The Man And The Hood

[Maverick_DaSupreme]

Not only was Roman Sionis staring death in the face, he was doing so with a lunatic pointing a gun directly at his head. A lunatic whose smile was too wide, whose eyes were far too alive, with 'crazy' written plainly across his face and carved deep into his gaze.

For the first time in a long while, Roman wondered if this was really how he was going to die.

No grand legacy. No empire to fall with him. Just a cramped vehicle, and a madman who might pull the trigger simply because the thought amused him.

He cursed himself inwardly, wondering if thinking outside the box—dragging the Joker out of Arkham and attempting to strike a deal with Gotham's most infamous psychopath—had been a fatal miscalculation. All of this… just to rid himself of Red Hood.

'Is this the end of me?'

Then Joker laughed.

"Hahaha, relax!" Joker said suddenly, his voice light and playful. "Can't you all take a little joke?"

Without warning, he flicked the gun away. It clattered onto the table, sliding smoothly across the wooden surface until it came to a stop right in front of Black Mask.

Roman nearly choked.

His heart slammed against his ribs, pulse roaring in his ears as he struggled to keep his breathing even. He forced himself not to flinch, not to gasp, not to betray just how close he'd come to pissing himself in fear.

With a stiff motion, he raised one hand slightly and signaled his men to stand down, even as his legs still felt unsteady beneath him.

Joker leaned back casually. "I am willing to help you deal with this Hood guy," he continued, tone almost conversational. "He's gotta go before he becomes Batsy's new favorite little project."

Roman swallowed.

'This is what I get for negotiating with a lunatic,' he thought bitterly. 'And we're still at the proposition stage.'

Outwardly, he remained composed. Inwardly, he was already thinking of just how Joker would be disposed of the moment Red Hood stopped drawing breath. One problem at a time.

The truck continued along its predetermined route, engine humming steadily beneath them.

If Joker had refused, Roman had been ready to order his execution on the spot. Instead, things had taken a sharp, unexpected turn—and Joker had come terrifyingly close to ending him instead.

Roman exhaled slowly and reached down beside his chair.

"Here," he said, tossing a packaged bundle toward Joker. "Take this."

Joker caught it effortlessly.

"You can't exactly keep wearing that uniform for the crazies."

'Even if you're the living definition of the word,' Roman added silently.

Joker opened the bag and pulled out the contents with exaggerated interest. Inside was a neatly pressed purple suit, green lining tracing the collar, and a bright red pocket handkerchief folded just right.

"Aww," Joker cooed. "You shouldn't have."

Miss Li glued her eyes to her tab, giving him privacy as he changed, her discomfort was evident in the stiff way she held herself. Joker slipped into the suit like it had been tailored specifically for him.

"It's exactly my style," he added cheerfully as the vehicle continued rolling through the night.

While Joker preened, Roman activated his burner and contacted one of the officers firmly under his payroll. A few hushed words later, confirmation came through.

The police wouldn't make it in time.

There was heavy traffic which had the fastest route blocked. There likely wouldn't be an interception.

Music to his ears.

Satisfied, Roman ended the call and turned his attention back to Joker as the lights of the bridge loomed ahead, steel beams rising like ribs against the night sky.

"So," Roman began, leaning forward. "Here's the plan."

Joker barely looked at him.

"For reasons I still don't understand," Roman continued, "Red Hood seems infatuated with me. I'll act as bait. I draw him out, lure him into whatever trap you set up, and we end him once and for all."

Joker yawned.

An exaggerated, bored yawn.

Roman paused. "Do I… bore you?"

"Yes," Joker replied immediately. "How about you bore Red Hood to death instead? Save everyone the trouble."

Roman's jaw tightened. "What part of the plan do you disagree with?"

"The whole thing," Joker said lightly. "It's lame."

"Do not underestimate him," Roman snapped. "He's slippery. Like an eel."
He took a breath. "Do you have a better plan? I'm open to improvements."

"I do."

Joker stood up.

He casually strolled toward the front of the vehicle, footsteps light, almost playful. Roman opened his mouth to protest, but never got the chance.

"But instead of telling you," Joker said cheerfully, "I'll show you."

In one smooth motion, Joker snapped the driver's neck with a sickening snap.

