I'm about the last person you'd expect to end up in Gotham. One minute I'm chillin' at a roadhouse, minding my own business, then the universe says "YEET". Also, I was dead. And blond. I was kind of... perfect. I was like looking in a mirror. I have...
If I were Joker and I didn't want to be found, where would a bat brat never think to look?
I think of Jason. I have to find him. He'd do it for me.
Jason... I think back to Arkham Knight.
Batman never found Jason, because he never thought to look in...
I search the Batcomputer for any abandoned wings in Arkham Asylum. There's one from that been abandoned after the breakout a few months ago and I download the schematics.
Something else that bothers me... I can't find Alfred.
It turns out that while I was away Bruce had done something with his prep time. The suit is red, cut with midnight black accents. It's slim fitting, an assortment of nearly invisible zippers and pockets running down the body. I slip a hooded jacket over myself and then a pair of gloves and combat boots. Last I put on my mask; it equipped with night vision, heat sensors, and surveillance feed.
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In addition to having a grapple gun, Tim and I designed web-shooter for swinging as well as combat. I consider taking my bow, but my hands are shaking so bad I won't be able to shoot straight.
Bruce had taken the batmobile, so I get on a bike. I haven't ridden one myself since I was 15 and snapped my arm, but I swallow my nerves. The city streets are almost deserted, and I make to Arkham in record time.
I just hope the Joker hasn't killed them yet. My only piece of mind is that he likes to talk.
I expect to find henchmen or goon on my way to the abandoned medical wing, but I find none. The wing is empty and left to ruin, old medical equipment lying, collecting cobwebs. It's just me here, all alone. Maybe the world did end. Maybe I'm losing my mind, and I shouldn't be walking like this in this, with the hospital painkillers wearing off, but this dream is growing real because I can hear cackling, nails-on-chalkboard-laughter, like the alien shriek of a goshawk that chills me to the bone, coming from around the corner.
Dull light comes from an open door. I check the heat sensors in my mask. Seven signatures. I could walk right in - it's that easy.
It's a trap, the Admiral Akbar on my shoulder says.
I take off my boots and throw one at the floor in the doorway.
Must've been a trip wire because shrapnel and dust explode everywhere. I rush in, using it as cover and jump on top of the table.
"Okay, where's the dude in the nasty 'tude?"
I only get a second to take everything in. The smell of petrol is overpowering in the room. They're all there, hog tied to the chairs, Batman at the head of the table. Alfred has been infected with Joker Venom and stands giggling in the corner. The boys' faces are wrapped in bloody white bandages. I begin breathing hard, my chest heaving with rage as I look down to find a face looking up at me from a tray of ice.
