Archive of Our Own

When the door to the Joker's padded cell opens one night no one rushes to stop the intruder.

The guards that were susposed to be there are conveniently watching a different wing on the opposite side of Arkham with their pockets filled with cash. And no nurses or doctors are up this late.

"This is new!" The Joker says with delight. "I rarely have visitors!"

He struggles with his straight jacket a little. His smile never drops though, excited for this new development on his never ending stage.

The figure at the doorway is silent.

When there is no response for a while he frowns, "Not a talkative one are you? Batman at least acknowledges me."

That gets a slight tilt to the intruder's head and a narrowing of their eyes.

The Joker's grin is back as he gets a slight reaction from the person in front of him.

"He is always such a good partner in our little play! Maybe not as talkative but you know he genuinely cares about his role in all of this!"

No more reaction is given which makes the Joker pause. He truely thought that mentioning the bat would get to his intruder but he guesses he thought wrong.

"If you wanted my attention you certainly got it." He snaps a little harshly at being ignored. "Come on! You have me all to yourself! A willing audience for your plans or greviences. "

The Joker's smile is wide but you can see the cracks as irritation is begining to shine through, his head lulls to the side as he sizes up the new character in his play who isn't playing right.

"Who did I kill huh? A sibling? A parent? A Friend?"

It's then that the person who broke in started moving. Their heavy boots somehow not making a sound on the tile flooring of the cell. The Joker figets. It's not really noticable to those who aren't trained to see such things.

"Why aren't you speaking to me." He hisses as the flickering lights over head illuminate a flash of red. "The silent treatment will accomplish nothing!"

The person stops just before the Joker, staring him down as the man writhes in anger at being ignored.

"There's no use talking to you." The intruder says, "You were already dead when I walked in here."

"What do you mean-!" His sentence is cut off as his chest spasms.

The Joker's throat is on fire. Each intake of breath feels like glass is being pushed slowly into his lungs. He croaks out in pure agony since that is the only thing he can do in his state. If his hands weren't restrained he would clutch at his throat as he begins to see dark spots in his vision.

The Joker is running out of air and fast.

A small boy in a bloody robin costume waves at him as he slumps onto the floor, his smile is as sharp as any blade, “Say hello to the big man for me.”

The black dots dancing in his vision get larger and larger. He is thrashing now, attempting to move to where someone might save him. Batman would save him. He would swoop in with his cape fluttering behind him and save the day. But Batman isn't here.

Th boy begins to fade with a laugh in the Joker’s direction, the last laugh he would ever get.

White foam bubbles out of his throat and the intruder makes sure that none of it gets onto the floor.

It would leave behind too many traces for the Bat to find.

Finally the Joker's eyes stare up at the ceiling, blank and vacant as the over head light continues to flicker.

Nothing drastic happens. The world doesn't end. The planet is still spining on it's axis. There is no dramatic death monologue or a show down or even a big explosion. The sun still starts to rise over the bay, painting the water a fiery red.

The dead body of the Joker is hoisted up on the intruder's shoulder. They take on the dead weight easily.

The guards should be back any minute so the person who murdered the joker walks out of the cell. They walk until they find the window they originally came in through. The body is pushed out the window first and the intruder after it.

After that the Joker and the unwilling player in his game escape into the night.

It would be hours later when the cell would be found empty and the Bat would be called but for now Arkham Asylum is quiet.

⏾

"It looks like a break out." Commissioner Gordon says from his spot outside the cell as the police he brought inspect the area.

When he was called an hour ago and told that the Joker was gone he had immediately checked on his daughter in fear he would come for her again. There will never be a break out where he doesn't check on her.

After that he had rushed over to the asylum. This place always gave him the creeps even before the rouges were sent here. Something about this island feels wrong or cursed somehow.

Batman shakes his head, “There are no signs of him trying to escape, there are signs of a struggle."

He wastes no time in walking over to there the straight jacket is still clipped to the wall. Batman very carefully holds it up so the Commisoner can see the fabric and how it is ripped near where the chain clipped to it is.

Jim inspects it before pulling back with a nod, "I agree but who would kidnap the Joker? And why would he fight them?"

There is a beat of silence as Batman takes everything in before walking towards the exit. Before he goes he turns around to answer his question, "Someone with a grievance."

Jim is left alone in the Joker's cell with more questions then answers.

