#80: Death in the Family (Part 6 of 6)

“Here’s what we know.”

“The Joker has returned.”

“He’s declared war on the Justice League.”

“He’s somehow infiltrated a pharmaceutical company with a worldwide reach.”

“Then tainted a life-saving cancer treatment and weaponised those using it.”

“Thousands are already dead, but the toll increases by the hour.”

“We’ve deployed response teams across the globe, but we’re outnumbered.”

“Those infected are exhibiting erratic, Kryptonian-level super-abilities due to the nanites installed in the contaminated medication.”

“But we know where the Joker is hiding out.”

“And we have a plan.”

JUSTICE LEAGUE

There was a time the world thought the Joker dead.

And all it took was a journey through hell to get there.



“A cut here… a cut there… oh, yes, you’d be perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

With the straight razor drifting close to her olive skin, moving from the corners of her mouth to her cheeks, the Joker loomed over Talia Al Ghul, her eyes wide open and her mouth locked in a rictus grin. He’d pumped the cabin full of Smilex, then jabbed her in the neck with something else-- a paralytic-- and she spotted the empty syringe discarded on the floor of her private jet.

Sprawled out dead across the floor, his body still twitching, his throat cut without hesitation or mercy, was her now-dead bodyguard Ubu. The Joker had moved so fast after cutting the light to the cabin that she’d only been able to get one shot off-- thankfully it didn’t compromise the hull’s integrity-- but it did nothing to slow down the Clown Prince of Crime’s attack. A lungful of Smilex and the paralytic did the rest.

The door to the cockpit was open, the pilots were dead, the auto-pilot engaged. Controls beeped spastically, whatever the mad jester had done was haphazard at best.

The Joker flicked the razor back into the handle and then pursed his lips. “Can’t go back to Gotham for a while, not after my little fireworks display*… gotta lay low, gotta plan something big and bombastic for my homecoming…”


Talia could say nothing. But she managed to close her eyes and she could fear tears falling down her cheeks. The Joker had his back to her and was tapping the holstered blade against his angular chin, considering his options.

“Perhaps I should take your father’s place as the Demon’s Head. Wouldn’t that be a laugh?”

Talia strained against the effect of the Smilex. Pushed as hard as she could against the debilitating effects. And… with every ounce of her immense willpower… with every iota of her training… the grin plastered across her delicate features… began to recede…

He began to strut and preen, paying no attention to his prisoner’s struggles. “Oh, yes. Serve the League of Shadows their beloved leader’s daughter’s head on a silver platter… make them swear fealty to me… and if they don’t fall in line, I can always apply some of the recruitment techniques I developed in my time as the CEO and innovator of Gotham’s underworld… cut the chaff from the wheat…”

He turned, and immediately received a syringe to the left eye, courtesy of Talia, who shouted, “Die! Die you monster!”

“Heeeeeehhaaaowwwww,” giggled the Joker, kicking back against the daughter of the demon, and watching her falter down the aisle of the cabin. He spun around, careful not to touch the syringe still jutting out of his face, and flicked the knife out of its handle, levelling it in Talia’s direction. “Th-that’ll leave a mark hehaha”

“Y-you really think your drug w-would keep me docile?” she growled, her eyes darting about the cabin, searching for something to use against him-- Where was her pistol? Where was her gun?

“I had hehe high hopes,” he said. “Let me guess… daddy dearest dosed you as part of your ninja training? Bet you have some kinda of-- heha-- blanket immunity to all the chemicals and doo-dads I could stick you full of?”

“S-something like that,” said Talia.

She tamped the memories down. It was her life. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce. She could see her gun shoved down the Joker’s belt. He was practically blind in one eye, but he had the straight razor out, waving maniacally in her general direction, and she had nothing but her wits and will.

It would have to be enough.

She moved fast, but so did he. The drug was still in her system, dimming her natural reflexes, her natural, deadly speed; she feigned her hand going in one direction, and he sliced down her forearm for the audacity-- but it was all for show, and her other hand slipped around the handle of the gun and she squeezed the trigger once, sending a bullet through the meat of the Joker’s thigh and out the other end-- straight through the floor of the plane and out the other side.

“Aaaah you little bitch, that’s going to leave a mark--!”

She cried out despite herself as she wrenched backwards, the plane beginning to spin as the pressure went crazy. He’d been able to slice again-- once-- twice-- three times-- her arm was red-ribboned and slick with blood.

But she had her gun back. And she let him know. Another shot caught him in the stomach. Another in the shoulder. She was firing blind, her eye-to-hand coordination compromised by the drugs in her system-- his heart his heart his heart, she was screaming inside her head-- but he was just laughing, even as the bullets went through the hull of the plane, even as it began to spin and thrash in the skies.

She couldn’t do it. The gun was empty. He was still there, bleeding from the holes in his body, but smiling, grinning, laughing like a lunatic. So, she changed her tack. Even as the plane spun, she scrambled backwards, toward the door, toward where the parachutes were kept. She threw one on as quickly as she could, then pulled the emergency lever to open the pressurised door-- and when it swung open, she allowed the rest of the parachutes to fly out into the skies.

“You better come back here, Talia my love, we have so much left to talk about--!” cackled the Joker.

“Die,” she hissed, and then she leapt out-- and escaped the clutches of the mad man-- leaving him to his fate aboard the plummeting casket the plane had been reduced to--

HALL OF JUSTICE, METROPOLIS:

“I’m getting reports from the Atlantean and Kheran military-- Doctor Light’s plan is working. The red sunlight is stunting their abilities, placating the infected,” said Cyborg. He looked back at the Engineer, who was analysing Harley Quinn’s blood nearby. “Mera really came through in the nick of time.”

“She’s my favourite superhero,” replied the Engineer.

Cyborg nodded. “And we’re regaining control of international power grids. Power is coming back to the world. Means the TV stations have got something to talk about… how Joker-faced monsters are swarming the streets.”

“Hopefully it helps. Keeps people indoors. Lets the Justice League teams do their thing, keep the peace,” she said.

“How goes the breakdown of the nanite basecode in Harley's blood?"

"Slowly but surely. It's my dad's work all right. My mad bastard of a father. I'm relaying my findings directly to the pack in Batman's utility belt, that'll mix a dampener remotely. That's the beauty of nanites. They're just machines. And I'm just writing them a letter, hoping it illicits the right response..."

"You're such a romantic," Cyborg added.

"Nah, did I ever tell you about my time spent toiling as an IT tech?” she asked.

“Your superhero origin?”

She smirked. “Something like that.”

They continued their work, Cyborg organising the masses of superhumans operating on the side of good, while the Engineer was trying to crack the secret of the nanotechnology that swam inside Harley Quinn’s blood.

Minutes later, Vic looked up again and asked, “How’s James?”

“In shock. I’ve never… I’ve never seen him like this before. What he’s lost… it’s… it’s awful,” she said.

