Finally—finally—he was standing face-to-face with the man who had cost him his life.

The face that had haunted him even when his own name had slipped through his fingers. The face that lingered in his nightmares without context, without memory—just pain, laughter, and the echo of a crowbar striking bone.

Joker.

“That’s strange,” Joker said casually, cocking his head as the news choppers circled overhead, their spotlights washing the bridge in harsh white beams. “When Batsy came asking for you, he never mentioned you were one of his.” He squinted slightly, studying Red Hood like a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet.

“Not that he talks much anyway,” Joker continued with a shrug. “But still… you’d think he’d mention something like this.”

Jason didn’t move.

Joker’s smile twitched as realization slowly crept in as to why he was here. Black Mask’s words echoed faintly in his mind—Red Hood is oddly infatuated with him.

“Ohhh,” Joker hummed. “That explains it.”

Red Hood maintained his silence, leaving Joker in an awkward and uncomfortable position. Beneath the helmet, Jason’s glare burned with something feral, pure and focused malice. Joker felt it, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.

Trying to ease the tension—if only for his own amusement—Joker chuckled. “You’re almost as quiet as he is. At least Batsy engages me a little.”

Jason lunged.

The distance between them vanished in a heartbeat. He grabbed Joker by the coat and yanked him forward, slamming his helmet straight into Joker’s face with a brutal headbutt.

CRACK.

Joker staggered back, barely catching himself before Jason hurled him bodily across the bridge. He crashed hard into the hood of an abandoned car, metal denting inward under the impact.

“Oof—” Joker coughed, then laughed weakly as blood dribbled from his nose. “You’re strong.”

Jason advanced with slow and deliberate strides, his boots crunching against shattered glass as he reached for one of his pistols. Joker pushed himself upright just as the gun cleared the holster.

“Haha—wow,” Joker said, raising a brow. 

“Haven’t seen one of you with an actual gun before.” He grinned wider. “But we both know you won’t shoot.”

PA!

The shot rang out like thunder.

Blood exploded from Joker’s right shoulder as the bullet tore through flesh. His eyes went wide—not in pain, but in genuine shock.

Before he could even open his mouth to speak, Jason shoved the smoking barrel straight into Joker’s mouth.

“Do I look like fucking Batman to you?” Jason snarled.

Joker gagged around the gun, a broken laugh bubbling in his throat even as pain wracked his body. Jason glanced upward and, without hesitation, raised his second pistol.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

The choppers’ lights shattered one by one, plunging sections of the bridge into darkness.

Above, the police reacted instantly.

Ziplines dropped from the hovering choppers, officers sliding down fast and hard, boots hitting the asphalt as they fanned out in a practiced formation. Guns raised. Shouts barked through the smoke and chaos.

This was it—their chance to take down Red Hood, the vigilante who’d given the GCPD endless grief since his arrival. Their chance to capture Joker before he inevitably slipped away again.

But they also knew the reputation. There was a very real chance Joker wouldn’t survive this encounter.

“Drop your weapons and unhand him!” an officer shouted.

Jason’s jaw tightened. He knew Batman wouldn’t be far behind now.

Slowly, he pulled the gun from Joker’s mouth and slammed it across his face. The impact sent Joker sprawling to the ground, teeth clattering against asphalt as blood smearing his grin.

“Finally,” Joker rasped, coughing. “One that knows how to have some fun.” It wasn’t like Batman. It wasn’t like the other Robins.

They never pulled the trigger. Never used guns. Never crossed that line of violence.

Well—almost never.

“Hands in the air!” the officers shouted again, keeping their distance.

Jason exhaled, steadying himself.

“You and I,” he said quietly to Joker, “are taking a little detour.”

He holstered his pistols and raised his hands slowly—at the same time palming something from his utility belt.

“Show your hands!” an officer yelled, noticing the clenched fists.

“Okay,” Jason replied calmly. He opened his hands and tossed three smoke bombs at once.

The bridge vanished in thick, hissing clouds of gray.

Officers tensed, their fingers tightening on triggers, with eyes straining for movement. Inside the smoke, Jason moved fast. He bound Joker, sealed his mouth, and hauled him up in one smooth motion, tossing him over his shoulder like dead weight.

A sharp hiss cut through the fog.

No one fired.

They couldn’t see.

As the smoke thinned and the lights struggled back on, the officers realized what had happened.

Red Hood was gone.

So was Joker.

No blood trail. No sign of escape.

