The Monarch Theater had once been one of the jewels in Gotham's entertainment establishment. It had been right up there with the Jezebel Theater, but poor management, cost cutting, and a city wide fire when a nearby building had gone ablaze from a fire bomb had doomed it to irrelevance.

Hmm, wonder who could have caused that fire…

So here it sat, rotting, forgotten, covered in a layer of dirt and grime that was bordering on turning black. The letters used to spell out what the theater was showing were missing some, leaving random letters spelling out partial words. Trash was all over the place, the wind deciding on where it would lay.

And clomping up the steps to the main plaza—more like a large area of concrete that had been used for the absurd lines to the ticket booth—was the King of Comedy, the Clown Prince of Crime himself, the Joker and his troupe of misfit Arkham Inmates. Their footsteps echoed throughout the area, bouncing off the surrounding buildings.

However, they were missing one, or maybe it was two? Two-Face's faces were missing, leaving them with only four. It seemed off and if Strange was at full force, it might cause problems.

Then again, nothing the mad shrink had done worked, and this wouldn't be an exception.

The Joker took in a deep breath. "Mmmm, smell that?" he asked his costumed lackeys. "That's the smell of...of...rotting garbage; does no one clean this place?"

"I think the appearance of this place would answer that," Scarecrow commented, safe from the smells behind his air filter. What the clown wouldn't give to rip it off the man's face and use it for himself.

So naturally, someone decided to infuriate the green-haired man by stealing his schtick, the sound of a low giggle ringing out, growing louder with every second.

"Puddin'!" Harley cried out as she grabbed his shoulder with one hand, pointing up to the top of the theater. "Look!"

Tilting his head back, he found a short man in a blue trench coat and a rather impressive top hat. Talk about your mad haberdasher. "Figures," Scarecrow grumbled. "Strange sends his lackey to greet us rather than the man himself."

"Welcome to the Monarch!" the Mad Hatter greeted them, spreading his arms out wide. "For one night only, it opens its door for you! But before you venture forth into this rabbit hole, you must prove yourselves worthy."

"There's no one more worthy than my Puddin'," Harley defended.

"Quite right! In fact, he is so worthy that my friend wishes to greet him personally."

"SKKKKKREEEEEEAAHHHHH!"

Heads jerked up in time to see a giant Man-Bat flying down on them like a large furry dive bomber. "Every man for themselves!" the Joker cried out as he shoved Harley away and dove to one side. The Man-Bat struck the ground with its taloned feet right where he had been standing, flaring out its wings as wide as it could. It snarled at the rest of the inmates before it spun around to growl lowly at the Joker.

That had been its first mistake. Scaly arms suddenly slammed down on the giant bat's arms, pinning its wings to its side. Killer Croc's face appeared over its shoulder, snarling even as the Man-Bat snapped its head back and forth to return the challenge.

Croc then seemed to stumble back a step, but it turned out to be on purpose as he hauled the Man-Bat up so that he could jump backwards. Twisting in the air, he allowed gravity to drop them both, the reptile man driving the Man-Bat's head into the ground.

The Joker knew a wrestling move when he saw one and Croc was clearly showing off his knowledge. However, if he thought that blow to the noggin would stun that giant bat, then he was very wrong. Because of the lunging and jumping and landing, Croc's arms slipped up the Man-Bat's body and that allowed it to chomp its mouth of very sharp teeth on the reptile man's forearm.

Not even the scales were enough to protect him as Croc let out a cry and jerked his arms away. The Man-Bat's head followed the arm since it's jaw was locked in rather tightly. This caused flesh to be ripped out, blood oozing out of Croc's arm.

However, that monster knew when it was free and it acted in turn. Its wings flared out and it scrambled onto its feet. Oddly it scampered away only to spin around and face Croc, bending low as its leathery wings shielded its body.

Hmmm, now where had he seen such a stance before…?

Killer Croc was also on his feet, looking at his bleeding arm before he snarled. "All of yous, get going," he ordered. "I got this freak."

Well, you didn't have to tell him twice. "Onward, Harley! Scarecrow! We've got an appointment with a shrink and you know how he hates it when we're late!" The Joker hurried over to the doors to the theater, stopping as he waited for Harley and Scarecrow to catch up. Even then, he stayed still.

"What are you waiting for?" Scarecrow demanded.

With a turn of his head, the green-haired man looked at Harley. "Ahem," he coughed expectantly.

