2 weeks later…
A newspaper travels by like tumbleweed across the Gotham streets. The headline says: "JOKER ESCAPES ARKHAM AGAIN" However, ten pages into the front section of the paper there are obituaries for the Killer Moth and the Eraser. Needless to say, they are both on the bottom of the page and are microscopic next to the Sports section that follows it. At least Gotham State's football team may go undefeated this year. The wind picks the paper up and it flutters like a leaf in the wind, traveling through Gotham across to an expensive restaurant frequented by much of the nouveau rich and blue bloods of Gotham: The Emerald Palate. The entrance is guarded by several burly men with submachine guns because, in Gotham, you can never be too careful. At a table at the corner of the lucrative café, sits three men: Fisk, Shackley, and Volper. Or, as others may know them, the Terrible Trio.
"It is a fine day to be rich, aye gentlemen?" said Fisk
"It has been a long time since we have come to Gotham." said Shackley
"Too long, I rather like this place." said Volper
"I can't wait to go out and explore this fine city once again."
"Well, wait a little longer; our guest has yet to arrive."
"He is never late…or maybe I have spoken too soon?"
A disheveled man enters the restaurant, much to the disdain of the bourgeoisie patrons. He carries in his right hand a hat unlike a Musketeer.
"Good lord, man. At least you could have shaved before coming in here!"
"And look at those clothes; they are awfully out of the dress code for this establishment!"
"It is good to have you back, Dueling Cavalier."
The man looks down at the floor and sits down at their table.
"Please, don't call me by that name. It has caused me too much misery. Let's just get down to brass taxes."
"Ah, yes, the loan."
"It is a shame you wasted your entire family's fortune."
"Pity they did not live to see the day that it all went the way of the dodo."
The Dueling Cavalier slams the table.
"My family is none of your goddamn business! Now, am I supposed to do to get this 'loan'?"
"It's simple."
"Pragmatic."
"Practical."
"You simply have to kill Batman." Fisk quipped
"Don't you people understand? I am trying to start over! Killing people, nonetheless Batman, will not make me a better person!"
"We are not trying to make you a better person."
"We are trying to make you wealthy again."
"And, as we should know, being wealthy does not make one a 'better' person."
"Killing people is easy…killing Batman is a little tougher." Shackley quipped.
The Dueling Cavalier stares at the expensive menu set before him.
"Life, as a villain, it was never as romantic as I thought it would be. You know, just fight Batman a few times, go to jail, and fight again another day. They never tell ya the mental cost. How much time it takes up in your life. The money it takes to put on such ridiculous garb. I had it all, where did it all go to shit?
"These things require risk."
"Reason."
"Money."
"Nevertheless, it does not mean it is all for naught. Life is the pursuit of happiness, and we are willing to make you happy." Volper quipped.
"Content."
"Mutually assured."
The garcon sets a bottle of wine on the table and pours a glass for everyone.
"Oh, hell. One last time. Besides, my girlfriend just loves it that I fought Batman. She finds it incredibly sexy."
"Imagine what she would be like when you finally kill him?"
"To good health and happiness!"
"To a return to prominence!"
"To a better life!" the Dueling Cavalier said as he drank the Dom Perrignon.
He accidentally drops his fork onto the ground. He bends over to pick it up only to spot something blinking under his table.
A solitary man stands two blocks away, on a lonely roof, staring at the restaurant between a few anonymous buildings.
"If a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound?"
BOOOOM! The restaurant explodes, shattering nearby windows and spraying debris over several city blocks. Limbs fall from the sky as well as purses, tuxedos, and everything else in between. The wind picks up many things. The Dueling Cavalier's hat cindered on the edges, bloodied, and burnt flies through the city on the wind unlike a leaf. There is a deathly silence afterwards, as if all words and sounds have been erased permanently from memory. The solitary man leaves, content in the evening's crescendo. A din of sirens blares through town. However, further through town, another solitary figure stands on top of another building, like a gargoyle watching over a Gothic church. He swoops down and glides to the crime scene. He isn't content.
