Scarecrow's voice cracked as he pressed his forehead to the filthy concrete.
"Either kill me… or move me to another cell."
His ribs showed through torn prison fabric. His cheeks had hollowed so deeply his skull looked like it was trying to claw its way out. The faint chemical stink of fear toxin still clung to him, but starvation had done what torture couldn't—broken him down to something small and desperate.
Across the cramped holding cell, the Joker lounged against the wall like he owned the place.
He was thinner too—but in a different way. Controlled. Measured. Calculating.
He tilted his head when he saw Lex Williams enter.
"Well, well," the Joker said, clapping slowly. "Daddy's home."
Lex didn't answer.
He stepped inside, boots echoing against reinforced flooring. The automated steel door sealed behind him with a hydraulic hiss.
Scarecrow flinched at the sound.
The Joker smiled wider.
Lex's gaze swept the room. No obvious traps. No chemical residue beyond trace contamination. The air filtration system had done its job.
"You look terrible," Lex said mildly to Scarecrow.
"I haven't eaten in three days."
"That's not accurate," Joker interrupted cheerfully. "He had a cracker yesterday. I let him have it."
Scarecrow trembled.
Lex's eyes shifted to Joker.
"You're rationing?"
Joker shrugged. "You only send one tray per day. I'm just practicing natural selection."
Lex walked forward slowly.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"You're both alive," Lex said. "That's already generous."
He stopped in front of Scarecrow first.
"You want to move cells?"
Scarecrow nodded violently.
"Yes. Anywhere. Just not here."
Lex crouched.
"Why?"
Scarecrow swallowed. "He doesn't sleep."
Joker grinned.
"He watches me," Scarecrow continued, voice shaking. "He talks to me. Whispers. Laughs. I can't tell when he's joking. I can't tell when he's planning something."
Joker raised a finger.
"I'm always planning something."
Lex stood up.
"Good."
Scarecrow blinked.
Lex turned his back on him and walked toward Joker instead.
"Where is it?"
Joker's eyes glittered.
"Where's what?"
"The Dionysian Factor."
Silence.
For a split second, something sharpened behind Joker's grin. A flicker of recognition.
Then it vanished.
"Never heard of it," Joker said casually.
Lex didn't blink.
"I've searched every warehouse you ever used. Every chemical stash. Every hideout. Nothing."
"Wow," Joker said, mock impressed. "You've been busy."
Lex leaned down until they were eye-level.
"You engineered something that let you survive lethal trauma. I've seen the data. The old medical scans."
Joker's smile twitched.
"You don't create miracles without a source."
Scarecrow was barely breathing now.
Joker tilted his head slowly.
"And what if I told you… I don't remember?"
Lex's expression didn't change.
"Liar."
Joker chuckled.
"You wound me."
Lex straightened and began pacing.
"I don't need the formula. I don't need your cooperation. I just need the location."
Joker watched him carefully.
"You think I hid it somewhere?"
"Yes."
"And if I didn't?"
"Then I'll dismantle every place you've ever touched until I find it."
Joker laughed softly.
"You're different," he murmured. "Not like the bat. Not like the cops. You don't care about rules. You care about outcomes."
Lex stopped pacing.
"Correct."
Joker leaned forward slightly.
"So what's the outcome you want?"
"Control."
"Over what?"
"Everything."
Scarecrow made a strangled noise.
Joker's eyes gleamed.
"Ohhh," he whispered. "Now that's interesting."
Lex stepped closer.
"You've always been about chaos. Unpredictability. But chaos needs fuel. Immortality would've made you unstoppable."
Joker didn't deny it.
Lex continued:
"The Dionysian compound wasn't just regeneration. It was adaptation. Your cells rewrote themselves. That's why your metabolism never collapsed."
Joker's smile slowly faded.
"Careful," he said quietly. "You're starting to sound like a fan."
Lex's voice turned colder.
"I'm starting to lose patience."
The room grew still.
Joker studied him.
"You killed him, didn't you?"
"Who?"
"The Umbrella man."
Lex didn't react—but that was enough.
Joker's grin returned, sharp as broken glass.
"I can smell it on you. That post-murder glow."
Scarecrow whimpered.
"You're escalating," Joker continued softly. "You're not just playing in Gotham anymore."
Lex stepped closer until the distance between them vanished.
"Last chance."
Joker's eyes flicked downward—just slightly.
To the floor.
To the drain grate in the corner of the cell.
It lasted less than a second.
But Lex saw it.
He turned his head slightly.
The grate was old. Rusted. Seemingly insignificant.
Lex looked back at Joker.
"You hid something in the sewage system."
Joker's smile widened slowly.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't need to."
Scarecrow looked between them in confusion.
Joker leaned back against the wall again.
"If you go digging down there," he said lazily, "you might not like what you find."
"I don't need to like it."
"You might not survive it."
Lex's expression didn't shift.
Joker studied him for a long moment.
Then he began laughing.
Not hysterically.
Not loudly.
Just quietly.
Because he knew something.
Lex turned toward the door.
"Move him," he said flatly.
Scarecrow looked up in disbelief.
"Thank you—"
"Solitary."
The word dropped like a blade.
Scarecrow's face collapsed.
"No—no, wait—"
The steel door opened.
Automated restraints deployed from the wall and seized Scarecrow, dragging him out despite his weak struggling.
The door sealed again.
Now only Lex and Joker remained.
Silence.
"You're going to check the drains," Joker said softly.
"Yes."
"And if you find it?"
"I'll improve it."
Joker's eyes sharpened.
"And then?"
"Then I won't need you anymore."
The smile faltered for half a second.
Then returned.
"Oh, Lex," Joker whispered. "You were never going to need me."
Lex walked toward the exit.
"Enjoy your meals while they last."
The door opened.
Before it closed, Joker called out:
"If you die down there… I call dibs on your city!"
The door slammed shut.
—
An hour later.
Deep beneath Gotham.
Lex stood at the entrance to the old sewer network.
Poison Ivy's vines slithered forward into the darkness first, probing tunnels slick with decades of rot and runoff.
The Mark 20 Python moved behind him, silent and predatory.
Thermal scans lit up the visor.
Movement.
Multiple heat signatures.
Not human.
Too large.
Too erratic.
Joker hadn't been bluffing.
Lex stepped into the darkness anyway.
Water sloshed around his boots.
The air smelled of decay and something worse—chemical mutation.
Ahead, one of the vines suddenly snapped.
Something had bitten through it.
Hard.
Fast.
A low, guttural sound echoed through the tunnel.
Then another.
Eyes opened in the dark.
Dozens of them.
Reflective.
Hungry.
Lex's voice was calm inside his helmet.
"Deploy combat protocol."
The Python's missile chambers rotated open with a mechanical whir.
The vines thickened, spreading along the walls.
The creatures began to move.
Not zombies.
Not quite.
Something altered.
Something fed.
Joker's insurance policy.
Lex's pulse remained steady.
Good.
If the Dionysian Factor was here—
He would take it.
And if these things were guarding it—
He would erase them.
The first creature lunged from the darkness.
And the sewer erupted into war.
....
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