"Oh! Right!" the jester girl realized. She then opened the door for them, bowing down as she gestured with a hand for the clown to enter.

"That's better," the Joker praised as he strolled on in. The Scarecrow began to follow, only for Harley to cut him off, passing through and letting the door swing closed behind her. The burlap-wearing man rolled his eyes before he opened the door for himself and followed after them.


Hands perched atop his cane, the Riddler waited in the theater's lobby. Guests were expected and from the screams of the Man-Bat, they were here. Who would cross the threshold first, he wondered. Someone crashing through the doors? Running inside to escape the fighting?

What happened was the door opened and the Joker sauntered in like he owned the place. Behind him followed his loyal henchwoman, and behind her was the sack-waring Scarecrow. Three of the five had made it, which meant the other two had to still be outside fighting.

Curious how there was a lack of gunfire.

Riddler showed no signs of concern, standing out in the open and waiting for the trio to approach him. His mind sharpened, focusing all his attention on the leader. Stray thoughts were unneeded here and any and all pondering could prove to be lethal.

"Well, well, if it isn't lean and green! No idea how mean you can be, but perhaps you might be willing to show me?" the Joker greeted, continuing his stroll through the lobby.

"This has to be a trap," Scarecrow stated. The sack over his head hid away any and all clues to whether he was searching the area.

"Of course there has to be! Bring 'em on!" Quinn declared.

Riddler remained silent, watching as the three drew closer and closer. Only when they were mere feet away did he speak.

"Tickets?"

Joker came to an abrupt stop. Quinn and Scarecrow nearly ran into him due to the abruptness. Joker stared at the master of riddles who returned look for look, waiting to see what would happen next.

Joker's right hand raised then set itself on his purple suit jacket. Then it went down to his right pocket, his left hand lifting up to press itself against his chest. Both hands began to pat the clown's body, speeding up until—

"Alright, who brought the tickets? I was sure I put them in my pockets!" Now Joker was indeed pulling his pockets inside out, multiple knives and a yo-yo falling to the floor.

"But...I don't think we got any tickets," Quinn said slowly, blinking in confusion.

"What! Why didn't anyone get any tickets?" Joker exclaimed, whipping his head around to glare at his two cronies. Riddler had to struggle to keep a straight face because this was entertaining.

Indeed, easily distracted. However, it wasn't his place to take advantage of it, so he wouldn't. However, he did have his part to play.

Reaching into his own pocket, Riddler pulled out two tickets and held them up in plain view. "By luck, I happen to have two right here," he declared, and now Joker's attention was fully on him. Tucking his cane under one arm, he reached with his other hand and tore them in half. Holding out two stubs, he added, "Enjoy the show."

Those sunken eyes stared at the stubs and then the laughter erupted. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" Joker declared as he snatched the stubs and tucked them into a pocket that wasn't turned inside out. "Come, my peons! Before the previews start!"

"Righty-o!" Quinn chirped as she followed after the clown, the pair passing by Riddler without a care in the world.

However...

Grabbing the end of his cane, he spun it out and blocked Scarecrow's way with it. "My apologies, but that was two tickets, and you make three."

Now that he was close enough, he could see Scarecrow blink his eyes dumbly through the holes in what once had to be a burlap sack. "You're joking," Strange's former student said.

"The house rules are the rules," he replied, giving an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

"Rules, schmules! C'mon, Puddin'! Let's just waste this guy already!" Quinn said insultingly. A woman with no care for rules, how typical of the Joker to attract such a type.

"Harley, if there is one thing I won't violate with extreme prejudice, it's theater etiquette!" Joker reprimanded. "No ticket, no movie! Speaking of which, we need to get to ours! You can handle the maitre'd here, won't you, Johnny boy?"

Scarecrow's dark eyes pierced into him, but Riddler showed no sign of being intimidated. "I suppose the two of us still have to settle things from Robinson Park, don't we?" Long needles shot out and placed themselves on the fingertips of his right hand.

"That we do," Riddler agreed as he spun his cane in front of him, holding it at the ready.


The collective roars of Killer Croc and Man-Bat rang out as the two monster men charged and collided with each other. Croc wrapped his arms around his foe's body, his clawed fingers stabbing into its back. The Man-Bat flared its wings and beat then up and down over and over, lifting the two of them up into the air. It's legs wrapped around the reptile man's, locking the two as they took flight.

