-Joker-
Stupid cop!
All of that work for nothing! Finally, I was going to kill Batman! And, what happens? A cop gets in the way! Not very funny if you ask me. Down right sad, that’s what it is. I was humiliated. If it had been Batty that had done it, it woulda been funny, I’m used to it. But a cop! That’s not funny at all!
Besides that, I was degraded! Gordon rode me off in his car! A car! Where was the armored van! The vast escort of police! Most of all…Where was the fear? They used to fear me. That indeed was hilarious! What happened? Am I not funny anymore? Is that what it is?
No!
Of course I’m still funny! I’m a hoot! The very thought that I may no longer be funny makes me laugh, so I must be hysterical. Nonetheless, the ride to Arkham was awful. Gordon’s car smelled horrible! Cinnamon! Puke! I hate cinnamon! I’d much prefer a nice rotten apple or burning flesh scent, put me in a good mood.
I must admit, though, that that bastard cop did pull a fast one on me. I never saw it coming! And, as I’ve said before: Comedy’s in the timing. Apparently he thought it was an absolute gut-buster. Son of a bitch wouldn’t stop laughing!
I wonder if my sense of humor pisses people off this much. Because, I am certainly pissed! Once I get outta Arkham again I’m gonna rip that damn cop’s flesh off his bones! Now, that would be funny! A real knee-slapper! I giggle now just thinking of it. He’ll scream and scream, and I’ll laugh and laugh! Just like he laughed at me.
I hate it here at Arkham. Dr. Arkham always makes stupid jokes whenever I’m brought back. He’s in as much of a routine as me and the Bat are. He thinks he’s so damn funny. Him with his “Hang in there, baby” kitty posters and idiotic stickers plastered all over his desk. I wish they’d make a “Hang in there, baby” poster with Dr. Arkham hanging from a noose. That would be just too funny!
“Back so soon, Joker? You just can’t stay away can you?”
I should’ve strangled ‘im. That’d shut him up for good. It’d also put a nice spring back in my step. The orderlies took me into a room and stripped me down; put that ridiculous orange jumpsuit on me. Then, they just tossed me in with the others psychos. No special treatment for Joker? Of course not! They’re not afraid anymore! That won’t last long. They’ll be afraid, I’ll see to that.
It’s been three days since I’ve returned to my home away from home. I sit in the “activity room,” as it’s called, watching old cartoons. You just can’t beat that! The humor! The violence! Funny little animals and idiotic people beating the hell outta each other! It can’t be out done!
I look around the room when the commercials come on. Scarecrow is across the room with Mad Hatter playing chess. Ivy, Zeus, The Ventriloquist, and Zsasz play cards in the far right corner. Riddler fiddles with a Rubik’s Cube in the chair next to mine, paying no attention to the television or myself. Also, somewhere behind me, I can hear Croc grunting as he lifts hundreds of pounds of weight. It’s pathetic really. I sit, plotting my escape, while my peers play simple games, waiting for a chance for freedom. Me, I don’t wait for opportunities: I make them.
Arkham truly is a depressing place. All the walls are a pale blue and the furniture is white. The television is the objective point of this dreary room. All black, it stands out as my evil pleasure. I owe a lot of my success to television. It truly is informing. If not for television, I never would have known about that Policemen’s Dance Fiasco, or whatever they called it. Yes, if I could pick one friend on the entire planet it would be a television. Oh, the fun we would have! I visualize me and the television, dancing through a field of Venus Flytraps. Ah! How beautiful it would be!
The commercials end and Porky Pig returns to me. Oh, I love this one! Ya see, this ridiculous cat won’t stop singing and Porky can’t sleep! So, Porky gets super pissed and, after all the hilarious shenanigans, he shoots the cat! I love it! They sure don’t make ‘em like they used to.
So, as I watch this cartoon, someone creeps up behind me. I ignore it and continue watching as Porky throws a book titled “Fumanchu” at the cat, who throws another book back at Porky titled “The Return of Fumanchu.” What a hoot! I can still feel someone behind me and I begin to get a bit antsy. Who ever it is, they don’t seem to mind intruding on my quiet time.
I hear a quiet ringing. The ringing abruptly stops and one hand slaps another. I turn my head back, already knowing who it is. He makes his way around my chair and sits opposite me. He shoves the coin into the pocket of his jumpsuit and crosses his right leg over his left.
“Looney Tunes again, Joker? You’ve seen this one about twenty times, haven’t you?”
