Chapter Text
There were certain rules in Gotham.
They were not written down, because they didn’t need to be, it was simply common sense, so everyone knew them.
Do not rob the Iceberg Lounge unless you wanted to be fed to something with teeth.
Do not sell knockoff Scarecrow toxin unless you wanted Scarecrow to correct your formula while you hallucinated your worst nightmares.
Do not call Poison Ivy “plant lady” unless you had already made peace with becoming fertilizer.
And above all else, do not touch Batman’s mask.
This rule existed for many reasons. The first was that Batman did not enjoy people touching his mask. The second was that Batman had elbows and a deep personal commitment to using them.
The third reason, unfortunately, was learned by Gotham’s criminal community during what later became known as The Livestream Incident.
It started, as many terrible Gotham ideas did, with Edward Nygma standing in front of a whiteboard.
“Incredible,” Oswald Cobblepot said, staring at it. “You’ve somehow made a plan that looks like a migraine.”
“That,” Riddler said sharply, tapping the board with his cane, “is because you lack vision.”
“I have vision. It’s what allows me to see that your handwriting looks like a spider died in ink.”
Riddler ignored him.
On the board, surrounded by question marks, arrows, diagrams, and what appeared to be a very judgmental doodle of Commissioner Gordon, was written:
OPERATION: WHO IS THE BAT?
Underneath it was a flowchart that began with:
- CAPTURE BATMAN.
- LIVESTREAM.
- REMOVE COWL.
- PROFIT / FAME / INTELLECTUAL DOMINANCE.
Penguin adjusted his monocle. “You do realize several people have tried this before.”
“Amateurs.”
“And failed.”
“Cowards.”
“And been punched through walls.”
“Occupational hazard.”
Penguin gestured with his umbrella. “And your brilliant solution to avoiding being punched through a wall is…?”
Riddler smiled.
It was not a comforting smile.
“An electromagnetic restraint system, a signal jammer, thirty-seven decoy riddles across the city, and a live broadcast routed through twelve offshore servers.”
Penguin was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, “All right, I’m listening.”
Which was, in retrospect, where the entire problem began.
Three hours later, Batman arrived at the abandoned Monarch Theater because there were glowing green question marks projected into the sky and because Gotham never let him have a quiet Thursday.
He found the first riddle pinned to the ticket booth.
What wears black, stalks the night, and never learns to mind his own business?
Batman stared at it.
Then he looked up.
“No,” he said.
The floor opened beneath him.
Riddler’s voice echoed from the speakers. “YES!”
Batman dropped through three layers of reinforced trapdoors, hit a slide, slammed through a curtain, and landed in the center of the theater stage.
He was on his feet in seconds.
Which was unfortunate, because the stage immediately lit up with six industrial magnets, four rotating restraint arms, and a net that wrapped around him like a very committed metal spider.
Batman exhaled through his nose.
From the balcony, Penguin clapped politely.
Riddler swept onto the stage in a bright green suit, arms spread wide.
“Welcome, Detective, to the final puzzle.”
Batman strained against the restraints. The metal creaked.
Penguin immediately took three steps back.
Riddler did not. Riddler had the expression of a man who had spent too much money on technology and was determined to make it everyone else’s problem.
Batman’s eyes narrowed behind the white lenses.
“Nygma.”
“Ah, ah, ah.” Riddler wagged a finger. “No brooding your way out of this one. No smoke pellet. No dramatic gadgets. No suspiciously timed Robin.”
As if summoned by the word, a faint crash came from somewhere outside.
Everyone froze.
A henchman ran in from stage left. “Boss, we caught Red Robin in the alley.”
Batman went very still.
Riddler blinked.
Penguin pinched the bridge of his nose. “You caught one of them?”
“Sort of.”
“What does ‘sort of’ mean?”
The henchman looked nervous. “He said he was caught, but he’s been giving notes on our Wi-Fi security for fifteen minutes.”
A voice shouted from somewhere offstage, “Your password is literally ‘Penguin123’!”
Penguin turned red. “It is not!”
Another henchman appeared. “Actually, boss—”
“Not now.”
Batman’s expression did not change, but something about the room got colder.
Riddler snapped his fingers. “Lock him in the storage room. We only need the main event.”
The henchman hesitated. “He said not to start without him.”
Batman’s jaw tightened.
