Carmine Falcone had long been publically known as being associated with Gotham's crime world. He'd been in prison 5 times over the last forty years; however in more recent times there had been no concrete evidence connecting him to what was once his family gang, leading him to be placed towards the bottom of the list of suspects on watch. Little did the crime squad detectives know, he was still very much involved in the family business, secretly operating the Falcone gang from the shadows along with many other of the city's family leaders. The late Tommy Forelli included.
The manor house where he lived was a red brick terrace property a few miles south of the Wayne's. Tall hedges around the perimeter kept the occupant's privacy, while an electric fence hidden behind further deterred any would-be trespassers, with countless security guards, cameras and other measures placed around the property.
Falcone himself was a large man in his early sixties, with very short grey hair, his wrinkled face almost the same colour as beetroot, and was nearly always dressed in a cream coloured three piece suit. He made his way down the steps from the front of his house, across the courtyard to his white limousine as his phone kept in his breast pocket began to ring. He grabbed it out as he took a seat in the back of the car, answering it and holding it to his ear as one of his guards shut the car door.
"Yes?" he coughed into the phone with his gravelly Italian accented voice.
"Is this mister Carmine Falcone?" asked the voice on the other end. It was high and cold, sing song like.
"Who's asking?" Falcone leaned back into the seat to fit the seat belt in place as he motioned for the limo's driver to take off.
"I would ask you to drop the tough guy act if you didn't mind," the voiced replied, "For now you can call me the Joker."
Falcone frowned, his eyes looking through the window to his security guards standing outside. "Joker? Say something funny."
"Oh how I wish I had the time, but there's important issues to attend to," the Joker shrieked, "Firstly I'd like to thank you for all the work you've done over the forty decades up to now, seizing hold of this city and flooding it with all the drugs, guns and prostitution you could ship in a container." Falcone remained quiet, not sure whether to hang or continue listening. "Secondly," the Joker continued, "I have a little poem to read, or maybe it's more of a nursery rhyme. Not my best, far from it, but I hardly think that matters considering your current situation."
Falcone sat forward as the security gates at the front of his property opened and the limo began to drive through, "May I asked what the point of this-"
"Tick tock, goes the clock, your final ride is a waiting," whispered the Joker, "Tick tock, goes the clock, it blows when you pass the gat-"
The limousine exploded. The bomb tore through the vehicle and its armour plating like it were cardboard, debris flying into the street, the courtyard and neighbouring properties. Falcone and the driver were obliterated; the hedge was set on fire, the windows on the manor shattered. The Falcone security guards, thrown back by the blast, pulled themselves to their feet in shock as the stared at the charred corpse of what was once their boss, hundreds of playing cards raining down over the scene.
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One of the Falcone Family's most well-known criminal connections was Salvatore Maroni, a smug looking man with olive skin and dark yuppie styled hair who had come into prominence with the law since the early nineties. Barely a minute after and completely oblivious to the death of Carmine Falcone, he exited the city court house in midtown Gotham with his legal adviser and bodyguard at his side. Walking to the sidewalk he hailed a taxi just as a street mime stepped in front of him. His bodyguard went to move the mime along but Maroni held him back, interested to see what the entertainer did.
The old and well known routines were played out, from the invisible rope to being trapped inside a box. The three men and members of the public stopped to watch, not noticing the two other mimes creeping down the court house steps behind them. When they did it was too late; the mimes grabbed the bodyguard and the legal advisor in headlocks, knifes slid out from their sleeves into their hands as they began plunging it repeatedly into the two men's chests.
As Salvatore turned to see the attack, the first mime struck, jabbing a needle and injecting its contents into his neck. The world began to fade to black for Salvatore as he felt his facial muscles clenching. He dropped to the ground, staring up at his attacker, the last image he ever saw was the Joker's face, grinning down at him as he wiped the mime makeup from his face.
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Knowledge of the two attacks reached Wayne Manor by TV news report, witnessed by Alfred. The glass of juice he was holding slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor as he saw the report prior to his favourite midday program. Turning away from the TV he moved as fast as he could to find Bruce.
"Have you seen the news?" he cried out as he entered the drawing room, seeing Bruce standing in front of the green leather couch, deep in thought.
"Not just yet, is it more important that how you came to get this couch?" Bruce responded.
Alfred came to an abrupt stop and stared, exasperated between Bruce and the chair. "What on earth do you mean?"
