I think this chapter took plenty long enough to write that I shouldn't waste time with a long AN. All I'll say is I'm very much looking forward to when I can start in on the show's storyline.

To any of you who haven't yet, and to those of you who already have, please donate whatever you can to help the people of Ukraine. Thank you.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Chapter 12

"Any updates?" Batman asked over the comms.

"None as yet, sir. Facial recognition has found no matches on either the Joker or Marauder. There have been no mentions of either on the relevant chat rooms, no unusual activity from organized crime, and the GCPD has no leads at this time." Alfred's tone was clipped, professional, and entirely wrong. Normally, Alfred would have taken a few less-than-subtle jabs at him for asking the same question three times in ten minutes. Normally, though, the Joker hadn't kidnapped one of their number. Tonight was anything but normal. On a normal night, he would never have considered doing what they were about to do without at least a week of preparation.

From their perch across the street, he and Robin had a perfect view of their target: the Iceberg Lounge. From the outside, Cobblepot's headquarters looked like the legitimate nightclub it pretended to be. He was still working to untangle the web of bribes, blackmail, and fraud Cobblepot had spun to let him open and operate such a public front, but for now he didn't care about that. He only cared that it made for a convenient gathering place for many of the city's more "elite" criminals.

"Are you quite sure this is a good idea, sir? The Joker and the Penguin have never been on good terms."

"That's what makes it perfect," Dick said, without looking up from his wrist computer. "Penguin keeps track of his rivals, and Joker's definitely at the top of that list. If anyone in the city has a lead, it'll be him. We'll just have to convince him that sharing is caring. Aha- got it! Security systems are down."

Batman didn't hesitate. "Go."

This wasn't going to be a display of power. Shock and awe had their place, but they took preparation and planning. Now was the time for subtlety. He and Robin glided silently onto the nightclub's roof, popped open a vent, and slid inside. He noted with satisfaction the deactivated laser grid and alarm. Robin had done his work well.

Fortunately for them, Cobblepot had been too cheap to build an entirely new building. Instead, he'd chosen to renovate an existing structure, and that came with certain limitations. Most notably, it meant the ventilation system had enough room to crawl through. Just. Robin scuttled through the narrow metal tunnel with ease. He, meanwhile, was already planning out a new stretching routine. His flexibility could use some work.

They passed another dozen security systems on their way to Cobblepot's office, all disabled. He kept a sharp eye out, anyway. Cobblepot wasn't stupid, and he might well have included traps that weren't linked to his security mainframe. It would be just his style.

Sure enough, when they came to the vent in Cobblepot's office, he found one. It was well concealed, but not well enough. A near-invisible tripwire led from the grating of the vent through a tiny gap in the ductwork, where he was willing to bet good money it connected to a small mine. Simple, low-tech, and impossible to hack or disable remotely. Unfortunately for the Penguin, it was simple to disable in person.

With the utmost care, he removed a screw near where the wire exited the duct, and then wormed an endoscope camera through the screw hole to get a look at the trap. As he'd expected, it was a landmine. A Soviet PMN-2 anti-personnel blast mine from the look of it. More than powerful enough to kill both him and Robin, but not so large it would injure anyone in the office below. The configuration was familiar. Cobblepot must have hired a former spetsnaz operator sometime since he'd last broken into the Iceberg Lounge. Defusing the mine directly would be almost impossible in such confined quarters, but he didn't need to. Once he confirmed there were no anti-tamper measures on the tripwire itself, he just cut the wire. As with every time he disarmed a bomb, there was a heart stopping moment of tension where some part of him waited for an explosion. There was no blast, though. No sudden flash of light and heat. Just the distant rattle of the building's furnace and the muffled sound of voices in the office.

He felt Robin tap a ready signal against his boot and wiggled his foot in acknowledgment. The time had come to make themselves known.

He hadn't wanted to waste time in an all-out assault on the Iceberg Lounge, but when it came to Penguin himself, a little theatricality could go a long way. For all his bluster, Cobblepot was a jumpy coward who folded easily if kept off balance. So, the first thing to do was to give him a shove. In this case, that came in the form of a flash bomb he pushed through the vent grille.

'Three… two… one,' he counted in his head. Right on cue, the bomb detonated.

