There was something pleasantly tranquil about being in the eye of the hurricane.
Even the Clown Prince of Crime had to admit this as he laid leisurely on his bunk in Arkham Asylum. One of the guards, named Quinn much to the Joker's pleasure, had been kind enough to provide him with a mattress and blanket. Quinn had been reluctant at first, but Joker was nothing if not a reasonable and understanding person. After all, why should Quinn do extra legwork when the Joker could just have one of his goons get a spare blanket from the house of Quinn's mother at 16C Mulberry Avenue? Once Joker had mentioned that, though, Quinn had been more than willing to pick it up himself.
So now, Joker was curled up comfortably on his bed, smiling and allowing himself to enjoy the symphony of gunfire and cries of pain outside his cell. Luckily his friends had been smart enough to disable that stupid alarm else it might disturb his meditation. If these were to be some of the Joker's last moments in this box for a considerable time, he intended to spend them relaxing. Simply floating through the eye of the hurricane and basking in the storm around him. The thunderous rumble of gunfire, muzzle flashes flickering like lightning, shouts of agony and surprise roaring as loud as the raging waves of the ocean. And then... silence. Storm was over, it seemed. The Joker opened his eyes then, listening intently for signs of the victorious side. There was shuffling towards his cell door... more silence... more shuffling... and then a sliding sound?
Joker looked as a lunch tray was slid through the slit in his cell door. However, instead of the usual slush that was usually occupied it, there was a single metallic cylinder. A detonator. Joker's hand slapped over his mouth as his eyes widened, trying to hold back a gasp of delight. Incidentally, the tattoo on his hand gave the clown an equally childish look of glee. He swung his legs onto the floor and sauntered his way over to the tray, plucking up the detonator and whirling around to take one more look at his home away from home before he pressed the red button.
As per usual with red buttons, the effect was rather satisfying. Though Joker was far too engrossed in his farewell to look behind him, he did smile at the muffled boom that sounded outside his door, and the smile only widened when he heard the thud of his door falling over. He turned around stepping out into the hall, he looked at the surviving members of his costumed crime force. A panda, a bunny, a duck, and a- !
"Too soon, man." the Joker frowned towards the guy in a gorilla costume before he turned his attention back to the majority of the team "Now. Where's Harley?"
"Files said they kept her in the cell right down the hall, sir." the bunny explained.
"Great, great." Joker waved a hand dismissively as he made his way over to Quinn's corpse, fishing around until he finally found the man's keycard. He walked briskly down the hall, men keeping a tight perimeter around him as he finally stood in front of Harley Quinn's cell. Boy oh boy, would she be happy to see him. Reaching down, he dipped his fingers into a pool of nearby blood and used it to trace a crude rose design onto his jumpsuit before he finally used the keycard and swung open the door. Immediately, he spread his arms to accept the hug that no doubt awaited him.
"Honey, I'm h-" Joker's theatrical greeting was cut off as soon as he realized he was speaking to an empty cell. Well, almost empty. His outstretched arms dropped simultaneously with his jaw. Eyes glued to the pink and blue spray-paint that lined the back wall:
Jokes on
You.
-Waller.