"Normally I'm quick, but sometimes the little, insignificant things slip me by," said Bruce as he began to pace backwards and forwards. "Although rather alarmingly it's taken me this long to realise that this item of furniture arrived in my family's house during my absence, a rather expensive item of furniture I might add, and I'm wondering how on earth it was paid-"
"Are you bloody serious?" roared Alfred, cutting Bruce off, "There has just been two likely terror attacks in Gotham this morning, and you're lecturing me about furniture like some pretentious..."
"Okay, yes!" Bruce spun on his heel and swooped down to the television by the fireplace. Switching it on, he scanned through the channels before coming across the report on the attacks. He sat back on the carpet floor with his hands held to his chin, his eyes flicking over the information playing across the screen. "I should perhaps contact Gordon," he said as he stood and left the room, Alfred following.
"You're not going to visit him at this hour are you?" Alfred asked as the entered the kitchen and approached the Batcave's secret entrance.
"Tonight I will, for now I'll give him a call," said Bruce as they entered the service lift and began the journey to the underground lair, "I should build stairs in case there's an emergency, or maybe something like a fireman pole if I'm in a rush."
"Like now?" Alfred grumbled, "Just don't slip and break you neck."
The doors opened and Bruce marched down the walkway to the Perspex enclosed work area. Echoing off the stone walls, the chirping of hundreds of bats in the darkness above became muffled as they entered the work room. Bruce took a seat at the desk and the six monitors of the computer, arranged in a grid setup, sprung to life. He reached for the closest in the centre and pressed its touchscreen surface, flinging open applications into a different screen with the swipe of a finger. Flicking through menus to a contact list, he typed G on the keyboard on the desk, selecting "GORDON, Lt. Jim" and hitting dial.
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Pandemonium had erupted all over Gotham's police stations after the attacks. Jim Gordon had started his shift two hours earlier than intended to see over the chaos in the 23rd Precinct, and he'd barely had time to catch his breath.
His partner, Sarah, pushed through the crowded office to reach him, pulling him close to whisper in his ear. "There's someone on the phone for you from the mayor's office," she said, "I've put them through to your office."
"Ah...right," Gordon looked between the files he was holding and the bustling room before handing them to Sarah and making his way through to his office. Shutting the door behind him he reached over his desk to the phone. "Jim Gordon speaking," he spoke as he squeezed around his desk to open the Venetian blinds, letting in some sunlight.
"Lieutenant Gordon," said the deep, gruff voice on the end of the line.
Gordon frowned, trying to recognise who it belonged to before realising it was the Batman. "Oh it's you!" he cried and he moved back around his desk to check his door, "I guess you've seen the news."
"Two of the top suspects in relation to years of gang violence have been brutally murdered in broad daylight," Batman's deep voice rumbled.
"Are you going to help us on this then?" Gordon asked, taking a seat.
"As much as I possibly can. Firstly I need further access to the GCPD records."
Gordon sat back, deep in thought while chewing on his tongue. "I'm sorry, I don't think I can do that. I want to, I feel," he paused, "that you can be trusted, but I'm the only one here in Gotham, let alone in the police, who's on your side. It's just you and me and I can't go back and do that sort of thing, handing out that sort of info."
"This attack is perhaps gang related," said Batman, "however it may be the same people who were behind the Forelli restaurant attack a few weeks ago. If that's the case that's the three biggest crime organisations in the city attacked and their leaders killed. There is no other criminal organisation in Gotham to my knowledge that could pull off these attacks."
"So what does that mean? There's some new crime gang in Gotham clearing the way for themselves?" asked Gordon.
"Either that, or someone from within one of the gangs themselves," Batman growled, "The information I require may be in the police's possession. If the attacks were from inside the gangs, it's likely they may be reported in your records."
"The best I can do is give you the names of all known suspects," Gordon began to type away on his computer, delving into the police records, "I'll remove the names of those killed if you-"
"No time," said Batman, "I'll be on the roof of the GCPD building at 21:30 hours. Make sure you have those names, and don't even think of doing anything stupid."
"Something stupid?" Gordon spluttered, "What do you mean by-" Batman hung up just as Sarah entered the office.
"What was that?" she asked, placing a mug of coffee on a coaster on the desk.
"Don't worry, it's fine. I need any files or records we have, lists of suspects in relation to the Falcone, Maroni and Forelli families, can you get that?" Gordon placed the phone down as Sarah nodded and left the office.
