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You’ll take me down?” Deadshot grinned. “I like a challenge—but you’re right, I gotta make sure this guy doesn’t get away. Hmmm.” He scratched at the side of his head with the muzzle of the gun. “Oh. I got it.”
 
He pointed the gun down and shot Ouellette in the foot.
 
Ouellette’s scream lasted a lot longer than the sound of the gunshot. It also lasted longer than it took Batman to leap across from the window to the futon and knock the pistol from Deadshot’s hand. Ouellette rolled around on the ground, still screaming, as Deadshot smashed his left forearm into Batman’s nose.
 
Both of Deadshot’s forearms were sheathed in the steel housings for his wrist guns. Batman felt something crunch in his nose. Shooting pain caused his vision to go white for a moment, and his eyes watered. He went over backward, grappling with his opponent.
 
He had both of Deadshot’s wrists locked in his hands to prevent him from utilizing the wrist guns. If he tried to use them, the resulting explosion would probably leave Deadshot with stumps. So he didn’t fire.
 
Instead he lashed out with a head-butt. Batman turned just in time to avoid taking the blow on his already bleeding nose.
 
“I told you we weren’t done,” Deadshot snarled.
 
Deadshot ripped his left arm free. He pointed the wrist gun at Batman, who threw himself to the left. The weapon chattered, chewing a hole in the floor. Batman jackknifed forward, throwing Deadshot back. The wrist gun kept firing as he flailed, spraying the apartment’s walls and ceiling.
 
Batman kept his grip on Deadshot’s right wrist, using it as leverage to spin him around. He ducked his head under Deadshot’s right arm and lifted him into the air, then slammed him down on the kitchen island hard enough to crack the granite counter top.
 
The wrist gun cut out, either because it had run out of ammunition or because the impact on the counter had interrupted Deadshot’s fire control. Batman chopped a forearm into his throat and followed it up with three piledriver thrusts straight to his face. The last cracked the red monocle and bounced Deadshot’s head on the granite hard enough that his visible eye rolled back in his head for a long moment before coming lazily back to focus on his assailant.
 
“You have two choices,” Batman said. “We can talk, or I can keep hitting you.”
 
“You made me miss again,” Deadshot rasped.
 
---
 
He started to laugh. Batman drew back and knocked him out with a single punch, pouring all of his anger and frustration—and, yes, embarrassment—into the blow.
 
Deadshot went down, and stayed down.
 
“Now we’re done,” Batman said.

Batman: Arkham Knight: Riddler's Gambit, Chapter 22, Pg. 238