Legacy of Laughter

DGW: This chapter was supposed to be longer but I couldn't get the characters exactly how I wanted, if you have any complaints about yhe characters feel free to tell me.

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The dimly lit conference room buzzed with the low murmur of voices, the scent of cigars and expensive whiskey thick in the air. A long mahogany table stretched across the center, surrounded by men in tailored suits, their postures relaxed but their eyes sharp. At the head of the table sat Mr. DeLuca, a man known for his ruthless efficiency in the chemical industry, his fingers tapping idly against a glass of bourbon.

The conversation had been routine—numbers, shipments, deals—until a heavyset man stumbled through the double doors, panting as though he had sprinted up the entire building. His face was flushed, beads of sweat clinging to his balding head.

"He's here," the man wheezed, his voice uneven, the words tumbling out in a near-stammer.

The room fell silent. The air grew dense, like a storm cloud gathering just above their heads. Mr. DeLuca's fingers tightened around his glass, his jaw clenching. His once relaxed demeanor stiffened as unease crept into his features.

Two large men flanking the doorway straightened, their muscles tensing beneath their suits. One of them, a thick-necked brute with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward.

"Where, Mr. DeLuca?" One of the Thug's asked.

Mr. DeLuca swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. His eyes darted toward the door, then to the windows, as if expecting something—someone—to materialize from the shadows.

Then, the lights flickered.

A cold draft slithered through the room, though the windows were shut. The feeling in the air shifted—no longer that of men talking business, but of prey realizing the predator had arrived.

And Mr. DeLuca, for the first time in his life, felt afraid.

"There! I-I I saw him!" DeLuca called out as he pointed at shadows. In the background a loud clank of metal echoed throughout the halls.

"Wha...What's that?" Asked one of DeLuca's thugs, hoisting up a gun.

The Thug stepped forward —working most of his career in Coast City, he wasn't sure what was happening. The Thug searched the area for any suspicious activity, not noticing the batarang flying out before it knocked the gun from his hands.

"Ahh!" The Thug cried as he noticed the horrific sight before him.

The batarang flew back into the shadows, landing in the palms of the Batman.

"Take him!" DeLuca demanded, only to fall back as his thugs were dispatched and grappled into the shadows.

The two grunted from the impact of the floor, Robin and Bluebird stepping down atop them.

DeLuca panicked feverishly as he backed away, "Okay...uhhh, We split the take 30, 70." He said, reaching for the door only for a birdarang to pierce the door. "Uh! 50, 50..."

Bluebird scoffed, crossing her arms as she stepped closer. "You really think you can bribe us, DeLuca?" Her voice was sharp, laced with barely restrained disgust. "After everything you've done? After the chemicals you pumped into the Narrows, the people you hurt, the kids you poisoned?"

DeLuca wiped at the sweat gathering on his forehead, his panicked eyes darting between her and Batman, who stood in the shadows like a living nightmare. Robin stood to the side, spinning a birdarang between his fingers, unimpressed.

"I—" DeLuca stammered, hands raised. "I was just doing business! You don't understand how things work in this city!"

"Yeah," Bluebird said, stepping closer, her boot pressing against his knee, forcing him back into his chair. "I know exactly how things work. Guys like you get fat off the suffering of people like me and my brother. But guess what? Gotham's got new rules now."

DeLuca barely had time to blink before Batman lunged. His massive gloved fist crashed down onto the table beside DeLuca's hand, sending his drink flying. The mobster yelped, recoiling as Batman's shadow loomed over him.

"You're going to tell me everything," Batman said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down DeLuca's spine. "The shipments. The buyers. The connections to the Joker. Every. Single. Detail."

DeLuca's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. "I—I don't know anything about the Joker! I swear!"

Bluebird didn't buy it. She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward, her electrified gauntlet crackling just inches from his face. "Try again," she hissed. "And make it believable this time."

DeLuca whimpered, his carefully constructed world of power and control crumbling around him.

Batman didn't move, his unreadable gaze locked onto DeLuca. "You have one chance to cooperate," he warned. "Or I'll let her turn up the voltage."

Bluebird grinned. "And trust me, I've been dying to test out the higher settings."

DeLuca broke. His words tumbled out in a desperate rush. Names. Locations. Dates. He spilled everything, from the smuggling routes through Gotham's docks to the underground labs where experimental chemicals were being brewed.

