Chapter Text
May 2018
Ten years after the Joker’s capture at the end of The Dark Knight.
In the years since Lex Luthor’s imprisonment, Lex Luthor Incorporated had been entrusted to Luthor’s lieutenant, Otis Grisham. Grisham had pulled the company into research and development and established a headquarters for it in the center of Metropolis. Now, Luthor Tower stood as a symbol of its namesake’s lasting legacy even in his absence. On that unusually chilly day in May, they were holding a tech demo. In attendance were Clark Kent and Lois Lane, reporting on recently stolen technology from the company.
The demo hall was closed to the public and featured a stage on which LexCorp’s latest invention was to be displayed.
“Mr. Grisham,” Clark called out. “Clark Kent from the uh, Daily Planet. Could I have a word on the missing weapons?”
“Well, certainly,” Otis said. “You see, some mistakes were made, but um, we’re confident in law enforcement, and we’ve improved security, certainly we’ve improved security. Anyway, it hopefully won’t happen again, won’t at all, and besides, the weapons stolen were prototypes. They should, um, be harmless, and—”
Suddenly, there was a loud crack as if from lightning, and the lights turned off. A raspy voice came in over the loudspeaker. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, crooks of all assortments. I am your host for this evening, Mister Mxyzptlk, the one and only.”
Charles Brown waited on the rooftop of an adjacent building, and a green and yellow gliding suit with a similarly colored backpack and helmet. He knew that the demo hall was on the first floor, the central command room was on the third floor, and their main prize was on the top floor. He listened intently to his boss’s words over his communications device.
“You fine people were all promised a tech demo, and so you shall have,” Mxyzptlk said over the loudspeaker. And then, over the private line, he added, “Freeze, move in.”
The back door came crashing down. In an insulated white suit was a pale, bald man with goggles protecting his eyes. In his grip was a large cannon-like device, connected to a tank on his back. He pulled the trigger, and a steaming liquid sprayed from it, onto one of the guests, Ross Webster. He screamed in pain as ice burns covered his face and his clothing began to freeze up. The crowd backed away as the man in the insulation suit sprayed his cannon in a wide arc.
Clark gave Lois his I have to go look, and spun in circles as he burrowed beneath the Earth, changing into costume as he did so.
“Entertainment tonight,” Mxyzptlk announced, “will be provided by our very own Metropolis celebrity, Livewire!”
Massive bolts of electricity arced over the crowd, striking several members and giving them severe burns as they fell to the ground. Looking up, Lois could see it was a masked woman in bright blue clothing, standing onstage and holding a sort of firearm-like device with a long metal conducting rod at the end of it causing the strikes.
That was Charlie’s cue. He pulled the string on his backpack, and a massive kite-like paraglider unfolded. Next to him, his partner, codename Firefly, wore a black cloth suit with a jetpack on his back. “Let’s roll, Kite Man,” Firefly said, pushing a button on his jetpack, and fire roared out of the pack, lifting Firefly up. Charlie glided to the roof of Luthor Tower as Firefly flew there on his jetpack.
After each had touched down, Charlie bid farewell to Firefly. “Good luck, Chuck,” Firefly said.
“Later, Jacob,” Charlie said. “Mxy, we’re on the roof. Heading down now.”
“Just exquisite,” Mxyzptlk said through the private communicators. “Codenames only, though. Clayface, move in.”
On the third floor of the tower, a pair of security guards protected the central command room of LexCorp. One had a thick beard and glasses, one was clean-shaven and short-haired. “It’s just not like him,” the clean-shaven one said to the bearded one. “Dave’s never been sick a day in his life. Hey, what did you say your name was again?”
The bearded one drew his gun and shot the clean-shaven one in the head. The clean-shaven guard didn’t even have time to react. “The guard is taken care of, moving in,” said the bearded one, who removed his fake beard, glasses and wig and dropped them on the ground, revealing the unfettered face of Basil Carlo. He stepped into the room he was guarding. “Ivy, what was that passcode?” Carlo asked, shooting the guy at the helm of the command center and pushing his corpse aside to get to the computer.
“CriminalMastermind78,” came the response from the communicators. “Capital ‘C’, capital ‘M’.”
Meanwhile, in the main hall on the first floor, the man in the insulated suit, Freeze, was using his ice gun to freeze over the exits so nobody could leave when suddenly a streak of blue and red shot up from the crowd — Superman. The crowd cheered.
“And they call me a clown,” Mxyzptlk said over the intercom. “Let the circus begin!”
Livewire launched her lightning at Superman at full power, and he yelped in pain as he was knocked out of the air. The crowd parted as the Man of Steel struggled to stand up. A stream of liquid from Freeze’s ice gun covered his body and formed a frozen layer around the superhero.
Meanwhile, on the top floor, Charlie had reached the heavy metal doors sealing off to the prototype vault. “Clayface, open the door,” he said over the comms.
On the third floor, Basil typed something into the computer. On the top floor, Charlie watched the doors slide open. “Okay, you’re in the vault.”
“Which safe is it?” Charlie asked. “Never mind. I found it.” Charlie “What’s the combo?”
“23-40-06,” came Ivy’s voice over the communicator.
Charlie put in that combo and the safe swung open, revealing a metal cart. He opened it to find that it was full of glowing green stones. “I’ve got it,” Charlie said. “The world’s largest supply of kryptonite.” He pocketed one of the stones and then closed up the cart.
Meanwhile, on the main floor, Superman’s eyes glowed red as the ice began to melt. Freeze put on another layer of ice to keep him busy, even while Livewire amused herself by sending bolts of lightning reigning down upon civilians.
“Exercise restraint, Livewire,” Freeze said to her. “You could hit me.”
“You’re no fun, popsicle,” Livewire pouted, but she lowered her lightning gun.
“Company,” said a new voice. “It’s him.”
“Thank you Bob,” Mxyzptlk said. “How long do we have?”
“About ninety seconds,” Bob answered.
“Send it down, Kite Man,” Mxyzptlk said. “Hurry.”
Charlie wheeled the cart into the maintenance elevator, pushed the button for the basem*nt, and then stepped out. “Heading your way.
