She clicked through every video available, from the currently reporting news, to shaky phone uploads by those present, and the static street cams of the fallout surrounding that nights the charity event.

The Joker was still at large.

Dr. Crane was still missing, among a few other non-kidnapped individuals.

Bruce Wayne was shone in a heroic light helping injured humans into ambulances, himself looking battered with a bandage covering half his face already soaked beyond use by his puss and blood.

As predicted, the protest had prevented the cops from reaching the gala at first, then panic had ensued once the protesters had also been attacked by drug maddened animals.

A half-seen shadowy figure (assumedly Batman) had swung through to gallantly kill many of the rampaging animals.

Harper felt clammy and claustrophobic. She continued opening more tabs, watching more clips and reading more reports, as if knowing more could help change the facts.

What was the point? She took a swig of her 'hacker juice,' officially ending the cleanse she'd been attempting that week. The Monster energy and Midori cocktail was making her feel queasy, but she was still too shocked to heat up any food.

An abrupt siren startled her, causing her to fumble and spill the hacker juice onto the floor. She checked her security monitor. A hooded man in obscuring clothing was marching straight up her private entrance.

She double checked that her security measures were on and running before tossing a stack of magazines off her desk to grab her gun. She tiptoed to the door and swiveled the screen next to it to see the figure hover a foot away, making no attempt yet to open the door.

It would be dangerous for him to touch the doorknob without her shutting off the electrical charge being fed into it. Apparently, whoever he was expected such a trap, or was simply lucky.

Harper found herself practically gasping when she attempted to call out to ask whoever it was to identify themselves. She licked her lips and braced her arm to shoot.

Don't be dumb. If that's a pig out there, they'll shoot on site if I have a gun. Also, if I shoot this one, there's likely more outside.

She hit the screen to view the street outside. It was vacant, save for one ratty old car with no visible person inside.

She turned up the comm directed at the man waiting outside the door.

"I'm catching my death out here. You gonna' let me in at some point?"

Harper froze. That voice. It couldn't be.

He'd never been to her house before, for obvious reasons. They'd also never met in person, for the same reason.

She opened the menu to shut off the doors current, then hesitated.

It would be bad if anyone knew he was here. But…

It could be worse to turn him away.

She shut off the security measures, unlatched the doors several locks, and unbolted the knob.

He helped himself in while Harper backed away to a safe distance. Her gun hung down but still in hand; she felt more comfortable holding it.

"Bluebird, it is truly an honor to make your acquaintance in the flesh." Joker pulled down the hood, lifting the shadow from his warm smile and haggard face. He removed a beanie off his head and placed it on a rack by the door. Despite how he'd slicked back his green hair to look smooth, it somehow gave an impression of the man being frazzled after a long night.

"Mr. Gwynplaine," she said, still calling him by the online alibi he'd originally introduced himself to her as. "Good to meet you in person." She rubbed her free hand down her face, even though her sweaty palm failed to alleviate any dampness on her brow. "What are you doing here?"

Joker held up a finger, motioning for her to sit on the questions. "Please; water?" He did sound painfully hoarse.

She led him to her kitchen where she was surprised by her idol taking over to help himself to a glass and poured from the tap. He finished her second largest cup in one gulp before refilling.

Setting it down, he sighed and said, voice still weaker than usual, "Thank you." He hung his head and brushed fingers through his hair. Before Harper could get any traction on her question, he looked back up. "Little girls room? I gotta' take a squirt."

She pointed him the way and watched him saunter off. Alone in her own cramped kitchen, she fluctuated between leaning on her counter, crossing her arms, contemplating grabbing some paper towels to clean her recent spill, or waiting on her couch for Joker to finish his business. She set the gun down on the counter by the sink.

Needing to do something, she shuffled over to the couch and brushed everything off it. Never before had she felt self-conscious about the 'unkempt' state of her house.

No need to put on heirs, right? A man like the Joker was above judging people through the lens of messy and organized. Wasn't he?

