Chapter Text
As the deal was sealed, a faint green light shimmered around their clasped hands, marking the pact.
For a moment, the funhouse went very quiet.
Then Alastor released the handshake and stretched his arms, as if waking from a pleasant nap.
“Ahhh,” Alastor sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Nothing quite like the thrill of making a Deal with the living.”
Behind him, the shadows along the walls writhed, unfurling toward him like loyal hounds.
Across the room, Joker clapped his hands together gleefully.
“This is going to be beautiful! Mayhem, panic, screaming, headlines! Batman won’t know what hit him,” Joker crowed.
He gestured broadly, then placed his hand on Alastor's shoulder and leaned over him, emphasizing his excitement.
“Shall we take this show on the road?”
Harley bounced the head of her mallet against the floor.
“Where we startin’, Mistah J?”
Joker’s grin widened.
“We’ll start small. Explosions, power outages, maybe a bridge closure. Just enough to keep the Bat running,” Joker declared.
Alastor chuckled.
“If chaos is your goal,” Alastor said, “you have to think bigger.”
The lights flickered again.
A low radio hiss rolled through the room.
Still tied up in a chair, Lucifer narrowed his eyes.
“Oh no.”
As tension rose in the funhouse, the shadows of nearby buildings stretched unnaturally long outside the windows. Alastor’s magic seeped into the night.
Streetlights flickered.
Neon signs sputtered.
Car alarms began chirping in the distance.
Harley gazed out the window.
“…Uh, Mistah J?”
The city skyline shifted slightly.
For a moment, one building appeared taller than it should have. Its silhouette twisted like a crooked grin before snapping back to normal.
Joker blinked.
Then laughed.
“Ohhh, I like this guy!”
Alastor stepped toward the door, cane tapping softly against the warped wooden floor.
“If you want to distract a city, you must put on a show,” Alastor said.
His shadow stretched across the wall, and his attire warped around him.
Lucifer watched him carefully.
“Remember what I said.”
Alastor stopped in the doorway, turning slightly back toward Lucifer.
His smile softened just slightly.
“Yes, yes, Your Majesty,” he replied smoothly. “No unnecessary casualties.”
Then his grin snapped back to full brightness.
“But a little fear? A touch of theatrical panic?”
He tipped his head.
“Surely that’s allowed.”
Joker clapped again, practically bouncing.
“Yes! Fear, panic, screaming crowds! Gotham’s best night in years!”
Outside, thunder rolled across the skyline.
Except there were no clouds.
Only shadows.
Lucifer leaned back in his chair, ropes still binding him, watching the two maniacs prepare to walk into Gotham together.
“…This,” he muttered, “is going to be a problem.”
Alastor stepped into the doorway of the funhouse.
The wind outside carried the distant sounds of Gotham traffic, sirens, and restless streets.
He looked out across the city with gleaming eyes.
The wind rattled the broken windows of the funhouse as Alastor rested both hands on the head of his cane. His grin hadn’t moved an inch. Then, the Joker got a brilliant idea to make this even more interesting.
“If we’re really throwing a party, let’s get started on the guest list.”
Alastor tilted his head.
“Oh?”
Joker’s grin widened as Alastor’s eyes gleamed with interest.
The wind rattled the broken windows as Alastor gripped his cane, his grin steadfast, watching Joker's reaction closely.
Then Harley’s voice rang out, sharp and playful.
“Hey, Mistah J! What should we do with the other one?”
Both Alastor and Joker turned. Their attention snapped to her. Harley was pointing directly at Lucifer, still bound in the chair, glaring and ready to protest.
Joker’s grin stretched impossibly wide, eyes twinkling with manic delight.
“That one? Put him in a wheelchair! A little mobility-challenged adventure! For this little clown baby.”
Lucifer’s eyes flared gold, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he began to protest.
“No. Absolutely not—”
Joker pressed a finger to his lips to silence Lucifer. "Maybe cover his mouth—no party poopers allowed. Our friend," he added, glancing at Alastor, "needs uninterrupted fun!"
