The green concoction bubbled as the flame from the Bunsen burner boiled it. Thick fumes wafted up towards the ceiling, dissipating the further it drifted from the bubbling liquid.
There, and that was another batch for his business partner. Now he could go back to his experiments and plan out their next phases. This was indeed an exciting time for Crane and he was more than eager to get back to his true work.
As was life, there was always a distraction that came at such times, delaying the progress of science. But this one Crane could allow, as it involved the return of his colleague in terror, and he could always make time for him. After all, none of this was possible without his generous contributions.
Narrowing his eyes, the former college professor spotted numerous signs of fatigue. Had the Phantasm gotten into a fight?
"You seem more tired than usual," he commented. "Did you find Strange? I assume he put up a fight."
Stoically, the skull-esque mask stared back at the fear researcher. From the way his shoulders sagged despite attempts to keep them squared at all times, the man was holding himself at the last dregs of his strength. Was he so tired that even speaking was a trial? Then again, the Phantasm wasn't much of a talker before this. He was always straight to the point, speaking as little as possible.
Finally, "Strange is as good as dead. My business in Gotham is concluded." Though still deep and oppressive, the exhaustion could be heard in the voice. Who knew Hugo had that much fight in him?
"I see. Congratulations," Crane replied. Internally, he reveled at the statement; Strange's abandonment of him had remained a very sour point between the two psychological professionals. "What are your plans now, if I may ask?"
There was a moment of silence, his colleague more than likely weighing his words like he always did. Crane could be patient; he had learned the virtue as he languished in Arkham all these years.
"Leaving. There is nothing in this city that requires my attention."
Normally, Crane wouldn't have minded. The financial support meant more to him than anything else. What need did he have for someone who could potentially interfere with his work? However, the Phantasm intrigued, much like the Batman for an admittedly short amount of time. An individual who dressed with the intention of causing fear and anxiety in their, pardon the expression, choice of game was someone he found he could respect.
Such designs were deliberate, chosen to induce the greatest amount of fear with the minimal of effort. It was a shame that he would not be able to observe the Phantasm in action using his fear toxin and recording the responses of the unsuspecting test subjects.
But there was one thing that needed to be addressed that was more pragmatic.
"About our business arrangement—that continues regardless of your presence, correct?" Crane asked, needing the confirmation. He had been tossed aside one too many times to accept anything as a given.
"So long as you continue to provide your toxin, our deal will continue." The Phantasm had turned its back to Crane, a nonverbal way of saying that there was nothing left for them to talk about.
For some...odd reason, Crane felt a need to keep his benefactor here. This moment, it signaled the end to one aspect of his life that he had found himself enjoying. It would not be surprising for anyone to learn that his life had never been easy, always the target of other, stronger males, belittled by the pretty cheerleaders and popular jocks of his day. It was rare to find anyone who valued him for what he could do and not by his unattractive appearance.
Fortunately, he had found his attention drawn to a small television set, one that he had left on but muted earlier. It had been a habit of his from long ago to be a bit absentminded with electronics, specifically those intended for entertainment purposes. This time, though, he saw the evening news and a report coming from the Gotham Museum of Art. While such a thing would not normally grab him, it was the fact that a picture of Strange was also visible on the screen.
Reaching beside himself to take hold of the long forgotten television remote, he unmuted it.
"—to law enforcement, the infamous Hugo Strange was found in the museum alongside many damaged works and masterpieces. He was apprehended and according to sources has been transferred to a local hospital for treatment. Charges are pending prior to a news conference and we will keep our viewers informed as new developments are announced. For those who don't know, Hugo Strange…"
By then Crane had begun to tune the report out, but his mind had latched on to one key detail. Why would the police charge Strange with any crimes if he was dead? Unless...he wasn't.
How...lucky.
"Are you sure that Strange is dead?" he found himself asking. "The police don't charge dead men of any crimes, nor do they send them to hospitals. A coroner's, maybe, but not a place for living, breathing humans."