When he finally slumped back, gasping for breath, Bluebird let go of his shirt and wiped her hand on her jacket like he was something filthy.

Batman turned to Robin. "Send the intel to Oracle. Get the others on standby. We hit these locations tonight."

Robin nodded, already tapping away on his wrist computer.

DeLuca looked up, shaking. "You—you'll let me go now, right? I gave you everything!"

Batman stared down at him, unblinking. "You'll be safe."

Bluebird tilted her head. "From us, anyway."

The words hung in the air as sirens wailed in the distance.

Batman, Robin, and Bluebird disappeared into the shadows, leaving DeLuca alone in his office, shaking as the GCPD closed in.

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In the depths of Arkham Asylum, an orderly was at work checking the seclusion room's, making sure everyone there was meant to be there and everyone who wasn't was evacuated immediately.

"Steiner, check. Mcswang, check. 223...vacant. Wait...No one logged any new arrivals." The orderly said as he stopped and looked into the cell.

Deep in the darkened corner sat a small figure, glowing green eyes staring at him through the darkness.

"Woah, what are you doing here?" The orderly said, confused.

The figure chuckled standing up in a lanky fashion. "My dad was saying I was a bit screw loose, so he checked me right on in."

"Wh-who are you?"

The figure twitched and spasmed as they reached into their pocket.

"My Card..." The figure drawled before laughing maniacally as gas shot out from the cards eyes, engulfing the orderly.

The orderly barely had time to scream before the gas filled his lungs. His body seized, eyes widening as an uncontrollable grin spread across his face. He staggered backward, hands clawing at his throat, laughter bubbling up from his lips—high, shrill, and inhuman.

The figure in the cell stepped forward, their green eyes glowing brighter in the dim light. They tilted their head, watching with eerie amusement as the orderly collapsed, convulsing on the floor in fits of laughter.

"Poor guy," the figure mused, stepping over the twitching body. "Guess he didn't appreciate the joke."

A second later, the figure straightened, smoothing down their ragged coat. They reached up, cracking their neck with a satisfied sigh.

"Alright, Gotham," they whispered, their grin widening to match the grotesque rictus on the orderly's face. "Let's have some fun."

With that, they strolled casually out of the cell, humming a disjointed tune as the alarms in Arkham Asylum began to wail.

"Oops," the figure giggled, tapping a gloved finger to their temple. "Guess I overdid it."

Red warning lights flooded the hallway with an eerie glow. Heavy footsteps echoed from deeper within the asylum—guards responding to the emergency. But he wasn't worried. No, this was all part of the plan.

They crouched down next to the twitching orderly and plucked his keycard from his belt. "Thanks, pal! Your contribution to my little field trip has been noted," they whispered, patting his cheek before skipping toward the heavy metal door at the end of the hall.

With a swipe of the keycard, the lock clicked open. The massive door creaked as it swung inward, revealing row upon row of padded cells and reinforced glass enclosures. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic, damp stone, and something far more putrid.

The figure cracked their neck, then threw their arms open theatrically. "Rise and shine, Arkhamites! Time to clock out early!"

A series of clicks and hisses followed as the automated cell doors slid open, unleashing the worst of Gotham's nightmares onto the asylum.

A hulking figure stepped out first, his face wrapped in heavy bandages, his monstrous form looming in the doorway. Professor Pyg.

From another cell emerged a gaunt, sunken-eyed man clutching a battered violin, his fingers twitching as if playing an invisible melody. The Music Meister.

A slow, deliberate clap echoed from the furthest cell, where a man with a permanent grin and wild eyes sauntered out, adjusting his cuffs with a smirk. The Mad Hatter.

One by one, the prisoners spilled into the hallway, their eyes filled with malice, hunger, and glee.

The figure grinned, spinning on their heel. "Now, now, my lovely lunatics! We have a very important party tonight! And guess who's on the guest list?"

They pulled a crumpled newspaper from their pocket and held it up, revealing the headline:

"JOKERS WELCOME HOME PARTY"

The figure licked their lips. "Time to give Gotham a real reason to smile."

With that, the asylum erupted into chaos as the inmates stormed out their cells, leaving behind only the echo of manic laughter as they began trashing the place.

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Robin and Bluebird soared across the Gotham skyline, their capes billowing as they swung from grappling lines, moving in tandem over the rooftops. The Bat-Signal had been dark tonight, but that didn't mean Gotham was quiet.