He doesn't follow after Batman. Jim knows that the vigilante only gives him the answers he wants Jim to have so he will just have to wait.

Jim exits the building, walking down the concrete steps of the main entrance.

Looking back up he swears that he sees someone staring down at him from the top floor window. A small dark figure seemingly watching this play out like a person who has all of them on strings and is making sure they take the right steps to come to the disastrous conclusion.

Jim shakes the idea from his head. He must just be seeing things. It will just be another upstart rouge trying to make a statement. At least Jim hopes that is what this is and not something worse.

Feeling eyes on his back and shivering from the early October cold he walks to his car.

⏾

A small envelope is slid into the Wayne Manor mailbox. It is a pristine white color with no return address or name, just a blank front with the address for Wayne Manor on it.

Alfred is weary of it at first. He may be a butler but he served the British military for a long time so he inspects the envelope for any thing that may be amiss.

In the end he finds nothing and lays it on Bruce's desk. He doesn't open the envelope to see the inside since it would be improper but he does warn Bruce that it is suspicious because of the no return address.

Bruce sits down at his desk and takes a letter opener to the blood red seal on the back. He has never seen this seal before so he is careful to not slice through the bird printed on it.

Once the seal was removed and put to the side Bruce opens the letter. Inside is a polaroid picture face down. Bruce grabs it gently before turning it upright to see what the picture is of.

The photo almost slips out of his hand as he stares at the lifeless corpse of the Joker.

The Joker's body is propped up in a chair, both arms resting on the arms of the chair and his head leaned slightly back against the back of it. The next thing to come to his attention is the red M spray painted beside him on the wall.

Bruce stands up, taking the letter and seal with him, and sprints to the grandfather clock. He needs to get down to the cave to analyse the letter for any hint of a finger print or dna on it.

Storming down the stairs Bruce tallies up all the things he currently knows about this case, he knows that the Joker was murdered, that the murderer is trying to send a message to him and that he knows Bruce is Batman.

All of those facts just leave him with so many questions about how and why. He can't seem to really pin down a motive or reason for someone to not expose his identity. There has been no blackmail or anything of the sort yet. And how does the Joker fit into this.

It's almost as if they killed the joker to get to him.

Bruce fires up the computer and gets to work on analysing the letter for any dna or finger prints the killer may have left behind on accident. He even runs tests on what paper and ink was used in case that may be a clue.

"It looks like someone finally did what you couldn't do Bruce."

He ignores his voice.

"I mean-" A small bloody figure in a Robin costume waltzes into view with a too wide smile on his face. "-five years and few months short to save me but at least he's gone now, right Bruce?"

He's not real.

"Are you ignoring me again?" The boy pouts next to him.

Bruce trains his eyes on the computer screen in front of him.

"You know how much that hurts me when you give me the silent treatment B."

The computer comes up with nothing. No finger prints or dna. The ink is a regular store bought kind and the envelop is a cheep brand.

What is the purpose of this?

"Dickie is much more of a talker then you are."

Maybe they are trying to intimidate him. He is doesn't understand why they wouldn't just expose him to the press if they had proof of who he is. This mysterous killer seems to be connected to him and Joker but Bruce doesn't know how.

"Hung up on this case? That's unlike you Batman." The boy drapes himself across the back of Bruce's chair like a cat. "Greatest Detective in the world- completely blind! I can't wait to see how this plays out!"

He ignores him again.

"You know how much I like plays and this twisted play looks like it is just beginning Batman."

It seems like the 'M' must be a part of a bigger message to him. That's is the only explanation. Bruce will just have to wait for the next letter.

⏾

Barbra wheels into the watchtower.

It's a rainy night so her legs are acting up. They always do when it rains. She looks out at the large windows showing her everything Gotham is. It looks so different from being down there herself.

Her gaze switches from the window to the desk filled with many different monitors.

They are all turned off but with a press of a button they light up with life. The light from the monitors' illuminate a small envelope white tucked in between two of them.

Curious as to who might have left it, she picks it to examine it. The red seal is the only thing on it except for the clock tower address. Not many people know where Oracle's base is so she is cautious as she carefully opens the seal.

Inside the envelope is a picture of the joker dead on the floor, a knife sticking out of the exact spot where Barbra was shot. A gasp leaves her lips as her eyes take in the obvious similarities to when she was shot. Spray painted on the floor beside him is a blood red E.

Barbra turns on her equipment quickly so she can get in contact with Bruce.