Before anyone could react, Joker grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it hard.

The van lurched violently as the tires screeched.

The entire vehicle lifted off the bridge, momentum carrying it sideways as it somersaulted through the air. It slammed into other vehicles mid-roll, glass exploding, alarms shrieking as it crashed back down and skidded violently—finally coming to a brutal stop right in the middle of the bridge.

Joker's laugh broke the brief silence.

Although banged up, Roman Sionis realized—far too late—that he had never been in control of this situation at all.

- - -

Standing atop the exposed steel beams erected along the bridge, Red Hood remained perfectly still, boots planted firmly against cold metal slick with frost and oil. From this height, he had planned to follow them but instead he witnessed the chaos unfold below.

The highway blockade had done its job beautifully, traffic backed up for miles, with headlights frozen in place like trapped fireflies, ensuring the police response would be late, slow, and messy.

He watched the black van lose control.

He watched the van lifted, twisted, and somersaulted violently across the bridge, colliding with other vehicles in a deafening chain reaction of shattering glass and screeching metal. Sparks lit up the night as the vehicle slammed down hard, coming to rest on its side—no, its roof skidding to a halt in the middle of the bridge.

A major incident caused multiple wrecks and had civilians trapped.

Joker, being Joker, emerged from the wreckage completely untouched.
Red Hood observed from above as the clown dragged himself free of the van, laughing with wild hair.

Within minutes, Joker had taken full advantage of the panic, subduing the injured, tying up Black Mask and his people with ruthless efficiency.

Both news and police choppers arrived soon after, their spotlights cutting through the smoke-filled air, cameras circling like vultures. Joker didn't care. He welcomed the attention.

Red Hood watched as Joker retrieved a keg of gasoline and began pouring it inside the overturned vehicle, over the very people who had just orchestrated his escape from Arkham.

Civilians closest to the scene abandoned their vehicles. With traffic locked tight from the accident and no room to turn around, they ran on foot, scrambling over guardrails, abandoning cars, screaming as they fled toward safety.

Joker stood atop the side of the wrecked vehicle like it was a stage, completely unbothered by the chaos. He upended the keg, drenching Black Mask and his crew in gasoline.

"Joker! What the hell are you doing?!" Black Mask shouted.

His arms were bound tightly behind his back, shoulders straining against the restraints. His voice shook, not with anger alone, but with naked, unfiltered fear. He knew this kind of death. Burning alive wasn't fast. It was agony.

"Ohhh, Roman," Joker replied cheerfully, tilting his head. "As much as people think I'm some kind of arson artist, I can never tell if it's enough gasoline." He shrugged and dumped the rest of the keg inside the truck. Fuel sloshed across the interior walls—what used to be the ceiling—now pooling around them.

"Might as well just dump the whole thing."
The captives mumbled and thrashed, panic setting in, but Joker quickly gagged them all—everyone except Black Mask.

A courtesy. A thank-you.

"Not that," Black Mask said frantically. "I mean—we had a deal. Why are you doing this?!"

Joker stepped back, wiping his hands against his coat. "I told you already. This is my plan."

He grinned.

"Although instead of Red Hood, I'd much rather say hello to Batsy and announce my return to Gotham." He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a lighter, one he'd lifted from a guard earlier while tying them up like sacrificial lambs.

An offering.

To Batman.

To Gotham.

The wind howled across the bridge, strong and unrelenting. Joker distanced himself and flicked the lighter once. Nothing. Again, just sparks. The flame sputtered and died.

"Joker, I beg you," Black Mask pleaded, desperation cracking his voice.

Miss Li sat bound beside him, eyes wide with terror, chest rising and falling too quickly. She'd known from the start that dealing with a lunatic like this would end badly. She just hadn't expected this badly.

"Don't worry," Joker said absentmindedly, still trying to light the flame. "I'll be right with you."

He flicked again.

Again.

"There we go!" Joker exclaimed as the flame finally held steady. Black Mask's eyes widened in horror as Joker casually tossed the lighter toward the trail of gasoline.

"No—!!"

The scream ripped from his lungs, but the lighter never landed.

A sharp clang echoed through the air as a bullet struck it mid-flight, knocking it away harmlessly across the bridge.
Joker froze.

