Not only was Roman Sionis staring death in the face, he was doing so with a lunatic pointing a gun directly at his head. A lunatic whose smile was too wide, whose eyes were far too alive, with ‘crazy’ written plainly across his face and carved deep into his gaze.

For the first time in a long while, Roman wondered if this was really how he was going to die.

No grand legacy. No empire to fall with him. Just a cramped vehicle, and a madman who might pull the trigger simply because the thought amused him.

He cursed himself inwardly, wondering if thinking outside the box—dragging the Joker out of Arkham and attempting to strike a deal with Gotham’s most infamous psychopath—had been a fatal miscalculation. All of this… just to rid himself of Red Hood.

‘Is this the end of me?’

Then Joker laughed.

“Hahaha, relax!” Joker said suddenly, his voice light and playful. “Can’t you all take a little joke?”

Without warning, he flicked the gun away. It clattered onto the table, sliding smoothly across the wooden surface until it came to a stop right in front of Black Mask.

Roman nearly choked.

His heart slammed against his ribs, pulse roaring in his ears as he struggled to keep his breathing even. He forced himself not to flinch, not to gasp, not to betray just how close he’d come to pissing himself in fear.

With a stiff motion, he raised one hand slightly and signaled his men to stand down, even as his legs still felt unsteady beneath him.

Joker leaned back casually. “I am willing to help you deal with this Hood guy,” he continued, tone almost conversational. “He’s gotta go before he becomes Batsy’s new favorite little project.”

Roman swallowed.

‘This is what I get for negotiating with a lunatic,’ he thought bitterly. ‘And we’re still at the proposition stage.’

Outwardly, he remained composed. Inwardly, he was already thinking of just how Joker would be disposed of the moment Red Hood stopped drawing breath. One problem at a time.

The truck continued along its predetermined route, engine humming steadily beneath them.

If Joker had refused, Roman had been ready to order his execution on the spot. Instead, things had taken a sharp, unexpected turn—and Joker had come terrifyingly close to ending him instead.

Roman exhaled slowly and reached down beside his chair.

“Here,” he said, tossing a packaged bundle toward Joker. “Take this.”

Joker caught it effortlessly.

“You can’t exactly keep wearing that uniform for the crazies.”

‘Even if you’re the living definition of the word,’ Roman added silently.

Joker opened the bag and pulled out the contents with exaggerated interest. Inside was a neatly pressed purple suit, green lining tracing the collar, and a bright red pocket handkerchief folded just right.

“Aww,” Joker cooed. “You shouldn’t have.”

Miss Li glued her eyes to her tab, giving him privacy as he changed, her discomfort was evident in the stiff way she held herself. Joker slipped into the suit like it had been tailored specifically for him.

“It’s exactly my style,” he added cheerfully as the vehicle continued rolling through the night.

While Joker preened, Roman activated his burner and contacted one of the officers firmly under his payroll. A few hushed words later, confirmation came through.

The police wouldn’t make it in time.

There was heavy traffic which had the fastest route blocked. There likely wouldn’t be an interception.

Music to his ears.

Satisfied, Roman ended the call and turned his attention back to Joker as the lights of the bridge loomed ahead, steel beams rising like ribs against the night sky.

“So,” Roman began, leaning forward. “Here’s the plan.”

Joker barely looked at him.

“For reasons I still don’t understand,” Roman continued, “Red Hood seems infatuated with me. I’ll act as bait. I draw him out, lure him into whatever trap you set up, and we end him once and for all.”

Joker yawned.

An exaggerated, bored yawn.

Roman paused. “Do I… bore you?”

“Yes,” Joker replied immediately. “How about you bore Red Hood to death instead? Save everyone the trouble.”

Roman’s jaw tightened. “What part of the plan do you disagree with?”

“The whole thing,” Joker said lightly. “It’s lame.”

“Do not underestimate him,” Roman snapped. “He’s slippery. Like an eel.”

He took a breath. “Do you have a better plan? I’m open to improvements.”

“I do.”

Joker stood up.

He casually strolled toward the front of the vehicle, footsteps light, almost playful. Roman opened his mouth to protest, but never got the chance.

“But instead of telling you,” Joker said cheerfully, “I’ll show you.”

In one smooth motion, Joker snapped the driver’s neck with a sickening snap.

Before anyone could react, Joker grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it hard.

The van lurched violently as the tires screeched.

The entire vehicle lifted off the bridge, momentum carrying it sideways as it somersaulted through the air. It slammed into other vehicles mid-roll, glass exploding, alarms shrieking as it crashed back down and skidded violently—finally coming to a brutal stop right in the middle of the bridge.

Joker’s laugh broke the brief silence.

Although banged up, Roman Sionis realized—far too late—that he had never been in control of this situation at all.

– – –

Standing atop the exposed steel beams erected along the bridge, Red Hood remained perfectly still, boots planted firmly against cold metal slick with frost and oil. From this height, he had planned to follow them but instead he witnessed the chaos unfold below.

The highway blockade had done its job beautifully, traffic backed up for miles, with headlights frozen in place like trapped fireflies, ensuring the police response would be late, slow, and messy.

