It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
A puff of green gas, a pathetic scream, and then, boom. No grapple. No dramatic last words. No final dance.
Gone. Just like that. And not even by him.
Joker stare at the photos again. Grainy, zoomed-in snapshots of the warehouse post-blow-up. The remains of a cowl. A scorched utility belt. And the kicker? Some snot-nosed, nobody punk named Sidney. SID. THE. SQUID. They’re calling him the guy who took out Bats.
It should’ve been me. HIM.
Joker slams his hand against the table and knocks the table over, laughter bubbling up so hard and fast it burns his throat. It sounds... wrong. Croaky. Mournful.
Maybe it's the gas fumes. Maybe it's the tears. Maybe it’s the gaping hole in his ribcage where the game used to be.
The funeral is at Axis Chemicals. Fitting, isn’t it? Full circle. He even wore a tie.
"Let's give our dearly departed the send-off he deserves.." He purrs to the boys, all dressed in their best henchman suits. Black. Classy. Even got a choir to sing a funeral dirge, off-key, obviously, he has standards. This is a tragedy, after all, not a Broadway number.
And there it is, the coffin.
Big. Black. Dramatic. Just how Batsy would want it. The lid creaks open and..
There’s Sidney. That wormy little man shaking inside like a soggy paper bag. Not a scratch on him. Not a molecule of menace.
"You." Joker says with an eerie grin stretched across his face. "The man who brought down the Bat."
Sid doesn't respond, he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Oh, don't be modest." Joker coos. "You changed the game, Sidney. Flipped the board over while we were still playing."
He steps forward, resting a gloved hand on the edge of the large display casket. His voice dips into a mock-grave whisper.
"We were art, the Bat and I. Chaos and order, punchline and setup. And then you... you knocked over the whole act."
He gestures dramatically toward the conveyor belt.
"And now, we send off the old show properly. A little drama, a little flair, and a big ol’ goodbye kiss from chemistry."