“Bob, put up some barricades,” Mxyzptlk ordered over the intercom. “Keep the bird busy as long as you can. Firefly, go give Bob some help, will you?”
“Sure thing,” Bob agreed.
“On it,” Firefly agreed.
“Clayface,” Mxyzptlk said, “start downloading the files.”
“Yes sir,” Basil Carlo said, plugging a thumb drive into the computer and beginning the download process.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we appreciate your patience,” Mxyzptlk said. Dramatic music played over the loudspeakers as a dark silhouette began to rise from beneath the floor of the stage in a dramatic fashion. “Without further ado, your host, Mister Mxyzptlk. Also known as—”
Three spotlights hit the figure at once. His outfit had changed, being a (lead-lined) orange suit jacket with a purple shirt. He wore a similarly orange and purple bowler hat. His face was painted a ghoulish white, with smeared lipstick and eyeliner that made his eyes look like disturbing lights in a void of darkness. Beside the figure stood the cart of kryptonite, though Superman could not see it through its lead-lining. Still, he recognized the man, and terror filled his heart as he did.
“—the Joker.”
So it was true. The Joker was back, and he was in Metropolis.
Meanwhile, about a block away, a truck lying on its side had blockaded the road. Robin, in his red and black costume, was trying to reach Luthor Towers, racing forward on the Batpod. He couldn’t let the accident slow him down. Robin pressed a button on the Batpod, and it condensed. Then, right before the wreckage, it expanded like a spring, propelling itself upward over the truck.
Suddenly, a figure in black, wearing a jetpack and carrying a flamethrower, flew in front of the Batpod and began blasting fire wildly in Robin’s direction. Robin swerved to avoid the flames. He wouldn’t let the jetpack man slow him down.
Back on the main floor of Luthor Tower, Superman broke free of the ice and flew toward the Joker, but the clown produced a chunk of kryptonite from his jacket pocket. Superman fell from the air and landed on the ground before the Joker, helpless. Freeze and Livewire closed ranks with the Joker as he wheeled the cart off the stage and through the crowd.
“I never understood why people made such a fuss about you, Superman,” the Joker said. “You seem rather sickly to me.” He placed the chunk of kryptonite on Superman’s chest, and Freeze blasted him with his gun, encasing his body in ice and trapping the kryptonite on Superman’s chest.
“It’s been real fun, but we really have to be going,” the Joker said. Suddenly, the doors burst open and a motorcycle flew into the main hall. The crowd gave it a wide berth as off of it stepped Robin.
“I was wondering when you’d arrive,” the Joker said. “Freeze. Livewire. School’s in session for this boy wonder.”
Livewire powered on her lightning cannon, and a bolt of electricity hit Robin with a loud crack as he stumbled backward. Freeze hit him with a layer of the liquid from his gun, causing ice to form on Robin’s suit, though the carbon fiber padding protected him from burns.
“My liquid nitrogen supplies are near empty,” Freeze commented.
“We were just leaving, anyway,” the Joker said. The trio left with the cart of kryptonite through the main entrance and hopped aboard a bus on which was spray-painted with their organization’s name: the Legion of Doom.
Robin regained his footing and rushed to Superman’s aid, pulling a vial from his belt and pouring a drop of the contained liquid onto Superman’s chest. Immediately the ice dissolved, and Robin was able to remove the kryptonite from Superman’s chest and throw it away from the Man of Steel, who quickly broke free of his restraints.
“Superman, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thanks for the assistance. Who are you?”
“I’m Robin.”
“That’s quite the motorcycle, may I ask where you got it?”
“That’s classified.”
“You’re from Gotham City, aren’t you?”
“I’ve lived there my whole life,” Robin responded. “Police and paramedics are on their way. This is your city, so what’s the plan?”
“Follow the bus,” Superman said, impressed that Robin was so willing to take orders.
Robin mounted the Batpod. “Sorry, but I don’t have a sidecar.”
“Very funny,” Superman said, ascending into the air as Robin drove his motorcycle back outside and began to follow the bus.
Superman flew outside, but suddenly, he began to feel weak. A man in a dark green skydiving suit with what seemed to be a giant kite on his back and a helmet obscuring his face descended upon Superman, a chunk of glowing green kryptonite in hand. The man tackled Superman out of the sky, and the pair tumbled to Earth.
Superman hated the feeling of kryptonite against his skin. It seemed to make his blood boil against his veins and made it very difficult to think, and it didn’t help that his adversary dropped it down his shirt. As the Kite Man pulled away from Superman and caught the wind again, the Man of Steel fell from the sky, landing on the ground hard.
On the ground, Superman struggled to pull the kryptonite out of his shirt, but felt very weak and could barely move.
Meanwhile, Robin was hot on the tail of the Joker’s bus and gaining ground. The Joker’s assistant, Bob, was driving, but the bus was slow compared to the speeding Batpod.
“Freeze, help him cool off,” the Joker ordered.
Freeze went to the back of the bus and pulled open the door at the back. He aimed his ice gun and fired, freezing over the Batpod’s front tire. The back of the cycle bucked forward, throwing Robin off. Robin hit the ground hard, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the Batpod.
The Batpod, meanwhile, had righted itself automatically. Robin stood, but saw that he had lost sight of the bus during the crash and now it was nowhere to be seen.
Robin hopped back on the cycle and rode back toward Luthor Tower, only to find Superman struggling to get up, kryptonite on his chest, his veins turning green, his eyes watering. Robin reached into Superman’s shirt and grabbed the kryptonite, throwing it away.
“At least take me to dinner first,” Superman said, sitting up. “They got away?”
“Yeah, they did.”
“I never got a chance to ask, but who are you, anyway? I know you’re Robin, but past that?”
“I was Batman’s handpicked successor,” Robin answered.
“That says a lot. Here, let’s find somewhere that’s not in the middle of the street to talk.”
Superman flew Robin to a nearby rooftop.
“Like I said, it’s an honor to work with you,” Robin said. “I wasn’t sure you’d appreciate my presence in Metropolis.”
