Little Chats

They had been played. Batgirl could feel her annoyance levels rising, even if they were already high to begin with. Blame the company she kept these days, though she was still wondering how long that would last.

That gas that had been used at the youth center hadn't been Joker Venom. It was green like Joker Venom; it was a gas like Joker Venom; but that was where the similarities ended. It was called laughing gas, but there was another reason for it.

It was nothing more than general anesthesia.

That's right, the same gas used to put patients to sleep during surgeries. That's all it was. A little digging showed that particular anesthesia was normally used in dentist offices. One guess as to what it was called there.

That's right, laughing gas.

It spoke to the power that one man held, even if he hadn't been positively identified yet. Oh, it was certain he had a hand in this, but he hadn't revealed himself yet. It was only a matter of time since the Joker usually liked to let the whole world know he was up to something.

Still, the entire night wasn't lost. They had saved a number of hostages and even captured one of the clowns. It wasn't a resounding success, but there was victory to be had.

You just wouldn't know it if you listened to the company she kept.

"This is unacceptable!" Damian erupted. "Entirely unacceptable!"

"What's the problem now?" Bluebird drawled, standing nonchalantly with her taser rifle in hand. To be more specific, she had her hands resting on top of the barrel, the butt of the weapon propped on the roof they were on. Her body language was relaxed though, so she wasn't on high alert.

"Those were amateurs!" Damian shouted. "Street trash that were hardly a threat. How was it they got away? They should all be captured and interrogated at this moment, not still on the loose!"

"Not all of them got away," Spoiler pointed out. "We got one of them."

Yes, they did. They had a young man with a mohawk hairstyle and his face tattooed to look like a clown. They had discovered the tattoos when their hands touched his face. Currently, he was tied up, still unconscious, but for good reason. See, Damian was demanding an interrogation.

Well, he was about to get one.

Batgirl had been rigging up a pulley system, so to speak. She had her grapple out, the line tied around the clown's legs. The line then went straight up and over a metal pole, an antenna to be exact. With Batgirl kneeling next to the man and Spoiler standing on the opposite side of him, they were finally ready to start.

Cracking smelling salts beneath the man's nose, his nostrils flared and his eyes shot open. Immediately, he began to cough hoarsely. They let him clear his lungs for a couple of moments.

"That's enough," Batgirl finally ordered, drawing the clown's attention to her. "We have questions and you are going to answer them. You can either do this easy or hard."

"How persuasive," Damian muttered sarcastically.

Batgirl ignored him, even if she was irritated by the peanut gallery. Seeing she still had the clown's attention, she then asked, "What's your name."

"Torch," he grunted at her, his eyes darting from each person present on the roof with him. He tried to raise a hand up, discovering then that his wrists were bound to each other. That didn't stop him from raising both hands up so that he could rub the side of his face. Considering there was a bruise starting to show there, he was probably trying to see how much damage there was.

"Because of the fire, lovely," Bluebird grumbled. "Do you realize what you were about to do, moron?"

"I know exactly what I was doing," Torch proclaimed as he dropped his hands from his face. "We all did."

Batgirl scowled. "So you had every intent on killing those children."

"Those weren't children; those were sheep being prepared for the slaughter."

The dark-clad girl leaned towards Torch, her glare on full display. "Careful what you say next. I'll have you know that bats don't like clowns in this town."

"Same for birds," Bluebird added.

"And assassins," Damian was quick to include.

"And…damn it, you all took the good ones," Spoiler complained.

"The feeling is mutual," Torch grunted back. "Now let me go."

"You're not going anywhere, not without telling us about your little group," Batgirl told him.

"Then you're sadly mistaken. You're not getting anything out of me."

"I beg to differ."

Batgirl just nodded to Spoiler, who then knelt down. Torch looked at her confused before the two girls grabbed onto him and began to haul him up. "What the hell are you—"

They stood him up and then promptly pushed him over the ledge of the roof. His words cut off as they turned into a scream. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

The cable that was tied around his legs shot upwards, going around the metal bar of the antenna. Batgirl grabbed onto the grapple and waited for it to pull once the rest of the line went taut. The moment it did, she felt herself rise up a little. It seemed she had misjudged something here.

She had seen Batman do this on a number of occasions and he hardly moved. Why was it she felt like her whole body was being lifted up? Clearly she had missed something while setting this up. Grunting, she began to pull back on the grapple.

"I think he might be a little heavy for you," Bluebird observed. "Do you want me to…?"