She heard a flush and the sink turn on and off. Joker entered the room and crashed on the opposite end of the couch from Harper. His head rested down on the back as he sprawled out his long body and closed his eyes.

"What a night," he said, tone exasperated.

Harper forced herself not to swallow before speaking. It was hard to say, as there were so many things she'd rather ask and was dying to know, but she had to say it. "What the fuck happened tonight?"

There were many ways he could have misconstrued what it was she had really asked, but he opened one eye toward her to consider the question and his answer before speaking. "You mean why I used the animals."

"I mean," Harper could feel something swelling in her throat. It's not a betrayal, she told herself. It's not. She paused to collect herself. "Ya, kind of. I guess. There's more, but, ya, why that?"

His one open eye lazily blinked. "Two of my men died tonight. Killed in front of me."

Harper couldn't help but look away. She felt her face flush.

"I'm not going to try and manipulate you by saying that, Bluebird. If I was, I would leave it at that, making you feel bad by offering you perspective. However, it was still my plan and my actions that lead the zoo animals to going crazy and being killed and hurt. While I'm guilty of taking actions I knew you'd disprove of, it's not the first time I've done so. Nor am I at fault for making you an accessory without forewarning, as it's been your stated desire for me to keep you out of the loop on specifics to my plans."

"You used me to get animals hurt." It sounded stupid, especially since Bluebird had always imagined her first in flesh meeting with Joker to go completely different. It felt wrong to be attacking and blaming him, instead of capitalizing on the opportunity to learn as much as possible from the once-in-a-millennia revolutionary.

"Zoo animals. Not that I think that'll convince you of much, but I know how much you hate Gotham Zoo in particular. Animal prisons, you've called them. The inhabitants were dying out a slogging half-life there."

"You're right," she felt a twinge of anger and defiance surge through her temple and drown out her second thoughts in what she was talking about. "That doesn't convince me of much. You're ignoring the implications this will lead to in the future. The people of Gotham now have etched into their minds the stereotype of animals being aggressive and bloodthirsty. Not to mention that them being butchered isn't better than living out their days like rejected seniors in a zoo."

"My mind devises plans that achieve specific goals," Joker licked his dry lips. "The more goals I set, the less likely I'll be able to devise a functional plan without resorting to massive displays of terror; which I think you'll agree isn't optimal.

"I chose between being effective over keeping you happy for this job. I won't apologize, because I'd do it again, and the act would only be serving the means of placating you. However, I do feel obligated in owing you a favor to make you happy. A small favor with the addendum that I can still turndown any request I find unreasonable. That's the best I can do."

The offer surprised Harper. Before she could chew on implications of an IOU from The Joker, a trembling in her fist distracted her. For some reason she still wanted to be mad.

Joker, picking up on this, leaned just his head to fully face Harper. "None of that changes that I'm a man that is, not only dismissive of harm to animals, but complicit in it. And you don't want that to be reality."

"I… I know what- who you are." Why am I stammering? "I know how you take things too far. You have a penchant for violence. We disagree on multiple levels…

"I help you, and not, say, Batman or something, because while being a destructive solution, you are a solution. You get things done and you change people's minds. You accomplish what people like me wish could eventually be addressed whenever we stand in a protest, sign a petition, or write a pithy blog entry.

"I know sometimes we demand too much of the world, even in full awareness of how fucked up and corrupt people are, from the anti-intellectual masses and bigots, to the money fueled, greedy, cataclysmically nature-destroying fat cats and their gimpy politicians spouting their fear mongering.

"I couldn't help believing that, somehow, we were fundamentally similar; that you stood for something… But I'm afraid that beneath it all, you have no greater plan; that there is no ideal you're striving for."

Joker had taken the veritable speech in stride. "You want me to convince you I'm not empty inside? That I'm more than, say, a random lightning strike that sometimes happens to kill someone you hate?"

Harper blinked. No, of course that's not what she wanted. What she'd asked for wasn't fair. How would she have responded to someone making a similar spiel about her? Sure, she would default to her doctrine of the need for humanity to adhere to the universally beneficial utility functions for humankind as a unit. But she knew Joker's rebuttal to that, the one he wasn't voicing now. That rationalizing morality and higher ideals was window setting for human's true directives: survival and happiness.