The Guardian’s entire family had been murdered. Slaughtered. The Joker had really done a specific number on him, more heinous than anything Cyborg could believe. After giving him hope that his daughter’s cancer might be gone, the Joker not only allowed it to return with a vengeance, but he forced her to kill herself in the Guardian’s arms…

“I can’t even begin to imagine,” sighed Vic.

“He’ll… well, we’ll be there for him. He needs us now, more than ever. We need to be there for him, through whatever comes next,” she said.

“Right. Right. Of course. You said before that Aleph’s former CEO, Cuetes, worked with your father back in the day?”

“Yes… before their paths diverged, my father’s into mad science and Cuetes’ into big pharma, they were probably the foremost experts in the field of nanomachinery.”

“And we know that your dad deleted all information pertaining to his work prior to his ‘debut’ as the Engineer.”

“He managed to erase every computer drive, every physical book, every research paper, with his nanite swarm. He would’ve killed me if it wasn’t for the Guardian.”

“But if Alejandro worked with him, perhaps he had his own notes. That would allow… hmm.”

“Talk it out,” Victor said.

“All right, Batman,” said Angie. “Somehow the Joker managed to insinuate himself into upper echelons of Aleph Pharmaceutical. He corrupted medication that could have saved lives--”

“It did save lives,” replied Victor.

Angie added, “And then it didn’t.”

It was obvious to the both of them, but Vic was the one to say it. “…It was all a practical joke.”


Alejandro Cuetes arrived on the top floor of Aleph Pharmaceutical’s Basel-based headquarters, singing along quietly to whatever the hell song was playing in the elevator up. He took a seat behind his desk and let out a long exhale. “What a day,” he said.

“You have no idea.”

Before Alejandro could turn, the Joker plunged a needle into his carotid artery. A burning sensation filled his neck and he jerked forward, clutching at where he’d been stabbed. The frantic motions he undertook in his panic caused him to spill the contents of his desk, but a split second later he turned and saw who had attacked him.

“Hello there, Ale-ale-jandro,” hissed the Joker, his voice dancing as he spun Cuetes’ chair around to face him.

The Joker’s face was covered in a horrendous lattice of badly-healed scars that gratuitously enhanced his already horrific visage. His left eye was greyed and foggy, and Cuetes took a guess that meant it was blind. His right arm was curled up into his chest in an atrophied crook and his fingers were locked in a clawed, splayed position.

“Oh, God, I don’t-- I can’t-- What do you want?”

“Oh, honey. I just injected you with a self-replicating nanite fleet programmed to induce a severe stroke at my command. It’s a mad little piece of technology and I stole and spent a half dozen fortunes to get it built. You know who I am. Do you understand that I’m being oh-so serious when I tell you all this?”

“Y-yes-- Oh, God, please, don’t hurt me-- please--”

The Joker shook his head. “I won’t if you do what I tell you. See, I have a plan. It’s a beautifully nasty plan. And you’re going to help me bring it to fruition. Because it’s either that, or I inject the very same payload into your three children. How old are they now?”

“Don’t hurt them! Please! Don’t hurt them!” begged Alejandro.

“How old?” growled the Joker.

“F-five, seven a-and eleven-- please…”

“Imagine them that young, unable to care for themselves, unable to communicate, because you said no. You understand?”

“Yes, please, just tell me what you want,” repeated Alejandro.

“Well, it’s pretty simple,” the Joker replied, his smile growing, “I want to go into business with you.”

“Wh-what?” whispered Cuetes.

“Well, I have the nanomachine designs, but they could do so-- much-- more. Your pal Angelo Spica had the right idea. Better living through chemistry. He wanted to force humanity to take the next evolutionary leap via technology. His technology. I want to do the same. You have the resources. I have the brain power. Shall we work together? Shall we? Please? Please, sir? Can we, daddy?” That last one was the dagger to his chest. High-pitched and child-like, dead eye wide and live eye pin-pricked and staring.

All Cuetes could think of were his children. His daughters. “Wh-whatever you want. Anything. Anything.”

“Oh, good. Off to work we go. And while you’re at it… do we have a lawyer we can call? I have a few affairs I need to put into order… before the end of the world.”

THE REMAINS OF LAPUTA, BENEATH THE WAVES:

The Joker pulled up his golden bustier, and then felt his steely hard bicep muscle, admiring himself in the reflection of the computer screens. He made himself smile, and really, in this day and age, wasn’t that what it was all about?

News came to him in waves, as the world’s electric grids slowly powered back on. Good. The command routines he’d snuck into their control systems were slowly unclenching, slowly letting signals be sent where they needed to be, which would make what came next even more exciting…

He spun around in his chair and cackled loudly, singing, “Take it from me… up on the shore they work all day…”

Laputa had been repurposed to his own means. The exploded chunks of the mechanical island had been fused together into an elaborate labyrinth, the automated security systems all active and throbbing steadily, waiting for company. It wasn’t part of his grand design, but when he discovered how everything was completely modular, how the monstrosity could be reconfigured to suit his needs… well, it made perfect sense to hide right beneath the noses of those he wanted to spite.

“Out in the sun they slave away… while we devotin'… full time to floatin'…”

The entire structure began to shake. He spun around again, looking at the monitors that fed footage from the Justice League’s state of the art surveillance system directly into this central point within the amalgam he’d constructed.

“…Under… the… sea?”

A perfect sphere had formed around the ruins of Laputa. It shimmered orange, and the ocean was being pumped out of it through a single hole at the top. Cameras focused on the hole, and a woman was standing atop the bubble, her hands twitching and flexing as she went to work.

“What… in the world?”

Mera was straining hard as she hydrokinetically drove all the water out of the bubble, leaving the small, isolated patch of land on the ocean floor as dry as a bone. When all was said and done, she was holding back the weight of the seas by sheer force of will, and as blood dribbled from her nose, it was clearly a task she was struggling to perform.

Seconds later, a Boom Tube exploded through the gap in the bubble, and three figures dropped out of it, landing on the rocky terrain nearby. Mera slipped through another Boom Tube, vanishing from the seas to parts unknown, and then the sphere sealed up with a pop. It was just the four of them-- three outside: Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman, and the clown lurking within.

“Well, looks who it is, the father, the boy scout and the holy whore,” murmured the Joker.

He typed something into the console in front of him but found there was no connection to the outside world. That bubble must have been a blast shield. He’d had his sweet time spent in the Justice League’s computers before all hell had broken loose, and he’d read all their mission debriefs and write-ups. He knew that the blast shield was designed to keep whatever was inside in and whatever was outside out, and that included teleportation effects and signal feeds*.


“No matter,” he said. He flexed his fingers and smiled. “Come on inside. Come in and play.”



“The payload is ready,” said Cuetes. So close now. So close to getting out of this hell he’d found himself within. Just do as the man says-- do as the monster demands-- and then freedom would be his.

“Wonderful, old chap, absolutely wonderful,” said the Joker, tapping his fingers across the metal surface of the work station.