"Yes, please," Batgirl replied. Immediately, the blue-haired girl moved in and grabbed onto the grapple line. That certainly helped relieve the strain she had been feeling. Hitting the retraction button, she began to pull their captive back up the side of the building.

"Hey, I got this if you want to badger that idiot with questions," Bluebird grunted.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah, I'll have help." She turned her head. "Hey, half-pint, give me a hand here."

"If you want my assistance, you will call me by my appropriate name," Damian growled back.

"Fine then, S.O.B., get over here."

"...that better stand for Son of Batman."

"Oh, you know it certainly doesn't."

Despite the scowl on his face, Damian did move up to the girl, grabbing onto the grapple line to keep it anchored. This allowed Batgirl to let go and then move over to the ledge. By then, Torch was hanging upside down, squirming around in midair. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she warned him. "You could make them lose their grip and this time your fall won't stop until you reach the ground."

"You're crazy!" Torch screamed. "Crazy! You could have killed me!"

"That's right, we could. That's the difference between you and us. We could kill you anytime we want. We could have done it at the youth center and left you to burn."

"We still could," Damian added through clenched teeth.

"But you won't," the clown countered. "You're too much like the other sheep. You won't go through with it."

"We're sheep because we value life? I think you misunderstand." Batgirl leaned towards the man, her face hovering perhaps an inch away from his. "It is not a weakness to value life. That's a lesson I was taught a long time ago—and it's clearly one you weren't."

"You don't know a thing about me," he spat.

"And you don't know a thing about me." Batgirl held a hand up, curling her fourth and fifth fingers into her palm, leaving the first three extended. "With these fingers, I can rip your larynx out. I can watch as you choke on your own blood, waiting to see what kills you first: you bleeding out, or you suffocating as your lungs fill with blood. Neither is a good way to go. I choose not to do that because even someone as low as you doesn't deserve that. You, who would kill children who only want to be accepted. Now, you have a choice: you can either prove yourself to be the utter filth you strive to be, or you can tell us what we need to know. Just know that you will give us answers, one way or another."

There was a troubled look on Torch's face. He seemed to be considering her words. "Could you…stop hanging me upside down?"

Batgirl just leaned back, giving a sharp nod to Spoiler. The lavender-clad girl grabbed onto Torch and pulled him back over the roof. Taking this as a cue, Bluebird and Damian began to lower him down until he was resting on the roof.

Once he was safe, Torch chuckled. "You do know you screwed up. You should have left me dangling."

"You do realize we can throw you back over any time," Spoiler pointed out.

"Not this time. I'll be ready and resist," he countered.

"You won't be able to counter if we knock the wind out of you. A solid punch to your gut and while you're coughing your lungs up, we can toss you over. You won't scream as pretty, but it's a sacrifice we're willing to make."

Torch stared at Spoiler before he turned his eyes onto Batgirl. "What do you want to know?" he gave in.

"Who your friends are; where we can find them; where your boss is," she replied.

"I'm certain you've heard by now. The whole city has to by now." Torch shifted on the gravel of the roof as if he were trying to look impressive. "We are the League of Smiles."

"The League of Smiles," Bluebird repeated. "What, the Sunshine Band was already taken?"

"Yeah, it was a disco band from the 70's," Spoiler told her. "KC and the Sunshine Band."

"Seriously, why am I even surprised you know that?"

"Don't mock the League of Smiles," Torch growled. "We are all visionaries united by a singular purpose. We are brought together because of him, the true visionary, the one that realized that life was just a sick joke."

"Oh, you better not say what I think you're about to say," Bluebird warned.

"You doubt me? Look around! Look at yourselves! If things weren't bad, you wouldn't be running around in Halloween costumes."

"Except we help people from sharks like you," Batgirl responded. "We try to make things better, not give up on the world. It's easy to give up, you're proof of that."

"You can't make things better, not the way you're doing it. You have to get the world's attention; you have to make them see just how rotten everything is."

"You mean by killing children? Yeah, that's a great way to get attention—not," Bluebird groused.

"I didn't choose the target," Torch defended.

"Then who did?" Batgirl pressed.

"The Merrymaker did."

…wait, who?

The members of the Batclan and Damian shared looks with each other. "The Merrymaker?" Batgirl repeated as she returned her attention to Torch.

"Yes. He is the one that has brought us all together and given us purpose. He is the one that helped us realize that our lives were empty, that life was simply a cruel joke, as foretold by the one and only Joker. He is gathering us, helping us realize our full potential, so when he returns, he will have an army ready for him to command."

