Author's Note: A bit of a warning, while there is some violence in here (when do any of these stories not have violence?), not many if any have a drill involved. It's short, but it is in here, so I wouldn't blame anyone for getting a little squeamish. Consider this a little warning and hopefully you enjoy this chapter.

For the Joker Obsessed

The Homestead Youth Center resided in a crappy part of town. It was built so that "at-risk" youths had some place to go rather than join one of the local gangs. It rolled out anti-peer pressure campaigns, even brought out the cheesy mascot to tell them that crime and drugs were bad, that it was cooler to stay clean.

For some kids, it worked, allegedly. Most gave up on it when it showed its true colors. Now, it was just an embarrassment, a blight on this sick city's back. No one cared about these kids, just the tax write-offs they could get from being "stand-up" citizens.

It was far past time to burn it to the ground.

In one hand was a red can of gasoline. In the other was a lighter, one the young man would strike, causing a flame to leap out of it before he snuffed it out by flicking the lid back down on it. His hair stood straight up, a mohawk that he always wanted to do, but had been told only hooligans wore their hair that way.

Imagine what those people would say about his face.

The tattoo guy hadn't cared as he inked his face white, drew blue diamonds around his eyes, or penciled in the red smile that surrounded his mouth. He was always smiling now.

This was a show of his dedication to the cause. He wasn't alone either. Next to him were others that were inspired by the Smile. That's right, not some stupid smile people mustered just to be nice. The Smile was one that everyone knew. Some people, it was the beginning of a nightmare. For people like him, it was a beacon in this sick, depraved world.

The others shared the same sentiment as he did. Each showed their devotion in their own way. Annie, for instance, looked like an overweight Little Miss Muffet. She had on this gown and a little frilly hat on her head. Her face was painted like a clown, red blush on her cheeks, red lipstick on her lips, and her nose painted red. Blue eyeshadow filled the space between her eyelids and eyebrows.

Then there was Happy. That wasn't his society name, but the one he had chosen. He looked just like one of those traveling hobo clowns. You know, had those pants that were ripping apart, the oversized tie, and that bowler's hat. Unlike him and Annie, Happy had gone with the sad clown smile. However, his eyes weren't droopy and depressed, instead hardened like diamonds with malice.

Lastly, there was Philip, and he didn't really go all out. He looked like he was dressed like a doctor in a white lab coat, keeping it buttoned together. He only wore a red clown nose on his own. No one said anything though since he had a drill in his hand.

They were all armed, ya see. While Phillip had his drill, Happy had a bat, one decorated with barbed wire around it. Annie had sharp looking knives in her hands, each blade gleaming in the streetlamp light.

Torch just kept flicking his lighter. Yeah, he was ready.

"Block the exits," Philip said. "We want as large of an audience as possible. Torch, once we're in, start pouring the gas. Start at the entrance and do however you like. The rest of us will make certain no one leaves before the show starts."

Happy grunted. Annie giggled creepily. Torch just nodded, stopping his play with the lighter.

It was showtime.

Yeah, it was cheesy. Yeah, it was embarrassing, especially if you knew the counselors were trying their best to look cool to the younger kids. Their hearts were in the right place, but who ever thought dressing up in a do rag and sunglasses was cool?

"Yo! 'Sup, kids!" the offender in question greeted the youth center. He crossed his arms over his chest and slouched standing up. "I hope you kids are staying out of trouble, aight? Stayin' away from drugs is the cool thing to do, yo."

Cullen watched from his little corner. Yeah, he didn't really have anything better to do today and figured killing a few minutes at Homestead was a good idea. Clearly, he needed to rethink his life.

It wasn't all that bad in the grand scheme of things. There were a bunch of kids here that really had nowhere else to go. Better here than the streets, ya know? That said, these kids were some of the most sarcastic morons he had ever met. They had no problem giving people lip. The only saving grace was that they were still at that age where it could be written off as cute.

Give it a couple years and he might slip his sister their home address so she could kick their ass properly.

What, just cause these kids were little shits didn't mean he couldn't daydream.

More of the counselors were joining the fellow do rag guy to give yet another talk. The kids just milled around, watching boredly. Others just kept chatting with their friends, ignoring them outright.

Cullen would normally do the same, except he saw the front door opened.

Now, he had been born and raised in Gotham. That wasn't something to be proud of, but it explained why he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise up. See, there were a lot of bad things that happened in this city that put a lot of people ill-at-ease.