Alastor’s grin stretched. The brief touch of Joker’s arm as he gave him a shoulder-hug made him grimace, a subtle twitch betraying discomfort under his otherwise gleeful composure.
“Ah… yes, delightful chaos,” Alastor purred, his static-tinged voice almost drowning out the music. “Such cooperation among the… eccentric.”
Before Lucifer could finish protesting, Harley stepped forward and firmly pressed a cloth over his mouth.
Lucifer thrashed against the ropes, golden eyes blazing. He struggled, but the cloth muffled his shouts. His jaw tightened, lips pressed into a thin line, clearly unimpressed.
Even so, he observed the manic laughter and crackle of static. Joker and Alastor moved in perfect, chaotic unison. It was absurd, dangerous, and undeniably effective.
He stopped thrashing and locked eyes, calculating. "Ridiculous," he thought, but he admired the twisted genius.
Across from him, The Joker twirled a card between his fingers.
“So if we’re gonna throw a proper party for Gotham,” Joker mused, “we need the locals. Scarecrow, the plant queen, the waddling penguin, and oh, let’s not forget my coin-flipping friend with the tragic haircut.”
Alastor’s eyes gleamed with interest.
“Hmmm, very well. A performance does need a full cast,” Alastor said, tapping his cane.
The shadows in the room stretched outward like spilled ink.
“Let us gather them.”
As Alastor and Joker began moving through the streets of Gotham, orchestrating the chaos like a twisted parade, Joker’s voice rang out, sharp and playful.
“Harley! Don’t forget to bring the baby clown with us—we can use him as leverage!” Joker called.
“Sure thing, Mistah J!” Harley replied, her grin wide and gleeful as she pushed the wheelchair containing Lucifer, still bound and gagged, through the flashing, hypnotic streets.
Lucifer’s golden eyes glared at her, narrowing behind the cloth. He thrashed slightly. The wheelchair and Harley’s unrelenting enthusiasm kept him contained.
Alastor’s grin stretched impossibly wide, shadows pulsing with each step. He leaned slightly toward Joker as they walked.
Meanwhile, across Gotham, the shadows responded instantly.
In an abandoned lab, Scarecrow froze as the air chilled. Before he could react, shadows wrapped around him, pulling him away.
Inside the Iceberg Lounge, Penguin slammed his umbrella. The lights flickered, shadows coiling around him like snakes, and he vanished.
Deep within Gotham’s botanical gardens, Poison Ivy felt the ground shift. The darkness snaked around her ankles, and she too disappeared.
Across the financial district, Two-Face walked briskly, flipping his coin through his fingers.
“What the—” he growled, seeing the shadows stretch unnaturally toward him. Before the coin hit the ground, the darkness enveloped him, whisking him away.
Moments later, back in the funhouse, the shadows deposited the gathered villains neatly on the warped floor.
Scarecrow staggered, blinking rapidly, trying to process what had just happened.
Penguin slammed his umbrella down. “Who’s responsible for this?!”
Poison Ivy crossed her arms, glaring, clearly unimpressed.
Two-Face gritted his teeth, coin flipping nervously between his fingers as his eyes locked on the Joker.
“JOKER! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS? WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU—”
Joker smacked his gloved hands together, voice bubbling with manic delight.
“Now, now, Dent,” Joker said, grinning. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise!”
Poison Ivy rolled her eyes. “Surprise, my foot,” she scoffed.
Alastor’s shadow stretched along the warped floorboards like liquid ink, and his grin gleamed impossibly wide in the flickering light.
“Ah, my dear Gothamites,” Alastor began, his voice crackling faintly like a radio, smooth yet laced with sharp undertones. “Such passionate reactions! I do so love it when an audience is… lively.”
The villains froze, their attention snapping to him.
Joker leaned forward eagerly, grinning.
“Finally! Someone with class is joining the fun.”
Alastor tilted his head politely, eyes glinting.
“Structure, my friend. A show is better when everyone knows their role.”
