The Joker's crew hit Gotham's 42nd Annual Science Gala about midway through the evening, interrupting both the starved scientists who sought support for their pet projects, and the billionaire entrepreneurs who decided their financial fate. On the surface, this was a simple smash and grab, with considerably more emphasis on the 'smash' than usual. After all, there were certainly enough projects to ruin hereabouts; powerful, largely theoretical weapon designs; entirely theoretical alternate power sources; satellites to force precipitation on a given area and thus bring rain to drought-starved regions; something involving cats.
The chaos wasn't their real purpose here, of course, but that was the beauty of the Joker; he was the sort of man to storm a party for no other reason than to leave the lot of them cowering in their fine suits and ties, and wrecklessly destroy valuable property. Besides, when he got right down to it, he had to confess that this was more than enjoyable enough to make the trip worthwhile all its own... he just had to remember not to get too carried away. He was here for a concrete purpose! It was only fortunate that he didn't have to take care of it personally... instead, he could simply enjoy the experience, and have himself a good time. All around him his loyal minions were scurrying left and right, gathering all manner of gadget, gizmo and anything that looked like it might fetch a hefty price. Batbait was in charge of directing them throughout, moving amongst the ranks with crisp, military precision.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" the Joker called out, hands spreading outwards as a wide smile crossed his face, striking a pose on the tabletop. "How very kind of you to spare us a moment of your time, allow me to introduce myself! I am the newest Master of Ceremonies for this little soiree of scientific extravagance, and I hereby announce that the party has begun! If you will all be so very kind as to take each other's seats and cower beneath them, we will begin the festivities forthwith! Allow me to present the Games Organizer, Three Time Convicted Murderer and astouding Scrabble Player, Mort! Take a bow, Mort!"
There was certainly something entertaining about seeing the massive, heavily muscled criminal bobbing with as much enthusiasm as he could, clearly dreading the thought that his employer would think him unwilling to follow instructions. The moment he had finished the requisite number of bows, though, he began to call out instructions to the terrified attendees, telling them to relinquish their valuables, use the offered spray-paint to ruin their displays, and just generally set scientific progress back a decade or so.
"Oh, it's just not the same without Harley," Joker lamented, hopping down from the tabletop and slipping his hands behind his back. "Don't get me wrong, Batbait, you're a fine organizer, but I'd never think of squeezing you into a spandex outfit and giving you a giant hammer! And without the giant hammer, what happens if we encounter a situation requiring giant carpentry? Still, suppose we'll just have to soldier on, won't we? Now, where is the big toy... ah!"
On the far end of the room, a futuristic cannon was tucked into one corner, surrounded by diagrams and the same sort of cardboard paper displays you'd expect at an elementary school science fair. The various pictures and articles described it as a plasma cannon, some fancy new device intended both for eventual military applications, and even simple tunneling; an incomplete project, as the cannon fired only sporadically at the moment, and could barely warm toast in its current state. But either the Joker missed that part of the memo, or he simply didn't care...
"Helloooo gorgeous!" With a delighted giggle, the clown hopped up onto the large weapon, straddling it like a bronco. "All right! Make it go 'boom,' Doc!"
"B-but it's..." the project manager swallowed, wringing his hands as he stared wide-eyed at the hijacker. "It's still in the experimental stages! It only recently stopped being theoretical! It won't actually f-fire!"
"Then make it fire. I'm a reasonable lunatic! How long d'you need?"
"M-months! Maybe years!"
"Hmm. You have one hour!"
"But it's impossible!" the scientist wailed.
"Get to work!"
Paling, the balding man all but scurried underneath the 'plasma cannon,' starting to fiddle and prod at it with the occasional whimper or gasp. Whether he actually had some desperate plan in mind to make the device somehow, miraculously, work, or if he was just trying to look busy, hoping that some salvation would show itself if he could just buy some time. The men moved about the room, collecting wallets and jewelery from the terrified convention attendees, and securing the entrances; others were distributing weapons amongst themselves, ready to deal with any do-gooders that came about.
In time, Batbait emerged from one of the booths and shot the Joker a glance, nodding and signaling that their work was done. Responding with a jaunty salute, the Clown Prince of Crime waved his hand towards the exit, beckoning for his Number One henchman to get away while the getting was still good. The other dozen or so thugs were to remain here, with the Joker, providing whatever muscle was needed, and they began to gather up the pilfered memorabilia, wallets and jewelry, stacking them towards the exit for when they made their escape. Nodding with satisfaction at the pile of loot, the Joker stretched his arms out and gave a mighty yawn, glancing towards the clock and giving out a low, long groan; fifty eight and a half minutes left. This was going to be harder to maintain than he thought...
"Now, then, I suppose we've got some time to burn, don't we?" As Batbait vanished out the back exit, the Joker hopped off the cannon perched himself on the edge of a table, arms crossing over his chest and bloodshot eyes flitting from one end of the crowd to the other. His collection of duffel bags was just over his shoulder "All right, I spy with my little eye, something that is... blue!"
None of the terrified hostages could so much as utter a single word.
"Anyone? No? You've played this before, right?"
"I have."
The unfamiliar voice, just behind the Joker, had the clown's ears perking... too deep and self-assured to be any of these namby-pamby techies, but it certainly wasn't that gravelly voice he'd come to know so well. Even as the Joker braced himself to turn towards it, the voice continued slowly;
"I spy, with my little eye, something that's... green."
The Clown Prince of Crime spun around on the tabletop just in time to get knocked right off it by a giant, green... badminton racket. Sprawling on his back, legs sticking up from behind the table, it took the clown several moments to scramble back to his feet, hair askew, eyes slightly dazed... and when they focused, the Joker came the closest he had ever looked to being surprised.
"Why hello there!" Rather than dismayed, the villain seemed nothing short of delighted by the newcomer's arrival, and didn't seem remotely bothered by the fact that he was bound from the neck down in shimmering emerald energy. "I was actually kind of aiming for He Who Shall Not Be Maimed, but I suppose you'll do in a pinch!"