His voice is like bones in a meat grinder. He stares at me with his bulging left eye. I try not to look at him for too long. It’s not the left side of him that bothers me; it’s the right side that makes me want to vomit. I feel disgust in its purest form.
“Great posture. All these years and still trying to play the gentleman, Harv?”
Two-Face continues to stare at me. After a few minutes, his right lips curl up into a grin. He leans his head back and chuckles quietly. He chuckles like Harvey Dent, not Two-Face, and that disturbs me. If I am to talk to Harvey Dent I do not wish to speak with the decent half of him. It’s terribly unpleasant.
“I heard what happened, Joker. That’s really something.”
“What did you hear exactly, Harv?”
“Oh, I heard it all. Too bad about that, huh? The all-mighty Joker brought down by a cop.”
The anger boils inside me. Bastard came over just to insult me. Well, I have a lot more insults up my sleeve than he does. If he wants to play this, he won’t win. True, I’m pissed as all Hell, but I manage a giggle.
“Why was it that your wife left you again, hmm?”
I see the anger build on the right side of his face.
“You wanna start somethin’, clown? Cause you’re on very dangerous ground here.”
“I really don’t see what she saw in you. I mean, seriously, you’re a freak!”
He yanks the coin out of his pocket.
“You dare call me a freak!”
“Of course! At least one half of my personality is just as crazy as the other. You know, you should be more like me.”
“Sorry, Joker, but I’d rather not be like you.”
He puts the coin back in his pocket and I can see him calm down. Well, that’s no fun! I want to play some more.
“Say, Harv, that scab’s never gonna heal if you don’t stop picking.”
“Shut up.”
“Now, that’s a face only a mother could love.”
“I said, ‘shut up.’”
“Say, how many mirrors have you broken with that mug?”
Two-Face burst out his chair, the coin already rotating in the air. He grabs me by the throat and catches the coin behind his back. Well, now this is more like it. Two-Face at his best: pissed and ready to kill. He looks at the coin and slowly releases my throat. He growls angrily, grinding his teeth, and once again puts the coin back into his pocket.
“Strike a nerve, did I, Harv?”
“Shut up, Joker.”
“Well, now that’s not fair. You come over here, insult me, and I accept you in my most gentle manner. Though, when I insult you, you try to kill me. You dish it, Harv, but you sure as hell can’t take it.”
“I only brought up the cop because…”
He sounds like Dent again. Dammit.
“’Because’ what, Harv?”
“Because, I can help you get him back.”
Get him back? Well, the thought never occurred (insert sarcasm here).
“Why and how do you plan to do that then?”
“I’ve got some problems that I want resolved. If I give you some information you’ll have some incentive to get out of here. I want to use your escape as distraction so I can get out.”
“I’m listening.”
Two-Face pulls a small, folded piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolds it, reads it over, and then folds it up again. Thinking logically, I am wondering why Two-Face, even with his own selfish reasons, is trying to help me. He hates me. Which, in all fairness, isn’t right, because I adore him. He tosses the paper my way and I reluctantly catch it. I unfold it and skim over it contents.
“What is this?”
“Everything you need to know about Robert Church. His address, his phone number, his family. It’s all there.”
A lightning bolt hits my brain. His family! By God, the boy’s got a family! I read over the whole list. Well, looky there! A whole mess of Churches! His brother, his nieces, his nephew, his sister-in-law, his folks! Oh, it’s all too much! Well, well, well…What’ve we got here? A wife! Oh, a joy that is a joy that is such a joy! I’m so giddy I could burst!
“Oh, Harv, you don’t know how happy this makes me!”
“That list should be helpful.”
“Damn the list! Damn Robert Church! I’m going to kill his family! His whole goddamned family!”
“But, his family didn’t do anything to you.”
“Why do I care? You know me better than that. Oh, this is going to be fun! I’ll invite myself to dinner, we’ll share a few laughs, and then I lay them down for a permanent sleep! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HE! HE! HE! HE! HA!”
“You’re forgetting one thing, Joker.”
Dent said something, but I ignore it completely. I’m too damn happy to be disturbed at the moment. Riddler hears my laughter and, looking up from his Rubik’s Cube, shakes his head dully. To hell with Riddler! Let him think what he wants! How could I ever even think that I’m not funny? This little ditty right here is hilarious.
“Joker!”
“What!”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“And what would that be, my dear boy?”
“You’re in here, they’re out there.”