It went without saying that none of this was a good thing.

The car was parked outside. Bypassing was child's play, make of it what you will. Considering some of the most high-profile criminals were kept in this place, that should have been a worrying thought. Contrary to popular belief, the security was highly advanced, especially after the multiple breakouts in recent memory.

It simply paid to have a backdoor installed.

Batman stalked through the hallways of Arkham. He was through the minimum security wards, heading for the max security sector. There was a patient he needed to see, his sole purpose for being here.

The lighting was dim, though that was so that the patients could sleep and the guards could still see. It just allowed the vigilante to blend in with his surroundings. There was an orderly that either just missed him, or actually caught sight of him. The fact the orderly didn't call out or turn on an alarm indicated the first possibility, or he simply ignored him.

Reaching the entrance to the max security ward, Batman bypassed the security measures and entered a hallway, one lined with fiberglass, bulletproof windows. Walking by them, the Dark Knight glanced through the various cells. In one sat Jervis Tetch, reading a book as he sipped on a cup of tea. He had a little lamp on to allow him to read a worn copy of Alice in Wonderland. His eyes glanced up from his book, only to widen as he caught sight of the vigilante, the small man choking on his beverage.

In another cell was Harvey Dent, who just sat on the edge of his bed, staring into space. His eyes did flicker to life, eyeing Batman as he passed by, but saying nothing.

There was Harleen Quinzel in another cell, laying on her own bed, blowing a bubble with her gum as she held a magazine above her, her arms stretched out as far as she could. She seemed engrossed with what she was reading to pay him any mind.

Then came Johnathon Crane's cell. He was beneath his blankets, laying on his side as he slept. There was a tray of untouched food in the corner, right where the slot to deliver the meals was. There had been some reports of Crane being on a hunger strike lately, and that seemed to substantiate it. What Crane's end goal was unknown, but it would be in his best interest if he ate something. He didn't have a lot of body mass to waste to begin with.

Finally, he reached the cell he had been looking for. Batman stopped and turned to face the cell, staring at a man also laying in bed, his lower half under the covers. He had his hands on his stomach, fingers laced together, his belly slowly expanding and contracting with each breath. Raising a hand up, the dark-clad man tapped a knuckle against the glass once, twice, three times, in a slow, purposeful knock.

Because of the glasses the man wore, it was impossible to see if his eyes were open. However, there was a tilt of his head on his pillow. "Batman," the man greeted him.

"Strange," the vigilante returned.

"To what do I owe this unexpected visit? Your nemesis isn't here for you to agitate."

"You've heard of the League of Smiles," the dark-clad man countered.

Hugo Strange just continued to lay there, the only part of his body that had moved was head as it laid on its side on the pillow. "I cannot say that I have. It does seem to invoke that obsession of yours."

"Smiles?" he heard a female voice pipe up, the one belonging to Harley Quinn. There was a thud in the next cell as the blonde woman practically body slammed the glass. Her hands were pressed onto the glass, as well as her check, the former psychiatrist trying to look towards the vigilante. "I knew it. My Puddin's alive!"

Hmmm, Harley had come to the same conclusion as he had. It wouldn't be long for the rest of Arkham as well. While the Arkham staff would no doubt prefer that the inmates not know of the Joker's return, there was no way they would have known since the police were doing their best to keep a lid on the League of Smiles murders.

However, if the police dispatch he had listened to on the way to the asylum was any indication, the recent attack on the Homestead Youth Center would be changing that dynamic.

"What can you tell me about Byron Merideth?" he asked instead.

"Merideth?" he heard Harley repeat. "What about that jerk?"

Upon the mention of Merideth, Strange pushed himself up in bed, going so far to pull his legs out from beneath his blanket so that he sat on the edge of his bed. "For once, Quinzel and I are in agreement," he responded.

Well, that was ominous. "Go on," he prodded.

"What is Byron to you?" Strange questioned instead.

The fallen shrink wasn't going to give more information it seemed, at least for now. "A victim of one of his patients that had an unhealthy fascination with the Joker," he decided to answer.

"Eeeeeh!" Quinn squealed.

Both men glanced in the direction of Quinn's cell, her high-pitched voice making them wince. "I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised," Strange murmured after a moment.

"It's your turn," Batman reminded the bearded man. "I told you about Merideth; now you tell me what you know about him."

"I'm certain you are aware he used to work here before he went to private practice," Strange began. "He was a greedy man, quite arrogant."