BANG!

The bomb was small, about the size of a large marble, but in the closed space of the office it more than did the trick. With a sound like a shotgun, blinding white light filled the room. The moment it detonated, he smashed the grille off the vent and lunged into the office, Robin a split-second behind him. The lenses of his cowl protected him from the effects of the flash bomb and let him see the office clearly. Penguin was alone, sitting at his desk, talking on the phone. At least he had been talking on the phone. Now he was screaming in shock with his eyes screwed up against the small star that had just ignited three feet from his face. His hand reached blindly for the umbrella next to his chair, probably for the weapon he'd concealed inside it, but he was too slow. Before the flash bomb had fully faded, Batman had a Kevlar gloved hand wrapped around his fat neck.

"Hrrk!"

Cobblepot let out a choked gurgle, but he paid him no mind. With a heave and a twist of his hips, he pulled Cobblepot out of his chair and threw him across the room. The fat little crime boss smashed through the glass doors leading to his balcony and came to a rest against the railing. He groaned as blood trickled down his face. The entire maneuver had taken less than three seconds.

'Any moment now,' he thought.

Right on cue, the main door of the office slammed open and two hulking guards charged in, weapons raised. They were former special operations, judging by their tattoos, and both looked to have been hewn rather than born. Penguin only hired the best for his personal security, and he had no doubt both of the men were dangerous killers. Both of them immediately focused on Robin, with his brightly colored uniform meant to draw the eye. They moved to attack, probably figuring they could take on a child they had outnumbered, outgunned, and outweighed by at least 300 pounds.

It was really quite horrible, what Robin did to them.

Batman ignored the crunch of breaking bone from behind him and focused on Cobblepot. The rotund little man was only just stirring, and he had no intention of letting him regain his bearings. While Robin doled out a truly thorough beating on the two guards, he crossed to where the man was struggling to stand, planted a boot on his chest, and shoved with a precise degree of force. Cobblepot slammed back against the railing with a grunt. The cast-iron railing was more to an up to the task of withstanding the pressure, but the ancient concrete it was bolted to was a different story. With a series of sharp pops, the bolts ripped free and the whole thing tilted back. Cobblepot's beady eyes widened in horror when he saw the hundred foot drop below him.

"Aaah!" He pounded at Batman's boot with his pudgy fists, but he might as well have been a baby punching a statue. "You're mad! What do you want?"

"Joker," Batman growled. "Where is he?!"

"The clown? He's in Arkham, dung-for-brains. What, the lil' birdie's bunghole not enough for you now? You need that sick bastard to tickle yer- awk!"

Batman pushed a little harder, and the railing slipped back another foot. Cobblepot clung to his leg for dear life.

"I know he escaped. Tell me where he is, or I'll feed whatever's left of you to your pet when I'm done here."

Sweat ran in rivers down the man's pallid face. Veins stood out on his forehead like purple hosepipes. His breathing and heart rate had both spiked high enough to risk him hyperventilating, but it was a risk he'd have to take. There was no time to conduct a gentler interrogation. Besides, Penguin had been getting too bold lately. It was time to remind him who Gotham truly belonged to.

"What're you askin' me for?" He squawked. "We ain't pals. He's your boyfriend, not mine."

A play for time, and a clumsy one. Cobblepot had never been the best at thinking on his feet. Batman reached to where his hands clutched at his boot and broke two of his fingers without looking down. At the same time, he pushed even harder with his leg. The railing slipped further. By now, Cobblepot was practically laying flat over the long drop below.

"Aaaarrgh! Fuck!" Cobblepot had instinctively tried to grab on tighter just as his fingers had snapped, and had clearly found the sensation disagreeable. "You fucking bastard. Yer a dead man! You hear me? DEAD! I'm gonna-"

"You have eight more fingers," Batman said, careful to keep his voice calm. Disinterested. "Lie to me again, and we'll see how many I get through before you fall. I know you keep track of him. He couldn't get out of Arkham without you hearing about it. Tell. Me. Where. He. Is."

Again, he put more weight on his leg, and again the railing tilted back. It was just barely dangling from its loosened bolts, now, and Cobblepot was in serious danger of sliding backwards off of it. He must have felt it, too, because broken fingers or not, he clung to the boot against his chest like it was the last thing he'd ever hold. His eyes were so wide they bulged, and his breath came in sharp, rapid pants.