"Batman," She says into the private comm line she opened so she wouldn't alarm the others. "I need you to come to the clock tower as soon possible."

"What's the situation?" Bruce's familiar growl enters the line and she relaxes.

"A have a photo of the joker here. He's-" Her voice catches softly as she tries to regain her composure. "-he's dead on the floor."

"I am on my way." Bruce promises.

It only takes fifteen minutes before the looming form of Batman is darkening one of the large windows around the top floor of the tower. He sweeps into the room, his cape is the only noise as he moves forward.

"Here." Barbra hands the photo over. "I don't know the significance of the E but I assume you do."

Bruce grunts, looking over the phone front and back. He doesn't seem to see anything that leads them closer to who killed the joker.

Barbra won't lie and say that she is sad that he is dead. But him being murdered puts her on edge. Someone snuck into Arkham kidnapped the Joker, killed him and is now sending the pictures to taunt them.

"I will inform you when I know more." He tells her before walking over to the window and jumping out.

She watches him leave, knowing that he won't tell her anything where the joker is concerned.

A small face pops into view, a curl head of dark hair looking up at her with a bright smile that doesn't match the situation.

"He got him good!" Robin points out. "Probably knew what you went through and avenged you."

Barbra shudders at the idea of someone she doesn't know knowing enough about her and her knowing nothing about them.

"You won't talk to me either huh?" Robin sounds disappointed in her ignoring the obvious hallucination. "I miss you Barbrie."

The boy leaves her alone in the cold air of the clock tower, "I miss you too."

⏾

Bruce never enters Crime Alley except for one night a year. He trudges through the rain and cold October wind to get the alley to the left of the old Monarch Theatre. Every Halloween he goes to pay his respects to the place his parents died.

It didn't start raining until he was already patrolling. The drops fall in soft plinks as they collided with the wind shield of the car. They are the only other sound besides the soft rumble of the engine as Bruce parks.

He parks in an alley a few blocks over from the alley.

Bruce is always alone on Halloween.

Dick is patrolling in Blüdhaven. His eldest always avoids Bruce during this time. Bruce wonders if the grief that chokes Bruce daily also chokes Dick when he gets too close.

Tim is with the other members of Young Justice on a mission. He has loosened the reins on Tim lately since he will pull back if Bruce gets too controlling. So he has made a tactical decision to leave him alone for now.

A bundle of lillies fits in Bruce's hands like it belongs there as he makes his way over rain slick rooftops. He holds the funeral flowers in the same way he has a grip on his grapple gun.

The alley is empty of people and things. He made sure of it when he first came back to Gotham. He wanted the alley where his parents breathed their last to be clean.

Looking around for people he sees no one and sets down the flowers near the wall of the theatre. He feels closer to them when he is here. Bruce feels more like the eight year old version of himself then the thirty-eight year old standing in this alley.

Hairs stand on the back of his neck as a sudden pair of eyes see him.

Not many people can sneak up on him.

Bruce whips his head around to look for someone at the mouth of the alley only to see no one. His eyes look to the other end and nothing is there despite still feeling a stare on him.

Looking up he sees a dark figure turning on their heel to run.

He gives chase.

The person infront of him is just close enough to make out of the dark Gotham skyline but far enough that Bruce can't gleem anything about them from their appearance or body language.

Bruce follows the soft crunch of gravel under footsteps and a whisper of something familiar.

The person is making a beeline for something. Their course seems to be set as they run since there is no hesitation in the sure footsteps of the person in front of him.

Then- as if they were a spirit borne of Gotham's smoke- the person disappears.

Gone without a trace.

Bruce looks around the rooftop he is on, there is nothing special about it. No traps or rogues waiting with a monologue that may tell him what is going on.

He is utterly alone on this rooftop.

He approaches the edge of the building to look down to see if something in on the side of this building. His eyes see a small white envelope in the mouth of one of the gargoyles snarling down at the streets bellow.

Picking it up Bruce sees a familiar red seal.

The Joker's killer is getting bolder.

"That's my favorite Gargoyle." A voice says from behind him. "I told you that it looked like you. It made you smile."

The boy that follows him everywhere is perched on the gargoyle now, his leg dangling off dangerously. Bruce almost stops him- only to remember that this boy isn’t real.

"Barbra misses me you know?" His smile is sad. "She told me when you visited her a week ago."

