Joker was insane. Insane enough to kill and torture his Robins and his children. Insane enough to overtake the very mind and soul of people, drilling into their sanity like a backyard sandpit. Bruce felt as if he were about to snap, he had been hurt too many times. Too many times. And that rage bubbled and stewed until it started to burn, eating away at his own patience - which was his fatal mistake. He became too impatient, too blinded in his own rage to know when to stop, which led to his inevitable downfall. . Oh, what would Alfred think if he told him about how he got himself here? Chained to the floor of a dingy warehouse, a table set out with obvious instruments of torture - all glistening under the buzzing white lights, and, worst of all, the Joker and his equally mentally unsound underling looming over him. All because he got a little emotional. Figures. . Joker's smile was the epitome of pure glee as he laid out a number of blades, lining them up in size order on the table. Of course, he made sure to check each one under the light for the glistening gleam that indicated its surgical level sharpness - a point that Bruce did not miss. But he was more curious about the person closer to the door of the warehouse, at least until the Joker's voice broke through it. "Why so tense? You've only lost a child, it's not like we're going to torture you or anything, you should try smile more!~"