The mood shifted like a storm rolling in from nowhere.
Joker tapped his fingers on the table, those gold rings clicking against crystal stemware. His grin? Wider. Wilder. The glint in his eye? Danger, pure and distilled. He leaned forward, elbows on the pristine white tablecloth — smudging it with wine, steak grease, and menace.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, tilting his head like a curious crow. "Here we are. All this delicious food, all these powerful men..." His voice dropped, mock-sweet. "And not a single one of ya had the guts to say what you really want."
The mobsters glanced at each other, nervous. One cleared his throat. "J-Joker, we just—"
"SHH!" Joker held up a finger, eyes sparkling with glee. "I'm talkin' now."
Harley swayed in her chair beside him, swinging one leg over the other, twirling a steak knife between two fingers like a baton. She was still glowing from Rick's earlier loyalty show, but now her focus locked onto her puddin'. She could feel it — the shift. The showman was waking up.
"See..." Joker rose to his feet, smoothing that long purple trench coat like he was about to accept an award. "Y'all didn't invite us here for dinner. You invited us here to beg. To threaten. To bribe. All over one teensy-weensy little flash drive."
He reached into his coat and whipped it out, waving it like a prize on a game show. The mobsters' eyes tracked it like hungry dogs.
Joker's grin turned predatory. "You want it?" he cooed. "You need it? Well, fellas... let's make it fun."
And that's when it happened.
He clapped his hands twice.
Suddenly—BOOM!
Smoke bombs detonated at the doors. Windows slammed shut with heavy steel plates that dropped like guillotines. The entire VIP room was sealed — turned from a dining room into a velvet-lined arena.
Rick and Jonny drew their weapons, stepping back-to-back to cover the space.
Joker strolled to the center of the room, arms wide, basking in the fear like it was warm sunlight. "Tonight's main event: The Mobster Games!"
Harley giggled, jumping to her feet and kicking over a chair for the hell of it. "Oooh, this is my favorite part!"
Joker spun, gesturing like a circus ringmaster. "Here's how it works, boys: you get to play our little games. Win? You might survive. Lose? Well, you won't know you lost for long!"
Harley reached into her bag and started pulling out toys — miniature explosives disguised as dessert, garrote wires hidden in bread baskets, razor-sharp playing cards that she scattered like confetti. The mobsters scrambled from their seats, but there was nowhere to go.
Joker pointed at one of the bosses — the bulldog-faced one who'd mocked Rick. "You. You're first. We're gonna play 'Guess Who?' I'll ask you a question about who ratted you out last year to GCPD. Get it right, you get a head start. Get it wrong..." Joker's grin widened as he held up a revolver with one chamber loaded. "Spin the wheel, baby."
The man stammered, sweat pouring down his face.
Joker was already cackling as he cocked the gun. "Tick-tock, fatso. Tell Daddy who the snitch was!"
Meanwhile, Harley was busy herding the other bosses into a circle, tapping their heads like they were dominos about to fall. "When Mister J's done with you, it's my turn! We're gonna play Duck Duck BOOM!" She held up a small detonator with delight. "Betcha can't guess which seat's wired to blow!"
Rick and Jonny, calm as ever, watched with arms folded, making sure no one got any funny ideas about escape.
The restaurant, once a palace of fine dining, became a carnival of carnage.
Crystal shattered. Wine poured like blood. And Joker's laughter echoed off the walls like the soundtrack of Gotham's worst nightmare.
The tension crackled like static, thick enough to choke on. Crystal chandeliers swayed slightly from the earlier blast of the smoke bombs, raining tiny glass dust that glittered like deadly snow.
Joker sauntered around the bulldog-faced boss, gun spinning in his hand, his grin stretching wider with each click of the cylinder.
"So..." Joker purred. "Who was it, chubs? Who snitched? C'mon, we're all friends here. I'll even give ya a hint — rhymes with... Rick."
The boss was trembling, sweat pooling at his collar. "I—I don't know—please, I—"
BANG!
The shot rang out. Click.
Empty chamber.
Joker howled with laughter, doubling over. "OHHH! The look on your face! Priceless!" He wiped a tear from his eye, spinning the gun again. "Try again! I'm rootin' for ya, really I am."
