The training room at Mount Justice was a giant open space, which was perfect for someone like me who occasionally wanted to play out his wildest action-hero fantasies (don't judge me). Today, however, it wasn't about saving the world from supervillains or jumping from tall buildings—it was just me and Wonder Woman, aka Diana, about to have another sparring session.
I stood there in my Shadowflame Armor, the black and gold gleaming in the dim light. The crimson gem on my chest glowed like it was about to start flashing "GREAT JOB" in neon lights. Diana was across from me, her Amazonian stance so perfect it was like watching a marble statue come to life and totally kick your butt.
"Alright, Charis," she said, her voice a mix of challenge and warmth, like she was both giving me a chance to prove myself and reminding me that she'd win. Again. "Ready?"
I gave her a grin. "Always ready. I mean, what could possibly go wrong with you as my sparring partner, right?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You should never underestimate your opponent, especially when they have centuries of experience on you."
"Ha! You sound like one of those training montage guys. You know, the ones that say 'You've got the strength, now find your heart.'" I swung my sword in a lazy circle, trying to look cool. (Note: I don't always succeed.)
She tilted her head with that look—the look. The one that says, Oh, you think you're funny? Let's see how funny you are when I'm done with you.
And boom, she lunged.
Now, normally, I'd tell you I reacted with all the grace and precision of a trained warrior, which sounds impressive, right? But in reality, it was more like a startled deer trying to dodge a speeding car. I barely blocked her first strike. I could hear the clang of her sword against mine, and—whoosh—the force nearly knocked me into the wall.
"Uh, okay. That's the warm-up, right?" I said, trying to play it off like I'd meant to do that. Spoiler alert: I didn't.
She didn't even smirk. "You're not as fast as you think."
Oh, I wasn't fast enough for her. No one was. Diana's speed? It was like watching a hummingbird on caffeine. Fast and totally deadly. I raised my sword, focusing. Godkiller in my hand felt almost alive, like it had its own agenda. The sword pulsed, the crimson gem lighting up like it was saying, Finally, we're doing this.
"Come on, Charis. Show me what you've got!" Diana called out, her voice getting that competitive edge.
Okay, this was the part where I was supposed to step up. Time to stop trying to look cool and start actually doing cool things.
I charged. I mean, really charged. I swung my sword in an arc that would've made an angry dragon proud, but Diana just sidestepped like she'd seen the move a thousand times. She wasn't even breathing hard.
Okay, this is fine. This is fine, I told myself, internally screaming. Just think like Diana.
I didn't have time to finish that thought because Diana—who, in case I forgot, was about five thousand times stronger than me—suddenly grabbed my wrist. And, in a move that was both graceful and infuriatingly efficient, twisted me around, flipping me onto my back in an impressive display of Amazonian skill.
"Ugh, you're so unfair," I groaned, staring up at the ceiling. The floor was cold, and I was pretty sure I'd be seeing stars for the next five minutes.
Diana crouched down next to me, her smile more playful than I expected. "You're getting better, Charis. But I'm still faster."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Fast, strong, trained by the gods, blah, blah," I said, sitting up and brushing the dust off my armor. "But do you always have to make it look so easy?"
She reached down, offering me a hand with that motherly look she always gave when I was being a little... well, me. "You're still holding back. Why?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm not exactly eager to end up in the hospital today. I'll leave that to you."
Diana rolled her eyes, but there was still that warmth behind her gaze. "You think I don't hold back? That's the hard part—fighting with purpose but not overdoing it. You have the power, Charis. You just have to trust it."
"Right. Power." I scratched my head, remembering the teeny bit of godlike energy coursing through my veins, thanks to a certain demi-god bloodline I had no control over. "I mean, I've got the power. The whole 'son of a goddess and cosmic fire' thing. But it's not like I can just activate it like flipping a switch."
Diana chuckled softly, kneeling down in front of me now. "It's not about flipping a switch. It's about control. It's about you deciding when to use it, when to let it loose, and when to stay grounded."
"Right. I can totally do that," I said, because that sounded like something I could totally do. (Note: I could not.)
"You're not alone, Charis," she continued. "Remember that. It's not just your strength, but everything we've taught you. I believe in you."
My heart did this weird little flip in my chest, and I couldn't help but grin. I mean, if Wonder Woman believes in me? That's gotta count for something, right?
