"I had taken my family to Town Center to celebrate Christmas... but he was there. He hi-jacked the celebration and informed the crowd that every ornament on the Christmas tree had been loaded with Joker Gas. He said that if the city of Gotham didn't transfer a billion dollars into the private bank account he'd set up, he'd kill all of us. Batman showed up, like he always does, and only a few people ended up being exposed to the gas and going to the hospital. My family was okay... but only in a physical sense. My son was 5-years-old. He doesn't laugh anymore... he barely smiles. I'm terrified for next Christmas. I'm worried it's going to be haunting him for the rest of his life. It was my decision to stay in Gotham... it was my decision to go out for Christmas... what if my family never forgives me? Am I a horrible father?" His words cracked as he began sobbing. The man sitting next to him reached out and patted his back to comfort him.

"Thank you for sharing, Michael. You're not a horrible father. This city takes a toll on all of us. But each of us make the decision to stay and see it through until the next day. If you ask me that's what makes us brave," the moderator of the group attempted to comfort him with her words. There was a brief silence among the group. It wasn't awkward or uncomfortable, it was a simple acknowledgement of the horrors they had all gone through at the hands of the Joker.

Then all of a sudden, the door to the room opened as a woman wearing a red and black color scheme, and blonde hair pulled into pigtails with the tips on either end dyed pink and blue.

"Am I late?" At that, the silence in the room shifted from comfortable mourning to awkward and accusatory. The woman lowered her sunglasses and scanned the room, "What? Is there something on my face?"

Everyone in the group backed away with fear as the moderator stood her ground, marching towards her.

"What in the hell are you doing here? Are you here to kill us? Well, we're not afraid of you!"

"Yes we are!" added someone from the peanut gallery.

But Harley simply cocked an eyebrow, confused.

"This is the support group, right? For all the people affected by the Joker?"

"The Joker and Harley Quinn. You and your boyfriend have been terrorizing this city-"

"Hey! That cheap-suited clown and I broke up ages ago! Get with the times, lady. That jack-off abused me for years, I have just as much of a right to be here as any of you."

"You don't even recognize me, do you?" challenged the moderator. Harley gulped and shrugged half-heartedly.

"Three years ago, you and your 'puddin' robbed the Gotham Bank, and I was the teller who was working! You pointed a gun in my face and laughed at me!"

Harley looked as if she was concentrating really hard, trying to remember the events of that day.

"Oh, yeah..." Harley then looked back at her and shrugged modestly, attempting to smile, "Sorry!"

"Get out of here!" screamed someone from the crowd.

"You're not welcome here, you freak!" added another.

Harley frowned.

"But I-"

"Just go!" The moderator glared at her angrily and pointed at the door. Harley sighed.

"Okay... I'm... I'm sorry. For everything," with that, Harley scooped her bat and what little pride she had left, and made a beeline for the exit. By the time she reached the alleyway beside the building, hot tears were streaming down her face, mascara and white foundation mixed in with them. She slumped her back against the wall and slid down, feeling the bricks grate against her skin, but refusing to acknowledge the pain. She probably deserved it, she thought, "I'm so stupid. How could I think they'd actually welcome me in there?"

In anger, she slammed her fist against the wall.

"Ah! Shit!" Okay, maybe she didn't deserve that pain. Because, fuck, that hurt. She placed her hand gently back down on the ground and continued sobbing, "No one's ever going to understand me. Not unless I do something to make them. I really should just kill the fucking clown," she had this thought, somewhat sarcastically, but it continued to repeat itself in her mind until she couldn't form another coherent thought. A metaphorical light bulb appeared above her head and her eyes widen with a realization, "I should just kill the fucking clown! That's it! Then, everyone would see me as a hero! They wouldn't have a choice! All of Gotham would worship me as their savior... haha, even Batman would have to thank me!"

Elsewhere, in Gotham City...

"Hurry the fuck up! We don't have a lot of time!" The head crook instructed his crew as they attempted to break the lock keeping them out of the jewelry store.