Bruce doesn't respond, just stares at the red seal, not even looking at the ghost. He opens the envelope to see the joker strung up on a light pole. It looks identical to the one below him on this street.

Spray painted behind him is a red M.

"I hope you look at me soon B." 

⏾

Dick is tired.

Blüdhaven never sleeps and therefore Nightwing doesn't either. The eye bags that once came and went are a new constant as Halloween comes and passes like molasses through his fingers.

He is lounging on his couch, watching as the sun moves through the sky and shadows form in his apartment. Dick worked this morning and left early because he felt like his whole body was bracing for something.

Bruce had always told him to trust his mind over his body. He said that the body can lie to you unlike your mind.

Dick doesn't believe that.

Every time something big happens there is a feeling in his gut. A buzzing in his bones that screams something is about to go wrong. He trusts the base instincts that have survived millions of years through human evolution.

So he has been hold up in his apartment like the city may explode soon and his apartment is the only safe space. His suit and escrima sticks are close by in a box near his couch.

It finally happens around nine pm.

The shadows have given away to complete darkness and he has the lights on. Dick's focused on the glow of the TV to get his mind off of his instincts screaming at him to protect himself form something he doesn't know yet.

A sound at his door has him up.

A muffled thump.

A quiet slide of something.

A soft creak

There are no retreating footsteps so Dick approachs his door like it's a bomb about to go off. His entire body is coiled to move at the drop of a hat.

Dick looks down at the white envelope that was slid under his door. There is nothing on it but his address on it. crouching down he picks it up slowly.

Nothing happens. There is no grand explosion or loud noise. Just a small envelope with a red seal. Dick doesn't relax- not yet.

There could be more to this.

He breaks the seal and empty's out the contents on his kitchen counter. A photo lands right side up, the Joker's dead face looking up in pure horror at him.

It almost makes Dick jump back in fear.

Dick feels nausea settle in the back of his throat as he recognizes the floor. He sees it in his nightmares sometimes. That is the warehouse where he almost beat the joker to death over Tim and-

He backs away before running to the nearest trash can.

"Someone did it so you didn't have too Dickie." A quiet voice comes from behind him.

"I'm so sorry." Dick automatically apologizes to the ghost of his little brother standing near him.

"It's okay." His brother's voice is sad and a little wistful. "I had wished that one of you would do it but sometimes you don't get what you want."

"I'm sorry." Dick rasps out like it's the only words he has left in him.

"Did you see the letter in the picture?" He asks, bending over to look into Dick's peripheral vision as he is still hunched over the trash can.

Dick thinks about it. He had only saw the Joker's face before his mind checked out. Getting up from the floor he approaches the picture again, this time with purpose.

A red E is spray painted beside the Joker's face.

"You should call B. He will know what to do." His little brother suggests, examining the picture.

"Okay."

Dick gives in and dials Bruce's number. 

As soon he picks up the ghost disappears.

⏾

Drake manor sits empty most of the time.

Tim's parents are off on digs in various countries most of the year. They come home a couple times a year to see Tim but those are far between. And He is rarely here because he is hanging out in Wayne manor, with Young Justice or in Blüdhaven bothering Dick.

The only regular people that are in and out of the manor are the team of people who come into clean once a month and Mrs. Mac who oversees all the house hold needs. Tim has long since outgrown someone to stay around to watch so he has free rein most of the time.

So when he tosses his bike aside on the grass of the lawn to make his way inside it makes sense that no one has seen the evenlope tapes to the door.

"Huh." Tim scrunches his brows in confusion as he pulls the taped evenlope from the door.

He flips it over and then over again to look it over for a return address but there isn't anything other then his name address. A red seal with a robin on it does catch his attention.

Looking around for someone that maybe watching him he decides to open it inside just incase.

Tim quickly grabs his key and opens the front door. The door swings open, letting Tim barrel in and shut the door behind him. He stays there for a moment just looking at the envelope then opens it.

He is careful to keep the seal intact incase it is needed for later investigation.

Inside a small picture greets him.

Tim flips it over and feels a sense of dread creep up his throat. He shakily slides down the door to the solid wooden floors of his entryway.

The picture is of the joker's dead body sprawled over the steps of his school. His vacant eyes stare into Tim's soul as he just lays there. A bloody N is beside him. Tim walked by it a few weeks ago and thought it was just a peice of graffiti that wasn't cleaned properly cleaned.

