"Ok, I'll just say what we're all thinking – what the hell is going on?" demanded Two-Face, as he faced the assembled group of supervillains. "We don't hear from Scarecrow for fifteen years ever since that dumb meeting, and he suddenly contacts all of us out of the blue inviting us to another dumb meeting? Is he insane?"

"Obviously," retorted Edward Nygma. "The definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

"What, like you trying to kill Batman?" asked Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, puffing on a cigar.

"I wish," retorted Nygma. "I haven't seen Batman in ages, but I know that ridiculous sidekick of his always goes and asks for his advice with my riddles. There's no way he could solve them by himself. But Batman's too cowardly to face me now, so he sends the child to do his dirty work."

"I think Batman's dead," muttered Two-Face. "I think he killed himself after he killed Joker, and everyone just hushed it up."

"Impossible," retorted Nygma. "Batman has a limited intellect, just slightly higher than the average hoodlum, but Robin is way below that. There's no way he could keep defeating me without Batman's help."

"I hate to say it, but I agree with Harvey," said Penguin. "Batman couldn't cope with the guilt over killing Joker and topped himself. It's a shame one of us couldn't be the one to do it, but it does beg the question as to why we're being called to meet here. Last time Crane wanted to kill Batman, but if Batman's already dead, what could he want?"

"I don't really care, as long as I get paid," said Nygma, folding his arms across his chest. "That's the only reason I'm here, because Crane promised us a thousand dollars each just to attend. All my riddle equipment doesn't come cheap, you know."

"You save on labor costs by using those robots though," said Two-Face. "I get they're expensive to build in terms of raw materials, but at least you're not paying out a salary for henchmen biweekly. I can't tell you how much they've cost me over the years."

"The answer is no, Harvey," retorted Nygma. "I'm not sharing them, or the tech to build them. You'll just have to make do with the useless dregs culled from Gotham's utterly uninspiring underbelly."

"On the bright side, the henchmen pools are growing everyday, thanks to rapid unemployment," said Penguin. "Ever since Wayne Enterprises took that nosedive, business in this town has never been the same. Nobody's hiring, and everyone is cutting costs. It's a win for us though."

"Yeah, I wouldn't run as DA today, even if I hadn't had my face ruined," agreed Two-Face. "Crime is spiraling out of control, and I can't see anyone being able to stop that. Certainly not Robin, and probably not Batman, even if he wasn't dead."

"If he isn't dead, why wouldn't he come back to save the city?" asked Penguin. "He always did before. What's holding him back now, when things have gotten so bad in Gotham for everyone except the criminals? You'd think this is when a hero would be needed the most, and we all know Batman's ego would never have allowed him to turn his back on that calling."

"I'm just saying, a man that obsessed with not killing would never kill himself," said Nygma. "And I seriously doubt someone else could have killed him without us hearing about it. Maybe he just left Gotham – took a long vacation after Joker's death and never came back. Maybe he finally realized he could actually enjoy his life in some sunny tropical paradise somewhere, and decided not to come back to this cesspool of a city. I can't say I blame him – I've often thought of doing that myself."

"Not me," said Penguin, adjusting the diamond pin in his tie. "This place is perfect for a criminal looking to make some dishonest cash. Crime, corruption, and bribery are endemic, and business has never been better for some of us. It's a wonderful life. My only regret is not being able to get Batman outta the way sooner – he interfered in our business for far too long. I don't care if he's dead or just left the city. I'm just glad he's out of our hair."

"What little remains of your hair, huh, Pengers?" giggled a voice. They turned to see Harley Quinn entering the great hall of the Arkham mansion, where they had all gathered.

"Well, well, well, Joker's little stooge still lives!" chuckled Penguin. "I figured you'd have curled up and died without the clown, love."

"Yeah, you never were very bright," agreed Harley, taking a seat on the steps and smiling at him. "Looking even fatter than usual too – must be all that caviar and sitting on your ass and leaving the real work to other people, huh?"

"I wasn't expecting to see you either, Harley," said Two-Face. "Where have you been all this time?"

"Oh, here and there," said Harley, leaning casually on her bat. "Doing things, meeting people, causing trouble, you know, the usual stuff."

"And is there a new man in your life now?" asked Nygma. "I know you wouldn't be happy without someone to slap you around."

