The swinging strains of big band music led Bruce Wayne into the function room at City Hall to see a mass of people in every kind of costume conceivable. It seemed like the whole of Gotham City was there, dressed in eccentric finery, and the whole thing felt very surreal. It made Bruce uneasy. He looked around, trying to recognize people underneath their costumes and masks, particularly Dent and his associates.
He saw Dent suddenly, talking with a woman who was clearly Poison Ivy – her costume was a long green dress with vines snaking down and around it. Dent had gone for a black suit with half a white mask over his face. If his intention had been to be two-faced, thought Bruce, it worked wonderfully well, and couldn't be more appropriate.
"Mr. Dent," he said, heading over to him. "What a striking costume."
"Thank you, Mr. Wayne – yours too," replied Dent. "You're meant to be…what? Some kind of vampire?"
"It's just a bat costume," replied Bruce. "Some kinda Bat-man, I guess. You're two-faced?"
Dent smiled. "The Phantom of the Opera, actually."
"I see. A man who's ugly without but beautiful within," said Bruce. "Rather reversed in your case, though, isn't it?"
"I'm not sure what you mean," said Dent, lighting up a cigarette.
Bruce leaned forward. "I know," he hissed.
"Know what?" asked Dent.
"I know you're protecting criminals," he muttered. "You got the patrons of Arkham out of jail, you turn a blind eye to their lawlessness, and you get a profit from their crimes."
"What a very interesting theory, Mr. Wayne," said Dent, calmly. "But I'm afraid you'll have to prove it before it's anything more than that. And you won't be able to prove it."
"Watch me," snapped Bruce.
Dent blew out a cloud of smoke into his face, and smiled. "Well, I shall certainly be cowering in fear of a man in a bat costume. Why don't you help yourself to some refreshment, Mr. Wayne? It might calm you down," he said, nodding at the drinks table.
Bruce glared at him and stormed off, heading over to get a drink. He was stunned when he sipped from a glass of the punch to discover the strong taste of alcohol. He couldn't believe the audacity – a party in City Hall, the heart of government, and the punch had been spiked with illegal alcohol. But there was nobody he could tell, no authority he could appeal to for justice – they were all here, and complicit in the act. Bruce felt his blood boil but tried to remain calm. He would never be able to prove anything if he lost his temper and stormed out.
"Excuse me, but I do believe that needs a refill," said a small man in a top hat and tailcoat, pushing past him. Bruce recognized him as Jervis Tetch, whose costume looked remarkably similar to his everyday wear, only he had added a card in his top hat band.
"You're the Mad Hatter?" asked Bruce as Tetch withdrew a bottle of alcohol from his pocket and emptied it into the punch.
"Indeed," he agreed. "And you are…"
He turned and saw Bruce clearly for the first time, and started back in shock and horror. "You're…the Batman!" he gasped. "The one in the factory, who started the fire…"
"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," lied Bruce. "I made this costume this morning."
"Oh. Of course…forgive me," stammered Tetch. "It just looks remarkably similar to…to someone I encountered who…did a great deal of harm to me and my interests."
"And what interests are those?" asked Bruce, lightly, pointing at the bottle. "Moonshine?"
"A man must earn a living," said Tetch, shrugging.
"And must a man do that illegally?" asked Bruce. "I don't."
"You're a fine one to talk, Mr. Wayne," said a voice behind him. Bruce turned to see a man in a scarecrow costume, recognizable as Jonathan Crane. "You're a billionaire inheritance case. You've never wanted for anything in your life. Of course it's easy for you to follow the law. It's completely on your side."
"Even if I weren't, I believe a man can make a living in honest ways," snapped Bruce.
"Perhaps you should try it sometime," retorted Crane. "Give all your money to charity and start from scratch. It would be an interesting social experiment, would it not?"
"You can't excuse breaking the law…" began Bruce.
"Indeed you can," interrupted Crane. "You can excuse anything. You just need to have half a brain."
Bruce glared at him. "Can you excuse the murders of this Clown Killer psychopath?" he growled. "The cruel, heartless, random slaughter of innocents?"
"Ah, but that is not crime, Mr. Wayne," said Crane. "That is something entirely different. Insanity. Believe me, those acts are perpetrated by a madman, for no reason whatsoever."
"I fail to see the difference between that and bootlegging," replied Bruce.
