Before Batman's resurrection, the Joker had been rationed like everyone else. Limited food. Limited privileges. The result was visible—sunken cheeks, sharper bones, a thinner silhouette pacing behind reinforced glass.
After Bruce came back, routines stabilized. Three meals a day returned. The Joker had filled out slightly, color creeping back beneath the chalk-white skin.
When Lex Williams stepped into the containment cell, the Joker didn't speak.
He sprang.
No preamble. No joke. Just a fist aimed straight at Lex's jaw.
Lex smiled.
He had intended to start with negotiation.
Instead, they would begin with demonstration.
The Joker was brilliant—strategic, unpredictable, capable of psychologically dismantling Batman more than once. But brilliance did not translate to hand-to-hand superiority.
And fists were honest.
Within minutes, the Joker lay on the floor, bones shattered, breathing ragged.
Under normal circumstances, the damage would have been fatal.
But the regenerative catalyst in his bloodstream—identical in nature to Bruce's—kept him alive. Tissue began knitting back together at visible speed.
Lex sat cross-legged nearby and waited.
When the Joker's limbs finished resetting, he attacked again.
The second beating was faster.
The third was educational.
By the time he collapsed for the third time, unable to lift himself from the cold floor, the Joker finally broke.
"You bastard," he rasped. "Did you come here just to torture me?"
Lex slapped him.
Hard.
The crack echoed.
The Joker blinked.
Another slap.
Another.
More than a dozen strikes landed before the swelling turned his grin grotesque.
Tears welled—not from pain, but humiliation.
"For God's sake," the Joker choked, "say what you want! How am I supposed to cooperate if you don't explain the rules?"
Lex blinked innocently.
"Didn't I explain?"
"You walked in and I punched you!"
"Yes," Lex nodded. "So I adjusted the lesson plan."
The Joker's eyelids twitched.
"Fine," he muttered. "My mistake. What do you want?"
Lex leaned back onto the bed, looking down at him.
"What's your life goal? Kill Batman? Take Gotham? Be crowned King of the Ashes?"
The Joker didn't answer directly.
"Continue."
"You know what Gotham is now," Lex said. "Even if you beat Batman, what exactly do you rule? A wasteland? A garbage heap? That crown means nothing."
Silence.
"I made a deal with Batman," Lex continued. "If you agree to work under me and leave Gotham, he lets you go."
The Joker's expression didn't change.
"Repeat that."
"You heard me."
A thin, ugly giggle escaped him.
"I… the Clown Prince of Crime… become your subordinate?"
He started laughing harder.
"Am I insane, or are you?"
"Neither," Lex replied calmly. "You want freedom. You want stimulation. You want to matter."
He leaned forward.
"Stay here, and you're a trophy in Batman's collection. If this facility falls, zombies will tear you apart. The regenerative factor will bring you back—but it won't stop infection."
That wiped the humor away.
"You'll resurrect," Lex said softly. "As a monster."
The Joker's brow furrowed.
"I'll give you until tomorrow," Lex said. "Choose wisely."
As he stood to leave, the Joker asked suddenly:
"If I kill Batman, would you stop me?"
Lex smiled.
"If you work for me, we leave Gotham together. What happens after that is your business."
"So you don't care?"
"I care about efficiency," Lex replied. "If you can take him down, that's between you two. But you do not interfere with my operations. Understood?"
The Joker slowly pushed himself upright.
Then—unexpectedly—he dropped to one knee and performed an exaggerated knight's bow.
"From this moment," he said theatrically, "I am yours."
Lex laughed.
"You think I don't know what you're planning? Come with me, gain freedom, look for a chance to kill me?"
The Joker's smile thinned.
Lex shrugged.
"Try anytime. Just like you think you can kill Batman."
He paused at the door.
"Batman asked me why I wanted you."
The Joker tilted his head.
"Well?"
"Would you believe me if I said I needed a smart man to carry my luggage?"
"I wouldn't."
"Good."
Lex tossed a small vial onto the floor.
"Antidote to the depressive agent. Rest. We leave in a few days."
As he stepped into the corridor, frantic pounding erupted from the adjacent cell.
"Boss! Boss! I'll carry your bags! I'll run errands! Just let me out!"
Scarecrow's voice cracked through the door.
Lex didn't stop walking.
—
The next morning, Alfred knocked gently.
"Lex, may we speak?"
Lex stepped aside. "As long as you don't redecorate."
Alfred sat with composed elegance.
"I understand Bane may leave with you. And the Joker as well."
"You didn't come here for gossip," Lex said, handing him water.
Alfred set it down untouched.
"Their departure benefits Gotham. For that, I'm grateful."
"Main topic," Lex prompted.
Alfred produced a compact grenade and placed it carefully on the table.
"Upgraded aerosol antitoxin. Thirty-meter diameter dispersal. Airborne saturation beyond initial radius."
Lex picked it up, inspecting the craftsmanship.
Elegant casing. Balanced weight. Wayne engineering at its finest.
"You want a field test."
"Yes," Alfred replied. "Preferably against a high-resilience infected."
Lex raised an eyebrow.
"Killer Croc."
That made sense.
Waylon Jones had always been more than a brute. His atavistic condition gave him scale-like skin, reinforced musculature, and predatory instincts.
And he ate people.
In Gotham, murder was common.
Cannibalism was terror.
Now infected, Croc's regenerative durability would make him the perfect stress test.
Alfred slid a map across the table.
"Wastewater treatment plant. No surveillance."
Lex nodded.
—
At breakfast, children immediately swarmed him.
"Magician! Another trick!"
Lex sighed dramatically, then produced a sealed box of chocolate candies from thin air.
The cheers were explosive.
A small bribe went a long way in apocalypse morale.
Barbara Gordon approached with her tray, practically vibrating.
"You look like someone who has news," Lex said.
"You can tell?"
"It's written all over you."
She leaned in conspiratorially.
"Don't tell anyone."
"That's rarely how secrets work, but go ahead."
"I talked to Batman last night."
Lex nearly choked on his broth.
"And?"
"He said if I pass his evaluation… I can become his apprentice."
Her eyes shone.
Lex widened his eyes theatrically.
"Autograph too?"
She shoved him lightly.
"I'm serious!"
He studied her expression.
Excitement. Determination. Pride.
Wayne clearly hadn't emphasized operational secrecy.
"Barbara," Lex said carefully, "if you're doing this, do it for yourself. Not to impress anyone."
She nodded quickly.
"I will."
He stood.
"I've got work."
As he walked away, a strange feeling lingered.
Gotham was changing.
Barbara might become a successor.
Bane might chase sunlight.
The Joker might become a blade in his hand.
And soon—
Lex Williams would leave the city behind.
Possibly for good.
....
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