The dessicated corpse of Roy Florence - still dressed in its dingy and now faded purple-and-green butterfly uniform - shuffled through the gates and onto the soft grass of the cemetary, visibly relaxing its posture as it did so. As if to add to the expression of relief, its head toppled off its shoulders and rolled onto the ground.
"I told you, we gotta sew that thing on," Roy's spirit said, his voice like an echo. "I don't want it getting any more damaged if we're gonna get it resurrected." His glowing, spectral form floated through the gates behind his body. If he wasn't visible to ordinary eyes before, he was now as clear as day.
"Restored, my friend," corrected Gary, following the separated pair into the cemetery. He had changed into his old gold and orange uniform, and had a spring in his step, now that he was out of the Joker's shadow. "We're gonna have that bag of bones as good as new, just like World of Warcraft." Then he grimaced in puzzlement as he looked around at his surroundings. "Why the hell did we end up here?"