The Phantasm's body language was so easy to read despite the cape. He was tense, his head directed towards the television as well. Someone was also coming to the same conclusion.
"It sounds to me that you still have business in Gotham, what with Strange still alive," Crane remarked casually. "You...wouldn't want to leave before the job is finished, would you?"
The deafening silence was taken as a yes.
"Talk to me," Crane invited, gesturing towards an unoccupied stool. "Tell me about what happened. You may need to change your approach for the next time. And, if you would accept it, I would like to offer my services in accomplishing this goal."
Ra's breathing was labored. Pain wracked his body and he could feel a numbness in his hands and feet. He was beginning to go through the early stages of shock, stages he was quite familiar with.
Bane's destruction of the warehouse had been costly. It had taken time for his assassins to dig him out of the wreckage and by then it was clear what injuries he had received. Lying on a cot, the Eternal Man looked down at the jagged piece of wood sticking out of his abdomen. Blood had saturated his shirt around the protrusion, indicating just how badly hurt he was.
That wasn't including the internal injuries he was certain he had. His battle had ended with him coughing up blood at one point and his body unable to operate the way it needed to. Because of this, he had been too slow to escape the collapsing ceiling and it had crushed him. Yes, he was in bad shape.
But he had recovered from far worse before.
Seated next to his cot was Talia. Ever devoted, she gazed sadly down at him, mourning his frail composition more than his pain. "It seems we underestimated this Bane," she spoke softly, as if she didn't want to upset him.
Not that she could because she only said the truth. He had received a briefing on Venom moments after returning to Wonder Tower and he was certain he had seen its effects on Bane. It was miraculous the way it had empowered the man, going so far as to minimize the wounds he had received prior to the infusion.
"Indeed it has," he agreed with her. "However, we know our enemy now. He is not the raging brute we had believed him to be."
Talia's visible eye narrowed as her features hardened. It was no secret she held contempt for this man. "No man is invincible. He must have a weakness."
Oh, he most certainly did. It was only a matter of discovering it. Further research was needed, but that could wait for the time being. Taking a deep breath, it pained him as a burning sensation raced through his body, which caused his respiration to come out harsh and jagged.
"Father, you are in pain," his daughter said. "Please, allow me to assist you."
"In a moment, Daughter." Ra's regained his composure, if only for the sake of composure. "I understand I was not the only one retrieved from the wreckage."
Talia nodded her affirmation. "Yes, we have taken into custody that vile man dressed as my Beloved. He is currently restrained and under guard."
While unanticipated, it was gratifying to know they had captured the man. His erratic actions had prolonged and altered his duel with Bane. It should have ended with his sword impaling his foe's heart. Yet, the Joker's arrival had led to his current status.
That was fitting since history dictated such interference. When the Detective had come to Gotham on assignment, the clown had drawn his attention, as if they were fated to battle. Even without his memory, the Detective had been determined to best the man. Though he had not given it much thought in the years since the Detective's desertion, he was beginning to understand the obsession. It was an obsession that transcended multiple identities and lives, an impulse that demanded his former protege face the madman. Perhaps if he had recognized the obsession for what it was back then, the world they lived in would be very different.
For now, the clown's present circumstances would be rectified shortly.
Languidly, he tilted his head to a side, eyeing the sickly green light that poured out of a nearby pool. His salvation awaited. With the same slothfulness, his eyes looked to Talia. "Daughter, you know what must be done," he told her.
With acceptance, she nodded her understanding. "Yes, Father."
And then she withdrew a knife, one in which she used to slash his throat.
Ohhhhhh, the head. Ohhhhhhh, it hurt. It hurt so much that it was splitting. It was a splitting headache.
Huh, so that's what that phrase meant.
Still, it was a crummy way to wake up. Was there any Tylenol or Ibuprofen, or something lying around? He would gladly take it, even if that meant taking the anti-psychotics Arkham forced him to take. He wasn't too fond of them since they made his mouth dry, but that was the price of having three squares and a warm bed. At least that's what Teddy told him.