He watched the black van lose control.

He watched the van lifted, twisted, and somersaulted violently across the bridge, colliding with other vehicles in a deafening chain reaction of shattering glass and screeching metal. Sparks lit up the night as the vehicle slammed down hard, coming to rest on its side—no, its roof skidding to a halt in the middle of the bridge.

A major incident caused multiple wrecks and had civilians trapped.

Joker, being Joker, emerged from the wreckage completely untouched.

Red Hood observed from above as the clown dragged himself free of the van, laughing with wild hair.

Within minutes, Joker had taken full advantage of the panic, subduing the injured, tying up Black Mask and his people with ruthless efficiency. 

Both news and police choppers arrived soon after, their spotlights cutting through the smoke-filled air, cameras circling like vultures. Joker didn’t care. He welcomed the attention.

Red Hood watched as Joker retrieved a keg of gasoline and began pouring it inside the overturned vehicle, over the very people who had just orchestrated his escape from Arkham.

Civilians closest to the scene abandoned their vehicles. With traffic locked tight from the accident and no room to turn around, they ran on foot, scrambling over guardrails, abandoning cars, screaming as they fled toward safety.

Joker stood atop the side of the wrecked vehicle like it was a stage, completely unbothered by the chaos. He upended the keg, drenching Black Mask and his crew in gasoline.

“Joker! What the hell are you doing?!” Black Mask shouted.

His arms were bound tightly behind his back, shoulders straining against the restraints. His voice shook, not with anger alone, but with naked, unfiltered fear. He knew this kind of death. Burning alive wasn’t fast. It was agony.

“Ohhh, Roman,” Joker replied cheerfully, tilting his head. “As much as people think I’m some kind of arson artist, I can never tell if it’s enough gasoline.” He shrugged and dumped the rest of the keg inside the truck. Fuel sloshed across the interior walls—what used to be the ceiling—now pooling around them.

“Might as well just dump the whole thing.”

The captives mumbled and thrashed, panic setting in, but Joker quickly gagged them all—everyone except Black Mask.

A courtesy. A thank-you.

“Not that,” Black Mask said frantically. “I mean—we had a deal. Why are you doing this?!”

Joker stepped back, wiping his hands against his coat. “I told you already. This is my plan.”

He grinned.

“Although instead of Red Hood, I’d much rather say hello to Batsy and announce my return to Gotham.” He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a lighter, one he’d lifted from a guard earlier while tying them up like sacrificial lambs.

An offering.

To Batman.

To Gotham.

The wind howled across the bridge, strong and unrelenting. Joker distanced himself and flicked the lighter once. Nothing. Again, just sparks. The flame sputtered and died.

“Joker, I beg you,” Black Mask pleaded, desperation cracking his voice.

Miss Li sat bound beside him, eyes wide with terror, chest rising and falling too quickly. She’d known from the start that dealing with a lunatic like this would end badly. She just hadn’t expected this badly.

“Don’t worry,” Joker said absentmindedly, still trying to light the flame. “I’ll be right with you.”

He flicked again.

Again.

“There we go!” Joker exclaimed as the flame finally held steady. Black Mask’s eyes widened in horror as Joker casually tossed the lighter toward the trail of gasoline.

“No—!!”

The scream ripped from his lungs, but the lighter never landed. 

A sharp clang echoed through the air as a bullet struck it mid-flight, knocking it away harmlessly across the bridge.

Joker froze.

“What?” he muttered, genuinely confused.

Then he heard it.

The sound of metal against metal. A grapple line snapping taut.

He turned just in time to see a figure swing down from above—red helmet gleaming under the floodlights, combat armor wrapped tight around a broad frame, weapons holstered and ready.

Red Hood.

Before Joker could react, Jason slammed his boot into Joker’s chest, stomping down with brutal force. The momentum sent Joker flying off, body tumbling violently across the asphalt.

He hit the ground hard, rolled twice, and skidded to a stop.

Blood streamed down the side of Joker’s face as he looked up, laughter dying on his lips.

Red Hood stood beside the wrecked vehicle.

Joker’s eyes locked onto the red bat symbol embedded in Jason’s chest.

Inside the vehicle, Miss Li stared at Red Hood like he was salvation itself. Jason noticed. ‘’Yeah,’ he thought grimly. ‘You were seconds away from being barbecued.’

He looked to Black Mask.

“Hey, Roman,” Jason called casually.

“You…!!” Black Mask snarled. Gratitude warred with rage in his voice. If it weren’t for Red Hood, he’d already be dancing in flames, but none of this would’ve happened if not for him either.

“Since I’ve got business to handle with the clown,” Jason continued coolly, “I guess I’m saving your asses this time.”

He waved them off dismissively, then turned his full attention to Joker.

Joker stood, dusting off his coat, grin slowly returning. “If you wanted to join the party, all you had to do was ask.”

“Hey, Clown.” There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere, as it became heavy and suffocating—as pure bloodlust seeped into every word. “Been to hell and back,” Jason growled, “just to wipe that smile off your face.”

– – –

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