2014.05.14 - The Forgotten Punchline

When the clown went to ground, the Red Hood was on the trail. He was a bloodhound, following the trail of freaks and monsters that signed up to work under him, hoping for fast cash and to exercise their deviant minds to his pleasure. THey're not hard to find if you know where to look. The watering holes, the back alleys--he busted up tables and put the dye in the water, the words in the whisper-stream: ''Someone's looking for the Joker. It's personal. One on one. And he'll go through everyone he has to go to get it.''

Eventually, the mooks began to take notice. Did word get back to the Joker? He hoped so. The clown's ego wouldn't let him resist the bait, he figured. Curiosity and a need to feed his grotesque urges would eventually coax him out to see who was so daring as to take a long, satisfying piss in the Joker's proverbial pool. Jason was sure of it, and the weeping of the broken-faced goon in his hands? Well, that was just the cherry on his Sundae.

"All I need is an answer," he said, brushing away the blood from his leaking nose; the motion would have been tender, if his other hand didn't have the muzzle of his gun pressed against the man's cheek. R

"Where is he? 'Where. Is. The. Joker?''"

Obviously, the Joker had countless people waiting in the ringside for whenever he decided to once more break free. Picking them out took effort, but Jason Todd was not a helpless fool in the realm of interrogation and detective work, despite what many might think to the contrast. In the few days following, two dozen are crippled or dead, and it's obvious that most have begun to panic and flee into the woodwork. But that won't do. If they panic and flee, then that means the connection to the Joker is found. Although Jason is forgetting the golden rule. The one that got him killed.

Never, ever go against the Joker on his terms. Only Batman has whatever twisted rapport is necessary to survive those ordeals. The Red Mask is literal proof nobody else is safe.

Allowed: One Meddlesome Red Mask. Come if you dare. Mano y mano, si?

He doesn't take a direct entrance. He comes up from below-- trekking through the sewers and bypassing the scant security he found to get into the place from behind.

The poetry of it... Well, Joker either has an idea of who he is, or doesn't care. But he takes the ticket all the same.

He'll take it. He'll take it and scout it and do the exhaustive work he has to do to make sure he's not walking into the same goddamn thing he did when he as fifteen, that he's not going to get himself killed again. He's not. He's not. He's entirely changed from the boy he used to be. He's going to prove it. Prove Bruce was wrong (but right) about everything he's been doing.

The Red Hood leaves the men with their fingers broken. Tells them if the Bat find them and they snitch, he will kill them. All of them. But for now, for now they get to live.

He's going to make him kill the clown.

Eschewing the obivous, Red Hood doesn't take a direct entrance. He comes up from below-- trekking through the sewers and bypassing the scant security he found to get into the place from behind.

Nothing. The entirety of the carnival is empty. Every infra-vision scan, every advanced detection, every instinct. It's barren. There's no line of gangs or troops anywhere to be found, but... but what? Batman never really TAUGHT him how to survive Joker. Maybe that's why he died. 'Never fight him alone.' 'Never engage him.' 'Stay away.' Perhaps that is what spurred Jason into the fateful events that lead to his death. But he's doing it again... will history repeat itself? Time will tell.

Carefully slithering from the sewer system, there's nothing to really be seen at first. But then a light flashes on, revealing a camera well-hidden within one of the worn, broken attractions, aimed right at where Red Hood came. And then, with loud *CRACKS* of electricity, the place begins to light up. A few machines break down, and the carousel bursts into flames. In short order it roars into a bonfire, melting and twisted caricatures of animals as it whirls faster and faster.

All around, a number of crude signs are pointing. They lead to the Funhouse. A great clown's face makes up the door, maw wide open. Of course, the moment Jason moved through it, it would try to snap cut, having hidden steel blades behind the worn wood. Yep. Deathtraps. Unsurprising.

