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Description
The portal stood open between Gotham City and the nebulous beyond. Black spikes rising from a black tower. Dark creatures emitting dark sounds. It certainly looked like a place out of nightmares. The Joker smiled menacingly.

It’s perfect, said the Mastermind.
AlL iT nEeDs iS a sMiLe, said the Clown.
I STILL SAY WE BURN IT ALL TO THE GROUND, urged the Killer.
Of course, you’re right, thought the Joker. You’re all right.

He was thrilled that the Yellow Fear Ring had chosen him. It had practically begged him to take it from behind that rotting dumpster. Just sitting there batting its amber eyes at him. All alone. On the finger of a dead Sinestro Corps member. Probably thwarted by one of those pesky Green Lanterns. With their Green Rings. Rings of Willpower. Bah. They wouldn’t hold a candle to him with a Yellow Ring. A ring powered by the mastery of fear.

He might not have been as scary as Scarecrow without it. But with it… who could inspire more fear than he? Now that it was in his possession, terror was everywhere. Even Batman lived in fear. The citizens of the world would know new heights of horror. The more fear he instilled in others the more absurdly foreign that feeling became to the Joker. And that only amplified the Yellow Ring further. If what he understood about its nature was true, there were no limits to its capabilities with a little imagination.

The portal before him stood as a testament to that theory. A tear between realms stood open. The size of a building. He was at the where and when of his grim fantasy. He stared into the open maw of Mordor’s blackest castle. Home to its blackest creatures and its darkest sorcery. Minas Morgul.

"Wait 'till they get a load of me..." The Joker strode through the portal. There was something invigorating about stepping across the threshold.

The Palantir, said the Mastermind. We must find it.
It nEeDs a sMiLe, said the Clown.
FOOL, WE CAN USE IT TO DESTROY EVERYTHING, replied the Killer.
Oh shut up, interrupted the Joker.
FEELING SUICIDAL, ARE WE? asked the Killer.
Not you, the Clown.
WhY sO sErIoUs?
Why the morbid fascination with smiles? Buffoon.
Everyone shut up! I can’t hear myself think.

The Joker giggled, pressing a gloved hand to his forehead.

“What’s so funny boss?” Bob, his number one guy, asked.

“Nothing you’d understand, Bob.”

First things first. They needed to find that Gollum creature.

The Joker held open J. R. R. Tolkien’s book, The Two Towers, to a bookmarked page. “Send a pair of helicopters up that mountainside.” He pointed vaguely. “You’re looking for two hobbits and the Gollum.”

His clown-masked henchmen hovered, eyes darting to one another nervously. One of them spoke up. “Two hobbits… and a…?”

“Gollum. Haven’t you seen the movies?” The Joker snapped.

A man raised his hand. “I have, boss. Peter Jackson is a cinematographic geniu-”

“Good, then you’re in charge.” The Joker flicked his hand, brushing the air. “Now shoo.”

The henchmen leapt to do his bidding.

He needed the three halflings, but more specifically he needed to find the One Ring. Sauron’s Ring. But he didn’t make a habit of sharing his plans. It would look nice on his hand next to the Yellow Ring.

You can’t wear the One Ring for long. Not in this realm. It will rule you, warned the Mastermind.
It’s true, and a man must have some self control, thought the Joker with a snicker.
THAT IS WHY WE MUST DESTROY SAURON. OR THE RING, added the Killer.
Or leave Middle Earth before the need arises.

The Joker waved up the convoy behind him. “Bring in the tanks, boys!”

“Say, boss, what’s with the heavy artillery?” Bob asked as three tanks rolled through the portal and into Middle Earth. Their treads clinking. The ground rumbling.

KILL HIM.
Not Bob.
LeTs cUt a sMiLe InTo hIs fAcE.
Shhhh.

The Joker knew Bob was really asking why he didn’t just use the Yellow Ring to manifest tanks of his own. Of course, he could. But he couldn’t maintain them for long.

No one in Middle Earth feared him. They didn’t even know him. The thought did nothing to calm his nerves. And that meant that keeping the portal open wouldn’t be possible. Let alone manifesting and maintaining constructs like tanks. At least not until he instilled the proper fear in Middle Earth. Quelling his own nervy trepidation. With great fear came great power. Or something like that.

