set up a perimeter around the institute, but a good portion of the patients had gotten out of the building long before they arrived. As it was they were guarding a small group of inmates who were negotiating surrender. Staff and nurses were mixed up with the crowd, some simply caught in the building, unable to get to the police through the group of patients, one or two being held with the patients, no doubt facilitating their chances of negotiation.
They were the ones he went after first. They barely noticed him descending out of the night sky until he was bowling them over. The entire group, three to four patients and two nurses, went down with him. One of the nurses escaped immediately and fled toward the wall of cops. She even beat Batman to his feet in her hurry. He was impressed, but not far behind, getting hold of the other nurse and tossing her as gently as possible out of the fray before the inmates gained their feet. It wasn't a long fight, but the men here were desperate, having found their freedom and having it crushed so quickly. The police converged, and Batman was gone barely in time to escape them himself.
Now confined to the ground, Batman had to move extra quickly to get out of the spotlights. More cops were arriving, many being sent out in pursuit of the missing patients. He couldn't gauge how many there had been exactly, but he got the feeling there had been a lot of them. He found refuge by an adjacent building, a small one used for grounds keeping storage. He climbed atop it, using its height to reach an old fire escape on the side of the Arkham building. He scanned the area as he climbed, but his mind was wandering. A chill was forming in his chest in spite of the temperature underneath his armor. He had a very bad notion about who was responsible for this chaos. Most patients would enjoy any freedom they could get by themselves; somehow these ones escaped like a row of dominoes.
Reaching the top of the asylum, he listened in on his earpiece again. Police and their operators were covering the airwaves. He tried to follow threads in their reports. Some prisoners had been cornered seven blocks from the institute, others were being pursued, but he was searching for something special. He closed his eyes and listened, trying to calm himself and enter the zone he had found earlier that day.
Zooming down the street like a *heheheh!* bat out of hell, the ambulance weaved randomly down the street, paying no mind to the laws of traffic or the flaming chaos it left behind. Screeching to a halt as it passed an Assisted Living building, it backed up just as suddenly, the driver eying the front door with a manic grin. "It's about time for your monthly checkups, isn't it now?" Swinging out of the driver's seat and into the back section, he poked briefly through the equipment stored in the little compact drawers, stuffing whatever caught his fancy into his pockets.
Striding through the front glass doors, he grinned smarmily at the assistant who was wheeling an elderly lady across the foyer. Grin deepening as she stared, jaw dropping and hands going slack, he swiped his tongue over his lips, deftly grabbing the chair and sending it careening down the hallway with a violent push. The resulting squeal only made him chuckle. "I did get the right address, didn't I? 911 emergency service, right? Delivered to your door in 10 minutes or the emergency is on the house, free of charge..." Watching the lady as she beat a panicked retreat back the way she had come from, he peered down the hallway at the wrinkled matron sprawled on the floor, spilled from her chair. "Kids today, eh? No respect for the elderly."
Joker strolled leisurely down the hallways, delighting in the shocked reactions he evoked every time he ran into another unfortunate. An untimely victim of a heart attack was stepped over with a shrug - he was on a mission. He finally slunk past a room that contained what he was looking for. Sneaking past the comatose figure on the bed that was more a tangle of tubes and wires than a living being any longer, his gaze was locked on the supplies left on the room's small vanity. "Faugh. It stinks of old people in here. No offense, lady." Slender fingers exploring the little bottles and tubes and brushes cluttering the table's surface, he found what he wanted and got to work, glancing at the sleeping figure's reflection every so often. "And I hate to break it to you, but whatever your nanny's been telling you? Ain't the truth. You can pile on as much of this stuff as you want; you ain't fooling anyone at this point." Shuddering like a dog drying itself as the pale foundation slithered over his skin, he began blackening a ring around one eye.
Bruce's heart was slowing to a more regular pattern while the reports fed through his head. His breathing was concentrated. He ignored the sirens around him. He ignored the voice on the megaphone calling for Batman to surrender himself. It irked him, just a little bit, that he could remain one of their priorities in a situation like this, but he had to ignore it. He listened, and waited. More patients found, more captured, a list of names and descriptions was being aired now. Apparently the cops had gotten into the building and were searching through the empty rooms, taking stock of who was there and who wasn't.
And then it hit, the one he had been waiting for - Joker. Or the man with no name. He was listed on the operator's tongue as "alias: Joker", and that sounded a little ridiculous to Bruce. The chill in his gut thinned itself out slightly; he knew now whether the maniac had caused this breakout or not, he had been part of it. There was no uncertainty any longer, and that meant that for now, he had a purpose, a definite one. It eased his nerves as much as they possibly could be.
"Cars 852 to 176, we're getting reports of a disturbance in your area. Over," the operator's strained voice rang clearly in his ears.
"Can you be more specific?" a male voice responded.
"Building 2787, your street, Spring Meadow Assisted Living. They're reporting a break-in. Several injuries. Number of suspects responsible uncertain. They sound pretty rattled down there. Over."
"We're on our way," and so was Batman, as soon as their conversation was over.