All Purpose DC Comics Fanfiction Thread

The little bodies strung all along the fair had been treated with surgical precision. There was no way to mistake the precise touch of that hand, even if the bleached down faces had not been enough of a clue. The carnival of horrors ony could be the handwork of a single man.

That, and the date was an added give-away.

They'd have to run another inquiry at Arkham, the woman thought as she advanced through the fair, the nocturnal silence only broken by the faint echoes of circus magic. They had fooled her and Gordon, over the last week, as they tried to keep tabs on Inmate 19-39. During that time, the administration had reassured them the patient was safely locked up, and, busy as she had been with Killer Croc, she had no time to check on it personally. Now she regretted that decision and cursed herself as she walked through the darkness. Croc's latest rampage was nothing compared to what had happened that afternoon, when Inmate 19-39 and his gang had taken over the country fair.

Inmate 19-39. She had to keep calling him that way, even in her most private thoughts. She couldn't allow him the satisfaction of calling him by the name he had chosen for himself after his dark rebirth, but she couldn't call him Th— that way anymore, either. That man had died along the child, that night, so long ago.

"Batwoman," Gordon's voice crackled through the radio transmisor in her cowl, "that's him. The man in Arkham is a body double. He says Joker threatened his family..."

"Believe him," Batwoman snarled as she headed towards the circus big top at the middle of the grounds, after dispatching yet another clown who had crossed her path, brandishing a gun. Her own handgun still was smoking, as she walked over the clown, the precise hole in the middle of his forehead vacantly staring up at her, like a fresh, bleeding third eye. "That's just like him. Going after families."

"Do we send Bullock and Tactical in already?" Gordon asked.

"I've got it under control, and you've lost enough men tonight," she said, entering the big top. No, that wasn't true. He hadn't lost the men; their families had, just like so many other families had lost their loved ones as well earlier, when the gang massacred those who couldn't exit the fair in time. Just like all those who sat around the circus' ring, grinning corpses supported on each other, old and young, small and large alike. She could count at least two dozens from there. A sickening cold bathed her insides. "Gotta leave you now, Commissioner. I'm going to have a few words with him."

Sure enough, he stood there, with a still living, traumatized boy in his arms, grinning widely at her from the center of the big top. "Martha, dear," the monster who once had been her husband cooed, Glasgow scars stretching along his grin. "You're late. On the other hand, you're hardly the only one tonight, so I forgive you. You're going to set another bad example for Bruce, however. You know I despise tardiness over all things..."

"I'm not in the mood for games. Put the boy down gently, safely, no tricks, and save those for me," she urged him, gesturing towards his head with the gun. "Unless you aren't man enough for that anymore."

He chuckled grisly, as a switchblade popped out his sleeve, and he pressed it against the boy's throat. "What's the difference, Martha? You clearly think I'm not man enough already, anyway. But then, real men can protect their families..."

"... and they don't take others' families away because they couldn't," she said, stern like a real mother and wife. "Or rather, because we couldn't."

"If you ask me," Thomas said, whimsically running the blade up and down, teasing the tender skin, "being a real man is overrated anyway. It's much better to be a grown child, playing around instead of playing the good man, the good doctor, the pillar of the community. Maybe, if I had stayed inside more time, playing with Brucie-boy, we wouldn't have—"

"I told you, let him down," she urged, her gun's aim still steady and true. "You want to wax up on that nonsense? Fine, we'll do it in your cell, then. Press me further on, or I'll talk to your gravestone instead!"

"Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you," a humorless chuckle, black as tar, bubbled from the man's chalk white throat, still marred by the scars of many a failed attempt. "Of course you wouldn't! You little old bitch, old bat, if you'd ever wanted it, you'd have let me do it myself, after doing you, but nooooo, you're so in love with your job, you can't even let me have that! Despite your knowing it's the best for everyone!"

"I don't want to die, and I don't want you to die, because I know that's not what Bruce would have wanted," the Bat said, "but to save that boy's life, I'll do it if necessary. He's not our Bruce, but he's still someone else's."

"Yeah, well, those fellows are right back there, and I doubt they'll care anymore," the Joker snorted. "And to save this brat's life, what you have to do is throwing that gun and kicking it my way, that's what!"

"We've done this before. You'll kill him regardless."

He sighed. "See, that's the worst part of doing this with your wife. You know me too well, and frankly, I'm afraid it's taking the fun away from our relationsh—"

The trick shot sent the switchblade flying off his hand, along with two fingers. The Joker yowled in pain as he let the boy down, and then Batwoman was throwing herself into him, tackling him against the ground.

