Milk_Is_My_Drug
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Chapter 25: Deja vu
🕑 Added 2025-05-16 18:43:25 +0000 UTCThe trio — Ashborn, Victor, and Nora — left the storage facility behind, stepping out into the cold, damp streets of Gotham. As the city loomed around them in familiar gloom, Ashborn turned to the couple with his usual bright smile.
“We’ll be relocating you two to Metropolis,” he said casually, hands in his pockets. “Victor, your new lab is already under construction. Shadow Corp is setting up a new division just for you — and your job is simple: create the perfect ice cream.”
Victor blinked, stunned all over again. “Are you seriously doing all this... just for ice cream?”
Ashborn hummed as if the question was rhetorical. “Of course.”
Victor and Nora exchanged glances, utterly dumbfounded. Victor couldn't wrap his mind around it. A potion that could cure the incurable, given away not for profit, not for power but for dessert?
It didn’t make sense. Unless...
Victor reasoned there had to be more to it. Maybe Ashborn was just eccentric or maybe, deep down, he truly was a kind person. Maybe he saw in Victor someone who deserved a second chance. After all, Ashborn would have picked anyone in the cryogenics field. There were many brilliant, more cooperative minds. Yet he had chosen him. A criminal. A desperate man. A husband.
And for that, Victor could only believe — and hope — that it was genuine.
Ashborn, however, had a reason.
Victor Fries was the best there was in cryo-tech. If Ashborn wanted the finest ice cream the world had ever known, there was no one better. And if, in the process, he bought himself a loyal, grateful genius, then that was just good business. All of this — the effort, the potion, the relocation — was worth it.
For a single favor returned.
As they moved through the winding Gotham streets, the group came to a sudden stop.
The Joker.
And by his side, the ever-devoted Harley Quinn.
Victor immediately recognized the deranged clown, and his blood turned cold. The Joker’s wild eyes landed on Ashborn, and his painted grin widened like a predator spotting prey.
Ashborn didn’t flinch.
Instead, he turned to Victor. “Take Nora. Head to Metropolis. Ask for Rex at Shadow Corp. I’ll catch up.”
Victor hesitated. “You can’t be serious. That’s the Joker!”
Ashborn waved dismissively. “I’ll be fine. Go.”
Victor clenched his fists. He didn’t want to leave Ashborn behind — not with that lunatic. But Nora's hand found his, her warmth a reminder of everything he had to protect.
He nodded stiffly. “Be careful.”
Then, dragging his wife along, Victor disappeared into the city’s shadows.
Ashborn, now alone, walked toward the Joker and Harley with the same nonchalant grin. “Mr. Joker! How have you been? It’s been a while!”
The Joker’s laughter filled the alley. “I knew you wouldn’t run. Most do, when they see me.”
Ashborn gave a dramatic gasp. “And miss the chance to speak with a living legend? Never.”
He tilted his head. “Do you need a rich hostage again?”
The Joker’s grin faltered slightly. “Your audacity is something else.”
Ashborn bowed. “It’s an honor to hear you say that.”
“Puddin’,” Harley interrupted, pulling out a large mallet. “Let me crush his head!”
The Joker glanced at her, smirking. “Tempting... but I want to do it myself.”
Ashborn chuckled, still unfazed. “Your commitment to chaos and carnage is truly... inspirational.”
The Joker slowly pulled out a 15th-century royal dagger, ornately crafted and gleaming under the flickering streetlight. He stepped toward Ashborn like a hunter sizing up his kill.
Ashborn’s eyes sparkled. “That’s a beautiful piece. Shame it’s not made of Kryptonite.”
The Joker narrowed his eyes.
In a blur, Ashborn raised a gun, pointing it squarely at Joker’s chest.
The clown stopped mid-step, blinking. “Where the hell did that come from?”
Ashborn smiled wider. “I’m a fan, remember? Learned a few of your tricks.”
The Joker chuckled nervously. “Then you won’t shoot me, right? Fans don’t kill their idols.”
Ashborn matched his laugh. “But you’d love it if I did. Wouldn’t it be poetic? One of your fans taking up the mantle, bringing mayhem to the world?”
The Joker shrugged. “I’d be proud if the target was someone else.”
Ashborn nodded thoughtfully. “Fair. But I still want a souvenir. That dagger. Toss it here, please.”
The Joker laughed, then hurled the dagger with all his strength.
Ashborn caught it mid-air — effortlessly.
The Joker’s smile cracked. “Not what I expected.”
Ashborn twirled the dagger once. “I figured.”
Then, with the same calm air, he lowered his gun... between Joker’s legs.
The Joker's hands dropped protectively. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!”
Ashborn gave him an innocent look. “Just evening the odds. I thought I’d make you a match for Batman. Isn’t that nice of me?”
