Chapter 27

The Joker was waiting for Batman to arrive. He had acted with true swiftness, receiving word the moment the first shell struck Arkham Asylum. But the Dark Knight, Gotham’s protector, had a different priority. Rather than immediately hunting down and re-incarcerating the escaped inmates, he chose first to rescue those caught in the carnage. Even if he could only confirm the deaths of some, he believed that saving even one life made the effort worthwhile.

He moved through the ruins of Arkham, striking down criminals who remained to torment the staff or damage the facility. He bound them, directing them toward safe zones, away from the collapsing structures, to prevent further casualties. Thirteen minutes after his arrival, Batman received a transmission from Commissioner James Gordon: the Warden of Arkham had been taken hostage by the Joker, and both were currently missing.

Seeing the police officers busy intercepting escapees and rescuing the wounded, Batman headed straight for the Joker’s cell, hoping to find a clue. He stepped into the room, which had been half-destroyed by a missile. His cowl’s night-vision and forensic tracking modes had been active since he arrived. It was clear the destruction had come from outside—a missile strike. The Joker had evidently been at his desk when it hit; tools and parts were scattered across the floor, along with various items linked to Batman.

The Joker hadn't anticipated this. If it had been his plan, he would have prepared for it; the traces left behind proved he was as surprised and "delighted" as anyone. Finding no clues or messages, Batman turned to leave, but he was a beat too slow. Just then, he received a transmission: officers had located the Joker and the Warden. He immediately set off for the coordinates.

Before his arrival, Megan had been told by the Joker to stay in the darkroom and not to wander. She had received no new instructions—whether to continue holding her ball or to go to sleep. She breathed slowly, eyes darting about, curious about the source of the recent tremors. But the darkroom was pitch-black; it had been deliberately hidden from the architectural blueprints, and its materials were so reinforced that even the explosion hadn't cracked the walls.

The small child sat clutching her ball, motionless, not even shifting her feet. She was waiting, though she did not know for what. She waited stubbornly for an order, for the sense of security that an order provided, and for the person who would give it to her.

Batman was separated from her by only a single door, but it was a vast distance. She remained obediently in place, though... she blinked ever so lightly, as if afraid to startle something. In that empty head of hers, a thought flickered. The Joker had wanted her to learn to bounce the ball, but he hadn't taught her; he had simply shoved it into her hands. Now, there was no one here. This was her corner alone.

Megan’s hands, holding the ball, shifted. She still couldn't decide what to do. Perhaps gripped by overwhelming fear, she inhaled and exhaled, gasping through her mouth under the immense pressure. She looked down at the ball, covered in scarlet smiley faces that easily reminded her of the Joker. The Joker was always laughing.

When Batman received the transmission, she, too, found a glimmer of courage. Up until now, her requests and the responses she received hadn't been entirely bad. Nothing truly terrible had happened. The outside world she feared had not harmed her. In that moment, holding her breath, she let go of the ball.

The tall, dark figure of the man left the ruined cell, and the ball in her hands hit the floor. It bounced a few times, then rolled away, while Batman rushed toward his next destination without hesitation. The sounds from the darkroom didn't carry out, but to Megan, they were deafening—louder than the tremors, an endless cacophony of the ball hitting the ground, rolling, and bumping into objects. Her body was still trembling, but she waited for a long time, and nothing happened.

Megan was at a loss. Eventually, she walked over and picked up the ball. She associated this with the times she raised her hands in the light; she acted, and the world responded. Whether the response was silent or noisy, it simply occurred without affecting her. It was a logic Megan didn't quite grasp, but her trembling stopped. She felt water on her face; she dropped the ball, not caring about the noise, and touched her cheeks, curious about the moisture, before her attention shifted again.

She found a way to play with her new toy. After picking it up and letting it go many times, she held the ball, and for the first time, she raised her palms and forearms upward. The ball’s shadow fell across her hands; as it dropped, the shadow merged with the ball, and as it bounced, they separated. They grew closer and closer, accompanied by the dull, rhythmic thudding that grew softer with each bounce.

The world’s response was complex—not just sound, but change. Megan had never noticed this connection before, but now she knew.

So, when Batman chose to rescue the Warden and the Joker took the opportunity to return to his cell, he opened the darkroom door to see the child raising her arms to toss the ball. As it hit the ground, fading into silence, the Joker stepped to her side, leaning down with a grin. "Good girl. I knew you weren't a dim-witted child."

