It had been very busy preparing everything and they were nearly done. This would be it, the moment that Strange craved. It would be the crowning achievement in this duel of the minds, the conflict that now possessed all of his attention.

Joker may be content with his randomness and destructive chaos, but anyone could do what the clown did. Some gasoline and matches could accomplish the same thing. This, however, this took planning. It took creativity. It took exercising the mind's full potential and this would be nothing less than...than…

A masterpiece. Oh, yes, a magnum opus for the ages.

But first to lead his prey into the trap.

"I think I am beginning to see the joke," Edward remarked, twirling a pen in his fingers. "Our enemy may be as shallow as the wading pool, but who pays attention to the wading pool? You can only see what is right there, and if you do not pay attention, then you miss so much."

His master strategist had come up with a plan of his own. Very good. The former shrink's timing was impeccable.

"Do share, what is it you have learned?" he asked mildly.

Edward glanced at him from the corner of his eye, a smirk crossing across his profile. "It's all about jokes, gags, and pranks with the Joker. He even uses the jargon. This is how he sees the world, as a big joke. Jokes stand out, they draw attention, that's what they are intended to do. So that is what the Joker does. He dresses in colors that stands out, he gives such loud greetings, he racks up massive body counts, and why? Because it's all a part of his routine, his stand up."

A psychological profile that Strange had been able to put together years ago, and yet where was this other patient of his going with this? Edward was clever, a genius, so impatience would achieve nothing here. "Go on."

"So how does a person know what a joke is?" Edward queried, ceasing in his fidgeting with the pen. "The common agreement is that a joke is humor both parties can laugh at. The same goes with a prank. Defying the person's expectation of reality in a manner that elicits laughter upon the revelation of the truth. It can also be agreed that nothing the Joker does is a joke, or a prank, or even a harmless gag. Yet, he continues to use the jargon. For a man that embodies chaos, he has placed labels on his every action and decision.

"So let's think of the Joker as comedy, as a joke. A man like that, as loud and attention-getting as he is, it would stand to reason that the biggest joke of all is that he has traits that are mundane. Something he has in common with the common man, something that at the same time no one would ever expect of him and is so ridiculous that there is no way anyone would consider it to be true."

Edward always did enjoy to hear himself talk.

"Pardon my interruption, how does any of this allow you to find our quarry? After Robinson Park, I would prefer to keep our next invitation more private. The fewer that know where to go, the less of a chance we will have intruders. It ends this night, one way or the other." The point needed to be made, and mincing his words would waste time that could be used for better purposes.

Edward's smirk didn't vanish for an instant. "Trying to find the Joker's current location is a waste of time. Even with his past behavior, as of now there aren't many places that meet those specific criteria anymore. The only crime family that is active is also keeping a low profile, so low that to take any of their locales, or properties would do...what exactly? Part of the old pattern was taking the headquarters of various crime lords who were well known, their lairs an open secret. So he has to go elsewhere.

"That's not how I've tracked him down, though—"

"You managed to find him?" Strange's eagerness overwhelmed his manners.

"In a way, yes." Regardless, Edward preened. "It occurred to me that no matter what he was doing, or where he was going, one thing that has been consistent with Joker is that he has grand plans, and such plans cost money. Explosives, trucks, poisons and toxins, mercenaries, you name it, that all costs money. It also requires communication, because how else do you gather such resources together?"

Hmm, his former patient was onto something, but Strange for once had yet to grasp it. It was a curious feeling, this. Was this what it was like to be a plebian?

"So I ask you, what is so mundane that no one would ever expect a man like the Joker to possess one?" Riddler reached out and picked up a sticky notepad and then held it up to face the disgraced psychiatrist. Written on the notepaper were ten digits, all numbers, and seemingly random.

Seemingly.

Smugly, the self-styled Riddler declared, "He has a phone number."


There was nothing more serious in life than being one card away from having the best hand of your life. It was a roll of the dice, fully up to chance that placing one card down would allow you to get that one perfect card to give you that best damn hand.

So why leave things up to chance when you had an ace up your sleeve?

Joker stared at his hand. While it was no Royal Flush, or even a Straight Flush, he had two pairs, aces high. He just needed one card to have a Full House.

There was the odd six in his hand and the green-haired man tossed it onto the table, Scarecrow tossing him a card in exchange. And...it was a four. Well, that simply wouldn't do.