His breathing quickens.

Someone knows that he is robin and is taunting him about it. They are using the joker's death to make him afraid. He admits that it's working.

Tim knew what he was getting into when he and Alfred forced Bruce's hand to give him robin but he didn't expect someone to know who he was.

"It's going to be okay Tim." A child like voice reassures him. "Everything is alright."

Robin is looking at him, blue eyes to bloody domino mask, with excitement in his eyes. He gives Tim a lopsided grin as his arms wrap around to hug him.

"Bruce-" Tim croaks out. "I need to call him-"

He fumbles for his phone.

Hopefully Bruce will know what is going on.

The ghost fades away with a smile on his face and his arms around Tim.

⏾

The letters don't stop.

Each one of them has a letter and the joker's body. They are sent to people or left in places that Bruce knows of. He is slowly growing terrified that this nameless murder knows everything about him.

Bruce pieces together that they are saying something. He has the pictures lined up on his desk, each picture a slap in the face and a burning feeling in his ribs that screams failure.

So far he has deciphered the first word has the beginnings of a new word but only has the first five letters.

Memento is the first word, meaning remember in Latin.

He doesn't know what he is supposed to remember. Bruce has an excellent memory so they maybe be forcing him to remember his failure to save the joker.

Everyone is worried for him but he can't stop now.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Says the boy from his spot looking at the lined up pictures.

Bruce doesn't respond and keeps his eyes trained on the locations that he has figured out in hopes that they would give him a clue to who this is.

"You really are looking too hard for the answer."

⏾

It comes in with the morning mail sent to Jim. The small envelope is pushed aside for most of his day since a new string of murders was brought to his attention. He finally collapses into his chair as the sun begins to set.

Jim goes through all of his own mail that is sent to the precinct. The other commissioners didn't but Jim wants to be through and just, unlike most of the cops that work under him.

The envelope slips out of the pile of letters he had been putting off reading when he picks them up to move them. It falls a little under his desk and he has to reach down to pick it up.

It's smaller then most of his mail which makes Jim suspicious of it. He grabs his letter cutter to break the red seal just incase he needs to use it for evidence later.

The lights go out in his office like a candle being snuffed out suddenly.

"I wouldn't look in there if I were you Jim." A voice says coolly.

Jim has his finger on the silent alarm in the second, "Why not?"

"Because it's not for you." The man tells him too close to him for his comfort.

How did he even get in here?

"It's for Batman then?" He decides to keep him talking as long as he can.

The man hums in agreement but it comes out with the edge of a growl and Jim files that away for later.

"He and I have been doing this little scavenger hunt for months now. It's the only way to get him to acknowledge me."

"Why go to this length? Just killing the joker got his attention."

He doesn't know for sure if this man killed the Joker but from what Jim has gathered from Batman's growing erratic behaviour this must be the man and he is taunting Batman about the death he couldn't prevent.

Jim reaches for his gun, his hands reach it, whether the man sees it or not there is no acknowledgement.

"Have you ever heard of the phrase 'Memento Mortem'?" He asks him.

"It's Latin but I don't know what it means." Jim answers him honestly because he really doesn't know.

"Remember the dead." He says with a deadly edge to his voice that makes Jim's hair stand on end, "Batman isn't remembering the dead."

"Who didn't he save that you loved?"

Jim thinks of his daughter.

Barbra was saved in time even if she has scars both mental and physical from her encounter with the joker. She may be alive now but he sees how much her paralysis has affected her.

There is a dark chuckle from behind him and Jim tenses incase he got this wrong.

"No one I have lost has been to the joker. Batman though? He lost me. But Batman won't let that grief surface. He buried me- and still does to this day." He sounds… sad as he speaks. "I wanted to be remembered for how I lived not how I died."

It takes a minute for Jim to come to an impossible conclusion to who this might be.

The second robin was a spunky little thing but bright and so caring with the victims in a way the first Robin wasn't. He died five years ago to the Joker. Could this be that boy come back to haunt them?

"Robin?" Jim whispers in horror.

There is no response except the howling of the wind outside his window.

Deciding to go against the order of Robin he opens the letter. He finds inside a picture of the Joker's body propped up against the bat signal, a red M painted over the bat symbol on it.

What has Robin done?

⏾

The last letter is placed carefully on the table holding the batcomputer. It is pristine and taunting just like all the others. Bruce trembles with rage as he opens the envelope, hoping for an end to this months long charade.