Penguin frowned. “Why?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘The group chat is going to be furious if I miss Batman getting kidnapped by theater kids.’”
Riddler’s eye twitched.
“Storage room,” he repeated.
The henchman fled.
Riddler took a deep breath, smoothed his jacket, and turned toward the camera drones rising from the orchestra pit.
Dozens of tiny red lights blinked on.
“Citizens of Gotham,” Riddler announced, voice booming through the theater, “tonight you will witness the solution to the greatest riddle of our time. Who is Batman?”
Batman said nothing.
Penguin leaned toward him with a smirk. “Any last growls?”
Batman looked at him.
Penguin leaned back again.
Riddler paced dramatically in front of the camera. “For years, he has hidden behind myth, fear, and theatrical costuming.”
“Bold words from a man dressed as a question mark,” Batman said.
A muffled laugh came from somewhere offstage.
Riddler pointed at him. “Silence. Tonight, the mask comes off.”
Penguin checked a tablet. “We’re live.”
Across Gotham, screens flickered.
In bars, diners, hideouts, safehouses, and one very confused dentist’s office, the feed appeared.
The Iceberg Lounge stopped mid-song.
Blackgate’s rec room erupted.
Arkham’s common room went dead silent.
In the Batcave, Alfred Pennyworth looked up from polishing a silver tray.
On the Batcomputer, the livestream opened across six monitors.
Alfred stared at it.
Then he sighed, placed the tray down, and said, “Master Bruce is going to be insufferable about this.”
Behind him, Dick Grayson dropped from the clock entrance in full Nightwing gear, holding a smoothie.
“Why is Bruce on Twitch?”
Alfred looked at him.
Dick looked at the screen.
The smoothie fell out of his hand.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Jason’s voice crackled over comms. “What happened? Why did Replacement send a message that just says ‘Dad’s getting doxxed by the Riddle Twink’?”
From another channel, Damian said, “I knew Drake would get captured first.”
Tim’s voice cut in, slightly offended and slightly muffled. “I’m not captured. I’m undercover.”
Jason said, “You’re locked in a storage room.”
“Undercover in a storage room.”
Dick was already running toward the Batmobile. “Everybody move.”
Alfred picked up the smoothie cup with two fingers.
On the screen, Riddler lifted his cane toward Batman’s cowl.
Gotham held its breath.
And then every screen went black.
For exactly two seconds.
Then the livestream returned.
But the camera angle had changed.
Now it showed Riddler frozen mid-pose, Penguin staring toward the back of the theater, and Batman still bound on stage, looking like he had suddenly developed a headache.
A slow clap echoed through the Monarch Theater.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
From the aisle between the seats, a figure emerged in purple.
The Joker strolled forward like he had been personally invited, one hand over his heart, the other holding a half-eaten bag of popcorn.
“My, my, my,” Joker said softly. “What do we have here?”
Riddler’s face drained of color.
Penguin whispered, “Oh, no.”
Batman closed his eyes.
Joker stopped at the foot of the stage and looked up at him.
“Batsy,” he said, sounding wounded. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing other attention seekers.”
Batman opened his eyes.
“Joker.”
“Oh, don’t ‘Joker’ me in that voice. I had to hear about this from an Arkham orderly who was watching it on his phone in the break room. The break room, Bats! Do you know how humiliating that is?”
Riddler straightened, attempting dignity. “This does not concern you.”
The entire theater went silent.
Even Penguin looked at him like he had just slapped a bomb with a fish.
Joker slowly turned his head.
His smile widened.
It did not become friendlier.
“Eddie,” he said, “what did you just say to me?”
Riddler swallowed.
“I said—”
“No, no, I heard you.” Joker hopped onto the stage with the energy of a man entering a musical number. “I just wanted to give you a chance to hear how stupid it sounded.”
Penguin cleared his throat. “Now, Joker, old friend—”
Joker whipped toward him. “Oswald.”
Penguin immediately shut his mouth.
Joker walked slowly around Batman, inspecting the restraints. He clicked his tongue.
“Metal net. Magnets. Cameras. Very elaborate. Very tacky.” He leaned close to Batman’s face. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Batman stared at him.
“I’m going to break your wrist.”
Joker sighed dreamily. “There he is.”
Riddler stepped forward, cane clenched. “You are interrupting history.”
Joker snapped upright.
“History?” he repeated.
“Yes. The world deserves to know who he is.”
