Vicki Vale stared with wide, frightened eyes. It was a question of what psychotic imagery to process first. She'd seen War... Famine... Pestilence... Plague... Ensconced behind the shutter of a camera her electronic eye captured the very horsemen of the apocalypse riding herd on helpless men, women, children, the ravages of man against man, but she had no camera now and felt naked to process things with her own internal point n' shoot. She felt a brief hiccup of whimsy, actually... How unlike tortured, foolish Othello! She thought in reflection... Strike me blind and take away this ocular proof! Let me go back to detachment, it isn't affecting *me* just my camera, make it go awayyyyyyyyyyyy. Her mind shouted this and a million things, entirely incapable of the battery of images all shouting DANGER! WARNING! in front of her, her survival instinct in overload but her body unable to move. She felt sure she'd break down into lunacy soon, lose her mind out of sheer terror. Ignoring the garish suit, the lurid paint upon the Joker's face, there were the glinting, sharpened knives, cold, deadly, sinister... The little bottle of acid with its little stopper, whispering promises of ravaging her beautiful flesh and searing her with a kiss beyond any endurable measure of pain. She wept without noticing, her body going into shock as he approached. Her body released and urine flooded down her legs, she was thoroughly devastated by what she saw and knew she'd never lose the sight of again. She had heard the collapse and crash earlier and with Joker so casually strolling towards her she'd lost all hope. Vicki knew in her heart... That powerful, wonderful man, that Batman... Was dead. There'd be no rescue this time. She was about to visit Hell on Earth.