Brick
The Bat is late.
That's all I can think of as I race down the dark, claustrophobic streets of Gotham. My foot pushes down on the accelerator as far as it will go, my siren blaring and causing the traffic before me to part as if before Moses. My knuckles go white as I grip the steering wheel tighter, my other hand grasping the radio as I loudly say again, "Anyone! Goddamn it, pick up! What's going on over there? Over." Of course it had to happen on the other end of this city. Of course it did. As I near my destination, I feel fear. A common sensation in this city.
The Bat is late. And so am I.
My patrol car slides to a stop, behind the wall of identical vehicles, their red and blue lights like candles raised at some Black Mass. I step out, speaking into the radio as I do so: "Alright, I've arrived. There should be more backup coming behind me in a few minutes. Over." As if they could hear me. I fear the worst as I approach the building. It's a warehouse, although its appearance is far from bare now. Splashes of purple and green paint cover the building, forming macabre symbols that seem to come together and form a giant, upward facing crescent moon. Or a smile. I enter the open door.
I call out to my comrades, but get no response. At least, not at first. As I make my way further into the warehouse, I find myself surrounded by walls. Close, oppressive walls. A funhouse, I think to myself. He's made a funhouse. I attempt a different strategy, drawing my Taser. "Alright, Joker. We've got the building surrounded! Don't making this any harder on yourself." My voice betrays my fear. I've never seen the man in person, but the tales of his exploits were enough to keep a man awake at night.
A shuffling comes from one of the nearby doors, and I tense up. I grab my flashlight with my other hand, flicking it on and tentatively reaching for the door. I swing it open and aim my Taser at the room. I am greeted by a lunging figure, and instinctively pull the trigger. The darts race out of my weapon and embed themselves in my attacker's face, causing him to freeze mid-charge and collapse to the ground. I take a better look at him and my stomach turns. His clothes were a proud blue, identical to what I wore, but his face was barely human. A grotesque smile curved up, cracking and tearing his lips as he contorted them beyond their limit, his teeth cracked from grinding, and his eyes were opened wide, the pupils dilated. As soon as he hit the ground, he began to spasm violently, and then began to laugh.
Dear God, the laughter.
It tore at my ears, in its horrific combination of both pain and insane glee. He continued laughing as my weapon shocked him, tears rolling down his cheeks. I stumble backwards, dropping my stun gun and slamming the door, trapping the officer inside. This definitely explains the lack of a response on my way over. While my breath returns to me in the hall, I grit my teeth. I am an officer of the law. I will bring criminals to justice. I continue forward.
My footfalls echo throughout the halls, before I find myself stepping into a more opened up room. Almost instantly, my eyes are blinded by a sudden light. And my ears deafened by more laughter. I reactively grab my nightstick, and attempt to look around. Mirrors upon mirrors surround me. I am flanked by officers who look exactly like me. Save for three. I don't react in time, and the first laughing man hits me, hard, across the face. My previously held flashlight skitters across the floor. I fight to retain my ground and swing my nightstick around, giving me a loud 'crack' of impact. A blow to the side takes me by surprise, and my retaliatory swing is off by scant inches. His friend runs over, giggling in a high-pitched voice that makes my head throb, and grapples me by the arm. The second officer takes my arm in hers and holds me in a painful grip. I look to the two officers, recognizing them. Despite being opposite genders, their hideous smiles are nearly identical. As the man I hit stands up, I see that I've split open the side of his face. With dull shock, I register who it is. He's a nice man. I was planning to ask him out later this week.
My eyes are treated to the mirrors in front of me once more, seeing my trapped self, unable to fight off my coworkers. Another laugh fills the air; there is something different about this one. While the others were inhuman and twisted this one was that to a far, far worse extreme, and proud of it. I see the man step before me for the first time. The legend. The Clown Prince of Crime.
His green and purple outfit is splashed with a sickening red, making me struggle against my captors once more, as he waggles his finger, his voice laughing with every word. "Ah-ah-ah, you naughty boy... No running away from your well-deserved time-out." He steps closer, his smile twisted even further than my friends, although his lips are perfectly intact. His pale, colorless skin a stark contrast to the maddening red of that mouth, as he smiles at me with whitened teeth. "Took you long enough to arrive... And thank you ever-so-much for keeping me updated with your approach," the Joker says, lightly shaking a radio before my face. I struggle my arms, but the officers hold me tight.
"Now, now! Settle down! Here... this will make you feel... all better..." As he speaks, he reaches into his jacket and retrieves a small orb, with an indentation on the side. My eyes widen and I clench my mouth shut. I know what that is. I've heard stories. I've seen them in reports. "Breathe deep... And relax," the Joker taunts, pushing the orb against my nose. A gas pours out, filling my sinuses. He allows the bleeding officer to take the orb, holding it in place. I look in horror at his smiling, bloodied face and try once more to escape. My arms don't react to my brain's commands. Dimly, as my thoughts begin to cloud up, I hear the Joker's manic voice singing, "All in all, it's just another - brick in the wall..."
And I smile.