Bullseye absorbed the pressure, then slipped inside Batman's guard and drove a brutal body shot into his ribs. The air left Batman's lungs in a sharp gasp. He retaliated immediately, yanking a taser from his utility belt and thrusting it forward—but Bullseye twisted aside with effortless precision, the prongs crackling uselessly in open air.
"The Great White Shark built his empire from within Arkham Asylum," Bullseye said, stepping in again. Another strike—this one slamming into Batman's solar plexus. "Prisons are revolving doors."
Batman staggered back, vision narrowing as the smoke thinned around them.
"That's a failure of the system," he forced out, straightening despite the fire spreading through his ribs. "Who are you to decide who lives and dies?"
Bullseye closed the distance once more and buried his fist into Batman's abdomen, folding him slightly.
Bullseye wasn't more skilled than Batman. But his mastery of the techniques he did possess—combined with his enhanced physicality—made him a formidable opponent.
"Cool story," Bullseye said evenly. "But we won't ignore the system and wish for the best like you. We're going to change it. If crime families can bribe politicians to escape consequences, why can't we bribe them to enforce those consequences? And the best part? The people will support it."
Batman straightened, jaw clenched, pain radiating through his side.
This fight wasn't progressing.
And time was running out.
"Ahh!"
The scream cut through the warehouse like a blade.
Batman's head snapped toward the sound.
Two-Face had Robin pinned to the floor, a gray revolver pressed against the side of the boy's head. The remaining mobsters were either fighting Batwoman or lying unconscious across the concrete. Harvey himself looked battered—bruises darkened the unscarred side of his face.
"Care to make a trade, Batman?" Two-Face asked, a manic glint in his eyes. "Joker's life for Robin's. If not, on your knees. Hands where I can see them."
Batman didn't hesitate. Harvey might actually flip the coin.
"Let him go," Batman said, lowering himself slowly. As he did, he made a subtle finger movement—his last resort. A motion-gesture signal to alert the Justice League.
Two-Face grinned. "Bullseye, would you do the honors? I'm a bit busy making sure Batman doesn't try anything clever."
Bullseye rolled his shoulder and walked forward at an unhurried pace until he stood before Joker.
"Maurice P. Joker," he said evenly. "For two thousand three hundred and ninety-one counts of murder—and numerous additional crimes that pale in comparison—the people have sentenced you to death."
He tore away Joker's blindfold and gag.
Two thousand three hundred and ninety-one.
Batman wasn't sure if that was the exact number, but it was close to his own estimate. He knew many of the names. Saw their faces when he tried to sleep.
If Joker died like this, those names would become the foundation of something darker—a justification for vigilantism dressed as democracy.
"That blows," Joker said cheerfully. "Usually Bats here beats me within an inch of my life and then refuses to kill me, no matter how many people I slaughter. I go to jail, escape, kill again, go back to jail. Rinse and repeat."
Batman's heart pounded against his cracked ribs.
'He's loving this. Turning his own execution into the ultimate punchline. Making us the villains in his final act.'
"Yes," Bullseye said calmly. "An endless cycle. He believes in letting the courts do their job. Ironically, he's not entirely wrong—we're acting on the court of public opinion."
Bullseye raised a blued revolver identical to the stainless-steel one pressed against Robin's head by Two-Face.
"Any last words?"
Batman tensed, every instinct screaming at him to move—but he couldn't risk Robin.
Maybe Diana was right. Maybe he never should have let Dick join him in his crusade against crime.
If Clark were still alive, he would have arrived by now. He would have saved everyone with a smile.
'Where is the League? Flash should've been here already. Unless—'
Realization hit him cold.
His suit had likely been compromised the moment Bullseye commented on the upgraded lenses.
Bullseye had planned for this.
The League never received the signal.
"I know Jesus has forgiven me," Joker said suddenly.
The words stunned the room.
Bullseye blinked. "Is that a joke?"
"No," Joker replied softly—
—before erupting into manic laughter.