Dammit. Damn Harvey Dent always has to be so damn smart all the time. I look around at the weak barriers that hold me. My mind already begins to strategize my escape.
“Hogwash! I’ve broken out before and I’ll do it again! And this time, I won’t be coming back! After I get done with Church I’m going after the Bat-boob! So, Harvey Dent, enjoy my company as you still can, because tonight is my last night in Arkham!”
“I beg to differ.”
I turn and see that Riddler has finished his Rubik’s Cube and has decided to throw his two cents in. He stands slowly, stretching in the mildest of manners. Edward Nigma then stares at me with knowing eyes and a smirk on his face.
“Why beg you to differ then, Riddler? Trying to make a puzzle out it?”
“Ah, not I, but the Batman.”
“What do you mean?” Two-Face asks, again sounding like Dent. To me Dent’s voice is worse than nails on a chalkboard. In fact, nails on a chalkboard are quite pleasant.
“Batman has this place wired. If Joker so much as steps a foot outside Arkham’s walls Batman will arrive immediately and return him to custody.”
“To hell with Batman! He shows his pointy ears here and I’ll slaughter him with my bear hands!”
“Strong words for a man thrashed by Batman more times than Two-Face and I combined.”
“Your point?”
“My point is: to escape you will need help. Help I can provide.”
“How so?” Dent asks, entering the conversation.
“Simple time and presence. Batman has made a mistake as he has wired his personal security system in with Arkham’s main power generator.”
“That’s impossible. Batman doesn’t make mistakes.”
“Well, Dent, he did and an unfortunate one at that. Now, all we need is a distraction. Joker, you should be most happy to oblige.”
“Indubitably!” I shout with glee.
“Good. As you create uproar, Two-Face and I will make our way to the main generator. Once there, we will cut all power to the asylum, thus negating Batman’s security.”
“This sounds too good to be true,” Dent questions.
“It may very well be. After we’ve disabled the power, we’ll only have thirty minutes before the emergency power comes back on. That sounds like plenty of time, but it hardly gives us a time window.”
“Why not just cut the emergency power, too?”
“Simply because I do not know the location of the emergency generator.”
“Why do I have to help you? If the emergency power comes back on and we’re still inside the building, Batman might catch us.”
“Oh, good! Something else to laugh about! Yes, you two trapped in here and I run free! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!” I laugh.
“Get a hold of yourself,” Nigma scolds, “If they know that we’re planning this the whole thing will be ruined! Meet me here this evening during our next ‘activity period.’ It will be then that we will make our move.”
I love when a plan comes together! Best of all, I didn’t have to think of it! All that thinking makes my brain hurt. Sometimes it’s hard being a homicidal genius. Oh, but it’s the best kinda fun there is!
Hmm… I wonder how many people I’ll kill tonight. Ten? Twenty? Thirty, if I’m in good mood. But how? How to kill them? Better yet, how to kill the Churches? So many victims and so much thinking! Argh! All this thinking it’s giving me a headache!
Ooh! The cartoons are back on again!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-Batman-
I sit in the cave, three nights prior to the Midnight Policemen’s Ball. My finger clicks the mouse again and again, searching through file after file. I’m still not sure what exactly it is that I’m looking for. Something was out of place that night. Something was wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Was it Joker’s desire to kill me? No. I’ve expected for a long time that Joker would eventually snap and try to finally kill me. Then again, I’ve thought the same of myself. There have been times when I’ve almost crossed the line and tried to kill Joker. The unraveling of both our nerves is expected for such a long term relationship. Despite our hatred of each other, that’s what it is. A relationship, nonetheless.
The failure to cancel the party? No, that’s not it either. That problem was apparent from the beginning and made more apparent by Detective Church. He was right to question Webster’s actions. The party should have been rescheduled, but Webster has no true care of people’s safety. He’s nothing more than a crooked politician.
Then, what is the problem? A question every detective must ask him/herself as he /she narrows down the answers. I search through the files, lost in the digital world of information, searching for answers to yet nonexistent questions. Oracle too is searching her files. Both of us are trying to find a flaw that upset that evening. Both of us search the files of everyone that had attended the party. Even her father, Jim Gordon.
I’ve already skimmed the files of every person that had been at the party, hoping something would grasp my attention. Now I slowly go through every file, reading every line.
Officer Mac Smith.
I read the whole file.
Nothing.
Officer Clyde Brown.
Nothing.
Officer Erica McKaig.
Nothing.
Officer Harlem Berkshire.