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"What now, Mister Wayne?" ask Alfred as Bruce shut down the call to Jim.
"Time to call the other Gordon," he replied, dialling the phone number.
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Barbara sat in the middle row, off to the right hand side of the university lecture hall. The teacher's voice echoed around the room and they scribbled things away on the board and class members took notes. Her phone, sitting at the top of the desk, buzzed at receiving a text. She discreetly pulled it closer and glanced over the message:
"calling in 30-60 sec. be ready. -B"
She frowned, looking around the hall before standing and making her way to the back and out to the corridor. Shutting the door carefully behind her, she tightened her grasp as she looked over the phone. Sure enough, a few seconds later it began to ring. The ID read as unknown.
Barbara answered, "Hello, may I ask who's calling?"
"It's Batman," said the voice, her eye's widened at the sound of it. "I know you're Batgirl, Miss Gordon, I'm sorry it had to come out like this, but there has been an emergency."
She took a deep breath and straightened herself up, "what's happened?"
"This morning, crime lord's Salvatore Maroni and Carmine Falcone were murdered. I've worked a little with your father, providing him evidence on a restaurant explosion a few weeks ago," Batman told her, "however, he's been unable to provide me information. Can you help me get it?"
"Um, how do I, how do you want me to do that?" she uttered.
"Do you ever visit your father's office? After finishing university for the day?" asked Batman.
"Sometimes I do," Barbara whispered as another teacher walked past her in the corridor, "I'll stay in his office until he's done. I think maybe there are files in there."
"Maybe not. However, he is providing me with just the names of suspects related to this case tonight, but I need more," spoke Batman, "he'll need to get these files, kept as hard copies, in his office to get those names for me. If possible, send the information through to the number I messaged you on. This number will be encrypted, and will erase all evidence of this conversation once it's complete."
"I'll see if I can, I'll let you know I guess," Barbara smiled a little, leaning back against the wall.
"Good luck," said Batman as he hung up. Barbara lowered the phone, realising how tense her body was and how her heart was racing. She slid down, sinking to a crouch on the ground and holding her hands to her mouth, breathing deeply.
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It was 6:27 that night when Barbara made her way through the 23rd precinct, escorted by an officer from the front desk. The office had quietened considerably as the day had gone on, and Jim was seen talking to a senior commander near his office. He saw Barbara as she waved to him, gesturing to her to wait a moment. Her escorting officer left as she stood by the door, the office buzzing quietly with people talking at their desks or typing on their computers.
A few minutes later, Jim made his way over to see her. "Hey there," he said in greeting as she embraced him in a hug, "How are you?"
She let go, "I'm okay. Obviously saw the news. How are you?" Barbara asked.
"I'm fine, still a bit busy. I need to go get some things, do you wanna go wait in my office?" he stepped away, heading towards the door.
"Yeah, sure," she smiled.
"I'll be about ten minutes," Gordon called back as he left. Barbara turned and walked across the room into his office, removing her phone as she went. She turned the light on and shut the door, moving around the desk to close the open window and blinds. Heart beginning to race, she looked around and sure enough, three cardboard archive boxes were stacked behind the desk. Casting her eye out the windows to the busy office, she reached down and removed the lid off the first box, filled with files arranged alphabetically with dividers.
Her dad said he'd be ten minutes. Well, about ten minutes. What did that mean, "about ten minutes?" That wasn't an accurate measurement of time, he could be ten minutes, yes, but he could also only be thirty seconds, or thirty minutes? Dare she start rummaging through police files? Yes, she did, she had to. She opened up her phone's camera, making sure to switch the flash off, before bending down to take a closer look at the files.
Batman had given her four names to look out for; Falcone, Maroni, Forelli and Goterelli. The box was labelled "K-Z", so with any luck Maroni should be in here. Fortunately it was. She pulled it out carefully and placed it on the desk, her eyes glancing out, outside the office, her dad nowhere in sight. Looking back to the file, her heart sank. There were at least forty pages in this file, and each one would have to be photographed, one by one. Not taking any chances skipping any, or trying to fit two pages in one photo, which would take time to take out and set up. She'd be damned if the information Batman needed was on the one page without a clear picture. What was the biggest concern was sending these images via text; her phone only allowed one attachment per message.