The Joker looked more withered than previously, his gnarled arm tighter against his chest, his body wasting away after whatever had caused all the horrific wounds upon his person. If he had looked like a ghoul on the first day that the pair met, now he looked like a revenant, barely held together by biological means but still capable of speed and strength that made the pharma CEO flinch and cry out.

Now, Cuetes hadn’t had reason to use his private laboratory for years, but as soon as the Joker came into his life, he’d had to refurbish it completely, updating the equipment and ensuring that everything they needed to complete their work was available. No one else was allowed in, and Cuetes worked night and day to meet the demands of his new ‘business partner’.

The Joker didn’t seem to leave the lab. Or rather, if he did leave it, Cuetes never saw him do so. The once-grand Clown Prince of Crime hobbled around, deep within the shadows, his eyes piercing the darkness when Alejandro turned his way. He blew kisses and hissed in equal measure depending on his ever-changing mood.

Cuetes did as he was told. Spent millions of his own funds to create a fleet of nanomachines capable of duplicating whatever inherent aspects were present in the genetic material flying around inside the microscopic robots. The Joker had provided something special, he said.

Cuetes loaded up the large syringe with the nanite load and levelled it at the chair where the recipient would sit. He gestured toward it, turned to find the Joker, but the Harlequin of Hate was already a hair’s breadth away from Cuetes’ face, his lips curled as he whispered, “Remember, dear boy… if this fails, then your children will be the first to die. My finger is on the trigger. If I die, they die. If I live… well. Let’s see how forgiving I am then, shall we? How forgiving, or impressed… which one am I looking for…”

Alejandro swallowed as the Joker settled into the chair. “It’s almost like a throne, isn’t it? Is this my ascension? My crowning moment? I’m so excited I can hardly sit still,” he giggled.

“P-please try to, I don’t want to… I don’t want to miss the artery,” replied Alejandro.

The Joker shot him a look. Even with his dead eye, it was a heavy gaze, his pin-prick black pupil staring right through Cuetes’ body and straight into his soul.

“Ya knowwwww…”

The Joker threw himself out of the chair, away from the nanite injector, and made a beeline toward the computer that held the command coding for the nanites. He tapped manically with one hand, his withered limb twitching against his chest as he furiously typed.

“Wh-what’re you--?”

Alejandro was so close. He just needed to load the nanites into the Joker… and then… and then…

“Well, well, well, what’s this then?” asked the Joker, spinning the monitor round so it faced Cuetes. “These lines of code seem to suggest that while you’ve done all I’ve asked, there would also be a secondary sequence running in the background of the nanites’ core programming… what’s this? External control of both muscular and nervous systems? It must be a typo! You couldn’t have possibly been trying to take control of my body, could you?”

“I-- I-- I--”

“An honest mistake! Gosh, are all you Swiss so clumsy? Let’s just…”

The Joker slowly tapped away at the console in front of him, and the lines were deleted one by one, and by the look on Cuetes’ face, so was any semblance of hope left in his body. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“…Do I look stupid to you? Dumb? Am I thick as a brick, Alejandro? I’m a criminal genius. I’m a scientific mastermind. I like to think I always had this in me, but I think the chemical bath I took all those years ago might have played a role… don’t try and short change me with the services you provide, or… or…”

The Joker slowly grinned.

“…Your darling children…”

“I…”

“Now that the updated patch has been applied, let’s do this! And let’s put a timer on it, shall we?”

The Joker pushed his finger against Alejandro’s forehead.

“There we go!”

He threw himself back on the chair, and Cuetes was gibbering, wholly confused.

“Wh-what have you done?”

The Joker leaned forward. “If you don’t complete the nanite infusion in sixty seconds, your children die painfully and slowly. I just remotely activated the nanite cache installed in their itty-bitty bodies, as well as the ones I injected you with during our special night in your office. Time’s a’wastin, Alejandro… if I don’t make it through, you’re all dead anyway…”

Cuetes felt the pit of his stomach drop out, and the Joker started to count backwards, “Forty… thirty-nine…”

Alejandro balanced the delivery needle and drove it into the Joker’s neck. He pressed the release button, and the Joker’s bloodstream was flushed with nanotechnology. His gnarled arm popped and unfolded back into a fit state, and his muscles seemed to puff up and fill out under the flesh. The grey glaze over his eye cleared, rinsed away by the machines going to work in his body, and the horrible scarring over his face, neck and presumably elsewhere on the body sealed up as new flesh was generated and distributed.

“…Two… nnnnnn… one…”

The Joker clicked his fingers on his previously rotten arm, and then blinked a few times.

“Oh, this is perfect. I can… ha… hahahahaha--!”

He performed a squat, then a jump, and cleared at least seven feet in the air vertically. He landed atop the chair, performed a pirouette, all the while laughing at his new-found energy and agility.

“M-my children--!” gibbered Alejandro.

“Which one?” the Joker asked.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

The Clown Prince of Crime moved across the room faster than Cuetes’ eyes could follow, and he lifted Alejandro up by the throat. “You tried to sneak your way out of our deal. That’s not very nice. So, I have to take something from you now, don’t I? Which child? Which one will it be?”

“Nuh no you can’t do this, you can’t!”

“I can, and I will. That’s the thing. People think I’m all jokes and comedy but I’m actually a highly practiced and highly organised serial killer, with no foibles about murdering children. I’ll do anything if it makes me laugh, Alejandro, that has to be obvious to you now, right?”

Images of his three children-- five year old Léonie, seven year old Amelie and eleven year old Nathanaël-- rushed through his head, and the thought of what the Joker would-- could-- do to them made him want to cry. He whispered, “Not my children, don’t, please…”

“Give. Me. A name,” said the Joker.

“Please!” shouted Alejandro.

“Choose one or I take them all!” screamed the Joker.

“Nathanaël! Take Nathanaël!”

The Joker reeled back, mock horror on his face. “Oh, gosh, that was quick. You didn’t even really need time to think, did you?”

“P-please, don’t, just don’t,” whispered Alejandro.

“Say his name again,” ordered the Joker.

Through snot and tears, Alejandro answered, “N-Nathanaël.”

“And tell me what you want me to do.”

“Take him.”

The Joker leaned forward. “No euphemisms, Alejandro. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want you to kill Nathanaël! Just don’t hurt my daughters!”

The Joker nodded. “Now… here’s the thing…”

Alejandro looked up at him with red eyes.

“I didn’t actually inject them with any nanites. Or you for that matter. I just… well, I gotta admit… I lied.”

“Y-you--”

The Joker nodded and pouted sadly. “I’m sorry. I told a teeny-tiny white lie. I didn’t have the ability to snuff them out like candles. But now…”

The Joker moved his hand across his face, obscuring it completely. His smile slipped away, his sharp, unique features changed and suddenly he was wearing Alejandro’s face. “…Now I can do anything,” he said, using Cuetes’ own voice.

“Oh, God, what have I done?”