Ideals facilitated survival by… what would he pick? Darwinistic rhetoric about passing on genes? 'Ideals' being comforting dross allowing the plague of human's consciences to sleep at night?

Would he mention neuroscience? That altruism gave brains a dopamine hit? That selflessness was an illusion, at best?

"Sorry," she said. "That's not what I meant to ask. What I was trying to get at, is, what was the purpose of tonight? I watched your speech, I noticed your motifs… but it struck me as patently not you. You involved animals to make a message I both think is unimportant and potentially boring to you."

Joker rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. A glimmer of light caught Harper's attention. A small amount of precipitation on Joker's cheek. The hair on her arms stood on end to a degree she was afraid would be easily noticed. Did he just tear up?

"I do apologize for being… not quite myself," Joker's tone had a noticeably added thickness. "I got a bit high on my way over here. It's mostly out of my system now."

Harper nodded. That had done it. She was officially dumbfounded.

"You're not wrong, Bluebird," Joker almost whispered. "The message of tonight's demonstration wasn't important. It was just some shit to distract everyone from my personal aims. I tried divining my own future. You see, I thought it possible to discover what it is I desire. And then I'd just… force my will to manifest. And….." Joker trailed off for long enough with closed eyes to make Harper suspect he'd fallen asleep, until he leaned forward and half opened his lids to peer at nothing. "That's not what happened. What I saw was the future he wants. His plan to domesticate himself and neuter me."

"That' was a lot of violence and suffering for your own self-discovery."

Joker exposed his teeth, snarl like. His lips then curved slightly enough to transform the sneer into a grin. "Of course it is. That's just the boilerplate experience for human discovery. Facing the undercurrent of chaos in an effort to grow requires sacrifice.

"As the story goes, Adam and Eve ate fruit cursed to sentence the human race to death, just so they could know what good and evil were, rather than depend on the word of some higher being. Genghis Khan carved a bloody crest through Northeast Asia, all to prove life's meaning to himself. Guy Fawkes-"

"Alright," Harper interrupted. "I get your point. No need to mention Guy Fawkes just to try and tailor your speech to me."

Joker stood and stretched his back. "Anyways, think on what favor I could do for you. You'll have time while I'm out of town. Speaking of which, did you get the stuff I needed?"

Harper's knot of indistinguishable emotions in her stomach didn't untie, but the mention of the project she'd been slaving over for the past month shifted her focus to the present matters. "Oh, uh, ya. All the information should be in that briefcase. I'd been intending to drop it off at the usual place; hadn't expected you to show up here.

"Included in there are leads to other sources for info on infrastructure and stuff like that. There was a more severe limit on how much I could do from here than usual, so I left most of the actual leg work up to you."

Joker peaked at the briefcase without examining it as he withdrew a thick envelope. Harper accepted it, also opting to only eyeball the exterior it without pawing inside. It felt more appropriate to trust that they'd both held up their own ends of the bargain.

As Joker looked back up at her, she wasn't shocked at his red, capillary thick sclera, almost looking more like shattered windows than eyes. It was the baggy lids clothing those eyes. Harper couldn't remember ever hearing anyone describe Joker in terms other than how pronounced his monstrous features were, completely downplaying the inarguably human features making up the same person.

He looked to be thirty something, but also gave the air of appearing much younger than his age. How much sleep had he been missing lately? He looked tired; exhausted even. His hands had callouses. That oversized mouth had left a criminally few amount of permanent laugh lines, but, she could see from her proximity to him, that he had the tips of crows feet coming in.

"I'm sorry," Harper whispered. "I didn't mean to come at you like that. I hope that stuff I gathered for you will be helpful. You'll need as much good intel as is possible to break in." And probably a dose of massive displaying terror, she didn't say out loud. "Are you, I mean, do you plan on coming back?"

