Chapter 5: A New Player.
Joker sat on his throne of stolen furniture, tapping his fingers on the armrest. His men stood in front of him, waiting. The air in the hideout felt heavy.
That clown—the fake—had walked into Joker's trap, played around, and left like it was all a joke. His joke.
Unacceptable.
Joker grinned, teeth flashing in the dim light. "So, boys… who wants to make a name for themselves?"
No one answered right away. They had seen what Hisoka could do. The stories spread fast—bodies torn apart, men strung up like decorations, a whole squad humiliated.
Joker leaned forward. "C'mon now, don't be shy."
Still nothing.
He sighed. "Fine. I'll pick."
He pointed at five of his best. Killers. A few were ex-Arkham freaks, others mercenaries who owed him. One of them, a sharp-eyed man with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward.
"Boss, this guy ain't normal."
Joker clapped his hands. "Neither am I! But look where I am!"
The room stayed quiet.
Joker stood, walked down the steps, and grabbed Scarface by the collar. "Let me make this simple. You don't have to win. You don't even have to come back whole. You just gotta send a message."
He let go and stepped back, wiping imaginary dust from his gloves. "And make it messy. I wanna see how he screams."
Scarface swallowed hard. The others shifted in place. They had seen Joker's orders carried out before. No one disobeyed.
Joker laughed, clapping his hands. "Now go! I'm getting bored!"
The squad left, weapons loaded, tracking down the jester who thought he could play in Joker's city.
...
The Death Squad found Hisoka near an abandoned warehouse, leaning against a rusted fence. He spun a playing card between his fingers, watching the moonlight catch its edge.
Two gunmen on the rooftops. Four melee fighters in the alleys. A sniper with night vision aiming from a distance. And one heavy, carrying something that burned like a small sun.
They were coordinated. A good ambush.
Hisoka loved ruining good ambushes.
BANG!
The sniper fired.
But Hisoka was already moving. A flick of Bungee Gum pulled him sideways at an impossible angle, the bullet whizzing past where his skull had been a second ago.
He landed lightly on the nearest fire escape, crouched upside down like a spider.
Then, he disappeared again.
"Where the hell is he?!" one of the melee fighters hissed.
They had their guns raised, sweeping the darkened alleyways. Their fingers twitched on the triggers, waiting for movement—any movement.
They heard a whisper first.
"Boo."
A card flashed.
A thin slice of steel-tipped death flicked through the air and buried itself deep in the nearest thug's eye socket.
He crumpled without a sound.
"SHIT—"
CRACK.
Hisoka was behind them now. One fighter's head snapped back at an unnatural angle, his body following a moment later, twitching like a broken puppet.
The third man panicked, swinging a knife. Hisoka caught his wrist mid-slash, eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Ooh, sloppy," Hisoka sighed. "That won't do at all."
He crushes The bones like dry twigs. The man howled, falling to his knees.
"Shh, now." Hisoka cooed, pressing a finger to his lips. Then he drove the same knife straight into the man's throat.
Blood sprayed in an arc, painting the alley crimson.
FWOOOOOSH!!!!!!!
Heat erupted as a wall of fire surged toward Hisoka.
The Big One had finally stepped in. A mountain of a man, clad in protective gear, wielding a modified military-grade flamethrower.
"BURN, YOU PSYCHO BASTARD!"
Hisoka leapt upward, twisting through the air as the flames licked at his boots.
The thug adjusted quickly, spraying another blast in an arc, forcing Hisoka to dodge mid-air.
A miscalculation.
For just a fraction of a second, Hisoka was trapped between a rooftop and a roaring inferno.
The flamethrower brute grinned beneath his mask. "Gotcha."
He pulled the trigger.
A mistake.
In an instant, Bungee Gum lashed out, yanking the barrel upward. The fire spewed Up! then backward, catching one of the rooftop snipers.
Screams. The smell of burning flesh.
Before the brute could react, Hisoka landed in front of him.
"Oh, my turn?"
A single, casual tap to the man's chest.
A moment later—a delayed explosion of force.
The thug flew backward, his ribs shattering as he crashed into the burning rooftop.
Hisoka sighed. "Too easy."
...
Word spread fast. By sunrise, every crew in Gotham had heard about the massacre. Joker's men hadn't just lost. They had been played with, torn apart, humiliated.
At the Iceberg Lounge, Penguin is back from whatever hole he was hiding in, he listened as one of his informants whispered the details. He swirled his drink, frowning. "Some freak waltzes in and makes a joke outta mine and Joker's crew?" He set the glass down. "This ain't just some trigger-happy psycho. This one's different."
Across town, Two-Face flipped his coin, listening to his right-hand man lay out the events. "A man who doesn't just kill but plays with his prey," he muttered. The coin landed on heads. He nodded. "We keep our distance, see where this goes."