Next to nothing. Previous drug problems.
I go down the alphabetical list, checking them all for any apparent past or present problems. None found so far. Am I deluding myself? Is there truly something wrong, or do I want something to be wrong? No. My instinct and experience tells me that something had been askew that night. Something, for some reason, I can’t place. Something I’m not seeing. Something I’m missing.
What is it?
“I dunno, Batman. I haven’t found anything yet.”
“Keep looking. There has to be something.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you’re just a little shocked that Joker was actually trying to kill you?”
“No. I saw that coming. I’ve been ready for it.”
“Well, I sure as hell wasn’t ready for it. Can be paralyzing when that psycho sets his sights on you. No pun intended.”
“Just keep looking, Oracle.”
Officer Phyllis Hancock.
Nothing.
My search is yielding less than useless results. Am I looking in the wrong place? Can’t be. No one else was at the party besides the police, Webster, Alfred, Joker, and I. For the first time in my life, it’s not the Joker that is making me feel uneasy. Alfred did nothing more than usual. I am 100 percent certain of my own self control. Webster was all the coward he is expected to be. That means that only a police or group of police was the cause for my uneasiness.
So, why am I not finding anything in the police files?
I hear Alfred approach my back. Bringing me dinner, but I cannot eat now. He sets the tray next to me and, as always, reads what it is that I have plastered on screen.
“May I ask what it is you are looking for, Master Bruce?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Just perusing then, sir?”
“Something wasn’t right at the party, Alfred. I don’t know what, but something was out of place.”
“A true enigma, sir. May I ask a favor?”
“Shoot.”
“Would you mind eating that turkey that I just spent the whole day cooking?”
I turn and look at Alfred. His eyebrow is cocked, his lips pursed. I find myself grinning as I take the plate into my hands. I don’t know how I’d survive without the old man.
“Good, sir?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Now, as for your intuitive problem, Master Bruce…”
“I’m listening.”
“Perhaps it is Detective Church that is bothering you?”
At first I give it little thought. However, I exit the file I am currently reading and find my way to the one labeled “Robert Church.” Once the file opens, I realize why Church had concerned Alfred.
It was the laughter.
After Church tricked Joker with the false pistol, he had laughed uncontrollably. Church didn’t just get a “case of the giggles,” he exploded in a way that reminded me of Joker’s laugh. It almost horrified me, his laughter. Detective Church went insane with laughter that night.
I read the file.
I don’t like what I find.
“Well?”
“Robert Church, it says here, has had an occurrence of violent, insane behavior.”
“An occurrence?”
I exit the GCPD files. I move through the data base, finding the Arkham files. I enter the folder and search for any file that may mention Robert Church. I sit patiently, waiting for the results. After a few short seconds, the results pop up on screen. There is one file listed as “Robert ‘Bo’ Church.”
I click on it.
I quickly read over the file. There are a few pictures of Church as a child, his physical statistics, and, most importantly, his mental statistics. I ignore all of the other information and read over Church’s mental status. Along with this status is a short description of the incident for which this file was made.
“What does it say, sir?”
“The incident occurred when Church was eight years old. Apparently, he saw one of his classmates brutally beating a smaller child. The report says this classmate had been laughing at the smaller child and a group around this beating had also been laughing.”
“The word laughter has lost its blissful meaning to me, sir.”
“Me too. Church picked up a lead pipe, ran over to the group, and started swinging. He beat all of them bloody except the smaller child who he had been defending. Five of the children died. After he stopped swinging the pipe, he dropped it and started laughing maniacally. The police came shortly after and took him straight to Arkham. “
“Oh, dear.”
“He spent two years in rehabilitation. The report says he was cleared of all charges and he went back to a regular life.”
“Until now.”
“We can’t assume that, Alfred. Church didn’t kill anyone. He humiliated Joker and laughed. That’s all. Until he snaps again completely, he’s perfectly safe.”
“And, what would make him snap, Master Bruce?”
“Trauma.”
“Well, sir, I’d keep an eye on Joker. If he escapes Arkham, he will find Mr. Church and deliver that trauma.”
It’s going to happen. It will if I don’t stop it. Joker will escape, seeking revenge for his humiliation, and with Church on the borderline to a mental relapse it won’t take much to make him snap. I have to keep Joker away from Church at any cost. However, Joker most likely has no knowledge of Church’s mental instability and Church himself has probably repressed the event entirely, but I can’t take the risk of having another homicidal man out on the streets; Gotham has enough of them already.