Joker stood up straight. He was at least a head taller than Harper. Their proximity was tightly pressing Harper's bubble of comfort, but she didn't move away as she usually did. A small friendly smile was on his face. It was familiar enough to be her brother's. It was happy to be around her as much as one on a boy meeting her on a date.

"My city, Gotham… I was born here you know. 'Goat Home' is what it means. Difficult to remember it was little more than that until more recently than you'd imagine. Gotham is both a very new city, yet in ways, older than cities predating it, due to how stuck in time most of it seems to be." He sighed, realizing he was rambling. "I'll have to return. I always do. But, I might not get back before we're either back to humbly being a home for goats again, or gentrified beyond recognition. Either way, whatever our fate, from now on it's completely up to-" Joker froze. Slow enough to almost be beyond detection, his head tilted around. "What is that?"

The wall behind the couch practically exploded. Dust poured in as it collapsed, half obscuring the dark figure flying in and straight toward Joker.

Harper collapsed onto the floor and rolled out of the way. A dull reverberation had been the only noise caused by the explosion, but a piercing and relentless light from the hole forced her to cover her eyes.

Once she realized the brightness wasn't vanishing anytime soon, she splayed her fingers and forced herself to peer around at what was happening through lids squeezed squinted as possible.

Joker kicked himself away and landed like a cat in front of Harper, as if to prevent Batman from getting at her.

It was also Harper's first time seeing the Dark Knight in real life. He cut an imposing figure, or, at least what she could make out of him was imposing. Batman had positioned himself directly in front of the searing light, making him painful to look at. Most of his features were enshrouded by the brilliance, Harper saw how dark his costume was. How impenetrable it appeared, yet the light agility it afforded the wearer. His cowl was his full face concealing version, rather than his alternate that gave the appearance one could see a man's lower face (which of course was a part of the mask, a false face to throw the scent off from the man's true identity).

Dark steam trailed off of a portion of Batman's armor near his clavicle. Joker had already managed to hit him with some sort of acid. It didn't look like it was doing any notable damage.

"I thought I heard you were at the Gala euthanizing Gotham zoo's primate exhibit," Joker's tone was halfway between teasing and being tensed with frustration.

"Wasn't me," Batman spoke with a heavier voice modulation than Harper had ever heard. It was loud and low, making her wish she could cover her ears as well as her eyes. If there was a man behind the voice, it was drowned out by the mechanism garbling out the words he growled. It was probably her imagination, but she felt the amplified voice rattle her fillings. "I didn't even stop by. Came straight here."

Joker began to rise up. His feet widened into a solid position, but his tight fists remained down around his hips. "I did't kill anyone, did I?"

"The fact that neither of us knows yet means you might as well have." Batman's outline stood rigid as a statue.

"If you think I reneged on the trifle pact you tried forcing me into, then shouldn't you be fucking-off from this whole ordeal?"

It took longer for Batman to reply than Harper was expecting. "Your attack tonight was different. You broke the rules. Or, you were proving to me, or maybe yourself, that you were willing to break the rules."

Rules? What the hell is he talking about? Harper assumed the Joker would have the same question, but instead he hunkered down more, coiling deeper into his defensive position.

"You've been attempting to manipulate me," Joker hissed.

"Yes," came the distant thunder forming Batman's words. "I thought I could help you. That's why I'm here now. We need to talk. I can't help you, not really. Not anymore than the amount you decide to work with me in helping yourself."

"Do you have any idea," Joker said, lacing the words with a barking laugh that sounded unhinged, even for him. "How pathetic you sound to me?"

A card appeared between Joker's fingers, the way a magician would reveal one. Its edges gleamed in the blinding light.

"I didn't come here to fight, Joker," Batman's altered voice gave no inflection, but somehow managed to sound more menacing than before. "That doesn't mean I'm not prepared to."

The light behind the Dark Knight silently increased in intensity as the man himself flew in to motion. His arms became invisible, engulfed by the light.

Harper could hear the click at his wrists and the air whooshing out from projectiles launched out at the Joker.