They struggled and wrestled like violent lovers, trying to strangle each other, until she pressed the barrel of her gun against one of his shoulders and shot, sending him back with another howl of pain. She stood over him, aiming at his head, before exhaling and kicking him down. "Ex-wife," she corrected, before hogtying him up tightly, leaving him on his stomach.

"I don't think this will help either. Not even BDSM can bring the magic back," he winced while she tended to the catatonic boy, then to his own wounds. "Maybe we should start seeing other people... I mean, other than other, I'm growing kind of fed up with Harley as well, and—"

She made a call. "Gordon, send Bullock in. He's down. No, no, alive. Although I won't answer for it if the ambulance isn't here immediately. No, it's only a flesh wound. I mean I'll kill him..."

The Joker breathed deeply, managing as much of a frown as he could. "I just wanted to know, you know? How that man must have felt that night. If he felt some sense of victory, of fulfillment. I've tried it over and over, until it became enjoyable, but I don't know if I've matched what he must have felt. If only we could ask him..."

She gave him a dead, cold glare. "I could. Through you, because you've become all he ever was and more. But it'd be pointless. You don't have any answers to give."

"Hmmmm. Maybe you're right," he allowed. "Maybe."

And, a moment later, he added, "How's Alfred doing these days, by the way?"

"— well, sorry, Julian, but the answer is 'banana'!" the Joker cackled before casually shooting the unfortunate henchman in the chest, then walking away laughing his head off.

The other two henchmen looked down at Julian's prone body, waiting for a few minutes before one of them crouched down and patted his cheeks. "Hey, dude, wake up. It's only a paralyzing dart, man. He didn't overdo the dose, did he?"

"What—" Julian opened his eyes, being helped up by his two friends. "Wasn't I, hadn't he just—"

"Killed you? Nah, he's got a reputation for that, but if he truly did it as often, do you really think anyone would take jobs for him anymore? As long as you don't betray him, you should be okay. Right, Mickey?"

The other friend nodded. "Yeah, he does this kinda shit all the time, tho'. Says it's for the audience's benefit. That it's what the readers expect from him..."

"Audience? Readers...? What readers?" Julian asked groggily.

Mickey shrugged. "Who knows? He talks idiotic nonsense like that all the time. Don't pay him attention, he's just a wacko after ahhhhh," he trailed away, noticing the Joker had just walked back into the room and now frowned disapprovingly at him.

The Joker shot what definitely wasn't a paralyzing dart through Mickey's head.

The unexperienced young girl in a masquerade party costume dropped before the trio of armed criminals, extending her cape around herself. "Give up, Moth!" she said. "Or face... the Batgirl!"

Killer Moth paused, looked at his henchmen, shared a shrug of shoulders with them, and then shot the newbie blocking their way through her midsection with his frankly stupid looking Moth-Gun.

(As seen in Detective Comics Issue 359, 'The Million Dollar Debut of Batgirl'- January 1967, by Gardner Fox and Carmine Infantino).

—-

Steph blinked. "... huh. I don't know, I always had the impression that would have involved the Joker, or someone else, someone less—"

"This is as far as this conversation goes," Barbara told her sternly.

Bruce was at first, stunned, to see multiple enemies appear in the Batcave, all of them being Arkham Knight's robotic copies built to fight like him when they warped in via portal with orders to assassinate him.

Luckily for him, help came when multiple portals with Batmen from various times, eras and universes showed up to even the odds. The Batman thanked them for their presence and together, they were able to overcome the Arkham Knight robots before they could do more damage to the Batcave.

Somewhere out there, someone who really doesn't like me has the resources and the technology to develop these robot versions of this... Arkham Knight. Well, that's according to the data I found from their remains.

Bruce was busy analyzing their voice patterns and their combat data to see if anything comes to mind via supercomputer. He was thankful that it wasn't damaged at all.

"I trust that you are well, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce turned around and saw the person... Well, ex-person who called him Bat-Mage as the mage approached the Caped Crusader by walking up the steps to the platform where the Batcave's supercomputer is located.

"Yes..." Bruce sighed. "I must thank you and the other Batmen for showing up at the right time."

"It is always an honor and a pleasure to meet another Batman from another world." Bat-Mage replied. "But I'm not the only one who's curious about our current predicament."

"The sorcerer is right..." A baritone gruff-type voice came from behind Bat-Mage. "It's only a matter of time before our enemy would strike again."

Another Batman showed up and stood next to Bat-Mage. Only this time, Bruce saw that he was entirely decked in black, except for his yellow utility belt.

Bruce didn't know if this batman had a specific name since he was a modern batman from another universe. The other batmen in masks were in a bind over this. At least to those whose names he didn't know.

"I know." Bruce said before he had the computer check on the robot's data banks for any other hidden details. "But it's not like we have enough details to find out who's the mastermind."