Clowns were right up at the top of that list.

There were four of them, two of them going full-clown. There was some punk that had on clown makeup, and then one guy that just had the nose on. Worst yet, each one was armed.

"A-TEN-TION!"the man with the clown nose shouted. It ruined whatever the counselors were up to, drawing everyone's eyes to them. The two clowns immediately branched off, circling around the center. The looks they were giving everyone were definitely not nice.

"It saddens me to see the state of today's youth," the man continued, his voice at a loud volume, but not to where it sounded like his voice was going to give out. "You have been treated with injustice, your intelligence, your creativity snuffed out by a society that only desires uniformity. You are turned into sheep by wolves and you allow this."

"Hey, man," do rag guy interjected as he began to walk up to the clown-nose guy. "Take your nonsense out of here. It's not—"

Something came flying up. Before Cullen could even register it, the clown-nose guy was shoving the spinning part of a drill right into do rag guy's shoulder. The man screamed as he tried to jerk back, only for his attacker to grab onto him and refuse to let him go. He dug the drill all the way up to its base before he yanked it out, blood splattering all over him. He let go of his victim as he fell to the floor.

Kids were screaming, many taking off for the nearest exits. Unfortunately, the two clowns had beaten them there, something Cullen realized was their intent the whole time. They stood in front of the exits, one with knives, the other with a bat covered in barbed wire. One of the adults tried to jump the clown with the bat, only to take a hit to the head. There was a sickening crack! as wood collided with skull, the counselor dropping to the floor in a heap.

"Anyone else want to be a hero?!" the leader shouted, this time definitely bellowing at the top of his lungs. "You are the ones that willingly picked the lives of sheep. Now, prepare to meet a new kind of wolf, one that smiles in the darkness and comes to rip and render!

"You will bear witness to the League of Smiles!"

Cullen was no hero. He would be the first to admit this. Thing was, he actually did know some heroes. Digging his hand into his pocket, he pulled out his phone.

It was time to get one of those heroes off speed dial.

The call had come not through a communication device, but a cell phone. Bluebird had answered, only to become quite agitated.

There was a clown sighting at a youth center, she had said. Her brother was at that youth center.

Clearly, he was calling for help.

"I say we go in through the front door, guns blasting, explosions erupting, the works," Bluebird growled.

"That would work better if we carried guns," Spoiler pointed out.

The blue-haired vigilante wasn't deterred by this logic in the slightest. She hefted up her large taser rifle. "This is all the gun we need and I will be using it with prejudice."

Batgirl could appreciate the urgency that was running through Bluebird. She had family in this youth center. It wasn't all that long ago her own family had been in danger, so she could understand her feelings.

But if they were going to do this, they needed to do it right. "Don't rush this," she said, earning the attention of their group. "If you rush, people will get hurt."

"People are already hurt," a boy's voice announced. Turning her head, she saw Damian standing by a glass enclave.

Yes, they were on top of the youth center itself. Yes, they had yet to come up with a better alias for Damian while in the field. And yes, he was still hanging out with the Batclan. Considering the reason for their truce was over and done with, she had figured the boy would have left them alone by now; yet, here he was.

"Is it Cullen?" Bluebird was immediately at the glass, looking through it and down to the floor below. Batgirl and Spoiler joined her too, peering through the glass.

From what she could see, there was a group of young people just below them, all of them rounded up by…three perpetrators. No, there was a fourth one. That one was by the entrance and seemed to be doing something with a red can. Surely, that wasn't a good thing.

"There's four of them," Damian said, clearly seeing this as well. "One for each of us."

"Dibs," Bluebird immediately responded.

"No dibs," Batgirl countered. "We do this smart, remember. Spoiler, I want you on one at the front door. He's doing something and it needs to be stopped."

"Got it," the lavender-clad girl responded.

"Damian, you take the man in white. I will take the one on the right side of the room, Bluebird, you have the one on the left. When one of us finishes with their opponent, work on getting the hostages out. They are our primary objective."

"Fine then, we'll do it your way," Bluebird grumbled. "But if Cullen gets hurt," she then added warningly.

"He won't," Batgirl responded assuringly, or at least what she felt was assuringly. "Now, let's make an entrance."

