A thriving cesspool of human waste. The perfect place to find him. I should know since I put him here.

The halls are long and dark. A hush falls over the inmates as I walk past. They are frightened by my presence, as they should be. They feel intimidated, they feel scared, they feel insecure.

Good.

Gordon stands stiff, barely moving an inch. The inmates are just as equally intimidated by him. Jim Gordon is a man whose very presence demands respect. They know this. I know this.

We continue walking until we reach a room at the end. Above it is a tag that reads, "DOE, JOHN." That is because no one knows who he really is. No one save for himself. He is nothing more than a random statistic. Nameless.

An attendant waits for us at the door. Once we approach, he turns to Gordon, averting his eyes from my form.

"He's in here…" the man stated, trying hard not to look up. "But, I guess you knew that already."

He swiped a security card through an electronic device, then entered a series of numbers on the keypad before hitting "ENTER." The electronic locks snapped back, one by one, and the door opened.

"I'll be right here if you need anything," he said, still looking at the keypad. "Just call if you need anything."

"We will," Gordon said. "Thank you."

I led the way into the door, and Jim followed. The attendant closed the door behind us.

"Hey diddle diddle… got a BAT on the griddle…"

Gordon folded his arms and stayed back. I approached Mr. Identity Unknown.

"Well, well, well, how about that?" he asks. "I'm a poet and I didn't even know it."

I don't move an inch. My eyes simply lock with his.

"Y'know Batsy, you remind me of a joke. Wanna hear it?"

I keep silent, just stand and stare.

"Weeeeeeeeell, here goes," he began, clearing his throat. "Y'see, this guy's sitting in a bar, and he's not doing anything, just enjoying a drink on his way home for work, right? Then, this really tall guy walks up to him and says, 'get out of my seat.' Which is odd, because he just walked in, and the two guys and the bartender are the only one in there. The guy says, 'why don't you sit on another stool?' And this tall guy, you know what he did? Well, he picked the poor schmuck up by the neck and he says to him in a REALLY deep voice, 'because I'm Batman.' HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

Laughter breaks out from his throat, and his face comes into the light. I don't move, not even when I see his chalk-white skin or his bright green hair. Not even when I see his red lips fixed into a constant grin as he can't stop laughing.

He wipes a tear from his eye before continuing.

"Hooooboy, I kill me…Y'know, that joke reminds me of ANOTHER joke. Actually, everything reminds me of a joke. Now that's not such a bad way to look at life, is it?"

"I'm not laughing, Joker."

"That's your problem-you're NEVER laughing!! Come on, man, no WONDER you're so dark and gloomy!! I mean, let's look at that costume for one. Black is SO out!"

"That's enough," Gordon says, stepping into the light. "We're here to check up on you-"

"Really? That's so nice, I was worried that no one remembered my birthday… But YOU guys did!! I love you guys!! You're the best friends a psychopath could have!"

"A man was murdered last night," Gordon says.

"Heh…"

"You think that's funny?" Gordon asked.

"Of course," Joker replied. "EVERYTHING'S funny!!"

"The victim was found with a design carved onto his body," Gordon continues. "It was a smile. There were also cuts from his ears to his lips, also forming a smile."

"Pfft!" he says. "Talk about unoriginal! I mean, where's the art? Where's the beauty? That's no way to make a person smile. You can't force somebody to smile."

"You did," I remind him.

"I ASSISTED people in smiling," he replies. "I simply gave them something to smile about. It was their own lips who did the smiling."

"We're here for another reason," Gordon said. "To ask for your help."

	THE LAST LAUGH Part II: "Alliance"
ELSEWORLDS PRESENTS #2 - Featuring BATMAN and THE JOKER	by Dino Pollard

"The guy had a smile carved into his body. That's like a perfect calling card, he might as well have signed his name. How can it not be him?"

"What did Bruce tell you?" I ask him as the two of us leap from building to building.

"He said that it wasn't the Joker's MO, that Joker uses toxins rather than knives."

"And…?"

"And what?"

"You mean that's all he told you?"

"Is there something he didn't tell me, Dick?"

"I'm surprised he didn't."

"He was actually in kind of a hurry to meet the Commissioner."

"That explains it."

I make a running leap, propelling myself into the air and landing gracefully on the next building. Acrobatics at age 6 will let you do that.

It takes Tim a bit longer to follow me. He's not as skilled or experienced, but he makes a good Robin. Bruce made a good choice this time around.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So what didn't Bruce tell me?"

"Oh, right," I replied, smacking my forehead. "Bruce told you that Joker couldn't have committed that murder because he uses toxins. Well, there's another reason Joker didn't do it."