Fortunately, the Mastermind had accounted for the decline in the Yellow Ring’s power that might occur when he left the human realm and passed into this one. So he brought tanks for a bold head start. But Bob didn’t need to know that.

“BoB, sOmE tHiNgs aRe jUst mOrE fUn,” the Clown came through, his voice cracking.

Bob turned a wry smile. “Right, boss.”

As they approached the razor sharp towers jutting up from the dark earth, his men looked to one another with terrified eyes. The entire stronghold cast an eerie green glow.

Sorcery, the Mastermind confirmed.

“Bob. Bazooka.” The joker held out a hand without so much as looking back. Bob placed a rocket launcher in his grasp and stepped back. The Joker kneeled, took aim, and fired a rocket at the front gate of Minas Morgul.

The projectile corkscrewed, spewing a long tail of thick exhaust in its wake. When it impacted, the door erupted in a flash of powdered debris. The Joker whooped and laughed, stamping his feet in giddy triumph. Part of him loved blowing things up. Several parts of him, in fact. He waved his men forward and they advanced shouldering black machineguns.

A host of slavering orcs poured from the entrance to the city-fortress in response to the commotion. His men closed on them, opening fire. Orcs dropped by the dozen, black blood going up in gouts as machinegun fire zipped through them. Shrill cries and ghastly shouts filled the air as Sauron’s creatures were cut down like cattle. When the orcs thinned to a trickle, the Joker followed his men inside.

“Bob, you know what we’re looking for. Let me know when you locate it,” the Mastermind spoke up.

“You got it, boss.” Without another word Bob slunk into the moonlit expanse of towers and tunnels.

“The rest of you,” the Joker began, “KILL ANYTHING THAT MOVES!” the Killer finished. He pulled a pair of grenades from the lining in his purple waistcoat. Stood perfectly erect. Held them to his chin. Took a step. And then rolled them out in front of him. His back leg extended with perfect bowling form.

They bounced forward and then detonated with a deafening blast. The thrum of the shockwave sent his coattails back in a rush. Bits of orc and man alike went flying in gooey chunks of red and black, spraying his white-painted face in gore.

“HAHAHAHAHA! STRIKE!” the Killer yelled maniacally. He was happiest when the Joker cut him loose.

The Joker followed his men through the fortress. Using his long-barreled revolver to blow holes in orcs left and right, he left a trail of soggy viscera. But somehow it was less pleasurable to kill these things. They didn’t seem to value life the same way humans did. That was no fun. The Killer wouldn’t stick around for long.

After the gunfire and explosions ceased, a quiet swept over Minas Morgul. The only sounds were that of crumbling mortar and settling rubble. Fire whispered across blackened segments of the fortress.

EVERYTHING BURNS. The Killer was smug.

A moment later Bob returned breathing hard. “I found it, boss.”

The Palantir.

The Clown smiled like a shark. He had always wanted a crystal ball.

When he arrived at the seeing-stone the Joker removed his purple gloves and placed his hands upon it. Immediately his mind connected to Sauron’s. The dark wizard became aware of the Joker’s presence. Aware of his plan. Splendid. That should incite some fear in the dark lord. And suddenly the Joker became aware of Sauron’s counter strategy. He was redirecting his entire army, including all nine Nazgûl straight toward him.

The Mastermind had predicted as much. That’s why he needed the One Ring. If he wore it, and then touched the Palantir… Sauron and his armies would fear him. And his command of the Yellow Ring would again reach utmost heights.

While he mentally arm-wrestled the dark lord a voice pulled him away.

“We got ‘em, boss!” Several of his masked henchmen flung two small hobbits to the floor, followed by one thoroughly unkempt and smelly Gollum.

Fish, thought the Joker.
I LiKe fIsH, the Clown replied.

“It can’t have it, precious! We’ll wring its filthy little neck!” Gollum growled. “Gollum, gollum,” he coughed.

“Want me to shoot him, boss?”

“No, you idiot. Not him. Shoot them.” The Joker pointed toward the two terrified hobbits. “No. Wait.” He could capitalize on their fear first.

I kNoW jUsT tHe tHinG, the clown cackled inside his head. And then outside. “Hyeh hyeh! Ha ha! Hoo hoo!” He drew a small knife.

His henchmen backed away.