By that, she meant crashing through the glass. It is what Batman would do and she saw no reason for them not to do it as well. At least, that was up until Spoiler interjected, "You do realize if we crash the glass, it's going to fall all over those kids, right?"

"Occupational hazard," Damian brushed off.

"You know, we don't have to go through it, we just have to open it."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

Spoiler then pointed to a small padlock that appeared to be keeping each windowpane in place. "We can pick that and open it," she deadpanned.

Damian stared at her. "You take all the fun out of this."

Sure, she was the party pooper. She took the fun out of crime fighting. Since when had this been fun? Sure, punching bad guys was satisfying, but people's lives were in danger!

And SPOILER ALERT, innocent people getting hurt was never fun.

…oh God, she was sounding like a damn PSA. Did she really think that? Yes, she had. No wonder she was the wet blanket.

After opening the window panel, the Batclan wasted little time dropping in on the hostage situation. Batgirl had dove in first, using her cape to parachute in, directing herself to her target. Damian had been right after her, somehow beating out Bluebird on the way in. Now, all three had something in common, namely that they hadn't bothered grappling in. The first two were understandable since they had amazing martial arts training, even if one of them was just hitting puberty. Bluebird was just being reckless.

At least, that would have been the perception. She had just installed a line grapple modification into her suit, namely her boots. As she dropped through the air, she fired the line, one coming out the front of her boot, the other the back. The way the blue-haired girl explained it, she could get the ultimate high ground in any room, allowing her to blast anyone and everyone with her taser weapons. Never mind that most of the people they fought also had guns, so Spoiler really didn't see where the advantage was.

In this case, Bluebird had made sure to angle her feet, so that the back of the line went up to the ceiling, and the front of the line went into the floor over by her target. She slid down the line, firing quick bursts of her taser rifle. The clown had noticed the end of her line impale the floor and had immediately began drawing back from the blasts to avoid them.

As for Spoiler, she was the only smart one here and used her grapple. Swinging in, she held the firing button, allowing more and more cable to leave the barrel of the grapple. Relaxing her trigger finger, she then began to arch to one side, namely towards the front doors, where that one clown was, guarding it so that no one escaped.

This clown had the face of one, including a creepy grin. The mohawk was different, and he looked more like he had dressed for the dystopian future after the apocalypse. He saw her swinging towards him, leading with her legs extended in front of her. Yelping, he dove to one side, leaving Spoiler to sail right by him.

She didn't go much further. Sailing towards the front door, she let go of the grapple moments before her feet collided with the closed entrance. Bending her knees, she then sprung off of the door, going into a flip. Her world spun feet over head until she landed on her feet.

Well, that had been awesome! She even stuck the landing! She could only imagine what the kids thought of that!

"Back off!" the clown then demanded, holding out a lighter. He was quick to strike it, a flame burning from the ignition. "I'll set this all on fire!"

That's when she smelled it: gas. So that was what had been in that red container. Glancing to the floor, she could see a clear fluid splattered everywhere. "Are you nuts?!" she rebuked. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?!"

"I do, bitch," he sneered. "Do you?"

Well now, that bitch part was uncalled for. "You light that gas and you're gonna kill a lot of people," she warned. "Kids, dickhead. You want to be responsible for that?"

"This place is just another temple for mass brainwashing," the clown retorted. "Society is just making these kids sheep, easy for the slaughter."

Oh, he was one of these guys. Spoiler was done talking now. The entire time she had been talking to this idiot, she had kept one hand behind her back, so that she could draw out a couple batarangs. That's right, she had upgraded from those birdarangs the moment she joined the Batclan. Nothing against Red Robin, but there was something iconic about the batarang. Learning to use one was like stepping up into a bigger league.

In a blur, she swung her arm out and threw the batarangs. The unfortunate part about the batarangs though was that you basically telegraphed your action. As the projectiles whirled through the air, one heading right for his hand, the clown responded by tossing the lighter to the floor.

A moment later and the first batarang struck the clown against his hand, causing him to yelp. However, that was where the second batarang came into play. Stephanie….uhhh, she meant Spoiler…didn't want to brag, but she was getting pretty good at throwing these things. Case in point, she had held both batarangs between two fingers and slightly delayed the release of one of them as she had swung her arm. This allowed the two bat-shaped shuriken to take two completely different flight paths. One had hit its target, that being the clown.

