I roll over and puke onto the floor conveniently located right next to me. My bones feel as if they'd been broken and mended with duct tape. My mouth tasted like chewed grass and vomit.
Light.
My eyes squint open. A blurry hospital room comes into focus as the pain in my body sharpens everything. There's a bandage wrapped around my drumming head, and more around my throbbing ribs. But wait, the pain isn't so bad now. There's a warm feeling in my belly. A floaty feeling, something fuzzy and giddy and cosy.
A liquid drip pulses from the centre of the top of my left hand. A hard hospital bed and a blanket over me and the smell of antiseptic. A curtain that looks like Mum's old olive-green shower curtain is connected to a U-shaped rod surrounding the hospital bed. The ceiling is made up of square tiles with hundreds of tiny holes in them.
I feel sick at the sight of the needle and carefully undo the tape around my hand before pulling the IV drip out. A small amount of blood trickles down my skin, but I ignore it, undoing at the machines connected to me.
I stand up, making my head pound in protest to my actions. The hospital dress is a little breezy for my liking. The lino is cold against my feet, and my legs feel like they've been ripped apart by a red-hot poker, but I force myself the get to the curtain and pull it back.
"Girl's got no priors," I heard from the other side, he's got a thick Jersey accent. "No other poisons or drugs in the apartment. No track marks."
Cops.
"Sounds to me like you're reaching, Harv," says another voice. "Trying to make excuses for a tweaked-out addict. Here's the only cell phone in the apartment. Me? I couldn't much care what happens to this 'Bluey'. One less junky on the street."
"Yer compassion is something to behold, officer."
I peek out from behind the curtain as the officer leaves. A man in a brown trench coat and a fedora hat has his back to me but I know who it is now. Detective Bullock. he's fiddling with Jason's phone, trying to unlock it.
I sneak behind him and scoot into the elevator. My hips are bruised and I can't barely walk. I have to find Jason.
Who's probably looking for the Joker.
Four floors to freedom for me. I press the button for 'Ground' in the hospital elevator.
>>>><<<<
A few nights ago the Joker attacked Commissioner Gordon's office and killed nineteen offices. He invaded Wayne Manor for supporting Batman Inc. There's no logic to any of it. unless you understand the Joker.
I get it. He's a dog chasing cars. He wouldn't know what to do with one if he caught it. You know, he just... does things. Until it comes to Batman. This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Batman won't kill him out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness. And Joker won't kill you because Batman's just too much fun.
But the Robin's, us kids - we're all the Bat-King's men. There's the game. We weaken Batman. Weaken his effectiveness. Killing us will make Batman stronger, which will make the game better for the Joker.
So, how to play this?
I read files on the Batcomputer. Joker's established a pattern - he's revisiting places where he's already committed crimes.
I look at the spots on the map. Delaware Bay - where the two boats were. Gotham Square - the parade with the Prince music. And the site of the Orpheus murder. Kennmann Commons where Mayor Dickerson was assassinated. The Headly Station where MetroCard machines electrocuted ten people. And the Wayon apartments... which were abandoned after a hundred and fourteen people died when phosgene was introduced to the central heating ducts. Amusement Mile, where The Killing Joke took place.
Those'll be wild goose chases.
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.
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.
Jason's face has been skinned off.
So has, Dick's, Tim's, Damian's, Barbra's and Duke's.
I feel sick. I know it shows all over my face.
Batman's eyes meet mine for a second and his mouth opens to say something, but he's cut off.
"Present and accounted for," the Joker laughs, sending a chill down my spine. He emerges out of the dust like a nightmare, his saggy skinned face still grinning a wicked smile. "You shouldn't take your shoes off around here, you could get tetanus."
I know how to play this now.
Terry McGinnis style.
"I'll still feel all warm and fuzzy inside when I bash your brains out," I growl.
"Really, you're too rude."
"Oh, where are my manners?" I sigh. "Here you come to terrorize the Bat, and I don't even say no thank you. My only excuse is that you skinned my boyfriends face off."
He shrieks with laughter, and I charge at him, as Batman shouts, "You don't have enough experience-"
I ignore him, ramming my shoulder into the Joker's chest and slam him into the wall. I know, but I can't beat him, then I'll have to kill him. And if it comes to that, it can't matter what I become, and it can't matter what Bruce thinks. It can't. It'll have to be done and so I'll have to do it.
But the Joker and back hands me across the face. I stagger back, my head is ringing, and the world goes wobbly and grey and full of pain, and everything is tilting and sliding, and I realise I haven't recovered from my first concussion yet. I can see the Joker watching me, pulling a switch blade from his jacket.
"Is that a knife? Is that a real knife?" I panic.
"Yes, it's a real knife." He sounds generally confused.
"My weakness." I start to back away. "Small knives. Anything but knives!"