"I'll tell ya one thing." Special Agent Eliot Ness of the FBI said when he showed them a computer chip he secured with the other batmen. "I found this when the McGinnis kid took out one of them robots meant to kill me when I was preparing for an operation against Capone."

"Mind if I see that, Special Agent Ness?"

"Sure thing." Eliot handed the chip to Bruce. "I don't think I'm an expert to crack on these things anyway."

Bruce motioned to the other batmen to wait while he placed the chip on top of a glass frame where red lasers began to scan it.

"This reminds me of how the Batcave looks like back in my world."

The other batman were greeted by a pint-sized version of Batman, who resembled somewhat like a LEGO figure. Like the black-clad Batman, he spoke with a similar growler-type voice.

"Guess it shows that not all of us are different." Bruce replied when he saw the LEGO Batman show up.

"If the FBI had technology like this, then we'd beat the snot out of troublemakers aside from this Tommy gun of mine." Eliot grinned when he saw the supercomputer make some progress in analyzing the data bank and the chip on the screen.

"We're finished checking things out!" The Batman known as Terry McGinnis flew down in front of the supercomputer via boot thrusters.

"No more robots?" The LEGO Batman asked Terry.

"Just like what Terry mentioned." Another Batman showed up, who appeared to have an ordinary bodysuit with a cap, cowl and boots on alongside a utility belt with a large buckle. "We've secured the place. So there's no sign of further intrusion."

"Good." Bat-Mage was relieved to hear his answer. "We do not need any more problems until we can figure out the source of our troubles."

"Okay..." Bruce read the results on the screen. "The chip's got something on it."

He worked to enhance the image of the chip, which had the trademark of Wayne-Powers on it. The databanks had a brief voice not from the robotic Arkham Knights, but of someone else.

"I trust that these robots are to your liking?" A man asked someone on the audio recording it picked up.

"Of course, Mr. Powers." The other voice spoke in a distorted tone in order to hide his identity. "My benefactors will see to it that you'll get rewarded."

"That's Blight!" Terry shouted when he heard the man's voice. "So he happens to be in league with our unknown enemy!"

"You know the guy?" Eliot asked Terry.

"His real name's Derek Powers. Used to be the head of Wayne-Powers back where I came from." Terry explained to the batmen assembled. "He's also the guy responsible for assassinating my father."

"So we have someone way in the future who usurped the good name of the Wayne family for his own diabolical schemes." The thin bodysuit-wearing Batman said when he heard the information from Terry.

The other Batmen stared at him and wondered if he just said it as if he was in some TV show or in a theater.

"So how do we go and confront the man?" Bruce looked at Terry before he raised the question. "I assume that since he's not the head anymore, he'd be someplace where he doesn't want to be found."

"Yeah." Terry nodded. "Hopefully we can get to the future and I'll show you guys how we can get to him..."

"So how long do we need to wait until the portal's up?" The LEGO Batman asked out loud.

A blue circular portal appeared near the steps that led to the platform.

"I just hope that this doesn't result in a bombing attack." The bodysuit-wearing Batman said to his fellow Batmen before he added. "Somedays, you just can't get rid of a bomb."

"There's a storm coming, Mr. Wayne," she purred into his ear as they danced slowly. "You and your friends better batten down the hatches, because when it hits, you're all gonna wonder how you ever thought you could live so large and leave so little for the rest of us".

"You sound like you're looking forward to it," he whispered back.

Not too far from them, another couple danced, just as slowly, as she took her eyes to the decoration in the ceiling.

"A kiss under the mistletoe. You know, mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it," she purred.

" But a kiss can be even deadlier... if you mean it," he whispered back.

They stopped at once, in shock, at the middle of the dance hall.

"Oh, my God. Does this mean we have to start fighting?" she clung to him.

"Let's go outside..." he began to suggest, right before another couple who had not quite stopped clashed against them.

"I'm adaptable..." the black haired Selina Kyle was saying as she found herself face to face with a woman who vaguely felt— not looked— familiar.

Right then, all of them, plus everyone else in the hall, was blown away and off their feet by the sudden, explosive arrival of a gigantic yellow duck crashing through the floor.

"You didn't invite us, so we crashed!" gleefully proclaimed the short, chubby and grotesque man in a black suit and top hat riding the duck.

"We're Gotham's reckoning. Here to end the borrowed time you've all been living on!" added the much bigger mask with the strange man also standing on the duck.

Then a loud shot was heard from the door, and in stepped a clown brandishing a shotgun. "We made it! Hello again, Gotham! Missed me? We are tonight's entertainment!"

The much taller man in ridiculous armor walking right behind him with a huge cannon added, "Yes! Now everybody chill!"