Barbara began flicking through the pages, snapping away on the camera as she did. She looked up every few seconds to make sure the coast was still clear, and thankfully everyone out in the office was too preoccupied to look her way. The solution to sending the images came to her during this time too; her main task now was getting the info, sending it could be done later. She didn't at all fancy the thought of what her monthly usage bill would come to.
Within two minutes, the file was done. She shut it up and placed it back, placing the top archive box on the ground and opening the second, "A-J". Falcone's file was only thirty three pages long with considerable less information but a higher number of suspects and individuals involved in the criminal enterprises. Something that caught her eye was a mark on Carmine Falcone's file; "The Masters OMG. See file." She made a mental note of this and jumped to Forelli's file, noticing a lack of any marked with Goterelli. The Forelli file had even less information than Falcone's, mercifully, but it was in here she spotted Tommy Goterelli, listed as the Forelli's leader, and as being deceased.
She shut the second box and peaked inside the third, seeing nothing but daunting piles of unorganised paper. Forget that, she had what she came for, what Batman had told her to get, but she remembered The Masters. She shut the second and third boxes and lifted the first one back up and opened it, finding the file marked "Masters, The, OMG" after Maroni's. She flicked through it, realising OMG stood for Outlaw Motorcycle gang, and began photographing these pages too. She looked up and went into panic mode; Jim was coming back. She threw the phone down onto the desk and put the pieces of paper back in place, slipping the file back and closing the box. She positioned it how she remembered it looked when she came in, before picking up her phone and taking a seat on the desk, back to the door.
Five seconds later the door opened and her dad entered. "Hey Barb," he said as she turned to look back at him, trying her best to look innocent. "I'm sorry, you won't be able to come home with me, I've got to hang around 'til a bit later."
"Ah, alright then," she stood and picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she went around the desk towards him, "when'll you be home?"
"I have a meeting, just a quick one, around nine thirty, I'll be home as soon as that's done," he smiled and kissed her on the cheek, "I'll see you later love."
As Barbara left the precinct she began sending a text to Batman. "Got the info in pics, will take a while to send. Will start later," it read. She began the ten minute walk to her dad's apartment, hands buried deep in her pockets away from the cold when she got the reply; "Will meet you at yours in 30."
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Barbara got to the apartment by ten to seven, dropping off her bag in the spare room, her own, turning on the heat and putting her phone on charge. She flicked through the one hundred or so new additions to her photo gallery, checking to make sure every one was clear and readable. At least now she wouldn't have to worry about sending them if Batman was coming. If he was going to go through her phone to get them, she'd just have to make sure there was nothing on there that could cause embarrassment. She's better just check to make sure.
Something else crossed her mind as the clock struck seven and she paced around the kitchen waiting for her tea to brew; how did Batman know who she was? It was a little troubling, if she was honest. Her mask, unlike his, had both her eyes and lower face exposed, so that coupled with the possibility that some of her hair had flown loose could have given some things away. But for Batman to know her exact name, her phone number, where her dad worked, and even the stab in the dark question about whether she visited his workplace...
Five minutes later there was a knock at the window. Putting her tea down she jogged around the counter, out of the kitchen, past the table to the glass sliding balcony door to be greeted by Batman. "Hi," she said a little nervously as he stepped from the cold black outside into the warm apartment.
"Good evening, Miss Gordon," Batman's low voice rumbled. He walked forward to the lounge area, pulling his long black cape around him. Barbara was struck by how bizarre this image was; this heavily armoured, black clad, almost demonically dressed man standing by the coffee table and sofa. Perhaps she should offer him some tea. "Did you take the photos of the files using the phone?" he asked, turning back to look at her with the blank, glowing white eyes from the cowl.
"I did," Barbara made her way back around to the counter to grab the phone, "I've gone through them all, checking to make sure they're alright. They are."
"Good," Batman nodded, "do you have a computer? I need one to transfer the files."
"Sure thing," she strode to her room and grabbed her laptop from under her bed, walking out to see Batman looking at a painting hanging over the dining table. She placed the computer down on the counter and connected her phone, her fingers drumming on the wood top surface as it loaded. Batman placed a black, unmarked, rectangular shaped USB storage drive in the port on the side, and the file transfer from the phone to the drive was underway. Barbara stood back with her arms folded, "You know who I am then," she said quietly.
"Yes," Batman replied flatly. She looked over him, frowning. "It bothers you," he continued, "I know it would be more than a bit of bother were anyone to find out who I am."
