Pain pulsed in every corner of his badly injured body, like a tearing grip that enveloped him. Jason no longer knew how long he had been here, in the destroyed wing of the asylum. The relentless torment, the brutal blows with the crowbar and the begging for Batman to come for him was the only company he had next to the clown's laughter. He could barely breathe properly, or think about that person who was taking him out of the Asylum.

Jason cautiously opened his eyes, his pupils dilating as his senses sharpened. He thought he would never leave that place, but here he was, with the cold air finally blowing into his open wounds. He was nowhere near falling unconscious again.

Then, he was on a couch, with his rescuer healing one of his wounds. He could only complain in pain, his head tilted to one side, exhausted to continue standing.

“Who… are you?” Jason asked hoarsely, feeling the words tear at his parched throat.