Chapter Text
Gotham City never sleeps. It pulsed with a restless, anxious heartbeat tonight as if it knew something had changed. The streets were slick with rain and the air felt heavier as if charge with some kind of tension that made the thugs and outlaws in the alleyway scurried back, making way for something… bigger.
And that was what the folks say. A calm before the storm and indeed, it had arrived in the shape of a nightmare clad in purple and green. It crackled like the madman he was. Words spread like wildfire in the city’s underbelly—Joker had broken out of Arkham Asylum.
But this time, there was a different air about it, a whispering certainty that this escape was more than just another manic performance. Another theatrical performance and his stage was set.
The city held its breath as there were anxious whispers stirring up again, that the mad clown had gotten himself a new, stronger accomplice after Harley Quinn.
A meta.
A boy soldier.
The Bats were already in motion.
“Bank heist,” Red Robin murmured through the comms. “Classic.”
Robin, perched on the ledge beside him, scoffed.
But Batman was silent, his cape billowed. Red Robin followed in his wake, his mind already racing, tracking patterns. And Robin was ready for the fight, his fingers twitching for his katanas.
The scene before them was a war zone. The grand marble entrance of the Central Bank had been destroyed, massive steel doors hanging twisted and broken from their hinges. Inside, alarms shrieked uselessly, their cries drowned by the chaos unfolding within. The Joker’s men scurried like rats, shotting shots and stuffing duffel bags with stacks of bills, some of them had their weapons trained on terrified hostages who cowered behind overturned desks.
Batman landed first. Red Robin and Robin followed, stepping lightly over the wreckage. The main floor of the bank was wrecked—desks overturned, security cameras shattered. In the center of the chaos, sprawled bodies of security guards groaned in pain. Some were alive among the dead.
"Stay alert," Batman commanded.
A chuckle, lilting and sweet, curling through the ruined bank like a caress.
"Ah, Batsy. Batsy. Batsy! Right on time! If it isn’t the big, bad Bat and his merry little flock. You always know how to make a guy feel special."
Joker stood at the teller’s counter, bathed in the cold, eerie red glow of the emergency lights, he grinned. He clapped his hands together in mock excitement as Batman and his protégés stepped into the destruction he had orchestrated.
“You know, I was starting to think you didn’t care anymore. Three months of silence? That’s just plain rude!” his voice dripped with glee, waving a gloved hand theatrically.
Batman didn’t rise to the bait, his focus already scanning the room for signs of the Joker’s next move. But it was Red Robin who caught it first—a flicker of movement at the far end of the room, a shadow shifting.
Joker’s grin widened. “Oh, but where are my manners?” He let out a laugh, high-pitched and unsettling, before throwing his arms out like a magician unveiling his grandest trick. “Ta-da! Introducing my very own little bird. You have your Robins, Batsy, so I figured—why not have one of my own?! Meet the newest addition to my family.”
And then—
He stepped aside.
From the darkness emerged a figure.
He was young, no older than sixteen, but there was something familiar in the way he held himself, something eerily self-assured for a boy barely out of childhood. His sleek black-and-white spandex ensemble clung to his frame like a second skin, the high-collared coat draped over his shoulders, its thick white fur spilling like snow, swallowing his slender form. It was too big for him, yet he wore it as if the stifling summer heat didn’t bother him.
His face, obscured by a simple domino mask - like the robins. His features were delicate, almost too soft for the sharp edges of his presence—a heart-shaped face with smooth, unblemished skin, a cruel contrast to the violence that seemed to hum in his bones.
Batman’s stiffened, growled “You-!”
The Joker cackled, his grin stretched impossibly wide. He was delighted.
“Meet Spade.” His voice was a purr. He slung an arm around the boy’s shoulders, fingers digging in painfully on his shoulder.
Spade did not react.
“He’s got a few tricks up his sleeve,” the Joker continued, sing-song and saccharine. His free hand wove through the air in a flourish, as if presenting a grand prize.
“And trust me, this one is a killer.”
A slow exhale left Batman’s lips, just barely audible beneath the cowl. His fists clenched.
The boy —Spade— tiled his head slightly, just enough to catch the dim light, the fur on his collar casting delicate shadows along his jawline.
Red Robin scowled, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
Then, a flicker of movement—just the barest shift of the boy’s lips. A hint of amusement.