Scarecrow shook his head, trying to steady himself.
“What… what are you talking about?”
Alastor spun his cane lightly, the tip tapping the floor with a musical click.
“We’re about to play a little game. You, Penguin, Ivy, Two-Face, and our host,” he gestured to Joker, “each play a part in tonight’s theater,” Alastor explained.
Poison Ivy crossed her arms tighter.
“Parts to play? Please. We won’t follow orders from… whatever you are.”
“Not orders—suggestions with consequences,” Alastor countered, his grin widening.
Two-Face’s coin spun nervously in his hand, landing on his scarred side.
“Consequences? I like the sound of that,” Two-Face muttered, anticipation in his voice despite anger.
Joker threw back his head and laughed, clearly enjoying Alastor’s theatrics.
“This is getting better by the second!”
Alastor’s voice lowered just slightly, soft but with a sharp edge, causing a few of the villains to tense.
“The show is just starting. Everyone gets a role perfectly suited to their personalities,” Alastor intoned.
Poison Ivy rolled her eyes again, muttering under her breath.
“personalities, huh? He really has no idea we’re not puppets.”
Alastor clapped his hands lightly, the sound echoing through the funhouse like a bell.
“Excellent! That attitude—it will make things far more interesting. Shall we?”
The shadows shifted behind him, curling and writhing as if alive. The room seemed to hum with anticipation.
Joker jumped in, bouncing on his heels.
“Ohhh yes! Let’s get this chaos perfectly organized! I’m tingling with excitement!” Joker declared.
Alastor’s grin widened to a near-impossible breadth.
“Splendid. Then let the night’s performance commence.”
The funhouse seemed to pulse in response, warped mirrors reflecting dozens of impossible angles, shadows stretching and twisting, and outside, Gotham’s sirens screamed in uneasy harmony.
A faint crackle filled the funhouse, then a lively, brassy tune began to play.
“Welcome to the Roaring 2020s!
Roll up, all you bigshots and babes!
You palookas and pinkos!
Welcome to the party!
Hey! What’cha doin’?
Feelin’ lonely? Feel that beat!
You speakin’ easy, don’t be sleazy…
On my street!”
As the music swelled, a strange sensation rippled through the room. Each villain felt it tug at their mind, subtle yet insistent—as if the very rhythm commanded them.
And then their outfits began to shift.
Scarecrow’s tattered suit straightened into pinstripes, hat tilting just so.
Penguin’s tux sharpened, monocle gleaming under the funhouse lights.
Poison Ivy’s vines shimmered into a swinging flapper dress.
Two-Face’s dual-toned suit became a perfect jazz-era cut.
Even Joker’s ensemble grew more exaggerated, tails swooping, and a bowler hat perched perfectly.
They looked at each other, momentarily stunned. Then a strange compulsion prickled at their minds—the music, its rhythm, its energy, seemed to seep into their very thoughts, urging them to move in sync.
Alastor’s grin stretched impossibly wide, shadows pulsing along the walls.
“Ah, the magic of music… so persuasive. So compliant. Isn’t it simply delightful? How about we take this show on the road?”
Joker twirled, laughter spilling into the Gotham night, manic and gleeful. He gestured wildly, gathering his gang alongside Alastor, the two of them coordinating the rogues like conductors of a bizarre, hypnotic orchestra.
The villains moved in perfect, compulsive sync, completely caught in the rhythm. Poison Ivy rolled her eyes, crossing her arms at first, but the beat tugged at her anyway, forcing her to sway subtly. Two-Face’s fingers spun the coin faster and faster, each flick of his wrist perfectly matching the hypnotic melody.
Alastor’s grin stretched impossibly wide, shadows rippling across the streets, twisting in time with the jazz.
“Oh yes… now let's get this city dancing to the rhythm!” he purred, voice crackling like static. “Every note, every step… perfectly obedient. Delightful!”
Joker’s laughter echoed, wild and contagious, as the rogues—now fully under the spell of the music—marched forward, their hypnotic performance serving as a dazzling, chaotic distraction for all of Gotham.
