Smoke and Mirrors

"Harvey."

Bruce stepped forward, grabbing Harvey's arm. Harvey jolted in surprise but relaxed as soon as he recognized who it was.

Harvey didn't question how Bruce managed to free himself from his ropes again; wealthy men were always targeted frequently, so it wasn't surprising he'd learned a few tricks to escape.

With the thick smoke still swirling around them, blocking others from spotting their movements, the two of them shared an unspoken understanding. They didn't need words; both of them were focused on finding a way out.

Through the room filled with white smoke, sounds of coughing and guards calling out to each other punctuated the silence. Bruce and Harvey covered their mouths and noses, trying to suppress the urge to cough or blink away tears caused by the stinging smoke as they began to move quietly.

But the smoke hindered not just their pursuers but also their own sense of direction. After only a few steps, Harvey accidentally collided with something.

Thud!

The dull sound was unmistakable—the feel of hitting another body. And it definitely wasn't Bruce.

The only person Harvey could trust here was Bruce, so his immediate reaction was to reach out, attempting to clamp a hand over the stranger's mouth to prevent any sound that might give away their position.

Bruce reacted almost instantly as well. He wasn't far from Harvey, and at the first sound of the impact, he realized what had happened. In a few quick strides, Bruce darted over to the guard Harvey had bumped into and, before the man could shout, knocked him out with a swift, silent move.

Catching the guard's body before it hit the ground, Bruce made sure it landed quietly to avoid alerting anyone. He shot Harvey a brief look and gestured with his hand—a quick signal to go right—then took the lead.

Bruce was pretty sure the direction they were heading led to the main door.

The clean, efficient movements left Harvey momentarily stunned.

Perhaps Bruce Wayne wasn't quite the shallow playboy the public thought he was.

That thought flashed through Harvey's mind as he followed Bruce.

Meanwhile, outside, the attackers continued to toss smoke grenades through the windows, blanketing the room in thick, choking clouds. Occasionally, one of Jeffrey's men tried to escape, only to scream as he was swiftly being taken down, clearly a sitting target in the ambush.

The fight was intense, though the ambushers had the upper hand.

Bruce, leading Harvey through the smoke, couldn't help but wonder who these people were and what their real motives were. He stayed alert, a faint sense of caution prickling at his mind.

Finally, they reached the iron door that led to the staircase.

No guards were stationed at the door, and they managed to open it with relative ease, slipping into the hallway beyond. Only then did they allow themselves a small breath of relief.

It was a real relief, too. The smoke inside had been intense, as evidenced by the sounds of people inside coughing and wiping their stinging eyes. Bruce and Harvey were equally affected, grateful to be in clear air at last.

But escaping the lion's den didn't mean the tiger's lair wasn't waiting ahead. Whoever these new attackers were, they were clearly dangerous as well.

As Harvey moved forward, he glanced back, whispering to Bruce, "Do you think there might be an ambush waiting outside?"

Bruce was silent for a moment. "Quite likely."

In fact, the complete lack of guards at such an obvious entrance was suspicious.

But staying in the smoke-filled room they'd left behind wasn't an option either. Better to venture out and face whatever awaited them; if these new attackers were only after money, they might be easier to handle than the group they'd just escaped, who had wanted their lives.

After all, money opens doors.

The long hallway was eerily quiet except for their footsteps, and its dim lighting added to the tension. They opened a second heavy door, which led into an empty workshop.

Harvey exhaled with relief. "Looks like these guys might just have a grudge against Jeffrey," he said, hoping they'd only targeted his group.

But no—Bruce knew it couldn't be that simple. And just as the thought struck him, shadowy figures began to emerge from under the long assembly tables in the workshop. They wore clown masks—some tall, some short, some heavy, some thin—all staring directly at them.

Anyone would feel a chill up their spine under that many eyes.

"What a rotten day…" Bruce muttered under his breath, realizing these clowns were either after him or Harvey.

Harvey caught on too.

Outnumbered and clearly unable to fight their way out, they didn't resist when one of the masked figures held out a pair of handcuffs. Bruce and Harvey allowed themselves to be led outside the chemical plant and then into a waiting vehicle, all while the clowns kept a tight hold on them.

Bruce: "..."

Harvey: "..."

They exchanged a helpless look, resigned to yet another round of captivity.

Just before the vehicle pulled away, Bruce noticed one of the men in the front seat press a button on a remote control.

A massive mushroom cloud instantly rose from where the chemical plant had stood moments earlier—stunning and terrifying.

"Firework!" said the man who'd pressed the button, snapping his fingers with a smile. The entire van erupted in wild laughter.

Sitting in the middle of the chaos, Bruce remained expressionless, processing the scene around him—like some twisted carnival of madness. He mouthed a single word, almost to himself:

"Joker."

"Joker?"

Hearing his father say this familiar name, Avery couldn't help but recall the details he knew about the man.

The Joker—a criminal mastermind with an unknown past and no real identity, infamous for wreaking havoc from the start of his criminal career. Diagnosed as criminally insane, he'd been spared from Blackgate Penitentiary and locked up instead at Arkham Asylum, from which he frequently escaped to terrorize the city anew.

Avery frowned. "Why would he get involved in all this?"