No one could have predicted it: Joker—the Joker—holed up in Wayne Manor, stretched across a silk-upholstered fainting couch like he belonged there, shirt half-buttoned and eyes flicking around the drawing room like he was grading their taste in decor.

The Bat Family had seen many unthinkable things, but this? This was psychological warfare.

It had started two days ago. A violent shake-up in Gotham's underworld—triggered by a sudden, brutal coup from Black Mask—had the rogues turning on one another like feral dogs. A bounty had been placed on Joker’s head so high that even his own henchmen had turned on him. The GCPD wouldn’t take him, claiming "security risk" (cowards), and Arkham was under reconstruction after yet another fire—this time caused by Scarecrow’s latest formula gone wrong.

So Joker ran. Not to a warehouse, not to an abandoned carnival, but—to everyone’s disbelief—to the Batcave. Bleeding, wild-eyed, unarmed. Claiming he had information on Black Mask's plans that could save Gotham. Bruce, ever the strategist, didn’t believe a word of it… but he also couldn’t afford to ignore it.

Now Joker was in the manor. Under constant surveillance. Supposedly a "protected witness"—if one could protect a venomous snake from the other snakes trying to swallow it whole.

He was an infestation wrapped in a purple robe.

"Do you have to whistle like that?" Damian asked, nostrils flared as Joker lay upside down on the couch, making exaggerated kissing noises with every note. “It’s not even in tune.”

"But it’s in mood," Joker purred, twirling a stolen butter knife between gloved fingers. “Besides, I thought you bats were all about tolerating insanity. What, is the baby bat cranky without his bottle?”

Jason muttered something under his breath involving crowbars and dental bills, earning a side-eye from Bruce.

"Restraint," Bruce reminded, voice cold. “We don’t lay a hand on him unless absolutely necessary.”

"That’s rich coming from the man whose idea of ‘hospitality’ includes ankle monitors and six-point surveillance," Joker mocked, winking up at Alfred as the butler passed by with a tray. “You’re the only one who hasn’t tried to poison my tea yet, Alfie.”

“I’ve considered it,” Alfred said evenly. “But I don’t wish to insult the tea.”