Robin landed first, flipping onto a ledge and immediately checking his communicator. "I sent Oracle all the data from DeLuca's operation. Batman's already making moves on the docks."

Bluebird skidded to a stop beside him, adjusting the voltage settings on her gauntlet. "And we're heading to Arkham, right?" She shot him a sideways glance. "Because I know that look, and you've got the 'I'm-too-smart-to-explain-things' face on."

Robin huffed, but there was the faintest smirk on his lips. "Something tripped the lockdown sequence at Arkham. No alerts for an outside breach, but the security feed went dark five minutes ago."

Bluebird's expression sobered. "That's bad."

"Yeah," Robin agreed, already calculating their trajectory. "And I have a feeling it's about to get worse."

They didn't waste any more time.

With a flick of their wrists, their grappling lines shot out, and they swung toward Arkham Asylum—toward whatever nightmare had just been unleashed.

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"It looks ... completely fine?" Blue bird said as she stared at the completely intact Arkham Asylum.

Robin nodded, "meaning that whoever set off the alarm wants us to go inside ..."

"Then we shouldn't keep our hosts waiting," said a voice from above.

The two birds looked away from their binoculars and up to see Nightwing, crouched on a tree branch.

"Grayson," Robin greeted.

"Sup, little bird, big bird? Ready for some Bat-Family bonding?" Night wing asked over the comms, his tone light despite the urgency of their mission.

Bluebird rolled her eyes, adjusting her glider as she banked left. "Depends. Are we bonding over kicking psycho butt or just watching you show off?"

Robin smirked beneath his hood. "Probably both."

As they neared the asylum, the wailing sirens and flashing red warning lights painted a grim picture. The gates were wide open, guards lay unconscious—or worse—on the ground, and thick green gas curled out from the main entrance.

Nightwing landed first, putting on a breathing apparatus before crouching to check a fallen guard's pulse. "Still breathing, but barely. This is Joker toxin." He stood, his grip tightening around his escrima sticks. "Which means this just got a whole lot worse."

Robin landed beside him, surveying the damage. "The inmates are loose. This wasn't just a breakout—it was a statement."

Bluebird touched down last, already activating her shock gloves. "So what's the play?"

Nightwing exhaled, scanning the area. "Priority one: clear out any remaining staff. Priority two: contain as many inmates as possible before they scatter into the city. Priority three..." His gaze darkened. "Find out who is really behind this."

Robin nodded, pulling out his sword. "If He, is, we'll end him tonight."

Nightwing shot him a warning look but didn't argue. Instead, he turned toward the entrance. "Let's move."

The three heroes rushed inside, the halls dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights. The air smelled of antiseptic, sweat, and madness. Every so often, a burst of wild laughter echoed from somewhere deep within the asylum.

Their footsteps silent against the sterile floors, as an eerie, unnatural silence beyond the distant sounds of cackling and shuffling feet.

Bluebird adjusted her mask, scanning ahead with a cautious glare. "Anyone else feel like we just walked into a trap?"

"We definitely did," Robin muttered, his grip on his sword tightening. "The question is: who set it?"

Nightwing was about to respond when a barrage of razor-edged playing cards whizzed toward them from the shadows.

"Scatter!" he barked, flipping backward.

Robin dodged left, slicing through a few of the cards mid-air, while Bluebird threw up an energy pulse from her gauntlet, frying the ones heading her way.

Nightwing, always the acrobat, twisted through the air, using his escrima sticks to deflect the remaining projectiles. He landed smoothly and immediately lunged toward the source of the attack—straight into the waiting arms of their unknown assailant.

A figure in a vibrant, patchwork jester suit caught him mid-flight, their grip unnaturally strong as they swung Nightwing around and sent him crashing into a nearby gurney.

"Well, well, well!" The figure let out a delighted giggle, twirling in place before striking a theatrical pose. "I was hoping for the Bat, but I guess his little birdies will do just fine!"

Robin barely had time to process the voice before Bluebird reacted, leveling her electric rifle. "Who the hell—?"

"Oh, honey, you can call me Riot," the clown purred, blowing a kiss as their fingers sparked with something volatile. "And trust me, this is gonna be so much fun."

Nightwing took a cautious step forward, trying to analyze the threat. "Never heard of you."