It soon became apparent what the giant bat was up to. It flew the two of them right into the side of a building, Croc taking the brunt of the impact. The Man-Bat stopped its flapping, allowing gravity to drop them to the ground. Still, it managed to turn them so that Croc hit the ground first.

It seemed Joker and Strange had started this battle already. Watching, Batman wanted to make certain that this battle wouldn't spill out away from the Monarch. Steps would be needed to be taken if so.

There were no signs of the other Arkham Inmates, at least not outside of the theater. That didn't mean they weren't in the theater itself and hopefully that was the case. It was easier to contain the impending violence inside the building—at least, that's what he would have thought, but the people involved had proven that nothing could contain them.

At the very least, Two-Face wasn't here and wouldn't be. His coin had fallen heads and he did as promised and turned himself in. Batman had followed him to the precinct to make sure of it, though Dent had never once deviated from the trek there. After that, the vigilante had called up Oracle and instructed her to send the Network to the Monarch.

It seemed everyone had gotten the call. The Birds of Prey were there along with Batgirl and Bluebird and Spoiler. While he wasn't thrilled about the latter two being present, this wasn't the time for being picky. For once, he wished Nightwing was here to help reign the two in, providing a watchful eye.

As the two beastial adversaries wrestled with each other on the ground, the Man-Bat biting into Croc's shoulder while the reptile man scratched at the giant bat's back, Batman couldn't help but think there was something off about this. It was more to do with the Man-Bat than Croc. It's tactics weren't that of a wild animal as his previous encounters with the creature indicated. It was almost as if it were being controlled by a higher consciousness.

Tearing his eyes away, Batman searched the surrounding area and spotted what he was looking for. Standing on the roof ledge of the Monarch was the Mad Hatter, who was watching the fight intently. That would explain the Man-Bat's logical attacks assuming Jervis Tetch was controlling it.

"I don't see Joker, or Strange anywhere," Huntress reported then. "If your tip from Dent is right, then they're probably in the theater."

"It'll be a little tough getting in there with those two brawling in front of the doors," Manhunter added.

Croc had had enough of being bitten at that moment and pulled an arm away from the Man-Bat, using it to ram his elbow into its head. The giant bat refused to be dislodged, digging its fangs as deep as it could into its opponent's scaly flesh. Over and over Croc bashed his forearm and elbow into the Man-Bat's head until it couldn't take it anymore and pulled away. It flapped its wings and separated the two monsters, flying backwards through the air and landing on its feet. Croc was quick to get back on his own feet, ignoring the blood dripping from his shoulder.

"We'll take these two," Black Canary suddenly said, her words aimed at Batman. "If we divide ourselves into two teams, we should be able to take these guys down while you and the girls get inside."

The dark-clad man wasn't a fan of the plan, but there was no way he was going to leave Bluebird or Spoiler outside where they could be taken down by either monster man. It made more sense for the Birds to take them down since he knew they could take care of themselves. However, it would be introducing the younger vigilantes to more psychotic threats.

Talk about a lose-lose situation.

"You'll need to send someone after Tetch too," he pointed out. This earned him looks from the other vigilantes. He merely pointed towards the top hat wearing man on top of the theater. "If you take him down, that should take out Man-Bat as well. Tetch is most likely controlling it."

"You can count on us," Black Canary confirmed.

"Batgirl, Bluebird, Spoiler, on me," Batman ordered. "The rest of you, protect yourselves."

The sound of multiple grappling guns firing off filled the air and the vigilantes went swinging in. Batman noticed a startled jolt out of the Mad Hatter from the sounds, which caused a flinching of the Man-Bat. Croc took that as a moment of weakness and began charging.

As the vigilantes closed in on the Monarch's plaza, the Birds angled themselves towards the two fighting monsters as Batman and the younger girls landed right at the entrance of the theater. They didn't stay around to see how the Birds' attacked as Batman forced the doors open and strode into the theater.


The doors to the theater proper flew open, and the ever-grinning Joker sauntered in and declared, "Hugy! I'm hoooome!"

The pale-skinned maniac's voice echoed throughout the massive chamber, the acoustics designed into the room amplifying the words. There was no carpeting on the floor to soak up the noise, just hardwood that held onto dirt and dust with a vengeance. Directly ahead was a grime-covered screen, far from pristine. The seating that should have taken up space before the screen was missing, torn away, removed, by who, could be anyone over the years. The only seating left was that around the room and up in the balcony.