"I swear I don't know where he is! Aaagh, I swear on my mother's grave. I heard he got out, all right, but then he vanished. No one's heard a peep from him. I swear!"

"Not good enough!" He roared. Penguin was telling the truth (he wasn't brave enough to lie in a situation like this), but there was more. There had to be more. "You know something. You have men all over the city. Talk!"

He pushed harder. Hard enough to feel Cobblepot's ribs creak under his boot. One bolt came free entirely, and the railing slanted dangerously to one side.

"Aaaahh! Port Adams," Cobblepot cried. Actually cried. The man was sobbing in terror. "Something's happening at the docks. Some of my guys saw a bunch of new muscle hangin' around, and a woman giving' orders. Real crazy bint. Joker's sort. That's all I know. Just don't drop me! Please!"

"Thank you," he said, and then gave one final push with his leg. The rest of the bolts snapped free of their mountings and the railing tumbled to the ground below. Cobblepot went with it.

"No! Waaaaahhh! Aaaa-grk!"

His scream cut off abruptly as the cable Batman had surreptitiously fastened around his ankle snapped tight. He took a moment to make sure the anchor point would hold and then signaled Robin. There was no point waiting around for the rest of Cobblepot's security to show up. As one, they leaped off the balcony and grappled to the next building, leaving Penguin to dangle, cursing furiously at their backs. His ravings quickly faded as they swooped away towards the docks.

"So, Port Adams?" Robin said over the radio. There was more than a hint of worry in his voice. "That's a lot of ground to search. And if they took a ship and left-"

"Then we'll track them," he said. "He's not getting away from us. Alfred?"

"I've accessed the port security cameras, along with the archived footage. It will take some time to sort through it, however."

He frowned. The Batcomputer was powerful, but even it would take hours to sift through that volume of data. "Focus on the last few hours, starting from ten minutes after Marauder's last contact until now."

"Yes sir. That should only take- oh my. Now that is interesting. Shortly after Marauder was taken, the cameras in the southern half of the port went dark. When they come back on, there is a van parked on the docks and a cargo ship has left."

"A ship?" Despite his reassurances to Robin, if Joker had taken Marauder on a ship, they would be nearly impossible to track down. "What do you have on it?"

There was a pause as Alfred no doubt scoured every relevant database he could access, which was all of them. With each passing second, the lead weight in his gut grew heavier.

"… nothing, sir. It is registered to a South Rhelaysian shipping conglomerate, but the company is merely a shell. Its AIS is not active, and it did not file a destination or course plan before leaving port."

He swallowed a curse. There were times, like right now, when the level of corruption in Gotham staggered even his jaded sensibilities. Accepting a bribe to let a cargo ship depart without a logged course or even its AIS was practically asking for a disaster, but he had no doubt that was exactly what had happened. The Joker probably hadn't even had to pay all that much. He made a mental note to have Bruce Wayne start a WI inquiry into their own dealings at Port Adams. Hopefully that would get the ball rolling on improving port security in Gotham. For now, though, worry over Marauder consumed his thoughts.

"Thousands of ships come in and out of Gotham every day," Robin said. "Joker could be- How are we going to find him in time?"

It was the same question he'd been asking himself for the last few minutes. He wished he had a better answer. "Alfred, send the information to Gordon and tell him to contact the Coast Guard. That should widen our net. In the meantime, we'll-"

He broke off when a flash of light caught his eye. Out in the bay, an enormous column of fire bloomed seemingly from nowhere. It must have been a thousand feet tall, and it burned with a brilliant orange and red light that seemed just a little too intense for natural fire.

Robin was the first to recover his voice. "That must be him!"

He couldn't disagree. A mixture of fear and pride swelled in his chest. On the one hand, if Marauder was lighting off spells like that, it meant he was alive and trying to escape. On the other hand, it also no doubt meant he'd just given away his position while trapped on a ship with the Joker and who knew how many of his goons. Not only that, but it risked exposing his powers in the worst possible way.

"Alfred, we need to get there fast."

"The Batwing is already en route, sir."