And then—
In a voice as smooth as silk but threaded with something unreadable, he spoke.
"Shall we?"
“Tch. This is a joke,” Robin muttered with disdain.
His grip tightened on his sword.
And the fight began.
Robin was already moving before Batman could stop him, launching himself at Spade with a speed born of years of relentless training. His kick was precise and it should have landed solidly—but instead, it met an invisible force. A shimmering, translucent shield flared to life around Spade, stopping Robin’s attack mid-air and sending him tumbling backward.
Robin blinked, stunned. His breath came sharp, rattling in his chest. "What the hell—"
“Telekinetic,” Red Robin murmured.
Spade didn’t attack outright. Instead, he studied Robin. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the tables turned. The bank itself became Spade’s weapon. Shattered glass lifted from the floor, suspended in mid-air before launching toward Robin like a storm of razors. Robin dodged, weaving through the airborne debris with practiced agility.
Batman lunged for Joker, their movements a blur of black and purple. Red Robin was already moving, his staff spinning in sharp arcs as he struck down the henchmen. Robin tch-ed, fury burning in his chest.
He launched forward again, feinting low before twisting mid-air, his baton swinging down in a sharp, precise arc—Spade barely lifted a hand.
The baton froze an inch from Spade, caught in an invisible vice. Then, with an eerie creak, the wood splintered in Robin’s grip, breaking apart from the force from both sides.
Chairs, desks, broken shards of glass—all of it danced through the air like marionettes under an unseen string, slamming into the Robins as they fought. "Does he even know how to fight?" Robin spat, narrowly dodging a shattered monitor hurled toward his head.
"He doesn’t have to," Red Robin gritted out, knocking out another henchman before flipping out of the way of a flying file cabinet. "He’s keeping us distracted."
Robin’s eyes narrowed.
That wasn’t just a distraction.
Spade was controlling the battlefield.
He exhaled sharply. Fine. If coming at him wasn’t going to work—
His hand flicked to his belt, pressing a small trigger. A hiss filled the air as gas exploded outward.
Spade turned, looking for him.
That single moment—an instant of instinctive reaction—was all Robin needed.
His foot connected first, a sharp kick to Spade’s ribs, sending the boy staggering. Then the katana slashed, quick and controlled.
A thin line of crimson bloomed across Spade’s side.
A hit.
For a brief moment, Robin saw him—
The boy's mouth snarled into annoyance.
Then something huge crashed into him, knocking the wind from his lungs. A statue—ripped from its pedestal—slammed him into the ground.
Joker’s laughter rang through the chaos.
"That’s enough fun for one night, boys!"
Something small clinked onto the floor.
Robin’s stomach dropped.
A bomb.
The timer blinked red.
"Move!" Batman’s voice cut through the noise.
Then it exploded.
The force sent everyone flying. They hit the ground hard, pain jolting through ribs as the world blurred into smoke and fire. Shattered glass rained down, the deafening roar of the blast still ringing in their ears.
Somewhere in the haze, the Bats heard tires screeching—Joker’s van speeding off.
And then—
A pulse of energy ripped through the air, slamming into them like a shockwave. Batman barely had time to react before the ceiling came crashing down on them into a heap of broken concrete.
Red Robin coughed, pressing a hand over his mouth as the last traces of the dust and gas dissipated. His ears rang from the blast, his vision swimming. The comms crackled uselessly in his ear.
Batman was already pushing himself up, his cape tattered at the edges, scanning the wreckage with sharp, calculating eyes.
Robin groaned from where he had landed, dragging himself upright. "Tt. I hate metas," he muttered, wiping dust from his face.
Red Robin barely heard him.
The van’s tires screeched in the distance, fading as it disappeared into Gotham’s labyrinth of backstreets.
The place was a complete wreck. People laid scattered, some groaning in pain, others too still for comfort. A woman coughed weakly, curled around a child who clung to her shirt. A man with blood streaked down his face struggled to sit up, his expression dazed.
Batman moved without hesitation, already checking on the nearest victim, his voice calm and steady as he called for emergency services.
Robin scowled, scanning the wreckage with narrowed eyes. “They got away.”
Red Robin exhaled sharply, fists clenching.
They had lost them.
For now.