Alright so this one chick was over partying, and she noticed I had a small batman figurine, which i got from the pre order of Arkham City. Anyway, turns out she's a huge batman fan and wants me to write her a short story. So i do, and she thinks its great. Well, she's like half retarded, so I was wondering if I could get some feedback from a purely editorial view. I know my knowledge of batman lore is shit, I pretty much made everything up, not following any sort of continuum. I pretty much wrote the the thing in an hour and half, its not my best work by far, but I would like some feedback Much appreciated blades! â€œSo Mr. Wayne, what do you say?â€ Bruce looked across the table at the man sitting opposite him. With a crop of golden hair and bronze skin, Richard Calloway looked the part of success. His teeth shone like white diamonds. He was a middle aged man, somewhere in his 40's. He had been born in the slums of Haiti to an impoverished American mother. He had clawed his way out of the ghetto and into the country club. He was notorious for doing whatever it took to get what he wanted, and he wanted a lot of things. â€˜That smile,' thought Bruce, â€˜I wonder how many women have fallen into that trap?' â€œSo, what do you say Bruce?â€ Calloway asked again, still smiling. â€œI've looked over these figures. I don't feel like this is the right move for Wayne Industries right now.â€ Bruce said calmly, laying his hands down on the Oak desk in front of him. Bruce had always liked this desk, it was simple yet commanding. It intimidated a lot of people and put them off guard. Not Richard Calloway. â€œCome on Bruce. This is a no brainer. This business venture would benefit both Wayne Industries and Excor.â€ Calloway shifted in his seat moving to face Bruce directly. â€œI mean come on Bruce, with this venture you could buy your own island and stock it with woman.â€ Calloway laughed at the off colour joke. Bruce continued staring across the desk at Calloway. â€œListen Calloway, I don't feel Wayne Industries needs to be associating with someone who was your reputation. I'll have to pass.â€ Bruce said the last words in a finite manner, signaling his end of discussing the matter. â€œWell Bruce, I'm not happy. If you're sureâ€¦â€ Calloway raised his eye brow at Bruce. Bruce nodded. â€œWell, I guess I'll have to take my business elsewhere.â€ Calloway got up straightening his jacket in the process. Bruce stood up and extended his hand to Calloway. â€œNo hard feelings Richard.â€ â€œOf course Bruce. Tell Alfred I said hello.â€ Bruce sat back down as Calloway left his office. He continued to stare at the door for several minutes until as if coming out of a dream, he stood up. Bruce grabbed his phone from the drawer in his desk and walked towards the book case on the opposite side of the room. Bruce locked the door and took a book out of the bookshelf. The spine read The Art of War: Sun Tzu. The bookshelf slid back, revealing a sleek silver door with a single button on the side. Bruce pressed the button and waited. There was a slight hiss and the door slid open, revealing the inside of a small elevator. Bruce stepped in and turned around, the doors sliding shut behind him. Bruce leaned over and looked straight at a small black dot on the control panel of the elevator. A green beam shot out and began swiping back forth on Bruce's eye. â€œIdentity recognized. Welcome back Mr. Wayneâ€ The voice of an attractive sounding woman came from the speaker on the ceiling. With that, the elevator started descending. Bruce stood still, thinking about his meeting with Calloway. The man was a brute, he might put on the front of a businessman, but he was no different than any common criminal. Bruce had done some digging on him before the business meeting, as was usually the case with anyone Bruce decided to see. He could find no mention of what Excor actually did. So far the theories ranged from a political think tank to a secret military research lab. Bruce would have to find out on his own, all that would take is a little more digging. The elevator slowed to a stop, the doors hissing open in front of him. Bruce walked out to what looked like a large underground parking garage. There was a screen on the opposite side of the room, or rather several monitors licked up to form a giant screen. Standing in front of the assembly was Alfred, Bruce's most loyal employee and friend. Alfred had served the Wayne's since Bruce had been a child. He had been a tremendous influence on Bruce growing up without parents. Bruce walked up behind Alfred doing his best to not make any noise. â€œMaster Bruce.