A light projected from above and onto the screen. Images of Gotham on fire, burning buildings taking up the foreground as buildings in the background suddenly became engulfed in flames. The image changed then to a crowd of panicked people fleeing in terror as a cloud of death chased them. The moment the cloud filled the entire screen, it changed to a scene of carnage, a mob of giggling, pale, smiling maniacs rampaging through the streets of Central City, breaking storefronts, tearing apart cars, and unleashing all sorts of madness. And then it changed once again, the pale, grinning face of an insane-looking all-American boy. He turned away and fired laser beams out of his eyes destroying the surrounding buildings of Metropolis. Then it started over again with Gotham burning.

Joker's eyes became glassy and he seemed to become lost in thought. Then his head shook and he strolled further in, his assisting jester following at his heels.

"Playing my greatest hits? You shouldn't have," the clown admonished. "But really, I'm not here for the trip down memory lane. Get your chrome dome over here! Your funeral is not going to schedule itself!"

A chuckle rumbled. "I am curious. How often do you make good on your threats? So many directed to me, and not a single one has come true."

"I'm a shotgun kind of fellow. I fill you with holes and see which ones bleed," Joker interrupted with a flourish of his hand.

"Your flippancy is becoming mundane," Strange drawled as he strolled out of a darkened area of the theater, arms behind his back. "I tend to find such behavior to be a mask."

"Joke's on you! Puddin' don't even wear a mask!" Harley jabbed, sticking her tongue out childishly.

Strange tutted, shaking his head. "You of all people should understand there are many ways to wear a mask, Harleen. Not all masks are physical. The grin, the laughter, the gaudy outfit, all of what you see is the mask. Allow me to ask a question, has he ever told you who he was before the laughter? Before the Joker Venom, the bombs, and the chaos?"

"Of course! He told me everyth—oops!" Abruptly, Harleen slapped her hands to her mouth, eyes wide and darting to the Clown Prince himself. "Sorry. Confidentiality." Then her angry gaze turned back to the former shrink. "Ha! You thought you could trick me, but guess again, loser! I'm not about to betray anything my Puddin told me, so there!"

So amusing in how pathetic this was. "I don't need to know anything, Harleen. I already know that whatever he told you was a lie. Is a lie."

"Who's lying now!" the costumed harlequin shot back.

"You claim he told you everything? Have you forgotten already who his first psychiatrist was? I have been in the same room as him, just like you. I heard his tales and I know not to trust any of them. Which is why I took upon myself to find out the truth."

"You're just jealous my Puddin' trusts me more than he ever did you!" Arms crossed and a white-dusted face looked away haughtily.

"He doesn't trust you, Harleen."

"Does too! Does too!"

"Oh, Harley, Harley baby, my precious Harley-Davidson," Joker cooed as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "He's getting under your skin. And it's working. So shut up and let the only big boy here talk." The clown gave his flunky a shove and stepped forward. "Is this the best you can do, because, Dr. Phil, this is getting really boring. As in a fourth-grade kid's piano recital boring. Let's cut to the punchline already."

"Depends on whose punchline you speak of," Strange remarked. "I think mine is the more interesting, but let's see what you think of it before you render judgment, shall we?" A hand raised, fingers pressed together, and then a snap rang out.

Lights from below the silver screen itself flash on, beams of light shooting out to shine on large, transparent tanks holding a green liquid inside of them. They lined the walls of the theater, no longer hidden in darkness.

"Familiar?" Strange chuckled. "The chemical we liberated from Shreck Textiles. After learning the properties of this agent, I had to dig further. I know who you were, what you truly are, Joker. Behind everything, the mask you wear, one almost as interesting as that of Batman, is that you are nothing more than a boring, ordinary man. How did that night go? Was there a problem at the plant? Did you raise concerns? Were you trying to be a good, decent man only to find yourself face to face with an indecent one?

"Try as he might to hide it, Maximilian Shreck has a peculiar habit of his employees vanishing, going on vacation is the phrase he prefers. But he's also a man who is unafraid to get his hands dirty when needed. It isn't too far of a stretch that he might have pushed you into that vat, with that lovely chemical that now surrounds us, and that push is what pushed you into becoming the creature you are now. It's very strange how so much of this alleged employee is...missing. Name. Record of employment. Just vanishes. And then you appear. Are you the same man, or a happy coincidence? Who were you really, Joker? A boring cog unworthy of Batman's attention?"