“The world?” Joker laughed once. Then again. Then harder, bending over with one hand on his knee. “Oh, that is rich. That is fantastic. The world deserves—oh, Eddie, you precious little Sudoku.”
Riddler bristled. “Do not call me that.”
Joker’s laughter stopped.
“No.”
One word.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Joker’s eyes sharpened as he looked between Riddler and Penguin.
“No, no, no. Let me explain something to you boys, since apparently Gotham’s education system has failed yet again.” He gestured broadly at Batman. “This? This is not a cheap party trick. This is not some little curtain pull at the end of your middle-school magic show.”
Batman muttered, “You went to middle school?”
Joker pointed at him without looking. “Not now, dear. Daddy’s working.”
Batman’s glare could have killed weeds.
Joker turned back to Riddler. “You don’t take the mask off.”
Riddler scoffed. “Why? Because of honor?”
“Because it’s not funny.”
That shut everyone up.
Joker moved closer, smile twitching. “Do you understand what happens if you take off the mask? Hm? You ruin the whole thing.”
Penguin said carefully, “The whole… thing?”
“The game, the joke!” Joker hissed.
The words landed with enough weight that even Batman stopped trying to break the restraint for half a second.
Joker spread his hands. “The chase. The mystery. The drama. The rooftops. The rain. The entrances. The exits. The way he appears in a room even though there were no doors open and everyone pretends that isn’t deeply upsetting.”
A henchman in the wings whispered, “It is upsetting.”
“Thank you, Gary,” Joker said.
Gary looked horrified. “How do you know my name?”
“I know everyone’s name, Gary. Focus.”
Riddler’s expression twisted. “You’re being sentimental.”
Joker lunged so quickly that Riddler stumbled back and nearly tripped over his own cane.
“Sentimental?” Joker’s voice rose. “Sentimental? I am being professional.”
Batman’s mouth twitched.
It was almost a smile.
Almost.
Joker pointed sharply at Riddler. “You think you get to walk in here with your dollar-store ego and your math homework suit and ruin years of carefully cultivated narrative tension?”
“My suit is bespoke.”
“It is a cry for help.”
Penguin raised one finger. “Now, to be fair—”
Joker spun. “And you.”
Penguin lowered the finger.
“Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot.”
Penguin went pale. “Do not government-name me.”
“You put this on a livestream.”
“It was his idea.”
“Oh, I’m sure. But you monetized it.”
Penguin said nothing.
Joker leaned closer. “Were there ads?”
Penguin’s silence grew louder.
Batman looked at him.
“There were ads?” Batman growled.
Penguin shifted. “Only pre-roll.”
Joker gasped.
Batman’s restraints creaked ominously.
Riddler snapped, “Enough! This is my triumph!”
Joker turned very slowly.
“Your triumph,” he said softly, “was supposed to be stealing all the crossword puzzles from the Gotham Gazette and replacing them with clues to a bank vault shaped like a question mark.”
Riddler paused.
“That was private.”
“That was charming. This?” Joker gestured to Batman. “This is tacky.”
“Tacky?” Riddler looked genuinely offended. “I constructed an unbreakable puzzle.”
Joker leaned in and whispered loudly, “No one cares.”
Riddler’s face went red.
Joker straightened and addressed the camera drone that was still hovering nearby.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and morally flexible citizens watching at home, we apologize for the interruption to your regularly scheduled programming. Tonight’s planned reveal has been canceled due to creative differences, basic etiquette, and the fact that Edward Nygma has apparently mistaken himself for someone with rights.”
Riddler grabbed the drone. “This is my broadcast!”
Joker grabbed Riddler’s wrist.
Riddler froze.
The smile vanished from Joker’s face.
“No,” Joker said. “It was.”
Then he looked at the camera.
His grin returned all at once.
“Smile!”
The screen went black and the camera drones sparked and dropped one by one from the air.
Penguin took another step back.
“Now,” Joker said brightly, clapping his hands. “Where were we?”
Batman had resumed trying to break free.
Joker turned to him and sighed. “Oh, stop that. You’ll hurt yourself.”
Batman glared.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re tied to a stage in front of a man whose brand is punctuation and a bird who commits tax fraud with umbrellas.”
Penguin huffed. “I resent that.”
“You resent audits, Oswald.”
Batman said, “Get me out then.”
