Humming as he strolled down the corridor, arms tucked neatly behind his back, a grin carved wide across his face. The Joker always tried to start the day with a smile—it set the tone. And today, oh today, was special.
He was finally here.
The man who'd stolen Batsy's attention.
Joker snapped his fingers. A trembling guard stumbled forward.
Guard (stuttering): I-I do this and… and you'll let my son go?
Joker: Of course! What kind of maniac do you take me for? I'm a clown of my word! Now open it up.
The guard unlocked the heavy door, revealing the chamber of glass boxes. Inside, the inmates were in their usual patterns of madness: Ivy scribbling endless equations with a marker, Harley hanging upside-down in her straitjacket with a goofy grin, and Alistair…
…Alistair sat cross-legged on the floor, calmly playing chess against himself. Not a glance spared for the Clown Prince.
Harley (swooning): Ah, puddin'! You didn't have to come break me out—I woulda' done it myself eventually!
Joker (absently): On the contrary, my dear, I'll break you out after I deal wi—
His words cut short. His grin twitched.
Alistair hadn't looked at him. Not once. No trembling. No nervous sweat. No awe. Just… chess.
The Joker lingered, staring at the man who had stolen Batman's fixation. He waited. And waited. And waited.
Finally, he rapped a knuckle against the glass.
Alistair, without looking up, raised a single finger. One second. He moved his queen into place, tapped the board, then finally lifted his gaze.
Alistair: Well, ain't I popular? Listen—if this is about a date, I'll tell you the same thing I told your boyfriend: I don't swing that way.
For the first time in years, the Joker blinked. Actually blinked.
Joker: …wait… what?
His laugh stalled in his throat. He almost choked on the sheer audacity of it.
Alistair (deadpan): You know. Batman.
Joker burst into maniacal laughter, his shrieking cackle echoing down the corridor.
Joker: Ooooh! We've got a funny one. That's nice! That's real nice.
He dropped to the ground, sitting cross-legged, mirroring Alistair's posture. His painted eyes locked on Alistair, unblinking, studying him like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
Alistair tilted his head ever so slightly, red eyes glowing faintly in the low light, unfazed by the clown's theatrics.
Joker: But leave the jokes to the professionals, like myself. Clowns are funny.
Alistair raised his brows slowly, like he was humoring a child.
Alistair: Clowns have never been funny. Who the fuck told you that? … On second thought, no—don't tell me. You probably convinced yourself.
The Joker's smile twitched. His teeth ground together.
Joker (through clenched teeth): Clowns. Aren't. Funny.
He whipped out a pistol from beneath his jumpsuit in one fluid motion, spun it like a toy, and shot the guard who had opened the door. The man crumpled instantly.
Joker (laughing, waving the gun): That wasn't funny.
Alistair didn't even flinch. He looked at the corpse, then back at Joker with bored disdain.
Alistair: Nope. That was just shock value. Nothing funny about it.
Harley (clapping): I thought it was funny, puddin'!
Joker (snapping, eyes bulging): Shut UP, Harley!
Alistair smirked, leaning lazily back against the glass, his tone dripping with smug amusement.
Alistair: Wow. Boyfriend of the year, folks. Really rolling out the red carpet of romance. Listen—no need to overcompensate. Three inches is enough.
The Joker blinked.
Joker: …What?
Alistair (smile widening, voice velvet smooth): Oh, I'm sorry. Did the joke fly over your head? Happens sometimes. Don't worry. You'll catch it on the rerun.
He flicked his wrist toward the dead guard, blood pooling at the floor.
Alistair: That little stunt? Amateur hour. That's not comedy. That's desperation in a painted mask. This—
He leaned forward, pressing a hand against the glass, his crimson eyes blazing, voice dropping into a chilling, deliberate purr.
Alistair: —is why clowns will never be funny. Because true monsters don't need punchlines.
Joker (snarling, voice low, venomous): I think I hate you.
Alistair (grinning lazily): Cute. You wanna join the line right behind the love/hate jealous exes? Fine. I'll label you Clown. …Not the funny kind.
He went back to his chessboard, moving a rook with maddening calm. Joker's fists trembled before he slammed one against the glass wall.
Joker (shouting): You think I can't kill you because you're in there?! I own this prison! I run this prison!