“Batman was a hero. He saved the whole of Gotham when I couldn’t. If he picked you, that says a lot. May I ask what brings you here?”
“I’ve been caught up for a few months, but I’ve been working on the Jonathan Crane case. The evidence says that he fled to Metropolis.”
“Scarecrow. I’m familiar, unfortunately,” Superman said. “He has a version of his gas that can affect me.”
“It looks like we have more on our hands than just Scarecrow.”
“We, Robin?” Superman asked.
Robin nodded. “Things are getting worse. Intergang’s been expanding its operations into Gotham City, and now the Joker has resurfaced. If we’re going to make things right, we’ll have to work together.”
“The World’s Finest,” Superman said with a chuckle. “Alright, what do you know about the Joker?”
“I wasn’t around during his first rampage,” Robin said, “but I have read Batman’s files on him. He dresses like a clown and wears the makeup to go with it. He usually kills or threatens people with the intention of creating terror; his victims are usually involved in public service or organized crime, or else associated with Batman. He seems obsessed with bringing out peoples’ darker natures. His weapons of choice are usually explosives or knives, though he has been known to kill with guns. His murders usually have an element of chance or randomness to them, which makes him unpredictable.”
“What about the people he’s got working for him?”
“The Joker attracts stray dogs,” Robin said. “People left behind by society, most mentally unstable. It’s unusual for him to have such a large and well-organized group like he does now.”
“Did you recognize any of them?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I think I might have a lead on one of them,” Superman said. “Livewire. She’s an anti-Superman podcaster. Somehow she’s gotten mixed up with the Joker. And the technology they were using matches the description of some of the stuff stolen from LexCorp two months ago.”
“They’re targeting Lex Luthor?”
“Lex Luthor’s been in prison for over a decade,” Superman said, and it was then that Robin began to appreciate Superman’s age. A few gray hairs had emerged on his head, and Robin really started to understand how long he had been doing this. “They’re probably targeting Otis Grisham. He was Lex Luthor’s henchman back in the day, and he got out of prison for good behavior with the help of Luthor’s lawyers. Since then he’s been running LexCorp.”
“And Luthor just handed over his company?”
“My guess is that Luthor is using Otis as a puppet to manage his corporation while in prison. Still, I don’t think Luthor himself will be a problem; it’s his company that Joker’s going after.”
“Any idea what Joker’s plan is?”
“No. About two months ago he went on a killing spree, going by the alias Mxyzptlk.”
“He’s going for attention,” Robin guessed.
“Are we sure that this is the same guy who killed all those people back in 2008? This could be an imitator.”
“No, he’s the real deal,” Robin said. “Maybe he’s got a new suit and a new crew, but that’s the monster from Batman’s files. His face, his voice, his words — all of it matches who the Joker is.”
“Alright. And they never found out who he really is?”
Robin shook his head.
“Listen, I have to go, but I’ll meet you again later,” Superman said. “And hey, Robin?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m excited to team up.”
Tyler Dickson was eight years old. His childhood has been pleasant, for a time, up until ten weeks ago, when he had been diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer with a forty percent survival rate. He had been admitted to Metropolis Children’s Hospital for an extended stay. The place was grim in spite of its decorations, and he was surrounded by other sick kids. When he had entered, he was the new kid. Now, he was a veteran of the hospital. A few of his predecessors had been discharged after recoveries. Most hadn’t.
There was very little hope at Metropolis Children’s Hospital, but there was one thing to look forward to there. Every week, Superman visited the hospital. The children would clamber onto a school bus, and the Man of Tomorrow would fly them somewhere in the world.
“Today’s tour,” Superman announced as he flew them above the rolling hills of Mongolia, “is of the famous Equestrian Statue of Genghis Khan, noted Mongolian warlord from the 12th and 13th century, who at one time held the largest empire in history, though his record has since been surpassed by the British. The Mongol Empire was noted for its use of archery and mounted combat, and the empire was known both for its religious and cultural tolerance and its violence.”
Superman always shared dorky facts about the monuments he showed them. Tyler loved it; he watched with awe as he saw the massive silver statue of the medieval conqueror come further into view as Superman descended closer to the monument.
Tyler loved it all. The facts, the monuments, all of it. Maybe his life would be cut short, but at least he’d gotten to go places he never would have otherwise.
Afterward, Superman spoke with Tyler and his friends, speaking with each one in turn, paying attention when they spoke. When he got to Tyler, Tyler asked him about Superboy.
“Ah, you’ve heard about him,” Superman said with a dorky grin. “He’s my son.”
“Is he going to be the next Superman?” Tyler asked.
“If he wants to be,” Superman said.
“I’m glad there’s a kid superhero.”
“I am too,” Superman said.
“He’s a good man, I can tell he is,” John said, when he had returned to the Batcave.
“I’d think so,” Alfred said. “Bloody well hope he’d be, with all that power. Good thing you’re cosying up to him, though, given who’s back.”
John opened up Joker’s file on the Bat Computer, reviewing it for the eighteenth time. “I need to know what he’s planning. His new group, they all have special skills; not like anything I’ve seen before.”
Max looked over his shoulder. “What about the Scarecrow of it all? If Joker’s the one who broke him out…”
John sighed. “Okay, let’s review who we know he has. There’s the blonde guy, the one he called Bob. Doesn’t seem to have any unique weapons. And then there’s Freeze, the guy with the liquid nitrogen ice gun. Livewire has the lightning blaster, and Kite Man is the one with the glider. We know that this tech is LexCorp in origin, right?”
“Yeah, all of it matches stuff stolen from LexCorp, at least according to this Daily Planet article,” Max said.
“Sure is convenient that the company once run by Superman’s archnemesis happens to be manufacturing weapons that are so bloody good at killing him,” Alfred noted.
“You think Lex Luthor is involved in this?”
“Back in ‘78, Thomas Wayne did business with Lex Luthor’s father, Lionel. Luthor started lying from the moment he walked in the door and didn’t stop until he had cheated Master Wayne out of twelve million dollars and seventeen blocks of prime real estate in downtown Metropolis. I don’t know all the details, of course, but by the sound of it, Luthor brought up the rent on those properties as high as he could, and then city councilmen started receiving rather generous gifts from Lionel Luthor Incorporated. Pretty soon, city rent control was on its way out, and tenants who couldn’t pay were out on the street. The point is, you can always trust a Luthor to have a scheme.”