Bat-Joker groaned dramatically. Then he waited. Nothing. Then he groaned even more melodramatically, louder even in the event someone didn't hear him the first time. Again, nothing.
Well, that was typical. The one time he was hurt and there was no one around to rush to his aid. Life was just so unfair.
Opening his eyes, Bat-Joker found that his head was hanging—that was because he was looking down at his lap. He was sitting on a chair and for some reason his arms were on the backside of the chair. When he tried to move his hands, he found they were firmly tied together. Then he realized his legs were also tied. In fact, all four of his limbs were tied with rope to the very chair he was sitting in.
Well, this seemed frightfully familiar. The safe word was banana.
At least he hoped it was.
Lifting his head up, Bat-Joker found himself in a small room about the same size as his room at Arkham. There was a door before him, tightly shut, and undoubtedly locked.
Egad! He had been captured! By the enemy! Wait, who was the enemy again? Oh, who cared. He was being held captive by the bad guys and that was the important part. It was like some unwritten rule that the good guy had to be captured by the bad guy at some point.
Now the question was which bad guy had him?
Almost as if there was a God, the door opened, revealing the nefarious individual that had stripped him of his freedom. Putting on his best stony face, Bat-Joker looked to his captor.
Which turned out to be a six year old boy.
Not gonna lie, he was not expecting that.
Now, if there was an expression Bat-Joker was familiar with, it was a chip on the shoulder. He knew several individuals that seemed to have it out for the world. That saying seemed to describe this little boy to a T. There was a permanent scowl on his face, along with this hoity-toity look that screamed that he was better than everyone and knew it. Or at least that's what he liked to think.
The youngin in his white and blue bodysuit held his hands behind his back and he walked across the short distance between the door and the masked vigilante. He then went off to the left and circled around him, studying him, until he finally came to a stop right in front of the dark-dressed man.
"So, you're the Joker," the boy uttered, sounding as if he were speaking to an insect.
Gasp! Yes, that was an internal gasp, thank you very much. This kid! This small, puny kid knew his secret identity! But how? He had been so careful! He was wearing a mask after all!
The boy raised a hand, reaching out to the stunned Bat-Joker until his fingers wrapped around the bent horn of his mask. With a jerk of his hand, he pulled the mask off, revealing his handsome face and sweat-drenched hair. For a moment, he was stunned. He was unmasked, not by a great adversary, or even one of the donut brigade at the GCPD, but by a little, hadn't-hit-puberty child.
Boy, they didn't cover this situation in the "How to be a Hero" guidebook.
"I have to say, I'm not impressed." The kid held the mask up to his face, staring into its eye holes before he tossed it aside, where it slapped down on the floor. "You are a despicable human being," he sneered.
"And you used a word too big for your age group," the Joker retorted. Gee, this kid was a bit of a brat, wasn't he?
The little brat leaned forward, his scowl firmly in place. "I know all about you, clown. I know what you've done and I know what you are capable of. You are pure evil."
"I...can't really deny that," the green-haired man admitted. "What gave me away, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Must I recount the hundreds, if not thousands you have killed?"
"Low hanging fruit, Kiddo. Try something else."
The Joker hadn't known it was possible for a scowl already etched in stone to hardened, but the brat proved him wrong. Baby blue eyes flashing with anger, he snarled. "I don't know why my father allows you to live."
The Joker shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me. Why does he let you live?"
The punch to the face was expected, if not predictable. He had to give credit though, the boy socked him pretty good, a throbbing pain erupting in his check. Well, what do ya know? Someone taught him how to punch.
"The first one's free, Junior," he growled lowly, offering his own glare. For a brief moment, the brat looked startled at his look, but quickly recovered.
"If I had it my way, I would strike you down now." He paused in thought for a moment. "In fact, I believe I will."
"Take your best shot, Short Stack. Believe me, it will be your last."
Fury erupted on the kid's face and he drew a fist back. He threw it an instant later, but instead of hitting the Joker's beautiful face, the green-haired man raised a hand up and caught the fist, his fingers wrapping around it tightly.