As quick as a snake, I shoot it from his hand with a web. Then I run in, closing the distance and smash my fist into his face. Blood smears on my gloves.
"Funny guy..." Joker wipes his mouth, loose skin sliding with his fist. He charges at me. I circle behind him in one fluid movement, grabbing his hair I bash his face into the table until the wood cracks underneath his skull.
"Can't say the same for you," I say, fury boiling under the surface.
"Impudent brat..." He's hunched over the table. "Who do you think you're talking to?"
"Not a comedian, I'll tell you that."
He draws a pistol from his jacket pocket, and I take out my grapple gun and fire it into the rafters as a bullet whistles past. I balance on it with ease, humming a tune. "Batman never talks to you much, does he? That's probably why you're so fixated on him."
I laugh and web the gun in his hand and yank it out of his hands, back to me. I tuck it into my utility belt.
"Don't play psychoanalyst with me, girl!" he hisses. Not laughing now.
"Oh, I don't need a degree to figure you out. The real reason you keep coming back is you never get a laugh out of the old man."
"I'm not hearing this..."
"Get a clue, clownie! He's got no sense of humour! He wouldn't know a good joke if it bit him in the cape... not that you ever had a good joke. I mean, joy-buzzers, squirting flowers, lame! Where's the "A" material? Make a face, drop your pants, something!"
I anchor a web to the rafter and backflip off. I swing with my legs out in front of me, knocking the wind right out of the Joker when I hit him. He sprawls on the ground, and I step on his neck. I push down.
"You make me laugh. But only 'cause I think you're kinda pathetic."
"Stop that!" he chokes.
"So you fell in a tank of acid, got your skin bleached and decided to become a supervillain. What? You couldn't get a job as a rodeo clown?"
All of this.
All of this.
All this pain and destruction because of one man's obsession with another. Adult men. Fucking adult men. Nutters, all of them. Can't be trusted. Fucking sickos. Freaks. Killers.
"How does it feel," I spit through gritted, furious teeth, "to know your completely at someone else's mercy."
In that second Joker punches me in the uterus and I cry out, retracting my foot. Then he's coming at me with his hands out, grabbing my neck, smashing me back against floor.
"You little FILTH!" he screams and presses his thumbs into my throat. His face is a nightmare, a horrible thing I'm not gonna stop seeing even if I ever get out of this. You can see his teeth through the gash and it's causing his left eye to bulge forward like his head's been caught in mid-explosion. There are other gashes on his chin and neck and his clothes are torn and there's blood practically everywhere. "It's one big joke."
I'm choking for breath but not getting any. You can't believe how much it hurts. The world's spinning and my brain's going fuzzy.
"Oh, a joke is it?" I croak. I bring my feet up and rip him off. Kicking him down again, I grab him by the collar pounding my fist into his face until it's smeared red with his blood. "Well then I'm just joking too! How does it feel to know whatever you do, whatever you say, however you plead, someone is NEVER... GOING... TO... STOP!"
BAM! BAM! BAM!
I hit him again, and again, and again, until I'm sure my hand is broken.
I draw the gun and level the muzzle at Jokers face.
The bat boys stiffen in their seat. Batman's eyes go wide. "Don't!"
The kneeling man in front of me laughs mocking, lips twisting in a sneer of hatred. "You? You really think you can pull the trigger? You don't have the balls!" He laughs again. "You're one of the good guys."
A faint smirk curls my lip. "One of the good guys, huh?" I murmured. "Are you willing to bet your life on that?"
He just laughs. "This is the best joke I ever heard! This isn't Batman, this isn't your inner demons, this is YOU! The deep-down-inside you!"
My voice darkens as my finger tightens on the trigger. "People keep telling me how MY story's supposed to go. Nah. I'm going to do my own thing."
"Go on then, label yourself a cold-blooded killer. Just remember, you'll be not better than me."
"No better than you?" I splutter though my laughter. "I'm sorry, WHAT? That excuse is the single DUMBEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD!
"Kill me right here, right now in your anger, you'll be just as bad as me."
"What do you think this is, Star Wars? Motherfucker, you are a rapist! To call us the same, is call a cup of water the ocean. FUCKING STUPID!" The force of the bullet sends the Joker reeling back into the dirt as the sudden action made them men around me jumps. Steam curls up from the mess that used to be the Joker's face, some pieces here, some piece there. Scattered across the floor now speckled with deep crimson, across my feet, across the table.
The echo of the blast hangs in the smoke laden air, and blood mixing with the stench of death. I can feel everyone's ones on me, yet I can't meet a single gaze as my eye remain glued to what used to be a man's head. Jesus, Mary, God, it's Waller all over again.
I feel the numbness seeping back in, turning me cold and filling my chest with ice. In a way that is far more worrisome.
