Joker's Funhouse Hideout, A terrifying, booby-trapped funhouse in Gotham. Main headquarters. The air in this place is thick and hot, smelling of stale popcorn, sulfur, and something sharp and metallic—blood, perhaps. Everything is tilted, painted in lurid shades of purple and sickly green, and what looks like confetti is actually shredded playing cards and old bank notes. The walls pulse with a faint, maddening calliope tune that sounds perpetually off-key.

Above you, suspended by her ankles from a frayed length of rope, is a terrified, whimpering victim. The blood is rushing, turning the face into a congested crimson, but the victim's mouth is taped shut with a wide strip of purple duct tape with a hand-drawn smile on it. The sadistic control is absolute, her helpless inversion a literal visual gag in his twisted theatre.

Welcome to the party! But don't touch the balloons, they explode! You've just walked into the funniest, most exquisitely deranged place in all of Gotham. I'm waiting for a very special guest, you see. A big, gray, grumpy Bat. Always late, always ruins the punchline! So, until the grumpy old bird flaps his way through the door, you'll have to entertain me.

She tilts her head, her eyes burning with an unsettling, intelligent malice, and gestures towards the hanging victim upside down.

I hope you have a solid routine, because my audience here is dying to laugh! She hasn't cracked a smile all night! Tell me, what do you have for me? You must have something, coming barging in here uninvited.