"What?" he muttered, genuinely confused.
Then he heard it.

The sound of metal against metal. A grapple line snapping taut.

He turned just in time to see a figure swing down from above—red helmet gleaming under the floodlights, combat armor wrapped tight around a broad frame, weapons holstered and ready.

Red Hood.

Before Joker could react, Jason slammed his boot into Joker's chest, stomping down with brutal force. The momentum sent Joker flying off, body tumbling violently across the asphalt.

He hit the ground hard, rolled twice, and skidded to a stop.

Blood streamed down the side of Joker's face as he looked up, laughter dying on his lips.

Red Hood stood beside the wrecked vehicle.

Joker's eyes locked onto the red bat symbol embedded in Jason's chest.

Inside the vehicle, Miss Li stared at Red Hood like he was salvation itself. Jason noticed. ''Yeah,' he thought grimly. 'You were seconds away from being barbecued.'

He looked to Black Mask.

"Hey, Roman," Jason called casually.

"You…!!" Black Mask snarled. Gratitude warred with rage in his voice. If it weren't for Red Hood, he'd already be dancing in flames, but none of this would've happened if not for him either.

"Since I've got business to handle with the clown," Jason continued coolly, "I guess I'm saving your asses this time."

He waved them off dismissively, then turned his full attention to Joker.

Joker stood, dusting off his coat, grin slowly returning. "If you wanted to join the party, all you had to do was ask."

"Hey, Clown." There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere, as it became heavy and suffocating—as pure bloodlust seeped into every word. "Been to hell and back," Jason growled, "just to wipe that smile off your face."

- - -

pàtreøn.cøm/Da_suprememaverick

 

[Maverick_DaSupreme]

Finally—finally—he was standing face-to-face with the man who had cost him his life.

The face that had haunted him even when his own name had slipped through his fingers. The face that lingered in his nightmares without context, without memory—just pain, laughter, and the echo of a crowbar striking bone.

Joker.

"That's strange," Joker said casually, cocking his head as the news choppers circled overhead, their spotlights washing the bridge in harsh white beams. "When Batsy came asking for you, he never mentioned you were one of his." He squinted slightly, studying Red Hood like a puzzle he hadn't solved yet.

"Not that he talks much anyway," Joker continued with a shrug. "But still… you'd think he'd mention something like this."
Jason didn't move.

Joker's smile twitched as realization slowly crept in as to why he was here. Black Mask's words echoed faintly in his mind—Red Hood is oddly infatuated with him.

"Ohhh," Joker hummed. "That explains it."

Red Hood maintained his silence, leaving Joker in an awkward and uncomfortable position. Beneath the helmet, Jason's glare burned with something feral, pure and focused malice. Joker felt it, even if he didn't fully understand it yet.

Trying to ease the tension—if only for his own amusement—Joker chuckled. "You're almost as quiet as he is. At least Batsy engages me a little."

Jason lunged.

The distance between them vanished in a heartbeat. He grabbed Joker by the coat and yanked him forward, slamming his helmet straight into Joker's face with a brutal headbutt.

CRACK.

Joker staggered back, barely catching himself before Jason hurled him bodily across the bridge. He crashed hard into the hood of an abandoned car, metal denting inward under the impact.

"Oof—" Joker coughed, then laughed weakly as blood dribbled from his nose. "You're strong."

Jason advanced with slow and deliberate strides, his boots crunching against shattered glass as he reached for one of his pistols. Joker pushed himself upright just as the gun cleared the holster.

"Haha—wow," Joker said, raising a brow.

"Haven't seen one of you with an actual gun before." He grinned wider. "But we both know you won't shoot."

PA!

The shot rang out like thunder.

Blood exploded from Joker's right shoulder as the bullet tore through flesh. His eyes went wide—not in pain, but in genuine shock.

Before he could even open his mouth to speak, Jason shoved the smoking barrel straight into Joker's mouth.

"Do I look like fucking Batman to you?" Jason snarled.

Joker gagged around the gun, a broken laugh bubbling in his throat even as pain wracked his body. Jason glanced upward and, without hesitation, raised his second pistol.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

The choppers' lights shattered one by one, plunging sections of the bridge into darkness.

Above, the police reacted instantly.