"How did you find out?" Barbara stepped forward.
"The night we first met, I later visited your father at your house in the suburbs. I saw you arrive home barely a minute after I left. You stopped out the front and pulled the suit from your bag," he looked straight at her, "I think it's quite a coincidence that this had happened."
"Why were you there?"
"I feel I can trust your father, he's one of a few high ranking police officers in Gotham who's not on someone else's payroll," the computer chimed when it finished the transfer. Batman turned back and shut the folder window down, pulling the drive out from the computer and placing it away in a compartment on his belt, "plus I have my own reasons for going to him."
"What about my phone number?"
"Once I knew who you were, I was able to look up records online this morning to find your number," Batman walked around to the kitchen.
"How did you know that I would be able to visit dad's workplace?"
"A stab in the dark, and a lucky one at that," said Batman as he paced around.
"Can I know who you really are?"
"No," he stopped in his tracks, looking down at her.
"Okay," Barbara nodded and bit her lip, taking a few slow steps back to sit against the table, "would you like a tea or coffee?"
"Not tonight," Barbara looked back up, his mask unreadable, though his tone was lighter.
"If not tonight, a night soon then?" she asked as he walked back outside to the balcony.
He stepped up onto the railing, "Perhaps we can. Thank you for the files," Batman said as he leapt off and swooped away.
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Nine thirty, Batman stepped out from the shadow on the GCPD rooftop to see Gordon standing near the roof access door. "Evening," he said. Gordon handed over a Manila envelope, opening it up as he did. Batman removed the contents, looking over the papers; a list of names, notes on each one, all hand written. "Good, thanks for this," he turned to leave.
"Wait," Gordon called out, "what do you think this is?"
"I can't go off guesses and uncertain information, but there are things I know," Batman said as he pulled his billowing cape closer, "Earlier this night I found out that a man dressed in a hat and coat over his suit entered the Goterelli restaurant before beginning to shoot people. My source not only recognised him, but his description fit that given by witnesses of the Maroni attack this morning. He was tall, slim, with a thin face and pointed features, wearing clown like makeup."
"How did you find out about this? Gordon spluttered, "And today's witness statements?"
Batman walked away, "I have my methods," he said as he thought back to an hour ago; leaning over the edge of a tall building, dangling to former Goterelli enforcer by the ankles and threatening to drop him unless he talked. "Really lieutenant, you should be starting to expect this."
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Later on in the Batcave, Bruce sat back in his chair by the computer, looking through Gordon's notes and Barbara's photographs. Alfred made his way into the work area, tightening the cord on his dressing gown. "Fruits of today's labours?" he asked.
Bruce nodded, clicking back through the images on his computer, "Barbara succeeded in getting the information her father would give. Everything from his notes are in her photos, and more." He closed the windows down and put it to sleep, placing the notes away in a drawer before standing up, "Hopefully I can soon gain his trust for future investigations."
"Instead of betraying it now by using his own daughter as your informant," Alfred sighed.
"It's rather strange how this has all worked out," said Bruce as he shut the lights off and left the work area, "With Barbara Gordon deciding to emulate, no...Well, follow in my footsteps. Her mother was a police officer too, over twenty years ago in Chicago. Perhaps Barbara's motivations stem from that."
"What, like she wants to enforce the law? Makes sense I suppose," Alfred shrugged as they walked back to the elevator, "If that's the case, why didn't she just become a police woman?"
"The time, the training required; compared to that, pulling on a mask and some armour to dispense this 'justice' is almost instantaneous. No waiting at all," Bruce came to a stop, looking over the subterranean lake.
"That's why you do this then?" Alfred smiled, "Instant Justice?"
"My god, that sounds bad," Bruce chuckled as he continued on his way to the elevator. "But speaking of armour, there's some things I need to build for her to keep her safer than she is currently."
"Trusting her with dangerous missions, now you're building her armour and gadgets. Will she be making a visit to the cave sometime soon?" asked Alfred.
"In time, we'll see," replied Bruce, as they stepped into the elevator and made their way up to the surface.
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The next night, Barbara stood on the roof of her father's apartment building, clad in her full Batgirl outfit. She rubbed her gloved hands together and hopped from foot to foot, trying to keep warm in the cold air. Behind her she heard the rustle of fabric in the wind, turning to see Batman. "Hi," she said with a shiver, "did those photos work out?"