"YoU wAnNa KnOw hOw I gOt ThEsE sCaRs?" He stalked toward the hobbits, his knife glinting with the promise of butchery. He paused, high on their fear. A better idea struck him. The Clown sheathed the knife and then reached up toward his breast pocket, pinching the flower that bloomed forth. Acid spewed from it, hissing on the floor in a cloud of noxious gas. Horrified, the fat hobbit dove over his frail buddy. And the Clown proceeded to burn a jack-o’-lantern smile into his back.

“Yesssss, precious!” Gollum clapped, dancing around with a twisted grin. “It must kill the mean, nasty hobbitses.”

The fat hobbit screamed and spun with his fist raised. “OK BOYS!” the Killer snarled. “LIGHT ‘EM UP!” His henchmen opened up in an excessive hail of blazing gunfire, shooting the two hobbits to paste and riddling the floor with holes in the process.

Gollum clambered away in terror. “It mustn’t take the precious... Gollum, gollum,” he coughed.

“Find the ring.” The Mastermind pointed at the smoking pile of shredded flesh. An earsplitting screech echoed through the fortress. That would be the Nazgûl. “Quickly now, boys.” He needed that ring.

Bob came up with it. It was still attached to a finger. Oh, the irony. Bob twisted the ring off, and the wiped the blood on his pants. “Here it is, boss.”

The Joker slid it onto his finger, and cupped his hands around the Palantir once more.

I have it, Sauron. I'd love to stay and gloat, but I've gotta scram! Say goodbye to your "pwecious" wittle wing!

The Mastermind, the Clown, the Killer, and the Joker laughed at once.

For the briefest of moments it felt like the Eye of Sauron widened, withdrawing from him just a shade.

The Eye roared in his mind. His brain seemed to rattle in his head. But Sauron wasn’t just trembling with anger… It mingled with anxiety. Fear. The Joker could feel power coursing through the Yellow Ring. Its energy was surging into his core in invigorating waves.

Soon he would open another portal. But where to go next…? He dug through his waistcoat. Several books were stashed in the lining.

Hogwarts, the Mastermind suggested.
NeVeR NeVeRlAnD, the Clown put in.
THE DEATH STAR, the Killers voice leered.

The Joker smiled. He pulled out a copy of The Wizard of Oz.

“Daddy needs a new pair of shoes.”

Description
The portal stood open between Gotham City and the nebulous beyond. Black spikes rising from a black tower. Dark creatures emitting dark sounds. It certainly looked like a place out of nightmares. The Joker smiled menacingly.

It’s perfect, said the Mastermind.
AlL iT nEeDs iS a sMiLe, said the Clown.
I STILL SAY WE BURN IT ALL TO THE GROUND, urged the Killer.
Of course, you’re right, thought the Joker. You’re all right.

He was thrilled that the Yellow Fear Ring had chosen him. It had practically begged him to take it from behind that rotting dumpster. Just sitting there batting its amber eyes at him. All alone. On the finger of a dead Sinestro Corps member. Probably thwarted by one of those pesky Green Lanterns. With their Green Rings. Rings of Willpower. Bah. They wouldn’t hold a candle to him with a Yellow Ring. A ring powered by the mastery of fear.

He might not have been as scary as Scarecrow without it. But with it… who could inspire more fear than he? Now that it was in his possession, terror was everywhere. Even Batman lived in fear. The citizens of the world would know new heights of horror. The more fear he instilled in others the more absurdly foreign that feeling became to the Joker. And that only amplified the Yellow Ring further. If what he understood about its nature was true, there were no limits to its capabilities with a little imagination.

The portal before him stood as a testament to that theory. A tear between realms stood open. The size of a building. He was at the where and when of his grim fantasy. He stared into the open maw of Mordor’s blackest castle. Home to its blackest creatures and its darkest sorcery. Minas Morgul.

"Wait 'till they get a load of me..." The Joker strode through the portal. There was something invigorating about stepping across the threshold.

The Palantir, said the Mastermind. We must find it.
It nEeDs a sMiLe, said the Clown.
FOOL, WE CAN USE IT TO DESTROY EVERYTHING, replied the Killer.
Oh shut up, interrupted the Joker.
FEELING SUICIDAL, ARE WE? asked the Killer.
Not you, the Clown.
WhY sO sErIoUs?
Why the morbid fascination with smiles? Buffoon.
Everyone shut up! I can’t hear myself think.

The Joker giggled, pressing a gloved hand to his forehead.