â€ Alfred continued looking at the monitors. â€œAlfred, sometimes I think you do have eyes in the back of your head.â€ Bruce chuckled. â€œOf course, sir.â€ â€œCalloway says hello.â€ Bruce walked up and stood next to Alfred. Alfred was in his late 70's. His hair was snow white, and his face was tired. Despite his advanced age, Alfred still maintained the rigorous posture he had ever since Bruce had known him. He wore a black and white tuxedo with the jacket sitting on a chair next to him. Alfred's face bore the look of a tired man, one who had seen a lot in his long years. Experiences were written in the wrinkles of his face. â€œDoes he sir? I assume we are not becoming business partners with Excor?â€ Always straight to the point. â€œNo Alfred.â€ â€œYou knew that going in to the meeting.â€ Alfred was not asking a question. â€œI wanted to see him face to face. I needed to confirm my suspicions.â€ â€œAbout what, sir?â€ â€œHis corporation is up to something. Something illegal. He moved head of his operations to Gotham four years ago and no one has any idea what they do.â€ Bruce's brow furrowed in thought as he looked intently at the monitors. â€œAlfred, what is this?â€ The monitors displayed the image of a man and what looked like an arrest record. The man appeared to be in his 30's and had eyes like ice. The man's face was cold, emotionless. It was like staring into darkness. The man had short black hair, very clean cut. He looked to be of Middle Eastern descent. â€œLazarus Buckman. I was researching on your friend Calloway and his name appeared under known associates.â€ â€œAnd? Who is he?â€ â€œA career criminal, sir. Still at large, he is wanted for everything from arson to murder. A mercenary.â€ â€œWhat else can you tell me about him Alfred?â€ Bruce leaned against the wall, listening to Alfred. Even though he was no longer a child, Alfred still kept an eye out for him at all times. Alfred proceeded to inform him that Lazarus was 36 and Egyptian born. He had been brought up in the military and then discharged when his CO died under suspicious circumstances. He joined an underground militant movement in Israel and from there became a soldier for hire. The man a string of arrest warrants out for him, on top of being the FBI's number five most wanted man and Scotland Yard's number three. â€œSo what does Calloway have to do with this guy?â€ â€œHe goes everywhere with him. He never leaves the car however unless Calloway needs him. Also sir, you should see this.â€ Alfred presses a button and the screen scrolls down to the list of known associates for Lazarus. There was a string of names, most of them militants or foreign terrorists. One name stuck out to Bruce. Joseph Kurr AKA Joe Kerr AKA The Joker. â€œThis just got more interesting. Alfred, notify me if you find out anything else.â€ Bruce walked towards a door on the opposite side of the room. â€œWhere will you be sir?â€ â€œI'm going on a drive.â€ Bruce winked at Alfred, opened the door and stepped out. Far above the hustle and bustle of Gotham night life, Batman stood watch. With cold eyes he looked over the city, watching it, protecting it. Tonight, however, he had a specific goal, an agenda. With the information he had received from Alfred, Bruce was hoping to discover the connection between Joker and Calloway. Joker had been silent for far too long, and something about this situation didn't sit right with Bruce. Joker had probably recruited Lazarus for this job, Calloway ran in shady circles, and Bruce would not be surprised if the two had met. Callaway's operations were definitely more on the side of illegitimate, and when one runs in those circles, one meets certain people. Batman turned his cowl head towards the dock. Taking a pair of hi-tech binoculars from his utility belt, he examined the scene before him. Deckhands were unloading large wooden crates form a cargo ship in the bay. They were packing them into the back of a semi-truck. Excors logo was emblazoned on the side of the trailer, a giant â€œXâ€ followed by â€œCorâ€. What was in those crates? Bruce had to find out. Bruce looked out over the city, planning. Bruce jumped of the stone gargoyle, spreading his cape to complete the image of a giant bat, soaring across the night sky of Gotham. Air rushed past Bruce's face, filling him with the exhilarating feeling of flying. At night, he really was the Bat. Slowing his descent by pushing his cape out, Bruce landed on a nearby roof top. He landed, rolling so as to not break his legs. He jumped out of the roll and started sprinting along the roof top. He drew his bat claw from a holster on his side. He took aim at a ledge 100 feet away above him. He fired, the Bat claw making a hissing sound as it sprang forward