"Okay. Okay. No more holding back. Let's see if I can actually land a punch for once."
This time, I wasn't worried about being cool. I just focused on the fight. My sword felt lighter, like it was guiding me instead of me guiding it. And when I swung this time, I wasn't thinking. I wasn't hesitating.
And for once, Diana barely blocked my strike.
We both froze for a second, staring at each other. Her eyes were wide in surprise, a flicker of pride in them. "You're ready," she said softly, her voice full of the kind of respect that was way more powerful than any blow.
"Finally," I said, grinning like an idiot. "I think I'm starting to get it."
Diana stood up and offered me a hand. "Took you long enough."
I grinned back, grabbing her hand. "Hey, I'm only half divine. Give me a break."
And that's when I realized: There was nothing like training with someone who cared. Sure, she'd just thrown me to the floor a bunch of times, but this? This was the moment I realized I had her—and the rest of the League—at my back. And with them, there wasn't a fight I couldn't face.
"One more round?" I asked, raising Godkiller once again.
Diana's smile was all fire. "Always."
—
Okay, so, after my face met the floor for what felt like the hundredth time in our sparring session, I decided to take a break. Diana, meanwhile, was still standing there, not even winded, looking like she could take on an entire army—because, spoiler alert, she could. Honestly, sometimes I think the Greek gods had a weird sense of humor when they designed her.
"Alright, I'm down for a nap now," I said, wiping some sweat off my forehead and casually leaning against the wall. "But, uh, you? Not so much. You're, like, made of pure willpower and rage."
Diana flashed that smile at me. You know the one—the one that could melt steel and also make you want to go to therapy because you're not sure how you got so emotionally attached to a woman who could probably bench press a tank. "You're doing well, Charis. But you're right—I'm made of willpower, and, apparently, a very embarrassing amount of Amazonian princess-level charm."
I snorted. "Yeah, your charm is basically dangerous. You should come with a warning label."
She raised an eyebrow. "And yet, you still keep coming back for more."
I grinned, "What can I say? I'm a sucker for punishment."
Diana just shook her head. "You're getting stronger, but you still need a lot more practice. Patience, Charis. The hero's journey doesn't happen in one day. Even I didn't get this good overnight."
I let out a dramatic sigh. "Guess I'll have to wait a few centuries before I'm as amazing as you, huh?"
She gave a soft chuckle, one of those warm, motherly laughs that made you feel like you could do anything—like I wasn't just some awkward kid with a sword and the genes of gods.
"You're already doing better than most people ever will, Charis," she said. "Now, let's talk about something that's been on your mind. How's the Lily Potter Foundation going?"
The change in tone caught me off guard. We'd been messing around, but I knew when Diana got serious. Her expression softened, like she was ready to have the kind of conversation you have after a battle—when all the physical stuff is out of the way, and you're left with what really matters.
I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling the weight of her gaze. "I think about it a lot, you know? Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing enough. The Foundation—it's more than just something I made up on a whim. It's... my mom. I mean, Lily Potter was the woman who gave me life, who believed in the people the world turned its back on. She fought for metahumans, for the outcasts. She fought for the ones who couldn't fight for themselves. I want to keep that alive, to make sure no one like her ever feels like they're invisible."
Diana's eyes glinted with something I could only describe as pride. "You've done more than honor her, Charis. You've given those people a place. A safe place. And you've done it with all the love and determination she would have put into it."
I shifted on my feet, trying not to let the heat rise in my chest. "You really think she'd be proud of me?"
Diana stepped closer, her gaze unwavering, almost like she could see right into my soul—something I was both terrified and kind of honored by. "Of course she would be proud. Sirius and Remus would tell you, Lily was never the type to seek attention. But she fought. She fought for the ones who couldn't fight back. For people like you—like us. You've taken her spirit, Charis. You've kept it alive."
I let that sink in for a moment, and I couldn't help but smile. It felt like something was shifting inside me—like the weight of the world had just been lifted a little. Diana was right. My mom, wherever she was, she'd see this and she'd be proud of me.
Diana's voice broke through my thoughts. "What you've built with the Foundation... it's a gift to the world. It's not just about giving people a roof or some cash. It's about showing them they're worthy. You're teaching them their value, Charis. And that's what she would have wanted."
"Yeah, but I'm not perfect at it," I muttered. "Some days, I feel like I'm stumbling in the dark. Like I'm trying to carry this legacy that's bigger than me, but I'm not sure I can do it justice."
