After an unknown stretch of time, Batman finally stopped.
Not because he was tired of punching, but because if he kept going, the Mad Hatter would become the Dead Hatter.
Batman drew back his fist and looked down at him, his voice as cold as if it had come from hell. "Behave yourself, Tetch. There won't be a next time."
It took the Mad Hatter a long while to recover enough to lift his head. Tears and snot brought on by pain mingled with sweat, smearing his face. His voice rasped like a cracked gong, but there was only one question in his head now, and he had to ask it-
"Wh... why... are you just beating me..."
Merely saying those words made the Mad Hatter feel as though needles were stabbing his lungs, yet he stubbornly strained his hoarse voice to ask, "Aren't you... supposed to interrogate me while you hit me... I-" He coughed.
He coughed twice, his blurred gaze still fixed resentfully on that black figure, and murmured with one last shred of desperate hope, "If I give you information... will you hit me less..."
The Mad Hatter had spent years among Gotham's criminals and taken more than his share of Batman's punches. He had long since figured out the interrogation's "unspoken rules," but he had never encountered a beating without questions before. His pain was tinged with bewilderment and a sense of being wronged.
Seeing him like this, Batman's lips curled into a cold, mocking smile, and he spoke slowly. "No need."
Those words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over the Mad Hatter's head.
"We already know everything."
"No... impossible... my escape route..."
"The Arkham guard who helped you escape entered a police interrogation room half an hour before you did." Batman's gaze