"He was an ass," Harley added.

"Yes, that is an apt description," Strange agreed. "He was a firm believer in…brutal methods for patient treatment. I had made my distaste for his treatments known to Arkham many times, though to no avail."

"What sort of treatments?"

"Electroshock therapy, flooding, other various, ill thought out treatments. He was a barbarian when surgical precision was necessary."

"Was he subject to any disciplinary action while at Arkham?"

"I believe it is your turn, Batman," Strange chided him instead. "Tell me, what was Byron up to after his departure from this asylum?"

"He was seeing clients that were obsessed with the Joker. He was writing a paper about a disorder called Joker Obsessive Disorder."

"Now that's just bunk," Harley sniffed. "There's no such thing as Joker Obsessive Disorder. I would know."

Again, the two men looked in the direction of her cell. "Quite," Strange said even as Batman dubiously replied, "Right."

Then he continued, "One of his patients has already committed a murder. Another one then killed Merideth in his office by way of arson."

"Good riddance," Strange sneered.

"Your turn now. Is he one of yours?"

That was a reference to what Hugo Strange had once referred to as his time bombs. A number of his patients he had manipulated and trained to act out on their mental disorders. Harvey Dent was one; Jervis Tetch was another.

The shrink shook his head. "He is not, and for that I am grateful. He would be quite the disappointment if he were."

"Even with all of your interactions as colleagues?"

That caused him to snort. "I barely tolerated the man. He was a disgrace to the profession. The only involvement I had with him was to ask him to step aside as the primary psychiatrist for the Joker. His replacement became quite devoted to him, wouldn't you agree?"

So, Meredith had sessions with the Joker. It went without saying who replaced him as primary. At the very least, it made sense why Merideth would focus on people with delusions towards the Joker. If Strange and Quinn's descriptions of him were to be believed, he would have felt himself an expert in Joker-related psychosis. It would explain his research and paper he found at the man's office.

"Hey, hey B-Man," he heard Harley call out to him. "When do you think my Puddin's coming for me? Eeeeeeeh! This is going to be so much fun!"

Arkham was going to be heightening their security shortly, of that he was certain. Also, he rather doubted the Joker would come to Arkham to break out his latest pawn, at least not without reason. Seeing as there was no further reason to be here, Batman just pivoted on his feet and began to leave the max security ward.

"Do come back!" he heard Strange call out after him. "I rather enjoy these talks of ours. They're always enlightening!"

"Hey! B-Man!" Harley shouted as well. "You didn't answer my question!"

Batman blatantly ignored them.

"B-Man? B-Man!"

Barbara was feeling tired. Bone tired. Not the first time and certainly not the last. She had done all nighters before. Had used every ounce of her brain power to try and keep something as expansive as the Network up and running. Even played a key role in ending a major crisis here and there.

That didn't mean she couldn't reach a limit. Juggling time with the GCPD and Oracle was a full time gig, and she was having to learn how to balance the two. It wasn't easy, far from it, but this was what she had signed up to do.

Still, it didn't help with all the paranoia rampant in the department. The call that a group of clowns had invaded the Homestead Youth Center was the realization of that paranoia. The League of Smile was acting in earnest now, no longer content with murders. They were attempting to up the ante with massacres.

Already she was hearing about the reports of some vigilantes breaking it up before it got too bad. One of the perpetrators was in an interview room—interrogation for the anti-PC people out there. Confirmation of the other shoe falling was never good, regardless. It truly was official now that they had a problem.

Due credit to Sawyer, she wanted to keep the part about the League on the downlow. The public so far was under the impression of four murders, one a double homicide, and no connection between them. The calling cards were being used for the dual purpose of preventing panic and to weed out any compulsive confessors from claiming responsibility. You'd be surprised how often people confessed compulsively to something they didn't do.

There was collection being done at the scene. Still was happening. However, a number of forensic techs were given leave to go home for the rest of the night, but to be back early in the morning, sharp. There was going to be a lot of data logging and testing to be done. Meanwhile, statements would be taken, security footage retrieved, and a whole building cordoned off until further notice.

This was her first time being part of the action—so to speak—with the Joker involved. Oh, normally she was at home as Oracle for all the rest, but this time she was on one of the frontlines. The tension in there was palpable, and some officers looked like they would snap at the slightest provocation. So far, there hadn't been any but there was a feeling that it was only a matter of time.

