Time rewinds to five minutes earlier—the moment just before old Thomas pulled the trigger.
The pursuit of the Joker had gone far more smoothly than Thomas had expected. The target had not, as usual, taken great pains to conceal her trail.
Shortly after escaping Arkham Asylum, she had brazenly hijacked a taxi driver at gunpoint and ordered him to drive her to this circus on the outskirts of Gotham.
This was completely unlike Martha's usual style.
In the mainstream universe, Batman—Bruce Wayne—was both courageous and meticulous, always leaving behind layers of contingency plans.
And as it happened, those traits were inherited from his parents.
In the Flashpoint world, Thomas Wayne as Batman was brave and direct, even somewhat reckless, while the Joker Martha was always calculating, always several steps ahead, constantly making Thomas suffer.
So why was Martha now exposing her position so openly?
Following the taxi driver's police report, Thomas—now in civilian clothing—drove his cheapest car, a Pininfarina, to the circus outskirts.
He casually bought a cheap plastic ghost mask from a roadside stall and put it on, then gripped the handgun hidden beneath his suit, safety already off, and moved forward.
Under the cover of night and the dim circus lights, the old bat quietly slipped into the backstage rest area.
As if guided by fate, the moment he lifted the curtain of the first tent, he smelled thick blood.
A man in a yellow wool jacket lay slumped in a chair, his throat cleanly slit. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking a scattered circus flyer and turning it a dark brown-red.
"Heheh..."
A quiet chuckle came from the corner.
Thomas immediately fired toward the sound. A figure in the shadows collapsed without a sound.
He didn't even care whether this was another trick—whether the first shot had just killed an innocent decoy.
All he knew was that this time, for the Joker, he had unlimited bullets.
"Congratulations! Another innocent dies because of you—another point for the Bat!"
From the shadows, Martha emerged from the other side. Her mouth, stretched grotesquely from ear to ear by knife scars, formed the Joker's signature grin.
"Oh, Thomas, look at me—I'm still smiling! How many more people do you need to kill before you finally stop?"
Her expression only made Thomas feel a chill run through him. He had once wished for his wife to escape the shadow of their son's death and smile again.
For that, Thomas Wayne had killed for the first time—personally executing the street thug responsible for Bruce's murder, a nobody from Gotham's underworld.
When he returned to Wayne Manor with that news, he saw Martha smile again—but not in the way he had hoped.
Martha had broken.
She became the Joker.
And Thomas had stepped onto a path with no return.
Killing was like a boulder rolling down a mountain—once it started, it could not be stopped.
But everything in the world has an end. And that end is death.
"There are only two names left on my list."
Thomas raised his Glock, ready to pull the trigger without hesitation.
A sudden gust of wind tore through the area, flipping an entire tent aside.
Joey stepped forward and crushed the Glock in Thomas's hand before he could fire.
Wonder Woman's lasso flew out, binding Martha in place.
"This farce ends now!"
Joey lowered his gaze across the scene and saw two unfamiliar corpses, along with a bloodstained circus poster lying on the ground.
It depicted the traveling circus's various acts and performances.
Aside from the Grayson family, there were also acts such as an acrobat who could bend his body 270 degrees, and a muscular man with a shark's head.
But most notably, in a small, inconspicuous section at the lower right of the poster, a line of text with an image immediately caught Joey's attention:
"A mysterious magic helmet exhibition—said to predict the future and bring good luck. For just one dollar, you can touch it!"
In a normal circus, this would just be a cheap scam—classic street trickery, one willing buyer and one willing seller.
But the problem was that Joey recognized the helmet in the image—and he currently had one of its fragments in his possession.
The Helmet of Fate.
The Helmet of Fate in Joey's possession had been brought by Raven, who could freely traverse universes. It was clearly from another reality.
And now, Joey had finally come face to face with the Helmet of Fate from this universe.
A bad feeling spread through him.
Without hesitation, Joey grabbed the collar of the only ordinary human present—Batman—and threw him into the air toward Cyborg's drones.
At the same time, the situation on the ground changed dramatically.
"Oh no, no, no—this show isn't over yet!"
Martha laughed uncontrollably, showing no sign of being affected by the Lasso of Truth.
"In fact… the real performance is just beginning!"
A blazing Ankh symbol erupted from her body as a golden helmet manifested in midair, covering her pale face.
A massive magical shockwave instantly blasted Wonder Woman away as she struggled to maintain control of the lasso.
Joey fired his heat vision, but the space itself folded like a mirror—reflecting the attack back at him.
Struck by his own beam, Joey was sent flying, his vision spinning wildly as reality warped around him.
During his uncontrolled flight, the environment flickered through countless scenes—passing through the corona of a red supergiant, the core of a toxic blue variable star, the accretion disk of a supermassive black hole, smashing through countless asteroids along the way.
In an instant, he involuntarily crossed half the universe—and crashed down right at Batman's feet.
Looking at the bloodied, unconscious figure, Batman felt a strange sense of deja vu.
This feeling… was familiar.
The invincible Superman had fallen again, and Batman had to quickly engage his mind to find a way out of this crisis.
The god Nabu—the ultimate embodiment of cosmic order.
Anyone who wore the Helmet of Fate should become the vessel of Nabu's will.
Batman had long dealt with powerful magic users like Zatanna and clearly remembered this principle.
But the current situation clearly deviated from that logic.
The one wearing the Helmet of Fate now was not being controlled by Nabu at all—but by Martha's own will.
So how was Nabu, the god of order itself, allowing such a corrupted host to wield its power?
"Come here… my child."
The Joker wearing the Helmet of Fate extended her hand toward Batman.
Her voice was soft—so gentle, so comforting—like a mother singing a lullaby to her child.
Bruce felt his mind blur, an overwhelming urge rising within him to obey Martha's words.