Although she hadn't learned to bounce it properly, the fact that she could act autonomously, rather than being driven entirely by commands, was a significant improvement. He was, naturally, pleased.

Megan looked up at the Joker. He kicked the ball away nonchalantly and said, "Come on. We’re starting a new life again."

With her short, small legs, the idea of walking out of Arkham before the police locked it down was an insane delusion. As he picked her up, he felt the weight in his arms and noticed it was different from when he first found her. He arched a brow, his voice dragging in a strange, mocking tone. "You really have lived quite well here. I knew you’d adapt to this place, and them, too. My cellmates may be vicious criminals, but you... you're different."

His Megan was truly special. Under his name, as the "Daughter of the Joker," she possessed little quirks, yet she remained innocent and naive, carrying no sin or malice. This was what led to the fascinating situation where the "Daughter of the Joker" was popular in Arkham, easily winning the goodwill of Killer Croc and making plenty of friends. Even those who didn't care for her, or saw her only as a plaything, wouldn't lay a hand on her.

The Joker thought much further than that. He carried Megan through the hidden passages, a path built haphazardly with bare concrete walls. Debris piled up at corners, and the sounds of human shouts, gunfire, and explosions leaked in, giving the Joker a rough idea of the situation outside.

He turned into a utility room, dug out a janitor’s uniform to change into, and stuffed Megan into a plastic bucket. It wasn't large, but it was more than enough for her. As he wiped the makeup from his face, he reached over to pick up the lid. He looked down at her with a cruel smile. "Shh—no matter what happens, stay quiet. Understand?"

Megan sat in the black plastic, simply watching him without a word. The Joker knew she understood. He left a gap in the lid, propped up by layers of plastic sheeting so that no one would notice someone was hidden inside.

He transformed his face to match a normal Caucasian complexion, disguised his hands and forearms while changing gloves, sprayed his hair, and put on a hat and mask. He pushed the cart and the plastic bucket out of the passage in plain sight.

The passage was well-hidden. Near the main gate, hearing voices, the Joker immediately adopted a panicked, trembling demeanor. He stumbled toward the exit just as a group of people were charging out, clashing with the guards. He was exposed the moment he stepped out.

The people rushing out ignored him, but a guard at the gate leveled a weapon at him. "Take off the hat, the mask, and the gloves!"

The janitor acted so terrified that it took a second command for him to comply. He hurriedly stripped them off, revealing a face of sheer terror. His skin and hair color seemed fine. Though the guard found the face unfamiliar, it was generic enough that he hesitated. Then, the Joker wailed in a breakdown, "I don't work here anymore! Please, let me out! Help!"

The final "help" cracked in his throat as someone charged out from behind him, brandishing a knife. The fragile "janitor" was terrified, nearly falling, but he shoved the cart and the plastic bucket along with the others toward the gate. He had no intention of protecting the cart; he used it as a "shield." If anyone blocked his path, he would turn this "shield" into a projectile to launch at them.

He mingled with the crowd, trying to break through the line. The police and guards ignored him. Spotting a gap, he slipped out of the gate. He couldn't help but show a look of relief at his escape, while behind him, others who tried to replicate his path were driven back by gunfire.

The Joker maintained his persona until they reached a secluded spot. He had kept perfect control throughout the run, yet the lid of the plastic bucket had never once been moved or lifted.

But this game wasn't funny or interesting anymore. He lifted the lid to find the child curled at the bottom. He had realized during the escape that she wasn't well-suited for this playground's version of "bumper cars."

Megan had been tossed around inside the bucket, her head slamming against the walls with a "thud" until she finally just lay down. Even then, every bump and jolt made her head hit the sides again. When the Joker picked her up, she buried her messy, fuzzy head in her chest, having shut down completely.

The Joker felt not a shred of guilt. He placed her by his leg and made a call. Within ten minutes, a car arrived, and a burly henchman stepped out. He didn't question the Joker’s new appearance, greeted his boss, and then skillfully picked up Megan.

The Joker pointed a finger at Megan and laughed. "Take her back, then come back yourself."

He thought about how Megan was like a clockwork doll—even if she had improved slightly, the core issues remained. He curled his lip in impatience. "I trust that... what's his name? Jack or Bob? Will take care of you. Wait for me to come get you."