through the still night air. It wrapped itself around a structure on the rooftop. Bruce pulled once to check its strength. Confident, he flicked a switch on the side of the Bat claw, causing it to retract. The claw pulled Bruce up to the roof. He was even closer to the dock now, he could hear the water smacking against the cold concrete barriers that kept the city from flooding. Running across this roof, he once again launched himself into the night, silent as a bat. He dropped down to the ground below, barely making a sound. Bruce got to his feet, looking around. He spotted the dock through an alleyway and crept forward through the shadows. Bruce loved the shadows; it was almost like being invisible. Bruce stopped just shy of the dock, remaining in the shadows of the alley. From here, the augmented hearing in his Bat suit would allow him to hear what the dock hands were talking about. â€œYou hear what we got in these crates?â€ One dockhand was talking to the others as they loaded the semi up. â€œI hear we're transporting stolen art or some rich shit. Don't matter, long as we get paid.â€ The other dockhands nodded in agreement. â€œSo, the dockhands don't know what's in these crates, well looks like I'll have to find out myself.â€ Bruce started to take a smoke pellet from his belt but stopped suddenly. There, coming from behind the truck, as The Joker. Tall and gangly, his purple suit was tattered and ragged, ripped in places. Joker had on a green undershirt, which looked like it had been blown up, filled with holes and soot stains. His skin was white as always, unnaturally white. It reflected the light of the street lamps around the dock. He wore a devilish grin as he always did, dripping evil from his red lips. He eyes were twin pools of chaos, casting all those who looked into them into madness. His green hair was disheveled and unkempt on top of his head. All over, the Joker looked the worse for wear, but then again, Bruce thought, Joker was never really a presentable person. He walked up to the deckhands, who had stopped working momentarily when Joker appeared. â€œWhat are you doing? Get back to work you lazy dogs! Hahahahaha! â€œThe Joker cackled with laughter as he pushed one of the deckhands to the ground.â€ Oh what's a matter, did someone knock the baby over?â€ Joker broke out in mad laughter again. He grabbed the man's collar and pulled him to his feet. â€œNow listen here, you better start working or we might have to get Mr. Lazarus over here.â€ The joker snarled in his face, switching his demeanor from insane clown to deranged psychopath. That was the Joker Bruce knew. Joker threw the worker back to the ground and strolled cackling away to the front of the truck. â€œSo, Joker is directly involved in this, I'll have to be careful. â€œ Bruce continued to wait until the deckhands had loaded the semi full of crates. One of the deckhands banged tice on the back of the truck and the driver started up the engine. Bruce quickly took a small semi-circle from his utility belt. It was a homing beacon that would lead Bruce right to wherever these trucks were headed and hopefully help him find out what was in those crates. Bruce flicked the small tracer like a paper football, landing just below the tail lights. A small flashing red light indicated that the trace was active. â€œNow, to see where they go.â€ Bruce took a small touch screen pad and input a few commands. The device beeped quietly and Bruce put it back in his belt. Turning away from the now empty dock, Bruce walked back towards the building he had previously descended from. Climbing back up the buildings fire escape, Bruce began his trek back to the rooftop of the ACE Chemical building, one of the tallest buildings in Gotham. On top of the ACE Chemical building, Bruce stared at the small screen of the handheld tracker. He watched the red dot travel the streets of Gotham, waiting for it to stop, even for a moment. He had been waiting on top of this building for two hours now, waiting for this truck to make its stop and unload the cargo. The cold night wind whistled around Bruce, who was thankful for his suits built in climate control. Bruce had been fighting Joker for years, and each time the Joker managed to break out of prison. He was brilliant, a veritable genius at illusion and underhandedness. Bruce was sure that if Joker had perhaps taken a different line in live, that he would be a man of science, or an intellectual. The device began to beep, signaling that the truck had stopped somewhere. Bruce checked the display. An abandoned warehouse over on the west side of Gotham in the old industrial district. Bruce had the location; he punched in a