The group spilled into the streets of Gotham, the 1920s jazz beat echoing off buildings, bouncing from alleyway to alleyway. Streetlights flickered in time with the pulse, cars slowed, and pedestrians froze, sensing something strange in the air.
Some citizens stopped in their tracks, squinting toward the shadows. Others whispered nervously, sensing the surreal, hypnotic rhythm invading the city itself.
Hey, what'cha doin'?
Come on over, come in style!
You in the corner, we'll keep swingin'.
For a while!
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party!
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party like it's 1929!
Outside the funhouse, Gotham felt the shift. Sirens flared, lights flickered, and across the rooftops, vigilant eyes noticed the chaos.
Nightwing crouched low, observing the flickering funhouse lights.
“Something’s up,” he muttered, gripping his escrima sticks.
Batgirl swung up beside him, scanners beeping.
“Power fluctuations, strange signals… definitely not normal.”
Robin landed lightly next to them.
“And it looks like someone—or something—is orchestrating it.”
In the city, high above, Catwoman perched on a gargoyle, her eyes narrowing as she traced the source.
“Looks like Gotham’s having one of those nights again,” she murmured, eyes glittering with curiosity.
Back with Alastor, his grin widened as the shadows twisted in time with the hypnotic music. The villains, though unruly, were now fully in the performance, moving and reacting to the rhythm without even realizing how deeply they were being drawn in.
All right, play that horn.
That's right, you bad boys, listen up!
Hey, every gangsta.'
Every pranksta', on the juice
“All right, play that horn!
That's right, you bad boys, listen up!
Hey, every gangsta,
Every pranksta, on the juice!”
Alastor’s grin stretched impossibly wide, static crackling softly around him.
He stepped forward, moving with the rhythm, and as he sang the last line, he wrapped both Two-Face and Penguin in a sudden shoulder-hug, the shadows curling around them like ribbons of smoky energy.
The villains froze for a heartbeat—but then their expressions softened, just slightly, as if the music and Alastor’s presence were commanding their cooperation. Two-Face’s coin twirled lazily in his fingers, while Penguin’s sharp gaze flickered nervously as the static energy of the music pulsed through the room.
“Move with the rhythm!” Alastor sang, stepping back slightly, letting the shadows and the hypnotic beat sweep through the rest of the gathered Gotham rogues.
Hey, Mr. Grundy, this ain't Sunday.
Let it loose
Scarecrow swayed involuntarily, Poison Ivy’s fringe shimmered in time with the horn.
Through the flickering shadows, Alastor’s golden, static-tinged eyes caught a sleek movement.
Catwoman—graceful, lithe—was parkouring across the funhouse rafters, analyzing the chaos with sharp precision.
A mischievous grin spread across Alastor’s face. He twirled his cane, static crackling softly.
“Now, this is getting interesting,” he murmured, voice smooth, musical, and playful. Before she could react, the shadows leapt, wrapping around her like velvet ribbons, guiding her down into the center of Gotham Square.
In an instant, her sleek, black ensemble shimmered and shifted, transforming into the same jazzy 1920s fashion as the rest of Gotham’s rogues—fringe swinging, elegance mingled with chaos.
Alastor extended a hand, and as he pulled her into the center of the hypnotic glow, he began to sing, voice rising with the hypnotic, jazzy music,
“Hey, little kitten
Keep on purrin', don't be shy.
Tonight's celebration's a constellation.
In my sky!
The days are short
The nights are long
Your dames can dance.
To any song!”
Catwoman’s eyes widened for just a moment, but the music’s influence tugged at her mind—hypnotic, rhythmic, persuasive. Even though she felt herself moving, the beat guided her steps.
Alastor twirled her effortlessly, shadows bending and swaying in rhythm with the music. The rest of the rogues mirrored the dance unconsciously, all caught in the spellbinding pull of the performance.
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party!
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party like it's 1929!
