Gotham City was once called "the City of Opportunity," by Thomas Wayne. Now it's a hell hole crawling with demons and maybe even the devil himself. People are killed, raped, and taken captive for the paper in their wallets and sometimes just for the fun of it. Children mourn their parents and parents mourn their children. People are torn apart daily with the reality of what Gotham is. It's not a city with cheerful people and endless possibilities like Thomas Wayne wanted it to be. It's a death-trap who invites everyone, old or young, black or white, to join the fun of a killing-spree or a robbery on the lives of the innocent.
My name is Vincent. I've lived in Gotham my entire life. I've seen all of the things previously mentioned happen right before my eyes. Occasionally, I'm the culprit of these heinous acts. I have been in gangs nearly my entire life. In the sixth grade I was beaten to a bloody pulp, but the fact that I beat the others to a pulp as well is the reason I was allowed to join. I usually sell drugs for extra cash since my criminal record would never allow me a decent job. I also make extra money by giving the drugs I come across to the gang leader. We call him Doozie. No one knows his real name. All we know is he's been a resident of Gotham his whole life, too.
I don't have a girlfriend anymore; I used to. Her name was Ginger and she was a pretty girl, but she wasn't gang material. One night when I was taking her out to eat, I had to do a quick deal of fifteenth street. She stayed in the car, oblivious to what was happening. Anyway, the deal went bad, someone pulled Ginger out of the car and stabbed her to death. I shot the guy who did it, but they got away. I guess Ginger did, too, in a way.
My parents were also killed. My father died in a drunk-driving crash. The drunk got off for it. My mother was suffocated in her bedroom when I was thirteen. Whoever did that also got away. I lived with my aunt until she had a stroke and died when I was sixteen. I finally moved in with a friend of mine who was also in the gang, but he decided to go straight and was beat over the head with a crowbar. He lasted two days in the ICU before croaking. Now I have my own place, and it'll stay that way.
With all of that said, it's a wonder I'm still alive. But I am for some reason. I've tried to die a few times. Once after my mother's death and once after Ginger's. Now I just try to numb myself with cocaine and booze. It's really the only way I know how to make my life subside for a while. Unfortunately, like everything, there are side effects. After the high or drunkenness wears off I'm sicker than a dog. Extremely violent vomiting, horrible migraines, and unbearable stomach cramping. Although this sounds awful, it's probably why I still do it. I've always had an attraction to physical pain. I was the kid who cut himself when he broke a glass or the kid that jumped off something much too high just to see if he could really break his legs.
Now that I'm an official addict and gang-banger, there's really nowhere to go, but up...hopefully.
At around three-thirty in the morning Doozie called me personally and asked me to meet with him at the Spot. The Spot is just an old warehouse on the Gotham Shore. It's where the gang usually meets for stuff. I made it there around four-ten. Doozie was smoking a cigarette and looking at his watch that he probably stole. Doozie is a Hispanic dude. He's kind of short and overweight. He has a goatee and larger nose. He wears a do-rag and has gang tattoos from head to toe. The tattoo that you recognize him by is the capitol D on his right cheekbone.
"Let's talk, Vince," Doozie said.
"What about?" I asked.
"There's somethin' funny goin' on in the drug house," he said. The drug house is just another warehouse down south. It's where most of Doozie's drugs are hidden, hundreds of pounds might I add, so no one can steal them before they're sold. Only Doozie, Jimmy, and I know the whereabouts of it. "I don't think you'd be the one to screw off on me, but Jimmy's been actin' funny. I wanna know what that freak is up to and when you find out…" Doozie reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gun and held it out to me. "…deal with him accordingly…got it?"
"Yeah," I said grabbing the gun.
"But I gotta warn you," he continued. "Everyone's been talkin' about the Bat. He's been out a lot lately."
"So I've heard," I replied. "I'll keep an eye out and get this all figured out for."
"I knew ya would, Vince."
Of course everywhere you go you're watching out for other gangs, possible threats, snitches, fakers like undercover cops, and then you have to watch out for the Batman. I don't know what happened to that dude when he was a kid that he thinks flying around the city in a cape is going to fix things. Look at what happened to me and I'm not in a suit beating up gang members. He really is a freak.
