It had been fifteen years since Jonathan Crane had set eyes on Gotham City, and if anything, it had become even more of a wretched hellscape than he remembered. It was a wonder he had stayed away for so long, he mused, being as fond of terror and chaos as he was. The city's existence was like a ticking time bomb, everyone in it just waiting for it to explode again, sometimes literally. There was fear everywhere – you could feel it in the streets oozing out from the pavement, emanating from the citizens like sweat on a hot day. If anything, the fear had gotten worse in the fifteen years he had been absent from the city – he supposed that was due to Robin taking over from Batman. Fears were hardly going to be allayed by a boy playing dress-up. Ironically, a man in a Halloween costume who deliberately set out in a demonic guise to pulverize criminals had allayed fears. For everyone but the criminals, of course, but the pathetic rabble of the city had seen Batman as a symbol of hope. And now that hope was gone.

But the fear remained, stronger than ever. Crane could almost taste it as he stepped out of the cab, fetid and rotten, just like the city. Gotham was a bloated corpse, full of maggots draining the juices and leeching the life from it. It was good to be home.

He savored the terror in the cab driver's eyes as he handed him the cash for the ride – he had been pleased with his new face, but hadn't been able to show it off to the public at large much. His real face had been torn off beneath the sewers of Arkham Asylum by Killer Croc, and the new face he had fashioned from its remains suited the Scarecrow to a T. He smiled with a lipless mouth as the cab driver suddenly started screaming and convulsing.

"New strain of my toxin transmitted through the skin, and very fast-acting," he explained, taking the money he had handed him back. "And easily circulated through the public via cash. I estimate you have about five minutes of abject terror and horrifying hallucinations before your heart gives out, but sadly I can't stay to watch. I'm late for an appointment, and that's very rude," he said, turning away from the screaming man and entering the apparently abandoned remains of Arkham Asylum.

The old mansion was completely overgrown now. Poison Ivy's plants had taken over the island, and humanity had never really reclaimed it – it looked almost post-apocalyptic, the picked clean bones of a place and time long dead. Like many of its former inmates, for all he knew, he mused as he entered the mansion and walked through its desolate halls. The Joker, obviously – that had been news that had reached him even in the far corners of the world where he had hidden himself after the accident. He had come back to Gotham then, to try and unite the supercriminals in one grand scheme against Batman, which would be much easier to do without the Joker gumming up the works. He had called a meeting here, in Arkham Asylum, with all the supercriminals left in Gotham, and had put his proposition to them. Which they had all roundly rejected – Crane believed now it was beyond the skill of anyone to unite them in common purpose. They all hated Batman, but they all seemed to hate each other more, and even though Crane thought his fear-gassing the city plan seemed solid, nobody was willing to trust him to lead it. He was no Joker, after all.

That realization had stung, but he wasn't going to press it. He was a patient man, and used to biding his time in order to achieve maximum terror. If Batman had to wait to confront his fears, then so be it. It would be all the more satisfying when he eventually did. Crane had left Gotham again after that, heading to the Far East to conduct experiments with a rare type of insect native to that region, an insect that secreted a toxin that made people hallucinate their deepest terrors. He had planned to return to Gotham to debut his new toxin someday, and to make Batman pay for what he had done to him, but he hadn't planned on contacting any of the other supercriminals again, not after they had rejected his plan.

He was shocked then to receive a letter one day from Harley Quinn. He hadn't heard from her in fifteen years, and didn't honestly know how she had discovered where in Malaysia he had been hiding out in order to write to him. Crane had assumed she'd just curl up and die without Joker. When he last saw her at the meeting, she had been very unlike her usual self. She had seemed quiet and afraid, and he had wondered at the time, as a man interested in fear would naturally do, what she was afraid of now that Joker was dead. The loneliness, perhaps, the pointlessness of a life without love. Maybe she was too afraid to face life without him – that was what he had assumed.

