Broken(DC)

My return home was far from welcoming. At first, no one seemed willing to free me. The one who had sent me to Hell sought either to exile or destroy me entirely. But the superheroes intervened, refusing to let him act. He tried to persuade them, presenting arguments, but it all boiled down to one thing: Batman had the final say. Apparently, he was their leader.

I was taken to a prison, where I revealed my identity. To my surprise, there was no information about my origins, birthplace, or family. I mentioned the name of my adoptive mother, but they claimed she had never taken in any foster children.

It seemed all records of me had been erased.

"That golden bucket must've done it, I'm sure," muttered a blonde man, lighting a cigarette outside my cell.

"What are you talking about?" asked the Metal Man. I couldn't think of a better name for him—most of his body was made of metal.

"Come on, think about it. If he really sent the kid to Hell, wouldn't he cover his tracks?" The blonde smirked, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Impossible. He's a Lord of Order; he protects justice," Cyborg replied, his tone laced with skepticism.

"Ha, don't make me laugh," the blonde man shot back, walking away.

"Don't worry. We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise," said Cyborg before leaving as well.

I was left alone. At least I was back. I could only hope to find a way to regain my human form—no one would recognize me like this. I studied my limbs, monstrous and claw-like in appearance.

Time in the cell dragged on painfully. There was nothing to do, and I had no sense of how much time had passed. Then, finally, someone came. A man dressed in a dark suit with a cape that obscured his silhouette, leaving only parts of his body visible. The only part of his face exposed beneath the mask was his mouth. Faint fragments stirred in my memory, but I couldn't make sense of them.

"Are you really Brian Forman?" he asked.

"Yes, I've said so repeatedly," I replied, rising from the floor and approaching the glass.

"The only thing we know about you is that you were declared stillborn. Yet according to you, you lived until you were eleven years old, at which point Doctor Fate sent you to Hell?" he continued.

"That's right. I had a family, though they weren't related to me by blood. They became more precious to me than anything else," I explained.

"We found your family, but they don't remember you. Was there anyone else who knew about you?" he asked.

"Yes, I had a friend. His name was Bruce Wayne. But it's been so long—he probably doesn't care about me anymore," I said, leaning against the glass with a bitter smile. Nobody remembers me.

"Believe me, he remembers you and treasures that friendship," he responded.

"And how would you know that?" I asked, looking into his eyes.

"It's good to see you, Brian," he said, removing his mask. From the beginning, his voice had sounded familiar, but when he revealed his face, everything fell into place.

"Bruce?" I asked in astonishment.

"Yes. You've been through a lot, but so have I," Bruce said, approaching the cell and pressing buttons on the control panel. The glass began to lift, opening the way out. "You've been locked up long enough."

I froze. I wanted to run to him, to embrace my friend, but I knew that those times were gone, and now we were completely different people. Bruce extended his hand to me. I looked at my own monstrous one, hesitated for a moment, but finally reached out. His firm handshake reassured me that he was genuinely glad to see me.

"You've missed a lot," Bruce said with a small smile.

He told me much. After he forgot me, chaos broke out in the city. A flood of psychopaths and criminals emerged from the shadows. It was a miracle to walk down the street without getting shot or robbed. James Gordon managed to uncover the source of the trouble: it was the current mayor of Gotham, Theo Galavan. He had come to the city to seize control and destroy everything tied to Bruce's family legacy. Although the crisis was resolved, Gotham remained as grim as ever.

My friend decided he needed power to change the city, so he embarked on a journey in search of knowledge. Along the way, he encountered many people. Some had so much goodness within them that it seemed endless, their intentions so pure it felt otherworldly. But there were others, more bloodthirsty than the wildest predator, willing to do anything to satisfy their insatiable hunger for madness.

Above all, he sought self-improvement, filling himself with wisdom and pushing his body to its limits. During his travels, he met a man of extraordinary strength who had mastered the peak of his body's potential and skill: Ra's al Ghul. However, over time, Bruce learned that Ra's was over a century old, his life extended by the Lazarus Pit, which also corrupted his mind.

At first, Bruce trusted him and accepted his goals of ridding the world of rot in the form of criminals and immoral people. But later, Bruce realized that eradicating evil wouldn't solve the problem—it would only create worse monsters than those they destroyed. And so, he left the League of Shadows and returned home.

uring his absence, the city only grew worse, and Bruce realized he had left it to slowly die. He had to act to save it. So, he decided to take matters into his own hands and dismantle the gangs himself. Donning a suit, he began setting traps for criminals, thinking it would bring about good. However, with each passing day, the situation only deteriorated.

That's when he chose to use the one tool he still had—his company, inherited from his family. He managed to oust his father's old friend from a key position and appoint someone trustworthy. The city began to recover, clawing its way out of darkness. Yet Bruce didn't stop; he continued going out into the streets, finding evidence of crimes, and turning it over to the police, helping to imprison gangsters and corrupt officials.

But all good things must come to an end. After a brief period of peace came another wave of chaos. This time, true psychopaths emerged—ones who couldn't be dealt with so easily. Some were highly intelligent, others extraordinarily strong, and still others so unpredictable in their madness that it was impossible to anticipate their next move.

