He moved toward the GCPD building, now a frozen fortress held by Mr. Freeze. The ice was beautiful and lethal, creeping up the brickwork like crystalline ivy. Inside, the temperature dropped to levels that would freeze a normal man’s lungs. "Victor!" Batman shouted into the hollow, echoing halls.

"Sir, your heart rate is fluctuating," Alfred’s voice crackled through the comms, steady but laced with worry. "The blood transfusion... the cure is the only priority."

"You... you really would have given it to me," Joker whispered, his voice failing as he slumped against a crate. "Even after everything I've done."

"Yes," Batman said, his voice heavy with a grief the Joker didn't deserve.

The Joker let out one last, rattling laugh and went still. Batman didn't call the police. He didn't signal the sirens. He simply picked up the body of his greatest enemy and walked.

"You are late, Batman," Victor Fries emerged from the mist, his suit whining with hydraulic power. "The Joker’s thugs took Nora. Bring her back, or the cure dies with me."

Finally, the Steel Mill. The air here was hot, smelling of sulfur and rot. Talia al Ghul was there, caught in the middle of a deadly game. And then, there was the Joker.

When the dust settled, the cure was in Batman's hand. He drank half, the color returning to his face, the fire in his veins cooling to a dull ache.