With the snap of his fingers, the Joker’s face returned to normal. “But I won’t! I promise! God, your face, so funny. That’s going to keep me going for years. Now, I think its time we made our partnership a bit more public. I can’t wear my normal face, so I’ll have to make another. That’s fine. And I have a name in mind, too! Malik Swain. Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything…”

THE REMAINS OF LAPUTA, BENEATH THE WAVES:

Superman glanced down at the lead-lined compartment on Batman’s utility belt, next to the syringe filled with nanites awaiting further instructions from the Engineer, and said, “Even with your precautions… I don’t like this.”

“Said the most powerful man on Earth,” said Wonder Woman.

The Man of Steel glanced over his shoulder and could see the ocean around them held back by the strength of the impervious blast door Cyborg arranged to be erected. Debris from Laputa’s explosive destruction was visible jutting out from the seafloor all around them, but the largest part, about the size of Wayne Manor, was crumpled together in a labyrinthine shape, the borders of each modular fragment soldered together by Laputa’s high-tech design.

The Joker had been in their home. He’d had all the time in the world to do whatever it was that he had planned. Just because his first blow was against the hospitals, against the terminally sick, didn’t mean it was the final blow as well. The thought troubled him, but he knew that the only thing left for them was to end the threat the Joker posed, one way or another.

“Quiet. He’s watching,” said Batman. "Watching and listening."

“Why would I bother, my darling Batman? I’m right here,” purred the Joker, as a door formed in the side of the wreckage and he stepped through, dressed in a bizarre Wonder Woman outfit. “Do you like my costume? I had it made just for you.”

Superman didn’t have to wait to be told. He flew straight for the Joker, raised his fist, ready to give him a love tap hard enough to knock him out, but as he neared, travelling at superhuman speeds, the Joker turned his head toward him, winked, and then drove his own fist downward, catching the Man of Tomorrow hard in the jaw and sending him face first into the hard, volcanic rock that made up the seabed. Before either Batman or Wonder Woman could act-- more caught by the surprise of the attack than anything else-- the Joker raised his booted foot and jammed it down on the back of Superman’s head, knocking him out immediately.

“Did you really think I’d save the best for those frail little pigs wandering the streets, wearing my face? Oh, no. I gave them a taste. And then they’ll burn out and pop, sending blood and bone and guts flying every which way. But me? I perfected the Kryptonian power patch. And I got it floating inside me.” He cracked his knuckles. “Wanna dance?”

Batman opened his mouth, but the Joker’s eyes burned red and heat vision erupted, scalding the insignia off the Dark Knight’s chest and causing him to reel in pain. The Clown Prince of Crime dove forward, spun kick at Wonder Woman-- who managed to block it with her forearms-- then twisted his attack into a pump kick into the Caped Crusader’s sternum that sent him bouncing back into the forcefield, where he flopped over unconscious.

The Joker had his back to Wonder Woman, but that didn’t stop him from laughing. He said, “Oh, I wasn’t talking to your toy boy. I was talking to my love rival.” He beckoned her forward, and said, “C’mon, Princess Di. Let’s see who can kill the other first, yeah?”



“Why are you here?”

Angelo Spica was a patient man. After his defeat at the hands of the Guardian and his vaunted Global Peace Agency cohorts, after his failure to murder his own daughter and the only scientist he believed capable of reaching the same lofty heights as himself when it came to the world of nanotechnology, he was imprisoned in the Slab. They’d drained him of the nanotechnology in his blood and now he was just a man.

And as a man, he had rights. In this case, that meant he had the right to a lawyer. But this was not his lawyer. And his presence here was confusing to say the least.

The besuited man before him rearranged his tie, clearly a nervous affect, and said, “My name is Ray Gauss, I work at Sterling & Harris. I’m your attorney.”

“No, you’re not. I don’t have a lawyer.”

Angelo was behind a thick, plastic wall. The standard protocol when it came to a supervillain being visited by their attorney. No human contact allowed. Cameras were trained on the pair of them, but it took a court order to actually view the footage. There were rules, after all.

Gauss rummaged through his pockets, then found a handkerchief that he used to mop his brow. “Ah, yes, I’ve read the transcripts from your trial. You refused to acknowledge the authority of the court. That didn’t stop them from finding you guilty of ninety-seven counts of first-degree murder. That’s ninety-seven life sentences you’re serving, consecutively. Without possibility of parole.”

“I don’t need a lawyer to tell me that. And as I told you, I don’t have a lawyer,” said Angelo.

Ray leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching the plastic wall separating them. “Then think of me as a friend. I found your notes, Professor Spica. I found the last copy of your nanotechnology research.”

Spica was taken aback. “You… how? That should have been… impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible in this life we’ve chosen to lead. For example, I am not Ray Gauss. He exists, and yes, he will be your attorney, but I am not him.”

“I don’t understand…”

Ray smiled, and as he looked over his shoulder at the camera that was not legally allowed to record their conversation, he blinked, and made sure there would be no footage of what was about to transpire. He continued to smile, and his lips began to stretch across his face. His skin colour faded to white, and his hair turned green, and he was of course, not Ray Gauss. He was the Joker.

And he’d just walked into Slabside Penitentiary without a care in the world. They’d opened doors for him, nodded to acknowledge his presence-- though they didn’t smile for him. They thought he was a lawyer, and what’s worse, a super villain lawyer. The lowest of the low.

Oh, what did they know?

“How is this possible…?” asked Spica.

“You. You made this possible. You may have erased every trace of your research that was out in the world, but not the notebooks you kept in college. Not the good stuff, y’know what I’m saying?”

“And what do you intend to do with this information?”

“Well. That’s the rub, isn’t it? I’ve already done what I wanted with it, and that was to restore me to the best version of myself. Better than best, actually. As you can see, I can change my face, do a little dance, and I fully intend to make a little love. But this technology… I want to share it again. Or perhaps… return it.”

He opened his palm, and a bead of blood oozed from his skin. A single drop. He pushed his palm against the plastic wall, and invisible to the naked eye, a single nanite drilled through it, and then zipped into Angelo’s ear. And straight into his brain.

Long dormant command connections installed into the grey matter of his head buzzed and whirred up, and Angelo felt the thrill of being reconnected to his nanotechnology. He exhaled, almost giddy, and then said, “You don’t know what you’ve done for me.”

Wiping his palm against his trouser, the Joker said, “I have some idea. I’ve made you whole again. And I want you to continue your work. Your manifesto mentioned your hope for the next evolutionary step of humankind to be nanotechnological in nature. Homo Cyberneticus, correct?”

The Joker giggled. Hard not to.

“Anyway, yes, well, I have a similar plan in mind. I want to cause trouble. I want to thin the herd. Let’s go back a few steps. Let’s get back to the way things used to be.” He chuckled, then continued, “Keep working. I’ll send the real Ray Gauss back to you, and unbeknownst to him, he’ll keep providing you with the building blocks you require to complete your work. But all I ask… is that you wait for my word. Let me fire the starting pistol, and then we’ll both have our fun. What do you say?”

“I think you have yourself a deal,” Spica replied.