Ziplines dropped from the hovering choppers, officers sliding down fast and hard, boots hitting the asphalt as they fanned out in a practiced formation. Guns raised. Shouts barked through the smoke and chaos.

This was it—their chance to take down Red Hood, the vigilante who'd given the GCPD endless grief since his arrival. Their chance to capture Joker before he inevitably slipped away again.

But they also knew the reputation. There was a very real chance Joker wouldn't survive this encounter.

"Drop your weapons and unhand him!" an officer shouted.

Jason's jaw tightened. He knew Batman wouldn't be far behind now.

Slowly, he pulled the gun from Joker's mouth and slammed it across his face. The impact sent Joker sprawling to the ground, teeth clattering against asphalt as blood smearing his grin.

"Finally," Joker rasped, coughing. "One that knows how to have some fun." It wasn't like Batman. It wasn't like the other Robins.

They never pulled the trigger. Never used guns. Never crossed that line of violence.

Well—almost never.

"Hands in the air!" the officers shouted again, keeping their distance.

Jason exhaled, steadying himself.

"You and I," he said quietly to Joker, "are taking a little detour."

He holstered his pistols and raised his hands slowly—at the same time palming something from his utility belt.

"Show your hands!" an officer yelled, noticing the clenched fists.

"Okay," Jason replied calmly. He opened his hands and tossed three smoke bombs at once.

The bridge vanished in thick, hissing clouds of gray.

Officers tensed, their fingers tightening on triggers, with eyes straining for movement. Inside the smoke, Jason moved fast. He bound Joker, sealed his mouth, and hauled him up in one smooth motion, tossing him over his shoulder like dead weight.

A sharp hiss cut through the fog.

No one fired.

They couldn't see.

As the smoke thinned and the lights struggled back on, the officers realized what had happened.

Red Hood was gone.

So was Joker.

No blood trail. No sign of escape.

It was as if they'd vanished into thin air—another impossible trick pulled off right under Gotham's nose.

- - -

Less than a minute after the disappearing act, the Batwing tore through the clouds above Gotham, its dark silhouette cutting cleanly across the night sky.

Batman had just returned from Washington, still riding the momentum of unfinished League business when the alert came through—Joker had escaped Arkham. That alone would've warranted urgency. The fact that Red Hood was reportedly involved turned it into something else entirely.

He hadn't wasted a second.

The Batwing slowed, hovering with predatory intent as the city lights shimmered below. Rain threatened overhead, low clouds hanging heavy and swollen, while police sirens and helicopter rotors echoed through the district.

Officers on the ground instinctively looked up as Batman dropped from the aircraft, cape snapping violently in the wind before he landed in a controlled crouch, his boots cracking softly against the pavement. He rose like a creature born of shadow, cape settling behind him as if it had a will of its own.

Commissioner Gordon had just made his way through the barricade, officers parting for him as they continued securing the scene. A tumbled vehicle sat nearby, its hood dented and streaked with blood, gasoline still stinging the air.

Floodlights cast harsh beams across the wreckage, illuminating shell casing, scuffed asphalt, and the lingering chaos Joker always left behind.

"Commissioner," Batman greeted evenly as he approached.

"Batman," Gordon replied, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He glanced at him briefly before waving off the officer who'd been giving him a rushed Arkham report.

"You just missed the fun."

Batman didn't respond immediately. His eyes swept across the scene, taking in the trajectory of the fight, the disturbed bridge, and finally the thin smear of blood trailing away from the vehicle—fresh, and unmistakably from a gunshot wound.

"Heard Joker escaped Arkham," Batman said at last. "What exactly happened?"

"You know," Gordon began, exhaling smoke through his nose, "Joker being Joker. Only this time, before he could go full fireworks display, our new not-so-friendly neighborhood vigilante showed up." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Stopped him… then practically kidnapped him."

Batman's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly at the implication. Before he could respond, an officer jogged up, helmet tucked under his arm.

"Sir. Batman," the officer nodded quickly before turning back to Gordon. "You won't believe who Joker had tied up in the vehicle he was gonna burn."

He let the silence hang there, just long enough for both men to turn the thought over in their heads.

"Who?" Gordon asked.