I think of my parents. Over the years, what with Dick leaving and Jason being killed, there’s no one I miss more. Why were they taken from me? Why is it I who now has to bear this curse? I suppose I’ll never know the answers to those questions.
I’ve played the night over in my head a thousand times. Joe Chill, my parents’ killer, draws the gun and asks for money. My father gives it to him. Then, turning to my mother, he asks for jewelry. My father steps in front of the gun. The gun shot still rings in my ears to this day. My father falls to the ground. Next, Chill shoots my mother, grabbing at her pearl necklace. She falls in unison with the pearls as he yanks the necklace from her throat. I fall to my knees crying. Joe Chill runs away into the fog.
“The Mark of Zorro” had been playing that night. My parents took me to see the movie because of straight A’s. It wasn’t a big deal. I was young and A’s weren’t hard to come by. They took me nonetheless. Most unique of all, we went to a regular theater, not one of the big, expensive theaters downtown. No, this was a regular theater with real people who didn’t hide behind their money; mostly because they didn’t have any. I respected that about my parents. They cared about the common people.
I wonder if they watch me now with pride or sorrow.
A loud beeping explodes from the sudden quiet. It is coming from the computer. I snap out of my haze and check the screen. Power’s gone out at Arkham.
Joker!
I didn’t expect this so soon. Without even thinking, I pull the cowl over my face and make a run for the motor cycle on the other side of the cave. I confiscated the motorcycle from Huntress a while ago. I’ve painted over her colors and insignias. I jump on the motorcycle and immediately rev the engine. I’m out of the cave in seconds. At first I don’t realize Alfred is trying to contact me.
“Master Bruce? Where are you going?”
“Power outage at Arkham. I don’t have time to talk.”
“Do be careful, sir.”
“I always am.”
I struggle to get my helmet over my head while steering the motorcycle, at the same time giving as much gas as possible. I can’t let Joker get out of Arkham, not this time. I fly out of the tunnel, soaring a good fifteen feet in the air. I land with a crash on the gravel road. Small rocks and pebbles crack the face shield of my helmet. I jerk the motorcycle right and begin my way up the road towards Arkham.
I hear Joker’s laughter in my head.
I can also hear Robert Church’s laughter.
I dodge a deer as it jumps out in front of me. I go off of the road for a second, but I soon straighten myself out. I’m sure that I look like a blur as I go down the first steeping hill on the road to Arkham. The road immediately juts back upward as I reach the bottom of the hill. This part of the road is nothing but a series of steep, rolling hills. It’s a miracle I haven’t wrecked at the speed I’m going.
As I reach the summit of the next hill I can just see the gates of Arkham gleaming in the moonlight. I’m almost there. The very fact that the gate is still up gives me hope.
A thought hits me and I realize that I should inform the commissioner of the power outage. I reach for my belt and grab the cellular phone. Gordon isn’t a part of the line linked to my cowl, so I will have to reach him via phone line. I press Gordon’s speed dial number and hit call. The phone rings three times and I hear his voice.
“Hello.”
“Commissioner.”
“Who is this?”
“A friend.”
“How did you get this number?”
“You know how I work.”
“True. What’s the problem?”
“There’s been a power outage at Arkham.”
With that I hang up. I needn’t say anything more. Gordon is well aware of the danger present when dealing with Arkham and its inmates. Besides that, I like to keep conversation brief.
I see a burst of flames shoot from Arkham’s walls as I reach the gates. They’re just now breaking out. I do a quick check to see if my security is back up. Power’s still out. It’s been 28 minutes since the power outage and the emergency power will be coming on soon. No matter. I’m already here.
I jump off of the motorcycle. I quickly glance around the outside of the gates. No one has escaped yet on this side of the grounds. I take the grapnel from my belt and shoot it over the gate. Within seconds I am over and am slowly drifting downward towards the building.
As soon as I reach ten feet I let my self fall to the ground. Immediately after my feet hit the ground I take off running. I head straight for where the flames had shot out of Arkham’s walls. I can hear mad hoots and hollers coming from around the curves of the castle-like structure of the building,
I stop at the corner and peek around. Twelve men are already outside on the grass. The fire paints the world orange and the sky an oily black. I throw a few smoke pellets around the corner. As soon as the smoke appears I burst from around the corner, flying at them. The smoke is thick and makes it hard to breath. Hitting a button on my belt turns on the infrared vision in my lenses and an air filter inside my cowl. Punching and kicking at the escapees I can barely see. Infrared was a poor choice. With the fire I can hardly distinguish the Arkham inmates. I make do.