"Which is…?"

"Joker's in Arkham, has been for awhile. Maybe that's why he went to meet Gordon."

"He's gotten out in the past, though," Tim said.

"That probably explains why Bruce left in a rush," I replied.

"I don't know…" Tim said. "Something about this whole situation seems a bit odd…"

"You're telling me."

A gunshot rings out. Then, the world fades to black.

My eyes fluttered open once or twice during that period, and I saw that psycho… doing things… God, I hated him. I still hate him.

There was a time when I would be out there, running across rooftops. There was a time that I was Batgirl.

But now, all that's changed. My costume has been replaced with a wheelchair. My batarangs replaced with computers. My fighting skills replaced with information.

Now, I'm no longer Batgirl. I'm just Barbara Gordon, now-the Oracle.

This is the latest case to come by us. And it's one of the most disturbing. The fact that these murders could be caused by the Joker.

Unfortunately, Bruce didn't tell me any of this. I was kept out of the loop. I had to discover it by viewing the police report. And Robin gave me some information as well. But, I've found that I'm unable to get in touch with Bruce. Wherever he is, he's prevented me from contacting him. He knows my past with the Joker, which is why he decided to go this one solo. He knows what happened to the last Robin that took on the Joker, which is why he left without telling Tim anything.

The strangest part about all this is that Joker's still in Arkham. And that's more than likely where Bruce is headed.

Meanwhile, although Bruce hasn't asked for my help, he hasn't told me not to help, either. Which means I'm still in this game.

"Dinah, do you read me?"

{{ Loud and clear }} Dinah Lance, the Black Canary replied.

"Where are you now?"

{{ Scouring the rooftops. Nothing's turned up yet. }}

"See if you can find something. I'll contact Nightwing and Robin, let them know to be on the lookout. Oracle out."

I switch frequencies.

"Dick?"

{{ I'm here, Babs. }}

"Black Canary's already doing a search. I need you and Tim to help out in any way that you can."

{{ We'll see what we can do. }}

"Good."

{{ And Babs… don't worry. We'll find the bastard. }}

I smile a bit at Dick Grayson's attempt for encouragement. It doesn't work, though.

"Thanks, Dick."

"You want my help?"

"You're the only one who can understand a psycho like this," Gordon said.

"Hey, we can smell our own. What can I say?"

"Jim…"

Gordon looks at me, and I motion with my head for him to come closer. Once he does, I speak in a low tone.

"We're not going to use him."

"I don't like him anymore than you do," Jim replied. "He's done just as much to me as he has to you."

"He's psychotic."

"So is the guy we're trying to catch. I know how you feel about this, and I don't want to put ourselves in this position. The sad truth is we don't have a choice. So either you have to put away that ego of yours and concentrate on the job at hand, or I'll do this without your help."

One thought occurs to me about his statement.

Only Jim Gordon could talk to me like that.

"Still nothing," I say through the headset. "I'm checking out the crime scene. Maybe there's something else we missed."

{{ It seems like the only lead we've got. Go for it. }}

I drop down into the alley, looking around. The flashlight shines off the walls, and I see dried blood on the ground, but that's about it. There has to be something here.

I probably should've had Oracle call in Nightwing or Robin to check this out. They know more about this type of thing than I do.

"I don't see anything. The cops actually did a pretty thorough job this time."

"Oh… I wouldn't say that…"

I instantly spin around, seeing nothing.

"Oracle…?"

{{ I heard you, Dinah. }}

"There's someone else here…" I whisper.

She doesn't reply. Good. She knows that now's the time to call in the cavalry.

*TSSSS*

My eyes turn to a corner. There's some sort of can lying there, with a green cloud coming out of it…?

Gas! I try to run out before it catches me, but I'm too late. It infects my system, and my motor reflexes fail me. Slowly, I drop to the ground, as a tall man steps out from the shadows.

"I was waiting for one of you to show yourselves. I'm a bit disappointed, though. I had hoped it would be bird-boy."

{{ Dinah, what's going on?! }}

I try to speak, but I'm overcome with a coughing fit.

{{ DINAH!! }}

"Ahh well… I suppose this'll send the message well enough."

I try to call into the earpiece, but nothing comes out. I can see his face as it comes into view.

Bright green hair.

Chalk-white skin.

Ruby-red lips.

Curved into a grin. I see a knife in his hand.

"Have you ever heard the one about the canary that had her wings clipped?" he asked. "Heh… that was a good one…"

The knife comes down, and my body convulses with pain.

Ollie…

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"