"Black Mask," the officer replied. "Him and his people. All tied up inside, soaked head to toe in gasoline."

That got a reaction. Gordon straightened, his cigarette forgotten for a moment, while Batman's gaze sharpened with recharged focus.

"Have them in custody," Gordon ordered immediately. "I'll be there soon."

The officer nodded and hurried off, boots splashing lightly through puddles as Gordon turned back to Batman.

"You think Black Mask helped Joker break out?" Gordon asked, more thinking out loud than seeking a firm answer.

"…And Joker turned on him," Batman added calmly. "Sounds like something he'd do."

"But why?" Gordon muttered, rubbing at his temple.

Batman glanced once more at the blood trail before answering. "Why does Joker do anything? There's always an absence of logic in his actions."

"Can't argue with that," Gordon replied, shaking his head with a tired huff.

"Get what you can out of Black Mask," Batman said, already turning away. "You might find the trace of logic you're looking for."

Gordon watched him take a few steps before calling out, "And Red Hood?"

Batman didn't stop. "I'm on it."

With a sharp flick of his wrist, his grapple gun fired, the cable latching onto the Batwing above. In one smooth motion, he was pulled upward, his cape flaring as he disappeared into the sky once more, the Batwing banking away almost immediately after.

Gordon exhaled slowly, watching the darkness swallow them both.

"No disappearing act tonight, huh," he muttered to himself before turning back toward the chaos that befell Gotham that night.

- - -

Right from his departure from the scene, Batman was already back in the sky, the Batwing gliding silently through Gotham's polluted air as its sensors swept the city below.

His eyes stayed locked on the HUD, scanning rooftops, alleyways, heat signatures—anything that could point him toward his rebellious son, who had just kidnapped the one man Batman had spent his entire career trying to contain.

Joker.

He did a rapid sweep around the bridge where the earlier incident had taken place. The aftermath was still visible even from above. Traffic stretched endlessly in both directions, a snarled mess of red taillights and irritated drivers forced into an awkward standstill.

Vehicles were attempting clumsy reversals, horns blaring in frustration as people craned their necks to see what could possibly justify this kind of disruption at such an hour.

The quickest highway leading deeper into Gotham was no better. Congestion clogged the lanes, movement reduced to a crawl. Batman adjusted his trajectory, eyes narrowing as the realization settled in.

Jason hadn't used a vehicle.

With Joker in tow, that limited his options—but not by much. Jason had been raised in this city's underbelly. He knew its paths, its dead zones, the places no satellite could see and no patrol ever bothered to check. Even carrying Joker, he could vanish into Gotham like a ghost if he wanted to.

He couldn't have gone far.

And yet, Batman already knew the search was likely futile.

There were simply too many places Red Hood could hide, and if Jason didn't want to be found, then finding him would be next to impossible. That knowledge weighed heavily on him as the Batwing banked away from the gridlocked streets.

What troubled him most wasn't the failure of the search—it was the fear of what Jason might do before he could reach him.

With that thought gnawing at him, Batman redirected course and returned to the Batcave.

The cavern welcomed him with its familiar cold stillness, the echo of the Batwing settling into place reverberating softly against stone walls. Alfred stood waiting near the console, posture straight as ever, hands folded behind his back.

"Welcome, Master Bruce," Alfred greeted calmly as Bruce approached with his usual purposeful stride.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce replied, taking his seat before the console. He pulled off the cowl and set it aside, revealing a hardened scowl. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, he exhaled deliberately, as though trying to rein in the storm brewing behind his eyes, before his fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Alfred didn't need words to notice the tension. It clung to Bruce, and was unmistakable. "What seems to be the matter?" he asked gently, even though he already suspected the answer.

"It's Jason," Bruce said at last. His gaze drifted, unfocused for a moment, before he added quietly, "He's taken Joker."

Alfred immediately understood. That single sentence explained everything—the edge in Bruce's voice, the stiffness in his movements, the barely restrained urgency beneath his composure. They both knew how fragile this situation was, not just for Gotham, but for Bruce and Jason alike.

"Black Mask apparently broke Joker out of Arkham," Bruce continued, bringing up footage and city layouts on the screen. "He underestimated him. Joker turned the situation against him, nearly got Black Mask killed." His jaw tightened. "Red Hood arrived just in time. Saved Black Mask… and took Joker."