I made it to the drug house and I heard some ruckus inside. It was closed up like it should be. I wondered if maybe someone found it and had been taking the drugs for themselves. I went around back where a rotting wood latter was at. It went up to the window, but it was so bad looking no one ever got on it but me. It looked a lot worse than it was; it held my weight fine. I climbed to the top and peeked through the dirty old window. I could see the beams of flash lights scanning the inside. It was more than just Jimmy in there, if that was even him inside. There were five guys, all of them I could not make out who they were. They were looking under the coke bags, instead of inside them. One of the guys used his flash light to look up and saw me in the window. I quickly moved my head out of sight. I could hear them whispering. I climbed down from the latter and moved around to the side of the building, away from the door.
I heard the screeching of the rusty door sliding open. I ducked down and grabbed the gun from the inside of my black leather jacket. I cocked it and aimed in front of me. It was pitch black, so I would have to listen more than I watched. A guy came creeping around, just as blind as I was. He flicked on his flash light pointing away from me and I grabbed him, putting my hand over his mouth. He started squirming around. I threw him on the ground and point my gun at his face.
"If you make a sound," I whispered. "I'll shoot you where you lay." I grabbed the flash light to get a better look at him. Gangs always wear something that relates to their gang, like me and my leather jacket. This dude was wearing clown make-up and a striped sweater.
"Clowns," I scoffed. There was a lot hoopla about the Joker in this city, but most of the clowns walking around just wanted to be like the guy, they weren't actually associated with him. They were also the weakest. They had no idea about what a real gang was, they just assumed wearing make-up and dressing similar to one another made them one. They were a joke, no pun intended.
I decided since this guy was probably just a whimp I told him to stay put and be quiet or I'd kill him. However, this dude had more guts than the others. He immediately got his round body off the concrete and started running towards the street. I shot him in the leg, which alerted the rest of them, but they weren't a threat to me. The rest of them came through the front and saw the guy crying on the ground. I didn't worry about them seeing me in the dark. Most of them were making a big deal of it, trying to be quiet. They all had their flash lights pointed at him. One guy even said,
"The Bat's carrying guns now!" I could help my chuckle at that. I heard another chuckling over the same thing. His chuckle turned into a maniacal laughter.
"Batman doesn't carry guns," his voice said. "He carries a coach purse, instead," he chuckled to himself. I saw him kneel down to the man, the light revealed a purple hat and pale white face. He looked up at the others to tell them something revealing red lips, yellow teeth and eyes, and strangely long, pointy features.
"It's him," I whispered. The Joker pulled out a hand gun and stood up.
"Poor dog," he said and then shot the wounded man in the head. "Alright boys, let's get this finished and then we'll get some tacos! How 'bout it?" He laughed the same way he had before.
"What about Larry?" one goon asked.
"Who's that?" Joker asked. "Oh! The dead guy! It's too late for him, sorry."
"Who shot 'im?"
"Who cares! I'm hungry." They all walked back into the building and I snuck around and tried to peek through the crack in the door. They were still fishing around.
I thought the Joker to be pretty dumb not to find out who shot one of his men, but counted it as lucky on my part. I slid the door open as quietly as I could and went around the broken, wooden staircase where it was the darkest. I aimed and fired at another goon. He hit the floor and the others started hollering and waving their flash lights in a panic.
"It's the Bat!" one started yelling.
"You pathetic baffoons!" Joker yelled in his cracky voice. "It isn't him! He doesn't use guns!"
I shot one more down, head shot. Joker pulled out his gun and told the others to start searching around. I heard someone close to me, so I began to move to the other wall, that way I could get a good shot at him. He saw me, however, and pulled out his gun quickly before I got mine in the air to shoot. A gun went off and I jumped back. The guy fell at my feet.
"Whoops!" Joker yelled. "Sorry, Jeff!" he chuckled.
"I'm Jeff, boss," the man next to him said. Joker looked over and shot him in the face.
"It's just me and you!" Joker yelled. "Don't judge me by my looks, I really am not that great." I shot at him and hit his arm. He started to grind his teeth but never even grabbed his arm. He aimed his gun at me. I knew he could see me, the only thing was to shoot him before he could shoot me. We both shot, I took a bullet to the chest. I fell against the wall, but tried to stay on my feet as he approached me. I lifted my gun up, fighting for breath.
"I bet that hurts," he said. I pulled the trigger…out of bullets. I dropped the gun, trying desperately to breathe. I fell to the ground in a puddle of my own blood. I looked up and saw the Joker hovering over me. "Sleep it off, kid. I know lots of people who have survived being shot…oh, wait. No I don't!" I passed out listening to him laugh evilly.