Alistair (tilting his head): Really now?
He stood, brushing his pieces aside like they were unimportant, and with casual strength he pushed the reinforced glass door open. The sound echoed.
Joker stumbled a step back, startled despite himself, and drew the pistol in one jerking motion, jamming the barrel between Alistair's eyes.
Joker: Too bad. I'll ruin your pretty face.
Alistair leaned forward until his chest pressed against the gun, right where his heart beat steady beneath the metal. His voice was calm, bored almost.
Alistair: Pull the trigger.
The room fell silent. Even Harley froze, upside down against her box wall.
Ivy (flatly, under her breath): Are you crazy?
Alistair (without looking at her): I'm Alistair. Did you think I was sane?
Harley (nervously): Maybe… don't provoke him like that, puddin'. He's new here, give him a chance!
Alistair's smile widened, razor-sharp.
Alistair: Come on, chuckles. Pull. The. Trigger.
Joker's painted grin twitched, then his finger squeezed. The gunshot cracked like thunder.
The bullet punched into Alistair's chest. He gasped, stumbled—then collapsed to the floor. Blood spread fast, staining orange fabric, pooling beneath him. His eyes fluttered shut.
Joker (sneering, holstering the gun): There's always one. The brave ones… the stupid ones.
Then—
Alistair (eyes snapping open, smirking): …And scene.
He sat up like nothing had happened, fluid, casual, his smile infuriating. Joker stumbled back, his painted face finally betraying shock.
Alistair pressed two fingers against the wound, nails lengthening into sharp claws. With deliberate slowness, he dug into his chest and plucked the flattened bullet free. No wince. No flinch. He flicked it into the air, caught it, and spun it idly before dropping it onto the floor with a clink.
The wound in his chest knitted itself closed, skin sealing, fabric mending bloodstained but whole.
Alistair: Yeah, sorry. Can't die and all that. Took a missile once. And a nuke. Regenerative healing—biggest pain in the ass you'll ever love.
He leaned forward until he was inches from Joker, voice dropping to a hushed, amused whisper.
Alistair: You wanted fear, chuckles. Instead? You get me.
Alistair strolled back into his box like it was his bedroom, sliding the door shut behind him with a lazy push. He flopped back down at his chessboard, yawning, while Harley and Ivy stared at him wide-eyed.
Alistair (smirking): Listen, Jokey. I'm not Batman. To me, you're just a clown. A boring one. No good tricks, no real bite. Everyone else might be scared of you—but me? You're a pest. Something I scrape off my boot.
He casually reset a pawn on the board, not even looking at Joker.
Alistair: Only reason you're still standing is twofold. First—your boyfriend.
He deepened his voice, mimicking Batman perfectly.
Alistair (Batman voice): "Killing isn't justice. The law will handle him."
He dropped the act and smirked again.
Alistair: Blah, blah, blah. Pain in the ass.
He pointed at Harley.
Alistair: Second reason—her.
Harley (blinking, pointing at herself): Me?
Alistair: Yeah, you. You're tolerable. Fun, even. Don't take yourself too seriously. Him, on the other hand?
He jabbed a thumb at Joker, eyes glowing faintly red.
Alistair: Dead weight. I have no idea what you see in this guy when you could literally have anyone you set your eyes on.
Harley froze, her cheeks instantly flushing pink. She twirled a strand of blonde pigtail around her finger.
Harley: S-stawp… you're makin' me blush.
Ivy (folding her arms, deadpan): That's exactly what I've been saying for years.
Harley shot her a look, flustered, while Alistair simply went back to his game like Joker wasn't even there.
And for the first time in years, the Joker wasn't the spotlight. He was background noise. Reduced to a footnote in someone else's conversation.
Joker's painted grin twitched, faltering ever so slightly. His laughter, once booming, dropped into a strangled hiss. He bared his teeth, leaning closer to the glass, eyes narrowing as he tried to reclaim the attention.
Joker (voice sharp, forced calm): You… you insolent little—
Alistair didn't look up. He moved a bishop across the chessboard with a flick of his bloodied fingernail.
Alistair: Hm? You still talking? I barely noticed.
Harley stifled a giggle behind her hands, her blush deepening. Ivy, arms crossed, simply rolled her eyes, but her gaze softened ever so slightly, intrigued.
