"Gotham City, thirty years from now," said Nygma, as the scene changed again. "Only with one very important difference – Harleen Quinzel has never been born. You, the Joker, have indulged in a successful criminal career, planning fights and schemes for Batman, both of you locked in the endless, cyclical struggle of your existences."

"See? That's the life!" said Joker. "And I bet I've never been happier!"

The door to the abandoned warehouse opened and Joker turned to see…himself. Only a much older version of himself, who leaned heavily on his cane, his green hair almost completely gray.

"Gee, I'm sorry Batman didn't show, boss," said one of his oldest henchmen, Rocco, who followed him into the warehouse. "That's what, the third time he's stood you up?"

"Fourth," muttered older Joker, collapsing into a chair. "And I climbed all those stairs to the roof for nothing."

"Maybe he's got other things going on with his life now," said Rocco. "Y'know, kids, grandkids…"

"Or maybe he's just getting senile in his old age!" snapped Joker. "Always knew he'd give up the fight before I did. Always knew he was the weaker one."

He coughed suddenly into a handkerchief. "Probably ain't my place to say this, boss, but…maybe he just got sick of playing the game," said Rocco, slowly. "I mean, a guy's life has gotta mean something. It can't just be the same jokes and gags night after night, as fun as those might be. There's more to life than that."

"Like what?" demanded Joker.

"I dunno – friends, family, relationships," continued Rocco. "Maybe Batman's just found something more important to do with his life."

"More important than me?" demanded Joker. "There ain't no such thing!"

"That's true, boss," agreed Rocco, nodding.

"Anyway, Batsy and me are the same kinda guy," said Joker. "Living for the fight. That's all we got, and all we need. And he wouldn't leave his old pal alone, not after all these years."

"Sure thing, boss," said Rocco. "Well, I'll be going – having dinner at my daughter's tonight with the grandkids. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see ya, Roc," said Joker, nodding at him. "I'd see you out, but…hard for me to get up these days."

Rocco left and Joker began coughing again. "All we got, and all we need," he repeated, wiping his lips and looking around the empty room.

"Joker," said a familiar voice. "We need to talk."

Joker chuckled, his face lighting up. "Uh oh, that's never a good phrase!" he laughed as Batman strode into the light. "Are you breaking up with me, Bats?"

"You could call it that," said Batman, nodding. "I'm not going to be Batman anymore, Joker."

He stared at him. "You're…what?"

"I'm done," said Batman. "I'm retiring. I'm too old for these games, too old to fight. I thought sooner or later I'd die fighting crime in Gotham, but…miraculously I've stayed alive. And age has finally caught up with me. I can't fight the way I've used to, I've lost my skill and my reflexes and my strength. There's no point anymore."

"It's a game, Bats, it doesn't have to have a point!" exclaimed Joker. "Like a joke, or a gag…the point's in the fun!"

"It's not fun anymore, Joker," said Batman. "I'm doing more harm than good. But there will be other Batmans, to carry on the tradition…"

"No, no, there's only one Batman!" cried Joker. "And that's you! I can't have some punk kid taking over for you – he'd seriously kick my ass, for one, and it just wouldn't be the same! He wouldn't get me the way you do! And I wouldn't get him!"

Batman was silent. "I almost feel sorry for you," he said, quietly. "You, of all people, a murdering psychopath, and my greatest enemy. Shows how soft I'm getting in my old age, I guess. But you've really got nothing left once I go. What's the Joker without someone to play jokes on? He's nothing without an audience. And I was the only audience who ever mattered to you."

"Well, yeah, you get the joke!" cried Joker. "Like me, the joke about how we're all on the funhouse slide to madness! Only…you've never laughed at it. And I had to make you laugh at it, I still have to, you can't just give up…"

"The others have all moved on," interrupted Batman. "Two-Face, Poison Ivy, the Scarecrow, the Mad Hatter, Mr. Freeze…they've all found other things to occupy them in their old age. They all stopped playing a long time ago."

"Yeah, they're all weak!" snapped Joker. "Like you!"

"They all grew up," murmured Batman. "And you're the only one who hasn't yet. Like a spoiled child who just won't let go of his favorite toy. And now your favorite toy is leaving you, so you've got nothing. Nothing to hold onto, no purpose, nothing to do with the rest of your life. And nothing to look back on but years and years of failure by my hand. So you can see why even after all this time, and after everything you've done, I pity you."

"I don't want your goddamn pity!" snapped Joker, struggling to his feet. "What I want is for you to be a man, not some sissy girl who gives up when the game becomes too hard to play! We're meant to go down fighting together, don't you understand that?! You can't just give up and leave us both to die of illness or old age or God knows what! That's not how it's supposed to be! That's not how we're supposed to end!"

Batman shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry that after all this time…you still think it's all a joke," he murmured. He turned to go. "Goodbye, Joker."

"Batsy, no, you can't go!" shouted Joker after him. "You can't leave me here like this! That's not funny! That's not funny at all!"

He broke down coughing. "Bats!" he called when he stopped coughing at last. "Bats! Batman!"

There was no answer from the surrounding shadows. "Goddammit, Batman, you can't do this to me!" shouted Joker. "I'm the Joker! I've hurt everyone close to you…you have to teach me a lesson for that! You have to get payback, you can't just…give up! What kinda coward are you?!"

The continued silence infuriated him, and with a roar, he snapped his cane in his hands. He started coughing again, falling to his hands and knees and struggling to breathe. "Batman…you can't do this to me…" he gasped. "It's not supposed to end like this! Not like this! Not all alone…with no audience and no punchline! There's no joke in that! No…joke…"

"Pathetic sight, isn't it, Joker?" asked Nygma, smirking at Joker crumpled in a heap on the floor. He didn't receive a response. "Joker?" he repeated, looking around the room below him.

"Behind you, Eddie," muttered a voice.

Nygma whirled around to see the real Joker standing at the door of his booth. "No, wait, how did you find me?" demanded Nygma, half annoyed and half afraid. "You were meant to be immersed in the virtual reality…"

"Yeah, I needed to keep making you play scenarios," agreed Joker, approaching him with a murderous look in his eyes. "So that I could track where you were controlling them from. It took a few tries to walk around and figure out where the limits of the simulator were, but once you find the edges on a puzzle, filling in the rest is easy. And now you've made me sit through enough of your crap, so you're gonna pay."

"But Joker, it's for your own good!" stammered Riddler. "You've…you've learned valuable lessons about yourself and…your relationship with Harley and…and…Jonathan put me up to it!"

"Oh, I'll have a little chat with Craney later," growled Joker, grabbing Riddler by the collar. "You can bet your life on that. But right now, Eddie, I want you to experience your own virtual reality as a coma patient, and see what lessons you learn after I beat the living daylights outta you. Maybe you'll learn that it's not a good idea to try to teach other people lessons, and that in future, you'll wanna keep your nose in your own business. Assuming you still got one," he growled, snapping out his knife.

"Joker...Joker…now calm down…I wasn't…no…Joker! Joker!" screamed Nygma. Unfortunately for him, 4872 Prat Street was located in an isolated area of Gotham, and not one that Batman happened to be passing just then, so his screams went unheard by anyone but the Joker. And it was music to his ears.