“Quite the heist you pulled off there,” Scarecrow said, as the Joker and the rest of the Legion of Doom exited their bus and entered the abandoned factory they were using as a hideout.
“We have what we were after,” Joker said, as Freeze wheeled the Kryptonite cart off the bus.
“LexCorp secrets and more Kryptonite than anyone could ask for,” said Basil.
“Jonathan — may I call you Jonathan?” Joker asked.
“Scarecrow.”
“A man after my own heart,” Joker said. “Scarecrow, it’s time you meet the crew. I know you’ve been introduced to Basil Carlo, code name Clayface. He’s a master of disguise, makeup, and voices.”
“He’s a master of disguise, makeup, and voices,” Basil parroted, in an exact imitation of the Joker’s voice.
The clown chuckled. “You’ve got a gift, Basil. Bob here is my number one man, he can introduce you to the rest of them.”
The Joker took a step back, and Bob began the introductions.
“This here is Victor Fries, code name Mister Freeze, or simply Freeze,” Bob said “He’s a chemist too, specializing in liquid nitrogen.”
Fries nodded. Bob turned to Livewire. “This is Leslie Jones, though we never call her that. Technicians expert and social media personality under the alias Livewire, known for her voice-only podcasts. She’s gonna help us get the message out. Plus she’s handy with the lightning gun.”
“Actually, I’m doing a show tomorrow,” Livewire said. “It’ll be good to get you on.”
“I’d be honored,” Scarecrow said.
“This here is Charles Brown, code name Kite Man. Former hang glider expert, we drafted him from Thorne’s ranks when his son died. Now he’s got a glider suit similar to Batman’s.”
“Kite Man?” Scarecrow asked, considering the name for a moment. “Hell yeah.”
Chuck smiled. “Hell yeah.”
“That’s Charles’ partner, Jacob Feely, code name Firefly. He’s a rocket and pyrotechnics expert.”
“I like when things burn,” Feely said.
“Don’t we all?” Scarecrow countered.
“That’s our ground crew, but we have some people working behind the scenes,” Bob said. “That Tibetan flower of yours? It was cultivated by our very own Pamela Isley, code name Ivy Pepper.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Dr. Crane,” said an attractive, red-haired woman in green gardening clothes, who removed a glove to shake Scarecrow’s hand. “I’m an admirer of your work, and I hope that we can work more closely together in the future.”
“Oh I do hope so,” Crane said. “Perhaps you could show me your garden, and we could… collaborate?”
“Get a room, you two,” Bob said. “And finally, this is Winslow Schlott.”
Winslow Schlott, the man in the sweater, looked to be in his early 60s, with tufts of gray hair sprouting like weeds from an otherwise bald head.
“Schlott creates, modifies, and repairs our toys,” Bob said. “That’s why we call him Toyman.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Schlott,” Scarecrow said.
“Scarecrow, may I speak with you for a moment?” Joker asked. Scarecrow nodded, and Joker told the rest to resume their work. Ivy went to a small, indoor garden in the corner of the factory; Freeze, Firefly, and Toyman went to the table to repair their gear; Kite Man took a seat in the corner and buried himself in a romance novel; Clayface went to wash the makeup off his face; and Bob manned a post near a crack in the boarded-up windows, where he could keep watch of the outside.
“These guys, they need a leader,” the Joker said. “They have me, for now, but my own mortality will be… inconvenient for my plans. But you, Scarecrow, you have the makings of a legend just as powerful as the Joker. You are the very best of my new class of criminal — and thus the only one who can carry it all forward when I’m gone.”
“Me?” Scarecrow asked.
“You’ve played lackey to common criminals far too long, Scarecrow. It’s time to step things up. Get ahead of the curve. Be a supervillain.” The Joker removed a small travel journal from his orange coat’s inside pocket and handed it to Crane. “Read it, and then destroy it. I put everything in there. My real name included.”
Scarecrow took a peek inside. “What’s the final plan? What are we trying to do here?”
“When all is said and done? You will believe a man can fall.”
Scarecrow took the journal and nodded. “I will.”
“Go talk to Ivy,” Joker said. “I’ve got a special project I’d like the two of you to work on, if you can ever stop making flirty eyes at each other.”
The next day, the expo break-in was reported widely across news outlets, along with the news of a tenement fire that had been linked to Intergang.
“They’re getting bolder, since Moxie’s death,” Lois said, when Clark came down for breakfast to see the Daily Planet morning news team discussing the story on the television.
“I wish I could help out with Intergang, but between Scarecrow and this new Legion of Doom thing, there’s not much I can do.”
“Maybe I could help?” Jason said, coming down the stairs.
“Intergang’s too dangerous for you to tackle solo right now,” Clark said.
“What about Robin?” Lois asked. “I hear you two are working together now.”
“I need him on the Legion of Doom case; he has crucial intel on the Joker.”
“Clark, I know your stressed, but remember that there needs to be balance,” Lois said. “It’s what your father said, you can’t just be Superman all the time.”
“I know, I know, but it’s hard to be a mild mannered reporter when there’s so much work to do!”
There was a moment of silence. It was rare that Clark raised his voice like that.
“It’s going to be okay Clark,” Lois said, hugging him. Jason hugged them both.
“What is it Max?” John asked. He was in the Batcave, studying Bruce’s old files on the Joker. Bruce’s writing conveyed a sort of quiet desperation — at times it seemed that understanding the clown had been Bruce’s sole focus during his seven years of retirement.
“It’s Livewire,” Max said. “She’s on, and she has some guests, too.”
“Guests?”
Max hooked her phone up to the Bat Computer, and the podcast played.
“Hey there, shock freaks, and welcome back to a very special episode of Livewire. As always, I am your host, Livewire, and today we have two very special guests: the Joker and the Scarecrow. Coming to you from an undisclosed location, we will be discussing yesterday’s LexCorp heist, my first official appearance, the Joker’s official return to the spotlight, and what the future has in store for the Legion of Doom. So, starting off, let’s catch our viewers up. Who are you?”