The more Bruce tried to help, the more of them appeared. But he couldn't stop; he knew that if he quit, no one else would step up to save the city. And so, he became trapped in an endless cycle: capturing lunatics, only for others to free them or for them to escape, forcing him to start all over again. Despite the frustration, he held onto hope, believing that one day he could make Gotham a better place.

I also learned what had become of my family. Elizabeth had secured a good position for herself, giving her a stable income and the ability to stop worrying about the future. My sister, on the other hand, had dropped out of university and decided to pursue a career as a rock musician. While I didn't fully understand such a drastic change, I believed in her. Whatever path she chose, I would support her, even if I didn't entirely approve.

When I finally got to taste ordinary food again, I nearly lost my mind. It had been so long! So many flavors, so much joy—I could have jumped for happiness. I ate enough food to feed twenty people. Even then, I wanted more but forced myself to stop.

"You've got quite the appetite," Cyborg said with a smirk. He had been keeping an eye on me while I stayed at the Watchtower. Bruce had to leave to deal with some villain-related issues.

"I've been like that since I was a kid," I replied.

"You mentioned your body demands more resources when it needs them for something. Is that what's happening now?" Cyborg asked.

"Yes and no. Of course, I enjoyed eating human food again, but I was genuinely hungry as well," I explained. I didn't understand why my body needed so many resources—I wasn't injured, and the environment was perfectly accommodating.

"I have a theory," Cyborg began. "From observing you, I've noticed some changes. When you were sent to Hell, your body underwent emergency biological adaptation to survive. Based on the local resources and environment, it adopted the traits of species native to that plane, which resulted in your transformation. Now, being here, in conditions closer to Earth's atmosphere, your body is trying to revert to its original form. However, to maintain its defensive properties, it's generating a new structure for your skin, which requires significant resources," he explained, projecting a holographic image of my body for clarity.

"Wow," I said in awe. A week had passed since I started living in the Watchtower, and it was only now, after Cyborg's explanation, that I realized I'd begun to change. My skin had lightened, and the armored patches had started to recede. Could I really return to my original form?

"'Wow' is one way to describe your biology. We took a sample of your DNA and compared it to Doomsday's. While there are some similarities, it's entirely distinct," Cyborg continued, projecting another hologram—this time of Doomsday.

"Is that a good thing?" I asked.

"I'm not sure, but one thing is clear—you're unlikely to become a rampaging monster like Doomsday," Cyborg assured me.

But his words struck a nerve. I had already become something monstrous once.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. The records show that you were under the influence of Venom serum at the time—it wasn't your fault," Cyborg said awkwardly, visibly uncomfortable. "I need to check on some equipment, so I'll be going now," he added hastily before turning and leaving.

After tidying up the dishes, I walked over to the massive observation window overlooking Earth. I gazed at the blue planet, so close yet still out of reach. Bruce had promised to resolve the issues and help me find a place on Earth. As I watched, I reflected on everything. I wanted to return to my hometown. Despite its madness, it was the place where I grew up, my true home.

******************************

Unknown Location

Dim light illuminated a space resembling a warehouse, where rows of containers and crates were stacked. Their markings were illegible, but warning labels hinted at their unusual and dangerous contents.

A cheerful whistling echoed through the room.

"Fwee-fwee-fwee-yoo," came the sounds, belonging to a slender man striding confidently across the floor. His sharp suit fit him perfectly, its vibrant purple hue standing out against the dim backdrop. His face was painted white with makeup, accentuated by a wide, toothy smile. Crimson lipstick emphasized the grin, and sparks of madness danced in his eyes.

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Approaching one of the crates, he glanced at its contents. Inside were gas canisters. Without hesitation, he turned the valve. Green smoke began to seep from the container, and he inhaled it with relish.

"What a delightful aroma," he said, grinning. "Ah-ha-ha-ha!" His laughter erupted, accompanied by his signature manic smile.

"Yes, everything is almost ready for the grand finale, but there's one thing that bothers me," said the Joker, Gotham's most dangerous criminal. "I'm ready to throw down all my cards and change the game, but are you?" he asked, addressing the empty space.

From the shadows, a figure emerged, his glowing red eyes piercing the darkness. His silhouette became visible as the light revealed a yellow suit with red accents.

"It doesn't matter. The only thing that counts is accomplishing the mission," the figure said in a distorted voice.

"Ooh, how scary, ha-ha!" Joker mockingly pretended to be frightened.

"Don't forget our deal," Reverse-Flash snapped irritably.

"Blah, blah, blah, stop being so serious. The real fun is about to start!" Joker replied gleefully.

"Hmph." Reverse-Flash snorted before vanishing in a flash of lightning.

"Bruce, Bruce. You shouldn't have walked away from our game. I had so many tricks up my sleeve, and you just abandoned me for your little club. Well, the stakes are much higher now," Joker said, opening another crate filled with rockets.

********************

The world seemed to take a collective sigh of relief after the last major threat had passed. A strange calm settled in. Even the villains seemed to have vanished, as if they had gone into hiding. Despite this, the heroes continued their patrols, ever vigilant, though somewhat more relaxed. All except one.

