Disclaimer: This is the disclaimer; I own nothing that outwardly, and obviously, belongs to DC Comics. I own Ace, any other Original Characters that appear in this story, and the individual storylines and arcs that appear. Some, granted, are directly ripped from pre-existing storylines and arcs, but absolutely none will I take, word for word, action for action. There. That's your legal mumbo jumbo. Support the official release.

"With my face, against the floor, I can't see who knocked me out of the way; and I don't want... to get back up; but I have to, so it might as well be today. Nothing appeals to me, no one feels like me; I'm too busy being calm, to disappear. I'm in no shape... to be alone... contrary to the shit that you might hear. So walk with me... walk with me... don't let this symbolism kill your heart... walk with me... walk with me, just like we should've done from the start... walk with me... walk with me... Don't let this fucking world tear you apart..."

-Slipknot, XIX

Yeah, this is where he began. I wish it wasn't, but... maybe it was for the best, in the end.


Our tale is one of redemption, a rise, and many falls. That's not just a melodramatic way to do all of this; that's just a perfect synopsis of his life.

Ace wasn't exactly a 'nice' guy. Hell, he was a pretty shitty guy at times, but dammit, he tried to do so much good that he could make you forget all his faults.

Ace wasn't a good guy either. I mean... you'll hear what he went through. He could've easily been a bad guy, but... JJ didn't believe in black and white. He believed that everyone existed in grey. Maybe that's just cause he liked dogs. Maybe that's just cause he had shitty aim and wanted an excuse for it. Who knows.

But, truly, at the heart of it all; Ace was just a man who wanted redemption. He went down a lot of dark paths in his life in his search for it, but he never lost sight of it. Never. He always thought; as long as in the end, he did the right thing, did right by the world, that would make up for all of the bad things he did. And that philosophy was just fine with him.


So this is the beginning. There's not much to tell. Once, upon a time, Ace knew one thing very well: the Joker and Harley Quinn had raised him.

This, of course, would raise a red flag to anyone half paying attention. How, pray tell, do two dysfunctional psychopaths raise a toddler to teenage years? It's unlikely at best.

But, for the interest of acknowledging that story, let's recap it. Once upon a time, the family of Ace were at a bank, getting a withdrawal to go get dinner. The parents were poor, and struggling to keep money. That night, however, fate had something very different planned. The Joker, Harley, and their men assaulted the bank, killing all of the patrons and stealing a large sum of cash. However, Ace had survived the Joker's toxin, and was kidnapped by the psychopaths, taken on the run with them and raised as their own.

...Unlikely. At best.

Ace's true age was never actually known. As far as he could tell, his journey started at the age of fifteen, sixteen, an assumption backed up by people who knew him at the time, including his former employers. Realistically, it wouldn't make any logical sense for the Joker and Harley to have been around for a decade before the Jester first appeared, nevertheless fifteen/sixteen years.

And ask anyone... the Jester made his appearance at the very beginning. In fact, the Joker had only been around for a couple of years before Ace first showed up. So, that begs the question: where did Ace come from?

Well, that we may never know. In fact, he never knew, never learned, despite numerous attempts to find his family, to piece together his past life before the Clowns got their hands on him. He was never successful. If you were to ask Ace though, and many people did, it didn't matter. It was a personal side-job at best to piece his life together, and a hobby at the least. Ace didn't need to know. Granted, his base personality before life got to him, his quirks, his very physical appearance all were the results of his parentage and past life- but they didn't make him who he was. In his own words, the Clowns 'factory defaulted' him before turning him loose in their own plans, and the people he met afterwards, the things he did, made JJ into the Ace of Spades.

This story is his. And as such: it'll be told the way he would want it to be.


Ace leaned back in his bed, tapping at the appropriated iPhone, cheap earbuds hanging from his ears. The room wasn't much; not only was he now one for decorating at the best of times, but the amount of times they moved made it impossible to get attached to something.

And the Clowns- the Joker and Harley Quinn- certainly weren't going to make it much.

Ace had shaggy blonde hair, hanging around his head, and blue eyes, supposedly striking against pale-ish skin.

The heavy door- it was a warehouse after all- swung open, and a sickly looking man in multicolored, tattered, dirty clothes stepped in. "Boss wants to see ya."

Nonchalantly, Ace dropped his phone and rose to his feet, exiting the small, stone room. He followed the thug through the base, winding their way around stone-cinder corners and finally up a flight of stairs, leading to the steel door that held what was once perhaps a foreman's office. Ace stepped through the heavy sealed door alone, the thug stopping behind him as he closed it.

