"Good evening. This is GothSurv calling, would you be interested in answering a few questions for a survey?"

The man in purple leans back in his squeaking chair, playing idly with a butterfly knife as he cradles the phone in one hand.

"What's it about?"

"We'd like to know who you think is the scariest clown, fictional or real, in history."

The man smiles darkly.

"Gee, lemme think about that. Bet everyone has a reeeal hard time with this one."

"No, not really," the eager voice on the other end answers. "There's one name that pops up over and over again."

The man in purple leans forward with a look of mock surprise.

"Really? Who?"


There is a short silence, during which the clown's frown grows ever deeper.

"Who is this?"

"Harley!" squeaks out a familiar, frustrating voice. The Joker stands, clenched fists shaking. The receiver hangs off the desk, swinging just an inch above the floor, the deep chuckle on the other end going unheard by the clown.


"What's green, famous and incredibly clever?"

The man in green leans his head on his hand and sighs.

"Look, I'm oh, so impressed you figured out how to reach me. But I am not. Taking. Apprentices."

There is a petulant whine on the other end. The Riddler moves the receiver away from his ears with a look of utter disgust.

"Hello-o?" the phone tries to tempt him back into conversation.

"I suggest you leave me be, friend. I have better things to do but I can still be tempted to wipe you off the face of the earth."

There is a short silence. The Riddler closes his eyes in a silent prayer.

"Cluemaster's better than you, anyway."

The caller hangs up and an exhausted looking Riddler returns his phone to its seat. He buries his face in his hands.

"This is getting ridiculous."

"Good evening."

"Hiya, spookykins!"

The Master of Fear turns paler than usual. Thankfully, a lone scream from the corridor soothes his nerves and steels his resolve.

"I am looking forward to meeting you, young lady. I'm sure even your grating voice can sound good once you start screaming."

"Oh, I'm so looking forward to meeting you too, professor! You must be so lonely, all by your self in the dark, just aching to be clothed and fed by a helping hand and…"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! I will leave you a sobbing wreck, you miserable…"

"Sounds like somebody needs a hug!"


The phone is torn from his sensitive ears. A final scream issues from the phone.

"I wuv yoooouu!"

The Scarecrow throws his phone at the nearest wall and watches with great pleasure as it is smashed into pieces. His whole frame heaves with every labored breath.

A loud ring sounds from the floor above. The Scarecrow wails at the ceiling.



She lazily runs a hand through her hair.

"And who might this be?"

"N-nobody. I just w-want to say…You're a g-goddess."

She blinks her eyes twice, her languid posture stiffening just the slightest bit.

"So I hear."

"I want to be with you!"

She sighs.

"You don't say."

"A-and," the nervous voice on the other end starts again, "I'd l-like you to call me Rex and uh, t-treat me like a, a dog."

She blows a stray hair out of her frowning face.

"This would mean you'd do anything I ask, yes?"

"Y-yeah, anything."

She takes a deep breath.

"Jump off a cliff."

The phone is promptly crunched by a unusually violent Venus flytrap.

"That guy again?" Asks a chirping voice from the next room.

"Third time this week," Ivy answers wearily.

There is a loud clang in the other room, hastily covered up by Harley's loud voice.

"Gee, some people just don' know when ta quit, huh, Red?"

Ivy stares at her friend as she enters the doorway.

"No, I guess not."

He's never noticed his cell had a phone. The blue skinned man does not care to answer, merely continues staring at his snow globe and the spinning figure within. The phone answers itself, however, and the caller' s voice booms out into the cell.


There is a short silence.

"Is your refrigerator running?"

Mr. Freeze stares dully into nothingness.

"Good evening."

"Evenin', guv'nor."

The plump man taps his cigarette holder and watches the falling ashes with quiet, dignified desperation.

"I do not know who you are, or how you keep finding my number, but I warn you: I shall not tolerate this forever."

A short silence follows.

"Blimey! T'ain't good fer yer heart, mate, huffin' an' puffin' attaway."

The monocled man tries to relax as a plume of smoke lazily crawls around him. His tormentor continues.

"I'm aiming to kill two birds with two stones, I am. Don't want to keep all your eggs in one nest, you don't. Flown the coop! One more feather in my cap!"

He breathes deeply.

"That was a long time ago," he says wearily, amidst the endless flow of bird-related puns.

"Beware my iron beak! Bold as a rooster! Take you under my wing! Strutting around like a peacock!"

The Penguin harrumphs.

"We are not amused," he murmurs and hangs up.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

"I believe I can guess that."

"I see what I eat."

"Exactly so."

The short man leans forward, touching the brim of his hat.

"What day of the month is it?"

"The fourth."

He takes an eager sip of his tea, splashing a bit when he puts the cup back down.

"Have you guessed the riddle yet?"

"No, I give it up. What's the answer?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

A lopsided grin graces his lips as he pours another cup.

"I think you might do something better with the time than wasting it in asking riddles that have no answer."

"If you knew Time as well as I do, you wouldn't talk about wasting it. It's him."

There is a short silence. The Hatter leans forward and crushes the phone to his ear with a eager grin.

"Twinkle, twinkle," he starts.

There is another short, tense silence.

"If I only had a brain!"


The teacup smashes against the wall.

Two former Robins stand in the Batcave, chatting.

"It's just not healthy," Stephanie Brown says to her companion.

They stare down into the darkness, where the Batman has locked himself in his special new room.

"You know how Bruce gets," answers Dick Grayson.

Absolute silence reigns in the cave, apart from the low humming of the world's most powerful computer just a few dozen feet away from them.

"Yeah, I know. Superstitious and cowardly, blah-de-blah. It's just that time of the month, I guess. Still, how long has he been there?"

Nightwing runs a hand through his hair.

"Two days now. He hasn't even let Alfred in."

Stephanie cocks her head.

"I wonder just what exactly he's doing in there?"

AN: Be serious Batman!

Yeah. Sometimes even Batman feels the urge to be a jerk, I guess.

Batman is a master of voice-acting. And he has tech to help him out. Although it would be pretty awesome if he could sound just like Harley.