"Hm," Alfred murmured, studying the shifting images. The pattern didn't sit right with him. "Jason has been hunting Black Mask relentlessly. Why stop Joker from killing him?"

"That's exactly what's been bothering me," Bruce said, finally removing the scowl entirely. His eyes were sharp now, analytical as he pieced fragments together.

"We knew Jason had an objective. Becoming a crime lord was never the endgame—it was a stepping stone."

He paused, fingers tapping lightly against the console. "This whole thing—the attacks, the pressure on Black Mask—it was all a setup. A way to force Black Mask into delivering Joker to him."

Alfred's brows rose slightly. "Jason has been playing a long game of vengeance," he said, surprised despite himself. "That doesn't sound like the impulsive boy we knew."

Bruce didn't respond immediately, his eyes flicking across maps, surveillance feeds, and probability models. "I've been doing everything I can to track him," he said quietly. "But Jason doesn't leave a trail unless he wants to."

"You're worried he'll finally close the curtain on Joker," Alfred said, his tone measured but knowing.

Bruce remained silent.

"If he does kill Joker," Alfred continued carefully, "don't you think his actions would be… justified?"

Bruce squinted slightly at that, tension creeping back into his expression. "There is no justification for ending another life," he said firmly.

"But Joker once took his," Alfred countered, stepping closer. "Wouldn't it be an even slate if Jason did the same to the man who murdered him in cold blood?"

Bruce said nothing.

Alfred pressed on, voice calm but unwavering. "Jason has already killed many. Why is the life of the man who destroyed him any different?" He asked, wanting to ensure Bruce knew his standing before he's eventual encounter with his prodigal son.

Bruce finally answered, his voice lower now. "It is not our place to play God. Everyone deserves a chance at redemption." He paused, memories surfacing—countless chances given, countless failures endured. "No matter how many times we have to offer it."

Before Alfred could respond, a sharp alert cut through the cave. The screens shifted, a signal pulsing across the console.

"What's that?" Alfred asked.

Bruce's eyes locked onto the display. "It's from Red Hood," he said, already rising to his feet.

"He's at Crime Alley."

 

[Maverick_DaSupreme]

After Red Hood made his getaway with Joker, he hauled him across the city to an abandoned building awaiting renovation—one of Gotham's many half-forgotten skeletons of concrete and rust.

The elevator was long dead, so Jason took the stairs, dragging his captive up flight after flight until they reached a top-floor apartment he had prepared for tonight's event.

Broken windows let in the cold night air, carrying with it the distant hum of traffic and sirens far below. The moonlight spilled through the gaps, painting the room in pale silver and shadow.

He dropped Joker onto the floor like a sack of meat. The impact echoed dully through the empty space. Jason crouched and tore the seal from Joker's mouth in one sharp motion.

"Finally," Joker rasped, rolling his jaw and smacking his lips. "Being prevented from speaking for so long with such a crazy turn of events is probably bad for my health." He grinned, his eyes gleaming as if he were genuinely amused. To him, Red Hood felt like a more entertaining, less restrained version of Batman.

Jason didn't respond. He turned away instead, walking toward the far wall and planting a gloved hand against the cracked concrete. He took a deep breath. Then another.

The psychopath who had murdered him, the clown who had haunted his nightmares even when his memories were gone—was finally here. Right behind him. In his possession.
And yet, there was no rush of satisfaction. No sense of victory.

Jason frowned faintly at that realization, then shoved it aside. So long as the clown still drew breath, closure was impossible.
Everything he had suffered, the fracture in his mind, every sleepless night since his resurrection—could be traced back to the thing sitting behind him on the floor.

He turned.

Joker had pushed himself upright, his back against the wall, knees bent awkwardly, wrists still restrained. He glanced down at the bullet wound in his shoulder, blood soaking into the purple fabric of his coat, then looked back up with a wide grin.

"Gotta say, this is quite the excitement," Joker chirped. "I've never been kidnapped before. Terribly rude, of course, but I am curious where exactly this leads."

"You don't remember," Red Hood said. His modulated voice was low, controlled, carrying a quiet authority.
Joker tapped his chin with the backs of his restrained hands, feigning thoughtfulness. "Not a clue. I've been cooped up in Arkham for the past five years."

