ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴛᴍᴀɴ. ɪɪ

15

The night is warm, and midsummer is entirely underway, and even though Gotham tended to be lukewarm even during the hottest of seasons, tonight was a night where even the moon shone hot. The sky, stain red by the bygone sunset, gives way to that self-same moon as it came over the opposite half of the gothic sprawl, with car headlights and streetlamps twinkling below. The Gotham Central burning down to the ground, screams and cries of terror could be heard coming from the unfortunate beings that happened to be in the hospital that day. Each patient runs through the hallways and past me; others are stuck in their rooms. Police officers and medical professionals were scattered around it, trying to evacuate the last of the patients.

Pipes are hanging off the ceiling, each desk is lying on the ground, and a lightning string attached to the electricity is swinging back and forth while ominous deceased patients are resting against the wall. The sounds of gunshots are somewhere near a patient's door. James is scanning each room; meanwhile, the cops are standing outside, waiting for a signal.

I slowly walk closer to hear the sound of someone groaning. Once I appear in front of the door, it turns out to be Michael. He stands next to the bed of one of the candidates for mayoral Bella Reál, clocking the magazine into his gun.

"Just as I thought my opportunity was out of the window," He chuckles and aims at his head. "And to my beloved people in Gotham, let the game begin."

I burst into frustration and rashly strained onto his neck while pushing him away from the patient. Michael takes a step back, holding the gun at me at this point. "I'm not allowing you to come between this shit anymore. Not under my watch!" he spat out, a flash of anger crossing him. The patient is raging between fear and anger yet keeping his composure still.

"If I were you, I would choose wisely," My voice deepens as I step forward. "I don't have a problem ruining your little plan with the joker."

Michael chuckles and clocks the gun. "I'm not done till I find Bruce Wayne."

"Good luck on that." A colossal rage surges in my chest once I ball my hand into a fist, launching after him.

Michael shot the bullet, but the shield attached to my chest made it impossible to punch through. My fist pounds onto his chest, pitching after his head. Michael leans backward to dodge, but I clutch onto his blouse and crash my fist against his face. James quickly joins the room with his gun, striving toward Michael. He throws his hand up in the air, entering the ground defeatedly.

"We got a problem, batman," James muttered, almost as irritating as possible. "I just got a call, and the Joker left the police office."

I breathe heavily and give an exhalation of frustration. "How is that possible?"

Gordon brings out handcuffs and latches them onto Michael's wrist. "This entire fucking time, an officer was part of this shit. He works for him."

A flag of anger hits Michael, groaning in frustration. "Sounds like a fucking problem in Gotham."

"Shut the hell up!" James spat and held his arms firmly.

An explosion emerges in the hallway, with dust and broken objects flying across the hall. James hurls Michael to the floor as I blockade the patient from getting injured. Sounds of footsteps occur inside the room with a horrifying laugh. The smoke made it unclear to see through, but nevertheless, the face absorbs the atmosphere.

"Surprise?" The man's face was chalk white, as if it had been bleached. His blood red lips were spread wide in a gaudy smile that was so large, sobroad that even the most minute of movements displayed a gallery of expressions. Right now the corner of his mouth was lightly twisted indispleasure, but he grinned nonetheless, seeming all to stuck in confusion for anything more; The Joker.