[GOTHAM – The Monarch Theatre]
The screen flickers to life on every device in Gotham.
Phones freeze mid-scroll. TVs in every alley, apartment, and penthouse turn over to a live feed. The words "LIVE TRANSMISSION – UNKNOWN SIGNAL" blink red in the corner.
From Arkham to the Wayne Manor—every device now fed the same live image.
A bruised young man, face pale, eyes ringed with sleepless nights, stood alone on a decrepit stage beneath one spotlight.
He wore a black Batman T-shirt. The symbol was smeared with blood—his or someone else's, it didn't matter. Faded ,torn But still there reminder of the hero he once believed in.
Behind him sat The Joker gagged, bruised, tied to a rusted chair. But his laughter hadn't stopped.
It never did.
Even now, even here bloodied lips stretched into that same awful grin.
Rain lashed the windows. Thunder rolled in the distance.
A piano note rang out. The world watched.
—
"Is this the real life?"
The boy sings. His voice is filled with grief Not for the present but for the past.
Somewhere in gotham streets , inside the batmobile batamn fingers freeze over the keyboard. The cowl is off. The screen reflects in his widening eyes.
"Is this just fantasy?"
Security footage flickers onscreen. A grocery store. A woman—early thirties, blonde, warm—laughing at something with her child off-camera.
Then: the Joker, sauntering in. Smiling that twisted smile. He says something to her.
She moves to cover her child
BANG.
She drops like a puppet with its strings cut.
The cart rollsand The child hug his mother body and hears the laughter
Bruce knows this case. He remembers the file. A cold case, one of thousands. A mother murdered in front of her child. no justice. Just another name in the endless sea of Gotham's dead.
His stomach twists. He should have followed up. He should have known. He should have been better.
"Caught in a landslide… no escape from reality…"
On stage, the boy's hands tremble over the keys, Behind him, The Joker tilted his head. His eyes twinkled beneath the blood. He began to sway with the music, amused, entertained
While The boy Glares at him. The Joker just gives him a wink and a sickening, theatrical shrug—as if to say, "It was never personal, kid. Just Tuesday."
Batman is closing in.
"Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see…"
The boy stares up there is nothing but the roof filled with rot and mold
Not looking for God. Just asking why.
Bruce's hands tighten on the wheel. He should have done more. He should have found him.
"I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy…"
A cracked smile tugs at the boy's lips. Almost a laugh. Even now, he sings that line like a joke.
The Joker laughs too. Muffled.
His eyes sparkle. Like he knows what's coming and still wants to be part of it.
"Because I'm easy come, easy go…"
He kneels. Slides open a hidden drawer in the piano bench.
"Little high…"
He pulls out the pistol.
The Joker's eyes gleam. He leans forward, straining against the ropes, as if trying to applaud.
Bruce's knuckles whiten. The steering wheel cracks under his grip.
"Little low…"
He stands. Levels it.
The Joker doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink. Just tilts his head, grinning wider, like a proud father at a school play.
"Any way the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me…"
"To me…"
The boy exhales. One deep breath.
"Mama…"
"Just killed a man…"
BANG.
The Joker's head snaps back. Blood sprays the stage.
But—
His body doesn't slump. His fingers twitch.
And then, impossibly, his head lolls forward again.
He's still alive Still smiling.
The boy stares. The gun trembles in his hand.
The Joker's chest hitches—wet, rattling laughter bubbling through the blood in his throat.
"P-put a gun against his head…" the boy whispers, voice cracking.
The Joker's eyes lock onto his. The boy's breath hitches.
Batman is close. So close.
"Pulled my trigger, now he's dead…"
BANG.
This time, the Joker's body jerks.
This time, he slumps.
But even now even in death that twisted smile still remains.
The boy's hands shake. The gun clatters to the stage.
"Mama, life had just begun…"
He glances at his reflection from the camera lens
"But now I've gone and thrown it all away…"
His hands shake. The gun trembles in his grip.
Bruce is almost there. The theater looms ahead.
"Mama, ooh…"
His voice breaks. The first tear falls.
"Didn't mean to make you cry…"
A pause. The city holds its breath.
Bruce crashes through the doors.
"If I'm not back again this time tomorrow…"
The boy stares into the lens. Into Gotham. Into himself.
"Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters…"
Bruce is running now. Down the aisles. Up the stage.
"Too late… my time has come…"
Midnight is coming is closing in
"Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time…"
The boy's knees wobble. He's exhausted. Not from singing but from carrying this weight for years.
Batman is there. He's right there.
"Goodbye, everybody—I've got to go…"
The boy turns. Looks at him.
Bruce reaches out. "Stop. Please."
The boy's lips quirk. Just a little.
"Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth…"
He raises the gun again. This time to himself.
Bruce lunges.
"Mama, ooh…"
The boy looks skyward. Like he hears her voice calling him home.
Bruce's fingers brush his sleeve
"I don't wanna die…"
—just as the boy's eyes meet his.
Tears spill freely now.
"I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all…"
BANG.
The gun drops.
So does he.
Batman catches him before he hits the ground. Blood seeps through his gloves.
"No. No, no, no—"
The boy's breath is shallow. Fading.
Batman presses a hand to the wound. "Stay with me. Just hold on."
The boy's lips part. A whisper.
"…Did I do good, Mama?"
And then Nothing.
Bruce clutches him tighter. His throat burns.
The cameras are still rolling.
Gotham watches as Batman, the city's unbreakable guardian, bows his head and clutches the corpse
And behind him The Joker's corpse grins on.