THE REMAINS OF LAPUTA, BENEATH THE WAVES:

If you had to describe what happened next, you’d struggle to find the words.

Wonder Woman cast any and all caution to the wind. The Joker had to be stopped. Even dressed in a mocking parody of her own costume, he wasn’t someone to be taken lightly-- especially after he’d punched Superman so hard that the Man of Steel was now completely out of the fight.

There had always been an elegance and simplicity to the way in which Diana fought.

If at first the offer of an open hand-- an invitation for peace-- was declined, she'd fight to win. There were some cases though where these skirmishes would be an elaborate dance, the Princess of Themyscira imploring her opponent to lay down arms and enter into a discourse, to de-escalate the aggression to a point of conversation.

As Bruce pulled himself up and forward, his chest tight after layers upon layers of reinforced body armour had collapsed in on themselves after the Joker had unleashed his artificial heat vision upon him, he noted-- though was not shocked by the fact-- that there was no discourse from Wonder Woman. She was silent, throwing blow after blow at the Joker, who was casually meeting her attacks head on, laughing all the while. The Clown Prince of Crime had removed any pretense of this being something that could be corrected by words.

The Joker was dancing around Wonder Woman, displacing her blows with the flick of a wrist, a pivot around a kick, her best attempts at hitting him dodged. He giggled, feigned a yawn, and then slowed-- Batman could tell it was a feint, an attempt to draw her in, but if he could that meant she could, so what would she do?

The Joker slowed-- shuffled in place as if he'd lost his balance or footing-- Diana unclipped her lasso at speeds too fast for human eyes to follow-- she looped it around her fists-- went to punch the Harlequin of Hate square in the face-- and he side-stepped, grabbed her wrists, twisted, and was suddenly behind her, his hands yanking against her bracelets, drawing the Golden Perfect close to her throat.

"Aren't you going to ask me? Aren't you going to ask me how I got these moves?" the Joker hissed in her ear.

"I don't care," she replied. She drew her foot backwards into his crotch with all her might, and he cried out in shock. She stepped forward, but he was looking angrily at her, his eyes beginning to blaze.

"I'm gonna need that, you whore!"

He screamed, unleashing his heat vision at the Amazon. She drew up her bracelets and displaced the onslaught of molten heat around her, sending reflections of laser intensity into the force field around their battleground, causing that blast shield to warp and ring. She was sweating-- she couldn't believe it-- and her forearms were burning, her perfect Amazonian flesh exposed to temperatures it was wholly incapable of handling. How long could she hold out under the strain?



The Joker wore the face of Malik Swain. A man who’d insinuated himself into the inner circle of Aleph Pharmaceuticals with deftness and poise. He’d charmed the board, convinced them all-- with a little computer magic and an endorsement from founder Alejandro Cuetes-- that he was an old university buddy of their leader, back from travels in the rainforest and reclaiming his piece of the pie that apparently he’d helped make. All lies. So easy to spin for a monster in the shape of a man like him, like spinning pure gold from stinking shit.

The Guardian had come to them wanting help. His poor, cancer-ridden daughter was at death’s door, and he’d heard things on the grapevine-- things that the Joker had put out there himself, to see who’d come sniffing-- about a new treatment. He’d gone on a bit, tried to appeal to their better natures, but to a man like Malik? And to a monster like the Joker, lurking beneath that façade? The result was never in question.

Swain held up his hand to cut the super soldier off. “We know about your daughter, Mister Harper. Medicine is our business and the business of those who make appointments with us is… our business. Colonel Harper? Colonel Mister Guardian? Sorry. Regardless, she doesn’t exactly meet the criteria for treatment, but Alejandro and I have had a chat and we think that it’s in our best interests to extend the program to the hospital she’s currently residing in.”

He smiled. Laid it on think. Watched as the cogs turned behind the Guardian’s eyes. Any instinct about the beast that stood before him was completely overruled by his concern for family. He didn’t see the wolf. The white wolf with blood-stained lips twisted into a yellow-tooth grin. He didn’t see the Joker.

“You… you will?” Harper managed to say.

The trap was set. Baited with emotion. Time to spring it. Malik continued, “You see, it would look… suspicious if we simply gave one patient the treatment in that part of the country. Right now, we’re extending the testing out into cities across the world, and due to your request it solidified a decision that had to be made on our part. So we went with Chicago as the pilot location. Many people are going to live because of you, Mister Harper.”

Always part of the plan. Sow seeds. Wait for chaos to grow. And what better way to sow seeds than use the Justice League themselves, one of their own, to choose the victims? How bloody beautiful.

Alejandro cleared his throat and chimed in. Malik-- Joker-- felt something rise up in him, black and angry and hungry, a feeling like someone was about to snatch the food from off his plate.

Cuetes said, his voice reedy and thin, “I… I don’t want you to think of this as… a negative, Mister Harper. It’s an opportunity for us to do some good.”

“I don’t know if my daughter would agree,” said Harper, a sad smile on his face.

Pathetic. But at least Cuetes wasn’t twisting the knife in the wrong direction. At least that.

“You’re going to save her life. There’s nothing that can outweigh that,” said Malik. Make it hurt when the switch is turned. Make it hurt all the more. Put this on him. Make this his. Give him ownership of the horror to be inflicted upon the world. Make it his.

“If you don’t mind me asking… how did you hear about the treatment?” asked Alejandro.

“I don’t think that matters, do you, Alejandro?” said Malik. He had answered quickly, perhaps too quickly. But he was so hungry for this, so wanting.
“No, no, you’re right, sorry, sorry,” gibbered Alejandro, and Malik could see that Harper was confused by their interactions.

Instead of questioning it, the Guardian shook his head. “It’s no trouble. I have a scientist on my team, Angela Spica.”

Malik’s eyes widened. Yes, he knew this was coming. So beautiful. “Spica? Her father was Angelo Spica, the, eh, ‘Engineer’?”

“That’s right, but she’s good people. Nothing to worry about there.”

Malik looked over at Cuetes, who shook his head as if to say ‘doesn’t ring a bell’. That was a silly little bit of gameplay, right there. He’d have to punish that. Cuetes was known as Angelo Spica’s old lab mate. That little lie could cost. The timeline would have to be accelerated. How many toes would he snip off of the liability, snip snip snip?

Regardless, Malik dismissed the point and pushed on. “Well, we’ll begin the treatment in the next seven days. Our people will contact the hospital and begin all the necessary prep work. Your daughter will live, Mister Harper. You’re doing the good work.”

“Thank you.”

Malik extended his hand and Harper took it, before looking over at Alejandro.

“Are you all right, Mister Cuetes?” he asked.

Swain interrupted. “Alejandro has been a bit under the weather. Don’t worry about him. We have a meeting coming up, so I’m going to have to cut this one short. Safe journey home.”

Harper nodded, said “Door,” and stepped through the resulting portal.

It closed, leaving the two men alone, in silence.

“…I thought I told you I was going to do all the talking,” said Malik.

