Batman
To say I am surprised would be an understatement. For the last ten minutes or more I’ve been watching as this scene unravels. Perched high on the roof of a building, far from the plaza, I had believed myself hidden from the world. However, either through deduction or sheer luck, Joke-Man has become aware of my presence.
And now the clever, twisted man wants a conference with me.
To go down to the plaza would mean exposing myself in the daylight; that is an option that I cannot even consider. Instead, I choose to bring Joke-Man to me. Atop this roof, far above the curious eyes of Gotham, I can remain secluded and keep whatever may occur between Joke-Man and I from spilling into the streets below.
Reaching into the compartments of my belt, I pull out a small pellet. These pellets were recently developed by my company. When the pellet is thrown against a hard surface, another pellet interior to former is cracked and gives off a blinding light. Turning myself away from the plaza, I throw the pellet down to the roof behind me.
If Joke-Man is paying attention at all, he’ll see the light and realize my position. I walk to the far, opposite side of the roof. There I wait for my enemy. I doubt it will take Joke-Man long to reach the rooftop. Judging from what little I’ve seen him do, Joke-Man can move incredibly fast.
As I wait for the twisted trickster to reach the roof, I try to devise where to take matters from here. Joke-Man has arrived, and for the first time I will meet with him to discuss recent events. Joke-Man is a true enigma to me, perhaps even more so than Joker. I could assume Joke-Man’s identity, but that would be too easy a task. The man shrouds himself in mystery. In one moment, he will seem a murdering deviant, and in another he will be convincing as a clever, tortured man. There is an air about this man that stinks of a familiar odor.
Joke-Man, like myself, is on a mission.
Something is driving this man to commit these acts. Something tore this man’s soul and left it bleeding. When his wounds healed, the man sought comfort in a symbol that would nurture the wounds that could not be healed. It is a tragedy all too familiar to one such as me. In many ways, Bruce Wayne and the man that became Joke-Man are very similar. The only difference is, I sought a symbol to prevent my tragedy from reoccurring. Joke-Man has used his to seek vengeance for a man’s loss.
I could say that Joke-Man is Robert Church. I could say a lot of things. However, what matters most now is stopping Joke-Man from fulfilling his promised plans. When all is said and done, then the helmet can be removed and Joke-Man will be paid for his evils.
As I suspected, it doesn’t take long before Joke-Man has reached the rooftop. Without the resources that I have at my disposal, Joke-Man of course had to take the conventional route and come up the stairs. It is somewhat amusing as he nonchalantly passes through the door.
For a long moment, Joke-Man stands at the door looking over in my direction. I can feel his eyes moving over my body. I tense up as he studies my person. Joke-Man then turns his gaze to the city stretched out before us. I can hear his breathing as he takes in a large gulp of air.
“The air is so much clearer way up here, isn’t it?” he asks, interrupting the silence.
“At nights the air is filled with the stench of death and fear. That fresh air you’re smelling is only on Gotham’s surface,” I growl.
“It would be difficult for a nocturnal creature such as you to enjoy the pleasures the sunlight can bring. The fresh air isn’t a coup against your mission, Batman. It’s just a pleasure that you ignore because you live to serve your demons.”
“I do what I do to keep this city safe.”
“True, but you who wish to preserve all human life is sacrificing your own to an impossible cause.”
“Pessimism like that is why Gotham cannot free itself from its bounds of injustice. Nothing is impossible.”
“Nay? Let me ask you something then, Batman. How many of the criminals in Gotham were so theatrical as I before you showed up? Hmmm?”
“I’ve heard this line before.”
“Isn’t it true? Do you not serve as an example for your antagonists? There is always a yin to a yang, an apple to an orange, and a plus to a minus.”
“So, are you the plus or the minus?”
“Clever, Batman. That question is yet to be answered, isn’t it? You’re not sure of my intentions.”
“You’ve killed enough people for me to realize that your intentions are nothing less than vindictive.”
“Vindictive maybe, but just nonetheless.”
“There is no justice in murder.”
“And how can you be so sure of the fact that I’ve even murdered anyone?”
“You’re joking?”
“Namesake aside, I think my tone would imply that I’m not.”
“So, you would write off all of those that you’ve killed. That never happened? You never demolished Gotham Central? You never killed Mayor Webster?”
“Never say never. Really, what evidence do you have that I’ve killed anyone?”
“Security footage showed that you killed Mayor Webster. Commissioner Gordon was with you when you detonated your bombs under Gotham Central.”
“True, but there are some things that you haven’t taken into account. Perhaps the security video was doctored. Perhaps no one was in the GCPD building when I destroyed it. Oh, and let’s not forget those two other officers that Scarface helped me with.”
“I suppose you didn’t kill them either.”
“Suppose the two officers were safely in the school’s basement when the bomb went off.”