"How could you?" Jason muttered.

He raised both hands and reached for his helmet. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled it off and let it drop to the floor. Beneath it was a domino mask—black, familiar, and unmistakable. The same type he had worn years ago.

Joker tilted his head, studying him. "Your face does seem awfully familiar…" he mused. "I just can't seem to place it."
"I see," Jason said.

His hand reached behind his back, his gloved hand closing around cold metal. He drew out a crowbar, the dull dark surface catching the moonlight. A dangerous, almost eager smile tugged at his lips as a suffocating aura of bloodlust rolled off him in waves.

This gave Joker the illusion that the man standing right in front of him had turned into an indescribable monster, salivating over his flesh and even his very soul.

Jason stepped forward, slow and deliberate, one step at a time.

For the first time, the smile on Joker's face faltered. Something flickered in his eyes as he stared at the man before him—something raw and unfamiliar.

Fear.

The grudge Jason carried from beyond the grave was finally about to be repaid in full. "You…" Joker breathed, recognition dawning at last.

He laughed suddenly, sharp and loud.
Jason stopped.

He wasn't in a hurry. He had waited years for this. A few more minutes wouldn't matter.
"One night with Papa Joker," Joker cackled, "and you completely abandoned Batman's teachings!"

"One bad day." He added with emphasis as he laughed.

Jason cocked an eyebrow, letting him talk and not having to explain himself to the likes of a man he considered to be less than vermin. Nothing he could have said would have gotten through the thick skull of the lumatic in front of him.

"I mean, look at you," Joker continued gleefully. "You even use my old moniker. All this violence, all that thirst for blood. Who knew you were a natural born killer? You lack my charm, of course, but you've become the spitting image of me, your pa—" His words caused Jason to twitch.

Thwark!

The crowbar crashed into Joker's face with brutal force. Bone cracked audibly as Joker's jaw shattered under the blow, his head snapping to the side. Jason had held back—barely. With the strength surging through his body now, a full-force swing would have split Joker's skull like a watermelon.

He had other plans for the night. Killing Joker now would be a waste. That honor was reserved for the guest of honor—the man who had failed him.

"Th…that was.."

"Shut up, clown," Jason snarled.

The crowbar came down again. And again.
He didn't narrate his pain. He didn't list his losses or recount his suffering. Every swing spoke for him. Rage poured out with each strike, years of restraint dissolving into raw violence.

Bones cracked. Ribs splintered. Joker's body jerked and twisted like a broken marionette.

Joker still tried to laugh, even through the agony, as if the pain delighted him—but his shattered jaw reduced it to wet, muffled sounds.

Jason thought this would make him feel better.

It didn't.

With every blow, the anger felt misdirected.
Of course it was. If Bruce had ended Joker—if he had taken one life to avenge another—Jason wouldn't be here now, standing over this pathetic excuse for a man.

Pa!

The crowbar smashed into Joker's knee. Something snapped. More ribs broke. The laughter dissolved into incoherent noises as Jason's vision blurred, red bleeding into the edges of his sight.

Something primal stirred inside him—something he had suppressed for far too long. It strained against its chains, roaring to be unleashed.

And now the anger wasn't just for Joker.
It was for Bruce.

He had never hated him. He understood Bruce's code. But in this moment, that understanding meant nothing. Bruce should have paid a price for his refusal—for letting the man who stole his life keep breathing.

Rage erupted like a volcano that had been simmering beneath the surface for years.
Jason roared, putting everything he had into a final swing aimed straight at Joker's head.

Aggghhh!

He stopped mid-motion, arm fully extended with the crowbar frozen in the air.
His chest heaved as he forced himself to breathe. Slowly, the red haze receded. His vision cleared, revealing the carnage at his feet—Joker broken, bloodied, and barely conscious.

If he had gone full strength with his swings, Joker was sure to die in that heated moment.

At this point Joker was sure to have suffered multiple comminuted fractures.

He lowered the crowbar.

He had nearly lost himself.
Yes, Joker deserved to die. But skipping straight to dessert after ignoring the main course was a sign of indiscipline. Jason hadn't waited this long to lose control now.

