by Marv Wolfman
All the while the Joker laughed at a joke nobody else could understand. The men parted and the Joker walked closer to the boy, playing with the crowbar in his hand. He paused before Jason and smiled tenderly to him.
“Showtime,” he said.
The Joker smashed the crowbar down on Jason’s head, splitting it open. Then he swung it again, this time to his neck. Then again to his face, the back of his head. Batman still watching, helpless to fight a mirage. He couldn’t stop them. He wasn’t there, but he witnessed every moment of Jason’s murder.
Every.
Damned.
Second.
* * *
Panessa Studios. The merc wasn’t giving up. He fired again, this time at closer range. Four bullets hit into Batman’s chest and imbedded themselves in his reinforced armor. He stopped for a moment as if he expected Batman to drop, but instead Batman stood and jumped at him.
The fear on his face said it all. The rumors were right. The Bat is some kind of demon.
Still holding his gun, he backed away, waving it in front of him. While he concentrated on Batman, Robin cartwheeled in behind him and pushed him forward. Batman slammed him with a roundhouse to the man’s stomach, and he fell gasping for air.
There were only two mercs standing now. Batman held out his hand, palms up.
“You don’t really want to fight, do you? You honestly don’t believe you can beat us. So here’s the deal. If you’re still here at the count of three, you won’t be leaving here standing up.
“One…
“Two…”
The last two mercs bolted from the room.
The hell with Scarecrow.
* * *
Arkham Asylum. Jason was left to die on the floor. He didn’t see the Joker’s men leave the hellish pit. He didn’t see the Joker himself hoist the crowbar over his shoulder, then saunter out of the room. He didn’t see anything.
Except for the dynamite on the floor.
Timer set to go off.
He reached for the locked door knowing he couldn’t even crawl there, let alone open it in time.
Then the bombs stopped ticking.
As he died he heard the Joker’s laugh fade into the distance.
And then there was only silence.
Forever.
* * *
Panessa Studios. Tim Drake was close, but now he had to leave, to get out of there before the Joker did to him what he had done to Jason.
Everyone Batman knew. Everyone he cared about. All they did was die on his watch.
His watch.
31
A television monitor blinked on, and a grinning face filled the screen. The banner underneath identified him as Johnny Charisma, one of the victims who had been infected with the Joker’s blood.
The camera pulled back, revealing that he was standing on a game show stage. He was grinning the largest grin possible, happier than anyone had any right to be.
He was at home on the stage—born for entertaining and making people laugh, and his green eyes sparkled with joy.
“Batman,” he said in his best sing-song voice. “If you’re still playing our game, I’ve got good news for you. You’ve made it to the bonus round.” An electronic audience applauded and cheered. “So c’mon down, Bats, because the best is yet to come. But we do have rules, and that means your little pal Robin can’t come with you.
“Sorry, kid. State gambling laws. Adults only.”
“Batman, don’t do it,” Robin said, pleading. “It’s a trap.”
“Of course it is,” Batman replied. “It’s always a trap. I’m still going in. But first…” He leaned close to Robin and whispered in his ear. He gave Tim a quick smile, and then headed to the next room for whatever insanity was waiting for him.
He opened the door and stepped inside. Everything was black. He held his hand out in front of him and couldn’t see his fingers. Johnny Charisma’s voice echoed in the dark.
“Welcome to the room of crappy memories. Other game shows are designed to make you smile. Ours makes you so miserable you’ll want to kill yourself. Good times.”
* * *
Suddenly, a spotlight bursts into life, drenching him in light. The rest of the room is still dark, but something lurks there. Another spotlight ignites, and lights up another figure.
He’s living each moment as it’s happening. All together. All at the same time. Bruce Wayne at eight years old, in a theater, watching that damned movie again. At the end, his parents want to go out the front door, to their waiting limo, but Bruce convinces them to go out the back.
To the man with the gun.
It isn’t quite the way it happened, but it’s the way he remembers it. It has to be in his head, he realizes. Neither the Joker nor Scarecrow knows his innermost secrets, so it can’t be their doing.
Another spotlight shows him as a ten-year-old. Alfred is teaching him how to study, and how to fight. Then he falls into that old well which he thought had been covered over. A million bats claw their way past him.
He’s an adult in the Himalayas, being taught how to kill. Then he’s a young Batman, fighting crime alongside the first Robin. Dick Grayson is a boy, and then he is a young man. He wants to quit college but Batman won’t let him. Dick throws a ball of crunched-up red and yellow clothing into the incinerator and leaves.
Robin isn’t coming back.
At least not this Robin.
Another spotlight, and he’s in a large room, looking at the back of a huge clock in the window.
Not again…
He sees Jim Gordon sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper. Barbara Gordon gets up to answer the doorbell. Her joy turns to horror as lead shatters bone and she falls to the floor, never able to walk again.
There’s another Robin now. That Robin dies. His death is not pretty. Another spotlight highlights the Batman from a few minutes earlier. Entering a room that contains a large glass box. Inside the box is a crippled woman. She has a gun under her chin and it’s pointed up. She squeezes the trigger, and her head explodes in a shower of gore.