"Really? You cannot see the difference between a victimless crime and mass murder?" asked Crane. "You must be blind as the bat you dress as."
"It's not a victimless crime," snapped Bruce. "Police officers have died…"
"Oh, killing police officers is one thing," said Crane, waving his hand. "They interfere in a man's right to make an honest living. Their job is to take away your freedom – killing them is self-defense. And they're aware of the risks when they sign up to the police force. Their sanity is certainly questionable – willing to give your life to uphold nonsensical laws seems like madness to me. But killing randomers truly is mad. Sometimes killing is necessary in a civilized society – the police certainly agree with that. But the senseless murder of innocent people on a mass scale is not. It is pure evil."
"At least we agree on that," snapped Bruce. "Excuse me," he said, shoving past him.
"Bruce?" asked a familiar voice. He turned to see a woman in a long black dress and cat ears staring at him.
"Selina," he said, nodding at her. "Good to see you again."
"Is it?" she asked, sarcastically. "I haven't heard from you since you used me to get my associates arrested."
"You were all breaking the law…" began Bruce.
"Oh, spare me the sanctimonious schoolboy crap!" snapped Selina. "It's because of you that I lost my job at the Arkham Club! How does your conscience feel about that?"
"Well, you appear to be doing all right for yourself," said Bruce, nodding at the dress and the diamonds which decorated her neck, wrists, ears, and fingers.
"I am," agreed Selina. "Why work hard earning money in a nightclub when it's so much easier to just take what you want?"
"What are you talking about?" demanded Bruce.
Selina smiled, sipping a glass of punch. "Let's just say I didn't arrive at this party wearing any diamonds," she purred.
"You…you stole them?" stammered Bruce. "You have to give them back, Selina – it's wrong…"
"Most of the people here would disagree with your definitions of right and wrong," interrupted Selina. "You're outnumbered, Bruce. And you always will be. So why don't you stop making everyone's life difficult, your own most of all, keep your nose out of other people's business, lighten up and have some fun? Or do you really expect a guy in a bat costume to be serious all the time?"
"Just because everybody else treats life as some big joke doesn't mean I'm going to!" shouted Bruce.
"What's this about jokes?" asked a voice from the doorway. Bruce turned and his face fell in sudden horror.
Two clowns had entered the room. One was dressed in a long, red and black gown, her face painted white and wearing a black mask. The other was dressed in a purple suit and green bowtie, and his face was very cleanly painted white, so cleanly that Bruce wasn't sure that it was paint…
But it wasn't that which had horrified him. It was the man's face, and smile, and laugh as he had entered. All of which Bruce recognized as coming from a man he had thought dead.
"Jack…Napier!" he gasped.
The man's eyes fixated on him, and he grinned, a horrible, mocking grin. "Oh, it's you!" he giggled. "The man who made me what I am today!"
"Puddin'?" said Harley, her eyes narrowing at Batman. "He's the one who set the fire? He's the one who let you fall?"
"Yes, he is, cupcake," said Joker, kissing her cheek.
"I'll kill him!" hissed Harley. "I'll kill him for hurting you!"
She strode forward, fury in her eyes, but Joker grabbed her arm. "No, no, no, pumpkin pie," he murmured. "He's a friend."
"He tried to kill you!" shrieked Harley. "He made me spend weeks in agony, thinking you were dead!"
"The past, baby, all in the past!" laughed Joker. "No point in dwelling on it. Let bygones be bygones, huh?"
He kissed her forehead tenderly. "Now wait outside for Daddy. This won't take long."
Harley nodded, kissing him and storming off. "I am not your friend," growled Bruce.
"Sure you are!" laughed Joker. "You're the best friend I ever had! Did me a huge favor!"
"What favor?" demanded Bruce.
Joker giggled. "Why, giving me my purpose in life! My sense of fun! You drove me crazy, Batsy. And now, I do the same for everyone else. Just before I kill 'em, of course!" he chuckled.
Bruce stared at him. "It's you," he gasped. "You're the…Clown Killer!"
"I prefer the name Joker," he said, grinning. "What's the matter, Batsy? Aren't you happy to see me? You must have been lonely – the only lunatic in a costume in Gotham! But as you can see, there are a ton of us now!" he chuckled, gesturing around the room.