few commands and waited. Within a few minutes, a small, black aircraft of some sort swooped in above his head, The Bat plane. Not really a plane, it was more of a jet. Bruce had developed it himself to be silent as night, and as black too. It was state of the art, able to travel underwater as well as fly. It was constructed to look exactly like the bat emblem on his chest, as well as the one Commissioner Gordon used to summon him. Today, Bruce only needed it to make it across town, but he needed to go fast. Bruce readied his bat claw, and fired it upwards towards the Bat plane. It hooked on the lip of the cockpit and pulled Bruce upwards. He climbed inside and the clear roof slid back into place with a slight hiss. Bruce flicked a few switches on the dashboard and the plane began to rise away from the building. Bruce plugged the small, handheld device into the dashboard, allowing the Bat planes computer to sync with it and auto pilot to the location. With a location, the Bat plane turned slowly westwards and shot off into the night, as silently as it had appeared. The Bat plane approached the abandoned warehouse, slowing down. It stopped just a few blocks away, a large plane, no matter how stealthy, would definitely be noticeable in a well-lit area. Bruce opened the hatch and looked downward. â€œMaybe 60 feet.â€ Bruce said to himself. With that, he jumped out of the Bat plane into the night. He quickly fired his bat claw at a nearby building, hooking around the fire escape. Bruce put his feet out and landed against the side of the building with a dull thud. Hooking the bat claw to his belt again, he began to repel silently down the wall. Within a few seconds Bruce had reached the ground and retracted the bat claw. He walked the few blocks to the warehouse, being sure to stay hidden in the shadows. He may be on a crusade for justice, but many regarded him to be a dangerous vigilante and would not hesitate to ruin Bruce's night by calling the police. He approached the abandoned warehouse, seeing no lights on and no sign of life from inside. Outside the big metal building, empty oil drums were stacked up alongside what looked like rotting lumber. There was trash everywhere; it looked like homeless had been camped out here at some point. Bruce was about to head towards a door near the loading dock, but stopped suddenly when something caught his eye. There was a security camera above the door, scanning the area. At the moment, Bruce was outside the cameras range, but a few more steps would put him right in its line of sight. Bruce took another look at the scene wondering what else he had missed at first inspection. Off to the right, hidden in the shadows behind the empty barrels, Bruce could just make profile of a man holding some sort of semi-automatic weapon. â€œI must be getting old.â€ Bruce said to himself. This was going to be tricky. There was a substantial space separating him from the ware house, and any movement would be seen either by the henchman in the shadows or the camera posted above the door. Luckily, Bruce always came prepared. Taking a small round tube from his utility belt, he took aim at the security camera. Bruce was holding one of his new toys, something he had the RnD department at Wayne Industries cook up. It was a portable EMP launcher. Basically, it fired a small amount of gel at a high velocity that when it came into contact with electronics, people or whatever, would release an electric charge, enough to knock a man unconscious, or take out a security camera. He would have to be quick after he took the camera, because the gunmen would must assuredly here the weapon fire. Bruce took aim and launched the gel. It flew through the night like a sort of ghost, just a pale blob. It hit the camera dead on and Bruce heard the sizzling sound of friend circuits. â€œWhat the hell...â€ Bruce heard the gunmen wonder and saw him walk out from behind the barrels. He went over to examine the camera but never got that far. Bruce whipped out a Bata rang and threw it at the gunmen. It hit him square in the back of the head, knocking him out cold. Bruce seized the moment and rushed forward towards the unconscious body. Grabbing him under the arms, Bruce dragged the body back behind the barrels so any patrols would not discover it. Having hidden the body Bruce quickly walked over the camera, removing the gel from the camera. He put it back inside the launcher, ready to use again. Taking a small clip and a wire from his belt, Bruce snapped them onto the back of the Camera, wrapping the wire around the other ones.Taking a small knife from his belt, Bruce cut one of the wires ever so slightly, exposing the