Thankfully she was given leave. There were some things she needed to do, first and foremost was contact Batman and give him the heads up on what was coming to Gotham. Then she needed to check in with the Birds of Prey, and then…see if the Batclan had made any requests or tried to contact her.

It wasn't their fault, she had to tell herself. It was a name. Their name. Not hers anymore. Alright, there was still a little resentment, but she was a professional. There was history with Bluebird and Spoiler, and those girls did nothing to deserve any animosity.

It still stung that the second Batgirl was the one to receive recognition. Not this incarnation of the title's fault either.

However, as she was leaving out of one of the few handicap accessible entrances/exits, someone was waiting for her. He was a sight for sore eyes, however his timing could be a bit better.

"You look like you could use a ride home," Daddy—ahem—the former police commissioner, and retired, James Gordon greeted. "They seem to be working you hard in there. You look beat."

"I don't know, I think I could have lasted a little longer. Just one more file," Barbara replied flippantly.

A wry smile curved those rough lips. "That sounds familiar."

"Turnaround is fair play," she teased.

"I think I understand why your mother hated it when I said that." Her father closed the distance between them and she allowed the older man to move around behind her. A pair of hands grasped the rear handles and then she didn't need to rely on her own muscle power to get moving.

It was never just one more file. There was always one more breakthrough even if it took the whole night.

"Have you talked with her?" the wheelchair-bound woman asked.

She was able to hear the tongue wetting those lips. "It's still complicated."

Right. That was always the standard answer to that. Well then, let's get him out of that hot seat and put him in another. "I wasn't expecting you tonight. Isn't it a bit late to be waiting for your little girl to clock out? Shouldn't you be at home?"

"Can't I make sure my little girl gets home? This doesn't seem a particularly safe night to be out alone."

Though she wasn't facing him, that made it safe to frown at that answer. Why single out this particular night as not safe? There had been plenty of times she had been out and by herself. She could count on some of the older officers to help her get to and from the office, usually Montoya or Bullock…

"Let me guess, someone named Harvey tipped you off," Barbara drawled.

"I cannot confirm or deny the involvement of any detectives that may or may not have given me a late night call. I was up as it was. It's no problem," the older Gordon answered.

It was Bullock. Damn teddy bear.

She could see her father's car drawing near. He had parked where he could, further down the street from the precinct. Parking meter was paid and everything. How long had he been waiting?

Coming to a stop, her father moved around her once more to reach for one of the car doors. From a glance, Barbara noted he was armed, wearing a holster under his jacket. It was just a glimpse, and a sight that did not surprise her. Jim Gordon always concealed carried. The office was perhaps the only place where he would have disarmed itself, but the weapon would always be close at hand. From public appearances to trips to City Hall, always armed.

The front passenger door was wide open, and then her wheelchair was maneuvered closer. She could take it from here, pushing herself up and out of her seat, and then swinging her body into the car with an ease that came from endless practice. As she was slipping her legs in, her father was taking care of the wheelchair, semi-dismantling it so that he could put it in the back seat. This too was done with familiarity.

By the time Barbara was closing the door, the former commissioner was walking around the vehicle to the driver's side. Even before putting the key into the ignition, the doors were being locked. This was a behavior that a lot of Gothamites shared; getting into a car put you in a temporary vulnerable state. You had to be quick or someone could take the chance to get behind you. Even if you did get into the car, if you weren't quick enough to get the vehicle into drive, the door could still be opened and you were caught with your proverbial pants down.

"We're not stopping for any coffee," her father remarked as he turned the engine on. "I think this little girl needs to go straight to bed."

"I can do that part myself," she replied.

"And miss the bedtime story you're going to tell me?" he jested, putting the gear into drive.

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "You want me to tell you a bedtime story? The man who's version of a story was the case he was currently working at the time?"

"They were better than ghost stories," was the flippant retort.

Indeed they were. But why was he bringing that up…unless…

He didn't mean that he was going to stick around, perhaps spend the night…?

Oh that was going to make things very awkward.

Well, well, well, they were back in the big city once more. The towering skyscrapers, the urban jungle, and gothic-designed history around every corner. Yep, this was Gotham alright.

But this time it was a different kind of visit from some old sightseers. Cyborg kept them at the speed limit as the T-car made its way into the heart of the city. This would be the best place to start, fanning outwards in all directions. See, this was a search and rescue mission, and according to Red, it may not be a friendly or easy one.

Somewhere in this labyrinth of buildings, old, new, and something in-between, Raven was hidden in one of them. Which one? Your guess was as good as his.