In a matter of seconds they are all down and I have leapt over the fire into the building. I turn off the infrareds. Once far enough away from the fire, I also turn off the air filter. Arkham is severely dark without power. I pull a small flashlight from my belt and illuminate the hallways.
All around me orderlies lie on the floor. I check the pulse of each one. Not a one of them is still alive. Their blood pools in the middle of the hallway, staining my boots a sticky crimson.
Why so many in one spot?
All of the orderlies couldn’t possibly have been in this single hallway when the power went out. No, someone had to have dragged them here. My answer in confirmed when I reach the end of the hall. Streaks of blood lead away from the heavy, lead door in front of me.
I open the door and move deeper into the horror that is Arkham Asylum. The halls are surprisingly quiet despite the circumstances. I stand still and listen. Not a sound but the popping embers in the distance. I look around me with the flashlight. No one is in the hall.
Where are the other inmates?
As I begin to walk away, something drips down from above and hits my cowl. It runs down the face of my mask and rest at the tip of the nose. I slowly wipe it away with my finger. I examine it with the flashlight.
Blood.
I shine the light upwards. Above me hang the other inmates, their orange jumpsuits stained with blood. As I look amongst them I can see feet twitching.
Some of them are still alive.
I pull a batarang from my belt and throw it upward. It slices the rope of one of the inmates. She, it is a woman, falls quickly. I jump and catch her, trying to make the impact as soft as possible for her. She looks up at me with fear in her eyes and begins to thrash violently. It is Pamela Isley. I put her down gently and walk away. I don’t have time to help the others. I know who did this to them and I have to find him.
Why would Joker try to kill Poison Ivy? How can anyone possibly know the answer to that question? The Joker is capable of anything and he made that even more apparent tonight. This kind of thing isn’t new for the Joker. He has tried to kill his peers in the past. It is just that, until tonight, he has never really come close to succeeding.
I turn right into a new hallway. Turning left would have taken me out of the asylum. A light flickers on down the hall. As I make my way through more lights flicker on until the hallway is completely illuminated. I put the flashlight back into my belt. I walk past a badly beaten Killer Croc. He leans against the wall, sitting in a small pool of blood with a knife protruding from his side. I ignore him and move on. I here him growl at my ignorance.
As I go further down the hall, doors begin to line the walls. Each one is labeled with either a number or a name. I pay no more attention to these doors and continue on.
I reach an intersection of halls. The hall to my right has a dead orderly lying at its start. Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, hangs from the ceiling by his wrists at the hall to my left. The hallway to my front has nothing blocking it.
I continue down that hallway.
Joker’s playing games with me. He’s leading me right towards him. He either wants to trap me so he can escape again, or he’s going to try to kill me again. I’m actually hoping for the latter. If Joker were to actually trap me, then he would escape and go straight for Church.
I reach another intersection. The hall to my right is the only one without a fire burning in it. I go right and toss two liquid-nitro pellets back at the fires. I can hear the ice crackle and the flames simmer. Without looking back,
I know that the fires have gone out.
I walk through a set of double doors into the cafeteria. It’s empty, of course. On the far wall there is a big red arrow pointing down at a pair of doors. Above the arrow are the words “THIS WAY STUPID”. I shake my head solemnly and move on through the doors.
After stepping through the doors, I turn on the map setting of my lenses. I direct the map files through voice commands.
“Arkham Asylum.”
A map of Arkham appears on the lenses.
“Track my position.”
A red blip appears where I am standing on the map.
“Save blip.”
The blip turns green.
“Track generator position.”
A red blip appears not far from the green blip that represents my position. Just as I thought. Joker is leading me to Arkham’s generator. It’s located in the basement. The door to which is now right in front of me.
I walk through the door and begin my descent down the stairs. There are no lights on in the basement, so I once again retrieve the flashlight from my belt. I shine the light down on the stairs. There are small pools of blood on the stairs. I reach the bottom of the stairs and find the source of the blood.
Harvey Dent (Two-Face) is lying at the bottom of the stairs. He is still alive and conscious, gripping his right leg with both hands. Joker has got to him as well. I kneel down and shine the light into Harvey’s faces. He doesn’t acknowledge me at first. He is too blinded by his pain. After several seconds he looks my way.
“What do you want, Bats?”
“What happened to your leg?”
