Months passed with a quiet, insidious rhythm. While the Joker’s meticulous plan slowly perfected itself, a different kind of growth was happening inside Wayne Manor. Hailey is now very pregnant, a gentle roundness that marked the joyful passage of time.

One evening, Bruce had a small dinner party planned, an intimate affair with two special guests. Hailey stood in the sitting room, adjusting her black silk cocktail dress as Bruce came in, his hand gently finding the small of her back, and gently kissing the back of her neck. She felt beautiful, but with her new, awkward curves, a small pang of insecurity hit her.

“I don’t know why you’re having me wear this,” she teased, “I feel like a whale.”

Bruce chuckled softly, turning her around to face him. “You are more beautiful than ever, sweetheart,” he said, his eyes filled with a profound love. “And besides, Selina can’t hold a candle to you.”

Hailey smiled, nudging him playfully. “You had to hire someone so nice-looking, didn’t you? You have to be surrounded by beautiful women all the time.”

Before Bruce could retort, the doorbell chimed, and Alfred’s voice came over the intercom. “Miss Kyle has arrived, Master Bruce.”

“Show her to the sitting room, Alfred,” Bruce said, pressing the button to unlock the door.

A moment later, Selina entered, looking stunning in a simple, elegant black dress. She smiled warmly at Hailey and Bruce as Alfred gestured toward the array of hors d’oeuvres.

Shortly after, the doorbell rang again. Bruce and Selina’s conversation was cut short as Bruce went to the door. As soon as he opened it, a broad-shouldered man with a handsome, chiseled face and a confident grin stood there.

“Wayne! You old dog!” Harvey Dent exclaimed, greeting his old friend with a robust hug.

“Dent!” Bruce returned the embrace, a genuine, hearty laugh escaping him. “It’s good to see you, you old confirmed bachelor.”

“I’d rather be an old confirmed bachelor than an old married man, like you. Thank you very much,” Harvey retorted with a good-natured jab as he surveyed the grand entrance hall. “This place is as big as I remember. So, who is this woman that’s more interesting than the allure of being free and unburdened?” he asked with a wink, pulling Bruce into the sitting room to greet Hailey and Selina, the promise of steak and lobster on his mind.

Bruce made the introductions. “Miss Kyle, I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine and hopefully the next district attorney, Harvey Dent.” He then turned to Harvey. “Harvey, this is the newest addition to Wayne Industries and my new marketing director, Selina Kyle.”

As they shook hands, it was immediately clear to both Bruce and Hailey that the two were taken with each other. Their cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, and their conversation was light and a little superficial, each one seemingly trying to impress the other with polite banter. Bruce and Hailey exchanged a knowing glance, a shared smile passing between them at the sight of the two confirmed singletons finding a sudden, unexpected connection.

The conversations continued, but it was now more Harvey and Selina than anyone else. The two of them found a natural rhythm, their voices carrying the comfortable hum of an instant connection. During a brief lull, Harvey looked around the room.

“Where’s the boy, Bruce?” Harvey asked. “I was looking forward to seeing how much he’s grown.”

“He’s spending the night at a friend’s house,” Bruce answered simply, before returning his attention to Hailey.

As Selina laughed at something Harvey said, Bruce leaned in and whispered into Hailey’s ear, “You were right. Like always.”

Hailey whispered back, “Maybe you’ll learn to listen to me more, Bats,” before playfully elbowing him in the ribs.

“You’re right, I should,” he chuckled, just as Alfred appeared in the doorway.

“Dinner is served,” Alfred announced.

The dining room was a picture of refined elegance, with the table set for five. The main course was a perfectly cooked steak and lobster dinner, served with all the trimmings.

“Alfred, please join us,” Bruce insisted as the butler began to retreat.

Alfred resisted at first, his posture stiffening slightly. “Master Bruce, you know very well the customs of this household.”

“Join us or find a new employer,” Bruce said with a mock-serious tone.

Alfred’s lips curled into a familiar, subtle smile. “Since you put it that way.”

