Time lost meaning in the windowless concrete room. Matt had no way to track hours beyond the subtle shifts in his captors' routines, the gradual changes in body chemistry as hunger and fatigue set in. By his estimation, they'd been prisoners for at least twelve hours when the Joker returned.
This time, he brought friends.
The door swung open with theatrical force. The Joker strode in flanked by four armed men, his footsteps light and unpredictable. Behind him, Matt sensed two more people dragging something heavy.
"Good morning, campers! Or is it evening? Who can tell in our cozy little home away from home?" The Joker's voice carried the artificial cheer of a demented game show host. "I hope everyone slept well, because today's activities require your full attention!"
Matt remained silent, tracking each person's position, cataloging weapons, assessing threats. Across the room, Eliza's heartbeat raced with fear. She'd spent most of the night crying quietly, trying not to let Matt hear.
"Nothing to say, Matty-boy? And here I thought we were becoming friends." The Joker approached, crouching in front of Matt. His breath reeked of chemicals and something else. Something rotten. "Maybe you need some motivation to participate."
Matt heard the distinctive click of a switchblade opening.
"I've been thinking about our last encounter," Joker continued conversationally. "At your daddy's house. What was it, four years ago? Five?"
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Matt replied flatly.
The Joker's laughter erupted, bouncing off the concrete walls. "Oh, that's adorable! Still playing the blind, helpless routine. We both know better, don't we? I saw what you did to my boys. Broke Jimmy's jaw in three places. Shattered Ronnie's kneecap. And me? You nearly caved my chest in before deciding to make it look like we'd been fighting among ourselves."
Matt kept his expression neutral, but his mind raced. He remembered that day with perfect clarity.
He'd thought the Joker too deranged to remember or understand what he'd seen.
Clearly, he'd been wrong.
"You have me confused with someone else," Matt insisted.
"Play dumb if you want. It's part of the fun." The Joker stood abruptly. "Speaking of fun, I brought some party games!" He gestured to his men. "Bring in our volunteer."
The two thugs Matt had sensed earlier dragged forward the heavy object they'd been carrying. Not an object. A person. Male, early twenties, heartbeat rapid with terror. When they dropped him in the center of the room, Matt recognized his heart beat immediately.
And who was that 'volunteer'? It was Eric Malton. The classmate who'd been captured with them that the Joker had taken out of the room hours after he captured Matt and Eliza.
"Our first game is a classic," Joker announced, pacing around Eric's bound form. "It's called 'How Much Can You Take?' Very popular in certain circles. The rules are simple." He paused, tapping the flat of his blade against his palm. "Eric here is going to lose something. And then another something. And then another. Until there's nothing left to lose."
Eliza gasped, struggling against her chains. "Stop it! Leave him alone!"
"That's the spirit! Audience participation!" Joker clapped delightedly. "But here's the real twist. Matthew gets to save him. All he has to do is admit what he really is."
Matt felt cold dread settle in his stomach. "And what's that?"
"A freak," Joker whispered, leaning close. "A beautiful, wonderful freak. Just like me."
Eric's sobs filled the room as one of the thugs pinned his arm to the floor. The Joker twirled his knife, humming tunelessly.
"Tick tock, Matty. What'll it be? A little honesty, or..." The blade flashed downward, slicing through fabric to expose Eric's wrist. "We start small. Fingers first, I think."
"Wait," Matt said, desperate to buy time. "This is between us. Let them go."
"That's not how the game works!" Joker snapped, sudden rage replacing his artificial cheer. "You don't make the rules here. I do. Now PLAY!"
The knife descended again. Eric screamed as his little finger separated from his hand, blood pooling on the concrete floor. "ARGHHHH...PLEASE I'M-M SORRY!!!!"
The distinctive copper scent filled Matt's nostrils, triggering memories he'd spent years trying to suppress. Memories of another life, of battles fought in the darkness of Hell's Kitchen.
"One down," Joker announced cheerfully. "Nine to go. Unless you'd like to confess, Matty?"