“Joker shot it and I broke it on the way down the stairs.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere in the basement? I’ve been here the whole time and
didn’t hear anyone go up the stairs.”
“Is anyone else down here?”
“Nigma should be down here somewhere, if that damn clown hasn’t killed him yet.”
“Thank you, Harvey.”
“No problem, Bats.”
I stand up and move on. A ways into the basement and I can still hear Harvey grunting and moaning. Nothing else yet. No sign of The Riddler or Joker. I check the map again. I’m getting closer to the generator. This basement is used mostly for storage. Old crates and boxes and rusty old machines line the floor.
I stop at a crate. It isn’t as old as the others and is painted a bright red. I slowly observe the box. There are no markings to tell what is inside. I already don’t like this. At the risk of doing something better left undone, I grab a crow bar from the floor and pry the crate open.
The crate explodes.
I fly backwards into a collection of large stacks of newspapers. Splinters of wood fly through the air. Flames dance from the destroyed crate and crawl across the other crates and boxes. Soon the whole basement is filled with flames. An old newspaper comes to rest over my face. I groggily pull it off and read the headline: “Wayne Boy Loses Parents in Horrible Tragedy.” An article about my parents’ death.
“Oh, Batty! Don’t you know that red is a natural sign of caution!”
I put the paper down and look up at him. Joker stands over me, detonator in hand, grinning ear to ear. He tosses the detonator at me. I catch it and crush it between my fingers. The grin disappears and his eyes grow dark. He looks around at the flames, then back at me.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“In the eyes of the beholder.”
“You truly are growing sloppy in your old age, Batty. Perhaps it’s time you retire? Let ‘Night-Fling’, or whatever the hell his name is, take your place?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Too bad. “
He pulls a gun from his jacket. He grins again.
“Hmmm.... I have the slightest feeling that I’ve done this before. Ya ever get that feeling, Bat-Boob?”
“Increasingly.”
“Oh, that’s right! I was about to shoot you right before that damn cop showed up!”
Once again the grin fades.
“Well, Fat-man, he can’t save you this time.”
The chambers roll and click into place. He presses the trigger. That night goes through my head. A man with a gun. My parents at my feet dying. It shifts. Robert Church. A man with a gun. The Joker is humiliated. The detective laughs hysterically with a spark of insanity.
I snap back to reality.
“Goodbye, Batman.”
He pulls the trigger and I shut my eyes, waiting for the end.
It doesn’t come.
I open my eyes. There is a small flag protruding from the barrel of the gun. Joker keels over and burst out laughing.
“HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! I can’t believe you fell for it! After all these years! HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO! Wait ‘til I tell all my friends hear about this! Oh, what a hoot!”
I’m seething with anger. I jump up from the ground and vault towards Joker. As I fly through the air I think of all of the things that he has done. I see myself carrying Jason from that burning building. I see Barbara being shot and stripped naked, pictures being taken of her that will be shown to her father. I see Sarah Essen falling to the ground with a bullet through her chest. I see a laughing clown in front of me. He won’t be laughing for much longer.
He sees me coming. He drops to the floor and grunts as he hits it. I fly over him and land on the floor, rolling with the impact. I quickly get to my knees and turn back towards him. He is already gone. I jump to my feet and run off after him. The flames are spreading. They’ll soon engulf the entire basement.
Just as I turn around a stack of crates, I see him turn and head for the stairs. I increase my running, dashing like a madman. My strides are long and my feet barely touch the floor.
I make the same turn as he had. I see him; he’s closer now, going up the stairs. I throw a batarang. It hits his calf and he tumbles. He falls backwards down the stairs and lands at the foot of the stairs, his feet over his head. He straightens himself out and grasp at his leg, the blood flowing from it. I approach him slowly. I crouch beside him.
Dammit!
“Nigma!”
“Damn you, Batman! I could have broken my neck!”
“You’ve been through worse. Where’s Joker?”
“Where do think? He went up the stairs!”
I leave the Riddler where he lies and rush up the stairs. As I reach the top of the stairs I can here Joker laughing in the distance. I burst through the basement door and, in a split second, power back through the doors to the cafeteria.
I see him across the room. He quickly turns around, waves, then skips out the door. I look up. There are skylights in the ceiling. I remove my grapnel from my belt. I launch it up and through one of the skylights. In seconds I am soaring upwards and through the broken glass.
