"Yes," Batman said, his voice heavy with a grief the Joker didn't deserve.
He landed silently behind a group of Penguin’s "cobblepots" near the Museum. They were armed with heat-seeking thermal trackers, a gift from the black market. Batman didn't give them time to check the screens. He was a blur of gray and black—a smoke pellet burst, and then came the rhythmic thud-crack of bone against composite armor. In seconds, they were slumped in the snow. Batman Arkham City Game of the Year EditionBatm...
Batman looked at the shimmering blue vial locked behind reinforced glass. He had hours left. Maybe less. His vision blurred for a second—a symptom of the Joker’s poisoned blood. He saw a flash of a laughing face in the shadows, but it was just a hallucination. "I’ll find her," Batman promised. "Yes," Batman said, his voice heavy with a
His ribs ached from a run-in with Two-Face’s thugs, but pain was a luxury he couldn't afford. Protocol 10 was a countdown clock ticking in the back of Hugo Strange’s twisted mind, and the Joker was dying, dragging Batman down into the grave with him. Batman didn't give them time to check the screens
The snow fell in thick, heavy sheets over the walled-off nightmare of North Gotham. Inside Arkham City, the air tasted of salt, old blood, and frozen exhaust. Bruce Wayne—or rather, the Batman—perched atop the rusted gargoyle of the Solomon Wayne Courthouse, his cape snapping in the sub-zero wind.
He plummeted into the dark, snapping his cape open at the last second to catch an updraft. He soared over the collapsed streets of Park Row, passing the neon ruins of the Ace Chemicals building. Below him, the city was a war zone. Political prisoners huddled around trash-can fires while TYGER guards patrolled the rooftops with high-tech snipers, their red lasers cutting through the blizzard.