He stood on the corner, his back slouched, and watched the busy city around him. People walked and drove by in masses. Most were too busy to pay any attention to him; hard-wired to go through life like perfect little drones to society. Then there were the few people who noticed him; those who weren't quite completely blind to the world around them.

The few people who happened to noticed him would walk past him, their eyes locking on his face. First, you could see the realization sink in that they were looking at a man who had painted his face to perhaps resemble a deranged clown. Then, and this was the fun part, they would take notice to the large bubbled scars that extended from his lips, giving him his permanent smile. This was the fun part for him because not one single person reacted in exactly the same way each time they would notice him and his scars. Some people would be disgusted, maybe even horrified. Others would feel a pang of sympathy, pity. Oh that poor, poor man. That must have hurt so badly. What on Earth could have happened to him? That poor, poor hideously scarred man.

This is when he would take the opportunity to use his scars and really smile at them. It was funny. He couldn't deny that. Funny how even those who did notice him and pay attention to him still failed to see the whole picture. There was nothing to pity, and nothing to be horrified of. He was just a man. A man who would always see the funny side. He was a living, walking, breathing, grinning, painted up joke to society - to the world. He was everything most people failed to be; what they turned a blind, fearful eye to.

When he would smile at them, his scars extending and pulling into a wider grin, their momentary expressions of pity would quickly fade away. If they hadn't been horrified before, they were as soon as he grinned at them. Their compassion would disappear faster than you could blink. Oh that poor man would turn to what a hideous freak. It was that simple. People were so predictable. So… boring and ordinary.

He wasn't a freak. No, he wasn't. Most people just didn't quite clearly understand the word. He was simply just a man who had had a little run in with a razor blade or two and hadn't let himself be pulled in the dark depths of society. No, he was much smarter than that. But a man who dresses up as a bat and thinks he can change the city; perhaps even save it? Now that was a freak.

Gripping his clown mask tighter in his hand, he shifted his weight. They really should be here soon. It's so easy to be out here, but so tiring - so boring. How's a man supposed to have any fun around here when people don't notice anything? Oh, they'd notice soon enough. He'd make sure Gotham got the wake up call they needed. It was time they started to pay attention and smell the roses.

"Look, mommy!"

He whipped his head around to see a small, fragile, curly haired little girl tugging excitedly on her mother's hand. The mother looked in a different direction, her face annoyed, as the child continued tugging on her mother. The child was practically begging her mother to see what she saw.

"Mommy, look! Over there. It's a clown, mommy! A funny clown!"

His lips started to pull into a smile again. How funny. Children were too young to be sucked into conforming to society. Their eyes were still open and fascinated with the world around them. But they were also naïve.

The little girl and her mother were now standing near him on the corner of the busy Gotham road. He shifted his weight again and ran his tongue along his red-painted lips. He focused his gaze back on the traffic in front of him when he saw the look on the little girl's face and heard the gasp that escaped her tiny pink mouth.

"Mommy, what happened to the clown? He looks hurt, mommy. Is he? Is the clown hurt?"

The mother sighed. She was at her breaking point. "Gabrielle, mommy's very tired. What are you talking about? What clown?"

The little girl pointed up, her eyes wide, as her lips pulled into a pout. "Right there, mommy."

Amused, he quickly shifted his gaze back to the girl and her mother. Yes, mommy, open your eyes and look at the clown. He couldn't help the large grin that formed on his face when the mother finally looked at him, disgust and shock clear in her eyes. Is it the scars, mommy? You should ask me how I got them. You want to know, don't you?

The mother scrambled to pick her young daughter up, turning her away from him and shielding her. She quickly averted her own eyes from him - afraid to face reality. Her hand was at her daughter's back, soothing the young girl as they crossed the street away from him.

"That's not a clown, honey. He's just some sort of freak."

He laughed, hearing the remark. How very noble of her to teach such a phrase and blind opinion to such a young impressionable mind. Didn't she know that all kids listened to their parents? After all, his own mother had taught him that knives were dangerous.

Finally, he saw the black SUV pull up in front of him. He quickly placed his clown mask over his face and threw his duffel bag into the back seat. He closed the door, excitement coursing through him, as the car peeled off to its destination. In the front of the vehicle were two other masked and nameless clowns.

"Three of a kind. Let's do this."

He wasn't paying much attention to the clowns, but instead focused on loading his gun. He grinned slightly under his mask. That was another lesson his dear old mom had taught him. Guns are bad, Jack. Guns hurt and kill people.

"That's it? Three guys?"

The other clown turned to face him, a deep acid, annoyed tone to his voice. Grumpy. "There's two on the roof. Every guy is an extra share. Five share's is plenty."

No, five shares is too much. Judging by the time, there was only one left on the roof. Didn't these clowns know basic math?

"Six shares. Don't forget the guy who planned the job."

He liked this clown. He was trying to see the whole picture. It almost made him laugh. Chuckles.

"Yeah? He thinks he can sit it out and still take a slice, then I get why they call him The Joker."

No, he thinks you won't be smart enough to figure this plan out. He was standing right in front of you in plain sight and you didn't notice him. He's sitting right behind you now loading an automatic gun. You have no idea why they call me The Joker. You'll know in the end, though. You'll get the joke.

The car came to a halt in front of the Gotham National Bank. Time to go to work. He followed behind the other clowns, looking in every direction to make sure their job wasn't about to fall through. When they entered the bank he reveled in the chaos that quickly followed. The employees and customers both were frozen in panic and fear as he and his masked associates showed their guns. He opened his duffel bag and they started to place grenades in the shaking, sweaty hands of everyone inside. He looked into their eyes as they pulled the pins out. Now they noticed.

"Obviously, we don't want you doing anything with your hands other than holding on for dear life."