"There's only one lunatic here," growled Bruce. "And that's you."
Joker shook his head, laughing. "No, no, no! We're all mad here! Just take a look around!" he laughed. "The city's government and law enforcement swilling illegal hooch with the city's criminal underclass! From the highest to the lowest, we're all the same! A senator's no different from a thief and a murderer, which means a thief and a murderer are no different from a senator. It's all crazy, this asylum full of lunatics, all on the funhouse slide into madness! But you can't beat 'em, Batsy. The only thing you can do is join 'em in their insanity, and fiddle while Rome burns."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a match. "And speaking of burning…" he giggled.
He threw the match at Bruce, who dodged it, and it extinguished harmlessly on the ground. "What was that meant to do?" he asked, turning to Joker.
"Annoy you," retorted Joker, grinning. "The real fun's gonna begin in about…five seconds," he said, glancing at his watch. "Four…three…two…one…boom!" he whispered, smiling.
At that moment, an explosion shook the entire room as the roof of the building cracked and began to cave in. This was followed by another explosion and another as the walls began to explode, dust and mortar raining down along with flame and smoke. The shrieking and screaming began as people rushed to flee the scene. The only person who didn't seem panicked was the Joker, calmly smoking a cigarette and beaming at the chaos, while whistling God Bless America.
A huge chunk of the ceiling hurtled down straight for him. Bruce leaped forward, shoving him out of the way. "You wanna die?!" roared Bruce.
Joker laughed hysterically. "Can't kill me, Batsy," he whispered, grinning. "Tried that once. I'm immortal. I just come back stronger, smarter, and crazier than ever."
Bruce couldn't respond to that, but he was suddenly distracted by a scream. "Harvey!" shrieked Poison Ivy.
Bruce turned to see the District Attorney trapped under a fallen bit of masonry that Ivy was trying desperately to move. Bruce raced over to help her. "Get out of here!" he shouted at her. "Go! I'll get him!"
Ivy tried to protest, but she was grabbed by Selina who dragged her away, Ivy still screaming and struggling to get back to Dent. Bruce struggled to shift the heavy block of stone, and finally managed to make it budge. He freed Dent, and helped him to his feet, slinging his arm over his shoulder to support him.
"We have to go – we don't have much time before this whole place collapses," Dent gasped.
Bruce nodded, looking around to make sure everyone had got out. It was impossible to see in the blinding, choking smoke…
And then the alcohol ignited in a giant burst of flame, a burst of flame that headed straight for Bruce and Dent. Bruce ducked, dragging Dent after him…
But he was too late. He heard Dent's scream and smelled the horrible, sharp stench of burning flesh, and then felt Dent's weight collapse onto him as he fell unconscious. Choking on the smoke, Bruce crawled toward the door and managed to make it to outside, dragging the District Attorney after him.
"Harvey!" screamed Ivy, racing over. "Harvey, oh thank God, thank…"
She clapped a hand to her mouth, gasping in horror, and Bruce saw why. In the light of the streetlamps he could see Dent's face, half of it charred and blackened almost beyond recognition.
"No!" Ivy gasped. "No, no, Harvey, baby, wake up! Baby please, wake up!"
"We need to get him to a hospital," muttered Bruce. "He's alive, but those are severe burns, and they immediate medical attention."
"The ambulance is already on its way, Mr. Wayne," said Captain Gordon.
Bruce looked around at everyone gathered outside, but there was no sign of the Joker or Harley. They had played their sick joke, and now they were gone.
He was suddenly punched across the face. "You were supposed to save him!" screamed Ivy. "You were supposed to protect him! Oh God, Harvey! Harvey! I should have stayed, I should have…"
She broke off sobbing, collapsing onto his body and wailing. Selina knelt next to her, trying to comfort her, and looked up at Bruce with cold, accusing eyes.
Bruce wanted to say something, to defend himself, to tell her he had done his best. But his conscience told him that it was his fault. He should have got Dent out in time. He should have put Napier behind bars long ago. He should have saved him before he could turn into that horrific, insane clown. Everything that had happened tonight had been his fault, and he knew he would take the blame and live with this guilt, the same as he lived with the guilt of his parents' death. Selina's eyes were as accusing as the eyes of his mother and father who haunted his dreams every night, demanding why he had failed to save them.
It was enough to drive anyone mad.