A voice crackles to life on the intercom of the poorly lit, bizarre interior. "Hoohoo...! You're the second visitor to come here... and the LAST one was broken, too. But he wouldn't admit it. No... the Batman's even worse than me. So far into his MADNESS he cannot even acknowledge it! Haaaahahahaa!!"

Proceeding down the hallway, now and then there's something to hassle him. A swishing guillotine. A spray of poison darts. A pit-trap upon Smilex-covered spikes. Nothing deadly. No. And Joker is likely fully aware that it's just playful.

"Who are you, Mr. Red Hood...? I don't really LIKE the color red. Well, unless it's pouring out someone's throat! Hoohoo! I... I think I wore it once... much /better/ of course..."

It's almost insulting; that he doens't take him seriously. But that can work to Jason's favor if he's smart ( and he's trying to be smart, he really is -- but rage is running the show and revenge is the name of the game.) Moving through the traps with almost ridiculous ease, he doesn't even so far as get his jacket scraped. Spikes are leaped, darts are dodged. It is playful -- almost like flirtation without any real intent behind it. Hot air, blowing in his masked face.

"Yeah. That's the point," he said, voice modulator on. His voice is a growling garble -- distinctly electronic. He'll save the truth for the big reveal. "Become what you fear. A little Scarecrow for my tastes, but its done the job."

"Oh, you don't SCARE me... That old red pot means as much to me as anything else in this world. Nothing at all!" Joker's voice thrums out once more. Now the wars are twisted caricatures of smiling faces. Twisting and turning in partial darkness. No more ambushes. Is it to make him drop his guard? The tension in the air is still present, after all. "Although... I'm surprised you even knew I wore it at all. It's been some TIME since someone came at me with brazen hate and vengeance. At least... while still ALIVE. Hoohoo, you'd be surprised how many sneak into my gang, hoping to gut me like a FISH for the things I did! And you..."

"...You are the same way. You want me dead. For what...? Are you like the Punisher? Did I make you snap and decide the world's better off without my laughter? That's selfish. SOME people like it! Or... or did I kill someone you cared about?! Did I hurt you, perhaps? A splatter of acid pie as a bystander? I'm CURIOUS. Of all the people to legitimately want my HEAD, you are actually well trained! I heard about your happy exploits playing with owls."

Ahead is the entrance to the Hall of Mirrors. "C'mon. Tell me. Who are you...? It's the first time I've been curious. Because... I feel like I found a KINDRED SOUL. You just--You just had a bad day, didn't you?! Like *me.* Like ole Batsy. You were living a life, maybe one you enjoyed... and then... it was me, wasn't it? I ruined it. I /MADE/ you!!"

"So to me... it's like you are my son...! Is that what this is about? Impressing ole pops with a gift of murder, rage, and madness?! Sorry, but me and Harley don't NEED a kid your age! And I bet you are soooo high maintenance..."

"I am no one's son!"

That shout costs him control. Goddamn it -- can't let him rattle him, get under his skin. He's already there, after all, he doen't need to get further, get behind your eyes and get in the driver's seat.

"You didn't make me," he said, flipping through visuals on the helm, scanning for thermal beyhond the thin sheets of glass. "I made me. I made the choices that have lead me here. I made the choice to ignore the danger you presented, and I made the choice to rectify that mistake. And I'm going to make him choose: Your life and his precious fucking code, or me."

"Oooo! I didn't know you were an Olympian! But wait, even if you burst fully formed from Zeus's shin, he's STILL your father... I thiiiiiiiink you are lying to me, Mr. Hood..." Joker states, voice obviously barely holding back a fit of laughter.

"What...? I--Huh?" There's actual confusement in this tone. "Why would Batsy care who you are? You're just a murderous nutjob in a tin mask. I'm sure you're already on his shitlist, buddy. Me...? We have a special bond. Are you jealous of it? That special, special bond? We complete one another. He'll NEVER choose you over me... not even for one of his precious flock of birds..." There's absolutely no indication that Joker is aware of who Jason is. It might be dangerous to do so.