With a flick of his wrist, an ace shot out of his sleeve and he deftly placed it in his hand as he removed the four. There, that was soooo much better.

"Ya know what I haven't figured out yet?" Croc said as he stared at his own hand. If he scratched his head, it would have completed the picture of utter confusion and bafflement. C'mon, Croc, scratch that scaly head…

And...oh! Oh! There it went! One hand rose up and Croc scratched his head! What a maroon! "Do tell," the Joker prodded the reptile man.

"We're just sitting here playing cards and we know that shrink guy is up to something. So why aren't we trying to figure out what it is?"

"For once, we're in agreement," Two-Face grunted in...well, agreement. He then promptly folded his hand, clearly not getting what he wanted.

"Here's a quick lesson for ya, Croc m'boy," the clown said jovially. "Strange is a schemer. That's all he does, day in and day out. He plots and schemes and where has that gotten him? Locked in the loony bin with the rest of us crazies—"

"Speak for yourself," Two-Face interjected.

"—and a bum leg from Two-sides-of-the-same-Face. So he's doing something that he's clearly not all that good at. Eventually, when he's ready to reveal his latest failure, he'll loudly proclaim it to the entire city, most likely using that riddle guy as an intermediary."

"Kinda like he did with that Robinson Park place?" Croc suggested.

"Exactly! Now play your hand, or get out of the game."

Croc glanced at his cards before he folded too. That left it up to Scarecrow. He tossed down two cards and pulled out another two. Then he quite deliberately folded.

The hell?! After all that effort he went into cheating...ahem, giving himself a better hand, all of these schmucks just folded? What a gyp!

"I understand where you're coming from," Scarecrow said then, pushing aside the meager ante towards the Joker and then collecting the cards. The Clown Prince of Crime snuck his ace back into his sleeve as he handed his cards over. "But even a broken clock is right twice a day. I rather not wait for whatever plan Strange is up to. He very nearly had us at Robinson, if it wasn't for the interference by the Iceman."

"That's another thing," Two-Face added yet another face to this conversation. "Is this guy someone we need to worry about? While I wasn't there, he could be a problem if he keeps popping up."

"I ain't about to become a popsicle either," Croc proclaimed.

The Joker had to admit, he hadn't expected a relic that predated even his arrival on the scene. Faintly, he wondered how pulling his gags would go against someone so cold and emotionless. It was like pulling a prank on the ultimate straight man. Hmmm, thoughts for another day…

However, before he could respond—admittingly uncertain because who could ever plan for a walking snowman?—Harley bumbled her way in. "Puuuuuddin'!" she sang off-key. "There's a message on your answerin' machine!"

Incredulous looks appeared on the other three men's faces. "Who the hell has an answering machine in this day and age?" Two-Face asked flabbergasted. Heh, now that was a funny word, flabbergast. He really needed to use it more often.

The Joker opened his mouth in mock horror. "Why, Harv? Who wouldn't have an answering machine? What if someone calls you and you're not there to answer? How would they ever leave you a message?"

"Uhh, there's something called voicemail."

Well, fine, bring logic into the discussion, see if he cared. "More importantly, who would call you?" Scarecrow brought up then. "I can't imagine there are that many people calling you specifically, present company excepted."

"You would be surprised," the Joker told him before he raised his hand up and snapped his fingers. "Bring my answering machine, Harley."

"Ay ay, Mr. J!" The vixen scurried off before bringing a large box, a reel-to-reel set up on top of it. There was a small red light blinking over and over towards the corner of it.

"Seriously, a reel-to-reel?!" Two-Face exclaimed.

"It's been wound back and ready for ya, Mr. J!" Harley told him.

"Perfect! Now let's see what brave soul burned their words into my records. I might have a new name to add to my little black book!" He then flicked a switch and the reels began to turn. Naturally, his opening message started things off.

"Boy, did you get a wrong number! Leave your message at the sound of the shriek.

"No, please!" a new voice began. "Don't! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Ain't it grand?" the Joker praised.

The uneasy looks on the other three men said that yes, he had really knocked his message out of the park.

Then another, rather familiar voice began.

"How amusing, Joker," Hugo Strange said. "Your petty amusements never cease, do they?"

"Oooh, shots fired," Croc murmured.