“Call me Joker,” the Joker said. “The clown who turned Gotham into a circus back in ‘08.”
“And would you like to tell our listeners how you got your oh-so-famous scars?”
“Lawn mower accident.”
“Of course, of course,” Livewire said. “Also with us is the Scarecrow, bringer of fear toxin, terror of the Narrows. So Scarecrow, what are you all about?”
“Really, I’m a student of fear. Psychiatric work, chemistry, even some judicial work — it’s all about understanding what makes people afraid.”
“I’m excited to hear more about that later. So, Joker, I understand that you went by the moniker of Mister Mxyzptlk until recently.”
“It’s pronounced Mxyzptlk, actually, Livewire,” the Joker said. “It was a useful alias, I suppose. I invented Mxyzptlk for the murder spree, really.”
“And what made you decide to go on a killing spree in the first place?” Livewire asked.
“Superman,” the Joker said. “I wanted to show Metropolis that it’s little Boy Scout can’t protect them. See, people had faith in Batman, in ‘08, until I came along. And they had faith in Superman. But he can’t really save you, no no no. Organized criminals like Moxie Manheim, they run this city. And I may dress like a fool, but if you can’t see that, well — you just might be one.”
“Well put,” Livewire said. “And what about this Robin character who claims to be Batman’s successor? Should people look out for him?”
“Well, points for originality,” Joker said. “But he’s no Batman. They tell me Batman’s dead. I don’t know if I buy that. No, if off-brand Darth Vader could bring him back from the dead, well, sooner or later, he’ll be back for me.”
“And this Magog guy that’s popped in Gotham lately?”
“Now him, he might make for a worthy adversary,” the Joker said. “Every comic needs a straight man, and he just takes himself so seriously with his little goat horns.”
Livewire chuckled. “Now, turning to you, Doctor Crane, tell me…”
John listened to the entire podcast, and then he listened to it again, taking notes on the Bat Computer.
“Gentlemen, I am so pleased that you could join me,” said Bruno Manheim, sitting at the head of a long table in the back of a mob-controlled restaurant in Metropolis. “Our patriarch, my dear father Moxie, is dead, may he rest in peace. But under my leadership, Intergang will have a new day!”
“Like hell it will.”
The assembled crime bosses turned to find the Joker, striding into the room. They turned their guns on the orange-clad clown.
“Relax,” he said, opening his coat pocket to reveal that it was full of explosives. “I’m not here to start a fight. I’m just interested in making a deal.”
“Boys, lower your guns,” Moxie ordered. “What kind of deal?”
“Metropolis organized crime is something of a joke,” the Joker said. “That gives us some common ground, you see. And you’ve got your man in blue, watching from the sky for you to make a move. You’re running scared of Superman.”
“Under my leadership, things will be different,” Bruno asserted.
“Really? And how much kryptonite do you have left? Your men are getting caught left and right, and without kryptonite, they have no chance of getting away.”
“Let me guess,” Bruno said. “You want to sell us some kryptonite. Because we know you’re sitting on the motherload.”
“Not exactly,” the Joker said. “You see, I intend to destroy Superman. All I need is a little bit of help.” the Joker placed a chunk of kryptonite on the table. “Consider this a down payment. If you help me, you’ll get all the kryptonite you could ever want. Not that you’ll even need it once Superman is out of the picture.”
“So what do you want us to do?” Bruno asked.
The Joker smiled. “I’m so glad you asked.”
The emergence break went off on a train passing above the streets of Metropolis,
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing a slight delay,” said the voice of Bob over the intercom. “The train conductor is dead and you are being robbed by the Legion of Doom. Please sit tight and comply; do this, and only some of you will die.”
There was a mass panic. Some ran up and down the train, some screamed, some merely sat still, pale in the face. Not helping was a greenish gas that filled the train cars — fear toxin.
“John, you’ve got to go,” Max said, showing him the footage of what was happening. They were in the study of Wayne Manor while this happened.
“Got it,” John said, rushing to the Batcave. “See if you can get in touch with Batgirl.”
John had an hour at most. He knew the Batpod wouldn’t get him to Metropolis fast enough, but after he had suited up as Robin, he mounted it anyway, zipping through the underground tunnel and emerging within Gotham.
Over the past few months, John had instructed Lucius to get up and running a secret project, an improved version of something that Bruce had used.
Within a few minutes, Blake had arrived in the remote alley where he had stowed the project. Blake hopped in, the lights went on, and within moments the Bird, Robin’s new prototype aircraft, was up and running.
“Max, were you able to reach Batgirl?”
“No! How was I suppose to contact her in the first place?”
“You know, come to think of it, that was an oversight on my part.”
Within minutes, John was on the roof of a Pharmaceuticals building in Metropolis, standing beside Superman.
“Things have escalated,” Superman said. “It’s not just one train, it’s four. Scarecrow’s on one, but we’ve also got Firefly, Livewire, and Freeze. They’re spread out across the city, too.”
“We can’t cover that many,” Robin said.
“We have to try,” Superman said. He thought about calling Jason, but didn’t want his son in harm’s way, not against supervillains. “You take Firefly and Scarecrow, I’ll take Freeze and Livewire.”
Superman crashed through the roof of the train at a high velocity, immediately taking a blast of lightning to the back, knocking him to the ground. Rolling onto his back, he saw Livewire standing over him, in a rubber blue suit with goggles and a mask, lightning gun in her hands.
“Since when did they start giving the supervillains podcasts?” Superman asked, blasting the gun out of her hand with his heat vision. The Man of Steel leapt to his feet, grabbed the weapon, flew a hundred feet up, and chucked the lightning gun miles away.
Robin leapt from the Bird, a rolled-up rope ladder hanging from his belt, descending at a glide to the second train, which he held onto the side of. From his utility belt, he produced a metal disk that he attached to one of the train’s windows, pushing the red button on the surface. The disk produced vibrations that shattered the glass, allowing Robin entrance to the train.