But she hadn't let the fear overwhelm her, apparently. Crane took a seat in the former warden's office, and scanned the letter again:

Dear Johnny,

Hope you're doing ok. I heard you left Gotham, like all the cool kids did. Well, you and I did anyway, so that's pretty much all the cool kids. You're probably wondering why I'm contacting you out of the blue like this, but I still remember your proposal all those years ago to get all us supercriminals together to lead an attack on Gotham and make the Bat pay for Mr. J. If you remember, I was all for it at the time, but was outvoted by the other freaks who were just interested in fighting amongst themselves. I was wondering if you still wanted to try that plan, because if so, I think I can help. I think I've got something that will change everybody's minds, but I wanted to show it to you first. If you're still interested, meet me in the old warden's office in Arkham at 8 PM on April 1st. I think you'll enjoy the surprise!

Lots of love,

Harley Quinn

Crane had been wracking his brain all the way from Malaysia speculating what sort of surprise she could have that would change everybody's minds – some sort of blackmail, perhaps? But he couldn't imagine anybody could blackmail Gotham's supercriminals – you couldn't blackmail people who weren't ashamed of anything. But he didn't have long to wait to find out, he thought, checking his watch. In fact, Harley was already ten minutes late, and he wondered for a moment if this whole thing had been some sort of elaborate prank. Joker would have found dragging him all the way to Gotham for no reason very funny, after all, and Harley had always been so eager to imitate Joker – that was basically her identity. Or it had been, but of course that might have changed in fifteen years. People did tend to change over time, and with Joker dead, it was entirely possible that Harley had even regained some semblance of sanity without that clown to influence her…

"Johnny, you made it!" exclaimed a familiar voice. He stood up, and was shocked when Harley Quinn launched herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"How ya been? It's been forever!" she exclaimed, her blue eyes shining as she beamed up at him. Aside from looking a little older, she clearly hadn't changed a bit.

"I'm fine, Harley," replied Crane. "How are you?"

"Just swell, thanks for asking!" she said happily.

"Yes, you're looking a lot more cheerful than the last time I saw you," he commented.

"Well, a lot's changed since then, Johnny," said Harley, with a smile. "I'm so glad you could make it – I bet I was the last person you expected to hear from."

"Well, not the last," conceded Crane. "But of course we've never been that close – I always thought if you were going to contact one of your supercriminal associates, it would be someone like Poison Ivy. You two were always such good friends."

"Oh yeah, ain't seen Red in a long time though," said Harley, shaking her head. "She went off to the Brazilian rainforest after Arkham City shut down, and as far as I know, nobody's heard from her since. She's probably happier with the plants – she was never supportive of my…"

She trailed off. "Of your?" pressed Crane.

"Of my relationship with Mr. J," finished Harley. "But you know that, of course. Can I getcha a drink?" she asked, turning to the remains of the safe and opening it.

"No, thank you," said Crane. "Are you…living here now?" he asked, wondering for a moment if she had just gone crazy.

"Yeah, it's cheaper than a hotel!" she laughed. "And a good place to relive some memories. I mean, not for you, probably," she added. "Like the new face though – super creepy. It suits you."

"Thank…you," said Crane, slowly.

"You wanna take a stroll down memory lane with me?" she asked, holding out her hand. "Maybe the old cell block? I mean, this office is nice, but I've been living here a long time, and I do want a change of scenery sometimes. And we can see our old cells. I bet mine still has that leak in the ceiling – they never got around to fixing that no matter how many times I reminded 'em…"

Harley continued to babble away as they left the mansion and headed to the cell block. Crane just studied her silently – he had been a psychiatrist, and to his trained eye, it seemed like Harley had just snapped. She had never been very sane in the first place, but it seemed like she had had some kind of full mental breakdown. Maybe that was the end result of Joker's death for her – an inability to cope with the reality of the situation, and so a complete break with reality was the only solution. He almost pitied her, but he was more annoyed at having come all this way to meet with a raving lunatic.

"See, leak's still there," she sighed, as they stopped in front of Harley's old cell. "Of course it's grown a bit too since the roof is missing. And there's your cell – did you leave any hidden stashes of fear gas lying around?"

"If I had, they would have lost their potency by now," he replied.

"Sure, and you're probably immune to your own stuff anyway," said Harley, nodding. "I know I wouldn't mess around with that stuff if I were you without making an immunity to it. The last thing you wanna do is start hallucinating."