The dinner was filled with lively conversation. At some point, the topic inevitably turned to how Bruce and Hailey had met. They launched into their elaborate, well-rehearsed tale.

“It wasn’t quite that dramatic,” Bruce began, glancing at Hailey with a fond smile. “It was during a business trip to Canada. A rather dull conference, actually.”

“Oh, it was beyond dull,” Hailey interjected, her own smile warm and genuine. “And I was there for a very different conference—a social work conference. We just happened to cross paths.”

“I can attest to that firsthand, Miss Kyle,” Alfred chimed in gently from the head of the table. “The conference was indeed dreadfully boring. I had hoped it would be closer to a vineyard, but alas.”

Hailey laughed. “He was so impressed by my passion for the work, he offered me a job running the Thomas and Martha Wayne’s Family Shelter. I thought he was just being the good Samaritan he is. But one thing led to another, and… well, here we are. Married and expecting.”

Bruce reached across the table and gently took her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. “And I’ve never been happier.”

The conversation and laughter were abruptly cut short as the lights went dark. The hum of the refrigeration units, the soft glow of the chandelier—all of it vanished, plunging the dining room into a thick, suffocating blackness.

***

Bruce and Hailey were automatically on high alert, their hands instinctively reaching for each other. Their bodies moved with a quiet, practiced grace, a silent agreement to be ready. The tension in the room was a palpable, living thing.

Alfred, ever the picture of composure, moved with purpose. The gentle flick of a lighter and the soft scent of wax soon filled the room as he began lighting the tall, elegant candles on the table. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the faces of the guests, providing a brief, flickering sense of security that helped to ease the tension.

BOOM!!! The thunderous sound ripped through the manor.

The sound was not just loud; it was concussive, shaking the very foundations of the house. Splinters of wood and chunks of plaster rained down in the front hall as the massive, reinforced oak door exploded inward.

A chilling, maniacal laugh erupted from the newly created doorway, a sound that promised nothing but chaos and destruction.

“Knock… knock!”

Hailey immediately went rigid, her mind transported back to a time of loud noises, manic laughter, and bruises. She pressed herself into Bruce’s arms, her body trembling with a fear she had thought she’d buried. The cheerful buzz of conversation was a distant memory. The front door was gone, replaced by a gaping hole.

A moment later, the Joker and his henchmen, a dozen or so in number, burst into the dining room. An Uzi burst to life, spitting bullets into the ornate plaster ceiling. Chunks of plaster and dust rained down on the dinner table, mixing with the pristine white linens and the perfectly cooked food. The henchmen were dressed in grotesque, clown-like outfits, their faces a mix of theatrical makeup and grim, psychotic expressions.

Bruce and Harvey, without a moment’s hesitation, put Hailey and Selina behind them, their bodies tense and ready to fight.

The Joker sauntered in, a wide, terrifying grin plastered on his face. He held a cane in one hand and a revolver in the other, his green hair a wild mess and his purple suit a garish spectacle against the elegant backdrop of the room. He surveyed the scene, his eyes landing on Hailey, who was still cowering behind Bruce.

“Daddy’s home… Harley!” he shrieked, his voice filled with a manic, terrifying glee.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” Bruce demanded, his voice a low growl, pushing Hailey further behind him.

The Joker threw his head back and let out a shriek of manic laughter that bounced off the high ceiling. “Oh, Brucey-Boy, you sound so cross! But it’s all so simple. I’ve come for what’s mine!” He sauntered closer, his cane tapping rhythmically on the marble floor. “My beautiful, brilliant Harley! You thought you could run, didn’t you, my little bird? You thought you could fly away and hide in a gilded cage with this handsome, rich cad!”

His eyes, full of a terrifying glee, narrowed as they landed on Hailey. “You left me! You abandoned the masterpiece we were making! But you couldn’t do it alone. You had help, didn’t you? This… this playboy. He used his money and his fancy connections to give you a new name, a new life, a new identity!”