"You're right. You don't have a lot of time," suddenly, a menacing and imposing voice from above the rooftops spoke to them. Immediately, they all began to freak out and draw their weapons.

"Is that Batman?" Asked one of them, filled with dread.

"Ha! You wish I was Batman," the Red Hood then stepped forward into the moonlight and cocked a gun of his own, "Wow, only 5 of you? I was hoping for a challenge!"

"What are you idiots waiting for? Shoot him!"

"Yeah, come on! Shoot me," Jason smirked underneath his helmet as the crooks began firing their weapons. God, they were all such terrible shots. They've probably never killed anyone in their entire lives. Jason jumped off of the rooftop and flipped gracefully onto the ground behind them as they continued to struggle. He made his first move by elbowing the safe-cracker in the face, hearing him hit the wall with a thud as he slid to the ground, already unconscious.

He then dodged a flurry of bullets shot at him, ricocheting off the wall, one of them even going into one of the crooks' arms.

"Ow!"

"That looked like it hurt. Here, let me help you out with that," Red Hood joked as he lunged himself forward, punching the crook square in the face, knocking him to the ground. He was then able to mind his surroundings, hearing one of them running up behind him to throw a punch. He swiftly ducked underneath and elbowed them in the stomach, grabbing their arms and flipping them over onto the ground, stomping on their face to take them out.

The gang leader then fired a shot at him, which Jason countered by firing another bullet into, the force of which knocked him back into their car. The fifth and final gang member saw all of this go down and decided to make his move; to run.

"Uh uh, you're not gettin' away that easy!" Jason then shot him directly in the back, just in time for the leader to recover and tackle him into the wall.

"You son of a bitch!" He screamed as he punched him right in the Red Hood. The titanium lining of the helmet instantly shattered every bone in his fist, opening up for Jason to tackle him onto the ground. He began punching him in the face, losing himself in the violence. Every thrust of his arm, every contact between his fist and the man's face, helping to drown out the sorrow's of Jason's reality... of everything that haunted him every night.

But when Jason hesitated, and the gang leader looked back at him, all he saw was the Joker staring directly into his soul.

"Ha ha ha! Yes! Pour it on, little Robin! Because no matter how much you hit me, you'll never be able to escape the scars I gave you! So why not give me a few, huh? Will that make you feel better?"

"Nothing will make me feel better!" Jason then continued punching and punching until he felt another presence in the alleyway.

"Jason, stop!"

With the sound of Batman's voice, Jason was snapped out of his fury, faced with this man's broken, battered, and bloody face. His fist shook, aching for another hit, but he instead dropped the man and stood up, shaking.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help you, son-"

"You don't get to call me that!" Red Hood turned on him, pointing angrily, "You gave up that right the moment you decided to let the Joker live!"

"Jason, we've talked about this-"

"I know. You think your misguided moral code is so fragile that if you succumb to killing even just once, you'll never be able to stop. So you keep on clinging to that code, and see where it gets you when everyone you love is dead."

"Please, Jason... we can't let him control our lives. The day I lost you was one of the worst I've ever endured... but you're back now. Can't we take this second chance we've been given and make something out of it? Something other than vengeance?" Batman pleaded with his adopted son, knowing that no amount of words would ever get through to him.

"Vengeance is the only reason I'm alive. I'm sick of the excuses, Bruce. You didn't kill the Joker because it was too important for the Batman to have an arch-nemesis. Killing him wouldn't have made you a monster, Bruce. When will you accept that?"

"Look what it's done to you."

Jason scoffed and turned away.

"It would've made you my hero."

With that, Batman was left alone in the alley. The Red Hood was riding atop the train, taking in the cold city air, contemplating.

"He's never going to do it. I've waited this long for him to prove to me that I'm more important to him than that fucking clown... but now it's clear to me what I have to do. For his sake, for mine, and for everyone else in Gotham... I have to kill the Joker."