The second one had come swooping in, and incredibly struck the lighter in midair. Immediately, the lighter was sent careening into a wall. More importantly, the flame was extinguished from the collision, which meant the moment the lighter ended up landing on the floor, it didn't set the gasoline on fire.

As much as Spoiler wanted to celebrate that, she had a loose end to tie up. Leaping forward, she charged at the clown, leaping at the last moment as she drew a fist back. She threw the punch an instant later, ramming it right into the guy's face. Spit erupted out of his mouth as he was thrown off of his feet and went head first into the wall next to the door. There was a loud bang! from the impact.

The lavender-clad girl wasn't done however. So long as this guy was awake, he could still set off the gasoline and she wasn't going to let that happen—not again. That probably explained why she was a touch…brutal when she landed her next couple of attacks. First, she swung a leg up, ramming her knee right into the clown's open gut. Air was forced out of his lungs, leaving him breathless as she bent over her leg, his eyes bulging out. Next, she raised an arm up, leaving it bent at the elbow. She then swung it down, slamming her elbow on the back of his head, pulling her leg back as she did so, so that this punk collapsed onto the floor. For added measure, she drew that same leg back before she snapped it forward, landing a kick across his face. His head jerked to one side, and then his entire body went limp.

That's right, she wasn't taking any chances.

Batgirl landed in front of her target, a large clown with knives in both of their hands. Her cape fell over her body as she kept crouched looking up at the deranged clown. There was a look in their…no, her eyes, one that spoke of madness.

She knew that look too well.

"What do we have here?" the girl clown shouted shrilly. "A nice, tasty bat for my bat meat pie!"

Batgirl wasn't impressed by that threat.

The clown then lunged at her, stabbing at her with one of her knives. Instinctively, the dark-clad girl darted to one side, backstepping as she did so, avoiding the stab. Undeterred, the clown slashed at her with her other knife, Batgirl repeating the same maneuver as she dodged it.

Left and right, always backwards, she avoided each knife strike, her attacker not once looking undeterred by her misses. She was sloppy though, no real training in handling the knives, Batgirl could see. She could easily predict where each knife would stab or cut through the air, allowing her to dodge easily.

It wasn't until Batgirl decided to change things up and held her ground, shooting an arm up to block the next knife strike, her forearm colliding with the clown's. Before she could respond to that, Batgirl then countered with a punch, one she landed right into the clown's solar plexus. The force of her blow sent the woman stumbling backwards…and that was it. That was actually a little surprising considering she hadn't failed to take a person down with a hit there.

"That smarts, you wicked little bat!" the clown exclaimed. "Didn't anyone tell you that hitting people was a no-no?"

Batgirl blatantly looked at the clown's knives, then back up to the clown's face. "You're trying to cut me with knives," she pointed out.

"I am, but when I do it, it's funny!"

"I don't see how."

"That's because you don't understand the subtle art of humor."

"I'm certain most people don't get your humor."

"That's because I'm a misunderstood genius in a time of dullards. Allow Annie the Butcher to show you!"

Annie the Butcher then flung herself at the vigilante, trying to stab her again. Batgirl just spun to one side, pivoting on one foot until she was facing the opposite direction while avoiding the stabbing knife yet again. However, this left her with her back to her opponent, something she had always been taught not to do.

The moment she saw Annie's arm extend past her shoulder, she responded. Shooting her arm up, her arm bent at the elbow so that the back of her fist nailed Annie right in the face, causing her to cry out from the blow. Turning her head, she saw the clown again stumbling backwards, but this time she had both of her hands pressed to her face.

Turning so that she was facing her opponent, Batgirl then leapt off of the floor, whipping out a leg so that she could land a kick across the woman's face. The force of the blow knocked her clear off of her feet, sending her crashing to the floor. A moment later, and the vigilante landed as well, a feeling of boredom falling over her.

Yeah, she was bored by this lack of a challenge. That tended to happen after she went head-to-head with a martial arts expert, especially a legendary one. In this case, boring was good. That meant everything was going according to plan.

With practiced ease, Damian landed in front of his demented clown opponent, one that only wore a white lab coat and a red nose. It was a boring costume, to be certain. He wasn't impressed.

The sad excuse for a clown seemed to feel the same way. "Another would-be hero," he intoned boredly. "And a child at that. Join the others unless you would like for me to check for a cavity."

Damian narrowed his eyes. He was being dismissed. No one dismissed him, not unless they wanted to live a long, healthy life. "This is your one chance to surrender. Please, don't."