But then the thermal picks up a blurry heat signature past one of the glasses, which makes one look particularly wobbly and peculiar. "And if you knew Batsy... you'd know the truth of his code. It's the only thing keeping him SANE. Keeping his tenuous GRASP from becoming what /I/ am. If you made him break it... haha... I'd win. He'd become Just... Like... ME."

"You're wrong. You can still take out the trash, and retain who you are. I do it every day now. I don't do this for pleasure. I don't do this for kicks. I do it beacuse it has to be done. That's my code," says the Hood, his voice firm. "He'll learn it too -- or I'll rip him down and take his place."

He hooks something from his belt-- and flips it's switch, before sending it rolling. IF it's the Joker, the concussion grenade should drop him and break a shitton of glass. If it's not.... well, the mirrors are stop fucking with him now-- he ducks down. It's not a big blast-- but he still doesn't want his ears ringing or losing his footing here.

"...You? Replace the Batman? ...Naaah. I don't think so. You aren't nearly as fun. I like damaged goods... but NO dime store would take a return on /you/..."

There's a huge explosion of glass, shattering it in all directions. The heat signature staggers backwards, but does not go down. That certainly means it's not the Clown Prince.

Who stomps out, Jason probably knows of. He's been the Joker's main muscle since his latest return. A hulking figure well into six feet, heavy ceramic-titanium armor upon chest, forearms, and shins. Kevlar weave between. Over such is a tan trenchcoat, and his face is covered in a mask, outside red goggles. Those gauntlets are obviously of high technology, clenching and unclenching.

"You missed this one. Mr. Ace! The Hero Hunter! Man of a Thousand Tricks! He didn't WANT to come back in my employ... so I injected him with a slow-action poison! If he brings you down for me, then I'll call it even-stevens. Otherwise... well. He's not called the 'Anti-Vigilante' for nothing, kid..."

"Fucking Joker... gonna break his neck..." growls Ace, coughing lightly. "The hell are you? That wannabe punisher? Let's get this dance over with..."

"MANO Y MANO!" Joker coos out. "Only I pick HIM as my champion!"

"Fucking clown," Red Hood mutters. Should've known. Creep always has an angle. Always cheats. But at least he's prepared for it. He came armed to the teeth -- there was no way he was entering this pit unprepared.

He stripped off his coat; hanging from the combat webbing he wore was a small arsenal; blades, grenades, firearms; an assault shotgun on one hip, his twin Desert Eagles under his arms, a small but powerful hold out in one boot, his kris knife in the other. He popped the razors on the side of his gauntlets - perhaps Joker would recognize the stylized 'fins' of Batman's gloves now turned to deadly and dangerous affect as opposed to simply parrying and weapon catches.

He was smaller, lighter, but that wasn't a bad thing. Just means he had to fight like a Robin instead of like a Bat.

"Alright, big n' ugly. Come get sweet release from your world of hurt. I'll make it fast if you don't get stupid." Taunting was a Robin's stock n' trade -- made it stupid. Use their rage. Taunt, confuse, adapt. That's what you were taught to do.

"Damn right, fucking clown." Ace states, with the sort of seething hate that proves in another life, these two might have gotten along. Indeed, the Hero Killer is dangerous because it only takes one mistake to lose against him. Even Nightwing was stunned long enough from taking him down for Joker to get the upper hand and defeat him... Jason's met his match, in that regard.

Only laughter is coming over the intercom for now, as Ace brings up his fists. He moves forward quickly. He's the one on a time limit here, not Jason. No need to rush. He's like a tank, but after stomping down and swishing into a brutal short hook, it's apparent that he's actually no shrimp. He maneuvers with obvious practice, training, and experience. And hopefully Red Hood didn't block, because his fist is alive with electricity crackling through it. "Gotham's below me." Another punch with the other fist, swirling with electricity. "Someone like Spider-Man's more my style... Yeah. I'll make a name taking his head after this..." This time when he swings in a backhand, there's a HSST before a two-foot blade emerges, suddenly giving him far more reach -- with no less of a jolting potential!

