You ever wake up in a padded cell with a splitting headache, the taste of blood in your mouth, and a glowing orange notification hovering in front of your face?
No? Just me?
Cool. Must be a Tuesday.
The name's Joker. The Joker. Clown Prince of Crime. Gotham's Favorite Nightmare. The guy who put the "fun" in "fundamentally deranged."
Now, people say a lot of things about me. That I'm crazy. That I'm evil. That I'm irredeemable. But what they don't say enough is that I'm adaptable. You don't survive in Gotham without learning to roll with the punches, stab back twice as hard, and laugh while everything burns.
So, imagine my delight when, right after the Bat gave me a few love taps to the skull, I get this floating orange box in front of my face like something out of a bad anime.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
Welcome, JOKER.
Congratulations! You have been selected as the next Host for the System: NARUTO UZUMAKI.
Mission: Spread Chaos Happiness and Bring Balance to this Broken World.
Warning: The System has a cheery personality. Side effects may include: hallucinations, memory loss, sudden ramen cravings, and the uncontrollable urge to yell "BELIEVE IT!"
Do you accept?
[Y/N]
Naturally, I poked it. Of course I did. Who wouldn't want an imaginary friend with ninja powers and ADHD?
But I didn't expect him to talk back.
"YOSH! Let's do this, dattebayo!"
That's when I screamed. And I don't scream often. But when you hear a hyperactive sunshine gremlin shouting in your brain like it's his personal motivational dojo, well, even I need a moment to collect myself.
"Cleanse thy thoughts, demon," said a different voice. All holy and judgmental and serious. I think it was a monk. Or a paladin. Or maybe just my guilt, finally waking up from a nap.
Either way, I now had a new voice in my head and neither of them were the usual choir.
So here I was: Joker, Arkham's finest, freshly patched up from a brawl with Batsy, and apparently now the Chosen One for something called a "System." Oh, and not just any system. No. I got Naruto freaking Uzumaki. Ninja of sunshine. Hero of the Leaf. Nine-tailed golden boy with enough positive energy to make a Care Bear puke.
"Why me?" I asked no one in particular, which is how I ask most questions.
"Because, my friend," said the cheerful fox-boy voice, "you've got a heart that wants to change the world. You just… need a push."
Cute. Real cute.
Still, I wasn't gonna pass up the offer. Powers? Madness? A chance to do something new? Sign me up, ramen boy.
And that, dear reader, is how I went from homicidal clown to dimensional ninja warlock with an identity crisis.
Stay tuned. Things are about to get... explosively inspirational.
-------------------
Now, I've had hallucinations before.
There was that time I thought I was a taco. And the other time I painted Commissioner Gordon's face on every surface in Arkham and called it a gallery exhibit. But this? This felt different.
It had structure. Like someone out there had played too many RPGs and decided to code me as a player character.
And it wasn't helping that the voice—Naruto—sounded like sunshine, ramen, and pure determination had a baby and shoved it through my frontal lobe.
"Friends are people that like you and you like them," he said, voice all wise and cheerful like a sugar-rushed monk. "You can like the same things, share your secrets and help in the time of need."
"You're describing a cult," I replied thoughtfully. "I like cults."
"No, no—genuine bonds. Built on trust. Empathy. Love."
I gagged. Literally.
"Empathy? I once tried to hug someone and ended up stabbing them with a hidden knife. Accidentally, I swear. It was a very sharp hug."
Naruto sighed. And for a second, I thought I could feel him. Like a ghost with biceps, judging me from an unseen plane of wholesomeness.
"Well, that's why we're here, Joker. To teach you how not to stab hugs."
"You want me to make friends with a shrink?" I asked. "Without manipulating them? Without mind games? Just raw, unfiltered sincerity?"
"Yup."
"...Sounds illegal."
I turned back to the glowing screen. That Status window really knew how to flatter a guy.
Title: Jester of Genocide
Aw, you shouldn't have!
Skills:
Mind Break Lv 4: 5% chance to make someone scream and run. I liked those odds.
Snake Tongue Lv 5: Well, duh.
Detective Lv 5: Take that, Batsy.
But the quest—oh, the quest—was where things got juicy.
Mission: New Life
Objective: Make a genuine friend with the psychiatrist without any mind tricks, illusions, gaslighting, or poisoning.
Reward: CHAKRA SYSTEM (whatever that means, but it sounds shiny)
Punishment: Your Left Arm Goes Bye-Bye.
Time Limit: One Month
"I just got this arm back from that fight with Killer Croc," I muttered. "Can't we negotiate? Maybe a toe instead?"
"Nope. That's the deal."
Naruto's voice was too chipper. The kind of tone that made you want to punch a rainbow.
"And once you gain Chakra, you'll be able to control your energy, enhance your body, and learn techniques beyond human imagination. You'll walk the path of the Saint."
"A Saint?" I cackled. "I'm the Joker. The day I become a Saint is the day Batman starts a YouTube channel called 'Bat Vlogs: Justice and Jazz.'"
"Then it's gonna be fun proving you wrong," Naruto said confidently. "Let's start with Dr. Quinzel."