“What’s so funny boss?” Bob, his number one guy, asked.

“Nothing you’d understand, Bob.”

First things first. They needed to find that Gollum creature.

The Joker held open J. R. R. Tolkien’s book, The Two Towers, to a bookmarked page. “Send a pair of helicopters up that mountainside.” He pointed vaguely. “You’re looking for two hobbits and the Gollum.”

His clown-masked henchmen hovered, eyes darting to one another nervously. One of them spoke up. “Two hobbits… and a…?”

“Gollum. Haven’t you seen the movies?” The Joker snapped.

A man raised his hand. “I have, boss. Peter Jackson is a cinematographic geniu-”

“Good, then you’re in charge.” The Joker flicked his hand, brushing the air. “Now shoo.”

The henchmen leapt to do his bidding.

He needed the three halflings, but more specifically he needed to find the One Ring. Sauron’s Ring. But he didn’t make a habit of sharing his plans. It would look nice on his hand next to the Yellow Ring.

You can’t wear the One Ring for long. Not in this realm. It will rule you, warned the Mastermind.
It’s true, and a man must have some self control, thought the Joker with a snicker.
THAT IS WHY WE MUST DESTROY SAURON. OR THE RING, added the Killer.
Or leave Middle Earth before the need arises.

The Joker waved up the convoy behind him. “Bring in the tanks, boys!”

“Say, boss, what’s with the heavy artillery?” Bob asked as three tanks rolled through the portal and into Middle Earth. Their treads clinking. The ground rumbling.

KILL HIM.
Not Bob.
LeTs cUt a sMiLe InTo hIs fAcE.
Shhhh.

The Joker knew Bob was really asking why he didn’t just use the Yellow Ring to manifest tanks of his own. Of course, he could. But he couldn’t maintain them for long.

No one in Middle Earth feared him. They didn’t even know him. The thought did nothing to calm his nerves. And that meant that keeping the portal open wouldn’t be possible. Let alone manifesting and maintaining constructs like tanks. At least not until he instilled the proper fear in Middle Earth. Quelling his own nervy trepidation. With great fear came great power. Or something like that.

Fortunately, the Mastermind had accounted for the decline in the Yellow Ring’s power that might occur when he left the human realm and passed into this one. So he brought tanks for a bold head start. But Bob didn’t need to know that.

“BoB, sOmE tHiNgs aRe jUst mOrE fUn,” the Clown came through, his voice cracking.

Bob turned a wry smile. “Right, boss.”

As they approached the razor sharp towers jutting up from the dark earth, his men looked to one another with terrified eyes. The entire stronghold cast an eerie green glow.

Sorcery, the Mastermind confirmed.

“Bob. Bazooka.” The joker held out a hand without so much as looking back. Bob placed a rocket launcher in his grasp and stepped back. The Joker kneeled, took aim, and fired a rocket at the front gate of Minas Morgul.

The projectile corkscrewed, spewing a long tail of thick exhaust in its wake. When it impacted, the door erupted in a flash of powdered debris. The Joker whooped and laughed, stamping his feet in giddy triumph. Part of him loved blowing things up. Several parts of him, in fact. He waved his men forward and they advanced shouldering black machineguns.

A host of slavering orcs poured from the entrance to the city-fortress in response to the commotion. His men closed on them, opening fire. Orcs dropped by the dozen, black blood going up in gouts as machinegun fire zipped through them. Shrill cries and ghastly shouts filled the air as Sauron’s creatures were cut down like cattle. When the orcs thinned to a trickle, the Joker followed his men inside.

“Bob, you know what we’re looking for. Let me know when you locate it,” the Mastermind spoke up.

“You got it, boss.” Without another word Bob slunk into the moonlit expanse of towers and tunnels.

“The rest of you,” the Joker began, “KILL ANYTHING THAT MOVES!” the Killer finished. He pulled a pair of grenades from the lining in his purple waistcoat. Stood perfectly erect. Held them to his chin. Took a step. And then rolled them out in front of him. His back leg extended with perfect bowling form.

They bounced forward and then detonated with a deafening blast. The thrum of the shockwave sent his coattails back in a rush. Bits of orc and man alike went flying in gooey chunks of red and black, spraying his white-painted face in gore.

“HAHAHAHAHA! STRIKE!” the Killer yelled maniacally. He was happiest when the Joker cut him loose.