Inside, the train was filled with smoke and fire; were it not for the Robin suit’s gas mask, he would have had a hard time breathing. This was a job for Superman, really, but he had to do his best.
Firefly emerged from the back of the train, pointing his flamethrower at Robin and firing off a jet of fire that he barely avoided. Aiming carefully, Robin threw a birdarang into the barrel of the flamethrower, which jammed it. When Firefly tried to activate the device, it exploded, knocking him back and creating a gaping hole in the train. Nobody besides Firefly looked seriously injured — the pyrotechnician, though, was covered in burns, his suit in tatters.
No time to worry about that. Robin took the rope ladder from his belt and unrolled it, attaching the top to a handle near the hole in the train. The bottom spilled out, reaching the streets below.
“Everybody off!” Robin said, ushering them to the rope ladder. “One at a time, wait your turn, we have to do this safely.”
Robin produced a remote, hit a few buttons, and from the bird fell the bottom end of a second rope ladder, Robin leapt onto it and used the remote to pilot the Bird towards Scarecrow’s train.
Meanwhile, at Blackgate prison in Gotham, an explosion blew open the wall of Jean-Paul Valley’s cell. Jean-Paul, a tall, muscular man covered in burns, turned to see an aging man in a striped sweater waiting outside, standing in front of a box truck.
“Who are you?” Jean-Paul asked.
“A friend,” said the Toyman. “I have a gift for you, Mr. Valley.” Toyman opened the back of the truck, revealing a motorcycle within, along with a spear and horned helmet hanging on the wall, alongside a black, bulletproof combat suit.
“My gear,” Jean-Paul said.
Toyman nodded, and produced a scrap of paper from his pocket, which he handed to Jean-Paul. “At this address, there is an Intergang hideout where they’re keeping a kidnapped teenager. I’m assuming you know what to do?”
Jean-Paul Valley began changing into the battle suit. “They will know vengeance.
Superman burst into Freeze’s train to see that many of the passengers were suffering severe burns from Freeze’s liquid nitrogen gun. Standing at the other end of the train car, Freeze blasted liquid nitrogen over Superman’s feet, temporarily restraining him to the ground.
“September 2001,” Freeze said in a cold monotone. “You were fighting one of your own kind — General Zod. Debris rained down, crushing fourteen civilians — among them Nora Fries. Cryogenicist, doctor of thermal physics — loving wife.”
“Your wife, I’m guessing?” Superman asked.
“As they say, revenge is a dish best served… cold.”
“Freeze, I— I’m sorry. That was Zod, if it weren’t for him—”
“We could have survived in Zod’s world,” Freeze said, blasting Superman in the chest with his nitrogen gun. “The American way was irrelevant to our lives.”
“Freeze, please, let these people go. We can—”
“Your protests are futile, Superman,” Freeze said, coating the Man of Steel in ice. “When you lose the one you care for most, you stop caring for anyone else.”
Superman’s eyes glowed, and he burst through the ice. At supersonic speeds, he crushed the liquid nitrogen gun and flew Freeze to the ground. “You’re wrong, Freeze. You should always care about other people.”
“You do not know true pain, Superman. But you will.”
“Scarecrow!” Robin said, as he climbed into the final train. The air was filled with a greenish gas, and people were coughing and screaming as the fear toxin entered their systems.
“Ah, Robin,” Scarecrow said, emerging from the gas, wearing his burlap mask and brown clothes, with a tall, pointed brown hat on his head. “So good to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you!”
Robin ran forward, pulling Scarecrow’s gloves off. He knew that the fear toxin was administered from the gloves of the costume, and sure enough, there they were. “Why are you unaffected?” Scarecrow asked.
Robin kicked Scarecrow to the ground. “It’s over, Crane.”
“Not yet,” Scarecrow said, drawing his scythe and swiping at Robin with it. Robin used a birdarang to disarm the mad psychiatrist, and pulled off his mask. Jonathan Crane was looking even more disheveled that usual, with gaunt skin, long hair, and a mad smile.
“My mask!” Crane shouted. “Give me back my mask!”
Robin took a dose of the fear toxin antidote and plunged it into Crane’s side, he immediately stopped squirming, instead slumping back against one of the train’s seats. “I want the voices back,” he muttered. “You took away the voices.”
There were police sirens from below. “Goodbye, Crane,” Robin said. “You’re about to get exactly what you deserve.”
Robin turned to leave, but felt Crane’s hand on his wrist. “Wait,” Crane said. “I have a message for Superman. A short one, from the Joker.”
“What is it?” Robin asked.
“How’d it go?” Superman asked, as Robin dropped from the Bird back onto the roof of the pharmaceuticals building, their rendezvous point.
“As well as it could,” Robin said. “I got everyone free of the fire, and there are paramedics on the scene to treat burns and fear toxin.”
Superman listened for a moment, focusing on what the authorities were saying. “Bad news. Everyone except Crane managed to slip away.”
“We minimized casualties,” Robin said. “That’s what’s important. Listen, Superman, Crane told me to pass along a message from Joker, but I can’t make heads or tails of it.”
“What did he say?”
“‘Jason.’ I have no idea why—”
But Superman was gone in a streak of blue, leaving Robin alone on the roof.
Superman raced towards Richard’s house as fast as he could. Joker knew who he was. The trains were a distraction. He was going after Jason.
Superman found the door to Richard’s house open, the furniture wrecked, and Richard on the carpet, with a black eye and — from what he could tell with his X-ray vision — a broken leg. Blood pooled on the carpet.
“Where is Jason?” Clark asked desperately.
“Clark!” Richard said, hugging his son’s father. “Clark, they took him, men with guns, they—”
Clark’s phone went off. It was Jason. Clark answered immediately and put it on speaker phone so that Richard could hear. “Jason! Jason, are you—”
“Not exactly,” said a raspy voice from the other end.
“Joker,” Clark said, his face going pale. Richard sobbed.
“And Bingo was his name-o. Oh Clark, Clarkie Clark, you really should have hired a better babysitter. Then again, who would have expected to find Superman in a domestic drama, coming home after five years to find his girlfriend in the arms of another man, with a son that’s actually his. What a delicious story.