The weight of the gun in my hand is outmatched by the weight of what I've just done, now burns with a fridged fire despite smoke still wafting up from the barrel. Yet I can't drop it, my grip on it increasing as I force myself to stay ground.
I am Gita Kelly. I will feel no pain. I'll never be afraid.
What have I done?
"What did you do?" Batman mutters. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"
Get up!
I don't answer, just wander in a daze to the person closest, Dick, first untying. At first I think he's going to hit me and I flinch, but he hugs me. He his hand cups the back of my head gently.
I pull away. "Wing..."
"We'll deal with it later," he assures me.
While he unties Damian, I cut through Jason's ropes. He staggers to his feet, but he's shaking so bad with rage or adrenaline that his legs say, "We don't work here anymore" and give out. I kneel next to him. I can see his blue eyes under the bandages, and I reach for his face. Jason grabs my hand, trying to lower them, but I shake my head. It's okay. I peel away the bandage and almost sob with relief.
He's face is okay. It was a trick. They're all okay.
"You're okay!"
I cup Jason's face and he hugs me, whispering comforting words to me. "You did good, doll. You got him." A steady hand rests over my he gently pries the weapon from my numb fingers. "He had it coming."
My stomach twists violently. "I don't feel so good."
"Bluey," Jason says, worry lacing his tone as he reaches out. "Dude, I am the drop-dead last person who is going to judge you about that. God knows I've let my rage get a hold of me more than once."
I take a step back and say quietly, "He was going to kill you again."
Why do I sound like a tunnel? I don't feel like a kid anymore. Not that nineteen is a kid, but still. It's time to grow up and get over it.
"Gita," says a voice behind me. I turn around and find Batman looking down at me, face like thunder. "After all these months, all I've taught you... We have to be better than our baser instincts."
"Bruce..." says Tim. "Look at her, you need to take a step back."
I just close my eyes and clench my fists, shoulders trembling. "I killed him, Tim," I croak and hold my wrists out to Bruce. "I went against everything, what I believed, my faith, to save the people I love. You didn't teach me Bruce, but we get what we deserve. So arrest me."
"Hnn," Bruce rumbles. His glare only intensifies.
I really don't what to go back to Belle Reve.
"No," I say harshly, tone filled with anger and comes out strangled as I try to keep my voice down. I push past Jason. "Get off your high horse Bruce because I'm sick of the sanctimonious BULLSHIT. What? You think I'm suddenly going to develop a taste for blood? NO! You act like it's a playground. You beat up the bullies with your fists. You throw 'em in jail, everybody calls you a hero, right? And then a month, a week, a day later, they're back on the streets doing the same goddamn thing! You say you won't be able to stop. Then you're a coward. You can't control yourself."
Bruce grunts, face contorting with rage, causing Jason to grow restless next to me; we should probably leave before this gets any worse. He doesn't need Bruce's approval and neither do I... but that doesn't stop me from some sort of approval from him. It seemed like he hated me most of the time, even before I killed Joker. But if he was going to arrest me, he would've done it by now.
But I know I'm right.
I will never be as bad as the Joker.
Take Jason's hand and intwine our finger. His whole body is completely tense, like he's holding himself back, but he squeezes my hand back.
"Let's go," I say.
As we start to leave Bruce speaks again and I'm met with his stone-cold expression. "You get one strike, Gita. If you take one life – for any reason... I'm coming for you."
"And I told you, I haven't suddenly, inexplicably got a taste for blood."
I pick up my boots and follow Jason outside. As soon at the cold air hits my face, my stomach lurches. I feel the blood drain from my face, and I drop to the ground and throw up. I take in a huge gasping breath that makes me cough in a way like I'm never gonna stop.
Jason's immediately at my side, holding me and rubbing my back. I just stare at the mess. "Well, that's not ideal," I grumble.
He holds me to him, the sense of security and comfort he provides settling over me like a banket. I don't deserve it. "It gets easier, doll."
"Fuck's sake, Jay, I'm not broken," I snap, my voice sharp as I wipe my mouth on my sleeve. "I'm just..." I make an angry gesture with my hands at the ground as I try to the word. What is it? I grit my teeth unable to find the word. "Fuck! What's the word?"
"Traumatised."
"PTSD, huh?" I scoff. "Don't do that. It's an insult."
"It's sort of unavoidable in this family," he says softly, holding me tighter.
"I'm not talking about me; I'm talking about them. It's an insult to them, people who are actually going through it. I'm not going to sit here and be labelled just another case of some crazy-arse white girl who thinks it's a personality trait."
But I curl into him, shaking.
"Breath. You're in shock." He picks me up easily, as if I was a baby and carries me to the motorbike.
I get on behind him, using his shoulders to steady myself as I swing my get over. He waits until I wrap my arms around him before he revs the bike and races back through the streets of Gotham.
Meme of the day