Batman turns from the hallucinations.
“Those aren’t real, Crane. Nothing I’ve seen here is real. But this promise is. I will not let you hurt anyone ever again. And nobody will die because of me.”
“Oh, Batman, you loony tune, you are so wrong,” Johnny Charisma says. The fact is, everyone here is going to go boom in exactly three minutes, unless you comply with everything I tell you.”
A new spotlight reveals a game-show soundstage. Johnny Charisma is there.
“Batman, come on down,” Charisma says, laughing. “I have a song to sing to you, but not as me. It’ll be the me I’m about to be.” The Joker blood continues coursing through him, burning hot in his veins, and Johnny Charisma disappears. In his place the Joker is standing in front of a microphone, wearing his show-biz best, its glitter nearly blinding.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” the Joker says. “I’ve got a sweet ditty I’ve been saving just for you. So sit back and relax while I entertain you with a little song I call ‘The Asylum Blues.’” He nods offstage to an unseen orchestra and the music begins. He waits for his cue, and then he starts the song.
“Take me on home to the asylum.
Never alone in the asylum.
Anarchy ruled, it was wild.
But through it all, you never smiled.
Joke’s on you, I’m in your head so
Look who’s laughing now!”
He sweeps across the stage to a coat rack that wasn’t there a moment before, then takes it in his arms, dancing with it like he’s Fred Astaire. Batman tries to reach for him, but is unable to move.
“Remember in Arkham City,
I killed your girl, so pretty.
That was the night you let me die.
But when I looked you in the eye,
That’s when I knew we’d be together.
Look who’s laughing now!”
The Joker releases the coat rack and it twirl
s to the back of the stage where it falls into the dark, then disappears. He ignores the clatter as if it hasn’t happened and continues his song.
“I’m stuck in your head and I’m laughing!
I filled you with dread and I can’t stop laughing!
Your parents are dead and I can’t stop laughing!
What else can I do?
Now I’m part of you.”
A gun appears in his hand. He laughs hysterically as he shoots twice, aiming offstage. A moment later two stagehands stagger in, bullet holes through their heads, and they fall face down on the stage. A pearl necklace falls to the floor, the pearls scattering in all directions.
Batman stares, but can only stand and watch—he still cannot react. There’s more electronic applause and cheers for their realistic death scene. Then the Joker is Johnny Charisma again.
“Bravo,” he exalts. “Bravo.
“I am the Clown Prince o’ Crime
And we’ve had a hell of a time.
You’re part of me, I’m part of you,
And now there’s nothing left to do.
I just can’t wait till I’m in control.
Who’ll be laughing then?”
Harley Quinn dances onstage, dressed in a beautiful red and black gown. She daintily puts out her hand, which Charisma—no, he’s the Joker again—takes as he leads her in their dance. Her pirouettes are perfect, until she trips over her long, ruffled train. She falls and doesn’t get up. The Joker dances around her until the two dead stagehands rush on stage and drag her away. Before she disappears behind the curtain, she gives a smile and a wave to the audience.
“The other blood crazies and I will be back soon,” she cries. “So don’t you go away. There’s plenty of fun ahead.
“Back to you, Puddin’.”
The Joker turns back to his audience of one, appearing morose, then brightens and continues his song.
“I drove you round the bend and I’m laughing.
I’m with you till the end and I can’t stop laughing.
I killed all your friends and I can’t stop laughing.
What else can I do?
Now I’m part of you.”
The spotlights go dark, plunging the room into blackness. Then a single beam of light illuminates a small part of the stage. The Joker steps out of the dark and into the beam, then pours out his heart as he sings the final chorus.
“Think I can taste your fear
Now that my time is near.
I’m in your blood, I’m so alive,
I only wish you’d let me drive.”
The music ends and the Joker falls to his knees. Electronic applause and cheers go on forever, repeating as if on a loop.
“Thank you,” the Joker says in his best Elvis, as congratulatory flowers are tossed to the stage. “Thank you very much. The Joker now blows up the building.”
Batman stands watching, still unable to move as the Joker leaves the stage. He’s going to get away, and nothing can stop him.
32
Hiding offstage, Robin heard Johnny Charisma begin singing.
“Take me on home to the asylum. Never alone in the asylum.” He had said the studio would “go boom” in three minutes—which meant he’d planted bombs, and was going to detonate them, presumably after he completed his song.
That left two minutes forty-seven seconds to carry out Batman’s whispered orders. He activated his comm. Instantly Lucius Fox was on the other end.
“We’ve got a lunatic who’s wired the place with explosives,” Robin said, keeping his voice low. “We need to locate them before he can set them off. Any ideas?”
“Do you still have the GPS chips I gave you last week?” Fox asked.
“To tag the bad guys so we can follow them later? Of course,” Robin whispered.
“Excellent. Switch one on. I’ll perform remote adjustments that should enable it to track the radio signal that triggers the explosives.” Robin did as instructed, and within moments the global positioning system registered a hit.
“I’ve got the coordinates, Lucius. On the move now.”
* * *
On stage, Charisma was still singing.
