Three months after the Joker War, Gotham City had settled into an uneasy calm. The scars left behind were still raw—burned buildings, shattered lives, and a city government trying to crawl out from under the Joker's bribes and corruption. The Bat-Signal, once a symbol of hope, now seemed like a distant echo of better days. Bruce Wayne, battered in every sense of the word, had spent those months rebuilding—his city, his family, and himself.
Wayne Enterprises, though damaged, was clawing back its reputation, but Bruce's personal fortune was nearly gone. Gotham's citizens, ever fickle, were split between seeing him as a hero or the root of their suffering. Despite it all, Batman had returned to the streets. Gotham didn't need the billionaire anymore. It needed the Dark Knight.
In the shadows of the Narrows, a low hum echoed through an abandoned warehouse. A young girl in tattered clothes crept toward the sound, her bare feet silent on the cracked concrete. In the center of the room, a figure sat on a throne of old televisions, their screens flickering with grainy footage of Gotham's darkest moments. The figure leaned forward, his pale face catching the blue glow of the monitors.
"Missed me, Gotham?" The voice was unmistakable, a sickly sing-song laced with menace. The Joker smiled at the girl, his yellowed teeth gleaming. "I've been dying to get back in the game."
The girl froze as his eyes bore into hers. He stood, towering over her with exaggerated grace. "Run along now. Tell them he's back." He handed her a playing card, the Joker's face etched onto it in blood-red ink.
The girl fled, her heart pounding as she ran into the night. Hours later, the card made its way to the Batcave.
Bruce stared at it in silence, his jaw clenched. Around him, the Bat Family gathered. Dick Grayson leaned against a console, his arms crossed. Jason Todd toyed with a knife, the flick of the blade breaking the tense silence. Tim Drake studied the card with a furrowed brow, while Barbara Gordon scanned it for clues.
"This isn't a coincidence," Barbara said, her voice steady. "He wanted us to know."
"Or he wanted to lure us into a trap," Jason added, his tone sharp. "Either way, I say we end it this time."
Bruce turned the card over, his fingers tightening around it. "We find him first. No mistakes. No shortcuts. He won't take this city from us again."
Cassandra Cain, silent until now, stepped forward and pointed to the card. "There's a code," she said softly.
Tim leaned closer, pulling up the Batcave's scanners. "She's right. It's an address."
"Then we start there," Bruce said, his voice resolute.
As the Bat Family dispersed to prepare, Bruce stood alone for a moment, staring at the flickering screens that filled the cave. The Joker had been gone for three months, but his presence had never left. Now, the question wasn't whether they could stop him—it was whether Gotham could survive what came next.
•
•
•
•
•
•
The city was still bleeding. Broken windows, charred buildings, and graffiti-tagged streets were reminders of the Joker's reign of chaos. Gotham's wounds ran deeper than its cracked pavement—its people, scarred by months of terror, had turned colder, more suspicious. The Joker had vanished into the shadows, but his laughter lingered in every alley, every dimly lit corner.
From the rooftops of Old Gotham, Bruce —Batman—stood shrouded in the gloom, his cape billowing in the frigid January wind. Below him, the city pulsed, but it wasn't alive. It was limping. Wayne Enterprises was still reeling, struggling to rebuild trust after Joker's exploits. And Bruce himself was still rebuilding—physically, emotionally, and financially.
"Bruce," came Barbara Gordon's voice over the comm. "We've got something. Nightwing spotted a fresh Joker card at the docks near Burnside. Matches the pattern from his other calling card."
"I'm on it," Bruce replied, his voice low and edged with weariness. He paused, scanning the skyline, then spoke again. "Keep the family in the loop. This could be nothing. Or it could be worse."
In another corner of Gotham, Jason—Red Hood—revved his motorcycle, his gloved fingers tightening on the throttle. The docks were his kind of hunting ground, a perfect place to sniff out answers or crack some skulls if need be. The thought of the Joker back in Gotham made his blood boil. He hadn't forgiven Bruce for saving Harley over ending the clown for good. Maybe, this time, Jason would do what Batman couldn't.
Meanwhile, Duke Thomas—The Signal—stood guard over a small neighborhood in the Narrows. His role had shifted in the months since the war. Gotham's day shift needed him more than ever, and Duke was determined to hold the line. Over the comms, he heard Stephanie Brown, Spoiler, quip:
"So, do we think he's been chilling on a beach somewhere, sipping umbrella drinks and plotting his next move? Because I'd bet my utility belt he's going for spectacle this time."
Tim Drake—Robin—chimed in. "It's not his style to lay low this long without leaving a breadcrumb. If this is the Joker, he wants us to find him. The question is: why now?"
On the southern see edge of the city, Cassandra Cain—Orphan—moved like a wraith through the shadows of an abandoned warehouse. Her silence was her weapon, but even she felt the unease creeping into her bones. She had fought armies of thugs during the war, but this felt different. The city was too quiet, as if holding its breath.
And then it happened. A single sound crackled through every comm channel, every police scanner, every public broadcast in Gotham. A distorted, maniacal laugh.
"Miss me, Bats?" the Joker's voice purred, his tone dripping with venom. "I've been watching you. All of you. My, my, what a mess we've made, haven't we? But don't worry—old Uncle J is back to tidy things up. Let's play a little game, shall we? Or have you forgotten how?"
The laugh cut out abruptly, leaving the city in a suffocating silence.
"Trace it," Bruce snapped, his voice a mix of anger and urgency.
"Already on it," Barbara replied. "It's bouncing across every channel. He's masking his location. We'll need time."
Time they didn't have.
Batman leapt from the rooftop, disappearing into the dark. The Bat-Family was mobilizing, their resolve sharpened by the scars of the war. Somewhere in Gotham, the Joker was watching, waiting, and laughing.
The hunt was on.
•
•
•
•
•
•
DGW: Thank you all for reading. If you have any suggestions about this story feel free to share them with me. Doesn't matter what it is I will think it over.
Tools used: Grammarly Spell Check, the FANDOM app, and Discord.
Thank you Some_lazy_author for inspiring me to write this story and helping me come up with ideas. They are a great writer and very cool person
Word Count: 1164