"...so I suggest holding next week's charity dinner on the top floor of the Wayne Hotel, Master Bruce. That would showcase your..."
Over the communicator, Alfred's voice suddenly paused.
"Alfred?" Bruce's fingers stopped on the keyboard.
"My apologies, sir. I just suddenly thought..."
The butler's voice became far too cheerful. "I thought we might try something a little more... lively for dinner tonight. For example, I could invent a dancing meat sauce..."
"Pfft!"
A burst of laughter escaped him.
"Alfred?" Bruce stood up. "What's wrong?"
"I just remembered when you were seven and tried to use your father's tie as a cape, then slid down the banister and landed in the Christmas tree... hahahaha..."
The laughter grew louder and began to spiral out of control, punctuated by choking coughs as he struggled for breath, yet he still couldn't stop.
"Alfred."
Batman gave a low command. "Report your condition."
"My condition? Oh, I'm splendid, better than I've ever been!" The butler's laughter came through the speaker, not his usual restrained chuckle, but an increasingly uninhibited, almost shrill giggle.
"I just think... everything is so funny! Your serious expression, this gloomy Manor, the way we spend every night flying around in costumes... isn't that the most ridiculous thing in the world?"
The sound of shattering porcelain came through the communicator.
Batman cut the connection. When he turned, Dick was already standing behind him in his newly designed suit, his usual easygoing expression gone.
"You heard."
"He's laughing," Dick said. "Alfred never laughs like that."
Their eyes met, and they took two gas masks fitted with multiple filtration systems from the equipment cabinet.
"Is it Clown?"
Batman said nothing and raced toward the elevator leading to the surface. The two slipped into the Manor's main building like shadows, but there were no broken