He gestured wildly with his revolver, the barrel pointed at the ceiling. “But a new name can’t erase a birthmark, can it? No, no, no! And now the game is over. I’ve come to reclaim what’s mine. I’ve come to show you the error of your ways and teach you a lesson you’ll never forget! A lesson for all of you!”

A guttural roar escaped Bruce’s throat. He lunged at the Joker, his face a mask of pure rage. But before he could cover a yard of distance, a shot rang out. The deafening crack of the revolver filled the room. Bruce faltered, a spasm running through his body, and then he fell to the floor, face down.

Hailey screamed, “BRUCE?!”

Then a cold silence fell over the room. Harvey, seeing his friend down, tried to make a move, but the Joker was faster. The barrel of his revolver was immediately leveled at Harvey’s face, stopping him cold.

In that moment of paralysis, Joker’s goons swarmed in. Harvey, his heart pounding in his chest, pulled Hailey and Selina behind him, a useless gesture as the goons roughly forced them to their knees and subdued them.

In the initial, shocking chaos, Alfred had disappeared, slipping into the shadows of the doorway, a ghost unnoticed by the laughing clowns.

The Joker’s manic gaze fell on Hailey. He knelt before her, his long, pale fingers tangling in her newly dyed brunette hair. “Look at this, boys!” he shrieked with delight, holding up a strand. “Brunette! How… normal! Ewwwww.” He pulled her head back, forcing her to look at him. “You thought you could change, didn’t you, Harley? A new life? A new color? You can’t outrun the past.” He let her hair go, then brought his cane down sharply, hitting her on her lower back. A gasp of pain escaped her lips.

“All of this!” he ranted, gesturing around the opulent dining room. “This house, this man, this… this thing growing inside you!” He poked her swollen stomach with the tip of his cane, his smile widening. “It’s a pathetic attempt to play normal! To be boring! To abandon your Puddin’!” He then drew his fist back and, with a sickening crack, punched her in the face. She collapsed to the side, a muffled sob escaping her lips. His goons helped her back to her knees, holding her upright for her tormentor. “The lesson has only just begun!” he screamed, his voice a manic crescendo.

Harvey and Selina could only watch, their own fear replaced by a horrified disbelief. They had just witnessed a brutal attack on their friend, a pregnant woman. But as Joker’s cruel tirade continued, their confusion turned to a terrifying realization. The woman they knew as Dr. Hailey Wayne, the loving wife of Bruce Wayne, was the very same Dr. Harleen Quinzel who had become the infamous Harley Quinn.

***

Across town, the stately, heavily-secured Cobblepot residence was the scene of a separate, swift, and brutal assault. The front doors—unlike the reinforced oak of Wayne Manor—were breached not by explosives, but by a chilling, practiced speed. A small, disciplined crew of the Joker’s henchmen, wearing gas masks over their grotesque clown makeup, burst into the entrance hall wielding silenced Mac-10s.

The Cobblepots were dispatched with cold, clinical efficiency. The attack wasn’t chaotic; it was a massacre, executed with a horrifying lack of emotion. Within moments, the entrance hall was silent, save for the sickening drip of blood onto the marble floor.

Upstairs, the quiet of the night was shattered as a goon kicked open the door to Ozzy’s room where Richard and his friend were sleeping. Richard, still wearing his pajamas, was instantly awake and so was Ozzy.

His hand shot to his wrist, already moving to activate the emergency signal on the watch Bruce had given him. He had only enough time to press the tiny, concealed button just once.

“No, you don’t!” the goon roared, lunging forward. He tore the watch from Richard’s wrist and tossed it aside.

Richard and Ozzy both scrambled, pure adrenaline flooding their small bodies, but the massive, masked figure was too fast. The man slammed both of them against the wall, the force of the blow driving the air from their lungs. Ozzy collapsed to the floor.

Richard fought back and in the struggle, the emergency watch was ripped from Richard’s wrist, falling to the carpet. The goon hit him—HARD. He slumped to the floor beside a motionless Ozzy.