"Spider-Man? Seriously? What, you want to swap in for Rhino's digs?"

Dick'd be proud (or not) of all the aerial moves busted out for this. The backflips are effortless. The kipup from his drop-dodge supreme. Just like all the times they trained together. The new kid, Cardinal, he was good -- but nobody had taken to the sheer physicality of being a Robin like Jason Todd.

The blade, though, that was unexpected-- the flat of it catches him as he shiftd-- not far enough away, nope. He spins, a gouge appearing in the back of his armor as the tip of the blade caught him, and drops heavily. Then he's rolling hard.

"You know I only gotta out last you, right?" he asked as he wove again-- trying to help the man to get his blood pumping. Adrenaline and activity was only going to eat though Ace's time. "You kill me for him, you'll never be off his hook. He'll own you. You wanna be owned?"

"Rhino's a one-trick pony. I specialize in a million." Ace states, coughing lightly again. "Go on. Underestimate me... that's how I've added every name to my list..." He's certainly coming back, swinging the blade around, trying to back the Red Hood into the hallway where his mobility is much lessened. However, he's actually prepared for him to try to get past and into the shattered mirrors; if so, his free hand is prepared to launch a grapple line towards his ankle. Those gauntlets must have a load of fun things.

"But nah... you are right. I've got no way outta this. But... I kill you... Joker's gonna c-come out to look..." Another cough, harder. "Then... then I'll f-fucking take him out... that'll make a fucking /legend/...!! Like he's... hrrk... gonna give me the antidote anyway...!!"

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me. You know what a dead legend is, buddy? Still fucking dead."

Something told him that Ace wasn't going to dig his way out of his grave, either. Then again, Jason hadn't died knowing he was going to rise again a year later. He still doesn't have the answer to the 'why me' question, and the less he thought about it the more he was okay with it.

What he was not okay with? Grapples. Just before the line went taut, he snapped out with his boot knife, slicing it like it was sewing thread. He was too used to Bruce's grapple tricks to let this lesser man get him yanked about like a yo-yo. Didn't mean he wasn't scrambling for cover; the goggles he expecerted were thermals or low-lights, so he popped a flash bang off his webbin and sent it rolling. He didn't want to wait for this brute to fall over; he wanted to finish this and move on to the Main Event. He just had to soften him up somehow...

"You're only dead if you're forgotten, punk." Ace states. It might strike home in some regard, inadvertently. Although the expert method of evading the line is surprising. It yanks back a split second after being severed, allowing the Red Mask to get back within the middle area. The hook still clamps heavily, but it's likely not heavy enough to cause any issues with mobility.

Ace is looking a little woozy now, and hasn't done more than scratch Jason. "Fuck..." The flash bang causes the Man of a Thousand Tricks to recoil, yelling out in pained. "Agggh...!!" Utterly vulnerable. Until...

"Just kidding." Hoping for an acrobatic assault, pneumatics hiss in his right glove, before he attempts to deliver a massive bolstered punch to Jason, amping up to nearly a ton of force. But if he does miss... well. Then he's /truly/ going to be absolutely vulnerable.

It does strike home-- it does hurt. Forgotten - replaced! THe fuck does this asshole know about that, anyway?

"Trust me, nobody's gonna miss your sorry as---"

OH SHIT.

Let the rage blind you, and it will in fact consume you. Or line you up for a bone-crushing punch. The Red Hood leaps as the amped punch sails past; the clip of one meaty fist against his left arm leaves it limp and useless. Possibly broken. The Hood cuts sound as he shouts out his pain, staggers-- and grabs for the shotgun on his hip. He twists it in his holster, fingering the safety, and fires blind. But at this range, to the man's side? That kevlar's gonna have to work extra hard to slow a shotgun slug.

