Batman cradled the man's head, his fingertips slowly sinking into blood-soaked hair.
The man on the screen had raised his hand too.
He wanted to block the muzzle. His palm reached in front of his wife and stopped there, fingers spread wide.
Half the child's face showed beneath his arm. He glanced at the gun, then hurriedly shrank back toward his mother.
A little farther back.
Batman's Adam's apple shifted. The air inside his respirator felt hot.
A little farther. Get behind him.
Above the screen, green hair swayed behind the floor-to-ceiling window.
Joker braced himself on the windowsill, laughing until he doubled over. He pressed his forehead against the glass, then lifted it again, trying to get a clear look at the face below. He wiped away his breath's condensation with his cuff and pressed almost his entire face against it.
Bat wasn't looking at him.
That pleased him especially.
The woman in the recording was begging for mercy, her lips trembling too badly to form clear words. She tried to take off her necklace, but after several attempts, her fingers still couldn't find the clasp behind her neck.
Joker snapped it off for her.
The woman stumbled forward, nearly pulling the child off his feet, and the father hurried to steady them. Joker held the necklace up to the camera, tilted his head, and pursed his lips in apparent regret.
"Oh, this isn't pretty enough."
The necklace fell.
A very soft sound.
Batman's gaze followed it down, settling beside the leather shoe shifting in panic.
The ground was wet.
Rainwater in the alley, blood flowing from the square, glass crushed beneath his boots.
Little white things scattered and rolled into the cracks between bricks. He crouched to pick them up. One, two. His hands were too small. He