He sent an acknowledgment and turned to Robin. "Be ready for anything."

Robin grinned. "It's Marauder. There's no preparing for that."

Batman didn't think he'd ever heard truer words.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Joker's Comedy Cruise liner!" The Clown Prince of Crime himself stood clutching a microphone center stage, garish spotlights making him look more like a cheap cartoon than an actual human. There was nothing cartoonish about the abattoir around him, though, nor the ghoulish leer on his face, and certainly not the oversized revolver in his hand. He leveled the revolver in their direction. Harry's heart skipped a beat when he realized the veil he'd cast earlier was gone.

'Lighting the fire must have overwhelmed it.' He tried to get enough of a hold over his magic to recast it, but it was too late. Twin pits of boiling venom turned to stare at him.

"You again, new boy?" That smile widened, but the burning hatred in those poisonous eyes grew hotter. "And with a friend, I see. Now, that just won't do at all, no no no. We rehearsed this, didn't we? This was supposed to be my opening night. I arranged a special appearance, a guest of honor, a killer routine, and even a grand finale. But you-" he jabbed one gloved finger at them "-just had to be a spoilsport. First you screw up bird boy's arrival, now you're heckling me from the audience? Lighting my boat on fire? Nice work with that, by the way. Arson isn't as easy as everyone thinks. But what did I ever do to you?"

"You murdered dozens of people and had me kidnapped and tortured," Harry yelled. He had to keep him talking. Batman had seen that signal. He must have.

The Joker sighed theatrically. "Alas, the curse of the artist. Never to be understood in his own time."

"Aww, don't get down, puddin'." Harley Quinn waltzed out from behind the Joker and draped herself over his arm. She stared up at him with such naked adoration, Harry couldn't help but shudder. How could anyone look at the clown like that? "We've still got all the props. I'm sure you'll think of something."

The Joker cocked his head for a moment and then nodded without taking his eyes off the two of them. "You're right, Harley. I suppose there's still time to salvage things. The show must go on, and all that. I'm sure the flying rodent is on his way here as we speak. While we wait, it would be rude of me not to offer my guests entertainment. And, since it's a whoopin' they're a wantin', we're more than equipped to provide just that."

"Crap," Artemis whispered again. Her voice was tight with fear, but her bow stayed steady. "Can you fight?"

"If I have to," he said, and hoped it was true.

"Go on, boys." The Joker waved his pistol, and the spotlights illuminated the two of them. They both tensed. "Dance for our guests."

…

…

…

No one moved. The 'dancers' just stared at each other dumbly. Finally, one of them, a balding man who was either braver or dumber than his compatriots, dared to speak up.

"Umm, Mr. Joker? When you say dance, do you want us to actually dance, or do you want us to kill the-"

BANG!

The thug's head exploded in a fountain of gore. The men around him recoiled in terror. A few screamed, and one went down, retching. Harry had a tough time fighting his own nausea down, and even Artemis looked shaken at the sight.

"Of course I mean kill them, you brainless nincompoops!" The Joker shrieked. "Move, or I'll blow your heads off to see if they're actually hollow inside! Just do it while dancing. You're wearing those outfits for a reason, you know." He snapped his fingers. "Harley! Show them how it's done."

The harlequin woman saluted and picked up an absurdly oversized mallet from the stage. Despite its size, she twirled it like a baton. With an agility that rivaled Dick, she turned a series of intricate flips and cartwheels, rebounding off a bit of railing and even a goon's face until she was a good twenty feet it the air, hammer poised to fall like a meteor.

"That's not good," Artemis yelled. "Move!"

She shoved him, hard. He fell back, just in time for the hammer to smash right through the space his head had just occupied, so close it ruffled his hair as it passed. Splinters flew up from the impact and stung against his chest.

"Stay still, ya little brats," Harley griped. "Mistah J wants ya dead, and I ain't about ta disappoint my puddin'. So- mmph."

An arrow slammed into her chest, cutting off whatever else she was about to say. Her voice vanished in a muffled gurgle as grey foam burst from the arrowhead and swallowed her whole.

