One of the worst parts of being a 'hero's' daughter is that you have to be good. Really? She hates her father; the Batman, the billionaire, the do-goder, the most boring person on Earth, in her book. She preferred a mother who was dead; an amazing, brilliant mother, a common, low rung criminal who did it with style. But, no matter. Time passes swiftly, and so many things could be stolen in that time. Rachel Wayne fixed the goggles over her eyes, and pounced.
The poor dears, owners of a tiny jewellery store, never knew what hitt'em. She snatched the rare Blue McCaw diamond, gave a quick salute to her father (currently crouched in a corner, shaking his head), and scampered out the window.
3 miles out of town, on the East side, there's a very different story going on.
His hands move swiftly, yet gently, at first, as he draws the knife over the girl's face and beckoning little Harvey over to him, so he can smell the blood and hear those oh-so-sweet screams.
'Haaaaaaaaaaaarvey, come on, have a go for your old dad?' The boy is hesitant, but does as he's told. He shakes as he finishes the work. The Joker claps his hands, and grins, moving his son to the side as he stabs the girl in the heart. Harvey squeaks in horror.
'Harvey, get a grip. You'll see wo-orse,' Kiddo nods, eyes filled with unshed tears.
'You are ten years old. I was twelve when I started smiling. Clean up while I dispose of the trash' Timid little Harv suddenly toughens up.
'She wasn't trash. She was my friend!' And he pushes the kid up to the wall.
'Little lesson, then,' he slams Harvey's head against the metal parts, wincing in satisfaction at the screams of pain. 'Don't have friends!' And he lets the boy go, as the kid collapses to the floor in agony.
He doesn't even look at him as he drags Deadie out the door.