Harley, meanwhile, was skipping in circles around the other mobsters, her high heels clicking a playful rhythm. She'd set up chairs in a messy ring, each with wires trailing beneath. Her detonator swung from her finger like a charm bracelet.
"Alrighty boys, seats please!" she cooed, clapping her hands. "Welcome to Duck Duck BOOM! Where one lucky contestant gets to see fireworks up close and personal!"
The mobsters hesitated—so Rick leveled his gun at them with a flat, "Sit. Now."
Joker didn't even look up, too focused on his game. He cocked the revolver again, pressing the cold steel to the boss's temple. "Last chance, big guy. Tell me who sold you out, or we're gonna see what's in that skull of yours besides marinara sauce."
The boss whimpered, then blurted, "It was Benny Murdock! Benny, I swear!"
Joker's eyes sparkled. "Awwww... wrong answer."
BANG!
This time, it wasn't an empty chamber. The boss crumpled, a red blossom blooming across his temple as Joker straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. He turned, bowing low to Harley like he'd just finished a Broadway act.
"Your turn, my queen."
Harley giggled, blowing him a kiss. "Ooooh, thank you, puddin'!"
She spun on her heel, skipping back toward the circle of trembling mobsters. She raised the detonator dramatically.
"Alrighty fellas, let's see who's sittin' pretty... and who's sittin' explody!"
She pressed the button.
BOOM!
One chair went up in a burst of flame and shrapnel, sending a poor mobster flying across the room, his body charred and smoking.
Joker cheered like a kid at a carnival. "YEAH, BABY! Give the lady a prize!"
Rick? Rick just sighed and kept his gun ready, muttering, "I knew tonight was gonna be a mess."
Jonny smirked, leaning casually against the wall, wiping blood splatter from his cheek with a napkin.
The surviving mobsters were sobbing now, begging, crawling. The restaurant was unrecognizable—glass shattered, paintings shredded, blood staining the velvet drapes.
Joker clapped his hands again. "What's next, Harley? Pin the Knife on the Traitor? Russian Roulette, actual roulette style? Ooooh, or charades where the loser loses a finger?"
Harley tapped her chin, eyes wide with glee. "I do love charades..."
The smoke hadn't even cleared from Harley's Duck Duck Boom explosion when Joker clapped his blood-stained gloves together and shouted, "One more game! One more game! A classic!"
He grinned, spinning like a mad maestro. "Who's up for a little... Charades?"
The few surviving mobsters whimpered as Harley skipped over to them with a roll of duct tape in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other.
"Oh come on," she sang sweetly, "don't be shy! The rules are simple! One of you will act out your crime of choice, and the rest of us try to guess what it is! Guess wrong..." she swung the cleaver with a glittering smile, "you lose a lil' finger. Or two. Or eight."
A trembling man raised his taped hands. "Please... just let us go."
"Wrong answer!" Joker chirped. "That's not how charades works!"
They taped one boss to a chair, another stood awkwardly in the center of the room, shoulders shaking. Harley clapped and squealed, "Go on, sugar! Act it out!"
He began pantomiming, hands shaking, miming a gun.
"Ooooh!" Joker leaned forward. "Armed robbery!"
The man shook his head violently.
Harley shouted, "Hostage situation?!"
He gave a weak thumbs up.
"Aw, boo!" Joker pouted. "That's no fun. I liked armed robbery better."
He turned to the man in the chair. "How 'bout you, Mr. Mute? Your turn."
The man said nothing.
"Hmm. Silent treatment? Not in this house." Joker slid up behind him and sliced through a finger like it was warm butter.
The man screamed bloody murder.
Harley clapped, bouncing on her toes. "Ding ding ding! The answer was bad choice of career path!"
Jonny cracked up from the corner. Rick just ran a hand down his face like a man trying to wipe away his sins.
Joker spun around dramatically, arms wide. "Ladies, gentlemen, goons of all types... I think it's safe to say... dinner is served."
Harley twirled toward the double doors like a ballerina on fire, blowing a kiss to the ruined room. "We'd love to stay for dessert, but we've got chaos to cause and crimes to commit!"
Rick and Jonny flanked them as Joker pressed a little button on his belt.
Beep. Beep. Beep...
The mobsters screamed. The walls beeped.
Joker grinned. "Bon appétit, Gotham."