copper beneath. Taking the clip and the wore, he clipped the wire to the bronze and the Camera sparked back to life. Bruce had rigged up a small power source that drew on the electricity of the wires. It also happened to feed them a loop, so when the camera came online they would assume it was a malfunction. With his work done, Bruce leaned against the door, trying to sense if he could just bust it open. To his surprise, the door was unlocked and swung open freely. Inside, was nothing like what Bruce expected. Giant vats stood open, bubbling forth with some unholy green goo that smelled like rotten fish. Workers in hazmat suits walked along cat walks and scaffolding, attending to whatever was in those containers. There were very few armed gunmen around, they mostly seemed to be lounging about, and unaware that Batman had entered the scene. Bruce quickly looked for somewhere to lay low, and spotted a vent that was loose. Crouching, he walked over to and swung it open, climbing into the ventilation system. He replaced the cover of the vent and took up post. This allowed him to scan the room more completely from a safer vantage point. Bruce counted 6 vats, all interlinked by a system of tubes. There was on vat on the opposite side that had no tubes leading from it, only tubes going in. â€œThey must be mixing something. What is Calloway doing here?â€ Speaking of the man, Bruce spotted Calloway on the opposite side of the warehouse, in a room that sat above the rest. One wall of it was glass and allowed him to see out and make sure his workers did whatever it was they were doing. Not only was Calloway up there, but his man Lazarus was standing next to him, pistol in hand. Calloway was dressed in a grey suit and was looking out at the floor of the ware house as one might look at ants in an ant hill. Lazarus displayed no emotion, merely standing slightly behind Calloway, the position of a body guard. Where was Joker? Bruce decided to see if he could get up to the rafters through the ventilation shaft. Turning around, he had to crouch to even move and began his trek to find the way up. After twenty minutes, Bruce had found his way to the top of the ware house, up by the rafters. Sweating from the effort, and from all the hot air, he pushed open the vent, making sure to catch it so it didn't fall to the ground below. Bruce stepped out of the vent onto the rafters of the warehouse, high above the men below. From here, he got a clear look at everything below. The sixth vat was closed, unlike the other ones and men in hazmat suits were running around, constantly checking gauges and turning valves. Whatever was in there was important to them and Bruce was going to find out what. Moving silently along the rafters, he positioned himself above the office Calloway was standing in. Using his bat claw, he lowered himself on top of the office, being sure to land without a noise. He walked over to the edge and lowered himself down. Bruce was now standing in front of the door to the office. Bruce took a Bata rang from his belt and opened the door. Lazarus was immediately on guard, whirling around towards the door, pistol held out. Bruce was just as ready, throwing the Bata rang towards his gun hand. Before Lazarus could get a shot off, the Bata rang struck, sticking itself in his hand. Lazarus gave no indication he was hit, simply dropping the gun and drawing another one from a holster behind his back. Bruce rushed forward and swung his cape up in a giant arc, temporarily blinding Lazarus. Spinning completely around, Bruce delivered a solid punch to the left side of Lazarus' face knocking him to the ground. Bruce kicked the pistol away and quickly got a pair of zip cuffs from his belt. He snapped them onto Lazarus' hands and retrieved his Bata rang. â€œFor an international mercenary, you disappoint.â€ Bruce said to the crippled Lazarus. Lazarus said nothing, only glaring up at Bruce with eyes full of cold, calculating hate. Calloway was staring open mouthed at Bruce, scarcely able to believe what had happened. Bruce quickly locked the door and strode over to Calloway. â€œCalloway. I knew one day we're come face to face. What are you doing here?â€ Bruce demanded. â€œBatman. You really think you can get out of here alive? You might have disarmed my body guard, but there's an army out there who will come bursting in here the moment I summon them.â€ Calloway said with confidence, reaching for a button on the top of his desk. Bruce lunged forward, grabbing Calloway's arms and twisting it behind his back. Calloway gave out a yelp of pain as Bruce slammed him to the ground. Holding his kneed against Calloways back, Bruce pressed a button to close the curtains, no sense in letting the world see. â€œNow. Tell me what you're doing here.