"Yes…" agreed Crane, but he suddenly whirled around at a loud sound behind him. It sounded like a laugh. His laugh. And it was coming from…his cell.

"Did you…hear that?" stammered Crane.

"Hear what?" asked Harley, just smiling at him. Her smile seemed creepier than usual, and it unnerved Crane. As did the laugh, which came again suddenly. There was no mistaking it…

"He's dead," whispered Crane. "He's dead!"

"Aw, don't believe in ghosts, Scaredy-Crow?" sighed Harley. "That's a shame."

"How are you doing this?" he demanded. "It's not my fear toxin – I'm immune to that, and he's…he's dead! The dead can't come back to life! It's impossible! Impossible!"

He yelped suddenly, falling back as his eyes fixed on Joker's cell, where he saw, seated on the bed and smiling at him, the Joker.

"No…it can't be you!" he gasped. "You're dead! You're dead!"

The Joker suddenly burst into hysterical fits of laughter, and he was joined by Harley. "You should see the look on your face!" gasped the Joker in between laughs. "It's priceless! Oh, this was a great idea for a joke, Mommy!"

"I learned from the best!" replied Harley, beaming as she opened the door to the Joker's cell and hugged him tightly. "I hope you can forgive us for pranking you, Johnny, but it was impossible to resist!" she said, smiling at Crane. "Johnny, this is my son, Joker Junior. J.J., this is Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow."

"Pleased to meetcha," said the Joker figure, holding out his hand and smiling. Crane instinctively went to shake his hand, and was duly shocked with a joy buzzer as a reminder that it was always a bad idea to shake hands with someone who looked like the Joker. Crane just stared at him, his heart-rate gradually returning to normal. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious that it wasn't the Joker in front of him. He was far too young, for one, and had blue eyes as opposed to his father's wild green ones. But the smile was the same – it was almost identical.

"Your…son," stammered Crane, slowly processing the information. "How…why…when…"

"I'm pretty sure you know how babies are made," retorted Harley. "And as for the why, I've always wanted to be a Mommy. But when Mr. J got sick, it became imperative, so I'd have something left of him to hold onto after he was gone. And the when…well, J.J.'s birthday is today, so about nine months before that, fifteen years ago."

"I didn't mean…I mean…how have you kept this a secret?" asked Crane.

"Easy," retorted Harley. "I just cut ties with everyone when I left Gotham, and before I had a baby bump. Nobody thought anything of it – they thought I had just given up without Mr. J. Red knew – she was the one who helped get me outta Gotham and over to Brazil with her, but she wasn't supportive during my pregnancy or after. She was furious about it, actually – thought it wasn't right to inflict more Jokers on the world, in her own words. She didn't agree with how I was raising J.J. to be like his Daddy - we had a huge fight a few years back, and I ain't seen or heard from her since. I left her a note saying we were returning to Gotham and that she could find me here in Arkham if she wanted to get in touch, but she hasn't. I guess she wasn't a very good friend to me, in the end. But you are, aren't you, Johnny?" she asked, smiling at him. "You'll help me, won't you?"

"Help you…with what?" he asked, slowly.

"Well, it's just been me and J.J. for a long time," said Harley, smiling at her son. "And I think I've done a great job with him, but young men need positive male role models, don't they?"

"Do they?" asked Crane.

"I think so," she retorted. "And I think J.J.'s old enough now to go into the supercriminal business – he's always wanted to, since he was stealing money outta my purse as a toddler," she said, pinching his cheek. "So I was hoping that you could kinda apprentice him. Show him how to be a good leader during your attack on Gotham."

"Oh, he's interested in participating in my attack on Gotham?" asked Crane.

"No, I'm interested in leading your attack on Gotham," retorted J.J. "Everyone rejected you fifteen years ago, and nothing's changed. While I'm a symbol everyone can get behind, a new and improved Joker."

"You're a child," retorted Crane. "Nobody is going to listen to you."

"Oh, but they will," said J.J., with his father's smile. "I'll make them listen to me, and I'll make them obey me. You think you can instill fear, old man, but nobody inspires fear like the Joker."

"Isn't he just like him?" cooed Harley, stroking her son's green hair back.