It's tonight
Not tomorrow or yesterday
Tonight, it's 1929!
That's right
There's never been a better time (chka-chka-chka-chka!)
As the music continued playing, Gotham’s city Vigilantes showed up on the scene. Nightwing, Batgirl, and Robin stepped into the eerie glow of Gotham’s twisted streets.
Their eyes widened immediately.
Before them, the city itself seemed caught in a spell. The rogues—Scarecrow, Penguin, Poison Ivy, and Two-Face- were moving in perfect, synchronized rhythm, clad in dazzling 1920s attire. The hypnotic jazz beat pulsed from Alastor and Joker like a living thing, tugging at minds and bending movements.
Nightwing’s jaw tightened as he scanned the scene.
“What… what is going on here?”
Batgirl’s eyes flicked between the villains, scanning for magical or technological interference.
“I… I don’t know. The music—it’s… somehow controlling them. Everyone’s moving like they’re in a trance.”
Robin’s hands flexed on his portable monitor looking through all the security cameras in the city, unease creeping into his voice.
“And it’s not just them… it’s like the city is under control by something, too.—something’s reaching out.”
“Looks like someone’s turned Gotham into… a jazz-age stage show,” Batgirl murmured, dry but alert.
Alastor’s voice floated over the music, smooth, crackling with static, teasing:
“Ah… welcome, my spectators. Don’t fight the rhythm too hard—it insists that you watch… and perhaps even dance.”
Nightwing clenched his fists, determination flashing in his eyes.
“We need to stop this—before anyone else falls under it. But… how do you fight music?”
The heroes exchanged tense glances, realizing they were walking into a trap disguised as a performance. The rogues, hypnotized and gleaming in 1920s splendor, moved closer to the streets of Gotham, unaware of the heroes observing them, the city itself trembling under Alastor’s hypnotic orchestration.
The music pulsed through the warped streets of Gotham, carrying the rogues’ hypnotic movements like a living wave.
They exchanged quick, tense glances, the unspoken thought hanging heavy in the air.
“We should contact B,” they all said almost in unison, voices low, wary, knowing that only Batman could assess the chaos and strategize a way to stop it before the entire city fell under the music’s spell.
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party!
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party.
Tonight we're gonna party like it's 1929!
The final note echoed through the warped streets, bouncing off flickering shadows and warped mirrors.
Alastor threw back his head, letting out a long, static-laced, demonic laugh. The sound crackled like electricity through the air, reverberating over the hypnotized rogues and twisting the rhythm into something almost alive.
“Now… this will draw her out,” he purred, eyes gleaming with a sharp, single-minded focus. “Every eye in this dreadful city, every soul under this spell… perfect. She’ll notice. She has to notice.”
Beneath the manic performance, the hypnotic jazz, and the 1920s glamour, there was purpose—a calculated chaos, designed to catch the attention of the one person Alastor needed most: his wife.
The city danced unwillingly to his rhythm, completely unaware that the stage was as much a trap as it was a lure.
At the Watchtower
At the Watchtower, Eve sat quietly in the small, sparsely furnished room that had been prepared for her. The hum of the base’s systems was a low, steady presence, almost meditative—but it did little to calm her restless thoughts.
She had been given a moment to herself after the proper introductions with the Justice League, but the questions still lingered. How long would it take for them to figure out a way to help her? Would she even recognize “home” when the opportunity came?
Her fingers idly traced the edge of the table, a subtle gesture of patience mixed with tension. Every faint sound from the corridors—the soft echo of boots, a muted conversation—made her ears perk up.
Eve’s mind wandered, half to strategy, half to worry. She couldn’t help it: surviving in worlds far darker than this one had taught her to expect the unexpected. And right now, she was waiting for news, for direction, and for any sign that she might finally take a step closer to finding her husband.
In the Watchtower’s briefing room, the core members of the Justice League gathered around the sleek, holographic table. Diana’s posture was precise, commanding. Superman stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes narrowed as he studied the projected data. Batman’s gaze swept the room, calculating and methodical as always.