She placed a hand on my shoulder, a firm, steady presence that made everything feel like it could be okay. "Perfection isn't the point. You're doing something important, Charis. Something real. You don't need to be perfect. You just need to keep going. Lily would tell you the same thing."
"Yeah, she'd probably say something like, 'Don't get too full of yourself, Charis.'" I chuckled, thinking about how my mom used to keep me grounded even when I felt like I was on top of the world.
Diana smiled, nodding. "Exactly. But she would also remind you that you're changing lives. And that's worth everything."
I took a deep breath, the weight of the conversation settling in. "I just don't want to mess it up. It's too important."
"You won't. You're already doing it. The world might not realize it yet, but you're a beacon of hope. And Lily would be proud of you—of everything you've done and everything you're going to do."
"Thanks, Diana. You don't know how much that means to me," I said, feeling my heart lighten.
She shrugged with a grin. "Hey, it's what I do. Besides, I've got the wisdom of centuries, right? Might as well put it to good use."
"True," I said, tapping my sword, "So, are we going for another round now? Or do you want to hit the pause button on my humiliation for a bit?"
Diana raised an eyebrow, that competitive spark lighting up in her eyes. "You think you're ready for another round?"
"Come on," I said, smirking, "I survived the first one, didn't I?"
She chuckled, shaking her head. "Alright, Charis. But I'm not going easy on you this time."
I raised my sword, grinning. "Bring it. I've got my mom's legacy behind me, and you're just the warm-up act."
And just like that, we were back at it—fighting, laughing, learning. With Diana by my side, I knew that I could take on whatever came next, and that I'd be carrying a legacy that would make my mother—and Diana—proud.
—
The night had a sticky, oppressive feel to it—like Gotham had decided to sit on its own problems and call it a day. It was the kind of night that could make even the most caffeine-dependent vigilante start to question their life choices. Unfortunately, for Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon, sleep was a luxury they couldn't afford. Batman had decided to take an impromptu "business trip" to New York for some fancy gala (Peverell Industries, something something), leaving the streets of Gotham to two very sleep-deprived young heroes. They had been filling in, patrolling, and doing their best impression of functioning adults on way too much caffeine and way too little sleep.
So, after several nights of this madness, they walked into Big Belly Burger like two zombies in disguise—tired, wired, and praying for grease. The bell over the door jangled, and they immediately spotted her. Artemis Crock. She was already at a booth, looking like she'd been there for hours, and, to her credit, she looked less sleep-deprived than they did. Maybe it was the greasy food.
"Artemis!" Barbara greeted, voice heavy with sarcasm. She tried to stretch her arms, but it just made her look like a disoriented octopus. "We're alive. Barely."
Dick, who was clearly struggling to maintain a level of human functioning, didn't even try to pretend he was okay. His eyes were halfway closed, and he slumped into the booth beside Artemis with the kind of tiredness only Gotham could produce. "If I don't pass out in the next ten minutes, I'm going to start hallucinating that Gotham is a giant sandwich. Please, tell me you ordered enough food to knock me into a coma."
Artemis, looking like she had somehow just stepped out of a modeling shoot despite the heavy bags under her eyes, smirked. "You've got that whole 'youthful hero' thing going on, huh? I thought a sugar high and grease might help you two get through the night."
Dick's eyes lit up at the mountain of food in front of them. "Grease? That's my new religion," he said, reaching for a burger as if it was the Holy Grail.
Artemis gestured to the stack of greasy goodness on the table. "I figured you'd need something to keep you from falling asleep mid-patrol."
Barbara, who had no interest in pretending to be anything but exhausted, snatched up a burger and practically inhaled it. She had no time for dignity right now. "It's not just the patrols, Artemis. We've been covering for Batman because… well, Batman's off doing whatever Batman does, and if we don't keep Gotham from eating itself, no one will."
"Yeah, and don't get me started on Bruce's 'business trip,'" Dick muttered between bites of his burger, the sarcasm dripping like extra cheese. "If 'business' means disappearing for a few days and leaving us with caffeine shakes, I want in on that gig."
Artemis leaned back in her chair, eyeing them with that sharp, knowing look that said I know what's going on, but I'm not saying it out loud. "So, what's this about the Lily Potter Foundation?" she asked, taking a sip of her soda like she had all the time in the world. "You two were all secretive about it earlier."