At first glance, the room seemed like an artist's studio. There were dozens of papers littering everything, from his desk to the floor, ranging from blueprints, sketches of all different varieties, and even what looked like notes.

Ace stepped past all the papers, towards the huge desk dominating the other half of the room, covered in an enormous blueprint, a chemistry set, and dozens of odd gag toys. Gadgets, to be exact.

"Hey, bucko!" The Joker called out, not turning around. The tall, skinny man was dressed in purple, pinstripe slacks, a green vest, and a pale green dress shirt, his purple jacket thrown carelessly to the side, his green hair sticking out wildly around his head.

"Mr. J." Ace greeted, standing up straight, arms crossed behind him.

"Take a seat, kiddo, I've got somethin' for ya!" He trailed off into giggles as the boy sat in the small doctor's office chair away from his own. The Joker spun around towards him, magnifying goggles planted on his face, and I momentarily had a hard time reconciling that man with the monster that I'd heard he was.

"Yeah?" Ace asked, not moving.

The Joker's smile faded into an almost deadpan look. "It's like talkin' to a wall. Ah, humbug. I got ya a birthday present, kiddo!"

The teen frowned. "...Today's my birthday?"

He grunted. "May as well be," He grinned again and gestured dramatically, as if he was envisioning something. "July 7th- the birth of... ah... something-something-something! Writing that one down!" He giggled and scrawled on the blueprint he was bent over.

"So your training begins now, kiddo, and let me tell ya- it's a doozy!"

Ace didn't answer, staring at the gang patriarch, silently

He grinned even wider and removed his goggles. "Tongue twisted? Shellshocked? Cat got your tongue? Inwardly SCREAMING in delight?"

"I'm not sure... sir."

The Joker gasped dramatically. "The brat's got manners!"

Ace reverted to silence, staring at the psychopath quietly, as the room's tension slowly thickened into an almost oppressive feeling.

There was an enthusiastic pounding, and Harley came running into the room, hands lifted to keep her balance in her high heels. "Ooh! Did ya tell him, did ya tell him?!"

And like that, the tension was shattered, both Joker and Ace turning to the blond ditz.

"I suppose?" Ace muttered.

"Aw," She pouted. "I wanted to be here," She immediately perked back up. "AAAH! I'm so excited!" She ran over and enveloped the boy in a hug, speaking quickly about how they were going to go on heists, go on joy rides, fight capes, etc, etc.

"Okay, okay!" Joker barked, shooing her off of Ace. "That's enough! We've still got the big present for ya, kid!"

Harley then slowly sank back into herself, smile melting off of her face. The teen frowned, but the Joker didn't seem to catch either reaction.

"Come on, kiddo!" He twirled to his feet and led Ace back down the stairs, the sound of Harley behind them. He didn't stop mumbling the travelling song from the Wizard of Oz as the trio went.


After a long walk, a longer walk than Ace had thought, the Joker finally led the procession to the furthest back room in the warehouse, accessed by a heavy sliding door. Digging his dress shoes into the concrete, he pushed the door to the side; and revealed the room.

It was bare bones, with the exception of an old round table, the gun on it, and the man sitting in the chair in front of it, dirtied suit torn, strapped to the chair, and gagged.

The Joker shot forwards, sitting on the table and sliding along its length. He grabbed the gun and cocked it, before tossing it to Ace. "Here. Show me ya gunplay."

I swallowed hard as I caught the heavy pistol. "Wh- what?"

"Check the gun, buckaroo."

"Oh."

And then, as if by pure muscle memory, Ace popped the clip out, checked it, popped it back in, checked the iron sights, then cocked the gun again, and held it firmly in his hand. It felt unnervingly natural to hold it.

The Joker laughed. "Like a natural, kid! You'd almost think you'd been bred to shoot!"

I didn't answer, simply standing like an idiot. I finally noticed that Harley hadn't come into the room; she was standing at the door way, leaning out from one side. She looked... terrified, or heartbroken, or perhaps both.

The Joker hopped off the table and spun to the side, kneeling down next to the captured man. "'Hey, Mr. J, please don't kill me!'" He pantomimed, moving the man's jaw up and down like a puppet. He put his hands up to his mouth in mock surprise. "What?! Me?! Never! I wouldn't hurt a fly! No, my protégé's going to kill you! 'Wow, that's really neat, Mr. J! Jeez, you are such a nice guy, helping your son along with his first time like this. I wish I had a mentor like you!' Oh, get out of here."

He spun again, this time so that he was behind the chair. "Alright, kiddo. Here's your first. Just you and me, pappy and son, mono a mono. Like playing base ball. All you gotta do... is line up your shot... take aim... and never take you eye off the ball," He reached up and swiped some of his red lipstick off, drawing a circle in the middle of the man's chest. "And bang! You're on a home run!"