Whatever amusement the Joker was feeling, it was gone, dead with half the people he had drowned in Gotham River. His eyes had narrowed, his grin frowning as he stared at the answering machine. "You should know that it took quite some effort to track down your home number. If you find that pleasing, you may bask in the afterglow."

"No one tells me what to do," the Joker growled.

"The purpose of this call, however, is not to puff up that inflated ego of yours. No, I call you to inform you that this little game of ours is coming to an end. No more tricks, no more traps. I simply wish to meet face-to-face. You may bring your followers if you like, but they are inconsequential to this meeting. Come to the Monarch Theater tonight. We will settle things there."

There was a click and the message ended. The reels continue to either wind or unwind, the Joker ignoring them.

"You know it's a trap," Two-Face finally said then, breaking the silence.

"Of course it's a trap," Scarecrow chimed in. "Strange doesn't wait this long to contact us if it wasn't."

"Then what do we do?" Croc asked.

"We go to the Monarch," the Joker answered standing up. "Get your things; get your guns; and Harley? Get my nuke."

There were startled looks on the Arkham gang, right up until Harley meekly said, "But Puddin', you don't have a nuke."

"What?! I don't? I knew I overlooked something." He then spun around from the table and marched away from it. However, he didn't hear any other sounds and came to a stop, glaring over his shoulder at the still sitting inmates. Two-Face had even picked up one of his chips and was flipping it up into the air, catching it when it came down. "Well?" he growled dangerously.

Scarecrow and Croc immediately shot out of their chairs and walked over to follow. Two-Face took his time standing up, sauntering over to join them. "How good of you to come," the clown snarked.

"Just deciding if I needed to put on my two-piece suit," he grunted back.

The Joker stared at him before he chuckled. That had been a good one.


You could barely see the stars this deep in the city. All the light from the lampposts, the countless buildings, and the neon signs had a way of overpowering the light from those little pinpricks in the sky.

It was just an observation Harper, ahem, Bluebird had. There were times when she could stop and take a look around, not because there was any danger, but to just, oh, what was the phrase again? It couldn't be smell the roses because there were no roses around and Gotham kinda stank.

Was there any kind of metaphor about it all? The vigilante didn't know and couldn't find it in herself to care. There were so much more important things to worry about, like all the fighting between the super-criminals.

Because of how random that violence was, it had made her neighborhood somewhat safer because no one wanted to get themselves caught up in it. The crazies had a healthy level of respect due to fear and that was something well earned. Sure, you had your arrogant punks who thought themselves the next real badass of Gotham, but only the stupid would give into the narcissism in a time like this.

"Ever wonder how long this is going to go?" Spoiler wondered beside her.

"Hmm?" She hadn't been paying attention, but she did know her partner here had said something.

While Bluebird didn't catch the words said to her, she clearly heard the eyeroll. "This latest thing. All the fighting. The bad guys fighting each other. That stuff. It's been going on for what? A few weeks already? How long do you think it's going to last?"

She had to hold back both the scoff and the snort. "It's going to last as long as we let it last."

Now she could feel the look Spoiler was giving her. "And where were you saying that when Bane was in charge? It's just like that time, but no one's blown up any bridges yet."

Okay, that snort couldn't be held back. "Things aren't as bad as that. We've been through bad times, remember? During that business with Bane and after it. I was trapped in virtual reality for like three days. It got really crazy in there."

"And the guy who trapped you is one of the guys making things crazy now," Spoiler pointed out.

Bluebird felt her face harden. "Don't remind me. I have a score to settle with that asshole. I'll show him a horse that's gonna clamp, stamp, and fall still on his ass."

"I...have no idea what that means."

"You just had to have been there."

"What does a horse have to do with anything?"

Bluebird blew air through her lips, letting them flop. "It was a stupid riddle. Thirty white horses on a red hill, first they clamp, then they stamp, then they fall still. Damn it, why do I remember that stupid thing?"

"It's teeth."

Pausing, her eyes widening, the punk-themed vigilante slowly turned to stare at the other. "How did you know…?"

Spoiler was the one to shrug this time. "My dad is the host of a game show about clues, remember? You think he didn't take any of that back home with him? Ever since I was a little kid, he's insisted on me being smart. Nothing below an A. Because Browns are the smartest around. It wasn't too bad when I was younger, but it got really annoying later on, if you know what I mean."