Barbara wiped ketchup off her chin, giving Artemis a half-smile, but her eyes were focused. "We know Harry's been doing a lot for metahumans and kids who don't have anyone. But there's a lot of behind-the-scenes work. Not everyone gets how much he's carrying."
Artemis raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Yeah? I guess I've always thought of Harry as this golden boy—powers, looks, all that stuff—but if he's been through some serious mess…" She trailed off, clearly choosing her words carefully. "Sounds like a lot more than charity."
Dick nodded in agreement, chewing slowly like he was working through a particularly tough bit of meat—one he was pretty sure was a metaphor. "You think everyone gets it, right? They see the perfect image, the boy who survived the impossible. But they don't see how many times he's been knocked down before. And the foundation's more than just a charity. It's his way of fixing the world that tried to break him. People like Harry are rare. And when they see someone like that doing good, they don't always want him to succeed."
Barbara scowled, rubbing her temples like that would somehow work miracles. "No one realizes what Harry's doing, but they sure as hell take notice when it all goes wrong. The press is already salivating over the Cadmus situation, and they don't know half of what he's actually done. They think he's some superhero who just made everything better. But no one ever talks about the price he's paid."
Artemis chuckled, though it wasn't a happy sound. "Right, because all the press ever does is turn real heroes into a damn soap opera. But Harry's not some untouchable icon. He's a person. Someone who's had to survive in a world that didn't want him—just like most of the people the foundation's helping."
"Exactly." Dick leaned back, exhaustion written across his face. "But you're right. It's not just about him. It's the whole situation. And if we let the world see Harry as just a 'symbol' or a 'cause,' then they've already missed the point. That's why we have to make sure he's protected, even if it means we're running on fumes."
Barbara shot Dick a pointed look, her eyes narrowed but still carrying that spark of determination. "Which is why we've been pulling double shifts. If Harry's going to get through this without falling apart, we need to be there to keep him safe. No one else is going to do it for us."
"Especially now," Artemis muttered, suddenly very serious. "I don't know what's going on with Batman, but the whole city's a powder keg, and Harry's holding the match. We've got to be ready for anything."
Dick gave a mock salute, leaning across the table. "So, you're in, right? Keeping Gotham's streets safe when we crash? Like a sleep-deprived tag-team of vigilantes?"
Artemis cracked a grin, and for the first time that night, Dick saw the Artemis he was used to. "If I have to. You two go nap, I'll finish the patrol. Gotham doesn't sleep, and neither do I."
Barbara's eyes fluttered like they might close any second. "You're a lifesaver, Artemis. No kidding."
As Dick and Barbara pushed away from the booth, ready to leave Artemis to her patrol, the weight of their responsibilities settled over them again. They weren't just Gotham's protectors—they were the ones keeping Harry from the vultures circling above.
"Thanks, Artemis," Dick said as they shuffled toward the door. "Seriously. You're the best."
"Yeah, yeah," Artemis said with a tired wave. "You two get some sleep before Gotham makes you its next meal."
The night was still long, and Gotham was still Gotham. But tonight, at least, they had a few moments of greasy comfort and a reminder that they weren't in this alone.
—
Cheetah's lair was a symphony of shadows, the flickering light from her computer screen casting a sickly glow across her razor-sharp features. Her claws clicked against the glass surface of the desk, an almost rhythmic tapping that could have been soothing if you didn't know what was at the other end of those claws. And if you didn't know her, which, for your own safety, you probably didn't.
The headline she was staring at made her lip curl in a way that would make a lion proud—if lions had a thing for playing with their food. Charis Peverell, Wonder Woman's Son, Starts Foundation for Metahumans.
Cheetah's eyes narrowed, focusing on the young Peverell's smiling face on the screen. His eyes shone with that irritating mixture of naive optimism and world-changing hubris that had become so popular lately. She gritted her teeth. Another one. Another hero-to-be who thought he could fix the world just by being nice.
"Nice is for amateurs," she muttered under her breath, clawing at the desk. "You don't change the world by being nice. You tear it apart and rebuild it in your image."
As Charis Peverell waxed poetic about giving hope to the misunderstood, the outcasts, and the metahumans who couldn't get a decent cup of coffee without getting stared at, Cheetah's lip curled into a grin that could freeze blood.