"Sorry, couldn't hold it in! Look at Batsy over there—those big white eyes! He's fuming! Forced to choose between ending my life or saving his little bird."
Joker's grin stretched wider, almost blissful.
"Don't you get it? If you pull that trigger to save the boy, you're not killing me for justice—you're killing me for him. You're doing exactly what I've tried to make him do for years! You're my biggest fan!"
"Bullseye, no!" Batman shouted.
"Batman loses," Joker whispered, smiling wider than ever before. "And I win."
The gun fired.
The sound was thunder in a confined space.
Joker's head snapped back, red spraying across the concrete. His body slumped lifelessly in the chair beside Scarecrow and Professor Pyg—still wearing that grotesque grin.
The splatter against the warehouse floor felt like it was staining Batman's soul.
'It's over. The Joker is dead.
And I stood by and watched.
He won.'
"I'm not interested in the sick little game you two shared," Bullseye said coldly to the corpse. "The Justice League and the world might still need the Bat. But Gotham doesn't need him or you anymore."
'Gotham doesn't need me.'
The words hurt Batman than the broken ribs.
Batman stared at the body of his greatest enemy. The weight of the cowl suddenly felt immense—archaic, suffocating, terrifyingly useless.
"And cut," Two-Face said lightly.
As if sealing the end of Batman.
**
The glow of the television cast a harsh, flickering blue across the vines and dense flora of Ivy's greenhouse. The static hum of the broadcast had finally died, leaving only blurred still images of the bodies of some of Gotham's most notorious terrorizers.
"He's gone, Red," Harley sobbed. "Mr. J… he's really gone. Two-Face took my puddin' away from me forever!"
Harley collapsed into tears.
Ivy pulled the smaller woman against her side, wrapping a lithe, green-tinged arm around her shoulders.
"I know, Harls," Ivy murmured, her voice smooth as velvet. She brushed a stray strand of blonde hair behind Harley's ear. "I've got you."
She rested her chin atop Harley's head and closed her eyes. From the outside, she was the picture of supportive friend—the steady oak weathering Harley's storm.
But inside? Inside, Ivy felt a surge of pure, oxygenated euphoria. Finally.
Finally.
She thought of the countless nights spent dragging Harley out of alleys and dumpsters, stitching up wounds the clown had inflicted, listening to her cry over a man who had always seemed more obsessed with Batman than with her.
Every time Ivy had wanted to strangle the Joker with a nightshade vine, she had held back for Harley's sake. She had waited.
Ivy glanced once more at the blank television screen, offering a silent thank-you to the man who had pulled the trigger. The clown was dead.
And the soil was ready for something new to grow.
**
| Metropolis - October 30
Joseph sat in his office, scrolling through news updates on his phone as he waited for Waylon to finish his move in French Scrabble. Croc had a fondness for French literature and spoke the language fluently.
Outside, Gotham's streets were celebrating. Across much of the United States, reactions were split—half cheering, half condemning the previous night's events. Most of the outrage came from people who had never lived under the Joker's shadow.
Everyone would celebrate if they had a Joker in their city.
Joseph set his phone down.
"What do you think about last night?" he asked.
Waylon, currently wearing the glamour charm Joseph had won from Constantine, appeared far more human than usual. He studied the board thoughtfully.
"I don't care, long as my people are straight," Croc replied with a shrug. "Gotham was already hell. Can't get much worse under Dent. We'll see if he keeps his word… if he doesn't get taken out first."
He placed his tiles down.
PEUTETRE.
Joseph nodded absently.
He would need to reinforce Dent. Couldn't have him taken out by a random. He needed to be the figurehead for the changing city.
That reminded Joseph that he also needed to fix Match. STAR Labs had barely made any progress in stabilizing his genome.
Might as well improve everyone while he was at it.
"Anyway," Joseph added lightly, "how are things with you and Janet from HR?"
Croc nearly choked.
Joseph placed his final tiles, securing the win by seventy-nine points.
VAINQUEUR.