Red Hood's good, of course. To think, he had just got told that the Hero Hunter gets all his people by being underestimated. Yet the attempted knockout-punch only grazes, and he can't shift in time. The heavy ceramics around his torso could easily take the slug, but not his side. There's an eruption of blood, before Ace staggers backwards. Shuddering, he yanks down the front of his masks and vomits. Crimson in it; unrelated to the wound. "Heh... heheh... shit, man... I thought I had you with that one." His hands are on his knees, before he inhales sharply. "C'mon... i-if you can slug me in the chest... right here..." Ace taps the ceramic-titanium between his pectorals. "I'll give up. But... I got a trap for you... you'll never make it. ...Let's put it all on... a last roll of the dice...!!"

"You guys think this is a game to me?"

The shotgun released, Red Hood backpeddles for some space-- his arm's numb, not in pain. Bad sign. He was going to need to get Rain on the speed dial again, and soon.

He reached across and pulled a long rod-- no, a crowbar -- off his webbing, and flipped it in his good hand.

"How about I just do you like he did me?" he said. "It'll be just what he needs to get his skinny ass down here for round two."

Movement made his arm jerk awkwardly-- but he didn't stop -- he was moving, looking to kick that bloody face and keep the big man down to where he was less dangerous. The plate was a fake out, a trap - he said so. So instead, he'd take his head off.

Wobbling, coughing up blood, Ace manages to get himself back upright just as the Red Hood is lunging forward. But as the kick is leveraged, his visible unshaven chin is in a grin. Triggering the gambit he tried to lure Jason Todd into.

"...idiot."

There's suddenly a massive explosion; the area directly in front of the Hero Hunter's chest, caught in a flash of heat and force, whirling out and shuddering the nearby walls. Not enough to kill, but certainly enough to send the Red Hood flying a good distance to land in poor shape.

"...P,Pretty much just... let you know I had a bomb..." There's a round, smoking black spot on the front of Ace's armor. "...and you still came into melee..." He starts limping forward, limbs feeling like lead. He's gotta be down. He used his best trick. The one that's never failed. His literal 'ace in the hole'. "Just... g-gotta... finish you off...!!"

"...y--yeah. Fuck, you got me..." For a moment, Jason's heart is racing -- the terror of the bomb, the the time he died. He trembles a little, laying there among the wreckage. "Should've just shot you again. But no... Fucking stupid, Jay."

Bruce would be so angry.

He rolled, slow, to get to his feet; the crowbar wasn't far. He staggered to it, one arm dragging. But he got the length of iron between his fingers, and looked down on the nearly-dead henchman.

"Look at you. Fucking pathetic. I was saving this for him. Should've." He looked at it for a moment in his hand; is the Joker right? If he beats a man to death-- just like Joker did to him-- has he gone too far?

The bar dropped -- he drew one of the Eagles and got a bead.

"You're not a legend. You're just dead."

Bang.

"...Heh." states Ace, his gauntlet shifting and causing a small plasma cannon to form on the gauntlet. "...Heroes... don't shoot people." he states, waveringly starting to raise an arm. Blurry eyes get a bead on Jason. But focus on the barrel of the Eagle.

"Heroes don't..."

Bang.

For a moment, Ace remains standing. Then he slowly thumps down to his knees, teetering before collapsing face-first, blood pooling beneath him.

And then behind, there's the sound of clapping. Shifting from the shadows is the sinister purple outfit, the ashen white face, the wild green hair of the madman that killed him in another life.

"Bravo. You did it. ...But without a code of ethics to break, then... you're already on your way to being craaaaazy as a loooooooooooon..."

What happens next is comical, potentially. A large item is pulled from his pocket, and then Joker simply presses a button. A heavy whirr is heard overhead. Crackles of electricity. ...Before magnetism. Intense, extremely powerful magnetism. The corpse of Ace hurls up to crack against it, as does the crowbar... and what might happen to someone who's very helmet is made of steel?