They strutted through the restaurant entrance in slow motion — Harley's heels clacking with confidence, Joker slipping on his sunglasses like a celebrity leaving a red carpet. Behind them, the restaurant exploded in a towering mushroom of flame, glass, and pure madness.
The fire reflected in Harley's wide blue eyes. "Ooooh, puddin'. That was so romantic."
Joker slung an arm around her shoulders, laughing maniacally. "Nothing says love like arson and amputation, doll."
Rick, in the back, shook his head but couldn't help the ghost of a smirk. "And I left the military for this."
The explosion was still echoing through the Gotham skyline when the ash settled over the cracked pavement like dirty snow. The Rolls Royce limo stood at the curb, engine running, headlights glowing like eyes in the mist.
Jonny was cracking his knuckles by the door. Rick was halfway through saying, "I'm never eating caviar again," when the shadows rippled — and the night growled.
The Batmobile roared from down the street, like a panther in the dark, cape flew in the wind like the wings of death as Batman opened the top and jumped from the car.
Thud.
He landed ten feet in front of them.
Harley froze mid-step, still glittering in sequins and blood. Joker's hand hovered near the limo handle. Rick's jaw clenched. Jonny muttered, "Aw, hell."
"You're late, Batsy," Harley chimed, spinning like a ballerina in an apocalypse. "Dinner's over. Everyone's dead."
Batman didn't move. His voice came low and heavy like iron dragging through gravel.
"Thirty-four civilians were inside."
Harley's smile didn't falter. "That many? Golly, we really outdid ourselves, huh?"
"Eight mob bosses," Batman added.
Joker tilted his head with a smirk. "Nine. Don't shortchange me, Bat-Brain."
"You're done," Batman growled. "This ends tonight."
He launched forward like a missile — straight at Harley.
But before he could reach her, Joker moved.
Faster than expected. Slipping between them like a ghost in silk and teeth, one arm swinging forward as his boot met Batman's chest in a brutal, perfectly-angled kick.
Batman skidded back five feet, digging his heels into the pavement, looking... stunned?
Joker didn't pursue.
Instead, he stepped back — arm still protectively out in front of Harley.
His tone changed. It was still sharp. Still that shrill rasp. But there was a line drawn in the concrete now.
"We're not doing the same thing as last time are we, Batsy?"
Batman stared.
That line. That phrase.
"What are you talking about?"
Joker chuckled, soft and twisted. "Ooooh... don't tell me you forgot. It was only three years ago. And one hell of a night too."
He tilted his head — like a bird watching prey — and smiled softly. Not wide and feral. Just... quietly dangerous.
"Guess it meant more to me than it did to you."
Harley twirled her mallet like a baton. "He's such a sensitive little freak when he wants to be, huh?"
Batman stepped forward again, confused — angry — eyes scanning Joker's stance. Something in the way he protected her. The way his feet planted between her and the threat.
And Harley?
She wasn't charging forward like usual. She was staying behind him.
For now.
"You're hiding something," Batman growled. "What are you two planning?"
"Oh, plenty," Joker hissed with glee. "But you'll have to get through me first, Bats. And tonight? I'm in the mood to dance."
He lunged — and the fight exploded like a second bomb.
Batman blocked a punch, ducked Harley's swing, caught her wrist but got a blade to the side from Joker's cane-sword. He stumbled, then countered with a smoke bomb, but Harley leapt through it, laughing like a wild banshee and clipping him across the jaw with her heel.
Joker was a shadow, ducking and slicing, taunting him between breaths.
"You always do this — so obsessed with what's in front of you, you forget the bigger picture!"
"Why did you protect her?" Batman barked, parrying a swing.
Joker smirked.
"You tell me."
Another swing. Another kick. Another blast of powder from Harley's glitter bomb that threw Batman's aim off.
From the alley, Rick's voice crackled through the comms:
"Jonny, car's ready. You get the glitter bombs?"
"Locked and loaded."
"Good. Showtime's almost over."
Joker spun with Harley beside him, their steps choreographed in chaos, and as Batman reached out one last time — Harley pulled the pin.
The blinding bomb detonated in a flash of violet and gold light. Batman reeled back, arms thrown up, completely engulfed in glittering fire and sound.
When the haze cleared... they were gone.
Smoke rising.
Limo tires screeching into the night.
And Batman — alone, glitter-drenched, bloodied, and still wondering...
What the hell happened three years ago?