Batman was more on edge than ever, tirelessly scouring Gotham for any sign of the Joker. But he was nowhere to be found. The search expanded across state lines, and with every clue uncovered, Bruce's mood grew darker.

One day, his investigation led him back to Gotham. Following a fresh trail, he managed to locate Joker's hideout. His henchmen were as unhinged as ever, a colorful crew of brutes guarding a warehouse at the docks. Stealthily infiltrating the building, Batman began examining its contents.

Opening one of the crates, he found rockets painted in Joker's chaotic style. Disassembling one, he discovered a vial of toxic gas inside. Glancing at the sheer number of crates, he realized this wasn't just terrible—it was a catastrophe waiting to happen.

"Alfred, get me the League. This is an emergency," Batman said into his communicator. But before he could continue, footsteps echoed, drawing closer.

"Bruce, you're breaking our rules again. Haven't you learned?" Joker said, emerging from the shadows with his henchmen in tow. "THIS IS OUR GAME! But you know what? It's fine, I forgive you. However, for your betrayal, you must be punished."

Batman didn't waste a moment, reaching for his batarangs and hurling them at the thugs. They released sleeping gas on impact, knocking out a few of the henchmen instantly. Joker only laughed, unaffected by the gas, and began striding toward Batman.

More armed goons appeared from all directions, opening fire immediately. Rolling and taking cover, Batman countered with precision, using his gadgets and martial skill to neutralize the shooters. When the gunmen were subdued, he engaged the remaining thugs in hand-to-hand combat. Slowly but surely, they fell one by one, leaving only Batman and the Joker.

Clap-clap-clap — Joker applauded, watching the carnage with amusement. He couldn't have cared less about his defeated crew.

"You're still as impressive as ever, but, you see, forgive me—I decided to cheat just a little," Joker said with a twisted grin.

Batman's vision blurred abruptly, and he quickly donned his mask, activating the air filtration system.

"I've released a special toxin, just for you," Joker continued.

Batman began to feel the effects—his muscles grew heavy, and movement became increasingly difficult. As Joker drew closer, Batman realized he couldn't win this fight. He threw a smoke bomb at his feet, attempting to escape. No matter how far he ran, the laughter and footsteps of the Joker followed him. The weight in his body grew unbearable, making every step harder, and the exit seemed tantalizingly close.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and there stood the Joker with his signature wide grin. Realizing he couldn't avoid the confrontation, Batman hurled a batarang. Joker deftly dodged it and, pulling a cane seemingly out of thin air, advanced on him.

The battle between them intensified. Longtime adversaries, they knew each other's moves by heart. But Batman's condition was worsening. At one point, Joker managed to strike him in the abdomen with his cane, which concealed a syringe that injected a drug into Batman's body.

Batman felt his strength ebbing, his limbs losing power. He tried to resist, but the drug was taking its toll. Darkness crept into his vision, and he began to lose consciousness. Joker stood over him, savoring his triumph in this twisted game.

"And that's that," Joker declared as Batman, utterly drained, collapsed to the floor. "Time to throw a party! Stop lying around, you slackers—get those machines running!" he barked at his henchmen.

Those who had regained their senses scrambled to execute the plan. Across multiple states, Joker's crew activated launch systems for the rockets.

Batman was carried into a special room filled with monitors displaying city parks, schools, and hospitals in various cities.

"Come on, Bruce, wake up—you'll miss all the fun," Joker taunted, slapping Batman across the face.

Batman slowly forced his eyes open. Seeing the monitors, he immediately tried to free himself from his restraints. But the drug was still in his system, leaving his muscles unresponsive.

"Stop this—don't do it," Batman said with effort.

"Ah-ha-ha, no, no, you need to learn your lesson. Launch them!" Joker commanded into a radio.

Numerous rockets soared into the sky, then immediately descended, exploding and releasing clouds of gas across the cities. The monitors showed people coughing at first, then breaking into uncontrollable laughter. Some began attacking one another, tearing each other apart in a frenzy.

"Isn't today just wonderful? So much joy, so much laughter! Ah-ha-ha!" Joker exclaimed, his laughter echoing through the room.

Batman sat helplessly, forced to watch the devastation caused by his inability to stop the attack. A rage unlike any he had ever known erupted in his mind, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles cracked. Summoning every ounce of strength, he tore free of his restraints and launched himself at the Joker.

His fists crashed into Joker's face with brutal force, again and again, reducing it to a bloody mess. Only after a few seconds did Batman finally stop, breathing heavily, his hands trembling from the violence.

"You're still too weak, Batman. You can't kill me, ah-ha-ha," Joker sneered, spitting out his teeth.

"AAAAHHHH!" Batman let out a primal scream, raising his fist and slamming it into Joker's face. He kept hitting, over and over, until there was nothing left of Joker's head.

From the dead Joker's body, a sinister toxin began to rise. In his rage, Batman failed to notice it and inhaled deeply.

"AH-HA-HA-HA!" Laughter erupted from Batman's throat. In shock, he clamped a hand over his mouth, but the laughter continued to break through, uncontrollable and chilling.

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