Joker's expression could have only been described as one thing: dead. A dead stare that attempted to pierce right through the shrink, whose armor made of satisfaction and the knowledge of having the upper hand defended him easily from the gaze.

Then the lips cracked open.

"What does it matter?"

Strange raised an eyebrow.

Throwing his arms out, "What does it matter, Strange? This, this, and this, oh woe is me, I have a tragic backstory, blah, blah blah!" The clown spun around melodramatically. "WHO CARES!" His manic voice boomed throughout the theater. "Maybe I worked...wherever this stuff came from. Maybe I didn't! Maybe I broke in! I don't know! Who cares about memories anyway! Maybe I ran into that Christopher Walken lookalike! Or maybe I slipped and tripped! Or maybe, gasp, shock, Batman's here, runaway! Except Bats didn't have that little decoration on his chest at the time. It doesn't matter!"

The arms came down, the spinning stopped. A clown who was not smiling regarded the bearded psychiatrist with a look, one that suggested he was looking at a moth whose wings he was about to pluck off.

"Whatever my past is, it doesn't matter. It never mattered. Because I don't care about it at all. Who was I before I became the kind of guy who sees the bright side of life? Struggling comedian with a pregnant wife? Mob hitman with a lucky deck of cards—ooh, I like that one. Master criminal extraordinaire that no one's ever heard of? Average Joe? Abused kid with a father who never could take a joke? Could be any of them, but that's what I like. A past that's multiple choice. A choose-your-own-past story told in the second person! Me likes. But tell me, Strange, tell me how any of that…"

A hand tucked itself under the suit jacket and pulled out a gun with a ridiculously long barrel.

"...how does any of that save you from me telling my punchline?"

Both of Strange's eyebrows were raised, eyes trained on the gun. Then the disgraced shrink relaxed and turned his head to a side, as if to look at something else. Joker, despite his threat, followed his gaze.

Snaking out through the floorboards was a mass of vines that were wrapped all around the deluded Harleen Quinzel, the faux jester hanging upside down. At the base of the plant-form stood Pamela, relaxing against her creation.

"There is nothing I can do to stop your punchline," Strange said simply. "But you seemed to have forgotten that I myself am not alone either. I have an ally in the wings as well." Strange peered downwards, specifically towards the Joker's feet. The clown once more followed and found more vines stealthily snaking out from the floorboards directly beneath him.

"Well, crap," Joker said.

From stealthy to lightning fast, the Joker was once more restrained, his gun falling from his fingers to clatter heavily on the floor. With a smirk, the former shrink casually strolled closer, coming to a stop feet away.

"Really? More of the same? Boring!" Joker complained. "So what's the grand plan now? Pick up where you left off last time? Really, you need more material, Hugy."

"Actually, I thought I would tell a joke," he replied.

"You," Joker stated.

"Yes, I."

"Tell a joke."

"I do believe I said that."

"You."

"Now you are repeating yourself."

"The man with the most lousy sense of humor I have ever met is going to tell me a joke?"

"You had such mundane beginnings, but you are right, none of it matters now," Strange continued. "Now, now you are extraordinary. A man like you bombs cities, turns the citizenry on itself, and corrupts the incorruptible. You have made enemies with a living legend. We have talked about beginnings so much, that we haven't spoken of endings yet. So, I ask you, how does a man like you meet his end?

"I think most would assume it would be fighting with Batman one last time. Scoring a last victory as he fails to save you, or perhaps is responsible for your death. Or maybe it's something else, biting off more than you can chew with the Justice League? A bigger threat? A man like you deserves to end his legend spectacularly, don't you? But what if an extraordinary man dies not through extraordinary means, but by a mundane one?

"Imagine this, you consider me a nobody. Third rate. Not worthy enough to lick your shoes. But if I were to take—" a hand slipped into the white coat and removed a handgun, "a mundane weapon, such as this gun that I purchased from a gun shop just down the street this very morning. A simple shot to the head and it's over, quick, efficient. No violent explosions. No fight to the death. No extraordinary circumstances. No, something so mundane that a two-bit punk hiding in wait in an alley two blocks from here could do it."

Strange paused, letting his breath hiss through his lips while his prey, the Joker stared back with that dead look once more. He let the moment stretch, let the suspense build, then brought it to a close as he aimed the gun right at his adversary's forehead.

"How is that for a joke?"