Joke-Man’s tone is very serious. Could he be telling the truth? Has he really killed anyone at all? Thinking about it now, I did very little to investigate any of the murders. Now rolling in doubt, my directives have shifted. After this back-and-forth, I need to review the security tape of Webster’s murder and investigate the two explosion sites.
“I can see doubt on your face, Batman. You’re not so sure any more, eh?’” Joke-Man says with a quiet chuckle.
“I’m still sure of one thing,” I grumble, “and that’s that you are playing games with this city. Whether you’ve killed anyone yet or not, I know that there is one person that you are going to kill.”
“Certainly so. Just out of curiosity, could you run the name by me?”
“You want to kill Joker.”
“Precisely.”
“Do you really think that’s the answer?”
“Do you? If I recall correctly, someone was threatening to kill Joker the night the Church family was killed. That someone wouldn’t be on this roof, would they?”
“I’m past that now.”
“Perhaps you are. However, it could be that you want him for yourself. It could be that you think yourself the only person that deserves to kill Joker, because you’re the city’s protector. Well, I’ve got sorry news for you. That freak has harmed more people in this city than Lucifer himself could stomach. That monster deserves to die. You think just because you wear those tights that you should be the one to rid us of him. How hypocritical. If I were to do the same you would have me burned at the stake. That’s what you are Batman: a hypocrite.”
“I’ve had the Joker’s life in my hands many times. I assure you, if I had wanted to kill him I would have done it a long time ago.”
“Why didn’t you do it? You’ve cost yourself, you’ve cost the lives of the people in this city, and you’ve cost the lives of those that you hold dear.”
“Joker is not my responsibility.”
“He’s not? You have the means to put an end to that twisted clown, and yet you don’t hold yourself responsible? Well, that’s just too damn bad. Now, I’m taking that responsibility. If you don’t have what it takes to save this city from its evils, then I’ll have to take the reigns.”
“You want this city?”
I chuckle.
“An amateur like you could never handle Gotham on its best night.”
“Amateur? This coming from the director of the stage show that just played out in the plaza down there. By the way, Robin was quite the convincing Joker. However, his height and general demeanor gave him away.”
“I’ve been wondering: how is it you plan to orchestrate your plans at the Church home in the next week without your bait?”
Joke-Man giggles quietly and points down to the plaza below.
“I’d say you’ll have your answer when you look down there,” he says as he withdraws his pointing.
I cautiously walk over to the ledge next to Joke-Man. This first meeting has revealed a lot about Joke-Man’s personality. However, at the same time he’s become even more mysterious. He is so clever for one that has only been active in Gotham for barely a week. He knows this city so well, and he knows so well the way that people think. His ability to predict outcomes and plot is fantastic. Never in all my years do I think I have come across a more challenging opponent.
I approach the ledge and look down to the plaza below. Things seem just as they were when I had been standing here before. Gordon and his men are still crouched around the plaza, now probably waiting to see the out come of my encounter with Joke-Man. Oliver is still lying on the ground unconscious from the bullets delivered by Joke-Man. Tim in his Joker disguise is…
Tim is gone!
I look around me and Joke-Man, too, has vanished.
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Joker
“And in more recent news, an incident involving a Joker imposter in the Gotham Central Plaza was resolved by none other than the smiley-faced terrorist, Joke-Man. This brings to question what Joke-Man’s intentions really are, as of late he has been the cause of many deaths and of the damage of property. However, today he showed us a different side to his personality by putting an end to the imposter’s rampage.”
“You have to remember, though, Jean, that Joke-Man also shot the Green Arrow! The question of whether or not he intended good was answered quite quickly. This man is a murderer and a threat to all of the people in Gotham City! Now, I may be wrong in voicing my personal opinions on the network, but this man has to be stopped!”
“Shut the TV off Harley,” I grumble.
“But don’t you wanna finish watchin’ the news, puddin’?”
“I said ‘SHUT IT OFF!’”
Harley, like the obedient little puppy she is, quickly turns off the TV. What is this? It’s not bad enough that some creeper is going around imposing on my good humor, but Joke-Man gets all of the press? Why no mention of me? While on the subject, why did they not mention me? Have I really been that quiet? Why, just the other day I kidnapped Night-Thing and about tortured him to death. Did word of that not get back to the press?
Something tells me that I’m going to have to do something drastic to get back my esteemed fans. The only problem is that nothing in my head sounds fun enough to follow through on. I could go to the kiddy school down the street and hand out balloons filled with Joker venom, but that’s all the way down the street and kids are sticky. I could poison the city’s water supply…wait; I’ve tried that one already. I could blow something up, but I’d have to go through Cobblepot to get the C-4 and that’s just too much of a hassle.
It is a truly miserable life that I lead.