It's a dark day for him, the end of April is always hard for him since the rain makes his back ache from where it was broken. He wants to rest but this murderer isn't letting him.

Inside is the same picture as before but this time there is a address written on the back of the photo of the joker's body. The last letter, a M, is spray painted on Catherine Todd's grave as the Joker is leaned back against it like he is merely sleeping.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred calls from behind him. "It's almost one in the morning, it would be in your best interest to stop for the night."

Bruce shakes his head, "I am going to end this."

Batman stomps over to the Batmobile, his footsteps echoing in the lonely cave. He is quick to tear out of the caves entrance to the cemetery where hopefully the last piece of this puzzle is.

⏾

Bruce stands over Catherine Todd's grave.

Her headstone that once had a letter painted on it is now free of red. It's like it never even happened, no residual paint of finger prints are present.

He knows that he should be more reverent of the dead but he wants to beg her for answers. Maybe she could tell him who did this.

A shadow out of the corner of his eye makes him hide in the tomb stones.

His eye narrow on a man in a black bomber jacket carrying lillies. He must not have seen him because he carries on his march to whatever grave he is visiting.

"You should follow him." The boy says to him, a hint of urgency to his tone. "He may be a clue."

Bruce agrees in his head.

He hangs back a few feet behind the man.

As Bruce follows he sees more of the man. He is young with a slight limp to his right leg. From how he holds himself Bruce can see that he is a fighter- whether it is from being a danger to Bruce or something else he doesn't know.

A cigarette is hanging between his lips and he smiles of smoke, a familiar sent that Bruce can't place.

Maybe it was his father who smoked?

He shakes his head because his father refuses to touch them because it would cause lung cancer.

Who in his life smoked?

The man comes to a halt infront of two grave stones.

One is humble, Shelia Todd is laid to rest there, only a simple grave stone deticated to a woman who Bruce doesn't know.

The other is large and looms over Bruce like it is ten feet tall. It feels wrong. The angel praying above the inscription seems to be glaring at him despite her eyes being shut.

Bruce feels wrong looking at this grave.

He feels like something has been excavated in his chest, dragging out a thing he has long buried. It shouldn't be out of his chest- what has been rotting in his chest that he has been covering up?

The man crouches down to set the lillies down on the long overgrown earth under the gravestone. He isn't saying anything, just silently observing the grave.

Bruce moves a row closer to him.

"Will you look at me Bruce?" The boy asks. "I want to see you before I go."

Bruce moves up another row.

"Bruce!" He screams at him now. "We are running out of time! Please Dad!"

Bruce looks towards the angel again, her judgment cutting him open like he was the one who caused whoever is buried there to die.

"You need to stop burying this!" The boy yells, tears streaming down his face.

The man is praying now, his hands clasped and his voice moving wrong around the cigarette in his teeth. Bruce can hear the faint Latin and a crime alley accent in the words.

"This is killing me Bruce!" The boy begs. "You are keeping me stuck here and I want to rest like I should have five years ago!"

Bruce's brain is muddled and muted.

What happened five years ago?

He can't remember.

Bruce moves up the final row so he is standing in the row behind the man at the grave that makes Bruce want to throw up.

"Just look at me Dad!" He pleads with him, his hands gripping onto Bruce's cape like a life line. "One last time look at me like you used too! Like I matter! Like you love me!"

Bruce remains silent as he looks at the man at the grave.

The boy looks defeated beside him and begins to walk away. He feels like something is being ripped out of his chest as the ghost walks towards the grave.

Something is wrong about him going to that grave. Bruce thinks he may never see him again if he gets too close. The boy may be pulled into the black hole of that dirt and Bruce can't follow him.

The ghost looks up at the man.

The man has a prominent scar on his face and a shock of white hair. He smiles kindly down at Robin.

'No' Bruce thinks, 'Not again'

"Ready kid?" The crime alley accent reminds him of a memory long since buried under ash and rubble.

The boy nods shakily.

Then like the boy never existed he melts into thin air, a last look back at Bruce.

He is gone.

His son is gone.

The man turns to him, cigarette still in his mouth. His face looks young but his eyes hold the weight of years of life's experience.

Bruce is scared of what this man represents.

Memento Mortem. Remember the Dead.

"Old man." The man cracks a grin at him.

Bruce's response is immediate.

"Jason."