"Who are you...?! You... remind me of someone...!!" Eyes shift to the crowbar in question, and then there's a moment of disorientation before Joker shakes his head. Ngh. "No... I don't want to know... I-I think I'd rather not play with you...!!"

From his jacket he pulls out his own revolver, lifting it towards Jason.

BANG.

A flag pops out the end, wavering lightly. The end of it razor sharp.

The Red Hood is packingt a lot of metal. A lot of it is not magnetic-- it'd be useless to smuggle armor that couldn't get past a magnetic metal detector, but there are bits here and there that are problematic. The helmet, for instance.

When he goes up-- he's snappping off the webbing and undoing the emergency release on his helmet-- splitting at each ear, letting him squirm out of some of his gear and get back to the ground... poorly. He's off balance, he's down an arm, and he's roughed up...

And the second Robin stares up from the Joker's feet, eyes framed in a red domino mask.

"I don't need gadgets to kill you," he said as he drew up to his feet, unsteady; now the rage flowed easily-- banishing pain, clearing his mind to the purpose he'd always had: the clown had to suffer, before he died. "Just my hands. Not even both-- just one."

Stepping forward, Joker hefts up the weapon. Perfect aim. The moment Robin looks up to speak, he's staring at a perfectly centered flag. A pull of the trigger, and once more he's just a bodycount of the Joker.

But instead the smile falters, gun lowering slightly. "What...?" Memories wrench back into him, infesting his mind like leeches. "You... haha... it can't be you..." His free hand drops the oversized remote. It lands face down, button depressing. In a hiss, the magnetic disengages. Ace thumps down, weapons rain, and the crowbar clatters down in front of Jason Todd.

Wild eyes look to the red mask on the ground, the Joker stepping backward. "Heehee... hoohaahaaHAHAHA...!!" His weapon is trembling, still aimed at Jason. A plunge of green chemicals. Running on a catwalk.

"You... you aren't real... are you?" he states, softly. "You're... you died. I... gave you the punchline..."

He fires, but his aim is off. It might clip Jason's shoulder, but only at best. "I SHOWED YOU THE PUNCHLINE!! YOU CAN'T BE BACK!!" He goes as far as to hurl the weapon at Todd, his laugh growing more and more manic all the while. "W,who are you really?! Batman...?! Is that you... Batman?! Am,am I hallucinating...?!"

He staggers forward, arms outstretched, lost eyes looking for impossible meaning. "I... I almost SHOT you..."

Jason knelt, watching the Joker begin to lose what's left of his mind. The bladed flag thunks against his armor-- sticking it out of it with an almost comically jaunty manner. Jay pulled it free, and let it drop -- he trades it for his crowbar.

"You missed," he said, tongue feeling thick in his mouth. "You remember now, clown? I do." Clumsily, he popped the platingon his armor near his damaged shoulder, pulling it free, yanking down at the shirt b eneath-- showing the deep, grotesque autopsy scar that cuts a path through a pectoral. He pushed it back ito place-- hand coming up to prevent the clown's lurching approach. A knee follows up; he wonders if he'll hear a goddanm bell if he kicks the Joker in the proverbial cash n' prizes.

"Remember... heehee... I remember a little boy. A cocky, arrogant little boy who showed me no respect." Wild eyes glance up towards Jason as he approaches. There's no fear there. No. Black, empty pupils that seem to lack any true emotion. Despite his laughter and his anger, those dots never change. "I tried to beat it into him. The other Robin knew the game. That little bird didn't want to play it right..." He's struck in the groin, doubling over, but still he laughs, desperately grasping Jason by his shirt. "But... you want to know a secret?" The latter is almost a whisper. "I never MEANT to kill him. I even... left him a message..."

Somewhere in Jason's mind, he might remember: Tell Batsy I said hi.

"...What happened... haahaaa... What happened is... Batman FAILED. It was a deathtrap like any other. All he had to do was get there in time... to pull the little boy out... hoohoo... you can't blame /ME/ for that. It was like a REHEARSAL we've done a thousand times, and THIS time, just THIS time, he's -late.- I wonder why?"