I land roughly on the roof, twisting my ankle. I ignore the pain and make off across the roof. I reach a ledge and jump down onto the next level. As soon as I land I start running again. I reach another ledge and again jump down to the next level.
I switch my lenses to infrared. As I run I look over the area below me. This part of the building is cool enough that Joker’s body heat should reveal his position. It does and he’s a fair distance behind me. I make a hard right and leap down to another level.
Keeping my lenses on infrared, I keep an eye on Joker’s position. He seems to be gaining speed. I stop at the next ledge and wait for Joker to get closer. I have three batarangs ready in each hand.
I turn off the infrared and turn my attention to the hole in the wall down below. In just a few moments Joker will come out through that hole and I’ll be ready for him. That is unless Joker does something unpredictable, which is very much in his nature.
I don’t take my eyes off of the hole. Why is he taking so long? I reach down and turn the infrared back on. Before looking down at the hole I look around the rest of the building. I can’t be sure where he is now. By this point the flames have spread in the building and have caused the temperature to rise. No, I can’t see him anymore.
I turn off the infrared and jump down from the ledge, gliding down slowly. I land softly on the grass. In the distance I can hear the police sirens. Not so distant is the maniacal laughter of my greatest enemy. I turn and see him standing in the hole in the wall.
“Looks like I lose, Batty! You got here first. Here to take me back into custody, hmm?”
“Most likely.”
“Well, then, I suppose that you defused the other bombs too, eh?”
“Other bombs?”
“Oh dear! What will become of poor Doctor Arkham! Why, he may very well be blown to bits!”
“Don’t toy with me, Joker!”
“Oh, I’m done toying with you, Bat-Boob. Why try to play with someone who doesn’t laugh at your jokes, hmm? I don’t find it very fun at all.”
“Where is Doctor Arkham?”
“What’s wrong with you, Fat-Man? You should know by now that I’m not going to tell you! However, if you would be willing to take a little time for a game of twenty questions…?”
I vault across the grass and grab Joker by his collar. He doesn’t scream or complain. All he does is stare back at me with wild eyes, grinning smugly.
“Dammit, Joker, where is he!”
“Well, you’ll never figure it out that way. Perhaps if you asked nicely?”
I punch him in the jaw. Blood spurts from his mouth. He turns his head back to me and frowns.
“Knock, Knock!”
“Where is he?”
“No, no, no! Bear with me, Batty! Now, you say…Come on you know this…Oh, please!”
He leans towards me and whispers in my ear.
“You’re supposed to say, ‘who’s there?’”
I head butt him as hard as I can. Groggy, he lifts his head and turns his glare back on me.
“I’m only going to ask one more time! Where is Doctor Arkham?”
“Like… Like I said, ‘Knock…Knock.’”
I growl through clenched teeth.
“Who’s there?”
“I’m…I’m sorry. I… I’m not sure I heard that. “
“Who’s there?”
“That’s…That’s better.”
This is humiliating.
“Harley.”
“Harley?”
I drop Joker and quickly turn on my heels. Before I can do anything Harley Quinn has hit me with the hammer and I’m on the ground. Stars dance before my eyes, but I am still conscious. I see Joker crouch next to me. He reaches up and takes the hammer from Harley. He’s laughing louder and crazier than I’ve ever heard him laugh.
“Now, Batty, finish it.”
I turn my head and lock eyes with Joker. At least I think our eyes are locked. The world is too blurry to be sure.
“Say, ‘Harley who?’”
“Harley Quinn!” Quinn shouts.
“Dammit, woman, shut up! I want him to say it! Say it, Batman!”
I barely manage to make words.
“Where…Where is Doctor…Doctor Arkham?”
“Oh, he’s fine! I made up the whole thing! Now, you were saying…?”
I try to get to my feet, but Joker slams the hammer into my spine and I fall to the ground once more. He wants to humiliate me just as he was humiliated. Joker and Harley are both laughing at my expense. The anger burns dark hate inside of me. I clutch dirt in my fingers, tearing up the grass in a rage.
“I’m waiting, Batman!”
“…Harley…Harley…who?”
“HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! He said it! Oh, that’s fresh! This is even better than the gun trick! Twice in one night, Batty! You just remember that! Ya hear! Tonight I, the Joker, tricked Batman twice! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!”
Joker hits me one more time with the hammer right on the back of my head. The last thing I see is Joker and Harley skipping off into the distance. Robert Church is my last conscious thought. I failed tonight and now Joker is going to go after Robert Church.
Gotham City may soon become an even more dangerous place to live.