"Yes, down to the lack of manners," agreed Crane. "I'm sorry, Harley, but I'm not working with a child, and I'm certainly not following a child leading my attack which I planned…"

"That doesn't sound like positive male role model language to me," interrupted Harley, glaring at him. "My son needs a strong male role model to show him how to kill Batman, and I thought you'd be great – respectable doctor, old and wise, but obviously you ain't wise if you ain't excited about working with my son. Anyway, I think you'll want what I have for your attack."

"And what is that, besides a spoiled brat with a messiah complex?" asked Crane.

Harley smiled. "J.J., show him the money."

"I got it right here in my pocket," said J.J., pulling out a small microchip.

"What is that?" asked Crane.

"J.J.'s kinda a tech genius," explained Harley. "That's how we found out where you were hiding out - there's traces of you all over the internet, so discovering your address wasn't a problem for him. And crime just comes naturally to him, like his Daddy, so he won't need much guidance from you. That's a program he's developed that can hack into any banking system and drain the funds from every account, transferring it over to a private and untraceable personal account based in Switzerland. And it doesn't just work with banks. Mr. Bruce Wayne is gonna find out he's short a good hundred million."

"Not that a reclusive loner would notice," added J.J. "What would he do with a million dollars, after all? Buy some more black curtains?"

He flipped out a tablet and plugged in the chip, typing in a few things and handing the screen to Crane. "Say bye bye Brucie, and guten tag to private Swiss bank account!" he chuckled.

"There's over five billion dollars in here," gasped Crane, studying the figures on the screen.

"Yep," said J.J., proudly. "That'll buy an awful lot of toys to attack Gotham with. It's my gift to you, as your benevolent leader. Assuming you agree to the terms of the arrangement?"

Crane glared at him, but there was no denying this money would be the key to his plan. Last time he hadn't been able to implement it because no one had financially contributed, but he didn't need anyone to contribute now. He just needed to agree to work under this clearly insane teenager. How terrible could that be?

Crane nodded slowly. "All right," he said. "I'll get to work."

"Good!" said J.J., beaming at him with the Joker's smile. "I'm looking forward to it! But just one thing before you go," he said, grabbing his arm. "Mommy and I think it would be best if you kept my identity, and indeed, my whole existence to yourself. It'll be our little secret."

"But if you're leading an attack on Gotham, you're going to be recognized," said Crane. "People will see the obvious resemblance to your father."

"I'm going to wear a mask, like an old friend of my father's taught me," chuckled J.J. "I'm going to make it look exactly like his, from the mask down to the suit. Probably not the cape though – I'm not really a cape guy."

"I think you could pull it off, sweetie," said Harley.

"No, they don't suit me, Mommy," he replied, shaking his head. "And you never know when they'll suck you into a jet engine or something. No, I'm losing the cape, but I'm homaging his suit in every other aspect."

"And what will your secret identity be?" asked Crane. "Anti-Batman?"

"No, that's lame," said J.J., making a face. "Keep your suggestions to yourself in the future, old man, because they're lame like you."

"Now listen here, you little…" began Crane, growing angry.

"Don't you dare raise your voice to my baby!" snapped Harley, interrupting him furiously. "Don't you dare!"

The look in her eyes was completely unhinged and fierce, like a mother grizzly bear would look if someone came near their cub. Crane had never appreciated before how frightening the maternal instinct could be, but he suddenly realized that if he even so much as said a harsh word to J.J., Harley might murder him for it.

"I was thinking the Arkham Night for the name," said J.J., casually, as if nothing had happened. "Sort of a pun on his Dark Knight thing, but spelled N-I-G-H-T for double the pun fun."

"But that doesn't make sense…" began Crane, slowly.

"It does," interrupted J.J. "Mommy told me that's how I was conceived – on an Arkham Night. So it's a good name for me, as it's how I exist and everything. It's like how people name their kids Paris because they were conceived in Paris, or Apple because they were conceived by Steve Jobs, or X Æ A-12, because they were conceived by insanity…"

Crane tried to tune out J.J.'s babbling as he headed for the door – he had a feeling that this was a skill he would have to cultivate very quickly to preserve his own sanity, what little remained of it anyway.