“Where is my son?” Clark asked, his voice low and soft but brimming with anger.
“Good thing that Johnny Boy shares your vulnerability to Kryptonite. I wasn’t sure that Bruno and the boys were up to the task, but—”
“Bruno Mannheim?”
The Joker gave a crackly chuckle from the other end of the line. “You are on a roll, my friend. Oh, but don’t worry, he’s in good hands, aren’t you, Johnny?”
“Pa!” Jason’s voice came in from over the phone. “Pa, please come and— Aaahh!”
Jason’s scream felt like a kryptonite spear to the gut for Clark. “Where is he?!” Clark shouted.
“Well, I can’t tell you that,” Joker said. “But Bruno and the boys might squeal if you ruff them up a bit.” The Joker then told Clark the address of a restaurant in the Suicide Slums where Intergang leaders liked to hang out. “I look forward to seeing you, Clarkie,” the Joker said. “I have the feeling that if you get the time to know me, you’ll find we have a lot in common,”
“You’re deranged,” Superman said, hanging up.
“What did my Pa say?” Jason demanded, a kryptonite necklace hanging from his neck as he hung from a steel beam in an abandoned construction site across town, lit by the fiery light of the setting sun.
The Joker looked Jason dead in the eye. “He’s not coming.”
“You’re lying. You said you looked forward to seeing him.”
“And then he said he wasn’t coming,” Joker said. “He said he had more important things to do.”
“My Pa is coming for me, I know he is!” Jason said.
The Joker laughed. “What a pathetic child! Daddy’s not coming, because Daddy doesn’t care!”
“Who’s father are we talking about here?” Jason asked.
The Joker grabbed hold of a kryptonite knife and plunged it into Jason’s side. The teenager howled in pain. “You don’t know me, little boy! NOBODY KNOWS ME!”
Superman touched down outside of the restaurant, just as Magog, in full body armor and a helmet, pulled up in front on his motorcycle.
“Magog,” Superman said with disdain, having heard of the figure from the news. “I don’t know what you want, but I’m here to—”
“I heard that the Intergang people are holding a kidnapped teenager here. My guess is that you’re following the same lead?”
“I am,” Superman said. “But the teenager isn’t here. These guys just might know where he is.”
Suddenly, there was the roar of an engine, and a second cycle appeared: the Batpod, with Robin atop it. “You!” Magog shouted, drawing his spear.
“Who got you out, Magog?” Robin asked, drawing a birdarang. “And you, Superman, what are you doing with him?”
“These guys took my son. On behalf of the Joker.”
“Is that what Crane’s message was about?” Robin asked.
Superman nodded.
“Let me help you find your child,” Magog said. “You don’t have to like me, but you know that I can help you.”
Superman looked at Robin. “I don’t trust him,” Robin said.
Superman looked back at Magog, his infernal horns, his black combat suit, his sharp spear. And then he grimaced. “Whatever it takes.”
The trio marched to the back room of the restaurant; when they found the door locked, Superman tore it off its hinges.
Bruno Manheim and his lackeys dropped their card game and stood, their guns trained on Superman, Robin, and Magog. Between them they unloaded nearly two dozen rounds, but Superman swatted them all aside. Superman picked Bruno Maheim up by the collar. “Tell me where the boy is.”
“Easy, pal, I’ve got the address right here,” Bruno said, reaching into his coat pocket, but instead of paper, he produced glowing green kryptonite. Superman dropped to the floor in pain. “Don’t like that, do you, pal? Now here’s what’s going to—” Bruno didn’t finish before Magog lodged his spear in the crime boss’s chest, killing him.
“Jean-Paul!” Robin shouted. “No killing! Superman, tell him, no— Superman?”
Superman’s eyes glowed red for a moment, but then he cooled off. “Magog, stand down.”
“You think this scum deserves to live after they took your son like that?!” Magog raged.
“That,” Superman said, taking a deep breath, “is not for me to decide. Now, who can tell me where the Joker is keeping the boy?!”
Slowly but surely, one member of the Intergang inner circle stepped forward. “The construction site,” he said. “For the next LexCorp building.”
Superman shot through the roof, and Magog drew his spear. “No,” Robin said. “Leave them. We’ve got to save the boy.”
“Today’s your lucky day, vermin,” Magog said.
When Superman arrived at the construction site, he found his son bound to a steel beam on the unfinished fourth floor, his arms stretched wide, bleeding from the side, a kryptonite amulet around his neck. Nearby, holding a kryptonite dagger, the Joker stood in his orange and purple Mxyzptlk outfit. “Ah, Superman, so glad you’ve come.”
Superman fired off a blast of heat vision that disarmed Joker of his kryptonite dagger. He then advanced on the clown as his son called out weakly, “Pa?”
“Jason!” Superman called, but found himself unable to advance on the kryptonite. “Please, son, hold on a little bit longer, I have some friends coming, they can help you.”
“Do you know that he begged?” the Joker said. “Do you know that your son, a wannabe superhero, mind you, begged for mercy like a little boy?”
Superman shot forward, punching Joker in the face. Joker fell onto the temporary wooden floor of the building’s unfinished skeleton. Blood poured down his nostril, and the clown laughed. “I knew you had it in you, Clark! I knew you had a little spark of chaos!”
“Shut up!” Clark said, hitting Joker again, and once more. Now, blood streamed from both nostrils, but the Joker kept laughing.
“Keep going, Kent! We both know that that mild-mannered reporter act isn’t the real you! Let it out!”
Superman kept punching. Joker laughed again, spitting up blood. “Come on, Clark, I can take it!”
There was the clinking of metal, followed by a whizzing sound, and suddenly Robin was there. Robin leapt into action, pulling the kryptonite amulet off of Jason’s neck and tossing it away. Then he looked back, where Superman was hitting Joker.
“Superman, stop! You’re killing him!”
“Don’t listen to him, Clarkie. You know that I told Jason you weren’t coming? That he believed you? That he cried?!”
“Superman!” Robin said, grabbing Superman’s arm. “Clark!”