"In a manner of speaking," agreed Harley, with a grin. "So sorry, Eddie, you're too late for the rebound fling. Not that I would ever be stupid or blind enough to give you a chance, particularly not after Mr. J. He was just so much better than everyone else that he's ruined all other men for me for life."

"Speaking of ruining men for life, is Ivy with you?" asked Two-Face. "I haven't seen her in ages either, so I figured she must have left Gotham."

"Yeah, she did," agreed Harley, nodding. "But no, she's not with me. She didn't approve of…the new man in my life, shall we say."

"Oh, so there is one?" asked Nygma.

"In a manner of speaking," repeated Harley, smiling at him.

"Harley, I can't find him!" exclaimed Jonathan Crane, racing into the room. "We were meant to enter together, to show a united front, but he's not in his room!"

"And what do you expect me to do about it?" asked Harley, studying her bat nonchalantly.

"Well, help me find him!" snapped Crane.

"I'm sure he'll turn up when he's ready," replied Harley, smiling at him. "You can't stifle people with schedules and appointments, especially not bright and independent youngsters like him."

"Unbelievable," muttered Crane, looking around. "Well, hello, everyone – long time, no see. I was hoping to be able to introduce you to my associate, the Arkham Night, who wanted me to call you all here to listen to my…his plan for leading an attack on Gotham…"

"Why would we want to attack Gotham?" interrupted Penguin. "It's perfect just the way it is."

"Yeah, I get why you wanted to do it fifteen years ago, to draw out Batman and get revenge for your face," said Two-Face, nodding. "But now? It just seems kinda pointless, especially since we figure Batman is dead."

"He's not dead," said a filtered voice from the shadows, as a screen suddenly dropped down from the ceiling. A moment later, a projector started whirring, displaying footage onto the screen, as the voice continued, "Data from the Batcomputer is easily traceable – it's just a matter of reversing the stream of data to the source, in this case, a camera. He uses them to spy on everyone, but the danger of that is that everyone can spy on him. It's like that quote about staring into the abyss, and the abyss stares back, only this time the abyss is anyone with a basic knowledge of technology. Here's some footage from the Batcave's security cameras, and there's your guy," the voice said, pausing the video and showing Batman staring directly at them through the screen in the Batcave.

"Amazing," muttered Two-Face. "Seems like you should have thought of that, Eddie. If someone can hack the Batcomputer's camera, they can probably hack the servers and find Batman's identity…"

"Oh yeah, that's no problem," continued the voice, as the screen whirred to life again, displaying receipts and emails. "Just follow the money. A guy with that much kit leaves quite a paper trail, no matter how hard he tries to conceal it. Here's a receipt for some repairs to the Batmobile, paid for by a bank account whose details are supposedly private and encrypted. But those are meaningless words used to make people feel safe, without actually being true, just like order and sanity and justice. You just need to bypass a few things, which a child can do, and voila," he said, as the screen flickered again. "The bank account is connected to Wayne Enterprises. So we know Wayne Enterprises is funding Batman, and it makes sense to assume that this is something its CEO knows about. So we go through CEO Lucius Fox's computer, and find messages regarding tech which he's prepared for Batman. And we can follow the IP addresses of devices that accessed those messages – many are read on the Batcomputer. But some are read on the personal, locked, highly secure computer of Mr. Bruce Wayne. Ergo, Bruce Wayne is Batman. Oops, spoiler alert," he added, as a figure slid down from the gargoyle above the projector, dressed in a military version of Batman's armor. He waved at the astonished group staring at him. "Hi, folks. I'm the Arkham Night."

"Bruce Wayne?" repeated Crane. "But that's impossible!"

"Or, totally obvious when you think about it," retorted Arkham Night, nodding. "You know the guy's gotta be rich, or funded by someone who is. And who's the richest person in Gotham who also coincidentally owns a huge corporation which would make it easy to funnel money into his chosen hobby? Bruce Wayne. It really couldn't be anybody else without buying into some ridiculous conspiracy theory about Batman being funded by the government. And any conspiracy theories involving the government are inherently stupid, because they assume the government is at all competent. Which, I can assure you, having access to all government files, it's just not. Private individuals and corporations are also pretty incompetent, but not as incompetent as the government, and that's what makes this country great. God bless America."

"And who are you exactly?" asked Nygma, glaring at him. "You say Batman is some playboy billionaire idiot, but we only have your word on that."

"No, you have that whole video I made," said Arkham Night, gesturing behind him.

