Chapter 5:Shards of Illusion

Blood.

All Michael saw was blood.

A scream of pain tore from his throat as the crowbar struck his face. The force of the blow sent him staggering backward, but his mind, despite the pain, wasn't overwhelmed by the chaos. His skull felt as if it would crack under the pressure; he had to do something, and the only thing he could do was to think. Where did the blow come from? How can I avoid the next one?

His left eye began to swell almost instantly, and his vision blurred. The pain was sharp, intense, and unfamiliar. His body wasn't used to this, and he felt the overwhelming rush of panic trying to take over. Focus, he thought. You can think your way out of this.

The Joker's voice cut through the haze of pain. He laughed loudly, mocking, his tone like a taunting melody. "Oh, don't close your eyes yet, dear Michael! We've only just begun our little party!"

The words echoed in Michael's mind, but he didn't respond. His breath was shallow, and his chest ached, but he was trying to calm his racing thoughts. I've never been in a situation like this, he told himself. I don't know how to fight. I'm just… normal, or I was, But I can think of something. I have to

The crowbar lifted again, and for a split second, Michael felt the sharp sting of fear in his chest. He wasn't used to violence. His body trembled, not just from pain but from the sheer alien nature of it all. He had never been in a fight like this, never experienced such brutality. But his mind… his mind refused to be paralyzed.

The blow landed on his ribs with a sickening crack, and Michael gasped, his arms instinctively clutching at his side. It hurt. It hurt worse than anything he had ever felt, but his mind remained sharp. Okay, I need to stay focused. I need to survive this moment. He's not killing me yet. That means he wants something else.

The Joker's laughter boomed through the room.

Hit

Hit

Hit

Each strike was like a hammer on his body, but he was still thinking. What's the Joker's game? Why is he doing this? He realized something as the Joker's blows came faster. He's not just trying to hurt me. He's trying to break me. He wants me to react emotionally, to feel helpless.

Michael's mind moved quickly, trying to outthink the Joker. If I can't fight back physically, I need to fight back mentally. Find a weakness, find a pattern. This isn't about survival. This is about control. If I lose control of my mind, I lose everything.

Then, as the Joker raised the crowbar again, Michael made his move. He shifted his weight, twisting his body just enough to make the Joker's strike miss. It wasn't much, but it was enough to give him a brief moment of relief. It wasn't a victory, but it was an opening.

The Joker stopped, crouching down in front of him, tilting his head slightly. Michael's body shook, blood dripping from his mouth, but his mind was still focused. Analyze. What's he going to do next?

The Joker's smile widened into a slow, eerie grin. "Well, Michael… I suppose you've heard of Jason Todd, haven't you?"

Michael didn't respond, not because he didn't hear the words, but because he was trying to focus. Jason Todd... The name triggered something in his mind. He knew the story—the tragedy of Robin, the boy who was tortured and killed. Michael's stomach turned at the thought, but he couldn't let the emotion cloud his judgment. He's trying to get inside my head. Don't let him.

The Joker leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you think he screamed the same way?"

Michael shuddered involuntarily, but his mind was sharp. This is his game. He wants to scare me, break me. But I can't let him. I'm not Jason Todd. I'm… I'm still me.

But the Joker wasn't done. He grabbed Michael's chin, lifting his face to meet his gaze, his eyes wild with amusement. "You know? Something tells me you're… not just an ordinary person."

Michael felt the Joker's grip tighten, but he didn't struggle. Think. Stay calm. What is he trying to do? The Joker's words were odd, but Michael's mind kept working. Is this some kind of psychological test?

The Joker smiled wider, pulling something from his pocket—a pair of metal pliers. Michael's blood ran cold. His heart raced. No. Not this. I can't let this happen.

He had no time to think further before the Joker's voice cut through his mind. "You know? Sometimes, you don't need to kill someone to make them wish they were dead."

Without warning, the Joker forced the pliers into Michael's mouth. The pain was unimaginable. His body went rigid as the Joker began pulling. Michael screamed, the sound raw and desperate, but his thoughts were still intact. I can't lose. I can't break.

The Joker's laughter was the only thing that reached him. It filled the room, echoing off the walls, as if he had won. But Michael wasn't done yet. Even in the agony, his mind raced. I'll survive this. I have to. I can't let him win.

---

Suddenly, darkness.

---

When Michael opened his eyes, he wasn't in the cell anymore.

He stood in the middle of a white void. His breath was heavy, his body weak from the pain, but his mind was clearer than ever. He glanced around quickly, noticing the Joker standing just in front of him, holding a mirror. The sharp, cold gleam of it caught Michael's eye.

Michael's reflection wasn't right. It was subtle at first, but then it became more apparent. His eyes—there was something different about them. They weren't his eyes. They flickered with something darker, something Michael didn't recognize. And his lips—there was a faint, twisted smile that wasn't there in reality.

"What... this isn't me," Michael whispered, his voice shaky.

The Joker tilted his head, observing him with an amused smile. "Oh, but it is you, dear Michael. Maybe not yet, but it will be you very soon."

Michael took a step back, feeling the familiar sense of panic creep up his spine, but his mind—his mind fought against it. This isn't real. This can't be real. He glanced around, searching for an escape. This is just another game. I can beat this.

"Where am I?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain steady, even though his heart raced.

The Joker raised the mirror higher, pushing it closer to Michael's face. "You're where you need to be," he said, his tone almost gentle.

Michael's gaze locked onto the reflection, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His cheekbones appeared more pronounced. His skin was pale, almost sickly. But it was his eyes—the madness creeping in. He could feel it, a cold chill running down his spine.

"Stop this," Michael muttered, trying to control his growing fear. Think. What's the Joker trying to do?

"Why?" the Joker asked cheerfully. "Don't you like what you see?"

Michael squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block the image, but his body trembled as the Joker's cold hand forced his eyes open.

"Don't run away, Michael," the Joker whispered in his ear, his voice like poison. "Madness isn't something you run from. It's something… you embrace."

Suddenly, Michael heard the sound of glass shattering. He looked down and found himself holding the mirror. He hadn't picked it up, hadn't even realized his hand had moved.

The Joker laughed again, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. "See? You're adapting quickly!"

Michael's grip tightened around the mirror. His fingers bled as he squeezed harder, but he didn't let go. I won't let him break me. I won't.

In a flash, he raised the mirror and slammed it toward the Joker's head.

But just as it was about to make contact, everything faded away.

---

Michael woke again.

He wasn't in the white void, nor was he in the cell.

He was in his room.

Sweat covered his body, his breath shallow, and his heart racing. The room looked the same, the dim light, the window cracked open with a soft breeze.

"A dream..." Michael mumbled, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

But something felt wrong. He looked at his hand. There, embedded in his palm, was a small shard of glass. Blood began to drip slowly from it.

Michael froze. If all of this was just a dream… why is this here?