Ace blinked, raising the gun, eyes flitting back and forth from the psychopath and the captured man. He raised the gun and stared down the sights; right at the Joker's smiling face.

"Go on," The Joker said lowly, voice little more than a purr. "Take the shot."

The teen adjusted the shot, heart pounding in anxiety and anticipation, his finger tightening around the trigger, eyes filled with determination.

The Joker grinned maliciously and flicked his wrist, a steel switchblade sliding out. In one swift motion, he slit the man's throat, Ace lowering his gun as his mouth gaped and his eyes widened in surprise. The psychopath stepped to the side and kicked the chair over, even as the man gurgled and drowned in his own blood.

The pale killer twirled his blade expertly. "I'll admit, kiddo, you surprised me, and I'm not often surprised. After all I've done for you, you take the shot at me? Is that the thanks I get? I'll admit, that takes balls that I didn't know you had," He reached Ace and grabbed his face with a blood drenched hand, making the teen look up at him, blue eyes wide. "But that was the wrong answer."

He stuck the knife into the boy's mouth and dragged it along his cheek, carving his face open, even as Harley let out a scream of shock and horror.


The men sat around the table, a smattering of cards littering its surface.

"Check." Konnor said. He was a tall, fair skinned, lithe man, with blonde hair pulled into a fohawk and stubble covering his jaw.

Two of the other men leaned back.

"Man, you always say check!" Theo barked, throwing his hands up. He was shorter, and stockier, muscular arms covered in tattoos, black stubble matching long, black dreads.

"It's no fun if you're just an idiot." Sebastian grumbled. He was thinner than the other two, and tanner, black hair cut short and combed to the side, face clean shaven.

Konnor smirked, shrugging to himself, oozing self-confidence. "What can I say. It'll work eventually," He leaned over the table, pointing at each member with a faux threatening finger. "And you'll all make asses of yourselves when it does."

Sebastian moved to retort when Uriel cut in. "Seabass. Make. Your. Turn."

The others went quiet, before the tanned man grumbled. "Fine then. Fold."

"Booo."

Uriel was the tallest and stockiest out of the players, skin dark and eyes near black, face and head clean-shaven, scars littering his face.

They all turned to the last player. Cannon fidgeted as he stared at his cards before saying a quick prayer under his breath. "All in." Cannon was skinny and short, stubble more unkempt rather than well-kept like his comrades, his hair dark but dyed bright green on top and combed to the side, and fidgety, twitching in his seat as if he had too much energy.

"Fold."

"Fold."

Konnor narrowed his eyes. "All in."

The two remaining players locked eyes, before throwing their cards down. The five thugs looked back and forth from between the sets of cards, before Konnor's eyes slowly brightened.

He shot to his feet, letting out a yell of triumph. "YES-" He didn't get to finish his celebration, as something fell from the ceiling and slammed through the wooden table, shattering it and sending the money and cards flying across the room. The other four men shot to their feet.

"What the hell?!" Sebastian yelled out.

They stared down at the teenager laying in the remains, his blonde hair rustled as if he'd been in a fight- and his jaw, drenched in blood, the long gashes in his cheeks hastily stitched together. All of the men's attention shot upwards, where the Joker was leaning against the railing, smiling pleasantly.

"Enjoy, boys. I'm bored with him, so take good care of him from here on out!" He cackled and walked away, even as the thugs stared up at him in shock and fear. Their eyes shot back down to the broken teenager, before shooting back up to each other, no one quite taking in the situation.

Finally, Uriel leaned down and picked up the boy, hefting him over his shoulder. "Getting him checked out."

"Bu- what about the game?!" Konnor yelled, pointing at the remains of their table.

"Fuck the game."

Sebastian nodded, following the giant. "I'll go with you-" He turned to the large crowd of men slowly converging on the room, drawn by the commotion. "Fuck off, all of you!" The crowd began to disperse, muttering amongst themselves.

Konnor watched the duo disappear towards the makeshift med-bay. "But... what about the game?" He muttered.

Theo pushed past him, glowering. "Shut the fuck up, Konnor."


Ollie sighed, staring at JJ. "One thing I do know is that he's fucked."

"That all you got?" Sebastian asked incredulously.