"You can falsify video – everyone knows that," retorted Nygma. "I simply don't believe I've been humiliated time and time again by some vacuous celebrity."

"Well, there's no idea so stupid that a smart person won't believe it," said Arkham Night, shrugging. "I guess you fit that description, because Bruce Wayne is Batman. That's just a fact. I'm sorry it hurts your feelings, but facts don't care about your feelings, do they?"

"Seriously, who is this?" asked Two-Face, turning to Crane. "Because he's got quite an attitude, and it's probably not deserved. Where did you find him, Crane? And why are you working with him?"

"Because I'm rich," replied Arkham Night, before Crane could answer. "And everyone wants to work with you when you're rich. Money makes the world go round – you all know that. That's why you're here, because we bribed you to be. Capital is the only way to achieve anything, you know that, Harvey. Could you ever have become DA without spending millions of dollars on posters of your pretty face for the campaign trail?"

"My name is Two-Face," retorted Two-Face. "But you can call me sir, son. How old are you anyway? You look like a kid."

"The Arkham Night is a young man I'm…mentoring," said Crane, slowly. "He expressed interest in my attack on Gotham plan, and offered me the funds to pay for it. I don't look a gift horse in the mouth like that, particularly since I was refused funds by everyone here the last time I gathered you all together."

"So you want to attack Gotham as a means of killing Batman after fifteen years?" asked Penguin. "I never thought I'd say this, but you don't think it's time to let that grudge die, Crane? I know we all had unhealthy obsessions with getting revenge on Batman for some reason or other, and you more than most since you blame him for your face. But trust me, life is much better if you just forget about Batman and try making a dishonest living as a regular criminal. You can still have money and power, which is all I was in the game for anyway."

"Some things are more important than money and power," spoke up Harley. "And Batman owes me a debt which he's gonna repay with his blood."

"Yeah, you need to let it go too, Quinn," retorted Penguin, rounding on her. "I know you loved that ugly clown bastard, for some bizarre reason, but he's been dead fifteen years. I thought you said you had a new man in your life anyway – you'd think you could stop being a pathetic victim now and just move on. But then I forgot who I was talking to – a pathetic victim is just what you are, isn't it, Quinn?"

"I'll thank you not to speak to a lady like that," said Arkham Night, coming over to Harley and kneeling down next to her. "Especially not such a wonderful lady – smart, sweet, and beautiful."

"Thanks, sweetie," said Harley, kissing the top of his helmet.

"Oh, is this the new guy?" asked Two-Face. "You got some sort of toy boy, huh? That's weird – I kinda assumed older guys were your type, based on J."

"You wish, Harvey," retorted Harley. "I don't have a type. I only have Mr. J, forever and ever."

"Look, if they hadn't burned his body, your Mr. J would have rotted away a long time ago," said Penguin. "He woulda been consumed by worms and crapped out as maggot poo. And not even that's left of him now – he's gone, forgotten by everyone in this miserable burg except you. Nobody even remembers the Joker anymore, not when the Penguin is still out there causing trouble. J was cut off in his prime, while some of us have continued on by being better criminals. When all is said and done, your Mr. J was just some poor, pathetic nutjob with an unhealthy obsession with Batman. It figures that you were drawn to him, another poor, pathetic nutjob with an unhealthy obsession…"

Before anyone could react, the Arkham Night launched himself at Penguin, seizing him around the throat and lifting him up off the ground. He shoved him against a pillar, holding him around the throat with one hand, while the other reached for his tie pin, pressing it slowly forward into his neck so that it nicked the skin.

"People who don't listen to me are useless to me," said the Arkham Night, in a calm voice which contrasted horribly with Penguin's desperate struggling and squawking. "I told you not to talk to her like that, but no, you're a big man who'll do whatever you want and not be ordered around by anyone. It's good to know now, before I try to include you in a game where you have to play nice with others. But some people can't do that, can they, Pengers?" he asked, as he pressed the pin in harder, piercing its way slowly through the flesh. "Some people have Napoleon complexes where they gotta try to boss everyone around to make up for how short they are, in stature and talent and manners. I know it must be difficult to have a mental disorder like that, but that's no excuse for rudeness or disobedience, is it?"