"They're coming!" Artemis shouted, and indeed they were. The garishly costumed thugs had finally gotten over their shock and were charging towards them. A few turned clumsy pirouettes or skips, no doubt taking Joker's order to dance seriously. There were over a dozen of them, armed with pipes, bats, knives, and even a few guns. The sharp retort of gunfire echoed over the roar of the conflagration, and something hissed between him and Artemis.

"Cover!" She dove behind one of the crates and pulled him along. As the mass of thugs got closer, he held out a hand and concentrated as best he could.

"Fumus."

A tiny trickle of smoke curled out of his palm. It wouldn't have hidden a mouse. He grit his teeth and focused again. There was a pounding in his skull, his vision swam, his stomach churned, and the cuts on his chest stung like mad, but he focused through it all. It was like shoveling loose sand out of a pit with a fork, but he only needed a moment. The magic was there, at the tips of his fingers. All he had to do was… grab it.

"Fumus!"

A sharp pain lanced through his head and something warm trickled down his nose. Blessedly, though, a cloud of thick, obscuring smoke billowed from his hand just in time. It swallowed everything around him. The crates, the fire, Artemis, everything. For a moment, all he could see was dull grey. Then the group of thugs ran into the cloud, practically frothing at the mouth, and everything became… complicated.

Harry hadn't ever considered himself an especially skilled fighter, but seven months under Batman and Robin had gone some way to changing that. The martial arts had only been a small portion of what Bruce had taught him, but seven months had still seen him attain a level of proficiency even Batman had deemed acceptable given the timeframe. However, there was a big difference between training and actual combat, and an even bigger difference between fighting sober and drugged. As thugs stumbled about in the smoke, swinging wildly, Harry's world devolved into a series of charged moments, disconnected from each other and the world around him.

One moment, he was blocking a wild punch and countering with an elbow to someone's jaw. Then he was jumping away from a flailing hammer. Then he was the one taking an elbow to the face. There was a man standing over him with a knife raised. A gunshot rang out, and the man's face burst like a rotten tomato.

"I told you to dance, remember?!"

From outside the smoke, the Joker called out encouragement and criticism as if he were watching a boxing match. Every few seconds, his revolver would roar again and something would explode. Usually it was a bit of a crate or decking. Sometimes it was a thug's hand. Or leg. Or head.

"Hahahahaha. Now this is proper crowd work," the clown cheered. "You heckle me, I shoot you in the face. I can't believe this hasn't caught on already."

Artemis moved on the edge of his vision, fading in and out of the smoke like a phantom, taking down three thugs for every one he fended off. Once, an arrow flew past and slammed into the forehead of a giggling creep with a bat. Electricity jumped along his body and he collapsed, screaming, to the ground.

"Oooh, you guys aren't doing too well. Missed cues, poor timing, and no sense of rhythm. I knew I should have been harder on you lot in rehearsals. Alas, I'm just too much of a soft touch. It's my own fault, really."

Time was impossible to judge. The fight could have been dragged on for minutes or days. He thought it was probably minutes, but he couldn't remember why he thought that. For the most part, he just did his best to dodge the worst of the blows and deal out what damage he could. It had mixed results. A few missed blocks earned him fresh bruises along his jaw and torso, but he also sent one man down with a dislocated elbow and another with a concussion. Somehow, he had a baseball bat in his hands for a few seconds, and then it was gone. He thought he might have cracked someone on the nose with it. Bruce's training was paying off, but more and more of them kept coming out of the smoke. Or maybe it was the same ones. The thugs all blended together. Combined with the disorienting effect of the smoke, Joker's mad ravings, and the constant roar of the fire, it was a minor miracle he still knew up from down.

Some bits were clearer than others. Someone lunged at him with a dagger, aiming for his throat. Just like Bruce had taught him, he slipped past it, slammed a fist into the man's gut, and pulled him into a shoulder throw. Quite unlike what Bruce had taught him, his wobbly balance betrayed him and he went down right next to him. For a split second, they both just lay on the deck, dazed, staring at the knife that lay between them. Harry met the man's eyes, and they both moved at once. Even with his brain cross-threaded, his reactions were still lightning fast. The thug made a grab for the knife, but Harry slammed a palm against his face and channeled his magic. He couldn't weave a proper spell, but he could send a burst of raw energy straight into the man's head.