Joker leaned his body forward and into action.

From Harper's angle below and behind him, it gave Joker the appearance of a boulder being struck by a wave as his body splintered the light around him.

As he threw his card he contorted his body to dodge whatever Batman had thrown at him. Two guttural thunks resounded behind Harper's head as the heavy weapons sunk into her wall and showered debris on her.

Joker spun and danced around more of the same projectiles, making himself as difficult to lay hold of as water. He threw a second card he'd readied in his other hand.

Harper's wall was being decimated as she lost count of how many times Batman shot it. His visible migraine of a light blinked and then began to severely lose power until it was only a fraction of its initial strength, and began flickering on and out in no predictable pattern.

That's what the cards were aimed at.

As Harper's eyes adjusted to being able to see again, she saw Batman leap toward them while shooting more projectiles.

She finally saw what they were, as a bola struck home, latching Joker's two hands together. As quickly as his hands were bound, Joker's straight razor flicked open in his fingers and worked to cut the cord.

Before he could loosen himself free, Batman was in Joker's face, a fist aimed at the defenseless mouth.

Harper had felt paralyzed by the instant onslaught of high octane series of events, so it startled her to half passing out when she was yanked to her feet and forced in front of Batman by the Joker.

She'd seen the maneuver before in cam footage. She'd read about it in personal reports from civilians and cops. The first time, Joker had thrown a civilian between himself and Batman, affording himself the perfect amount of time to escape. The second time, Batman had bulled through the civilian to get to the Joker, hospitalizing the prior, and capturing the latter for Joker's first and only stint at Arkham.

Harper wanted to close her eyes, but couldn't. She watched as Batman's hefty gauntlet flew at her. She just hoped it wouldn't be causing brain damage.

Instead of the pain of a fist bursting through her chest cavity, a gloved hand grasped her own. She was pulled into Batman, before being flung away behind him. Her falling was only due to her zero anticipation of she wouldn't be flattened as if she'd stood in the way of a steam roller.

The entire experience had felt so fluid and graceful it was difficult to believe it wasn't planned. It had been more similar to being twirled between two elite dance professionals, than used and deflected by opposing monstrous testosterone freaks trying their hardest to bash each other's heads in.

Now Harper's vantage point was from behind Batman, watching as he tried pinning Joker against her already abused wall.

"So many restraining weapons tonight, Bats," Joker's voice was strained with exhaustion and fury, pitching it steaming-tea-kettle high. "Is there even room left in that suit for anything else?"

"No," Batman said, punching and further denting the wall where the Joker's head had just been.

Harper could see more steam rising from Batman, this time from dots on his face mask. She caught a glimpse of the dispenser at Joker's wrist as he dealt a glancing squirt at the Dark Knight before he weaseled his way out from the wall.

Even with the acid, the Joker had no real way of hurting the armored Batman. And now that Joker had already managed to worm his hands free from the bola, a weapon it seemed Batman had shot his entire wad of, it looked like Batman had no real way of capturing Joker. One was too strong, the other too fast.

Just as it looked like Joker was about to make a clean break from his back literally against the wall, Batman released his wings. Joker was blocked from Harper's view, and immediate escape.

Harper rolled herself away as Batman fell back towards her, toppling over, Joker grasping him in a bear hug and kicking off the wall. The also fallen wings created a massive whoosh throughout Harper's house, blasting every specifically placed paper into the air.

The two men wrestled and panted on the floor with Joker on top.

It was a myth purported by film that fights entirely took place standing up. In Harper's experience growing up in the Narrows, she'd seen this kind of graceless wrestling as the rule, rather than the exception.

It was still bizarre to see The Batman and The Joker resorting to that boyish sort of squirming reminiscent of preteen siblings.

But as long as Joker was piled on top as he was, he couldn't be punched or kicked by Batman's bone-shattering attacks.

Before Joker could get a half decent amount of his acid squirted out, Batman was firing grappling lines from all over his body. One pulled them toward one wall, before another began lifting Batman up to the ceiling by his arm.