“I’m sorry… I’m… I’m sorry, I just… it’s keeping up appearances, isn’t it? I’m… I won’t…”

“Oh, it’s fine, it’s fine,” said Malik, dismissively.

“Please… please…”

“How old are your children now?” asked Malik.

THE REMAINS OF LAPUTA, BENEATH THE WAVES:

"Wh-what... what hit me?" murmured Superman, rubbing his jaw. Dried blood matted his chin. When was the last time he'd been hit so hard? General Zod? The thought that the angular and gangling jester from Gotham had access to such strength was horrifying, and putting the pieces together in his head answered his own question. "God damn, Bruce. How is this even possible?"

Batman checked his friend over, carefully moving his hands around the Man of Steel's jaw. It had been dislocated mere moments ago, but thanks to the solar charge in his cells, he'd already healed. "He must've saved the most advanced nanotech for himself. You know what that means?"

"Time for the hospital pass?" Superman offered.

Batman nodded.

The Joker's heat vision petered out and he staggered forward, exhausted by the exertion, and he was surprised to see Wonder Woman still standing. She was breathing heavily too, her arms covered in severe burns that blackened her skin. She wavered ever so slightly, her knees shaking, then brought her arms up into fists-- a classic boxing stance.

Across from her, the Joker simply breathed in deeply, shook off any wear and tear, then super-sped next to her, throwing an uppercut that sent her bouncing up into the forcefield, her face splitting down the cheek, before she landed awkwardly on the heavy debris of Laputa.

"C'mon! Someone ask me how I got so good at this!" The Joker said, prancing around from foot to foot and dusting off his shoulder. "Wait, did somebody say hospital pass?"

He looked over to Batman and Superman, whose attentions were momentarily on Wonder Woman's prone form across the way. There was something in the Caped Crusader's hand, behind his back, so the Joker squinted, activated his X-ray vision.

It was a small cylinder, four inches in length, the shape of a bullet, or maybe... something else, that caused the lunatic to break into a giggle fit. He couldn't hold it in. Which, considering what the bullet looked like to him, made him laugh even more. "Is that... is that a suppository?"

Batman looked at his hand, then at the Joker. The Dark Knight's fingers closed tight around the bullet, which did nothing to stifle the Clown Prince of Crime's laughter. "And why can't I see what's going on behind Superman's cape? Oooh, is that lead? Is that cape lead-lined? What have you boys got planned?"

Superman pulled the cape over him, no bare part of his body exposed, and then Batman held up the bullet. It glowed an unearthly emerald, and the Joker stumbled backwards. He knew immediately what it was that the pair had been whispering about.

Stepping away from his friend, Batman said, "This needs to end."

"K-Kryptonite?" gasped the Joker. He staggered back a few steps, sweating profusely as the alien radiation beamed down on him.

"You need to surrender," directed the Caped Crusader.

"Y-you... you really... you really went and did it..." whispered the Joker.

Batman trudged forward, holding up the bullet. "It's over."

The Joker shook his head. "You... you think... y-you think this makes you b-better than me?"

"It's--" started Batman.

The Joker's hand shot out and gripped Batman's wrist. He twisted, breaking his radius and ulna into fragments, and the Dark Knight fell to his knees. "You really think I didn't program the embarrassingly ironic weakness to Kryptonite out of the nanites making me a big strong boy?" He kicked Batman's head back, and the Caped Crusader went limp, blood erupting from his mouth and nose. The Joker then looked over at the Man of Steel, while holding the bullet in front of him. "And now I have this, and you're over there. Look at you. Curled up under your blankie. It's almost cute."

Superman stood up, even as the small plot of land at the bottom of the ocean was filled with emerald light. He breathed in, trying to give the appearance of strength, but the Joker knew better.

The Joker took a step forward. “I’ve been in your house, Superman. In the walls. All that lead. You wouldn’t know I was there unless I stood in front of you. You can thank Batman for that. All those crawl spaces lined with the one with you couldn’t ever see through*.”


“H-how long… have you been under our skin?” asked Superman.

“Under your skin? Oh, I like that. Like a splinter. Like a shard of glass. Slipping deeper and deeper, first an itch, then an infection, then you have to chop the whole damn thing off. I’m the surgeon, Superman. Slice slice slice thud. That was the sound of me cutting your hands clean awf.”

“Answer me!” shouted Superman.

“Long enough. Long enough to pilfer tech from your cutesy-wootsy trophy room. Prometheus’ helmet, for one. And all those tapes of you silly bastards training. All those full body recordings of all your best throwing down with each other. Every punch thrown by Wonder Whore. Every kick by Bats. Every everything. All downloaded into me. Making me a deadly little gremlin, gumming up the works.”

The Joker rushed forward and pushed the Kryptonite bullet against Superman’s skin. The Man of Steel flinched, and tried to pull away, but the Harlequin of Hate kept him close. “A suppository. You handed me a suppository. I just can’t help myself. I’m going to stick this right up your backside until it comes out your mouth, then I’m going to stick it through Wonder Woman’s eye, all the way through until it comes out the back of her pretty little head. Covered in alien poop and alien blood and then princess brain and bone. It’ll be as ugly a death as they come. All because you handed me a god damn suppository. Hilarious!”

Smiling imperceptibly, Superman drew his fist back and punched the Joker so hard that the villain flew backwards toward Wonder Woman, who looped the Lasso of Truth around the Clown Prince of Crime’s arms. She yanked him down, his jaw hanging loose from his face, and then continued to loop the indestructible threads around his body. The Man of Steel flew over and helped her in the act, until the villain was wrapped tight.

“Tricked by the setup to a dirty joke,” said Superman through gritted teeth. “You’re so transparent it’s embarrassing. All the world at your fingertips, and you just can’t help yourself.”

Steel in her voice, Wonder Woman asked, “How do we deactivate the nanites in your body?”

Despite himself, his mouth twisted into a vicious scowl, the Joker replied, “I just have to think it.”

Wonder Woman closed her eyes and with all her willpower and might, ordered, “Then do it.”

If there had been an aura about the Harlequin of Hate, it would have snuffed out, like someone had clicked their fingers. A light went out about the Joker. He sagged, ever so slightly, and was suddenly… human. Or, as human as a creature of chaos like he could appear.

“It’s not Kryptonite,” said Superman, holding up the bullet. “At least, not all the time.” He discarded it, casually. “Sleight of hand.” He glanced over to where the Caped Crusader was hobbling over, clutching his broken arm to his chest, a button on his utility belt that remotely activated and deactivated the radiation projector that they’d pulled out in an effort to lure the Joker into dropping his guard. A tasteless bit of blue comedy. Enough to disarm even the worst offenders.

As Batman made his way over, bleeding profusely from most of his face, he held up a syringe with his good hand. “The Engineer says this will render the nanites inert, now that we can get it into his bloodstream.”

“Then let’s get this over and done with,” said Superman.

“Not yet,” said Wonder Woman.