One of the first things that the cybernetic teen noticed was that there was a definite difference to Jump City. Jump seemed…cleaner? Maybe it was the age of some of these buildings, but there was a dirtiness to them that he hadn't truly paid attention to the first time they had paid a visit here. Also there was a darkness to the city, making Jump brighter by comparison.

Had it been like this the last time? He remembered a lit up street with a casino, some rooftops, and then one big deathtrap…oh yeah, right, memory banks. He remembered everything. Well, it had gotten real serious last time; this time it was going to be serious from the get go.

He drove the T-car into a parking garage, going up to the top floor. He had to fool some of the security measures to get his baby in, messing around with the computer that demanded payment and getting that arm to rise up to let him in. There was no way he was parking on the ground, convenient it may be for a quick getaway, but this was going to be for the long haul.

No sooner had he shut the engine down that everyone was piling out and Red was taking charge.

"We're breaking this up into sectors," their leader stated, shining out a holographic map of the city for them to enjoy. "We'll start with the south, make our way north. Angle to the west so that we can cover some of the major ways in and out of the city. There's a good chance we're not going to finish up tonight unless we get really lucky, which means we may have to save some for tomorrow night. The harbor and docks are on the east side so the only way out is by boat. We're looking for any clue that may pinpoint if Raven is still here or if her buyer left town with her. No matter what, we need to pick up her trail no matter where it leads us.

"Kid Flash, I want you at ground level. Use your communicator, I am sending some locations that you can start with. This isn't like trying to find Beast Boy so make sure you check for any areas that a human can easily fit in. Beast Boy, chose a tracker and make sure to refresh yourself on Raven's scent. Cyborg, you're scanning all frequencies with a priority for those constructs should they show up.

"Starfire, Wonder Girl, you're in the air and the tall buildings are all yours. Try not to draw any attention but see if you can find anything in the upper floors. Try not to break in. Contact me if something is suspicious. I'll be canvasing from the rooftops and getting some updates from Oracle, see if they can help narrow down the area. Any questions, concerns?"

Kid Flash had one. "What if we, I don't know, run across a crime in action, like a kidnapping, or a mugging, or something? Break it up?"

Red gave a grimace. Then he stood a little taller when he said, "Of course break it up. But don't get too distracted. I'm willing to bet there's a mugging happening a block from where we're standing. Don't linger, restrain, and I think it goes without saying but do not kill." Everyone got a knowing look, and Cyborg wasn't about to object about it. It didn't need to be said but sometimes a reminder was needed whether you wanted it or not.

"One thing," Red added, bringing up the cybernetic teen short. "If you see any clowns, report to me immediately. I am dead serious about this."

Right. This was one topic Red wouldn't shut up about, but again he understood. With all the research he had to do, it was only a matter of time until he ran into one of those websites. This was the Joker, the clown nobody laughed at. More like, screamed in terror. Move over Pennywise, you got nothing on this lunatic.

It would be such crappy timing if the fan-named Harlequin of Hate just started to pull some new scheme of his off just as they were arriving. He knew they would get wrapped up in it, somehow. While there was no proof, there was still the hopefully untrue theory that the Joker may have been the one to buy Raven.

A huge mismatch if he ever heard one. But let's not underestimate this man. The Joker could do anything, you couldn't expect anything except the unexpected.

"Check ins every thirty minutes," Red continued. "Keep safe out there. We don't need to get ourselves hurt either. Remember, any sign, any clue, just anything, send the alert. Everybody ready?"

Born ready, but that didn't need to be said. In perhaps a bit of bad timing—or good depending on how you looked at it—one of his sensors pinged. Specifically, it was the sensor he had been rigging together and testing out to detect any signs of those constructs they were tracking. There was a new one and based on the tracking data, it was on the move.

"Yo, Red, I got something," Cyborg spoke up, getting all the attention now. "Just came up on the Raven sensor. We got another beast running around that may or may not be green. Unlike ours, I don't think it cracks jokes."

While letting Beast Boy ponder that for a second—just needed to let that joke settle for a bit—Red Robin asked, "Where in Gotham is it?"

"Northeast. I still need more data before I can get to something specific like a street," he answered.

"That still fits within the search pattern," Red remarked. Turning to the rest of the team, "We start in the northeast, move west. Alright? Same rules about clowns still apply. Let's make it quick and try to keep the property damage reasonable."

That it needed to be said spoke so much…

"Alright, Titans, go."