Now, it’s not often that the Joker thinks of family.

It’s truly not— he would much prefer to not have one at all. It gets in the way of his scheming, to be quite honest, but Harley has been going on and on about ‘starting a family’ and ‘broadening our relationship’ and just making his ears bleed with such mushy-gushy nuclear family nonsense.

He dismissed her concerns, obviously. Even if they had a child, they’d simply have to adopt, and there’s no chance they’d be able to find a child to suit all their needs.

Where are you going to find a child that can shoot a gun accurately or jump off buildings without fear or be near explosives?

…Honestly, it’s as though Harley didn’t think this through.

But then, well, Joker got to thinking. He got to plotting. And then, when he realized: what’s a better way to get under the Bat’s skin— the only father he actually knows— then to take one of the Bat’s Birds and make them Joker’s?

A Joker Junior.

It was great.

So that’s why you’re currently strapped to a metal table after getting hit over the head with a mallet after being lured into an alleyway after going in your own section of your patrol without Batmąn’s permission.

With a device strapped to your head.

The Joker cackles, swinging the crowbar he keeps in his study around as a bit of a threat. The lights in the funhouse— or at least this room— are dim and leave excellent shadow space. Shadow space that must be used for dramatic entrances, of course.

“Have a nice nap?” the Joker asks you pleasantly, leaning on his crowbar and grinning maniacally. Yes, the Robin will suit his purposes just fine. Then he’ll have a protégé, Harley will be shut up, and the Bat will be wonderfully upset. “I was beginning to wonder if I had hit you too hard, birdie. What if you didn’t wake back up?”

He viciously pinches the little Robin’s cheek, hard enough for your skin to burn from the friction as the Joker tugs it back and forth.

He’ll make you his Joker Junior. Him and his machine, that is. It’ll be perfect.