She didn't, but still. Could Spoiler here have gone further in Riddler's thirty riddle challenge? Could she have beaten it? And was that why that asshole always seemed disappointed whenever his disembodied head appeared randomly? Damn it, now she needed to find someone to beat up. Somebody, anybody.

"I just wish I could figure out how to stop the craziness this time," Spoiler sighed, staring out into the city. "Bad guys fighting one another, how do you stop that? You'd think they would have...killed one another by now, but everything else around them is getting hurt instead. It's not right how these guys get to run around and do so much to hurt people and it takes forever to bring them down."

You could say that about a lot of people. It wasn't just the big time freak show, it was also the small-time creeps who never stopped being bullies, who continued to bully and didn't even get the show of being slapped on the wrist. Yeah, the big fish were crazier, but that meant the little ones were free to hide and wait out the craziness.

Used to be you heard about Batman hitting one of the small fish, showing them their shitshow wasn't appreciated and that someone was coming down on them. They were now the ones afraid. Guess if you stuck it out long enough, even with Batman on the prowl, you got your bravado back. That's where the two of them came in, to give those small-time creeps something to be afraid of again.

But things always became bad, for everyone, when people like the Joker, Two-Face, and everyone else ran amok.

"Gotham has always been crazy," Bluebird eventually said. "People complain about how crazy it is now...but they were saying the same thing years ago. The crazy never left; we just chose to forget about it. But that's the thing, the city loves to remind us that it wasn't a dream, the craziness from before was real and here's your reminder! That's where we come in, because we're tired of the craziness and we're going to show it that it has no place here."

"Easy to say, not so much to do," Spoiler replied.

"So? If it was easy to do, everyone would be doing it." Her hand rested against her taser rifle, fingers rubbing against the smooth surface of the weapon. "Since we're the only ones willing to do anything about it, then it looks like we're going to have to be the ones to do something about it."

"We need to be going now."

"You bet…" Bluebird trailed off, her eyes moving to her partner who was just starting to stiffen. Then it registered that Spoiler hadn't been the one to speak. That meant… "Batgirl?"

No verbal confirmation, so she had to use her eyes. To do that meant looking around and oh yeah, there she was, that wandering protégé of the Bat himself, lucky girl. The blankness of that mask had it so hard to figure out what she was thinking.

That Batgirl was standing right behind the two of them could mean only one thing.

"Where to tonight?" Bluebird asked as she fully faced the other vigilante.


The call had come in out of nowhere. The GCPD had answered it like any other call, but the low, harsh voice point blank told them something was going down between the Joker and Strange. The operator tried to pry more information out of the call, but the tipster had promptly hung up.

Batman had listened in on the call; in fact, he knew exactly where it had come from. Perched on top of a building, he looked across the street at one of the last remaining payphones in the city. The area was rundown and on the verge of being labeled blighted. Not many people lived here, having abandoned the area long ago, leaving it to the whims of the local gangs. Graffiti had been sprayed everywhere, the more predominant ones belonging to gang tags.

Such a location promised privacy, however. No one would think to look here for a tipster, especially with the gang element encouraging little to no police attention.

Also, the vigilante recognized the voice.

He had stayed out of sight, content to listening to the GCPD hotline. He had that line bugged for years at this point and it was easier to listen to that line then bug thousands of lines throughout the city. That allowed the tipster to arrive at the phone booth none the wiser to his presence.

Using the glider mode of his cape, Batman soared down to the booth, landing a few feet from the door. His cape fell over his body, hiding it from sight. He set his face into a stony stare.

The door then slid open, rattling as it did so. Clearly the hinges needed some maintenance after years of neglect. Then the tipster stepped out revealing the black and white suit he wore..

"Dent," Batman growled.

Two-Face paused in mid-step, staring at him. "Well, it's about time," he grunted as he left the phone booth door open behind him. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever catch on."

The dark-clad man narrowed his eyes. "You've been the tipster the entire time. Why?"

The scarred man reached into his pocket, the vigilante allowing him too. If Two-Face meant him harm, he wouldn't have reached for his pocket, instead going for the gun holster beneath his duo-colored suit jacket. Pulling his hand out, he flipped his coin up into the air, catching it without even bothering to look at it. He did hold his fist out, the coin contained within it. "The coin thought I should be a helpful Samaritan."

