Rex's boots echoed in the rotten silence of the warehouse. The place reeked of mildew and gasoline, the windows shattered, letting in blades of moonlight. Joker's trail had led here—finally. Weeks of hunting, threats, and whispered rumors had brought him to this moment.
He drew his baton slowly. "Joker!" he called into the dark, voice low but shaking with rage. "It ends tonight."
A single spotlight flicked on.
Standing beneath it: the Joker, grinning like a jackal in church. "Oh, Darkwing... you came! You really came!"
Rex's eyes narrowed. He took a step forward.
CRACK.
Pain exploded through his skull. A blur of red and black. A psychotic giggle.
Harley Quinn stood behind him, twirling her bloody bat.
"Nighty night, birdboy."
Darkness swallowed him.
---
Rex woke chained to a metal chair, arms behind him, legs bound, shirtless, bruised, bleeding. The room was a kaleidoscope of horror—walls smeared with laughter, mirrors warped and fogged. A single lightbulb buzzed above.
The Joker appeared from the shadows, dressed like a surgeon in a butcher's apron. "Good morning, sunshine!"
He placed a tray down—tools, blades, syringes.
"I thought about killing you," Joker said, calmly pouring a glass of wine. "But then I thought… no, no. You're better than dead. You're broken."
Rex spat blood. "I'll kill you."
Joker knelt to his level, eyes wide and fake-sympathetic. "You already did. Remember Scarecrow? You didn't beat him. You murdered him. And you felt good, didn't you?"
Rex looked away.
"Oh, you're almost there," Joker whispered, circling him. "So close to becoming what Gotham really needs. Batman doesn't see it, but I do. You want to end evil? You can't do that with rules. You do it by embracing the chaos."
Then came the week of horror.
Joker came in the room and said: "You want food right?"
"Yes.."
Joker laughed and then showed bugs and other insects in a bowl.
Rex shouted:"No, no, no, no, please no".
Then joker laughed and put insects in his mouth and said: "This is your food for the week".
Rex spent the week vomiting, he was cut, electrocuted, starved. Joker forced him to watch looped footage of people he couldn't save. Images of Gotham burning. The victims of his inaction. Children crying.
Joker whispered every night: "They hate you already. So why not give them something to really fear?"
---
At the Batcave, Bruce stood before the monitors, unblinking. One week. No signal from Rex. No pings. Just... silence.
Barbara stood at the terminal, jaw clenched. "He's not dead," she said.
Jason Todd scoffed. "You don't know that."
"I do," she snapped. "He wouldn't let Joker win. Not like this."
Alfred approached with measured grace. "Master Bruce, the news…"
The television lit up: chaos in downtown Gotham. Reports of bodies found, scorched and disfigured. A man seen walking away from the scene.
"Harvey Dent," Bruce whispered. "No… it can't be."
But it was. Harvey had snapped.
A shaky video played: half his face burned, his voice split between reason and rage. "I gave them hope. And they gave me fire!"
Barbara gasped. "He's Two-Face."i
Jason looked to Bruce. "We're splitting up?"
"No," Bruce said. "We find Harvey. We stop him. But we also find Rex."
---
Back in the dark room, Joker leaned in close to Rex.
"I used to think Batman was the ultimate joke," he said. "But you... oh, you're punchline material."
He cupped Rex's chin.
"You're the in-between. Not light. Not dark. You're truth, Rex. They call you Darkwing now. But you're not a hero. You're a warning."
Rex groaned, eyes hollow. His wrists bled from struggling against the cuffs.
---
That night, Rex dreamed of fire.
He stood in Chicago again, back before the alley, before the knife. He saw himself—young, proud, justice-driven. Then the blade pierced his stomach again.
He dropped.
But when he stood back up—he was in the Nightwing suit.
Scarecrow. Joker. Blood.
He turned to a mirror and saw his face was Joker's.
He screamed.
---
In the cave, Bruce stared at a map. Locations Joker had been seen. A triangulated route. He punched in coordinates. "He's in the Narrows. Joker's always there before a big show."
Barbara and Jason nodded.
Jason loaded his guns. "We go in hard?"
Bruce shook his head. "No. We go in smart."
Barbara whispered, "He's still in there, Bruce. Don't give up on him."
Bruce said nothing, but his jaw tightened.