"Well, his face is fucked- those scars aren't gonna heal right, and he'll be stuck with the Glasgow for his life. He lost a lot of blood during it too, and those stitches are hardly well done. I'm not sure if it's worth cutting them out and redoing them though. The face gets a lot of blood, you know, because the brain and all, and those definitely aren't wounds that'll stop bleeding anytime soon. I'll see what I can do on that because- jeez, he's still leakin'. And his body's fucked, that fall musta hurt if he was still awake. Pretty much all of his right ribs are broken, and his right arm's got a compound fracture right under his elbow. You can't really see it, considering all of the fucking blood. His hip might also be broken, I can't really tell with his jeans on. So... yeah. The kid's fucked."

"Is he gonna die?"

"If we can get him some blood, no. He'll just be off his feet for a couple of days, and maybe even later depending on how bad the damage to his body actually is. Thing is- we don't have any blood packs. So, somebody'll have to go get them, and..."

He went quiet, and both men understood immediately. No one would reasonably go out of their way that much to save even a normal thug. And no one was going to put effort into saving the Jester.

"I've got it." Sebastian said.

Ollie raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "You know where to get one?"

"I'll figure it out. How long's he got?"

"A few hours, give or take."

"Right." The thug didn't spend any more time dawdling, turning on his heel and marching out of the room.

Uriel and Ollie stared at the teen for a few moments.

"Whattaya thinking, U?" The doctor finally asked.

"...How long do you think he'll last?"

"I just-"

"No. If he makes it. How long."

"...Not long at all."

"So what's the point?"

The medic shrugged, turning to the counter against one wall, grabbing out a large first-aid kid. "Not really one. But, apparently the boss wants to keep him around, and my job's to make sure no one dies. So, I'll do what I can, even if it's nothing much."

Uriel was silent.

Ollie turned back towards him. "We can't get rid of him," The giant said nothing, getting Ollie to round on him. "If the Joker finds out, he'll kill us, do you understand?" He hissed. "And both of us. I will not let you get me killed."

They locked eyes for a few moments before the medic backed off, washing his hands off in the sink. "I'm going to make sure he makes it through this. After that, he's not my problem."

"You make sure he makes it through this. I'll make sure he makes it through the rest."

Ollie stopped in his place, letting the water run idly over his hands before nodding slowly. "...Alright. Here, since you're so goddamned invested in this shit, get him over to the table."


Ace slowly opened his eyes, the dim light pleasantly... dim. He moved to sat up when pain seared through his midsection, drawing a grunt of pain for him- making the fresh gashes on his cheeks burn as well.

"Jesus, kid, don't try and kill yourself just yet."

JJ slowly looked over, at Ollie, the medic standing up and striding over to him.

"Congrats, you little shit, you made me get another table, just for you, your highness."

Ace didn't react. "...Where am I?"

"The warehouse."

That made the teenager's eyes widen in fright, memories rushing back to him, and he made another gamble to sit up.

"Easy, easy! He's not here." Ollie said, helping him sit.

"What happened?"

"Well, the boss cut your face open and then dropped you off a balcony. So now we're stuck with you. Congratulations. Think you can stand? Stupid question, your knee popped out of place, take this crutch."

He reached over and handed Ace the aforementioned crutch, letting him lean against it as he slowly moved off the table to his feet, body screaming in pain.

Ollie nodded. "Cool. Get out of here. You're officially not my problem." And with that, he turned back to his phone, sitting back down.

JJ stared at the medic for a few moments. "...Thanks."

The doctor sighed. "No problem. You should know, you broke all seven of your true ribs on your right side, had a compound fracture on your right arm, and dislocated your hip. Here's a sling, don't take any of the bandages off. Something starts smelling, come back here."

Ace took the sling and threw it around his neck, setting his arm back down in it. He nodded at Ollie, and limped his way out of the med-bay. The skylights immediately blinded him as he stepped into the warehouse proper, the hustle and bustle of thugs moving about assaulting his ears, bringing on a headache.

Slowly, the passing men noticed him, surprised looks fading into openly hostile glares and side eyes, the occasional sympathetic look reaching him as he watched them walk by, eyes narrowed in prideful, if insincere challenge- one eye blue, the other a vivid green.

They knew who the boy was. The long prophesized protégé of the Joker, the unseeable, untouchable golden child that the patriarch had been harping on about for weeks. Tossed down unceremoniously like a child bored of his newest toy.

They knew what that meant for 'JJ'.

How the Prince had fallen.


A/N: Yo, wassup. Not much to say that I didn't cover in the first thingy- which was written back during the summer, so it's a little out of date, but most of the information's still good. Whatever, you guys got the important stuff.

Also the characters in this story are from Rocksteady's Arkhamverse (HAMILL! HAMMIL! HAMMIL! HAMMIL!).

Why this is at all relevant, I have no idea.

Carry on.

LOL (Lots Of Love, obviously), R&R

-Infernokota