"Seriously?" she scoffed. "Helping the freaks, huh? What a novel idea. You're not that special, kid." She leaned back in her chair, her mind spinning with thoughts that could only be described as disastrously entertaining. "Metahumans helping other metahumans. What a mess. What a beautiful, delicious mess."
Her claws tapped the desk again—sharper, faster, each click like a ticking clock counting down to the moment Charis realized he'd made a big mistake. She didn't like heroes, never had. But what really got under her skin was this: Charis Peverell had a mother who had spent years making Cheetah's life a living nightmare. Wonder Woman. The golden girl of the Justice League. The one who could stop a speeding bullet with a mere flick of her wrist and somehow still look perfect while doing it. Perfect. Ugh.
"Time to put a little wrinkle in your shiny, perfect world, kid," she muttered, her grin growing wicked. "What's more fun than ruining everything your mommy cares about?"
She paused the video and leaned forward, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. "I should introduce myself. Charis needs to know who's really running the show, right? He'll thank me later. Probably not, but I'm a generous soul. Besides, what's better than a playdate with Wonder Woman's son?"
Her mind whirred as she conjured images of the poor boy. Charis, all bright-eyed and full of dreams, striding through the streets of Metropolis like he could do it all. And then... boom. She shows up. The world is flipped upside down. Maybe she'd start with a little conversation. A friendly chat. "Hey, Charis. I'm Cheetah. Your mom's worst nightmare. But don't worry, I'm sure you'll get used to it."
Oh, and she'd definitely test him. See if the kid had what it took. Wonder Woman's son? The golden child of the gods? Pfft. She didn't buy it. Power? Charis probably had it. But was he ready to face a real predator? Could he handle someone who wasn't interested in saving the world, but in taking it for herself?
"I bet he's got potential," she said aloud, twisting the chair back and forth like she was already mentally preparing for the chaos she'd unleash. "But potential doesn't mean anything if you don't know how to use it."
She grabbed her long, sleek coat from the back of her chair, the fabric swishing as she slid it on. Her claws gleamed in the soft light as she ran a hand through her hair, the action more casual than anyone had a right to be before about to throw down with the son of a demigod.
"You know what?" she said, looking at her reflection in the darkened screen. "This is going to be fun. I'll teach him a lesson or two. And maybe—just maybe—I'll get him on my side." She chuckled to herself. "Imagine, Wonder Woman's son on Team Cheetah. It could happen. If I play my cards right."
A small laugh bubbled out of her, low and dangerous. "Nah. Who am I kidding? This is just gonna be fun."
She turned on her heel and headed for the door, her coat flowing like a shadow behind her. The world was a big place, and Charis Peverell was just a small part of it. But he was an important part. And she was going to make sure he learned a very important lesson: don't mess with Cheetah.
"Gotham can wait," she said, her voice dripping with anticipation. "I've got a little visit to make. The boy's gonna need more than a foundation to save his world. He's gonna need a mentor."
And with that, she was gone—vanishing into the night, claws sharp and ready, her mind set on one thing: showing Charis Peverell that the world wasn't just a place for heroes. It was a place for predators. And she was hungry.
—
Back in Gotham, the circus was in town. And no, I'm not talking about your standard trapeze artists and juggling clowns—this was different. The real freakshow was being run by two of Gotham's most notorious maniacs: the Joker and Harley Quinn. If Gotham were a movie, they'd be the directors, casting a chaos-filled script for every street corner. And boy, were they ready for their next act.
The Joker, ever the theatrically deranged mastermind, lounged in a chair like a cat plotting the demise of a canary. His green hair was as wild as his personality, and his smile stretched wide enough to give anyone nightmares. Harley, of course, was a whirlwind of energy, scribbling in a notebook as her pigtails bounced like they were having their own dance party.
"Sweetums," Harley called out in that voice of hers that could melt the steel in your bones and then melt it again just for fun, "Don'tcha think Gotham's gettin' a little... predictable? Same ol' Bat, same ol' capers. Kinda boring, right?"
The Joker glanced at her, raising an eyebrow as if she were the one missing the point. "Predictable? Gotham? Oh no, darling, no. Gotham's the ultimate unpredictability." He paused, his grin twitching wider. "But you do have a point. Things have been feeling a little... stale lately. It's like trying to watch a Batman movie without the Batman—oh wait, that's just every movie."
Harley giggled at that, but then her face scrunched up, clearly lost in thought. "You think it's time we spiced things up a bit, huh? Throw in a little more... us?"
