The Penguin had barely finished relaying orders when the night got worse.
Poison Ivy's communicator crackled to life, and a hoarse, half-dead voice rasped through the static.
"Poison Ivy. It's Firefly." A pause — labored breathing, something wet in it. "Batman snagged Man-Bat in the Batplane. Lucky for me, he can't chase two people at once, so I got clear. But heads up — it's heading your way."
Ivy glanced up at the bat-fighters screaming across the sky above her and exhaled sharply. "You're a little late on that."
"Then I can only wish you luck."
The line went dead.
Both Penguin and Ivy stood a moment in the silence that followed, a chill settling over them that had nothing to do with the autumn air. Penguin was quietly baffled that Batman had taken Man-Bat and not Firefly; Ivy was quietly furious that her colleagues' idea of a warning was a message that arrived after the problem. She considered the generous interpretation — Firefly had been seriously injured, had blacked out, had been tending to burns — and then she set it aside. None of those explanations changed what was bearing down on her right now.
Batman landed.
"Pamela." His voice carried that deliberate flatness — the kind designed to sound inevitable. "Don't make me reach for the herbicide."
Ivy let the threat hang in the air. Her expression shifted through several calculations. Then she smiled.
"Want me to come quietly?" She tilted her head, genuinely amused. "Easy, Batman. I'll walk right into the squad car. All you have to do is take care of the citizens who want to kill you first."
Batman's frown came a half-second before the impact did — a nine-millimeter round catching him square in the back armor. He'd been shot enough times that he could identify caliber by feel. He turned.
A man had risen from the pavement behind him, pistol raised, expression slack and dreaming.
"Nine minutes." Batman turned back to Ivy. "You said the effect wore off in nine minutes. Only nine have passed." His eyes narrowed. "You lied."
"You should never fully trust information from the enemy." She spread her hands in mock apology. "One fragrance to neutralize another — isn't that romantic? The Mad Hatter believed it because he's a lunatic. Are you a lunatic too, Batman? Or just trusting?"
Around them, the street was changing. One by one, hat-wearing figures climbed to their feet from the pavement — half-asleep, glassy-eyed, guns already in hand. More emerged from the surrounding buildings: storefronts, parking structures, darkened windows. When Jude had first infiltrated the theater, the thin exterior security had struck him as odd. Now it was obvious. They hadn't all been inside. They'd been waiting.
The circle closed around Batman, dozens deep.
"The Mad Hatter's last order before he lost consciousness was to attack you," Ivy said pleasantly, her voice swallowed by the crowd pressing in. "So right now, you're the only target they have. If I were you, I'd find the control mechanism on his person and shut down the broadcast before they start shooting each other — which would be messy for everyone." She paused for effect. "Or maybe you don't mind the mess."
Batman fired his grappling hook into the sky. The Batplane descended, the cable snapped taut, and he was pulled upward before the crowd could close the last few feet. He looked down from altitude as the theater entrance shrank beneath him — and saw that Poison Ivy and the figure in black beside her had already dissolved into the dark.
Only two remained below: Mr. Freeze, motionless, batarangs pinning him to the pavement; and the Mad Hatter, unconscious in a crumpled heap.
They're good, Batman thought. Both of them. And if this had been a real fight instead of a retrieval operation, I'd have made the same mistake.
Lesson learned.
He exhaled, took the pilot's seat, and sealed the canopy. The aircraft's armor shrugged off the scattered gunfire from below. Two grappling cables deployed in sequence, hauling Freeze and the Hatter up one by one, and then the Batplane banked hard and climbed out of range.
The controlled citizens watched it go. When the target vanished, so did their purpose. They drifted back toward the theater like sleepwalkers, confused and blinking, some pulling hats from their heads and staring at them. Others just went back to their posts.
Back at the Falcone villa, the Penguin delivered his report with a grave expression that required considerable effort to maintain.
"Boss, today was costly." He folded his hands. "We've lost all three. We need to start planning the next move."
The Joker pressed two fingers against his temple. "All three cards, gone." He made a sound of theatrical disgust. "And the theater is either compromised or it's already—" He waved a hand. "—already gone."
The communicator on the table buzzed.
"Boss, the team is near the theater." Static, then a voice threading through it. "Something's wrong out here. People are taking off their hats and dropping weapons. We're not seeing the Mad Hatter or Batman, but there are vines. And ice patterns. Poison Ivy and Mr. Freeze were definitely—"
"Yes, yes." The Joker cut the line with two fingers. He sat with it for a moment. "You know, I finally understand why the Riddler went to so much trouble to get Thor placed here." He glanced toward the window. "That man really does have terrible luck."
Five minutes later, in the Riddler's restored theater, Edward Nygma sat in the front row with his legs crossed and his golden cane resting against his knee, listening to the rhythm of his own patience.
"Nygma." One of his men appeared at the top of the aisle. "Poison Ivy is back."
The smile arrived before he'd consciously decided on it. He rose, took the cane, and descended the steps toward the entrance with the unhurried walk of a man who had expected exactly this.
"Send her in."
"There's — one more thing."
He stopped. "What?"
"The final count." The man hesitated. "Mad Hatter, Mr. Freeze, Man-Bat — all three of the Joker's heavy hitters are in Batman's custody. Poison Ivy and Firefly both made it out."
With each name, Nygma's smile deepened. A risky plan, executed against impossible odds. Two operatives against a field full of enemies. A genius who had seen the board six moves ahead and positioned his pieces accordingly.
"You carried out my plan faithfully," he said, resuming his descent. "I'll admit this was a gamble — placing Thor with the Joker, putting Firefly and Ivy against multiple targets simultaneously. But I won the gamble." He paused on the last step. "Or rather — this was the expected outcome. I knew Batman would try to maintain balance. Using him as one of my own pawns was the logical extension." He spread his hands. "Today belongs to us. All of you fought—"
"Nygma." The man's voice was careful. "I meant that someone came back with Poison Ivy."
Nygma's eyes opened wide.
The cane tightened in his grip. The easy smile collapsed like a condemned building. In the same instant, his mind ran back over the night's battle report and found the gap he'd somehow missed — one name, never mentioned, never accounted for.
He turned toward the entrance.
The familiar figure stood in the doorway. Black robe, hood pushed back, looking mildly apologetic.
"Hey, boss." Jude raised a hand. "I'm back."
"Who the hell authorized you to come back?!"
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