Joker pressed a hand to his chest. “No please?”
Batman stared.
Joker hummed. “Fine. But only because the lighting in here is making you look dramatic, and I refuse to let Eddie take credit for it.”
He pulled a switchblade from his sleeve.
Penguin squeaked.
Joker pointed at him with it. “Relax. If I wanted to stab you, you’d already be nostalgic.”
Batman’s eyes narrowed.
“Joker.”
“What? I’m helping.”
“You’re threatening.”
“I multitask.”
Joker circled behind him and began working at the restraint’s control box. He hummed cheerfully. The tune sounded suspiciously like “Pop Goes the Weasel.”
Riddler, gathering some fraction of courage or stupidity, said, “You cannot be serious. You would protect him?”
Joker’s hands paused.
Batman went still again.
Joker looked over his shoulder.
“Protect him?”
He smiled.
“No, Eddie. I’m protecting me.”
Riddler frowned.
Joker’s voice went low. “Do you know what happens if you tell the world who he is?”
No one answered.
Joker stepped away from the control box and moved toward Riddler with slow, deliberate steps.
“All the little monsters come crawling out of their holes. Every petty thug, every rival, every wannabe with a grudge and a gun. They don’t chase the Bat anymore. They chase the man.”
Batman said, sharper, “Joker.”
But Joker did not look at him.
“And then what?” Joker asked Riddler. “Hm? Where’s the fun in that? No rooftops. No riddles. No grand entrances. No midnight dance. Just a mob of idiots trying to skip to the end because they couldn’t appreciate the story.”
Riddler’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Joker was very close now.
“And if one of them gets lucky?” Joker whispered. “If one of them takes him from me?”
Penguin’s umbrella trembled.
Joker smiled again.
It was terrible.
“Well,” he said lightly, “then I’d be very upset.”
Behind him, Batman’s restraint finally snapped.
The metal net clattered to the stage.
Batman stepped free.
Every henchman immediately dropped their weapons.
One man raised both hands and said, “I quit.”
Batman rolled his shoulders.
Joker turned, delighted. “There he is!”
Batman seized Joker by the lapels.
Joker beamed. “Miss me?”
Batman growled, “You are going back to Arkham.”
“Obviously. But you have to admit, I did save your dignity.”
“You threatened half the room.”
“For your dignity.”
“You broke into a livestream.”
“For your dignity.”
“You called me sweetheart on camera.”
Joker paused.
Then he looked genuinely thoughtful.
“Did I?”
Batman tightened his grip.
Joker smiled wider. “Worth it.”
Riddler tried to inch toward the emergency exit.
Batman threw a batarang without looking.
The door slammed shut in front of Riddler’s nose.
Riddler froze.
Penguin slowly raised both hands. “For the record, I was never personally invested in the mask portion.”
Batman turned his head.
Penguin swallowed. “Deeply regrettable lapse in judgment. Terrible idea. Bad optics. No ads next time.”
Batman’s glare sharpened.
Penguin amended quickly, “No next time.”
From somewhere offstage, Tim’s voice called, “Hey, B? Storage room has terrible ventilation and several OSHA violations.”
Batman closed his eyes for one second.
Joker perked up. “Is that one of the little birds?”
Batman shoved him toward a pillar and cuffed one of his wrists to it.
Joker looked down. “Rude.”
Batman stalked offstage.
There was a crash, a muffled argument, and then Red Robin emerged from behind the curtain, cape slightly crooked, domino mask still firmly in place, holding a laptop under one arm.
“I shut down the offshore servers,” Tim said. “Also, Penguin’s tax records are fascinating.”
Penguin made a strangled noise.
Batman pointed at him. “Later.”
Tim looked at Joker cuffed to the pillar.
Joker waved with his free hand. “Hello, little bird. Love the mask. Keep it on.”
Tim stared.
Then he looked at Batman.
“Did he just give me costume safety advice?”
Batman said, “Don’t engage.”
Joker leaned forward. “And you should really encrypt your group chat better. The name ‘Batfam Chaos Goblins’ is cute but vulnerable.”
Tim’s face went blank.
Batman turned to Tim.
Tim said, “In my defense, Nightwing named it.”
Just then a roar sounded outside as the Batmobile tore up to the theater.
Nightwing burst through the side doors two seconds later, escrima sticks in hand, hair windswept and dramatic.
“Dad!”
Everyone froze.