Of course. The problem wasn't a failure to listen it was a failure to notice. They were blind not stupid. Still, stating the obvious to them only made the chaos better. Now they had to face reality or face certain death.

Suddenly a loud boom rang through the bank as a man with a sawed off shotgun began making his way into the lobby. Things never go exactly according to plan. That's why you can't rely on plans alone. Sometimes you just have to go with it.

He ducked down to the ground, scrambling to get behind a desk with Grumpy as the man fired a couple more shots. His back against the high desk he didn't feel fear.

Grumpy turned to him, his breathing picking up in fear. "He's out, right?"

He paused a moment, looking at the clown next to him. Why ask me? Intrigued enough to see what he would do and knowing that he was waiting for him to answer he nodded quickly. With that, Grumpy stood to face the shotgun toting man and another bullet was fired off, hitting Grumpy with a buckshot.

"Where'd you learn to count?"

With that Grumpy took off towards the vault and he busied himself with filling his now empty duffel bag with stacks of money. So much money. He was zipping the bag when he heard another shot fire off near the vault. Three shares now. See, I can count when I want to.

The man who had been firing his shotgun that was now out of ammo finally spoke up, finding courage in his words instead of his weapon. "You have any idea who you're stealing from? You and your friends are dead."

Wrong on all counts. I know exactly who I'm stealing from, I don't have friends, and I will get out of this alive. Nice try, though. Maybe it will make you feel better when you're dead to know that you tried, but you didn't win.

Grumpy comes back into the room carrying several more duffel bags filled with cash. "Come on, there's a lot to carry."

He follows him back to the vault, stepping over another clown body. They fill more duffel bags with cash as fast as they can. When Grumpy leaves, as he's still piling cash into a bag, he spots the security camera. He turns to stare at it, walking towards it, carrying his bags of cash. He sets them down on the floor and reaches up to remove his mask. He turns his head back up and looks directly into the camera. Here I am. Notice me now?

Putting his mask back on, he picks up the bags of cash and carries them back out to the lobby where Grumpy is putting his bags onto the now enormous pile of cash.

"If this guy was so smart he would have had us bring a bigger car."

Wrong again. Open your eyes. See the picture. Always be ready for the punch line.

He stares ahead, still silent as Grumpy turns toward him, looking at him.

"I'm betting The Joker told you to kill me soon as we loaded the cash."

He stares back at Grumpy, a smile forming under his mask. He doesn't even flinch as Grumpy points his gun at him. Instead he slowly shuffles to the side away from the front doors of the bank.

"No, no, no. I kill the bus driver."

Mimicking his movements Grumpy is standing in front of the doors to the bank. He didn't get the set up to the joke. The punch line's coming and he's not ready.

"Bus driver? What bus - "

Before he can finish a large yellow school bus crashes it's back end through the entrance of the bank, hitting Grumpy dead on. Two shares. How's my counting now?

The door to the back of the bus flies open and another clown emerges. With his back turned he simply points his gun behind him at the last clown, his eyes on the bags of money. One share.

He quickly busies himself with loading the bags of money onto the bus. In the distance he could hear sirens. The job was almost over. He just had to hurry. Then, he heard the voice of the man who had tried to defend himself with the shotgun.

"Think you're so smart, huh? Well, the guy who hired you's just going to do the same to you…"

He turns toward the man who was dressed in a suit. Probably the manager of the place trying to protect his employees and his mob funded cash. He shook his head slowly. Wrong. You aren't looking at the whole picture. You're not paying attention. Pay attention!

The sirens were growing closer so he turned back towards the bus loading another bag. He was just putting his leg up to climb into the back of the bus and drive away when the man decided to speak again.

"Sure he will. You know the criminals in this town used to believe in things…"

Did they, now? The way he saw it, the criminals in this town believed in nothing but money. He stepped back down from the bus and turned towards the man. He reached into the back of his coat to grab something as he slowly stalked towards the man, his eyes fixed on him.

The man stared up at him, his eyes wide with his last attempt at bravery mixed with fear. "Honor. Respect. What do you believe in, huh? What do you believe -"

Before the man could finish his sentence, he crouched in front of him and placed a bomb inside his mouth. He locked eyes with the man, all traces of bravery gone now. Listen closely. Here comes the punch line…

"I believe… Whatever doesn't kill you, simply makes you…"

Still looking at the man, he reached up to pull his mask off. He stared down at the man as he was forced to look at his true face. He was horrified. I'm not like the rest of your criminals in this town. I'm something better.

"Stranger."

He grinned wide at the man, baring his teeth. Savoring the terrified look on the man's face when he heard the punch line, he took off to the bus. A single purple thread from the lining of his old, worn out jacket was attached to the bomb he had stuck in the man's mouth. It was only a matter of time before the thread would pull the trigger to the bomb. He laughed, knowing that every second that bomb remained in the man's mouth he would be terrified just waiting for the end of his life. But it wouldn't come. That was the joke.

Racing out into traffic and joining the steady line of school buses around him, he checked the rear-view mirror to see the cop cars arriving at the bank. Too late, boys. He started laughing to himself. Soon the mob would notice him, the cops would notice him, and eventually the rest of Gotham would notice him. This was only the beginning. The beginning of a new Gotham.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR -

This was always something I wanted to explore or write because in the movie during the opening scene I always wondered what he was doing/thinking while standing there waiting for the SUV to come pick him up before the bank heist. I finally got the inspiration to write it down the way I wanted and so here it is. This is how I can best imagine everything going. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. : )

Special thanks goes to XDavien for being an awesome friend and for lending her services to editing this for me. You're the best and I'm so thankful to have you in my life!

Thank you for reading!

Yours Truly,

foxotr

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Joker or Dark Knight. This is for fun not for profit.