The man raised an eyebrow before he held up his drill. He squeezed the trigger, causing it to loudly whine as the drill bit spun. "I never surrender in the war against tooth decay."

…really? His gimmick was dentist jokes? This was becoming very disappointing.

The dentist clown lunged at him, leading with his drill. Damian just leaned his head to one side, the drill passing right by where it had been. Instantly, his hands shot up and he grabbed onto the extended arm, holding it with a death grip so that his foe couldn't use it.

He then leaned forward before lunging, using his shoulder to ram right into the man's abdomen. The clown grunted, but then began trying to pull his arm free.

At first, Damian didn't let him, not until he felt the clown pulling harder and harder. Timing himself, he finally released his grip just as the man yanked even harder on his arm. His caused his arm to fly up over his head, the sudden movement throwing off his balance as he went stumbling back a couple of steps.

The young boy was on the attack then. Leaping forward, he threw a punch right into the dentist clown's wide open stomach, embedding his fist in his guts. This caused the older man to bend over as he gasped from the blow. Not finished, Damian pulled his fist back only to throw his other one, landing another punch to the vulnerable abdomen. Arms pumping back and forth, he slammed fist after fist into his opponent's guts, right up until he finished his assault with an uppercut, one that snapped the man's head back and sent him falling to the floor.

"Stay down," Damian warned the man. "The next time you stand, and I will take that drill from you and give you a cavity exam—and I don't mean the ones in your mouth."

"How vulgar," the man grunted after a moment as he pushed himself up. "But then, I know how to deal with vulgar children." He then reached to the buttons on his lab coat and undid the top two. This allowed him to slip his hand inside of his jacket before he pulled out a grenade. Immediately, Damian was on his guard. He eyed the explosive device, noticing a menacing, smiling face had been painted onto it.

"Most dentists like to use anesthesia; I prefer the tried-and-true laughing gas," he announced before he pulled the pin from the grenade and tossed it.

Something came whirling through the air. Damian spotted it at the last moment, a batarang, one that collided with the grenade in midair, knocking it across the room and away from everyone. That was just moments before a green gas fired out of its top.

A hand grabbed onto Damian's shoulder and he found himself turning his head to…Usurper! "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"Get the hostages out!" she ordered. The boy instinctively wanted to refuse that order; no way would he allow the girl to boss him around. However, he picked up on a hint of fear in her tone, the only thing that stopped him from outright refusal. "That's Joker Venom!"

Oh…he understood now. There were screams coming from behind him, no doubt the hostages shrieking with fear. This place was just seconds away from erupting into pandemonium.

"To the exits, let's go people!" he heard one of the other Batclan members shout, which one he was uncertain. Eyeing the gas, he could see it was spreading out towards the entrance, a deterrent from using that as an exit. Spinning around, he began ordering the captives to the back of the room, doing his best to keep them from getting caught up in the gas.

And that pandemonium he felt approaching just a moment ago? It arrived as little children shrieked and ran.

A bright light flashed on, but was quickly dimmed. Batman had his finger on a dial that allowed him to dim the lights to the office, giving him enough to see without resorting to night vision. The dimmer had been put in place so that patients could feel more relaxed, become more willing to talk.

This was the office of Dr. Byron Merideth, his private practice following several years at Arkham Asylum. Before Arkham, he had cut his teeth in various practices before finally settling in Gotham. A background check showed his almost nomadic travels prior to Gotham wasn't entirely his choice. It seemed no matter where he went, his employers made note of some troubling behavior. There were patient complaints, but what psychiatrist didn't have those? Many were about patients not liking his "tough love" approach. He wasn't one for empathy, an odd trait to have as someone that listened to other people's problems.

Then came Arkham, where he seemed to fly under the radar until he eventually went private practice. He hadn't looked into Merideth's Arkham stent yet, but he would be once he was finished in the man's office.

Naturally, Meridith's office was the scene of his murder. The room was singed black from the fire that had been started, skeletal framework of the furniture the only things left behind. The desk had caved in on itself, the remains of papers and even a computer gathering into a pile at the break, which had formed right in the middle of the desk. There were two formerly leather chairs off to one side, both positioned so that the users could see each other, but not completely face each other. There had been artwork on the walls, but only the frames seemed to be left, pieces of what those artworks left charred within the frames.

