In the basement the room was lit up like the Fourth of July. The constant sound still played, and Terry didn't move. Weather he couldn't or wouldn't was unknown. Didn't matter. He couldn't get up to help those people, why should he move now? The younger future generation was staring blankly at the screen when the Tumbler came to a stop outside his prison doors. He thought it was another of Jokers tricks, he couldn't tell so he didn't take the chance. He didn't look up or make any indication that he knew Bruce was there at all.
He was breathing and barely evenly at that. That was it. There was dried blood on the side of his face when the Joker had taken him by surprise, but the bruises by now had mostly healed. His wrists were raw from struggling chains that had been used to hold him, and his suit was long since gone. He was dressed in uncomfortable medical robes. His eyes void of mirth or life unblinkingly watching the aftermath of the explosion on that screen the Joker left behind as a reminder.
People were dead. Bodies were burned into his mind and he would never forget this.