The Joker stumbled back. “You’re worse than me! I don’t shoot people there! That’s messed up! Even for me!”
Behind him, Harley pulled out a bazooka and pointed it at Ashborn. “Back off, freak! Touch my Puddin’ balls and you’ll pay!”
The Joker’s grin returned. “Nice one, Harley.”
The two sides stood against each other, it was a tense standoff between Ashborn, Joker, and Harley and when it reached its boiling point, suddenly—
A batarang whizzed through the air, striking Harley’s bazooka with pinpoint accuracy and detonating it in a small, controlled explosion. The bazooka shattered in her hands as she stumbled backward, coughing out smoke and confusion.
Before anyone could fully react, two dark figures dropped between the opposing parties — Batman and Batgirl. Cloaks billowing and expressions grim, they landed silently like shadows of judgment.
Batman’s eyes landed immediately on the bizarre scene before him: Ashborn pointing a gun at the Joker’s groin, while Joker shielded himself behind his hands. The Dark Knight’s jaw clenched, this wasn’t a situation he was used to.
But it was all too familiar. Too painful.
"Batsy!" the Joker cried joyfully, like greeting an old friend. “This evil guy wants to shoot me in the crotch! You’ve gotta beat him up! Avenge yourself!”
As he whined, the Joker casually stepped to the side and grabbed the trash can lid, planting it firmly between his legs like a knight lifting a shield.
Batman turned toward Ashborn, whose gun followed the movement of Joker’s protected nether region. "Drop the damn gun," Batman said coldly.
Ashborn’s eyes flicked to the Dark Knight. “I was only trying to make you two a matching pair,” he said with a sly smile, “so the Joker can’t mock you in your private time.”
Batman’s expression darkened. “Ashborn Black. This is your last warning.”
Ashborn’s smile remained, but a new idea bloomed in his mind. He sighed and closed his eyes, as if weighed by destiny. “Not this time.”
He pulled the trigger.
Batman moved, instincts kicking in. But as he stepped forward, his body locked, like something unseen had grasped him mid-motion and pain spread through his entire body.
The bullet had hit the metal trash lid. And ricocheted. Straight into Batman’s crotch.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Batman collapsed to his knees with a pained grunt, his face going pale as he let out a long, agonizing groan.
Ashborn stared blankly, then looked at the Joker. “Look what you’ve done. You shot your partner’s balls.”
The Joker blinked in confusion. “Me? You shot the bullet!”
Ashborn replied seriously. “You deflected it. Why not send it somewhere else?”
The Joker’s face contorted. “How the hell am I supposed to control that!?”
Harley stood frozen, her earlier fire completely extinguished. “Uhh... Puddin’? What’s happening?”
From behind, Batgirl screamed, her batarang raised, fury radiating from her every movement. “Drop the gun!”
Ashborn glanced at her calmly. “I’m innocent.”
“Last warning!” she snapped, batarang twitching in her hand.
Ashborn looked at Joker. “Truce?”
The Joker hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Sure.”
With no further drama, Ashborn tossed the gun toward Batgirl, disarming himself without care. Then he turned to the Joker with a friendly smile “Mr Joker, Always a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger, come visit me in Metropolis!”
Joker scoffed, adjusting his coat. “I think I’ll stay in Gotham. Safer for my jewels.”
With that, he turned, Harley trotting behind, both disappearing into the foggy streets.
Ashborn casually spun Joker’s dagger in his hand and began walking the other direction. Batgirl, still tense and shocked, shouted after him.
“ASHBORN BLACK! Where do you think you’re going?!”
Ashborn turned his head slightly, still smiling. “Leaving, obviously. Got my souvenir from the Joker.”
He twirled the dagger again, then motioned toward Batman, still groaning on the ground.
“And I really don’t want to be around when he gets back up.”
Batgirl gaped. “You can’t just leave! You’re going to the police station!”
Ashborn stopped in mock surprise. “You’re right! Best way to stay safe from the Big Angry Bat is in a police station. Thanks for the tip! Where’s the nearest station?”
Batgirl opened her mouth—paused—closed it. No sound came out.
Ashborn chuckled softly. “It’s okay. Sorry to trouble you with directions. It’s clearly not your strong suit. I’ll figure it out myself.”
And with that, he strolled off, dagger in hand, whistling as if nothing had happened.
Behind them, Batgirl remained stunned, staring down at the crumpled Batman, Joker gone, and Ashborn walking free.
But none of them noticed...
Just before the bullet had bounced off the trash lid, a shadow, imperceptible to the naked eye, had twisted ever so slightly in the air, redirecting the shot’s path with impossible precision.
An invisible hand of darkness.