The Joker followed his men through the fortress. Using his long-barreled revolver to blow holes in orcs left and right, he left a trail of soggy viscera. But somehow it was less pleasurable to kill these things. They didn’t seem to value life the same way humans did. That was no fun. The Killer wouldn’t stick around for long.

After the gunfire and explosions ceased, a quiet swept over Minas Morgul. The only sounds were that of crumbling mortar and settling rubble. Fire whispered across blackened segments of the fortress.

EVERYTHING BURNS. The Killer was smug.

A moment later Bob returned breathing hard. “I found it, boss.”

The Palantir.

The Clown smiled like a shark. He had always wanted a crystal ball.

When he arrived at the seeing-stone the Joker removed his purple gloves and placed his hands upon it. Immediately his mind connected to Sauron’s. The dark wizard became aware of the Joker’s presence. Aware of his plan. Splendid. That should incite some fear in the dark lord. And suddenly the Joker became aware of Sauron’s counter strategy. He was redirecting his entire army, including all nine Nazgûl straight toward him.

The Mastermind had predicted as much. That’s why he needed the One Ring. If he wore it, and then touched the Palantir… Sauron and his armies would fear him. And his command of the Yellow Ring would again reach utmost heights.

While he mentally arm-wrestled the dark lord a voice pulled him away.

“We got ‘em, boss!” Several of his masked henchmen flung two small hobbits to the floor, followed by one thoroughly unkempt and smelly Gollum.

Fish, thought the Joker.
I LiKe fIsH, the Clown replied.

“It can’t have it, precious! We’ll wring its filthy little neck!” Gollum growled. “Gollum, gollum,” he coughed.

“Want me to shoot him, boss?”

“No, you idiot. Not him. Shoot them.” The Joker pointed toward the two terrified hobbits. “No. Wait.” He could capitalize on their fear first.

I kNoW jUsT tHe tHinG, the clown cackled inside his head. And then outside. “Hyeh hyeh! Ha ha! Hoo hoo!” He drew a small knife.

His henchmen backed away.

"YoU wAnNa KnOw hOw I gOt ThEsE sCaRs?" He stalked toward the hobbits, his knife glinting with the promise of butchery. He paused, high on their fear. A better idea struck him. The Clown sheathed the knife and then reached up toward his breast pocket, pinching the flower that bloomed forth. Acid spewed from it, hissing on the floor in a cloud of noxious gas. Horrified, the fat hobbit dove over his frail buddy. And the Clown proceeded to burn a jack-o’-lantern smile into his back.

“Yesssss, precious!” Gollum clapped, dancing around with a twisted grin. “It must kill the mean, nasty hobbitses.”

The fat hobbit screamed and spun with his fist raised. “OK BOYS!” the Killer snarled. “LIGHT ‘EM UP!” His henchmen opened up in an excessive hail of blazing gunfire, shooting the two hobbits to paste and riddling the floor with holes in the process.

Gollum clambered away in terror. “It mustn’t take the precious... Gollum, gollum,” he coughed.

“Find the ring.” The Mastermind pointed at the smoking pile of shredded flesh. An earsplitting screech echoed through the fortress. That would be the Nazgûl. “Quickly now, boys.” He needed that ring.

Bob came up with it. It was still attached to a finger. Oh, the irony. Bob twisted the ring off, and the wiped the blood on his pants. “Here it is, boss.”

The Joker slid it onto his finger, and cupped his hands around the Palantir once more.

I have it, Sauron. I'd love to stay and gloat, but I've gotta scram! Say goodbye to your "pwecious" wittle wing!

The Mastermind, the Clown, the Killer, and the Joker laughed at once.

For the briefest of moments it felt like the Eye of Sauron widened, withdrawing from him just a shade.

The Eye roared in his mind. His brain seemed to rattle in his head. But Sauron wasn’t just trembling with anger… It mingled with anxiety. Fear. The Joker could feel power coursing through the Yellow Ring. Its energy was surging into his core in invigorating waves.

Soon he would open another portal. But where to go next…? He dug through his waistcoat. Several books were stashed in the lining.

Hogwarts, the Mastermind suggested.
NeVeR NeVeRlAnD, the Clown put in.
THE DEATH STAR, the Killers voice leered.

The Joker smiled. He pulled out a copy of The Wizard of Oz.

“Daddy needs a new pair of shoes.”