At last, an expression other than toddler angst appeared on the brat's face. His eyes widened with surprise before darting to the loose cords of rope that were now not restraining the funniest man in the room. In fact, they were slowly sliding down and off his arm, falling to the floor. Never let it be said he didn't know his way around a good knot. "Tsk, tsk, you were a touch too slow," the Joker mocked, a wide grin spreading across his face.
"Now, let me show you the ending to The Great Escape."
It was cold, empty. There was nothing. No sight, no sound, no sense of feeling. No warmth, no movement, just the void. It was not alarming nor welcoming. It just was. It was a perpetual state of being, yet the sense of being was missing.
And then a light appeared, so small and far that it was the size of a pinpoint. It's green rays reached out, shining. It took eons for it to grow bigger, brighter. Then faster, it reached out until it encompassed everything.
Green water came rushing from the light and slammed into his body. Nerve endings in the face screaming, burning. It was suffocating. A rush of emotions, fear, rage, pain, agony, loss. They scratched, ripped, tore, sundered. There was no up, down, only vague senses of left and right, but those were lost.
Too much…
Too much!
A scream, muffled, vibrating in the ears. Hard to move, stinging, burning! Air! Where was the air! Mind was screaming! Air! Pain! Madness! Too much! Too Goddamn much!
A current seized him. It pushed up. Ha ha! Intense, scraping, charred...giddy? That made no sense.
Water flung from his face, air rushing into his lungs. More! He sucked in as much as he could. More! He could move. He turned, rotated, stretched. Feet touched some sort of floor, he could stand. The green water balanced him, keeping him upright. With unsteady, slowed steps, slowed by the surrounding green water, he lumbered to a small set of stairs. This was some sort of pool.
He climbed the steps, water dripping down his naked body. Heh. Naked. Hee heh. Funny.
He gargled, then spat. There were others. Heh heh heh. They stayed away. Why? The pain was receding. In its place, something else grew. Mania. Heh ha! It was thrilling, exhilarating. Ha ha!
A smile grew onto his face, wide, large, his gums showing. And then the laughter came. "Heh heh ha ha Ha Ha ha HA! HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
He could not stop. Did not want to stop. He took a step. There were others. They flinched. HA HA HA! He could see. He could hear! Feel! He could taste fear! It drove him. It—
A hard slap tore into his face, causing his head to jerk to one side. Immediately, the laughter stopped. The mania flinched and wilted, reason taking control. Everything that had felt new lost its luster.
Ra's al Ghul straightened out his posture. Immediately, one of his men was at his side, offering a robe, which he accepted, pulling his arms through its sleeves as the soft material covered his nude form. Glancing to his side, he found Talia, her visible eye alight with warmth and love, a smile on her red lips.
"Thank you for your assistance," he thanked her as he tied the sash into a knot, closing the robe.
"You are welcome."
"We have much to discuss, primarily about Bane. He surprised me during our encounter and that is not a mistake I take lightly."
Talia nodded. "I have already given the order for an in-depth review. Our men are currently searching for more intelligence on this man."
He had expected no less. Ra's had believed Bane was nothing more than a muscle-bound brute. His ambush and subsequent trap indicated otherwise. Then there was the Venom. While he had been aware of the solution, he had not anticipated its effects on the human body. The visible change combined with the raw power and stamina far exceeded anything he had read, or faced before. This required a closer look.
There would be no further engagements, not until he understood this opponent more thoroughly. His resources were greater than what he had expected as well. This thought darkened his mood further. The helicopter that had decimated his forces was an unexpected, and unwanted, surprise. Very few had survived its onslaught, Ubu being one of the fortunate ones. He needed to know the logistics of Bane's operation. What his arsenal was, where he obtained his funding, and how extensive were his supply lines.
"Father, there is something else we must discuss," Talia said then, interrupting his musings. Tilting his head towards her, he raised an eyebrow, her only response to continue.
"It concerns the Joker."
"What about the lunatic?"