The Man of Steel’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“How do we deactivate the nanotechnology you’ve spread across the world?” Batman asked.

“A kill switch,” said the Joker.

Wonder Woman shook her head. “Tell us everything. Don’t piecemeal it out. The truth of the kill switch. Everything. How do we deactivate the nanotechnology?”

“The kill switch is in the command centre I built in the debris of your now sunken headquarters. It is, of course, booby-trapped. Cut the white wire. Wait five seconds. Cut the red wire. You’ll want to rethread the white. If you don’t, every single one of those little walking cancer bombs blows. Snip and tuck and then it’s all yours. Once activated, It sends a kill signal through satellites I hijacked. The nanites will deactivate.”

“Superman, go--” said Batman, but the Man of Tomorrow was already gone-- and six seconds later, he was back, holding the kill switch.

Superman nodded. “I’ve also rewired the comms array and sent the all-clear to the Hall of Justice. Called for pick-up.”

“He doesn’t mess about,” said the Joker.

“Quiet!” ordered Wonder Woman.

The waters outside shimmered, and though they couldn’t hear it, a Boom Tube manifested, with Mister Miracle and Mera appearing out of the event horizon. Miracle held up a device, and with the click of a button, the forcefield dropped, with Mera holding back the ocean as it threatened to crash down on the patch of debris-laden ground where three of the Justice League’s founding members had fought tooth and nail to take the Joker down.

“We good?” asked Mister Miracle.

“Yeah, Bruce, are we good?” asked the Joker, staring at Batman.



Enough was enough. He’d given Alejandro enough rope, and now it was looped around his throat so many times that he was surprised that the sickly man wasn’t red in the face, eyes popped out and tongue peering out through puffed up, thick lips. He’d given him enough rope, and the fact now, that Cuetes was talking to Wonder Woman, with Aquaman standing right there, was the final straw.

This ridiculous charity event. Long in the calendar, and an opportunity to spread some nanotechnologic cheer. Tasters of his little cancer treatment flitted from his skin and into the men and women wining and dining. He was careful not to inflict it upon the Justice Leaguers present, though. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Just enough nanites on the delegates so that when they went back to their prospective mansions or offices or charities, they spread death with them. Death and destrcuction that you could only see the cause of beneath a microscope.

He headed toward the three of them, close enough to hear Alejandro say, “Please, Diana, take this,” as he handed her a napkin, then, “you work with… Angela Spica, yes? The nanotechnology expert?”

“Oh, Alejandro?” said Malik, interrupting him. He could feel their eyes moving over him, and comparing him to Cuetes. Let them. If he could look these wonders in the eye and them not recognise the majesty of his truth, then no one could. He turned to Diana, and said, careful not to look away from her own gaze, “I was wondering where’d you gotten off to… Wonder Woman. What a lovely surprise. I’m Malik Swain, managing director of Aleph.” He purposefully wrapped his arm around Cuetes and squeezed him tightly. Ownership. Like caring for a pet. “Alejandro hasn’t been feeling too well but he insisted on coming. After missing all the other events this year, we thought it best he not go unaccompanied. How are--” And now, the piece de resistance-- he tensed up and coughed expectantly, the act causing him to accidentally spill his drink on Wonder Woman, catching the napkin she’d been passed by Cuetes and dousing it in merlot. The ink on the cloth ran immediately, and he declared, “Oh, no! No, no, I’m so sorry!”

Wonder Woman shook her head as she looked down at herself. “Please, don’t worry about it.”

“Oh,” whispered Cuetes. If it were at all possible, more colour drained from his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Malik patted him on the back. “Come on, Alejandro, there’s nothing for you to apologise for, that was all me.”

Aquaman was less than impressed. “I think you should both leave. Thank you for all your charitable work, Mister Cuetes, but I think your friend has had too much to drink.”

Swain frowned. “That’s probably it. Sorry again, Wonder Woman. I, oh, I feel terrible!”

Diana waved him off with a smile. “I need to go clean this off. Alejandro, please, call my organisation, we’ll organise lunch soon. It really has been too long.” She dabbed at the stain spreading across her robes and scrunched up the napkin, throwing it in the bin as she headed toward the bathroom.

Cuetes and Swain left, the latter leading the former, until they turned a few corners and reached a secluded part of the ballroom. “You don’t get to speak anymore,” said Malik. A flash of the Joker’s true face shone through as he smiled. “As in, I’ve programmed your mouth shut. Here’s the thing, Alejandro. You got cute. I saw you pass that little message onto the slut in there. I saw it with my own two eyes. You’ve been doodling a circuit all night, when you thought I wasn’t looking, but I saw. Let it happen. Wondered what you’d do. Oh. Yes. Just because your mouth is closed, don’t forget to breathe.”

Cuetes gasped, his reddening face nearly turning purple from lack of oxygen. But still, no words left his mouth. He was unable to talk, thanks to the nanomachines in his body.

“I want you to know something. What comes next? The end of the world? I’ll be the one left standing over the corpses of everything you’ve ever known and loved. I’ll be the emperor of everything you ever loved, but only after I’ve tore a grin across the face of the Earth, and it’s all thanks to you, and your money, and your weak, weak spine.”

Alejandro shook his head violently, looked around frantically, but still, could make no noise.

“I think it’s time,” said Malik, solemnly. “Finally time.”

Cuetes’ brow furrowed as the Joker leaned close to his face.

“Go out there and die, Alejandro. I’ll be right behind you,” he whispered delicately in his ear.

Cuetes, unable to control his own body, marched away, and a handful of seconds later, there came a chorus of screams and a clatter of commotion. Malik smiled, ruffled his hair and loosened his tie, then rushed into the room. He reached Cuetes’ side within seconds, and a few moments later, Wonder Woman was there, having cleaned her dress of the merlot Malik had spilled minutes before.

“What happened? Oh, no…”

“I think he’s having some kind of stroke,” said Malik, looking devastated, staring down at his CEO. He looked around frantically. “Has someone called for the paramedics?!” He headed toward the event organiser, repeating the question again and again. The die was cast. Cuetes was done.

Twitching on the floor, no noise coming from his mouth but ragged gasps, Cuetes looked Diana in the eye as he seized up, even as first aid was being administered. The left side of his face had lost any muscular cohesion, and a bead of drool fell from his mouth, but even experiencing the trauma he had, he tried to speak-- and much to Swain’s surprise, he managed to make a noise. “jjjjjjuuuhhhhhh…”

“Don’t speak, sir,” said one of the people tending to him. “Help is on the way.”

“…kkkkkuuhhhrrrrrrraaaaaaa,” drawled Cuetes. His eyes suddenly rolled into the back of his head and he spat up blood, seizures racking his body as they looked on. He choked and then went completely still, the life gone from him without any further fanfare.

