The Joker sat alone in his hideout, gripping a bloodied playing card. The dim light flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the cracked concrete floor. Hisoka's face flashed in his mind — smug, amused, untouched.
Harley's hand in his.
His fingers curled. The card crumpled. Blood smeared across the pale surface, mixing with the faded red diamond. His breath hitched, then steadied, slow and deliberate.
"She thinks she can walk away," he muttered. "Thinks she can trade up. Like I'm some cheap gag she can toss after the punchline."
He chuckled, dry and sharp, the sound rattling through the empty room. His eyes darted to a broken mirror in the corner. His reflection stared back — wide grin, hollow eyes. He tilted his head, watching his own face twist into something darker.
"Oh, sweetheart," he whispered. "That's not how this show ends."
He pushed off the chair, pacing across the floor. Each step echoed, boots scuffing against concrete. The goons pressed themselves against the walls, silent and still, eyes averted. They'd seen this before. The calm before the storm.
Joker dragged a gloved hand through his hair, tugging at the green strands. "She wants new company? Fine. Let's see how long he lasts. Let's see how pretty that face looks after I carve a smile into it." His voice dropped lower, almost a purr. "Let's see if she still giggles after that."
His gaze flicked to a battered jack-in-the-box on a nearby table. He spun the crank. The tinny music wheezed out, slow and uneven. Each note made the tension thicken.
Pop goes the weasel.
The lid sprang open. Nothing popped out. Joker's grin widened. "Boring."
He snatched a crowbar from the floor and swung it, smashing the box into twisted metal. The crash made one of the goons flinch. Joker turned, eyes narrowing.
"Something funny?" he hissed.
The goon shook his head.
Joker sauntered over, the crowbar dragging behind him. "No? But you laughed earlier. Remember? When I said she'd come back?" He leaned in, nose to nose with the trembling man. "I heard you."
"N-no, boss. I swear, I didn't—"
The crowbar swung. A wet crack filled the room. The goon crumpled, twitching. Joker knelt beside him, humming softly.
"Y'see," Joker whispered, "the punchline only works if everyone's paying attention." He tapped the crowbar against the man's skull, then stood, wiping the blood off on his coat. "No respect for good comedy these days."
He turned to the others. "Lesson learned, boys?"
They nodded, eyes down.
Joker clapped his hands. "Wonderful!" He threw on his purple coat, smoothing the lapels. "Now, back to business."
He strode toward the door, pausing at the threshold. His head tilted, eyes narrowing. "I'll put her down," he whispered. "But first… first, I'll make her see what a mistake she made." He licked his lips, eyes flickering with something dark. "And for that, I need a little… inspiration."
He grabbed his hat, twirling it onto his head. As he stepped over the unconscious henchman, he paused, crouching down. His grin stretched ear to ear.
"Sweet dreams, chuckles." He patted the man's cheek, then stood.
"Boys," he called. "We're paying the good doctor a visit."
The door slammed shut behind him. The hideout fell silent, save for the quiet drip of blood pooling beneath the broken man.
Scarecrow's lab reeked of chemicals. Beakers bubbled. Machines whirred. The air burned.
Joker strolled in, arms wide. "Dr. Crane! Fancy seeing you still alive. Figured one of your little test subjects might've coughed you to death by now."
Scarecrow turned, unamused. "Joker."
Joker clapped. "Oh, I love that. No 'why are you here?' No 'what do you want?' Just my name, flat as a corpse." His grin stretched. "Speaking of corpses, I'm making one soon. Need a little magic dust to speed things along."
Scarecrow folded his arms. "Not interested."
Joker tsked. "Come on, doc. You and I both know fear is the best seasoning. I want Harley's last breath soaked in it."
Crane adjusted his glasses. "If you want her dead, shoot her."
Joker wagged a finger. "No, no, no. Too simple. She needs to feel it first. I want to see her mind snap. Want to hear her beg. Maybe then she'll remember who gave her a purpose." His voice dipped, low and venomous. "Who made her."
Crane studied him. "What's in it for me?"
Joker grinned. "An upgrade. I want my old friends at Ace Chemicals to mix a little something special into your toxin. Something long-lasting. No more quick hallucinations. I want fear that lingers. Fear that grows."
Crane tilted his head. "Persistent psychosis."
Joker snapped his fingers. "Ding ding ding! Give the man a prize!"
Crane considered it. "It's possible. Risky."
Joker leaned in, eyes wild. "That's the fun part."
A long pause. Then Scarecrow nodded.
Joker laughed, clapping his hands. "Oh, this is gonna be beautiful. I can already hear her screaming."
Crane turned back to his work. "You always were sentimental."
Joker strolled toward the door. "And you always smelled like a hospital basement. Guess we all have our flaws."
He paused, looking back. "Work fast, doc. Curtain rises soon."
Then he was gone, laughter echoing through the lab.