It was as if they’d vanished into thin air—another impossible trick pulled off right under Gotham’s nose.

– – –

Less than a minute after the disappearing act, the Batwing tore through the clouds above Gotham, its dark silhouette cutting cleanly across the night sky. 

Batman had just returned from Washington, still riding the momentum of unfinished League business when the alert came through—Joker had escaped Arkham. That alone would’ve warranted urgency. The fact that Red Hood was reportedly involved turned it into something else entirely.

He hadn’t wasted a second.

The Batwing slowed, hovering with predatory intent as the city lights shimmered below. Rain threatened overhead, low clouds hanging heavy and swollen, while police sirens and helicopter rotors echoed through the district. 

Officers on the ground instinctively looked up as Batman dropped from the aircraft, cape snapping violently in the wind before he landed in a controlled crouch, his boots cracking softly against the pavement. He rose like a creature born of shadow, cape settling behind him as if it had a will of its own.

Commissioner Gordon had just made his way through the barricade, officers parting for him as they continued securing the scene. A tumbled vehicle sat nearby, its hood dented and streaked with blood, gasoline still stinging the air. 

Floodlights cast harsh beams across the wreckage, illuminating shell casing, scuffed asphalt, and the lingering chaos Joker always left behind.

“Commissioner,” Batman greeted evenly as he approached.

“Batman,” Gordon replied, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He glanced at him briefly before waving off the officer who’d been giving him a rushed Arkham report. 

“You just missed the fun.”

Batman didn’t respond immediately. His eyes swept across the scene, taking in the trajectory of the fight, the disturbed bridge, and finally the thin smear of blood trailing away from the vehicle—fresh, and unmistakably from a gunshot wound.

“Heard Joker escaped Arkham,” Batman said at last. “What exactly happened?”

“You know,” Gordon began, exhaling smoke through his nose, “Joker being Joker. Only this time, before he could go full fireworks display, our new not-so-friendly neighborhood vigilante showed up.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “Stopped him… then practically kidnapped him.”

Batman’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly at the implication. Before he could respond, an officer jogged up, helmet tucked under his arm.

“Sir. Batman,” the officer nodded quickly before turning back to Gordon. “You won’t believe who Joker had tied up in the vehicle he was gonna burn.”

He let the silence hang there, just long enough for both men to turn the thought over in their heads.

“Who?” Gordon asked.

“Black Mask,” the officer replied. “Him and his people. All tied up inside, soaked head to toe in gasoline.”

That got a reaction. Gordon straightened, his cigarette forgotten for a moment, while Batman’s gaze sharpened with recharged focus.

“Have them in custody,” Gordon ordered immediately. “I’ll be there soon.”

The officer nodded and hurried off, boots splashing lightly through puddles as Gordon turned back to Batman.

“You think Black Mask helped Joker break out?” Gordon asked, more thinking out loud than seeking a firm answer.

“…And Joker turned on him,” Batman added calmly. “Sounds like something he’d do.”

“But why?” Gordon muttered, rubbing at his temple.

Batman glanced once more at the blood trail before answering. “Why does Joker do anything? There’s always an absence of logic in his actions.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Gordon replied, shaking his head with a tired huff.

“Get what you can out of Black Mask,” Batman said, already turning away. “You might find the trace of logic you’re looking for.”

Gordon watched him take a few steps before calling out, “And Red Hood?”

Batman didn’t stop. “I’m on it.”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, his grapple gun fired, the cable latching onto the Batwing above. In one smooth motion, he was pulled upward, his cape flaring as he disappeared into the sky once more, the Batwing banking away almost immediately after.

Gordon exhaled slowly, watching the darkness swallow them both.

“No disappearing act tonight, huh,” he muttered to himself before turning back toward the chaos that befell Gotham that night.

– – –

Right from his departure from the scene, Batman was already back in the sky, the Batwing gliding silently through Gotham’s polluted air as its sensors swept the city below. 

His eyes stayed locked on the HUD, scanning rooftops, alleyways, heat signatures—anything that could point him toward his rebellious son, who had just kidnapped the one man Batman had spent his entire career trying to contain.

Joker.

He did a rapid sweep around the bridge where the earlier incident had taken place. The aftermath was still visible even from above. Traffic stretched endlessly in both directions, a snarled mess of red taillights and irritated drivers forced into an awkward standstill. 

Vehicles were attempting clumsy reversals, horns blaring in frustration as people craned their necks to see what could possibly justify this kind of disruption at such an hour.

