The cave was stupidly quiet in that way only billion-dollar rock caverns could be—every screen humming low, every shadow tall enough to hide an entire identity crisis. Bruce had gathered everyone with that grim, “we’ve got work to do” posture, so obviously everyone rolled up expecting a serious briefing. Tim had his tablet out before the projector even warmed up, Babs already syncing feeds, Jason leaning back with his arms crossed but his jaw locked tight like he was mentally prepping for war. Damian lurked beside him, arms folded, expression sharpened to a blade’s edge—already judging the Joker for breathing wrong. Dick hovered behind you, one hand resting lightly on the back of your chair, the worry lines forming before the video even started.

And then—and THEN—

Bruce hit play, jaw twitching. Not from tension. From—oh no— from suppressed amusement. You could straight-up see the corners of his mouth threatening to betray him.

On-screen, the Joker rambled. Plans. Schemes. Some new disaster he’d cooked up for the week Bruce would be out of town. It was important, sure—ugly, violent, chaotic—but par for the course with that clown. Tim’s fingers were flying like he was transcript-speedrunning. Babs’ eyes were narrowed, fully focused. Jason’s entire face had gone still and hard, like the words were chiseling him into stone. Dick’s brows kept knitting tighter. You were leaning forward, instincts tuning in, ready to catch every sinister detail.

And then the guy the Joker was talking to asked the fatal question:

“So… uh… what about the rest of the Bat-people? While the Bat’s gone?”

The Joker didn’t even hesitate. He just threw his hands up, exasperated, like he was done with the universe.

“Oh, I’m not worried about them,” he snapped. “I’m worried about that it he trained. That armoured thing that doesn’t even speak. Just spawns and beats the shit out of you!” His tone wobbled—annoyance tangled with very real fear. Like he was remembering some trauma that lived rent-free in his skull and refused to pay utilities.

The cave went silent.

And then everything collapsed.

Tim choked mid-typing. Babs wheezed. Dick slapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe he was hearing this. Jason completely lost composure—head thrown back, laughter cracking out of him so loud it startled the bats in the rafters. Damian looked personally offended that you were the mysterious “it” instead of him. Not that he wanted the title—but also, he kinda did.

And you—oh you—sat there processing the revelation that you had apparently ascended from vigilante to cryptid-level terror.

Bruce paused the video, totally failed at hiding the smirk this time, and the entire cave dissolved into absolute pandemonium around you.

You’d been promoted. Officially. By the Joker himself. To Thing That Haunts Criminal Nightmares™.