Alistair (teasing, low voice): Oh, look at that. The mighty Clown reduced to… background commentary. Poor thing.
Joker slammed a fist against the glass, cracks spiderwebbing across the surface. His painted face contorted—rage and disbelief mixing in a grotesque mask.
Joker (snapping): I am the spotlight! I am chaos! I—
Alistair (interrupting, smirk widening): —Yeah, yeah, chaos. Loud, messy, and exhausting. And here's the kicker: your chaos? It bores me. But her? She listens. She sees. That's the one you should worry about.
Harley leaned forward, practically hanging on Alistair's words, while Joker's hands slammed again, shaking the box like it could contain him.
Joker (voice cracking): You—You—you—how—
Alistair finally glanced at him, eyes cold, amused, almost predatory.
Alistair: You're a clown, Jokey. And clowns? Clowns die in stories. Background characters in someone else's legend.
Joker's grin snapped back on, forced, painted over the raw edge of panic in his eyes. He spun on his heel and stormed off, muttering to himself, a whisper beneath the manic laughter he tried to fake:
Joker (muttering): Background character… me?
Alistair leaned back in his box, blood chess pieces gleaming under the dim Arkham light, utterly at ease, like the world itself bent to his rhythm. Harley's eyes sparkled; Ivy just shook her head, but neither could deny the magnetism of him—even here.
Alistair: …and that, my dear ladies, is how you deal with a bully. What an ass.
Harley: Hey! He's not that bad once you get to know him.
Ivy: He tossed you into a vat of acid.
Alistair: Holy shit. Seriously?
Ivy: Yeah.
Alistair: You… you, my dear, need therapy.
Harley: I do have a therapist.
She pointed at her reflection, smirking.
Alistair: Fair enough.
Harley: So… you mentioned exes. Who's the craziest person you've ever dated?
Alistair: Oh… that's tough. I could give you five, but putting them in order? Impossible.
Harley: Go on, I'm listening.
Alistair: First… this French girl, Amélie Lacroix—blueish-purple skin, ballet dancer turned assassin. Killed her husband. We dated a while… breakup was… messy. Then there was Valeria Garaza, a drug lord in Las Almaes. Next… a warlord in South Africa. Hot doesn't even begin to cover it.
Ivy: …I'm starting to see a pattern here.
Alistair: Oh?
Ivy: Women in power.
Alistair: Grinning What can I say? Strong women? They turn me on.
Harley: Oooh! So you like them dangerous and scary, huh?
Alistair: Leaning back, smirking Dangerous? Scary? Honey, that's just the appetizer. The main course is… fun.
Ivy: Fun? You mean "likely-to-get-me-killed" fun.
Alistair: Pretending to jot in a notebook Noted: Ivy prefers "moderately lethal" fun.
Harley: Hey! I'm all about "get me killed in style" fun.
Alistair: Winking Now that's what I call compatibility. One prefers chaos, one prefers elegance… me? I like a bit of both. Keeps life interesting.
Ivy: Deadpan Or you just like people who make your job easier.
Alistair: Grinning wider Ah… but here's the trick: I don't need anyone to make my job easier. They just… keep it entertaining. Like you two, for instance.
Harley: Oooh! I like that. Entertain me some more, handsome.
Alistair: Tipping his head toward her Careful, Harley, entertainment has a price. And no, it's not hugs or kisses.
Ivy: Rolling her eyes Can we skip the flirtation and get back to whatever semblance of sanity we have left?
Alistair: Mock gasp My dear Pamela, sanity is highly overrated. Besides, where would the fun be if everyone just followed the rules?
Harley: Rules? Pfft! I don't even know where I put my rules.
Alistair: Exactly. That's why you're fun. And you… nods at Ivy are terrifying in a very measured, annoying way. The perfect counterbalance.
Ivy: Sighs, but a faint red creeps on her cheeks
Alistair: Grinning, leaning closer to the glass And that, my dear ladies, is why strong women keep life… interesting.
Harley: Clapping hands Oooh! I like this guy!
Alistair: Back to his chessboard, nails dipping in blood And now… back to my game. Checkmate isn't just a move; it's a philosophy.
Ivy: Muttering Somehow I don't think either of us are leaving this room without losing.
Alistair: Without looking up Losing? My dear, we all win… eventually.