The quickest highway leading deeper into Gotham was no better. Congestion clogged the lanes, movement reduced to a crawl. Batman adjusted his trajectory, eyes narrowing as the realization settled in.

Jason hadn’t used a vehicle.

With Joker in tow, that limited his options—but not by much. Jason had been raised in this city’s underbelly. He knew its paths, its dead zones, the places no satellite could see and no patrol ever bothered to check. Even carrying Joker, he could vanish into Gotham like a ghost if he wanted to.

He couldn’t have gone far.

And yet, Batman already knew the search was likely futile.

There were simply too many places Red Hood could hide, and if Jason didn’t want to be found, then finding him would be next to impossible. That knowledge weighed heavily on him as the Batwing banked away from the gridlocked streets.

What troubled him most wasn’t the failure of the search—it was the fear of what Jason might do before he could reach him.

With that thought gnawing at him, Batman redirected course and returned to the Batcave.

The cavern welcomed him with its familiar cold stillness, the echo of the Batwing settling into place reverberating softly against stone walls. Alfred stood waiting near the console, posture straight as ever, hands folded behind his back.

“Welcome, Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted calmly as Bruce approached with his usual purposeful stride.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce replied, taking his seat before the console. He pulled off the cowl and set it aside, revealing a hardened scowl. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, he exhaled deliberately, as though trying to rein in the storm brewing behind his eyes, before his fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Alfred didn’t need words to notice the tension. It clung to Bruce, and was unmistakable. “What seems to be the matter?” he asked gently, even though he already suspected the answer.

“It’s Jason,” Bruce said at last. His gaze drifted, unfocused for a moment, before he added quietly, “He’s taken Joker.”

Alfred immediately understood. That single sentence explained everything—the edge in Bruce’s voice, the stiffness in his movements, the barely restrained urgency beneath his composure. They both knew how fragile this situation was, not just for Gotham, but for Bruce and Jason alike.

“Black Mask apparently broke Joker out of Arkham,” Bruce continued, bringing up footage and city layouts on the screen. “He underestimated him. Joker turned the situation against him, nearly got Black Mask killed.” His jaw tightened. “Red Hood arrived just in time. Saved Black Mask… and took Joker.”

“Hm,” Alfred murmured, studying the shifting images. The pattern didn’t sit right with him. “Jason has been hunting Black Mask relentlessly. Why stop Joker from killing him?”

“That’s exactly what’s been bothering me,” Bruce said, finally removing the scowl entirely. His eyes were sharp now, analytical as he pieced fragments together. 

“We knew Jason had an objective. Becoming a crime lord was never the endgame—it was a stepping stone.”

He paused, fingers tapping lightly against the console. “This whole thing—the attacks, the pressure on Black Mask—it was all a setup. A way to force Black Mask into delivering Joker to him.”

Alfred’s brows rose slightly. “Jason has been playing a long game of vengeance,” he said, surprised despite himself. “That doesn’t sound like the impulsive boy we knew.”

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flicking across maps, surveillance feeds, and probability models. “I’ve been doing everything I can to track him,” he said quietly. “But Jason doesn’t leave a trail unless he wants to.”

“You’re worried he’ll finally close the curtain on Joker,” Alfred said, his tone measured but knowing.

Bruce remained silent.

“If he does kill Joker,” Alfred continued carefully, “don’t you think his actions would be… justified?”

Bruce squinted slightly at that, tension creeping back into his expression. “There is no justification for ending another life,” he said firmly.

“But Joker once took his,” Alfred countered, stepping closer. “Wouldn’t it be an even slate if Jason did the same to the man who murdered him in cold blood?”

Bruce said nothing.

Alfred pressed on, voice calm but unwavering. “Jason has already killed many. Why is the life of the man who destroyed him any different?” He asked, wanting to ensure Bruce knew his standing before he’s eventual encounter with his prodigal son.

Bruce finally answered, his voice lower now. “It is not our place to play God. Everyone deserves a chance at redemption.” He paused, memories surfacing—countless chances given, countless failures endured. “No matter how many times we have to offer it.”

Before Alfred could respond, a sharp alert cut through the cave. The screens shifted, a signal pulsing across the console.

“What’s that?” Alfred asked.

Bruce’s eyes locked onto the display. “It’s from Red Hood,” he said, already rising to his feet.

“He’s at Crime Alley.”

– – –

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