He felt the tingle of magic leave his fingers, and green and gold sparks danced from under his hand. The man only managed a single scream before his eyes rolled up and he went limp. For a heart stopping moment, Harry couldn't tell if he was breathing. His own breath froze. Then the man coughed, and he sighed in relief. The thug may have had flowers sprouting from his nostrils and his eyebrows had taken a permanent leave of absence, but he was alive.

'No killing. Not even on accident.' Somehow, killing someone accidentally seemed worse than doing it on purpose.

He struggled to his feet, adrenaline fueled energy fighting against the last traces of Harley's drugs. The smoke was starting to clear. He could see through it to the stage now. The stage where Joker was- oh, that was bad.

"Down," he shouted. Artemis, by some miracle, didn't bother looking for the threat, or even looking at him. She just threw herself to the deck. Half a second later, a hail of bullets cut through the air around them. Thugs screamed as they fell, bleeding, moaning, dying. Harry ducked behind a crate himself as the Joker turned the twin submachine guns towards him. The noise was indescribable, yet somehow, through it all, he could still hear the laughter. The mad, cackling laughter, devoid of any real mirth or joy. The gunfire seemed almost a backdrop to that laughter rather than the other way around.

Chips of wood whizzed past his face as the onslaught of gunfire ate through the crate. Smoke from the burning half of the ship was starting to sting his throat. He looked over at where Artemis had been, but all he could see was a mass of screaming henchmen. The only sign of his mystery rescuer was her bow, discarded on the ground. More chunks of wood disintegrated as his cover grew smaller. He grit his teeth and reached for his magic. There was nothing for it. His head throbbed dangerously. Every nerve felt hot and worn. Using magic even once in this state was dangerous. Now, he was seriously pushing the limit.

'Just one more spell,' he thought. 'Have to get her out of there.'

"Depulso!"

An ice pick lodged itself in his brain. Hot coals burned in his stomach. His vision flickered black and red. He coughed, and flecks of blood splattered the deck. It was all worth it, though, to see the four thugs go flying. The force of his spell sent them ragdolling over the crates and rubbish scattered around the deck. One of them actually went spinning over the railing and into the sea with a distant splash. For a moment, silence reigned. Even the gunfire had quieted.

With them gone, he could see Artemis. She had curled into a tight ball to protect herself. As soon as the thugs were gone, though, she sprang to her feet. Blood trickled down one side of her face, and she held her left side gingerly, but she didn't look too badly hurt. She looked better off than he felt, at least.

"Marauder," she yelled, limping towards him. "Are you-"

She only made it two steps before a red and black blur slammed into her. It resolved into a very pissed off Harley Quinn. The crazy woman still had globs of foam stuck to her costume and in place of her hammer she held a length of broken board. Improvised or not, she wielded it with a demonic fury. Artemis went down under a flurry of wild blows.

"Stop messin' up Mistah J's plans!" she screeched.

"Crazy bitch." Artemis punched her in the face hard enough Harry heard something crunch from twenty feet away, but Harley was too incensed to care. She just laughed and kept raining down blows. Artemis blocked as many as she could, but even he could see she was flagging. The board smashed against her forearm and something went snap! Artemis screamed in pain and Harley cackled triumphantly. He tried again to stand, but something hard slammed into the side of his head before he made it past his knees.

Fire and pain shattered his skull. Thoughts burned in the furnace of his aching head. For a timeless moment, all he knew was the feeling of his own brain trying to turn inside out. Even when he returned to his senses, the left side of his head still throbbed as if a bludger had just cracked him across the temple. He could taste metal on his tongue. His left ear didn't seem to be working properly. Everything sounded lopsided and fuzzy. When he tried to move, his limbs didn't respond. A foot jabbed him in the ribs and rolled him over. He opened his eyes to see who it was and looked up in a vision fit for nightmares.

The Joker's grinning face hovered just a foot from his own. Even over the smoke, he could smell the clown's fetid breath. Again, he tried to move, to struggle, but all he managed was a weak twitching before Joker straddled him and pinned his hands to the floor.

"Hehehehe. I've got to say, newbie, this is quite the performance you've put on." He leaned down to whisper in Harry's ear. His broken-glass voice set Harry's teeth on edge and his breath smelled like rancid meat. "As a connoisseur of chaos myself, I must admit you've done a marvelous job tonight. So good, I've decided you can open for my act later. You and your little girlfriend. Hahaha."