“He’s dead,” said the man working on him. “I can’t… I can’t even…”

And all the Joker could think was… he died with my name on his lips, and no one could even tell…


And with the push of a button, the end times… came to a halt. Across the globe, a signal was sent via satellite that bounced from country to country from up on high, and the nanites were rendered inert inside of the fragile and broken bodies of those infected. Hundred more died. The nanites had kept them together, hidden their cancers. Without them active, every cell that had mutated into something evil had come back with a vengeance. So much death. So much destruction. And nothing the superheroes could do but… live with it.

“We just uncured cancer,” murmured Hawkman.

The core team of the Justice League were sat around the main meeting table in the Hall of Justice. Field leaders had been assigned and a worldwide action was underway. Members of the Justice Society and Titans had kindly stepped up, helping gather up those left behind in the devastation of the Joker’s attack.

Batman. Cyborg. Doctor Light. Engineer. Hawkman. Stein and Reilly, together known as Firestorm. Guardian. Hawkman. Mera. Mister Miracle. Superman. Wonder Woman. Zealot.

They’d mostly sat in silence. Katar had been the one to bring the meeting to order with his dire proclamation.

“They were… on borrowed time,” said Martin Stein. He was sat opposite Lorraine Reilly, the pair finally un-merged after their time spent together in a super-charged form created by the merging of Stein and Reilly in her Firehawk form. The process had worn them both out, but they had insisted on being there. “It’s… it’s awful, but they… they…”

Stein couldn’t look up. He couldn’t meet the gaze of the Guardian, who watched the old scientist speak.

“They died because of me,” said Harper, finally.

“No, they died because of the Joker,” corrected Wonder Woman.

“I let him in. I let him get his claws into these people. It’s on me. I should have known better. I could have. If only I hadn’t been… distracted. I have to resign. I can’t be part of the Justice League anymore.”

“Harp, you need to be here now more than ever,” said the Engineer.

“No. I really don’t,” Harper said. He stood and headed out the door. “I’m sorry. I… I’ll contact the relevant authorities. I’ll… admit everything.”

Hawkman shook his head. “James, you’re wrong. Now’s not the time for this. The Joker admitted to everything. You’re not the one who did this. He is. We all know that. You just… were caught in the crossfire.”

“The Joker said your name,” the Guardian said, pointing to the silent Batman. “He knows. This isn’t over.”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Wonder Woman.

“It’s the end of the line. For all of us. It’s the end,” said Harper. He exited, leaving the others in silence.

Wonder Woman sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

“I will,” said Hawkman. “We have… an understanding.”

Mera cleared her throat. “I have to take my leave. The Atlantean military needs to return to the oceans. With Arthur… comatose… I need to ensure the kingdom is secure. You understand.”

“Of course,” said Wonder Woman. “And thank you.”

Zealot tapped her knuckles on the meeting table before standing.. “I should go too. Raising the war banner of the Coda has introduced a new element into the ongoing introduction of the Kherubim survivors to the world. I fear for our future.”

“Atlantis stands with you,” said Mera.

“And Themyscira,” added Diana.

“I do too,” said Cyborg, who was punched in the arm by the Engineer for his troubles.

“Whatever you need, we’ll be there for you, Zannah. And thank you,” said Superman.

Mera and Zannah exited together, leaving the team to consider the next question.

“I think… now is probably not the best time for this… but I think I have to leave too,” said Cyborg.

The Engineer’s eyes opened wide. “Wha-at?!”

“I’ll… I don’t really want to get into it right now. But I will. Until then, I want to be out there, on the streets, until the dead are buried and the damage done is repaired to the best of our ability. But after that… there’s other work I need to do. I’ll explain everything once I have the words, but I have to go.”

“Cyborg, we couldn’t have gotten through this without you,” said Hawkman.

“Yeah, you would’ve. You’re the Justice League. And for a while… so was I. But there… there’s something else I need to do. Something bigger than me.”

Angie leaned toward him, and whispered, “Shouldn’t we have discussed this?”

Vic leaned his head against hers, and replied, “And let you talk me out of this? No way. Besides, you’re not going anywhere. You were born for this. You’re just getting started.”

“And there’s nothing we can do to convince you to stay?” asked Wonder Woman.

“No. Not right now. Consider me on the reserves bench. If you call me up, I’ll go to bat, but until then, I have something else to do. Just shout if you need me though, okay?”

Hawkman nodded. “It’s been an honour.”

“And you too, Katar. All of you. This is the proudest I’ve ever been, ever since my accident. Working with you. Doing the work we do. It’s been… an absolute honour. So, thank you. This isn’t the end, though. It’s just… so long for now.”

The Engineer watched Cyborg begin to leave, and she rushed after him. Halfway across the floor, she hesitated, turning back to the others. “I’m still in. I just… I need to talk to him.”

Wonder Woman nodded. “Your seat will be waiting for you when you come back.”

“Thanks. Thank you. Okay,” Angie said, before disappearing out the room.

Everyone else looked at each other, but it was Superman who broke the latest round of silence. “I come back, and everybody else starts to leave. Was it something I said?”

“Now’s probably not the best time for jokes,” said Mister Miracle.

“When is?” replied Superman.

“Can we stop dancing around it, please?” said Doctor Light.

“What’s that?” asked Hawkman.

“The elephant in the room. What are we going to do about the Joker?” Doctor Light said.

Another hanging, lingering moment of silence.

“…I don’t know,” said Batman, quietly.

“We can keep him here for now,” said Wonder Woman.

“But not forever,” said Hawkman.

“This isn’t a problem that will go away. He’s a lunatic,” said Stein.

Lorraine held her hand up. “I can, uh, recall the psychics. That girl, Omen maybe, she could… go into his head. Excise--”

Batman held up his hand. “No. Not that. Too dangerous.”

“If J’onn were here…” started Mister Miracle.

“Extradition?” offered Hawkman.

Lorraine piqued up. “To where?”

“Rann. Thanagar. Takron-Galtos. Far from here and never to be seen again,” said Hawkman.

“We can’t make him someone else’s problem,” said Batman.

“He has to be yours?” asked Hawkman.

“Ours,” corrected Wonder Woman.

“His,” repeated Hawkman.

Superman started, “This isn’t getting us--”

But then a single gunshot rang out, and the building’s state of the art alarms began to blare. Batman sprang out of his seat, and the Justice League rushed through the corridors of the Hall of Justice after him. Without saying a word, Superman and Wonder Woman rushed off ahead, leaving the others to catch up, and by the time they were all in the catacombs of the compound, deep beneath Metropolis and within the holding cells designed to hold the worst supervillains the world had to offer, it was clearly too late…

With a single gunshot wound to the head, the Joker lay dead at the Guardian’s feet, his brains spilled out of the catastrophic hole left in the back of his skull. Superman had restrained the Guardian, and the murder weapon was on the ground in front of him.

Harper simply said, “It’s over.”

But it wasn’t enough. Enraged, Batman grabbed the Guardian by the front of his tunic and slammed him into the wall as the Man of Steel released his grip. “What did you do? Harper-- what did you do?”

The Guardian continued to hold up his hands, refusing to fight back. He simply said, “Had a bad day.”


NEXT ISSUE: What’s next?