Penguin screamed as the pin punctured his throat – Arkham Night withdrew it suddenly, watching the blood spill out onto his tie. "There's no point in working with someone who won't obey orders, you see," he continued. "And there's no point in wasting a thousand dollars in paying you for coming – even a rich person shouldn't be extravagant with money. It's tacky, you see. Or maybe you don't see. Maybe that bottle in your eye has blinded you for far too long. Maybe the glass has disintegrated over time, and ended up in your eye. Is that what happened, Pengers? These flimsy, fragile little shards of glass just snapped apart and tragically blinded you," he continued calmly, pressing his thumb into the bottle lodged in Penguin's eye and watching it splinter apart as Penguin howled in pain. He pressed the shards of glass in further, while his other hand raised the tie pin to Penguin's other eye, bringing the sharp needle closer and closer to the eyeball…

The Gotham Rogues were no strangers to horrible sights, having brought about many themselves. But they all turned a little paler as they watched Penguin's torture. He flailed uselessly against the Arkham Night, who seemed completely serene during the act. Harley watched the scene with a beaming smile, her eyes shining with glee.

At last, Arkham Night dropped Penguin's body to the ground, and turned to face everyone, covered in blood. "Ok, so we're all onboard the attacking Gotham plan, right?" he asked.

Everyone nodded vigorously. "Good!" said Arkham Night, cheerfully. "Then my work here is done. You guys can go – I'll contact you soon," he said, waving his hand at Two-Face and Riddler.

The latter instantly raced off to go be sick. Two-Face passed Crane on his way out of the room and muttered, "I hope you know what you're doing working with someone like that. I haven't seen a complete psycho like that since Joker."

"No," agreed Crane. "Nor have I."

Two-Face shut the door behind him, and Crane turned slowly to face the Arkham Night, who had removed his helmet to reveal J.J.'s smiling face, grinning maniacally. Harley was fussing over him, cooing, "You look so handsome covered in all that blood, sweetie!"

"Why on earth…did you do that?" gasped Crane.

"Hey, it convinced them to join in the plan, didn't it?" asked J.J., shrugging. "You can't argue with results. You should have tried killing one of 'em fifteen years ago – you probably would have got their respect and their help in your Gotham attack. Anyway, that's what happens to people who insult my mother. Nobody insults my mother," he said, embracing her tightly. "A boy's best friend is his mother, wouldn't you agree, Craney?"

"Um…yes," said Crane, slowly. "I just don't…I mean…you can't just go around horribly murdering people like that."

"Why not?" he asked, confused.

"Well, it's just…I mean, I suppose you can, but it's just…quite shocking," stammered Crane. "I'm a brutal man myself, and no stranger to terror, but that was…horrific."

"It was justice," sniffed Harley. "Penguin killed my babies back in Arkham City. He needed to pay for them."

"Your babies?" repeated Crane. "You mean you were pregnant before?"

"No, my first babies were fur babies," laughed Harley. "My pet hyenas, Bud and Lou, that Mr. J got me our first Christmas together. Penguin had 'em shot and stuffed in Arkham City. I've wanted him to die horribly ever since then."

"It was a handy coincidence that the one she wanted dead also happened to be the most uncooperative one," agreed J.J. "All that talk about wanting to keep things the way they are, and regular crime, what a maroon. Crime's only fun if it involves costumed vigilantes and supercriminals – everyone knows that."

"So what are you going to do about the body?" asked Crane, looking down at it. "I don't particularly want it stinking up the mansion as it rots."

"No problemo," said J.J., shrugging. "I'll take care of it, don't you worry. Mommy taught me to always clean up the messes I made, didn't you, Mommy?"

"That's right, sweetie," agreed Harley, kissing his cheek. "He's such a good boy, isn't he?"

Crane said nothing. "Isn't he?!" demanded Harley, her eyes flashing fury.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure he is," said Crane, hastily.

"Positive role models should provide positive reinforcement," said Harley, her easy smile returning. "Well, you're a shrink like me, Johnny, so you know that."

"I do, yes," said Crane. "If you'll just…excuse me, I think I'm going to start…making some fear toxin for the attack."

"Okie dokie!" said Harley, cheerfully. "We'll call if we need you! But I think J.J.'s got this – he's a genius at planning, just like his Daddy!"

"Yes, just like his Daddy," agreed Crane, as he headed for the door. As much as he had initially wanted Batman to pay for what he had done, for the first time he began to wonder if he might be in over his head. It wouldn't be the last time he wondered that.