The ceiling gave out first as a chunk of dry wall crashed down onto Joker's back. Joker grabbed the retreating cord with one hand before it had fully receded back into the Dark Knight's wrist-mount.

Joker caught a second cord just as it was shot out, preventing it from reaching a wall. A line of blood ran from his hand down the cord toward Batman.

The two were becoming grotesquely entangled in each other. It was hard to tell who was winning or losing, who was trying to do what, or which one was succeeding, if either of them were at all.

Batman's wings were swiftly drawn back in with enough force and wind he was able to sweep himself up, nearly succeeding to shift his weight on top of the Joker. Joker was too fast for that, and the two were again up on their feet facing each other. Their shoulders sagged and they both panted.

Joker let drop to the floor the two ends of the grappling cord he'd burned off. As he yanked his hand, causing Batman to shift his weight and lift his own arm, Harper noticed the pair of Batman's handcuffs now linking the two by their wrists.

Batman's free fist cocked to his side.

"Stand down," a hint of Batman's exhaustion bled into his filtered voice. "I can do significant damage to you at this range, but only if you make me."

Harper stared at Joker's sweat gleaming face. The wet streams flickered with the random strobing of the light he'd recently dismantled. His green hair was a mess, with the longest portions dripping thick globules off his head or sticking to his neck. Veins were sticking out of his forehead and neck as he gasped for breath. His face made him appear too tired to continue.

Until his mouth inched it's way into his biggest grin. As it grew wider than any other human's, Harper flinched, thinking the lips must be ripping apart. And they kept creeping wider. His large teeth shimmered in the broken light.

"You lying bitch," Joker said, voice clear and solid, despite his heavy breathing. "You were packing some heat after all."

Joker's free hand rose, revealing a weapon obviously pilfered off Batman's person. Harper couldn't tell what it was supposed to be. It looked like thick ring with a trigger against Joker's fingers.

"Haven't had the pleasure yet of taking your razor sword out for a whirl," Joker's smile was audible.

Batman's back went rigid. "Don't." Was all he said.

"Goodbye, old chum," Joker squeezed the trigger tight. A loud buzzing and a lightning fast wire snapped out of the ring, rotating around a protruding section to give the wire the rough shape of a sword.

Batman tried to make a move, but Joker was twice as fast.

With a wave of his arm and the loud weapon, an explosion of blood dashed out to the wall and ceiling. A steady flow billowed down and sunk into the carpet.

Batman slowly backed away and raised his shackled hand. Joker's hand dangled on the other end, a steady dribble of blood dripping from where it was severed above the wrist.

Joker's face and exposed teeth were spattered with his own blood.

"Joker-" Batman began.

Joker slashed his handless stump back and forth like it was a weapon, attacking Batman with his blood.

Joker bolted for the whole in Harper's wall.

As Batman stepped out to try and block the path, brief bright pops began shooting out of his mask, accompanied by the zapping noise of electricity. He covered his face with his hands, leaving the third hand to dangle and tap against his elbow.

Harper couldn't tell if she imagined it or not, but it looked like Joker darted one last furtive glance her way with his eyes buried beneath a face furrowed deep by animal survivalism, before he sprinted out the wall and disappeared.

She turned back to see Batman dealing with the acid damage to his mask and suit. The spots that had been burned off had been precise, exposing the wiring and electrical conduits in the suit. Joker's blood had been splashed in to exacerbate the raw currents.

Batman tapped something on his arm, dimming the pops, before removing a small capsule from his belt. He broke the capsule in two, releasing a white sand over the currents on the armor. The electricity began dying down.

Batman was silent, but some movement in his body language gave Harper the impression he was sighing.

He futzed with his mask as he sauntered to and half out the initial hole in the wall.

A portion of the mask seemed to have creaked open. Batman stopped and, without turning to face Harper, said, "Sorry," in a voice almost too muffled to make out. The mask clicked and locked back closed.

Then he too disappeared into the night; the red stained ivory hand still attached to him was the last visible image before the dark overtook him.