There wasn't much that was going to be gleaned here. Batman turned the light off and left the office. He traveled a short distance away from the room and stopped at a door with a little placard on it, labeling it RECORDS.

The door was locked, but that didn't stop the Dark Knight. Picking the lock, he was in the room in seconds. Closing the door, he turned on the light and a couple of file cabinets in a corner. Next to the cabinets was another desk, a computer also on the desk. It wasn't a large room, so this was all that was able to fit in here.

Heading to the file cabinets, he opened one of the drawers and began searching through the folders he saw. Each file had a name and it appeared they were all organized alphabetically. Shutting the drawer, he opened another, skimming through the names until he found one labeled as Miles, P.

Pulling out the file he placed it on top of the file cabinet and opened it. This was the murderous dentist, exactly who he had been looking for. He skimmed through the multiple writings of the various sessions, Merideth being quite meticulous in his notes. You could see he was making diagnoses for Miles, presenting possibilities before either eliminating them, or coming up with further evidence for an accurate diagnosis.

Then came a word that made Batman's eyes narrow.

Joker.

It stood out like a beacon to him. Now he began reading in depth and he didn't like what he read. It seemed Miles was fascinated by the Joker—the largest, brightest red flag conceivable. Upon this discovery, it seemed Merideth was trying to find the source of this fascination.

And then came a diagnosis: Joker Obsessive Disorder.

Stopping his reading, Batman gazed upward, considering this. There was a diagnosis for people that admired the Joker; it wouldn't be the first time people had rallied behind what that madman stood for, witness the formation of the Jokerz following the Great Gotham Fire. That gang had dismantled when the members realized they were following the real Joker and his concern for their lives was nonexistent. The more persistent elements tried to carry on, but that didn't last long after the various cells found themselves the focus of the Dark Knight and the GCPD.

It seemed that only drove those still enthralled by the Joker underground, developing a psychiatric disorder in the process. That…that was pretty worrisome.

Even worse, he realized he had seen a case go beyond obsession: Harley Quinn.

Was it possible Philip Miles had decided to follow Quinn's lead and get his hands dirty?

Reaching back into the cabinet, Batman pulled out a random file and began flipping through it, finding another Joker-Obsessive Disorder diagnosis. He pulled out a couple more and found the same diagnosis in those as well.

That made four that Merideth was treating at a minimum. Placing the files, save for Miles', back in the cabinet, Batman then moved over to the desk, turning on the computer. It took several minutes for it to fully boot up, but once it did, the vigilante got to work. First, he did a search into the computer documents for Joker-Obsessive Disorder. Again he waited, but he found several files that had a link to the search term.

Scanning through them, Batman eventually opened one that was tilted after the disorder. He was greeted with a title line: Joker-Obsessive Disorder. In the subtitle: A compulsive obsessive disorder surrounding Arkham's most infamous patient.

There was a synopsis that followed this and it became quite apparent to Batman that Merideth was in the process of writing a paper about this disorder. What were the chances all of the files that had been identified with the JOD search term were his research? And what if the presence of multiple patients with this disorder in his record were actually the psychiatrist's attempt to gather the information he needed?

Opening a web browser on the computer, Batman then did a search for Dr. Byron Merideth and Joker-Obsessive Disorder. The search didn't take very long before he was presented with an ad for Merideth's practice, one that labeled him the top psychiatrist that specialized in Joker-centric psychiatrist disorders.

It seemed he needed to delve more into Merideth's time at Arkham. If he did treat the Joker, that would have given him the insights he needed to attempt making JOD an official psychiatric disorder, which was clearly what he was doing with this private practice. He drew in as many people that were fascinated, if not obsessed with the Joker, learned what it was that made them idolize the deranged clown, and then attempt to cure them.

As it seemed, Merideth had been playing with fire—literally—if his fire-damaged office was any indication.

Pulling out a flashdrive, Batman inserted it into a USB port. He was going to download everything he needed from Merideth's computer, then have the supercomputer do further analysis. The Joker was involved in this somehow, no doubt taking advantage of these people that idolized him; his history was proof of that. He just needed to find out how he was doing it this time.

"We have the land. We're getting the materials needed to start construction. We still need more investors, but that will be an ongoing process. Right now, we're looking into landscapers to determine where best to begin construction."

Manicured nails combed through Isis' black fur, the feline purring in contentment on her lap. Slit pupil eyes were closed shut as the furry body rumbled from the comfort. At least someone was comfortable here.