The goon didn’t hesitate; he scooped up Richard and slung him over his shoulder.

Before leaving, two other clowns, clearly enjoying their secondary task, sprayed a wave of neon green and violent purple paint across the ornate walls, leaving behind chaotic, grinning faces and scrawled messages.

They marked the walls near the bodies of the Cobblepots with one final, grotesque flourish: “The only good family is a broken family! PUDDIN’ WAS HERE!”

The henchmen left the house as quickly and quietly as they arrived, disappearing into the Gotham night with their prize.

Richard, muffled, bound, and terrified in the back of a second van, knew only one thing: he had tried to call for help, but he only go to press the panic button once and now it was too late. He was trapped, and his father and Hailey were in danger.

***

By the time the Joker was done with his tirade and his brutal “lesson,” a heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the ravaged dining room. His manic laughter had finally subsided, replaced by the satisfied, chilling sound of his own ragged breathing.

The goons, still masked and menacing, stood watch, their weapons held loosely but with a clear threat. Hailey’s truth now lay bare for Harvey and Selina to see, a horrifying tableau illuminated by the flickering candlelight.

She lay on the once pristine floor, a bruised and bloody mess. Her head lolled to the side, a dark stain blooming on the once elegant fabric of her dress. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth, and her eyes were swollen and beginning to bruise. The fear and pain she had tried so desperately to bury had been dragged to the surface, etched onto her battered face.

The Joker, still grinning widely, surveyed his handiwork with evident pleasure. He grabbed a handful of Hailey’s brunette hair and yanked her violently to her feet. A gasp of pain escaped her bruised lips as she was forced to stand, wobbling unsteadily. He held her there, a perverse trophy of his victory.

His goons kept Harvey and Selina pinned, their weapons trained on them. They watched, helpless and horrified, as their friend was subjected to this brutal, public humiliation.

Then, with a sickening grin, one of the goons pulled a flare from his belt. He lit it, a bright, dangerous flame flaring to life, and tossed it toward the immense, floor-to-ceiling curtains at the far end of the room. The elegant velvet fabric caught fire instantly, a wall of flame leaping up and spreading with terrifying speed. The manor was now not just a tomb for their hopes, but a burning cage.

As the Joker held Hailey by her hair, a grotesque smile plastered across his face, Harvey’s eyes darted to Bruce. The man who had been a rock, a hero, now lay still on the floor, face down in the shattered remnants of their dinner. But as the Joker and his goons began to drag them out of the burning manor, Harvey saw it: a faint, almost imperceptible twitch in Bruce’s right hand. He saw it and he said nothing, his mind a whirlwind of terror and strategy.

They were all thrown unceremoniously into the cold, night air. Hailey, still held fast by the Joker, was forced to watch as the windows of her home exploded, spewing flames into the night sky. In a moment of raw, unadulterated anguish, she screamed, “BRUCE!!” at the top of her lungs, the sound lost in the roar of the fire.

With the manor now a blazing beacon in the distance, two goons casually walked over to Harvey and Selina. A flash of metal, a dull thud, and both of them were pistol-whipped into unconsciousness. They slumped to the grass, silent and still.

In the distance, the first faint wail of sirens could be heard, a sound that finally prompted the clowns to action. The goons shoved Hailey into one of two waiting vans, with the Joker climbing in beside her. They sped away into the darkness.

He threw his head back and a horrifying, triumphant laugh erupted from his chest, echoing through the van. He then looked down at the bloodied and bruised Hailey, his smile twisting into a mockery of genuine emotion.

“See what happens when you try to break my heart?” he said.

Hailey’s world faded to black, her consciousness surrendering to the crushing images of Bruce, Richard, and their unborn child.

***

The roar of the fire was a living thing, a monstrous sound that filled the night. Alfred, a ghost in the shadows of the estate, moved with a controlled, furious purpose. The scent of burning wood and smoke was thick in the air, a sickening perfume that clung to his clothes and hair.