I froze.
He knew. He KNEW about Harley.
Now, now, I wasn't sentimental or anything, but… her name still did a little somersault in my chest cavity. Or maybe that was indigestion.
-------------
Joker didn't usually like being threatened.
But this? Oh, this was a whole different flavor of threat. Naruto Uzumaki didn't threaten like Batsy or Waller or even that annoying preacher who visited Arkham on Thursdays. No, this man threatened with rainbows, puppies, and overwhelming emotional support.
It was terrifying.
"Okay, I'll do it," I said with a shrug and a grin that would've made a corpse sit up and ask for therapy. "Will you guide me or do I get to mess this up my way?"
"I only provide advice and tasks," Naruto said, his voice still maddeningly cheerful. "So do it your way—but remember, never commit evil again."
There was a pause. I blinked once. Twice.
"Define… 'evil.'"
"Every single thing you've ever done," Naruto deadpanned.
"Pffft. That's subjective."
"It's really not."
"And if I do… what I usually do?"
"I will flood your mind with kittens in teacups, sad romance dramas, toddler laughter, and the entire Friendship is Magic series on loop. No mute button."
I froze.
He wasn't bluffing.
"You'll feel emotions. Uncomfortably wholesome ones. Regret. Love. Warmth. Eye contact. It'll be horrible."
I shivered. "HAHHAHA, I like you, Mr. Uzumaki. You sound so evil."
My laugh echoed off the cell walls. It had been months since something made me feel that delicious rush of chaos. I didn't know whether I wanted to kiss this chakra ghost or scream into a pillow—and either way, I was interested.
So here's the setup: I had one month to make a genuine friend. Starting with her.
Dr. Harleen Quinzel.
The sweet psychiatrist with sunshine hair and eyes that used to sparkle before I shattered her like a snow globe full of hope.
She wasn't assigned to me anymore, of course. After what I'd done to her, Arkham rotated staff like a traumatized carousel. But I knew she still worked here. And I had a plan.
Naruto hummed like he knew what I was thinking.
"Remember: sincerity. Connection. No lies. No manipulation."
"Oh don't worry, Lord Seventh. I'll pour my little heart out."
"You do have a heart."
"Probably in a box somewhere. I keep souvenirs."
The cell door opened with a loud clang. Visiting hour.
I straightened my hair, fixed my tie, and practiced my most disturbing approximation of a friendly smile in the cracked mirror.
"Time to be the best version of me," I said to no one.
-------------
Joker was beginning to realize something very, very upsetting:
Making a friend was harder than blowing up a hospital.
Dr. Rowan—the latest shrink with a brick wall personality—treated Joker like he was a patient zero for trust issues. Which, okay, wasn't wrong, but still rude.
"Come on, Doc, I won't bite. I am serious. Let's be friends. I even told you about my life," Joker whined, lounging dramatically on the therapy couch like a bored Victorian noble.
"Please sit and just draw quietly."
Joker grinned. "You'll talk after I finish."
"I will listen to you and comment on your words," the doctor corrected, as if he were allergic to basic human affection.
"Great! Let this great Joker show you his drawing skills!"
And then the mission box popped up again, all cheerful and glowing blue like a cupcake from the apocalypse:
🎯 New Mission: A Good Boy
Draw a painting without making a mess and show that you are a good person.
Reward: 50 EXP, Drawing Skill
Joker giggled. "Oh you're killing me, Lord Seventh."
"No. That's the opposite of what I'm trying to do," Naruto replied in his head, exasperated but still polite in that "I raised three hyper kids and watched my village explode once" kind of tone.
Joker picked up the pencil, stared at the blank white sheet, and for the first time in… well, maybe ever, he didn't doodle something twisted.
No bombs.
No knives.
No bats hanging from gallows.
Just… a garden. A city. Clouds parting.
He drew what he thought a good person might draw. Not because he felt it, not yet—but because it was part of the mission. And Joker always finished his missions. That was half the fun.
When he passed the drawing under the glass, Dr. Rowan actually paused.
It wasn't shock or horror—it was hesitation. That delicious half-second where a person's whole worldview did a wobbly pirouette.
"Sir," one of the guards said, stepping forward. "Don't get tricked into his play. He uses these ploys to make himself look good and escape."
Joker smiled politely. "I'm sitting here drawing flowers, friend. Please, do your job and watch me be well-behaved."
[Skill Gained: Drawing Lv 1]
[Exp +50]
[Level Up!]
[You have received 3 stat points]
[System advice: Allocate to Endurance]
"Cough. Got into the mood," Naruto mumbled, then added out loud, "So yeah, wanna allocate the points."
'Mr. Uzumaki, do as you wish.'
"Don't regret it," Naruto's voice warned, soft but firm.
Joker felt a ripple in his chest. His body straightened slightly. Muscles that had atrophied from Arkham's delicious nothingness suddenly felt awake. He sat taller. Blinked clearer.
"Hmm. Placebo's strong with this one," he muttered.
But deep down… a seed of doubt flickered. A curious question:
What if it's real?
And even more dangerous—
What if I want it to be?