Matt pulled against his chains, metal biting into his wrists. "Stop this. I'll tell you whatever you want to hear."
"Too late! The game's already started." The knife flashed again. Another finger. Another scream.
Matt strained his senses beyond the room, searching for hope. For rescue. For anything. He detected movement throughout the building. Guards patrolling. Equipment being moved. And something else. New heartbeats approaching the facility. Not familiar ones, though. Not Barbara. Not his father. Not Batman
"I'm getting bored with fingers," Joker declared after taking a third. "Let's move on to something more substantial."
The thugs repositioned Eric, pinning his leg down. The young man's pleas dissolved into incoherent sobbing.
"Don't do this," Matt urged, struggling to maintain his composure. "You want me. Not them."
"See, that's where you're wrong," Joker replied, examining his bloody blade. "I want it all. Your secret. Your pain. Your transformation. And to get that, I need leverage. Incentive. Motivation." He emphasized each word with a flourish of his knife. "These two are just props in our little drama."
Matt sensed a new presence at the door. The familiar scent of Rose Wilson, accompanied by her father. Her heart raced with barely controlled panic, her breathing shallow. Drugged, possibly, but aware enough to understand what was happening.
"Ah, our special guests have arrived!" Joker announced. "Just in time for the main attraction."
Deathstroke shoved Rose forward into the room. "Watch carefully, daughter. This is what happens when you allow sentimentality to cloud your judgment."
Rose stumbled, catching herself against the wall. "This is sick..."
"Shut up and watch girl," Deathstroke replied coldly. "The contract specified the Gordon boy alive. It said nothing about his condition or companions."
The Joker laughed, a sound devoid of any genuine humor. "That's what I like about you, Slade. Always the professional. Now, where were we? Ah yes, moving beyond fingers."
Matt focused on Rose, trying to communicate without words. Her heartbeat fluttered in recognition when she sensed his attention, but she remained silent, assessing the situation as she'd been trained to do.
"You know what? I'm feeling inspired," Joker declared suddenly. "Let's make this educational. Miss Wilson, come here. I'd like you to assist."
Rose didn't move. Deathstroke shoved her forward again. "Do as he says. Consider it part of your training."
"I won't," she said firmly, planting her feet.
"Disappointing, but not surprising," Joker sighed theatrically. "Kids these days have no respect for hands-on learning. No matter. We have plenty of willing participants."
He gestured to one of his thugs, who stepped forward eagerly, taking the offered knife. What followed was methodical brutality. The man clearly had experience, knew exactly how to prolong suffering without causing immediate death. He worked on Eric's arm, slicing through tendons and muscle with precision, eventually separating it at the shoulder.
Eliza vomited in the corner, turning away from the gruesome spectacle. Matt couldn't look away, even though his physical eyes saw nothing. His enhanced senses painted the scene in excruciating detail. The severed nerves. The arterial spray. The weakening heartbeat.
"Still playing dumb, Matty?" Joker asked, crouching beside him again. "That's fine. We have plenty of time and limbs to spare."
Matt's control slipped. Just for an instant, but enough for Joker to notice the subtle shift in his posture. The coiling of muscles. The promise of violence.
"There he is," Joker whispered, delighted. "I knew you were in there somewhere. The fighter I saw that day. The one who broke bones like they were twigs and moved like shadows in your daddy's house." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I can help you become what you really are. Set you free."
"Fuck off," Matt growled.
"Not my lane Matty," Joker stated with a smile. "But everyone has a breaking point. Even Batman. And I'm very, very good at finding it."
He stood, returning to the center of the room where Eric lay, now missing both an arm and a leg, his consciousness fading with blood loss.
"Let's see if we can hurry this along," Joker announced. "I'm feeling the educational spirit again. Miss Eliza, join us please."
One of the thugs unchained Eliza, dragging her forward despite her struggles. Her terror was a physical thing, a scent so powerful it made Matt's stomach clench.