Nightwing froze.
Batman froze.
Tim froze.
Penguin froze with the haunted expression of a man who had just witnessed a family secret stumble into a room wearing blue spandex.
Joker’s smile sharpened.
Nightwing slowly looked around.
Then he pointed at Batman.
“Batdad,” he corrected loudly. “As in, wow, this is very concerning for Batdad. Because he is Batman. Who is emotionally everyone’s father. Obviously.”
Tim whispered, “Oh my God.”
Batman said nothing.
Joker started laughing.
It began as a giggle, then grew into full, delighted cackling.
Nightwing winced. “Not my best save.”
“No,” Batman said.
Tim muttered, “Top ten worst.”
Penguin’s eyes darted between them.
Riddler’s mouth slowly opened.
Joker’s laughter stopped again.
Riddler closed his mouth.
Smart.
Joker leaned against the pillar, cuff clinking. “Nobody heard anything.”
Penguin nodded immediately. “Nothing.”
Riddler nodded too fast. “Absolutely nothing.”
A henchman raised a hand. “I heard—”
Batman, Nightwing, Tim, Penguin, and Riddler all looked at him.
Joker smiled.
The henchman lowered his hand. “I heard nothing.”
“Good boy, Gary,” Joker said.
Batman pinched the bridge of his cowl.
Then the roof exploded inward.
Red Hood dropped through the hole in a shower of dust, guns drawn.
“WHO TRIED TO UNMASK MY OLD MAN?”
A silence followed.
Jason looked around.
Then, slowly, he lowered the guns.
“Wow,” he said. “This got weird before I arrived.”
Nightwing dragged a hand down his face. “Hood.”
“What?” Jason said. “He’s old. He’s a man. Statement stands.”
Batman said, “I am not old.”
Jason pointed at him. “You make a noise when you stand up.”
Tim muttered, “He does.”
“I heard that.”
Joker, still cuffed to the pillar, looked absolutely delighted.
“Oh,” Joker said. “This is precious. The little bird brought a shotgun and unresolved affection.”
Jason turned toward him. “Why is he here?”
Joker lifted his cuffed wrist. “Saving the sanctity of Batman’s personal brand.”
Jason stared.
Then he looked at Batman.
“Absolutely not.”
Batman said, “I know.”
Jason turned to Penguin. “You livestreamed this?”
Penguin backed away. “I have already expressed remorse.”
Jason pointed at Riddler. “You planned it?”
Riddler lifted his chin. “In a purely intellectual—”
Jason took one step forward.
Riddler said, “Yes, and I regret everything.”
A small figure dropped from the rafters behind him.
Damian Wayne landed silently, katana drawn.
Riddler screamed.
Damian looked disappointed. “You are all pathetic.”
Joker gasped. “Oh, this one is adorable.”
Damian aimed the katana at him. “Speak again and I will remove your tongue.”
Joker clasped his hands. “He’s perfect.”
Batman said, “Robin.”
Damian lowered the sword half an inch. “They attempted to expose your identity.”
“Yes.”
“They should be punished.”
“They will be arrested.”
Damian looked at Riddler.
Riddler looked ready to cry.
Damian said, “Acceptable for now.”
Jason leaned toward Tim. “Did Joker really shut it down?”
Tim nodded. “Apparently the mask reveal offended his sense of narrative structure.”
Jason stared at Joker.
Joker wiggled his fingers.
Jason looked back at Batman. “I hate this city.”
Nightwing said, “We all do.”
Joker sighed happily. “Family outings are so precious.”
Batman turned toward him.
“You,” he said, “are going to Arkham.”
Joker smiled. “And you’re welcome.”
“I did not thank you.”
“With your eyes.”
“My eyes are covered.”
“And yet, so expressive.”
Batman dragged him toward the exit.
Joker went willingly for about three steps, then dug his heels in dramatically.
“Wait.”
Batman stopped.
Joker looked past him at Riddler and Penguin.
For once, his voice carried no laughter.
“New rule,” Joker said.
The room held its breath.
“If you catch the Bat, you gloat. If you catch a bird, you monologue. You tie them up, put them in silly death traps, leave clues, and wait to get punched like civilized people.”
Batman’s head turned slowly.
Joker continued. “But you do not touch the masks.”
No one moved.