"We currently have him confined to one of the cells. His use of my Beloved's mantle hurts me. I wish to dispose of him promptly."
There was a hardened look on his daughter's face, informing the Eternal Man just how seriously she took this situation. Ra's would not deny he found the appropriation of the Detective's mantle disturbing as well.
Despite the failed mutiny and the Detective's retreat back to Gotham, Ra's had kept himself appraised of the man's activities. He followed his every move, through each crisis that threatened the city, and so forth. He had also made it a point to study the foes he fought and allowed to live, learning of their characters, their strengths, and more importantly their weaknesses.
All were dangerous in their own right, but the Joker transcended the word. He was a walking disaster that only brought destruction and misery. He should have been put down years ago.
"I will leave that matter in your hands," he told Talia, who's eye lit up. "Do whatever you see fit, just as long as you ensure that the Joker is no longer of the living."
Suddenly, an alarm went off, causing the two to whip around, looking to a flashing light, the blaring of an alarm continuously screaming. "What is going on?" Talia demanded as one of their assassins ran by.
The man came to an abrupt halt and prostrated himself before them. "Sir, there had been a breach at the brig."
Ra's eyes widen. Though he had no use for a brig, they had made one shortly after their return to Wonder Tower following Bane's ambush.
There was only one prisoner there.
And now the Joker was out.
If there was one thing the Joker was good at, it was improv. He was a killer at stand up, just so you know.
A good instance of this was...well, now. He had a hostage, albeit on the short side. His mask that had been yanked off his head was now shoved onto the brat, though it wasn't on right. The eye holes were to the right side of his head and the tyke kept trying to turn it so he could see through them. Alas, the Joker did not allow him to do so, swatting his hands away even as he forced him to walk down the hallway.
"Watch your step, careful now," he sang cheerfully. "If you'll look to your left, you'll see fireworks, orangutans, and giant marshmallow men. Aaaaaand to the right, weapons of mass destruction. Feel free to to snap as many pictures as you like, we'll confiscate them at the end of our tour."
He then forced the kid to a stop. "Now, where was the exit again, Junior?"
"I won't tell you anything!" the brat snapped. Tsk, tsk, whoever taught him manners? He clearly needed a crash course. It was a shame he didn't have the time right now to start.
That wasn't because he was trying to escape, or anything. No, it was mostly because an alarm went off and suddenly their little hallway was filled with guards. It was like they appeared out of nowhere and in a really large group too. It was like they were ninjas or something.
Hmm, these guys looked a little familiar, what with their head to toe body suits and goggles. It's like he could've sworn he'd seen them before. The genesis of this thought escaped him at the moment, but he was sure if he thought about it, he'd recall.
However, had these guys been his stooges, they would've come out firing those lovely machine guns they held. Instead, they stopped, taking aim, but not once firing a bullet. It was as if they were waiting for an order or something.
"Hold it!" he shouted at them, keeping a firm hand on the brat's shoulder so that he didn't get the bright idea to bolt on him. "I've got a human shield here and I'm not afraid to use it!"
The kid jerked his head up to look at him, even though the mask pretty much hid his face. "Who are you calling a human shield?" he demanded.
"You, Boy Blunder. Now be a good human shield and block the bullets. I hope you've got kevlar under those long johns you're wearing, otherwise you won't last very long."
"You will release the prince!" one of the masked guys ordered then, stopping their comic routine in its tracks. "Do it now!"
Prince? The Joker looked around him and saw no prince anywhere. He then looked down at the boy and asked, "Do you know what this guy is talking about?"
"He's talking about me, you idiot!" the boy snapped.
"Well, hot diggity-dog! I got myself the pick of the litter here!" He then leaned his head closer so the boy could hear him clearly. "Why don't you tell your loyal subjects here to part like the Red Sea, or else they'll get a literal definition."
The brat continued to look up at him before he began waving a hand at his underlings. "Do as he says and let us through," he commanded them, reluctantly of course. After all, princelings were used to giving orders, not taking them.