He pulled a meat cleaver from inside his suit and flipped it end over end. The firelight glinted hypnotically off the spinning blade. Again and again he tossed it, never looking, never hesitating. Harry couldn't tear his eyes from the sparkling knife, and all the while that broken-glass voice kept burrowing into his ear.

"You see, I'm a fan of the classics. And what is more classically funny than the good old crème pie in the face?"

Flip. Glint. Catch.

"Gotham is so dreary this time of year, and I thought people could do with a bit of cheering up. So I got me this ship and loaded her up with enough whipped cream and custard to drown a few baby whales. Although, I suppose I've never drowned a baby whale. Maybe I should try it. Do you think it's like drowning baby people?"

Flip. Glint. Catch.

"But I digress. Add in a few hundred pounds of plastic explosive, and a special batch of Joker Venom (patent pending), and I had the recipe for the greatest pieing of all time."

Flip. Glint. Catch.

"Comedy's all about timing, and I figured if I hit the river at morning rush hour, I could bring smiles to a good ten thousand of Gotham's weary, downtrodden residents. As for the dimwitted duo, well, that one was another classic. Comedy comes in threes, after all."

Flip. Glint. Catch.

"One; kidnap Robin. Two; brutally murder him and Batman when he comes to save his little pet. Three; hang their corpses from the prow of my ship, so everyone knows those two Debbie downers won't be dragging the mood down ever again. But, thanks to you, that plan is ruined!"

The cleaver flashed as it came down. There was a thunk next to his ear, and he felt something cold kiss his cheek. Joker cackled as he wrenched the cleaver free.

"Hahahahahahaha. Oh, the look on your face. You are fun. So, as a little treat, for being so entertaining, I'm going to chop you and the girl into itty bitty, teeny tiny little pieces and mix you into the pie. That way, all of Gotham can get as much of a kick out of you two as I did. What do you say?"

The cleaver flipped one last time and landed in his hand. He raised it high. His eyes burned with hatred and madness and endless, perverse glee. The light of the burning ship made the blade a frozen slice of hell, ready to carve him to bits. It began its descent-

Clang!

-only to fly out of the clown's hand when a black blur slammed against it with the clang of metal on metal. A very familiar clang. Harry had heard it ten thousand times in the last seven months. He grinned as wide as the Joker. The murderous clown just stared at his now empty hand with a dumbfounded look on his face despite the rictus grin. Realization dawned an instant before a pair of black-booted feet slammed into his face.

"Aargh!" The blow sent him crashing straight through the nearest crate in a cloud of splinters. He didn't move.

Harry looked up, and even through the blurry haze that was his vision, there was no mistaking it. Batman had arrived. A surge of relief rushed through him, so powerful he nearly passed out then and there. He couldn't, though. Not yet. There was one more thing he had to do. As Batman moved towards where the Joker lay, he grabbed his boot.

"Wait," he rasped. The smoke was really getting thick now. "Ship's… rigged. Bombs in… the hold. Toxin…"

"Understood." Harry didn't think he'd ever heard Bruce speak so softly. "I'll handle it. You're safe now."

There was more he wanted to say, but just that much had taken the last of his mental fortitude. A tidal wave of exhaustion, drugs, and magical backlash washed over his thoughts, and he didn't have the strength to keep from himself above water. His hand slipped off Batman's boot, his head hit the deck with a thunk, and he knew no more.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

And thus this arc moves on to its final chapter. As per usual, I'll have one chapter dealing with the aftermath of this whole fiasco before I move on to the next arc. There's a lot to wrap up, most importantly the situation with Artemis. I think it's safe to say her hopes of staying under the radar now lie in smoking ruins. Batman is definitely aware of her now. Will she react to that in a mature, healthy, well-adjusted manner? (No. The answer is no.)

In case it wasn't obvious, I took my inspiration for this version of the Penguin from the Arkham games. As much as I love BtAS, I never much cared for its take on the Penguin. He was too gimmicky and refined. I much prefer the cruder, more sadistic gangster from the Arkham-verse. Let me know what you think.