He had seen the vans disappear into the darkness, and the sight of Harvey and Selina lying unconscious on the lawn confirmed the grim reality: the Joker had gotten away with Hailey. But his focus was not on the escapees. It was on the one person still inside.

Ignoring the heat and the cracking of the manor’s timber, Alfred re-entered the burning house through a side service entrance. The smoke was blinding, and the heat was immense, but he navigated the familiar hallways by memory alone.

He found the dining room, a scene of absolute devastation. The ceiling was splintered, the table was overturned, and a wall of fire was steadily advancing across the room, consuming everything in its path.

And there, amidst the wreckage, was Bruce.

He was a still, silent heap on the floor, his face half-hidden. Alfred’s heart seized in his chest, but he saw it—a subtle, rhythmic rise and fall of Bruce’s back, a whisper of life.

He knelt, turning Bruce over with a gentleness that belied the urgency of the moment. There was no bullet wound. The front of Bruce’s dinner jacket had a prominent, charred scorch mark, and underneath, the lightweight bulletproof Kevlar vest was intact. The bullet’s impact had knocked the wind out of him, but he was alive.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said, his voice a strained whisper.

A groan escaped Bruce’s lips. He stirred, his body wracked with pain and his eyes slowly fluttering open. “Alfred…” he managed to choke out.

With a firm grip, Alfred helped Bruce to his feet. Bruce was dazed, disoriented, and sore as hell, but he could walk. Supporting him, Alfred guided him away from the raging inferno. They stumbled out of the burning manor just as the sirens grew to a crescendo, their piercing wail announcing the arrival of Gotham’s finest.

Ignoring the chaos that was about to descend, Alfred half-carried, half-dragged Bruce to a secluded section of the garden. With a hidden command panel, he unlocked a concealed door in the side of a large rock formation. With a mechanical whir, the stone slid away, revealing the long, secret passage that led down into the Batcave.

With one final glance at the burning wreckage of their home, Alfred helped Bruce down the steps and into the darkness below.

***

Above the Batcave, a different kind of chaos was taking shape. The roar of the fire was now competing with the wail of sirens, the flashing red and blue lights of the Gotham City Police Department painting a frantic tableau against the night sky.

Firefighters desperately fought the blaze, their hoses lashing out at the inferno that had once been Wayne Manor.

On the lawn, paramedics attended to Harvey Dent and Selina Kyle, both of whom were just starting to come to.

Commissioner James Gordon pushed through the crowd of officers, his face a grim mask as he approached the two dazed survivors. The sight of them, bruised and disoriented, confirmed his worst fears. He knelt beside Harvey, who was being helped to a sitting position.

“Harvey, what happened?” Gordon asked, his voice low and urgent.

Harvey, his head throbbing from the pistol-whipping, spoke in a rush, his words tumbling out with a mixture of disbelief and horror. He recounted the dinner party, the sudden darkness, the explosion, and the Joker’s terrifying entrance.

He described the machine-gun fire, Bruce’s fall, and the Joker’s brutal tirade against Hailey, culminating in the chilling revelation that she was Harley Quinn. Selina, her own face pale and bruised, nodded grimly, affirming every horrific detail.

Gordon listened, his expression unreadable. He had heard a lot of wild stories in his career, but this one was in a class of its own.

The destruction of Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne’s disappearance, and the fact that his new wife was none other than the Joker’s former lover was almost too much to process. The Harley Quinn/Hailey Wayne of it all left a sour taste in his mouth, the kind of deception that would have to be dealt with eventually. But not tonight.

The immediate problem—a maniac on the loose, a burning mansion, and a missing billionaire—took precedence over everything else.

“Listen to me,” Gordon said, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. “The fire is our priority, but we have a new one. I want a full-scale manhunt. I want every single precinct searching for the Joker and his goons. And find Bruce Wayne! NOW!!”

© Copyright 2025 J.R. Geiger. All rights reserved.