“Remember in Arkham City,
I killed your girl, so pretty.”
Less than half a minute later Robin located the first device, and uploaded its picture to Fox.
“Any special instructions, Lucius?”
“None—this device shouldn’t present any surprises. We’ve trained with this sort of explosives at least a dozen times. You’ll do fine.”
Shouldn’t…? Robin thought. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Of course, if it explodes, you’re miles away.”
“Then I strongly suggest that you don’t let it explode.”
“Now why didn’t I think of that?” Robin replied as he removed a portion of the mechanism. “Like you said, no surprises—this one’s defused. Going to look for number two now.”
* * *
Under the spotlight, Charisma started his next chorus.
“I’m stuck in your head and I’m laughing!
I filled you with dread and I can’t stop laughing!”
“You have two minutes nineteen seconds, and the GPS shows three more bombs to deal with. Better get a move on.”
Like I didn’t know that, Robin thought irritably as he Raced through the darkness to his next target. The shadows that kept him hidden also made it difficult to find his way, no matter how well his eyes adjusted.
“Found the second bomb, Lucius. This one looks a bit different. Uploading a photo now.”
“Got it. Ahhh. Not to worry. This comes from a different manufacturer, but it’s essentially the same model. Follow the same procedure as before.”
“Thanks.” He opened the casing and quickly found the chip. “It’s done. Down to one minute fifty-one seconds. Honing in on the third bomb now.” Rounding a corner, he pulled open the door of a closet. “Found it. Damn. I think this one’s very different. Let me know.”
There was a pause as Fox studied the downloaded photo.
“Good call, Tim. It’s got a completely different architecture. You remember what the radio chip looked like in the other two bombs? Well, if you remove the same one here, you’ll find another directly under it. Remove that one without letting it touch the connections that led to the first chip—that would be bad. Then immediately refit the first one. And do it fast. Understand?”
“Yeah. Think so.”
“Don’t think. Do.”
“Thanks, sensei. Got the first chip off. Removing the second.”
“Hurry.”
“You’re not helping. Okay, got the first one back in place. This is all digital, so there’s no ticking bomb to hear. You picking up anything?”
“I think you succeeded,” Fox replied. “Good work, Tim.”
* * *
Harley Quinn, dressed in a ball gown, danced onto the stage. Charisma started dancing with her like it’s Ballroom with the Celebrities. But he didn’t stop singing…
“I am the Clown Prince o’ Crime.
And we’ve had a hell of a time.”
Robin was off and running. Moments later he located the fourth device. This one was identical to the first, and he removed the radio chip by pure reflex.
“One bomb to go.”
Checking his sensor, he saw that the final device was across the stage. He had twenty-two seconds to find and disable it.
Damn…
* * *
Charisma was almost done with the song.
“Think I can taste your fear
Now that my time is near.”
Then he was thanking his audience, and moved to leave the stage.
* * *
Time was running out, and this one was unlike the others.
Seven seconds to go. Not enough time for Lucius to explain what he had to do, and still leave time to do it. He had to make his own choices.
Five seconds.
There were three chips
stacked atop each other. One had to be removed, but most likely the others needed to stay in place. But which was which?
Three seconds. The lower two chips were shiny, as if untouched. They’d been placed in position by machine. He could see part of a fingerprint on the top chip. That one was added later on.
He breathed in, held his breath…
One second.
…and removed the top chip.
Zero.
No explosion. He’d chosen right.
There was no time to celebrate. He ran past the immobile Batman, still standing under the spotlight, and saw Johnny Charisma outside the stage door, running toward the street. He was moving at a pretty good clip, but not nearly fast enough.
Robin caught up with him and tackled him to the ground, then cuffed his hands with plastic ties and dragged him to his feet.
“This is for your own good, Johnny,” Robin said. “If we can cure you, you’ll thank us later.” Charisma just laughed. Might as well explain physics to a gopher, Robin thought.
He returned to the soundstage. Batman was still standing under the spotlight.
“Batman, I’ve diffused the bombs. I’ve got the Joker or Charisma or whatever he’s calling himself now. We have to find Harley and the others who’ve been infected with the Joker’s blood.”
Batman looked dazed, unsure of where he was.
“Why?” he asked. “Wouldn’t they all be gone by now?”
His hesitation was unnerving. Robin activated his comm and talked to Fox.
“Something’s wrong with Batman, Lucius,” Tim said. “And Harley said the others infected by the Joker blood are still in the theater.”
“This is Harley Quinn you’re talking about, Tim,” Fox reminded him. “I’m not certain she’d recognize the truth if she fell into a vat of it.”
“Normally I’d agree, but I think she was telling the truth. This time at least—she didn’t have any reason to lie, and every reason to get us here. But Batman’s acting as if he didn’t hear her. Look, I don’t know if it’s Scarecrow’s fear toxin or what, but I think he’ll only slow me down when we need to move fast. Any ideas?”
“Whatever happened to him, beneath it all he’s still the same man. If we want him to cooperate, we have to present a logical argument.” Fox paused, then added, “At least it needs to be logical to him.”