“From what we’ve compiled from everything Eve had shared with us, she described her arrival and her conversation with Luthor,” Diana began, her voice steady,
Superman’s brow furrowed. “—he was trying to create a new type of weapon.”
Batman spoke next, his voice calm but tinged with intensity. “Luthor’s plan isn’t just about control or profit. He’s always relied on kryptonite to hurt Superman, but after his cancer diagnosis from prolonged exposure, he’s attempting to exploit forces he doesn’t fully understand—forces like Eve—to develop a weapon unlike anything the world has seen. The questions she asked allowed him to gather all the information he had in his lab.”
Superman’s eyes flicked toward Batman. “Now that we understand what he’s planning, we also need to consider what he intends to do with that power.”
Superman exhaled slowly. “Eve’s insight was crucial. She’s experienced beings with chaotic powers firsthand. And judging by her account, Luthor’s ambition doesn’t have a moral ceiling. Whatever he’s planning, it’s methodical, but dangerous—especially if combined with forces outside our usual understanding.”
Batman’s eyes darkened, the shadows of his cowl emphasizing the sharpness of his expression. “We need contingencies. Eve is valuable—not just as a potential target, but as an ally. And if Luthor’s moving pieces into place, we can’t afford to underestimate him. He’s always three steps ahead.”
The room fell silent for a beat, the hum of the Watchtower’s systems filling the tension. Diana leaned forward, voice clipped but firm.
“Then it’s settled. We need a plan to secure Eve, monitor Luthor, and anticipate his next move. We can’t just react anymore—we need to be prepared.”
Superman nodded, his gaze firm. “Agreed. Eve stays here, under protection. We gather intel. And when Luthor makes his move… we’re ready.”
Batman’s jaw tightened slightly, almost imperceptibly. “Luthor rarely plays fair, and neither do his contingencies.”
The holographic map flickered as new data streamed in. The League members exchanged glances, the weight of the situation settling over them. Eve’s presence had changed the board, and Lex Luthor’s next move could be the most dangerous yet.
At the Watchtower, a soft buzz of incoming signals alerted the Justice League. Nightwing’s voice came first over the comms, clipped and tense.
“Batman, come in. We have a situation in Gotham.”
Robin chimed in next, his tone sharp.
“Multiple disturbances across the city. Unusual patterns in movement—like people are being controlled or something.”
Batgirl added, her voice steady but wary.
“We've been tracking it, and it doesn’t look like a normal crime wave. When we got to the source... I think you need to see this for yourself.”
Batman’s eyes narrowed under the cowl. “Patch it through to the main screen.”
Instantly, the Watchtower’s large holo-screens flickered to life, showing Gotham in surreal detail. Streets shimmered with the hypnotic glow of neon, and from rooftops to alleys, the city seemed alive with an impossible rhythm. At the center, the rogues—Scarecrow, Penguin, Poison Ivy, Two-Face, and Joker—moved in perfect 1920s-inspired sync, clad in transformed attire, their movements matching a hypnotic jazz rhythm that seemed to pulse through the entire city.
All across the Watchtower’s holo-screens, the Justice League watched in tense silence. The chaos in Gotham pulsed with hypnotic rhythm, the rogues moving like puppets to a 1920s jazz beat.
And then… a figure appeared.
At first, it was impossible to make out details—shimmering static obscured the shape, distorting its edges, flickering like a broken transmission. Yet even through the interference, one thing was unmistakable: a grin stretched impossibly wide across the figure’s face.
The music flowed from him like a living entity, and every note, every pulse seemed to obey his command. He moved through the chaos with precise control, orchestrating the rogues as if they were instruments in a deadly symphony.
Even the city itself seemed to bend to his will. Streetlights flickered in time with the melody. Shadows stretched and twitched unnaturally. Neon signs pulsed in sync with the hypnotic rhythm. Gotham itself was a stage—and he was the maestro.
Superman leaned forward, eyes narrowing, looking at the monitor. “I… I can’t get a clear read. There’s some kind of interference. Whatever he is, he’s doing it himself.”
