Bruce felt his skin being ripped from his flesh every second. The fog had seeped through, tiny molecules that peaked his brain into a screaming mass of the struggle between the Other Guy and his own quiet strength. He missed Darcy like crazy, all those days without her but knowing she had been safe with their son was a comfort and a strength. As the fog got stronger, he'd got weaker trying to fight the horrors it made him see until he'd finally given up.
He was slumped against the wall in the basement, glazed over eyes staring at nothing until he heard banging. Lazily, he lifted his eyes towards the security camera and commanded. "Let her in."
Bruce was a mess of a man. His knuckled were cracked and bleeding with dried fissures full of scars and scabs, bruises and a hastily set broken arm wrapped in his shirt to keep it immobile. There were slashes and cuts across his skin, cheeks sunk to show more of his bones than normal. He couldn't hear anything but the voices of those he'd hurt.