“This is Tom Thompson,” the voice on the radio stated. “And I’m coming at you live from the site of yet another Joker attack. Shockingly, the attack happened during a blackface party at the Gamma Epsilon Omega fraternity house of our very own, world renowned Gotham University. Current reports indicate that around nine-thirty tonight, the partiers heard explosions as Joker Venom canisters went off. We have an audio recording from one of the victim’s social media pages.”

The warped, drawn out sounds of “Straight Outta Compton” filled the Batmobile. It was quickly overshadowed by a voice: young, masculine, and clearly intoxicated. I’d guess he was twenty-one at the most. He said something unintelligible into the microphone for a moment, then screamed.

“What the hell is that? What’s that green *bleep*!”

A loud “bang” rang out, followed by a hissing as the youth continued screaming. The screams slowly changed. They quickly became deeper, broken gasps of air. Anyone from out of town would think he were coughing. But the children of Gotham knew the first snickers of Joker Venom poisoning all too well.

Tom Thompson’s voice replaced the horror of the recording, “GCPD was on the scene within minutes, but it was too late. By that time all the partiers, over a hundred students and visitors were paralyzed with black paint sprayed onto their faces.”

“Sounds like they got what they deserved if you ask me,” Barb’s voice rang out in the comms.

“You may have a point there, Oracle,” I muttered while swerving past two expensive sport cars that were racing down main street. “Have Dick handle that,” I said.

“The great Batman supporting a law-breaking criminal? Hell must have frozen over.”

“I don’t agree with what he did.” I explained, “What I meant was that this crime appears too moral, too retaliatory for Joker. Do you seriously believe he’d attack a bunch of kids for wearing blackface and calling themselves Beyonce?”

Barbara thought for a second, “No, you’re right. I honestly see him joining them. So what? Someone trying to frame the Joker?”

“More than likely,” I said. More than likely, it was a student that heard about the party beforehand that wanted to show their peers the errors of their ways. Not exactly what I’d call an appropriate prank, but it would make sense.

But there was another question that was in the back of my mind, one that I hesitated to ask Oracle.

“Verify that Joker’s still in Arkham,” I said to her, pushing the other thought out of my head. If the Joker had escaped after all, then my suspicion was likely wrong.

“I’m still waiting for a response, Batman, but I did already contact them,” she said, an obvious sign of annoyance in her voice. She was upset that I’d insinuated that she was incompetent. That wasn’t my intention, but there wasn’t enough time to apologize. I was already there.

“Fill me in when you do receive word. I want cameras, audio, and door logs uploaded to our server for analysis. Batman out.”

Continued in CH 3.2