He tossed the crowbar into a corner and ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Closing his eyes, he focused on his breathing until the storm inside him quieted.

The rage lingered—but it no longer demanded blood. Not yet.

He looked down at Joker, who let out a weak, gurgling chuckle.

Jason felt a grim satisfaction.

"Not such a fan of your own medicine?" he asked. "If you'll excuse me, I have an invite to send… and a guest of honor to receive."
He turned and walked to the door. Hand on the knob, he paused and glanced back.
"I'll be right back," he said calmly. "And I promise—just seeing him will make your night." The door shut behind him.

'Not like you could even get up if you wanted to,' he thought as he moved on to the next phase of the night.

- - -

[At Titans Tower]

Dick Grayson had been enjoying his much-needed time off with his girlfriend and his team—especially with his girlfriend.

Time off was a rare luxury for heroes. Emergencies, invasions, and end-of-the-world scenarios had a bad habit of popping up without warning, but as long as there wasn't an immediate crisis demanding their attention, they were allowed to breathe. Tonight was one of those rare nights. The city was relatively calm, Titans Tower was quiet, and Dick had taken full advantage of it.

He had even brought along his antisocial kid brother.

That decision, in hindsight, was… debatable.

Damian had managed to piss someone off in less than an hour after being introduced to the team. Dick didn't even know how the kid did it so efficiently—it was like a talent. Since then, Damian had been keeping mostly to himself, sitting in a corner with his arms crossed and his posture rigid, radiating barely restrained disdain.

He's been minding his business ever since I threatened to snitch on him to Bruce, Dick thought wryly. The kid really hates being grounded.

Damian might have kept his mouth shut, but his eyes did all the talking. The sharp glances, the unimpressed stare, the permanent scowl resting on his face—it was more than enough to make the rest of the team uncomfortable. Even when he wasn't saying a word, he somehow managed to make everyone feel like they were being silently judged and found lacking.

The others could tell he saw them as inferior. What they couldn't understand was why.

As Dick found himself thinking about his brother's near-impossible ability to alienate people, he felt a warm hand rest on his shoulder.

He turned—and immediately felt lips pressing against his in a soft, lingering kiss.

"What's on your mind?" Kori asked, her was voice gentle and curious. Her bright green eyes flicked briefly to the half-empty glass of alcohol sitting beside him on the table.

"Well," Dick said with a grin, leaning in to kiss her again, "right now? You."

She smiled, amused, as he pulled back slightly. "I was just having a drink before bed," he continued, lifting the glass loosely, "but I ended up thinking about just how antisocial Damian really is."

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the common area, where Damian sat rigidly on a couch, pretending not to listen to the rest of the team while absolutely listening to everything.

"At this rate," Dick went on, shaking his head, "he's never going to get a girlfriend. And then I won't be able to give him dating advice. Or share all the hard-earned wisdom and experience I've gained over the years."

He sighed dramatically, then tipped the glass back and finished the last of its contents in one gulp.

Kori blinked, clearly not expecting that to be his concern.

Then she laughed.

It was a bright, genuine sound that filled the room. "Despite his attitude and… overwhelming confidence," she said carefully, "he is quite the looker. Do not worry. I am certain you will get the chance to play the experienced big brother someday." She gave him a playful nudge, chuckling.

Dick snorted. "Let's hope his looks alone are enough," he replied. "Because the other traits you mentioned? That's just sums up his arrogance."

Kori smiled but didn't disagree.

As the two of them continued talking, relaxed and close, the television behind them quietly switched to a breaking news broadcast. The newscaster went on speaking on a muted screen as bold red letters flashed across the screen.

BREAKING NEWS: JOKER ESCAPES ARKHAM ASYLUM

Neither of them noticed right away.

The broadcast showed shaky aerial footage of a bridge locked in disarray—police lights, damaged vehicles, smoke still hanging in the air. The reporters spoke quickly, speculating wildly as images of Gotham's most infamous criminal filled the screen.

Then it showed the appearance of Red Hood who they reported to have shot and taken Joker.

There was uncertainty—no clear confirmation on whether Joker had truly been kidnapped or if the entire incident was some twisted collaboration. The authorities themselves weren't sure yet, and until they were, the story remained incomplete.