In a hidden lab, Scarecrow reviewed crime scene photos. Bodies twisted in ways that broke natural limits. Gunmen dead without a single shot fired from Hisoka's hands. One strung up, arms pulled so far apart they looked like they had been yanked from a rack. Another with his own bullet wounds, a shot in the forehead that hadn't come from his own gun. Scarecrow chuckled. "A man who understands fear but doesn't rely on it. Interesting."
Deep in the sewers, Killer Croc chewed on a bone, listening to a rat-faced informant describe the fight. Croc grunted. "All this talk. I just wanna know if he bleeds."
In a dark corner of Gotham, assassins took notice. A new player meant new opportunities. Deathstroke received an anonymous request to find out more about this "Hisoka."
But none of them felt the weight of the event more than the Joker.
At his hideout, he sat in silence. The room, usually filled with laughter, held none. His men watched from the shadows, afraid to speak.
Joker drummed his fingers on the armrest. "So… we got a magician in town." His grin stretched, but his eyes burned.
Harley leaned against a pillar, watching him. She had seen him angry before. This wasn't anger. This was something deeper.
"He out-clowned me." Joker let out a breathy chuckle. "Oh, I can't let that stand." He stood up, arms spreading. "Tell the boys. Round two's coming."
The message was clear. Hisoka had everyone's attention now. But the real question remained—how long until the Bat made his move?
...
Speaking of The Bat, inside the Batcave Alfred sat at the Batcomputer, sorting through footage and reports. Hisoka had made his name and presence known in Gotham, and the response had been immediate. The Joker had sent a kill squad after him, expecting a bloody spectacle. He got one, but not in the way he had planned.
The footage showed the aftermath. Broken bodies. Some strangled, some torn apart, others left in positions too deliberate to be random. This wasn't a slaughter driven by rage or necessity. Hisoka had used these men as pieces in a game.
Incident Breakdown: Joker's Kill Squad vs. Hisoka
Alfred made a file, yes, another file for another lunatic.
Joker's Kill Squad vs. Hisoka:
- Tactical Awareness – Hisoka had let the squad find him. He didn't flee or ambush them. He played along, testing them.
- Combat Style – Fluid, adaptable, and theatrical. He didn't rely on brute strength but used precision, deception, and unorthodox methods.
- Weapons – Standard playing cards, modified for lethal use. Unclear mechanism, but evidence suggests high-speed projectile capability. Some deaths indicate constriction injuries with no visible wires or tools. Possibly Superhuman abilities at play.
- Psychological Profile – No interest in domination, revenge, or territory. He fights for amusement ... or lust, testing limits—his and others'. His movements suggest complete confidence, no hesitation in killing, but also no sign of personal vendettas.
- Joker's Reaction – Immediate hostility. Joker saw Hisoka as an insult, not a rival. Expect escalation.
- Criminal Circles – Fear and uncertainty. Hisoka doesn't fit the usual mold. He doesn't negotiate, doesn't establish alliances, doesn't seem to have a goal.
- Potential Alliances – Scarecrow may take an interest due to Hisoka's apparent enjoyment of fear. Other factions may attempt recruitment, but Hisoka is unlikely to join anyone.
- Batman's Concern – Hisoka is unpredictable. His skill set suggests advanced training, possibly from outside known organizations. If his abilities are metahuman, their exact nature is unclear. If they are purely skill-based, his efficiency makes him one of the most dangerous combatants Gotham has seen.
Alfred saved the file under a new codename: Subject H. He pushed back from the desk and exhaled.
"Another storm brewing, Master Wayne," he said to the empty cave. "And this one doesn't care where it lands."
New File: Subject H.
Alias: Unknown (referred to as "The Magician" by informants)
Real Name: Hisoka Morow (unconfirmed)
Age: Unknown
Height: ~6'2"
Weight: ~200 lbs
Eye Color: Golden-Yellow
Hair Color: Purple (possibly dyed)
Threat Level: Extreme.
Arsenal: Playing Cards (Ranged Weapon, Lethal), Bungee Gum (Weapon of Unknown Nature, Lethal), Superb Mastery of some Martial Arts (Or
Psychological Profile:
Subject exhibits narcissistic, sadistic, and psychopathic tendencies. Unlike the Joker, he does not thrive on chaos—rather, he thrives on challenge. His interest in individuals scales with their strength and unpredictability.
Summary:
Subject is an unidentified rogue combatant exhibiting skills far beyond Gotham's standard criminal element. Capable of extreme violence yet treats all encounters as a game. Appears to kill not for money, power, or survival, but for amusement and self-gratification.
Alfred's Encrypted Note: "I've seen a great many monsters in this city, but this one… This one enjoys it far too much. The Joker may be unpredictable, but this man is something far worse. I'm Worried"