The group creeped down the street, nerves on edge. Despite, their readiness to sprint out of the way of any hazards, they were ill equipped to avoid the next memory, given they walked straight into it.

Gotham was warmer than most Metropolitan cities in summer, but tonight it was unbearably hot. The air was thick with dark, choking smog and a lazy heat that made one just want to lie down and hope that the heatwave would abate. The alley was unbearably filthy, with mud, oil, and human excrement intermingling and collecting in potholes and dips. The thick layer of filth was, however, unable to conceal the tape outlines of two people, who had presumably died on the spot. Murdered for refusing to pay protection money, the victim of a serial killer, a random mugging, it didn't matter. Gotham poisoned everything and everyone to shadows of themselves, and birthed monsters on a regular basis. What made this night different from all the rest was the presence of a sleek war machine. Also, that said war machine was actually the Batmobile, and "J" was jacking the tires off. He was struggling to pry one of the hubcaps of the rim off with an ill fitting wrench, and from the looks of it, he had been largely successful. Three rims lay on a clean(er) patch of brickwork. Jason gave a truly inspiring string of cuss words, and ripped the hub cap off. Someone cleared their throat behind him.

The twelve year old whipped around in shock. Batman loomed over him, seeming to lengthen and grow with the shadows. The already thick and foggy air seemed the bare down and crush the boy. It truly was a fearsome sight. The man took a step forwards and J reacted. The wrench grazed the man's head before rebounding off the wall with a resounding clang.

The stagnant air began to stir, rapidly morphing into a tornado-like gust. Gravel, trash, and other rubble was spit out of the alley and loose stones were thrown indiscriminately at the Team and walls. The wind was such a force of nature, it threw them all to the ground. The two figures, however, remained standing. At least until they burst into ashes, and in turn, were funneled into the sky, presumably to coat the ground elsewhere in the horror show that was this version of Gotham. Bricks were ripped from walls and floors one by one and smashed into dust. As soon as the wind started, it abruptly ceased, leaving a patch of empty, barren ground.

They wandered down the decrepit city, attempting to ignore the sporadic gunfire and the spontaneous combustion of nearby buildings. The sidewalk had seen better days. It was covered in ashes and full of cracks. The cement was gashed, gulches of rotting sewage forming rivers twenty feet below. At one point a subway had careened into the sewer system. A family of red-breasted birds startled and took flight, twittering loudly, their voices soft notes in the pandemonium that had overtaken the city. Bart was nearly clotheslined by a fearful, desperate, man. His skin was a dusty brown, his hair a darker, oily hue, and he wore the clothes bought of affluence, wealth, and more importantly power. Except, he wasn't in power now.

A deep, bone shaking, earth tearing rumbling got closer, eating up the ground and creating more gashes in the charred landscape. The street caved behind him, and dusty, halfway there thoughts formed a mob behind him. Screaming, yelling, demanding justice-no vengeance. The man desperately began climbing a rubbish pile, skittering and sliding on the debris. Despite the ashy ground and choking air, his suit remained unblemished, a mark of his wealth, his power. Although the man was severely hampered by the mountain in front of him, the mob screaming for his head was not. The first shadow reached his foot, hand solidifying as it made contact with his body. The man gave a god awful squeal of terror and began thrashing desperately, screeching out apologies. "Felipe Garzonas," the voice was not "J's", instead it was distinctly feminine, "for your crimes, your time has come". Nightwing' eyes widened in shock.

"No."

"No, please!" the man wailed. "¡Ayúdame!" His body thudded, a dull crack echoing throughout the city, rebounding off buildings. The Team looked away in some combination of horror and respect for the dead. However, upon the snapping back together of bones, sealing of flesh, and stemming of blood flow their gazes returned to the previously dead body. The man jumped to his feet and gave a shriek that surely could wake the dead before rapidly stumbling off. The mob followed him. Superboy made to follow, but was grabbed by Nightwing.

"He's already dead. This is just a figment of a memory." Connor looked ready to shake the elder hero off. "There's nothing you can do. This man has been dead for six years."

"How do you know?" demanded Wondergirl. Nightwing did not turn to face her and his emotionless voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

"Because I watched him fall the first time."

"We need to get to the center of his mind. That's the only way we can end this." M'Gann not so gently reminded the group of their original purpose.

"Agreed." muttered Nightwing. "Let's get going, take the path of least resistance and-" the ground in front of them rumbled, a sinkhole swallowing all of the debris in the way, clearing the path to a warehouse. Ignoring the uneasy feeling that accompanied the easy route to their goal, the Team began their slow voyage towards the center of the mystery man's mind. And then the world was alive with fire.

A ear shattering, earth wrenching boom ripped across the night, throwing the group to the ground and rolling it in waves underneath them. Flames bit at the murky sky, cracking across the horizon and setting fire to the ground. Psychotic laughter bounced around them, ricocheting off walls and the skeleton of the warehouse. As the flames grew, the laughter strengthened, reaching an unbearable cacophony of hysterical madness, showcasing the owner's glee at the destruction. Shadows began to lengthen around them, and took on an unholy green tinge as the flames morphed into an all consuming blaze that ate up the ground at a extremely rapid rate. The insubstantial emerald monsters from before solidified, lunging faster than the eye could track..."GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

Translations:

¡Ayúdame! -Help me!