The Joker's smile didn't fade, but something in his eyes sharpened—like a blade sliding free of velvet.
"You are not Batman."
The words echoed through the vast lobby of Wayne Tower, bouncing off marble columns and shattered glass. Dust drifted lazily through shafts of gray light that cut down from the fractured ceiling. The Batmobile's engine idled low and predatory, a mechanical growl vibrating through the floor.
Inside the cockpit, Li Jie didn't move.
The voice modulator disguised his breathing, flattened it into something inhuman. Calm. Cold. Controlled.
"Careful," he said evenly through the external speakers. "You don't want to make that mistake."
The criminals around the perimeter shifted uneasily. A few tightened their grip on rifles. One man's hand visibly trembled.
The Joker took a slow step forward, polished shoes crunching over broken glass. He tilted his head, studying the armored silhouette behind the windshield.
"Oh, I'm not making a mistake," he sang lightly. "Batman doesn't threaten people with being zombie chow. That's… practical. Efficient." His grin widened. "My Batman is dramatic."
A ripple of nervous laughter flickered through the gunmen, then died instantly when the Joker raised one gloved finger.
Li Jie's instincts prickled.
He had felt it the moment he entered—the imbalance. Too few heavy weapons. Too much empty space. The men were positioned in arcs instead of defensive clusters.
A stage.
This wasn't a fortress.
It was a theater.
Outside, faint but steady, came the distant crack of rifle fire—Barbara maintaining overwatch. Good. The perimeter was thinning.
Li Jie opened the Batmobile canopy with a hydraulic hiss.
If the Joker wanted a performance, he would give him one.
The armored panels slid back. Boots hit the marble floor with controlled weight. The cape fell into place behind him like a curtain dropping before an act.
Gasps broke from the criminals despite themselves.
Presence mattered.
Li Jie walked forward slowly, each step deliberate. He kept his shoulders squared, chin lowered slightly, exactly as Alfred had coached him. Less movement. More gravity.
"You've destroyed half the city," he said. "You're holding civilians in the upper floors. This ends tonight."
The Joker clapped once.
"Bravo!" He spun in a circle. "See? That's better. Now you sound like him."
A thug near the staircase flinched and raised his rifle.
Barbara's shot came a heartbeat later.
"Pfft."
The man dropped before his finger fully tightened on the trigger.
Every gun snapped upward toward the broken windows.
"Sniper!" someone screamed.
Li Jie moved.
Two batarangs left his hand in a blur—one slicing across a rifle barrel, the other cracking into a man's wrist. The weapon clattered to the floor.
He surged forward, cape sweeping wide, using the chaos.
Three men opened fire.
Bullets sparked off reinforced armor. Li Jie pivoted, drove an elbow into one throat, hooked another behind the knee and slammed him down. A third swung the butt of a shotgun—Li Jie caught it, twisted, disarmed, and drove the man face-first into a pillar.
Across the lobby, the Joker backed casually toward the freight elevator—the only access point downward to the Wayne armory vaults.
Of course.
Li Jie saw it too late.
The elevator doors slid open behind the clown with a polite ding.
"You didn't think I'd greet you without a little surprise, did you?" the Joker asked softly.
The lights flickered.
Then the floor moved.
A deep mechanical rumble rolled through the building. Panels along the marble flooring split apart, retracting in precise rectangular segments.
Hidden gun ports.
Automated turrets rose from beneath the surface.
Li Jie swore internally.
Military-grade hardware. Wayne prototypes.
The Joker's grin returned in full force.
"I found toys in the basement. I do love toys."
The turrets locked onto motion.
Li Jie dove as the first volley erupted. The air shredded with ballistic fire, chewing through pillars and sending stone fragments flying. He rolled behind an overturned reception desk and deployed an EMP charge from his belt.
He hurled it across the lobby.
The device detonated with a sharp pulse.
Three turrets sputtered and died.
Two remained active.
Barbara's rifle cracked again—one turret's targeting sensor shattered in a spray of sparks.
The second turret pivoted mid-adjustment and sprayed blindly.
Li Jie launched a grapnel, pulled himself up to the mezzanine balcony as rounds tore through the space he'd occupied seconds before.
Below, the Joker clapped delightedly.
"Yes! Yes! That's the dance!"
Li Jie landed on the balcony railing, cape whipping behind him.
He scanned quickly.
Six hostiles left on the ground floor. Two near the elevator. One wounded but reaching for a sidearm.
He dropped down behind the nearest pair.
Three strikes. Precise. Efficient. Non-lethal.
A man charged him from the left—Li Jie sidestepped and drove him into the disabled turret housing.
Barbara's calm voice came through his earpiece.
"West side clear. You've got two flanking from the stairwell."
"I see them."
He hurled a smoke pellet.
Gray clouds exploded outward, swallowing half the lobby.
Through thermal lenses, silhouettes glowed red.
He moved like a shadow through shadow—disarming, striking, disabling.
Within ninety seconds, the gunfire ceased.
The smoke thinned.
Bodies lay scattered, groaning or unconscious.
Only one figure remained standing.
The Joker.
He hadn't taken the elevator.
He stood exactly where he had been, head tilted, as if admiring artwork.
"You are very good," he said quietly. "Almost convincing."
Li Jie advanced.
"Release the upper floors."
The Joker's eyes glittered.
"Oh, but that's the best part."
He slowly raised a detonator in his hand.
Li Jie stopped.
"You see," the Joker continued conversationally, "when I blew the stairwells, I left something behind. Pressure-sensitive surprises. If anyone tries to come down…"
He mimed an explosion with his fingers.
"Boom."
Li Jie's jaw tightened beneath the cowl.
"How many?"
"Enough."
Silence stretched between them.
Outside, distant sirens wailed—James Gordon and the volunteers securing the perimeter.
The Joker stepped closer.
"If you were really him, you'd know what comes next," he whispered. "You'd refuse to choose. You'd find another way."
Li Jie studied him.
This wasn't just a standoff.
It was a test.
He needed time. Information. Access to the building schematics in full detail.
He tapped into the Batmobile's remote systems through his gauntlet.
Alfred's archived blueprints flickered across his internal HUD.
There.
Secondary maintenance shafts. Narrow. Unmapped in the main structure. Too small for freight—but not for a person.
"You're stalling," the Joker observed.
"Yes," Li Jie said calmly. "I am."
The Joker blinked—then laughed sharply.
"Oh! Honesty! That's new."
In that fraction of distraction, Li Jie moved.
A batarang sliced through the detonator.
The Joker's thumb never completed the press.
The device clattered uselessly across the marble.
Li Jie crossed the distance instantly and drove the clown into the floor, pinning his arm behind his back.
The Joker laughed even as his cheek pressed against stone.
"There he is," he murmured. "There's my Batman."
Outside, the lobby doors burst open.
James Gordon stepped in with armed volunteers behind him.
He froze at the sight.
The Joker restrained.
Batman standing over him.
Alive.
A murmur spread through the survivors gathering beyond the barricades.
Hope.
Real. Tangible.
Li Jie tightened the restraint cuffs around the Joker's wrists.
"This building is secured," he said through the modulator. "Evacuate the upper floors carefully. There are pressure traps in the main stairwells. Use maintenance shafts along the western wall."
Gordon nodded once, deeply.
Underneath him, the Joker turned his head slightly.
"You're not him," he whispered one last time, voice soft enough that only Li Jie could hear. "But you're learning."
Li Jie didn't respond.
He pulled the clown to his feet and handed him over.
Above them, somewhere in the fractured tower, survivors waited.
And tonight—
Batman had returned.
....
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