"Ouch." Riot clutched his chest as if physically wounded. "And here I thought I was making a name for myself."

Robin's eyes narrowed, taking in the subtle signs—the effortless confidence, the way Riot carried himself, the raw strength in his frame. He wasn't just some random lunatic. This was someone trained, someone experienced.

"Who do you work for?"

Riot giggled, tilting their head. "Why, that's an easy one, birdie! I was made for the Joker. By the Joker. And tonight? I'm throwing the biggest welcome-home party Gotham's ever seen."

Bluebird stiffened. "Oh, that's bad."

"Oh, that's worse than bad," Nightwing groaned, pulling himself up with a wince. "Joker doesn't make people like this unless he really wants to prove a point."

Riot clapped their hands together, eyes gleaming. "Ooh, smart! No wonder he talks about you so much!"

Robin barely had time to ask who when Riot lunged, their movements a blur. Robin barely dodged in time, flipping over Riot's sweeping kick. Bluebird fired off an electric charge, but Riot twisted their body unnaturally, dodging the blast with inhuman agility.

"C'mon, Bat brats, give me a real fight!" Riot grinned, slamming their fist into the ground. The tiles cracked on impact, and a sickly green mist hissed from the vents.

Nightwing's eyes widened. "Gas! Masks on, now!"

Robin and Bluebird barely secured their respirators before Riot lunged again, this time striking at Bluebird. She ducked and countered with a knee to the ribs, only for her leg to bounce off as if Riot's body had absorbed the impact.

"What the—?" Bluebird stumbled back.

Riot waggled their finger. "Tsk, tsk. You really think Daddy didn't toughen me up for his little games?"

Robin, ever the strategist, took the brief distraction to strike. He dashed in low, slashing with precision—only for his blade to glance off Riot's skin as if they were made of steel.

Riot smirked, tapping their chest. "Aw, Robin, you hurt my feelings. You really think your little sword's gonna work on me?"

Nightwing swore under his breath. "They're enhanced. Stronger than a grown adult that's for sure, maybe faster than us."

Robin tightened his grip on his sword. "Then we adapt."

"Or," Riot sing-songed, "you die! Either way, the Joker gets his show."

With that, they lunged again, their laughter echoing through the halls as the fight truly began.

Nightwing barely had time to react before the Clown flicked their wrist, sending a handful of razor-edged playing cards flying straight at them.

Robin cut up the cards as Blue Bird launched forward, ducking and dodging the cards as they clipped off bits of her hair.

Nightwing flew through the barrage of cards and into the clown.

Nightwing spun his escrima sticks in a blur, deflecting most of the cards midair. Bluebird ducked, electricity crackling at her fingertips as she swiped at the incoming projectiles, melting them before they could reach her. Robin, ever the fastest, dodged with a backflip, his blade flashing as he sliced the last one clean in half.

"Cute trick," Nightwing said, twirling his sticks as he stepped forward. "You've got Joker's flair for theatrics, but you're trying way too hard."

The clown pouted, dramatically clutching their chest. "Aw, Nightwing, that hurts. I put so much effort into making a first impression." Their grin sharpened. "But don't worry—you'll be remembering this face real soon."

Robin surged forward, blade in hand. He moved fast, too fast for most people to react to, but the clown simply sidestepped, almost dancing around him.

"Whoa there, birdie! Didn't mommy tell you not to play with sharp objects?" They leaned in close, whispering in his ear. "You really are a brat."

Robin snarled and slashed again, but the clown flipped effortlessly over him, landing lightly on a railing. "I could do this all night, but let's make things interesting."

They clapped their hands.

The sound echoed unnaturally through the asylum.

And then the walls rumbled.

Doors burst open on both sides of the hallway, releasing a flood of inmates. Howling, laughing, shrieking figures poured into the space—some wielding makeshift weapons, others charging wildly with manic grins.

Nightwing swore. "I hate when they do that."

"Splitting up?" Bluebird asked, already electrifying her gloves.

"Obviously," Robin growled.

"Then I get first dibs on the clown." Bluebird shot forward, her boots activating as she launched herself at the figure.

The clown simply laughed and twisted midair, avoiding her strike. They landed in a crouch, tilting their head as they grinned at her. "Ooooh, I like you. You're spicy."

Bluebird lashed out with her taser rifle, sending a bolt of electricity directly at the clown's chest.