The Joker gave him a disdainful look back. "Everybody chill? Really? For this I broke you out of Arkham?"

"It wasn't intended to be a joke, just— What are you doing here without Ivy?" he curiously asked the man with the Penguin.

Penguin looked at Bane. "Do you know him?"

"Never seen him in my life..."

Hilarity Ensued.

Heavily restrained. Chained to a chair. Pummeled and bloodied. Bells ringing in the ears.

Seven minutes. That was all he needed. In seven minutes, he'd break free. All he needed was Harvey's cooperation.

Fortunately, Harvey was cooperating. Stalling himself for time, as his dramatics dictated.

Dent's voice echoed through the old courthouse, as he stood before the chair and its prisoner, twin henchmen patiently waiting right behind him. "I know what you're thinking," he said, in that dry, raspy voice of his, a voice that erupted fully formed from the damaged side of his throat. He held the silver coin up, right before the Batman's eyes. "You're thinking a single toss isn't enough to cover all your crimes. At the same time, I only toss once. Fortunately for the sake of Justice, I only flip once for each crime. And, like we've established, you aren't short on those, 'friend', so... looks like the odds are against you either way!"

He laughed in that harsh, humorless and monotone way of his. Not a chilling laugh like Joker's, or even a savage one like Croc's. It was a tired, heavy attempt at laughter, one that was all Big Bad Harv while Harvey just sort of whimpered in exhausted pain at the very bottom of the sound. The twins played along, laughing as well in a way that managed to be even more artificial.

"On the charges of breaking and entering," Two-Face said, tossing the coin. He caught it in the air and stared at the silver disc in his hand, groaning. "Not guilty. Well, even the Fates have missteps, but they must be obeyed anyway. Fortunately, two is my lucky number, so... on the charges of vigilantist conspiracy!"

He tossed again, and again, he saw the pristine side coming up. "Oh, for the love of— On the charges of child endangerment!"

A third time, the good side. Two-Face grunted and tilted his head aside. "This must be your lucky night, but no good luck lasts forever. Believe me, I know. Justice will be served eventually, so...! On the charges of reckless driving!"

His eyes bulged out. A fourth time, the coin was giving a non guilty veredict.

At this point, seeing him tremble, one of the twins looked over his shoulder. "Um, Boss, but isn't that—?"

"Quiet!" he growled, shooting him in a leg, and then ignoring both his howls of pain and the gasps of his brother as he went to aid him. Frantically, he flipped again. "Possession of illicit urban warfare equipment!"

And yet again, the coin told him of a veredict he didn't want to hear. Angrily, he hissed at the Bat, after turning the coin around back and forth, over and over. "You tricked it! You changed it for a trick one, or— It wouldn't be the first time you do it!"

"Not this time, Harvey. You know well I didn't have the time for it, or the chance. Why don't you use a spare just to be sure?"

Grumbling, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a second coin. "On the charges of excessive use of brute force on the legally insane..."

The second coin didn't fare any better. Toss after toss, charge after charge, the veredict never changed. Non guilty every time. Until he broke down in lamenting, enraged disbelief, right before the Bat, and then a mighty fist swung free from the chains, and darkness enveloped him.

—-

Gordon exhaled and shook his head as he watched Dent being carried into the padded wagon. "It's pointless," he said, sad and quietly. "No matter the treatment, he always will do this to us. No matter how close he may seem to a breakthrough, he'll always keep tossing his chances aside, escaping, and doing this to us all over again..."

The voice from the shadows hummed. "I don't know, Jim. I think, this time... he might actually do it."

"Why do you say that?"

He looked at the silver dollar in his black gloved hand. "More than half of his tosses... were tails."

"Oh dear!" he said, sincerely surprised. "It would seem I have made a mistake!"

He really had miscalculated the amount of explosives in the prank cigar, which was more annoying than anything, because even if he was goofy now, he still was a criminal mastermind, and being goofy didn't mean you had to commit goofy mistakes. Or boners. That thing with the boners hadn't gone well at all.

And yet, it had happened, and the henchman he had just given the cigar to had ended up with no face instead of a comically blackened face.

"Oh gee, I'm really sorry, Louie, I didn't mean..." he apologized to the body at his feet, in the hideout's quietness.

He hadn't actually killed a man since... a few years, right? It was even hard to remember how those times had been by now, although now he seemed to remember they had been weirdly enjoyable.

It had been before the brat, right...?

Slowly, while still looking down at the headless corpse, the Joker found himself grinning. Which was not strange at all, except because the grin was one he hadn't worn since back then.

He raised a gloved finger to his long chin and began tapping on it. "Now, why did I ever stop doing THIS...?" he wondered aloud.

And the old maniacal laughter, the chilling one, returned to him.