Had it been anyone else, Batman would have never accepted that explanation. Harvey Dent's life was ruled by the flip of a coin though, so he took the explanation at face value. "You've been doing this since the Joker's attack on the waste treatment center."

Two-Face nodded. "Fat load of good it did. The cops were just pesky nuisances and couldn't stop the maniac."

"What was the Joker after?"

Two-Face opened his fist and looked at the coin, finding tails. "Some biohazard canisters. Never did find out what was in 'em, the clown kept it hush-hush. For all I know, it's the same kind of stuff we were after at Shreck's Textile."

Again, he narrowed his eyes. That was a lie, but if he wanted answers, he had to play things Dent's way. While he could believe the part about the biohazard canisters, it was the part about not knowing what was in them that had to be taken with a grain of salt. Still there was the suggestion about the bleach, so maybe Dent was working around his psychosis as much as he could. Had there been that powerful bleach chemical at the waste treatment center? If so, that meant both Joker and Strange had their hands on the chemical and there was no telling what either one would use it for. "Do you know why Joker and Strange wanted that chemical?"

The man shrugged. "The Joker kept everything close to the vest; we never found out what he was planning until we were in the middle of things. He mostly wanted to be the monkey wrench in Strange's plans, no matter what they were." Two-Face sneered. "Not that I had a problem with that."

"You called in a tip just now," Batman then brought up. "What is it?"

Two-Face stared at him before he flipped his coin again. He caught it and promptly slapped it down on the back of his other hand. Pulling his hand away, there was a heads looking up at them this time. "Strange called the Joker, left a message on his answering machine."

Batman raised an eyebrow. "Joker has an answering machine?"

"Tell me about it. It was freaking reel-to-reel too." The scarred man shook his head, getting rid of whatever irritation he felt about that subject. "Anyways, Strange taunted the clown and told him to meet him at the Monarch." He then turned his back on the dark-clad man. "That's all I know. Now, if you don't mind, I have to get over there. If you want to keep your tipster in place, I can't raise suspicion, or I'm liable to end up like the hundreds of dead lackeys the clown's killed."

While that was a good point, there was still the opportunity to remove one of the Arkham Inmates off of the board. After everything that had gone down, it was a chance he couldn't pass up. However, getting into a physical altercation would leave him fatigued; Dent knew how to fight and their previous entanglements had not gone in the Dark Knight's favor. No, if he was going to do this, he was going need to play this smart.

And prey on the scarred man's damaged psyche.

"Before you go," Batman called out to his former ally. "You know I have to at least attempt to bring you in."

Two-Face stopped and looked over his shoulder at him. "And you're better off just letting me go. I still have scores to settle with Strange."

"Then we'll make this quick." Batman opened his cape and held his hands out so that Dent could see them. "One flip. I'll honor however it falls."

Two-Face froze. He was definitely considering the idea. Then, "What are the stakes?"

"Heads, you turn yourself in. I can even rough you up a little to make it look like I caught you while you were on your way to the Monarch if you like."

He considered the offer. "Tails, I blow your head off." He then pulled out the very handgun he intended to use to fulfill. "Do you accept these terms?"

Putting his life on the line to remove a threat as big as Dent? It wasn't any different from what he did on a nightly basis. It was fifty-fifty, with both of previous flips landing on either heads or tails. Probability wouldn't be as big of a factor had they landed both heads or both tails. Could...would he take that chance?

It was an easy answer.

"I accept."

Two-Face turned to fully face him and held his coin out. He then flipped it high into the air, the coin flipping end over end until it began to fall. Dent caught it and slapped it down on the back of his hand. There was a moment of hesitation, however.

"Are you sure about this?" Two-Face's voice wasn't that harsh tone he used. In fact, it was more concerned, softer; it sounded like the old voice of Harvey Dent.

And it was very likely he was dealing with Harvey than Two-Face at this moment.

"I don't have a choice," he told his lost friend. "Whenever you're ready."

The former DA nodded. "For your sake, I hope your luck holds out."

And then he uncovered the coin.


The Joker's answering machine is based off of the one in the BTAS episode The Strange Secret of Bruce Wayne. Even used the Joker's actual voice recording for the answering machine as well. You can thank AV for this brilliant idea as well lol