“You do not tug. You do not peek. You do not livestream. You do not threaten to reveal. You do not even make a clever little joke about it unless you want me to take personal interest in your hobbies.”
Penguin whispered, “Understood.”
Riddler nodded.
A henchman raised his hand again. “What if the mask is already damaged and kind of falling off?”
Joker stared at him.
Gary whispered, “Put tape on it.”
Joker pointed. “Gary gets it.”
Batman pulled him harder.
Joker stumbled, then laughed again. “Oh, come on, Bats. Admit it. You needed me.”
Batman said, “I had it handled.”
“You were tied to a stage.”
“I was assessing.”
“You were two seconds away from becoming a trending topic.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
“Worse than social media?”
Batman paused.
Joker grinned. “Exactly.”
Outside, police sirens wailed.
The GCPD arrived to find Riddler sitting on the curb with his head in his hands, Penguin muttering about breach of contract, and three henchmen arguing about whether “mask tape” should become standard equipment.
Commissioner Gordon stepped out of his car and took in the scene.
Batman stood beside the Batmobile, silent and grim.
Nightwing was trying not to laugh.
Red Robin was typing furiously.
Red Hood was lecturing a henchman about basic loyalty.
Robin was standing on a gargoyle despite there being no reason to stand on a gargoyle.
And Joker was handcuffed to a streetlamp, humming.
Gordon took off his glasses.
Cleaned them.
Put them back on.
“Nope,” he said. “Still seeing it.”
Batman said, “Riddler and Penguin attempted to unmask me on a livestream.”
Gordon looked at Joker.
“Then why is he smiling like he won bingo?”
Joker gasped. “Commissioner, I saved the day.”
Gordon looked at Batman.
Batman said nothing.
Gordon looked at Nightwing.
Nightwing rocked on his heels. “Technically…”
Gordon looked physically pained.
“No.”
Joker lifted his chin. “I expect a parade.”
“You’re getting Arkham,” Gordon said.
“A small parade to Arkham?”
“No.”
“A banner?”
“No.”
“One tasteful fruit basket?”
Batman said, “No.”
Joker sighed. “You’re all impossible.”
Gordon turned to Batman. “The feed?”
“Deleted,” Red Robin said. “Every mirror, every server, every backup. I also replaced the archived files with a loop of Riddler failing to spell ‘anonymity.’”
Riddler shouted from the curb, “That was one time!”
Red Hood said, “You spelled it with three Ns.”
Riddler buried his face in his hands.
Gordon looked at Batman again. “And nobody saw anything?”
Nightwing opened his mouth.
Batman’s head snapped toward him.
Nightwing closed his mouth.
Joker smiled to himself.
“Oh,” he said softly. “They saw plenty.”
Batman’s shoulders went rigid.
Joker leaned against the streetlamp, eyes bright under the flashing police lights.
“But not the important part.”
Batman stared at him.
For a moment, there was no laughter between them.
Only Gotham noise. Sirens. Rain beginning to fall. The distant rumble of thunder.
Then Joker tilted his head.
“Don’t worry, Batsy,” he said, voice light again. “Your little secret is safe with me.”
Batman stepped closer.
“You don’t know anything.”
Joker’s smile widened.
“Of course not.”
Batman did not move.
Joker’s eyes flicked, briefly, toward Nightwing.
Then Red Hood, Red Robin, Robin.
Then back to Batman.
His grin softened into something more dangerous than humor.
“Perish the thought,” he said. “Why would I ever care who’s under there?”
Batman’s jaw tightened.
Joker leaned forward as far as the handcuffs allowed.
“After all,” he whispered, “the mask is the fun part.”
Batman held his stare for a long second.
Then he turned away.
“Take him in.”
Gordon signaled the officers.
As they uncuffed Joker from the streetlamp and moved him toward the transport van, he called over his shoulder, “Same time next week, Bats?”
Batman ignored him.
“Rooftop? Rain? Dramatic lighting?”
Still nothing.
“I’ll bring snacks!”
Red Hood muttered, “I’m going to shoot him.”
Batman said, “No.”
“Just a little.”
“No.”
Damian said, “I support Todd.”
“No.”
Nightwing slung an arm around Batman’s shoulders.
Batman immediately removed it.
Nightwing smiled anyway. “So. Joker saved your secret identity.”
Batman walked toward the Batmobile.
“No.”
Tim followed, still typing. “He did.”
“No.”
