Gotham City was a plethora of things. The darkened nights held all sorts of secrets and mysteries, most of which disappeared upon dawn, leaving behind nothing but whispers at the lives once lived and the hidden truths to its citizens.

Yes, Lady Gotham was quite a mystery to all that heard her sweet night drawn lullaby, the sickening song Bruce heard every night. The call was different amongst many. To him and his children, the call was justice, defence, saving those who could not save themselves and cleansing the night each time the sun set over the city. For others, many others, it was the same, but different. Their justice caused harm to the innocent, saviour to only guilty men with wicked hearts, or the type of insanity held in Arkham that would cause a good man’s moral compass to shatter.

Too many had heard the latter call. At this point, nothing could surprise Bruce. Monsters? He’s fought them. Metas? He’s worked with them. The darkest pits of the human soul? He fights it nearly weekly.

But still, the off occasion he did find something that surprised him, he noted it. Tucked away in a little corner of his mind and patiently waiting to be pondered upon.

“Typically, people with your record don’t start working for psychopaths like the Joker.”

Bruce was in full Bätman gear, his voice rough and deeper to help further conceal his identity. He was sat in Arkham asylums visitor area, almost completely alone aside a few workers and the patient he was talking to.

Everything about this patient screamed bizarre, odd, surprising. But, they had information he needed, a status within the crime world that Joker clearly held some value to, and Bruce didn’t intend to leave the facility empty handed.

Oh, Lady Gotham, what a surprise you’ve given him this time.