â€ Bruce growled at Calloway. â€œNow, Batman is that anyway to greet a friend? We must remember our manners!â€ Bruce looked up to see the Joker strolling out from behind a hidden door in the office wall. â€œOh, poor Lazarus, couldn't stand up to the might Bat! Hahahaha! Well, looks like we won't need you anymore.â€ With that, Joker produced a handgun from behind his back and placed on Lazarus temple, who still held his silence. Bruce left the injured Calloway on the floor and jumped up, running towards Joker. Joker whipped the pistol up, pointing it at Bruce. Before he could get a shot off, Bruce's fist landed on Jokers chest, knocking the wind out of him. The gun fell to the floor and Bruce kicked it into the corner. Joker fell to floor, gasping for air. Calloway was attempting to get up, and Bruce took advantage of the momentary lapse in Jokers condition to put a pair of zip cuffs on Calloway's hands, fixing him to th4 bottom of the desk. â€œJesus Bat. Hahahaha. Have you been hitting the gym? Joker laughed manically, getting up from the floor. â€œJoker. What are you doing here?â€ Bruce growled. â€œWhy Bat, I'm hurt. Not even a hello to your old friend.â€ Joker feigned hurt, giving Bruce and over exaggerated frown. â€œTell me. Now.â€ This was a demand and Joker realized it. â€œFine, if you're going to spoil my fun, l'll just have to make my own.â€ With that the Joker spun on his heel and the room started to fill with gas. The Joker started laughing uncontrollably and disappeared through the door in the wall. The small room began to fill up with gas, Bruce knew what he had to do. Taking another one of the products engineered at Wayne Industries, something to help combat poisonous gas, he put it over his mouth. Taking a line of rope from his belt, Bruce looped it around both Lazarus and Calloway's cuffs. â€œWatch your eyes.â€ With that, Bruce threw Calloway out the window. Lazarus followed shortly, connected by the rope. It went taught and the two men dangled above the floor of the warehouse, both very much alive. The sound of breaking glass and the smoke pouring out of the office immediately attracted and attention and Bruce could already hear the shouts of those on the floor. He had very little time. Bruce quickly went to the place in the wall where Joker had disappeared. Wasting no time, he put two small charges and walked to the other side of the room, covering himself with his cape, Bruce detonated them, exposing a hole in the wall leading to a corridor lit by red lights. Wasting no time, Bruce rushed inside. The path led to a hole in the ground with a ladder, leading downwards, presumably into the sewers. He could hear the Jokers laughter echoing off the walls. Without hesitation, he swung himself downwards onto the ladder and slammed the hatch shut. It was now just him, and Joker. The sewers were dark, and smelled like the bathrooms Bruce remembered from college. There was no light, save for the occasional emergency light. All sorts of vermin ran along the ledges of the sewer, scurrying in and out of holes in the wall. Bruce continued to carefully make his way along the ledge, following the footsteps Joker had left in the grime. It stuck to the bottom of Bruce's shoes, making it hard to walk without slipping. There was more than the Joker down here for Bruce to worry about as well. Word had it that Killer Croc had escaped From Arkham again, and had taken up his old haunts in the sewers. Bruce did not relish meeting the half-man half-croc criminal in his own backyard. Each entanglement left Bruce weary and drained, in no mood to even go to work, let alone chase the Joker. Bruce continued on for several minutes before there was a change. The foot prints stopped next to a ladder leading upwards, out of the sewers. Bruce climbed the ladder and pushed the manhole open, stepping out once again, into the night of Gotham. Bruce found himself a few miles away, in yet another abandoned building the Industrial District. This place was like the other one, only there was only one vat. Joker was standing in front of the vat, cackling madly. â€œOh, Bats. I'm so glad you could find the place. Wouldn't want to start the party without all the guests.â€ Joker laughed at himself, strolling over to a control panel. He flipped a switch and the vat opened up, spewing fumes into the air. â€œOh Bat, but you don't even know what I'm planning yet. Well let me clue you in. This...â€ Joker pointed to the giant vat,â€ is going into the water supply of Gotham City. It's something of my own mixtures. It will leave Gotham smiling!