What I really want to do is kill all of the Bat Pack, but Flight-Wing is keeping away from here and Joke-of-a-Man has Robin trapped under his foot. If Harley had not let the bastard escape, I could have finished off that feathered-haired meathead. Make no mistake about it; she paid dearly for her troubles. I only wish that I could do that night over again. If I could, I would have finished the emo first, and then gone after that gang of ankle-biters.
Harley, having left the room, has come back in with a glass green liquid. She places the glass in my hand with little say from myself. I look the glass over, and then glare back at her, cocking my brow.
“What would this be?” I ask.
“It’s whisky, Mr. J! I dyed it green for ya and everything! It’ll cheer ya right up!” Harley beams.
I chuckle quietly…
Then, I throw the glass in Harley’s face.
“And what about green whisky is supposed to cheer me up!”
The glass, having smashed on her face, has left her cut and bleeding. She cowers down on the floor, crying like a baby. Why do I waste my time with such a damaged individual? Why couldn’t I have gotten a smart girl to do my menial tasks? Well, Harley was a bright girl when first I met her, but somewhere along the line she just got stupid. Luthor always has some kind of sexy, barely legal tween doing his grunt work. Why can’t I have that? Maybe, like him, I should trade my girl in every now and then.
“Look at the bright side, Harley. I hit you with a glass of alcohol. At least you won’t get an infection. My face has seen a lot worse,” I muse, patting the girl on the back.
“It still hurts, Mr. J,” Harley whines.
“That’s alright. All those little cuts will heal, and then you’ll have a half a dozen beautiful little scars to brighten your face.”
Harley dashes out of the room with her face in her hands. Really, I don’t know how much more of that girl I can stand. Honestly, being called “puddin’” is okay for the first few times, but after that it just gets on your nerves. I don’t have any ridiculous pet names for her. I don’t go around calling her “pumpkin.” However, I do like “Mr. J.”
Out of nowhere, a light blinds me.
I fumble around, looking for my pistol with outstretched arms. Someone has broken into my home and is going to attack me. Judging by the sudden burst of light meant to blind me, I can limit the number of intruders.
Just as my hand reaches my pistol, someone grabs my arm.
“You won’t be needing that.”
I’d recognize that voice anywhere. That deep, gravely, throat cancer patient growl couldn’t belong to anyone else. The hand that has hold of me is large and strong. As my sight begins to return, I can make out his figure. The two points atop his head are a dead give away.
“You should have called first, Bat-boob. The place is a mess,” I say with a chuckle.
“I want to talk to you,” he barks, releasing his grip of my arm.
“Okay, so talk. Do make it quick, though; I have some people that I need to kill and I don’t want to keep them waiting.”
“You do realize that your two weeks are almost up? Joke-Man is going to make his move in just a few nights.”
“Yes I do. After that idiot kills Robin, then I’ll have nothing left to do but to kill the other bird boy.”
“That’s your response to this? Let Joke-Man win?”
“Who said I was letting him win?”
“You did.”
“I said no such thing! Are you implying that Joke-Man is better than me?”
The brute just stands there staring at me.
“Hogwash! I’m tenfold a better deviant than Joke-Man could ever be!”
“How can you know that? You’ve been cooped up in this warehouse for days.”
“I know so! That buffoon will never lay a hand on Robin! That boy is mine! Ya here me, Batty! Mine!”
“Who am I to stop you?”
...Huh?
“What’s the big idea? Why are you so eager to get me to go after Robin?” I ask.
“I want you to confront Joke-Man.”
“Hmmm… There’s still something tricky about this. You’re throwing your partner into my hands and you sound perfectly fine with it.”
“Joker, if I had any reason to believe that you’d ever be able to kill Robin, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Oh! So you think I can’t do it! You think old Joker can’t get the job done?”
“I’ve never had much faith in you, Joker.”
“Well, then prepare to be amazed! Because come Friday I’m going to kill Robin and, as you wanted, I’m going to go after that poser Joke-Man! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
Oh, this is going to be fun! A two-for-one special! Who would have thought that a visit from the old bat could cheer me up? What was I thinking? I was just about to give Robin to Joke-Man without even putting up a fight! What the hell is wrong with me?
“Well, I’m glad you’ve set me straight, Bat-Boob,” I say, still wheezing from my laughter.
“There’s something you should remember, Joker,” Batman says with a hint of cynicism.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to be there too.”
With that, I’m blinded again.
Well, now I’m as nearly as ecstatic as I was about a minute ago, but I’m still feeling better than I was. Batman should be no trouble. I’ve dealt with him enough that I can get him out of the way in a jiffy. Then, after killing Robin, I’ll set my sights on Joke-Man. I was willing to bend over backwards before, but now I’m coming and I’m coming for the kill.
When my vision returns, I plop down in my bean bag and turn the news back on. The news tonight may be about Joke-Man and an imposter, but, in a few days, I’ll be making it.