It hit.

They twitched, spasming violently as blue arcs crackled over their body.

Then they giggled.

"Ohhh, that tickled."

Bluebird's stomach dropped. "What the—?"

The clown lunged.

Before she could react, they were in her space, grabbing the barrel of her gun. Their fingers curled over it, and to her shock, the metal began to corrode, melting under their grip.

Robin slashed at them from behind, but the clown turned at the last second, letting go of the ruined gun as they caught his wrist mid-strike. "Nuh-uh, kiddo. Didn't your mother teach you to share?"

They twisted his arm just enough to force him off balance before kicking him in the chest. Robin skidded backward, barely catching himself.

Nightwing moved in next, striking with precise, controlled blows. The clown evaded, weaving between his attacks, laughing like this was all a game.

Then, for the first time, they struck back.

A single, open-palmed hit to Nightwing's chest.

The force sent him flying through the air, straight into a concrete pillar.

Robin's eyes widened. That was not normal.

Nightwing groaned, shaking his head as he pulled himself up. "Okay. Stronger than I thought."

Bluebird gritted her teeth. "They're playing with us."

The clown twirled, bowing dramatically. "Ding ding ding! And guess what? I haven't even started trying."

They cracked their neck, rolling their shoulders.

"Ready for round three?"

Riot launched forward, the tiles cracking under their sheer force. Nightwing barely dodged in time, flipping back as Riot's fist slammed into the ground where he'd stood.

The impact sent a shockwave through the floor, sending debris flying.

Robin took the opportunity, darting in low and fast. He struck at Riot's exposed side, but the clown twisted unnaturally, catching Robin's wrist mid-swing. Their grip was like Iron.

"Tut-tut, baby bat," Riot cooed, yanking Robin forward and twisting his arm. "I expected better from the Demon's kid."

Robin grimaced but used the momentum to flip over Riot, wrenching himself free. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he retaliated with a precise, high-speed kick aimed at Riot's temple. It landed-but Riot barely flinched, grinning as i Robin had done nothing at all.

"Damn," Bluebird muttered, already recalibrating her rifle. "Alright, how about this?"

She fired an electric round straight at Riot's chest. The impact sent sparks flying as Riot stumbled back—but instead of collapsing, they giggled.

"Ooooh, that tickled!"

"Son of a-" Bluebird was already moving, adjusting the charge settings. "Okay, new plan. Hit 'em harder."

Nightwing took that as his cue. He dashed in, feinting left before striking Riot across the jaw with his escrima sticks-once, twice, three times in rapid succession.

Riot staggered, but their smirk only widened. "Now we're talking!"

Their eyes flashed with something dangerous. In a blur, they lashed out, grabbing Nightwing's escrima stick mid-swing. With a sickening crunch, they crushed it in their grip like it was made of brittle plastic.

"Your turn."

Before Nightwing could react, Riot slammed their knee into his gut, sending him flying into a row of overturned hospital beds.

Robin didn't hesitate. He lunged in, blade flashing, aiming for Riot's leg-anywhere to disable them.

Riot let him get close.

And then, in a move too fast for the human eye, they caught Robin by the throat.

"Y'know," Riot mused, lifting Robin effortlessly off the ground, "I always wondered why the big guy didn't just kill you when he had the chance. But now I get it"

Robin clawed at Riot's grip, feet kicking at empty air.

"You're fun."

Before they could squeeze, Bluebird fired another blast-this time, a direct hit to Riot's back.

Riot let out a sharp, involuntary gasp as the electricity surged through them, their muscles locking up for a split second. It was enough.

Robin drove his knee into Riot's wrist, breaking their hold and flipping away. He landed in a crouch, panting.

Bluebird didn't waste time and loaded another shot, this one to knock him out. He'd already survived a shot meant to take down Killer Croc, so she upped the voltage for a shot meant for meta-humans like Bane.

Lightning crackled through the air as the shock blast shot forward—only for Riot to roll over at the last second, grinning.

The shot didn't stop though, it kept going till it hit the wall behind Riot, narrowly missing the head of the Batman.

"There you are...

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DGW: Thank you all for reading. If you have any suggestions about this story feel free to share them with me. Doesn't matter what it is I will think it over.

Tools used: Grammarly Spell Check, the FANDOM app, and Discord.

The story idea was given to me by Some_lazy_author

Word Count: 3999