Diana’s jaw tightened. “ he knows exactly what he’s doing. And it isn’t just performance—it’s control.”
Batman’s voice cut through the tension, calm and sharp. “Static or not… we know the danger. That figure is orchestrating this entire event. The rogues, the city, the chaos—it all flows from him. We need to isolate him, or none of Gotham is safe.”
Even as the Justice League absorbed the scene, the hypnotic music continued to ripple through the city, pulling every hypnotized soul deeper into the performance—an impossible spectacle, terrifying and mesmerizing all at once.
Superman’s eyes widened, scanning the scene. “He’s controlling them… with the music, the movement—it’s… hypnotic.”
Diana’s gaze hardened. “It’s more than that. The entire city is being pulled into it. For some reason, this spell is completely like Eve’s magic when we first saw her in the restaurant. When she was singing, but on a bigger scale.”
As the Justice League continued watching the monitors, the hypnotic chaos in Gotham rippled across every screen—music bending the city into a living, twisting performance.
The Flash leaned forward, squinting at the distorted figure in the static.
“…Okay, is it just me,” he muttered, “or does that guy look a lot like Eve—but red?”
A beat of silence followed.
Then—
“NO.”
Eve’s voice cut through the Watchtower like a snapped wire.
Every head turned.
She stood abruptly from her seat, eyes locked on the display, her composure finally breaking. Her voice cracked slightly, urgent and raw as she looked directly at Batman.
“That’s him.”
The room went still.
Clark’s expression shifted. “Eve—who is that?”
But she didn’t take her eyes off the screen. The static-covered figure, the grin, the music bending Gotham into submission—it all clicked into place for her.
“That’s my husband,” she said firmly. “And if he’s out there doing that… then I’m going to Gotham. Now.”
Batman’s posture straightened, immediately calculating every variable.
“Eve,” he said carefully, “confirm what you’re seeing. If that’s truly him, then he’s the source of the phenomenon—and he’s dangerous.”
Eve’s hands clenched at her sides.
“I don’t need confirmation,” she snapped, voice tight with emotion and resolve. “I know exactly what he looks like when he’s like this.”
She took a step forward.
“And I am not sitting here while he turns an entire city into his stage.”
The monitors behind them flickered again—Gotham still dancing, still trapped in the rhythm—while the League realized the situation had just become far more personal than any of them expected.
Superman blinked, startled.
“Eve—”
“I’m coming,” she snapped, cutting him off. “I know I’m not from this world in this world, but he’s from mine, and he’s going to keep causing chaos. unless he finds me or destroys everything in his path! And I'm pretty sure that you don't want that in your city, right, Batman!”
Batman’s expression remained calm, but you can see his jaw twitch at the statement she just made.
“Eve… It’s dangerous. We don't know if Lex is still tracking you down or if something else happens— ”
“I know enough!” she shot back, her eyes blazing. “And I won’t let him hurt anyone else. You want to stop him? Then I’m going, and that's final.”
Diana stepped closer, her tone measured but firm.
“Then will come with you, but we do this carefully. Gotham’s already destabilized. If we rush in without coordination…”
Eve’s hands tightened into fists.
“I don’t care. I’m not waiting. If you’re helping, fine—but you better hurry up.”
A tense silence fell over the room. The Watchtower screens flickered again, showing Alastor and the hypnotized rogues drawing the city further into chaotic sync, the pulse of the jazz-age music infecting every street.
Batman’s jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod.
“Alright. Prepare transport. Eve comes with us. We contain the city and neutralize the influence. And we do not underestimate Lex or Eve’s husband.”
Superman exhaled slowly, glancing at Eve.
“Then let’s move before this performance becomes a disaster no one can stop.”
Eve’s gaze flicked once more to the screen, locking on her husband as he orchestrated chaos, before stepping toward the transport. She didn’t hesitate; this was her husband she was talking about, and she would make sure nothing bad happened to him.
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