Superman paused for a moment, just as Magog shot up to the fourth floor on his own grapple gun. “Good,” Magog said. “You have him at your mercy. Finish the job, Man of Steel!”
“Clark, this isn’t justice,” Robin said. “Please, don’t kill him.”
“You know you want to,” Joker said, coughing up blood. “It’d be so easy. Look what I did to your son.” Superman looked back at Jason, bleeding from his side, bruises all over his face, barely conscious. “Now think what you could do to me.”
“Give the clown what he wants, Superman!” Magog demanded. “You have the power.”
“You’re the paragon, Clark!” Robin said. “You have to show the world not what they are, but what they can be!”
Clark remembered his father’s words, those Jor-El had spoken to him all those years ago. They can be a great people, Kal-El, they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. For this reason above all, their capacity for good, I have sent them you... my only son.
It was his duty to set an example. To prove that there was always a better way. Always.
Superman took his hands off of the Joker and stood up. “No!” Joker gasped. “You want to kill me! It’s in your very bones!”
“What are you doing?!” Magog shouted at Superman. “You can’t let him live.” Magog thrust his spear at Joker, but Superman caught it midair.
“He’ll stand trial for his crimes. It’s not for me to decide who lives or dies.”
“You are a disappointment, Superman,” Magog said. “I always admired you, but I had hoped you would know that retribution is the way of the world.”
Superman shook his head. “Not my world.”
Two days later, Clark went back to work.
“And Jor-El said there'll be no lasting damage, so I think that, at least physically, Jason will be alright,” Clark told Lois as they took the elevator up.
“Thank goodness,” Lois said. “Still, it makes sense that he wants to take the rest of the week off.”
“Any word on how Richard’s doing?”
“Perry says he’s recovering.”
“Thank goodness,” Clark said. “Let’s hope there’s no more surprises for a good long while.”
Meanwhile, at the police station, the Joker was taken in for questioning with Dan Turpin and Maggie Sawyer.
“Alright, clown, tell me what you know about your involvement in the Mxyzptlk killings,” Turpin said.
The Joker laughed. “You really are idiots, aren’t you?” he said.
“What are you talking about?” Sawyer asked.
“Never take your eyes off a clown,” Joker said, except he didn’t say it in his normal voice, instead producing a flawless imitation of Turpin.
“What…?” Turpin whispered, as the man they thought was the Joker removed his purple wig and white makeup to reveal the face of Basil Carlo.
“You’re not the Joker,” Turpin said.
“No I’m not,” Carlo said, and then gave a little chuckle.
“If you’re not the real Joker, then where is—?”
“You know, I’m actually excited to get back to work,” Clark said as the elevator reached the newsroom floor of the Daily Planet building. “The Daily Planet is always really—”
Suddenly, the doors opened, and standing in the center of the newsroom was the Joker, gun in one hand, trigger device in the other, a gas mask over his face, wearing his orange purple and green suit instead of the newer orange and purple. The other workers at the Planet — Jimmy, Cat, Ron, Steve, Perry — were all on the ground. “Hello, Clark,” the Joker said, pressing down on the trigger.
Suddenly, a greenish gas filled the building. Everyone except for Superman and Joker began laughing uncontrollably. Superman tried blowing the gas away, only for more to seep into the room as he did so. And then, some of it got in Superman’s lungs, and he started giggling, too — though less so than the others. “I had Scarecrow and Poison Ivy cook up a modified version of his original fear toxin. My guess is that they swapped more chemicals than was strictly necessary, but they got the job done alright.
Lois’s face was twisted into a smile as she laughed uncontrollably. Clark smashed a window and flew Lois downward, but he couldn’t tell his directions, and it was more of a tumbling fall than a smooth descent. I just have to save her, Clark thought, but he could only laugh, and she did too.
When they landed on the sidewalk in front of the building, Clark held Lois in his arms, fighting back the gas to ask if she was okay. Lois kept cackling with laughter, even as she shook her head slowly, tears in her eyes. He held her close, held her to his chest on the sidewalk as the distant sounds of sirens grew louder.
All she could do was keep laughing. Until she stopped, a twisted, macabre smile still on her face, even as she ceased to be a person and instead became a clownish corpse.
The police arrived, and so did paramedics. The Joker came out of the building with his hands raised. He was surrounded and handcuffed as paramedics ran into the building, gas masks equipped, but it soon became clear that there was nobody to save. All ninety-three people who had been working in the building were now shriveled corpses, locked in an eternal smile.
People gathered. They shouted and booed and threw things at the Joker as he laughed on. The laughing gas had worked. Now, for the coup de grâs.
The roar of a motorcycle. Magog was here, in full black body armor. Fearlessly he tossed aside police, heading straight for his intended target.
“Finally,” the Joker said, “my grand finale.”
Magog plunged his spear into the Joker’s heart, the clown laughing the whole way.
“No!” Clark shouted, rising into the air, but it was too late. It occurred to him that during the fall, his glasses had fallen off, and his jacket was torn so as to make his suit visible from underneath. It didn’t matter anymore. None of it did.
Magog mounted a police car, raising a bloody spear in triumph. “I am your Man of Tomorrow, Metropolis! I am what this city needs!”
The crowd cheered. A few of the officers began to raise their guns at Magog, but then they lowered them. One of the cops started clapping, and then the rest joined in. Bloodshed — that was what they wanted.
The small town kid who just wanted to make a difference. The immigrant from the stars who would guide a wayward people into the light. Nobody wanted any of it anymore, as the slaughter was met with nothing but adoration. This wasn’t a world that needed a Superman. And without Lois, what was the point?
And so Superman just kept ascending, just kept flying upward until he was above the clouds. He was still giggling from the laughing gas as he left Earth’s atmosphere. He just kept flying.
“Master Blake?” Alfred asked. John was staring out the window of Wayne Manor, at the grounds. How could such a terrible world be so peaceful and so beautiful?
“What is it, Alfred?” John asked. “What’s there left to do? Joker’s dead, Superman’s gone. It’s over.”
“Sir, there’s something I should have told you, something I should have told you months ago.”
“Alfred, what is it?” John shouted. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be short with you, I just—”
“Bruce Wayne is alive.”