"They did," his reply was slightly curt, "they allowed me to track down several members of those gangs, but unfortunately not the one responsible for the murders."
"But what's the full story here?" Barbara asked, "I mean, I've seen the news. Some high ranking drug lords were killed-"
"They were leaders of the three biggest criminal enterprises in Gotham," Batman walked to the building's edge, looking out over the cityscape, "Maroni, Falcone, Goterelli. Three separate crime families, alternating between working together and against each other. The person behind the murders used to work for all three gangs, however he is almost completely unknown. The police had no record of him, only a select few in the gang saw and worked with him, and even less knew his name."
"And how do you know this?"
"In the files you sent there was a photograph, in the background I spotted a man who looked similar to the descriptions given by witnesses to the attacks. Minus this clown makeup, which he's taken to wearing recently," Batman informed.
Barbara put her hands to her mouth, thinking back to when she was rifling through and photographing the police files, "I think I remember that photo," she whispered.
Batman nodded in agreement, "He wasn't identified, yet the intended occupants of the photograph were. I hunted the ones still alive down, and while they recognised him, they didn't know his name. They knew about him though; they described him as a sadist, perverse and inventive in his acts of violence."
"So now what? We get him?"
"I have nothing else on him besides this," Batman walked away into the shadows, returning with a metal case, "Yet you raise an important issue;" he said "We. You said 'we get him'."
Barbara's face flushed red, "I'm sorry, I jumped ahead a bit."
"If you and I are going to work together, to take this man down, and to stop the crime in this city," Batman opened the case, "you're going to need a lot more than spandex to protect you." Inside the case was an armoured chest plate similar to his own, along with two wrist guard gauntlets.
Barbara stood speechless before murmuring an excited "thank you" as she clipped the armour into place on her body. "This is a pretty good fit," she said as she twisted her upper body around, testing its manoeuvrability.
"If you continue to be any good, we can tail-" Batman stopped talking suddenly, pushing a button on his gauntlet, "What is it?" he said, a hint of urgency in his voice. Barbara watched intently, trying not to feel stung by Batman's comment. He spun on his heel and stepped right in front of her, "Get to your father's apartment, we need a TV," the urgency was now evident as he pushed passed and threw open the roof access door, running down the stairs.
"What's happening?" She cried out, as she ran after him, reaching for her keys. They reached the apartment door and she stepped in front to unlock it, Batman again pushing through like a boisterous dog. He descended on the television, fumbling with the controls to a channel before coming across the right one. He stared at the screen, sitting back on the coffee table. Barbara stepped around him to see, her jaw going slack at the sight.
"-Your sets," said a cold, high voice coming from off screen, "this program may not be listed in your TV guides for this station, but I can assure you that this is tonight's schedule. Well," the voice laughed, "it is now."
"Every station, Alfred?" Batman growled, evidentially talking to someone on a phone built into his helmet. He leaned forward and began pressing the button on the front of the TV, going through the stations. Each and every one showed the same image, to varying degrees of quality.
On the screen, a tall, thin man stepped forward, partially obscured by shadow. "I'm the Joker," he spoke in the cold voice, "you may remember me from crimes such as the explosion at Goterelli's restaurant, the murders of Sal Maroni and Carmine Falcone, along with countless other criminal acts it would take hours to list." He stepped into the light; as ever, chalk white skin, green hair, red lips, eyes that burned with hate. He grinned and laughed.
The Joker pranced away into the background of the shot as the room, which looked like a theatre, lit up. "They say 'all the world's a stage', well for now Gotham is all mine!" he shouted back as he posed and glared down the lens, "Tonight I'm going to be conducting a little social experiment; just how will emergency services take to react when the city becomes flooded with tonnes of toxic gas?"
A lump had risen in Barbara's throat and her heart was racing. She swallowed loudly, "Is this really happening?" her voice trembled.
"Ah ah! Don't touch that remote, not that changing channels will do you much good! I'm coming at you live from five of the cities stations!" the Joker cackled as he continued dancing around the space, making his way back to the foreground. "And knowing how the press likes to jump on a good story, I'm almost certain that every screen in Gotham shall be graced with broadcasting my handsome mug."
"Batman, what do we do?" asked Barbara. She looked over him as he stood up from the coffee table, turning to look her right into her eyes as sirens sounded on the streets below.