Giggles continue. "I gave him time to save you. I always give him time!! It's not WORTH anything if the game's RIGGED. Don't compare me with those carnies! ALWAYS. The only reason he didn't make it... is because at some point, he hesitated. At some point, he paused. ...Maybe... he didn't really care about the angry, disobedient little bird... and that truth in his heart... that ten seconds of pausing... is WHAT MADE YOU DIE."

"SHUT UP!"

It comes out of him like a bull's bellow as his knee comes up again. "Shut up! Your fucking MO is compulsive lying!" And again. "You do it to HURT people!" Another time, before he finally shakes the skinny man off, lashing out with his boot to get him down,get some space.

"You miserable piece of filth! Worm! You murdered me!" Despite that he wanted space so badly, he's already reaching for the crowbar. His pupils are pinpricks, his eyes fields of blue. All he knows in the moment is rage.

The next noises he make are -- feral, animal, guttural. High whines of emotional pain with the snarling gasps as the crowbar stars to fall. Between strikes he barks out words-- agonized, angry words.

"Liar!"

"Animal!"

"Murderer!"

Until there's no more words, no more energy. He pants, savagely gulping in air, on the verge of hyperventilation. Dropping down to his knees by the beaten clown, Jason sits, staring at the blood spattered metal. (Is he dead? Jason's not sure. He's not thinking of the plan right now.)

There's no peace. Why... is there no peace? Isn't this... exactly what he wanted?

The knee thumps into the Joker's stomach. "H,hahaha!! When have... I ever lied?! I-I just... want people to know the TRUTH..." He manages to get out through the assaults, before crashing upon the ground. Somewhere deep inside, Jason has to know. It isn't this easy. The Joker must have a million ways to take advantage of his blind rage. A thumbtack of Smilex. A joybuzzer. Acid in the flower. But none of that comes. He's /allowing/ it.

"I do it... to teach people... that life's pointless. Everyone you love and care about... they let you down... or they die.." A high, shrill giggle follows.

"T-two people married..." Thwack!

"...one m-must d,die first..." THWACK!

"...no matter what..." THWACK!

"Someone... suffers..." The clown is still breathing, but not very well. Eyes shift sidelong. After all that rage. His grin is not any different. The same one that haunts his nightmares. The same one that killed him. And even beaten... he's still the same monster. "T,To be fair, kiddo... My crowbar... didn't kill you. The bomb did..."

Another heavy cough. "What's worse... the fact that I blew you up... or the fact he didn't save you...? Hoohoo... What a joke. So, s-s-sport!" He coughs up a large amount of blood then. Wheeze. "Are ya gonna kill me? B,Be put on a pedestal as a HERO?" A violent shudder. "But oh... it'd be worth it. What a joke... killed by someone I killed... And how MAD it would make the BATS. Hahaaaaaahahahaha!!"

Jason reaches out with his good, gloved hand. Just to grip and squeeze. Clamp down on that now bloody face, and cut off oxygen.

"Do you want to know the worst of it? He just let you keep doing it. Killing more and more. When I clawed my way out of my grave, finally came back to myself, I thought for sure you'd be history. That you'd be dead. That he would have... drawn a line...."

I thought I was important to him.

Jason was silent a moment, before he tightened his grip on the madman's face. "Take a nap, you piece of shit," Jason said, voice dull and flat. "This isn't the main event, clown. This is the opening act. You're a warm up -- not a headliner."

"D...do you... want to know why...?" is all the Joker manages to state, through his bloodshot, crazed eyes. Arms snap up, grasping Jason's good arm with surprising power. He could probably yank him free if he wanted. "...I... still... live...?" Instead he moves to clamp hands around the Red Hood's own, and help him strangle. "T,Too... bad...! Make... ...this... ...good...!!" And then he gurgles, spasms, and goes limp. Still grinning, ear to ear.