"Oh, absolutely," Joker agreed, leaning forward as he examined the stack of papers on the table like they were his new toys. He picked one up, tapping it gently with his long fingers. "And guess who's perfect for our little shakedown? Charis Peverell—aka Shadowflame." His voice dripped with sarcasm, the kind that could melt steel beams if you weren't careful. "The boy wonder himself."
Harley's eyes practically glowed. "Shadowflame, huh? Kinda like a fire with a little bit of... darkness mixed in? Oh, he sounds fun already." She leaned forward, barely able to contain her excitement. "What's his deal, anyway? Another pretty-boy hero with a cape?"
Joker let out a theatrical sigh. "Oh, darling, don't you just love those kinds? He's got all the right ingredients—youthful idealism, emotional baggage, and—" he pointed to the screen, where Charis Peverell was giving one of his oh-so-earnest speeches about helping the less fortunate, "—an unbearable amount of hero complex."
"Sounds like somebody we know," Harley muttered, rolling her eyes with a sly grin. "But I gotta say, I'm kinda loving his whole help the broken people thing. It's like, so sweet... if you're a person who enjoys being tricked into thinking the world can be fixed by one shiny kid with a lotta feel-good speeches."
"Exactly!" Joker's eyes gleamed. "And I'm gonna break him, Harley. Turn him into one of us." His grin morphed into something predatory, the type of smile that only a madman could pull off. "He's gonna go from thinking he's gonna save Gotham... to realizing that Gotham's already been saved—by the greatest show on Earth."
Harley blinked slowly. "So... we bring him down to our level, right?"
Joker snapped his fingers with dramatic flair. "Bingo, my dear. But with more... pizzazz." He paused, then leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You see, the real fun comes when we Gotham is introduced to it's newest attraction—the Lily Potter Foundation. It's like they're setting up a new charity, but it's perfect for us. They're opening in every city. And guess what? Gotham gets its own shiny new center soon. It'll be the perfect funhouse."
Harley bounced in her chair, her eyes as wide as a kid in a candy store. "So, what, we waltz in and...?"
"Not waltz, Harley," Joker said, practically purring the words. "We storm in. And we invite Charis to our very own chaos party. Once he's here, once he sees Gotham for what it truly is, he'll come around."
"Ya think he'll like us?" Harley said, her voice full of that sugar-sweet innocence that only Harley Quinn could pull off. "I mean, we're a lot to handle."
The Joker threw his head back and laughed, the kind of laugh that made Gotham's skyscrapers feel a little shakier. "Oh, sweetie, they always like us. At first, anyway. They just don't realize that we're not the crazy ones here—they are. And once they come to that conclusion... well, let's just say it'll be too late."
Harley leaned back in her chair, tapping her chin like she was some sort of philosopher. "And what if he doesn't wanna play along? What if he gets all noble and righteous on us?"
Joker tilted his head like he was trying to figure out if Harley was the smartest person in the room or just the most fun. "Sweetheart, the boy is all noble now, but how long do you think that'll last once he realizes Gotham has a way of eating ideals for breakfast and spitting them out at lunchtime?"
Harley giggled. "Oh, I like this. I really like this."
Joker turned back to the screen, where Charis was still going on about helping people, the perfect beacon of misguided hope. "Oh, he'll come around, Harley. He'll see things our way... eventually. And when he does, he'll have the time of his life."
There was a moment of quiet, save for the sound of Harley's incessant doodling and the Joker shuffling a deck of cards. Both of them had the same glint in their eyes—the glint of a plan being born. A chaotic, beautiful plan.
"So, when do we do this thing?" Harley asked, bouncing again. "I'm getting real antsy here."
Joker's smile twisted into something almost... sweet. "Soon, darling. As soon as that shiny new Foundation center opens in Gotham, we'll be there with bells on. Maybe even some confetti—who doesn't love a little confetti with their chaos?"
Harley's eyes lit up. "I LOVE confetti!"
Joker chuckled, the sound both haunting and full of promise. "Good. We'll need it for the grand entrance."
And as Gotham's newest hero—Charis Peverell—prepared to make his mark, he had no idea that his carefully constructed ideals were about to be shattered. Joker and Harley were already making plans to show him exactly why Gotham was a city of broken dreams. After all, what was a little chaos without a little fun?
---
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