â€ Joker continued to laugh manically, signs of his unbalanced mental state. â€œJoker! You can't believe you'll get away with it.â€ Bruce started to run towards Joker, intent on stopping his plan. â€œStop Bats! You might not want to do that. You see this switch right here? One flick and this will empty into the water supply of Gotham City.â€ Joker waved a finger a Bruce. Bruce stopped dead in his tracks, thinking, calculating on what his next would be. He noticed and Emergency shut off valve on the bottom of the vat. â€˜If I hit that,' Bruce thought to himself, â€˜ it might shut off the supply of poison into the vat and give me a distraction.' Bruce readied a Bata rang. â€œOh now don't do that Bats! You'll hurt me!â€ Joker continued to laugh at himself, completely deranged. â€œI'm not aiming for you Joker.â€ With that, Bruce threw the Bata rang towards the valve. Joker stood there, watching the Bata rang fly towards the vat. Bruce took advantage of this and rushed forward, leaping towards the Joker. Joker's eyes filled with fear for half a second before Bruce's fist landed for the second time square on Jokers chest, knocking him back several feet. The Bata rang hit the valve with a loud metallic twang, snapping it into the off position. â€œIt's over Joker. You're going back to Arkham.â€ Bruce stood over Joker, looking down at the man coughing on the floor. â€œOh piss off Bats. You never let me have any fun.â€ Joker coughed and sputtered, trying to stand up. Bruce cocked his foot back and delivered a hard, sharp kick to Jokers ribs. Joker fell back over, wheezing and coughing up blood. Bruce walked over to the control panel, confident that Joker was not going anywhere. He studied the control panel, looking for the button that would shut this thing down. â€œIt's pointless Bat,â€ Joker gave a giant cough and spat up more blood, â€œIt's already started. You didn't think I'd count on my ability to fight you did I?â€ Joker grinned one of evil grins. Insanity oozed from between his lips. Bruce whirled around. â€œWhat do you mean Joker?â€ â€œIt's already started, in a few minutes; the water supply of Gotham will be filled with Jokers Smiling Poison.â€ Joker began to laugh again, filling the whole warehouse with his insane laugh, the laugh of a man deranged. Bruce began to look around for any way to stop the flow of poison. There was a timer on the side of the vat counting down. The digital readout read 30 seconds. He had almost no time to figure out a way to stop this from entering the water supply. Thinking quickly, Bruce took out the EM launcher again and aimed it at the control panel, firing the gel. It splattered across the panel, sparking and sizzling as electricity short circuited the controls. On the monitor above the controls, a word flashed across the screen. Aborted. It continued to flash across the screen as Bruce let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. â€œNo, no no no no! It's not fair! Just once, can't you screw up and die like you're supposed to!â€ Bruce turned around to see Joker pointing a gun at his face. â€œNot this time Bats, you won't be walking away.â€ Without hesitation, Bruce struck the hand holding the gun, knocking it upwards and out of Jokers hand. Bruce grabbed the upheld hand, twisting it behind Jokers back and slamming him to the ground. â€œBack to Arkham Joker. â€œ Bruce was hard at work behind his desk, attempting to negotiate a military grade defense contract. â€œGeneral, Wayne Industries is committed to providing the highest grade of weapons you and your men could want. We have a long track record of impressive designs, you won't be sorry if you choose us. Thank you General, I'll see you next month.â€ Bruce hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes; dealing with military always gave him a headache. The phone rang again. Bruce waited until the fifth ring to pick it up. â€œYes?â€ â€œMaster Bruce, I trust you have this morning's news?â€ Alfred was on the line. â€œWhys that Alfred? Bruce asked. â€œIt might interest you sir.â€ With that Alfred hung up the phone. Bruce laughed to himself, switching on the Monitor on the opposite wall. A news report flashed on screen, a reporter standing outside Arkham Asylum. â€œThis morning, police arrived to find The Joker, a notorious criminal who escaped from Arkham several weeks ago, outside the police station. He was tied up and appeared badly beaten. This is believed to be the work of Batman, a civilian vigilante who was decided to take justice into his own hands. Police encourage all those watching to be on the lookout for Batman.â€ Bruce switched off the television, leaning back in his chair. Just another day at work.