Selina could do with some herself, but there was more business to address. There always was. With the tedium involved, the cat burglar turned mob kingpin wondered if this wasn't some mistake. Picturing the look on Max's face would always serve to kill any doubts she had. She had come this far. Screwing Max Shreck out of everything he held dear was worth it.

"Tell me, Chris, when can we finally start construction? I can continue with the stick and carrot to the self-important wallets, but I want to know that something concrete is happening," Selina said more than asked. A feline eye cracked open, observing her, but then closing once more as the petting continued.

Tall, imposing, and with a face that could be twins with granite, her consigliere gave out a long-suffering sigh. "I did warn you this wouldn't be an easy endeavor. If anything, it is unprecedented in our long history."

But if it could be pulled off, unprecedented wouldn't matter.

Shifting in her seat, and disturbing Isis in the process, Selina quipped back, "How much more grease do we need? Construction has always had some kind of mob involvement. Do we need to start buying some to push this along?"

"The unions, not the actual industry," Chris corrected.

"My question remains," Selina dismissed.

"It depends on how much money we have. The…less than legal activities will barely cover the first month's financial infusion. That area, I believe, is completely your responsibility."

"And maybe with that law degree, you can hobnob some of those well-to-do politicians and judges and whoever else. Maybe some senators while you're at it. There has to be other pockets we can pick from to finance this." This was the part she had long wanted over and done with, but surprise, surprise, there was always a new need for money.

Was that? Another long suffering sigh. Come on, big boy. Let her guess, there was going to be a "it doesn't work like that." Bullshit. Nowadays, most people who went into politics had a law degree. It was harder to find anyone in the big leagues who didn't have one. Chris had to have rubbed shoulders with a future somebody at some point.

Before she could make that point, Antonia unwittingly came to the lawyer's rescue when she interrupted the latest briefing by, well, not quite barging in but you could tell that there was some urgency in her gait. It even had Isis turning her ears in her cousin's direction.

Glancing at the other woman, Selina raised an eyebrow. Despite how quickly she was moving, there was not a hair out of place, nor was that ever stoic mask of a face expressing even the slightest of emotion. Nevertheless, if Antonia thought something was up, it was best to hear it out first.

"I just got word from some of our eyes and ears. The police are going on high alert," the younger Calabrese stated.

Now both of Selina's eyebrows were up while Chris was frowning more deeply. "And whatever could be getting them up and armed so quickly? We didn't miss anything, did we?"

It didn't matter if you were a cat burglar or a mobster, you always had your fingers on the pulse of the underworld. If anything was in the works, it was them who would know about it first. There was always some kind of rumbling if you knew where to look or what to listen to. The cops were always the last to know.

The reversal was alarming, not that Selina would show that.

"They're trying to keep a lid on it, keep the public from panicking," Antonia explained. "Word is, clowns."

Of all of the—!

Clowns, in this city? That was never a good thing. Only one truly came to mind, and to be honest she had only seen him once and briefly. It was more than enough for one lifetime.

The crazed eyes, that one-of-a-kind nose, the pale skin, green hair for some reason, and of course the smile. That haunting smile. You only needed to see it once, and even then need was too strong a word.

There had never been a body found. Every time he disappeared, he always came back. It was a matter of when, and when that smile falls over the city, there is really only one thing to do. The old guard hadn't figured it out until it was too late. The new guard had.

She had done it and then some.

"We'll need to keep our heads down. Finish up anything major and then take cover for a while. There's going to be a bloodbath, I can feel it, and we want no part of it. If any of ours goes silent for any reason, we need to assume they're already dead. Regular updates from everyone, keep a head count, and hope that maniac doesn't show up here." It was a list of tasks she was issuing out now. Damn, this couldn't have come at a worse time, especially when money was needed. That was why there was still all the talk about investors, and investors were some of the easiest people to spook.

"Does this need to be so drastic?" Chris asked. His face was practically one big frown at this point. "We need to use all the money we can get and limiting normal operations will put a strain we may not be able to recover easily from."

"Stealing pocket change here and there is not what I call normal operations," Selina retorted. "This is the clown. Keep our heads down and let Batman handle him. If nothing else, we can take advantage of the chaos after it is over. There's going to be people who need homes rebuilt and blah, blah, blah. It can be an excellent way to launder other revenues into the plant legally. However, if this blows over quickly, then we can get back to work quickly, can't we? Do we really want to draw that man's attention at this crucial of a juncture?"