"Leave her alone," he demanded, voice dropping to a dangerous register he rarely allowed himself to use.
"Or what?" Joker challenged. "You'll glare at me really hard with those sightless eyes? Please. Save the threats for when you can actually back them up."
Eliza was forced to kneel beside Eric's mutilated form. The Joker placed a knife in her trembling hand, closing her fingers around the handle.
"Here's our new game," he explained cheerfully. "Either Eliza takes his other arm, or I take hers. Simple choice, really."
"I can't," Eliza sobbed, trying to drop the knife. The thug behind her kept it firmly in her grasp.
"Sure you can!" Joker encouraged. "Just think of it as advanced biology class. Now, on the count of three. One... two..."
"That's enough," Deathstroke interrupted, his voice cold and professional. "This wasn't part of the contract. The Gordon boy was the target. These theatrics are wasting time."
Joker's expression darkened. "Did I ask for your professional opinion, Slade? I don't think I did. You're being paid to provide security, not critique my methodology."
"Your methodology risks drawing unwanted attention," Deathstroke countered. "Finish with the boy and let's move to the next phase."
Their argument provided the distraction Matt needed. He focused on the chains binding his wrists, feeling for weaknesses in the ancient metal. There. A link that had corroded enough to potentially give way under sufficient pressure.
While the Joker and Deathstroke continued their dispute, Matt exerted steady, calculated force against the weak link. Muscles strained, the metal bit into his flesh, but he ignored the pain. Focus absolute. Just like Stick had taught him in his previous life.
"Fine," Joker snapped, turning back to Eric. "We'll expedite things. Goodnight, sweet prince."
The knife descended a final time, slicing cleanly through Eric's neck. His head rolled grotesquely across the concrete floor, coming to rest against the wall. His heartbeat stopped. Silence fell.
Eliza's scream pierced the quiet, raw with horror. The Joker laughed, clapping his hands like a child at a particularly entertaining show.
"Now that's what I call cutting to the chase! Did you enjoy the show, Matty? Could you hear his final heartbeat flutter away?"
Matt remained still, face expressionless while he continued working against the weakened chain link. Almost there. Just needed a little more time.
"Nothing to say? How disappointing. And here I thought we were bonding."
"You're insane," Matt said quietly.
"Well, obviously," Joker agreed cheerfully. "But I'm also observant. I notice things others miss. Like how you barely changed when I killed your classmate. Like how you're focusing right now, filtering out distractions. You're special... but I don't how... yet."
He approached Matt again, bloodied hands leaving crimson smears on his white dress shirt as he grabbed his collar.
Joker's voice dropped to an intimate whisper. "What's it like in that head of yours, Matty? Can you taste the fear in the air? Smell the copper of fresh blood?"
Matt remained silent, but the Joker didn't care. He would find anything to justify his agenda of insanity.
"Ah! There it is. Confirmation of something...." Joker released him, standing triumphantly. "I knew it! You're a beautiful freak of nature. Just like me. Just like Batsy. We're all just one bad day away from our true selves."
He turned to Deathstroke, gesturing excitedly. "This changes everything! Imagine what he could become with the right push. The right... adjustments."
Deathstroke regarded Matt with new interest, his single eye narrowing behind his mask. "Interesting theory. But theories require testing."
"Precisely!" Joker agreed. "And I have so many tests planned." He clapped his hands together. "But first, let's clean up this mess. Take the girl back to her corner. Strip her naked and Dispose of the body. Tomorrow we begin phase two of our graduation celebrations!"
As the thugs dragged Eliza away, her sobs quieting to shocked whimpers, Matt managed to create a hairline fracture in the weak chain link. Not enough to break free yet, but progress.
The room emptied except for one guard posted by the door. Joker's parting words echoed in the chamber: "Sleep tight, Matty! Tomorrow we find out how you respond to..a bad day.
When silence finally fell, Matt heard Rose's voice, barely audible, from somewhere in the building's ventilation system.
"I'll get you out," she whispered. "Both of you."