Jason grinned. “He defended your honor.”
“No.”
Damian frowned. “He established a useful deterrent.”
Batman paused.
Everyone looked at him.
Batman said, “That is unfortunately accurate.”
Jason threw his hands up. “I hate when the clown is tactically useful.”
Tim said, “I’m adding the mask rule to the database.”
Nightwing said, “Under what category?”
Tim thought for a second.
Then he typed.
“Gotham Criminal Etiquette.”
Three nights later, the rule had spread.
Nobody knew exactly how. That was Gotham.
A mugger told a dealer, who told a henchman, who told a bartender, who told a terrified man in a question-mark jacket, who told absolutely everyone.
By the end of the week, it was common knowledge.
If you captured Batman, you could monologue.
If you captured Nightwing, you could make fun of the Discowing suit, but only if you were willing to be kicked in the face.
If you captured Red Hood, congratulations, you had made a terrible life choice.
If you captured Red Robin, do not leave him near electronics.
If you captured Robin, apologize to your ancestors.
But under no circumstances were you to remove a mask.
Not because of Batman.
Not because of the Robins.
Not because of the police.
Because somewhere in Gotham, Joker might hear about it.
And apparently, Joker had opinions.
A month later, a small-time villain named Kite-Man accidentally netted Spoiler during what he insisted was “not a kidnapping, more of a misunderstanding with rope.”
Spoiler sat on the floor of his hideout, hands tied loosely in front of her.
Kite-Man stared at her purple mask.
Spoiler stared back.
He slowly reached for it.
Every henchman in the room shouted, “NO!”
Kite-Man jumped. “What?”
One of them slapped duct tape over his own hand preemptively. “Boss, are you insane?”
Spoiler blinked.
Another henchman dragged a printed flyer from his pocket.
It read:
GOTHAM RULE #1: DON’T TOUCH THE MASKS.
Underneath, someone had drawn a crude picture of Joker giving a thumbs-up beside a skull.
Spoiler looked at the flyer.
Then at Kite-Man.
Then at the henchmen.
“Wow,” she said. “That is both deeply disturbing and kind of convenient.”
The henchman nodded. “We respect boundaries now.”
Spoiler smiled.
“Cool. Can one of you untie me?”
“No.”
“Worth a shot.”
In the Batcave, Batman reviewed the incident report in grim silence.
Tim stood beside him, failing to hide a smile.
Jason was laughing openly.
Dick had fallen out of a chair.
Damian looked thoughtful.
“This development has reduced risk,” Damian said.
Batman grunted.
Jason wiped a tear from his eye. “B, Joker accidentally invented villain consent culture.”
Batman glared.
Tim nodded solemnly. “Mask-specific, but yes.”
Dick wheezed from the floor.
Batman turned back to the computer.
On screen, the flyer remained open.
Joker’s crude thumbs-up stared back at him.
Batman closed the file.
Then reopened it.
Then closed it again.
Alfred appeared behind them with a tray of tea.
“I must say,” he said mildly, “there are worse outcomes.”
Batman did not answer.
Jason leaned back in his chair. “Are we sending Joker a thank-you card?”
“No,” Batman said.
Dick sat up. “A fruit basket?”
“No.”
Tim said, “A tasteful banner?”
“No.”
Damian said, “A warning that if he speaks of this again, I will remove his spleen?”
Batman considered it.
Alfred cleared his throat.
Batman said, “Also no.”
Far across the city, in Arkham Asylum, Joker sat in his cell with a crayon and a stack of stolen stationery.
He was drawing a bat.
The bat had very pointy ears.
Beside it, he wrote:
Dear Batsy,
He paused.
Tapped the crayon against his chin.
Then grinned and continued.
You’re welcome.
He giggled to himself.
Then, beneath that, in smaller letters, he added:
P.S. Tell the kids I said hello.
Joker stared at the sentence.
His smile widened.
Not too much.
Just enough.
Then he folded the note, placed it in an envelope, and wrote on the front:
FOR THE BAT. PRIVATE. DO NOT UNMASK.
He laughed for twenty minutes.
And from that day forward, every villain in Gotham understood one thing very clearly.
Batman’s mask was not to be touched.
Not because it was impossible.
Not because they weren’t curious.
Not even because Batman would break their arms.
But because the Joker had decided that some mysteries belonged to him.
And Gotham, for once, decided not to argue.