The guys in the fetish gear lowered their guns before standing to a side, lining the walls of the hallway. With a push, his human shield led him down the hallway.
Things would have gone swimmingly too had this continued on. They had made great progress, even getting into a new hallway. Of course, life always had to throw a curveball, or a sinker, or a slow ball...now what was a slow ball anyways? How was it slow? Was it just not as fast as a fast ball? Wouldn't that make it a normally thrown ball?
This raised so many quest—
"Infidel!"
Uh oh. Terrorists!
Spinning around, while making sure his royal pain stayed in front of him, the Joker spotted a rather large beefy bald guy storming down the hallway, looking very much like a raging bull.
"Whoa there, Wilbur!" the Joker called out, which turned out to have no effect on this guy. Strange. Well, he could huff and puff all he wanted, even he had to care about this little bag of misery before him. Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a flare, smacked the bottom of it on top of the kid's head, causing him to yelp even as the flare's top burst into flames. He then held the burning flare close to the boy's neck, causing the lad to lean his head as far away as he could from it.
This made Baldy slow his pace, though the look he was giving the pale man was still very angry. "Put down the flare, or prepare yourself for a world of pain," he commanded.
The Joker gave him an odd look. "Uhh, sorry, pal, but I think you got this all wrong. You see, I'm the one with the hostage, yeah? I'm the one threatening to give Junior here a bad sunburn, so I'm the one that makes the demands. That's how this whole thing works."
"You harm him, you die," Baldy growled.
Okay, clearly he wasn't reaching the guy. Tilting his head up, the green-haired man sighed. "Okay, which part of this don't you understand?" He then pointed the flare towards Baldy. "You, helpless." He then moved the flare to point at himself. "Me, make demands." He then threw his arm out. "Comprende, ese?"
Unfortunately, as he waved his arm out wide, he lost his grip on the flare. The flare went flying right through an open doorway that just happened to be right next to the Joker and his meat shield. It just so happen to land on an open box as well, the box saying something about the contents being flammable.
Well, that couldn't be good.
By then, the pipsqueak had pulled the mask off of his head, but was staring right into the room with the flare still sparking on top of the possibly combustible materials. "What are you doing?!" he shrieked.
"Would you believe me if I said that was an accident?" the Joker asked.
"Everyone take cover!" the boy screamed. "The explosives are about to—"
Explode! That's what they do, explode! And that's exactly what they'll do. Hoisting the boy up, the Joker, hurled him through the air, causing Baldy and just about every one of his bodyguards to leap to catch him.
Spinning around, the Joker took off running. "Every man for himself!" he cried out.
The night was still, its darkness interrupted by the lights of the city. Wonder Tower stood tall amidst the skyline.
Suddenly, there was a tremor. It was slight at first, but grew stronger and stronger with every passing second. Without warning, a side of the tower close to its base exploded, a fireball blasting out into the night. The roar of an explosion rang out.
From the newly formed, smoke-covered hole, cracks began to grow, starting at the jagged edges of the hole. They inched out slowly at first before they began to speed up, growing longer, faster, racing up the side of the tower, wrapping around the base.
Bursts of smoke and dust blasted through these thin crevices. The top of the tower continued to apply pressure on the damaged base, weakening the structures integrity with every passing second.
And then it could hold on no longer. The base of the tower crumbled into pieces, causing the upper half of the tower to collapse inward. The observation deck at the top fell downwards, rapidly picking up speed until it crashed onto the rubble. A large cloud of smoke and dust rushed away from the remains, a rolling tide of unbreathable air reaching out as far as it could go.
With a front row seat, the Joker watched the destruction of Wonder Tower, eyes wide in astonishment. Huh, who knew a poorly tossed flare would cause something like this?
"The insurance company is not going to believe this."
To FlackAttack: It's a matter of perspective, I suppose. The Venom tube runs up his back, so for the most part it's covered. Also, Bane is a good enough fighter that he doesn't have to use it all of the time, just when it's needed. It's why the Network didn't notice it during their fight with him, but Ra's did in his.