He was getting it. She could tell by how slightly his posture was relaxing. Chris didn't agree fully, but he could not deny the logic and the appeal of finding others to launder in their ill-gotten gains might be alluring enough to shut him up for a bit.

Turning to Antonia, "Any objections? Something I haven't thought of?" she asked idly.

To her credit, her cousin straightened up under the scrutiny and said, "I'll pass along the word and drag Nick back here."

Good woman. That flippant cousin of hers needed to be accounted for as well provided he hadn't picked up anything lethal and not very humorous first. Like they needed another member of the family to be offed.

Laying low was one of her special strategies whenever one of those big bad Arkham types decided to pull something. It had kept her under the radar for so long until one of them managed to catch up with her. Lesson was learned, it did not need to be repeated.

Ultimately, it freed up more of her time to do what Chris was insisting on the money front. Perhaps a show of actually breaking ground would go some way to opening up some more wallets. The fear of missing out tended to have that kind of effect.

Just so long as they survived whatever was coming next.

The trio of merry makers didn't look very merry. Upset, yes. The scowl on Annie's painted face could not be hidden away. Happy, well, since when had he ever tried to look happy? Philip was the one to speak for them.

"We failed you, sir." If nothing else, Philip held his head up high, not shirking from his responsibilities.

"A bunch of kids messed it all up. Bat kids," Happy added.

There were chuckles. He was not one of them. Hands covered in brown gloves that were tipped with sharp claws twitched but nothing else.

"Not to worry," he addressed, observing as some of the tension in the trio's shoulders lessened. "The night is young. There will be plenty of opportunities for the League of Smiles to spread its message. We are only getting started."

Annie was beaming. Philip looked eager. Happy, well…

"We lost the kid too. Torch. They caught him," the birthday clown stated dully.

Torch? Ah yes. Him. Young, dumb, and desperate to please someone. Unfortunate, but not lethal for the cause. Besides, there was a punchline to be found here.

"A trial by fire, and with children of the Bat," he remarked, waving off any concerns there may have been.

There were bigger smiles at that wording. Annie's nearly split her head in two. Philip straightened his posture, a slight twinkling in his eye.

"So what will we do now?" the dentist asked, and you could hear how thick his enthusiasm was.

The dim lighting from above barely illuminated the tiled walls around them. However, it was more than enough to expose him to these three troubled souls.

The brown trenchcoat rested over wine red leather, tightly fitted around his torso. A brimmed hat crowned his head, and from under the hat's brim, the nose of a plague doctor's mask peeked out. Large red lens hid away the eyes, picking up and reflecting any light that was able to breach the darkness he managed to keep around him.

He was the only one to truly stand out amongst the rest; maybe that was why they followed him. It was pathetically easy to do so with this lot.

"This party is only beginning," he answered. "Far be it from us to keep all the merriment to ourselves. The night belongs to the League of Smiles, and we will illuminate its darkness with the smiles we shall bring, whether the citizens of Gotham want them or not."

Glancing to his right, he made out other shapes and figures, all people. This group here wore leather jackets along with jester hats and face paint. To his left, more gaudily and brightly dressed clowns stood, almost malevolent as they bored their gazes into him.

Lost souls, all of them. Each and every one not terrified but inspired by one man, and one man alone. He himself could be included in that number. The reasons may be different, but they all led to here.

Die Laughing. Laugh Riot. Funny Bonez. Punchline. Separated, they were all little gangs of miscreants. Once, some of them had called themselves Jokerz until the reality of that name truly became understood. They loved the ideal, yearned to indulge in it, make it theirs. It made them pliant and easily molded.

Separate, they were nothing. Together, they were legion.

A League.

"Our party requires preparations, and the chaos we will bring will be just what the doctor ordered. I have in mind a few locations that can use our brand of levity, ones that need to be vetted first, and I do believe you all, my fellow acolytes, are up to the task. Tomorrow evening, the festivities will begin in earnest, the Merrymaker promises you this."

Author's Note: While the League of Smiles never quite had this big of numbers in the comics, some artistic liberty has been taken. Originally, it was just four members with Merrymaker as the leader; here we have an army. It's still bad for Gotham either way. I wonder whatever trouble they will get up to.