Joker

Story Three: The Crowned Prince of Crime

Chapter One: In the Footsteps

"Good morning, Mr. Hillocks. I'd wish you a warm welcome, but this place is damn freezing."

"Not to worry; my family moved down from way up north. I know how to handle the cold." Smiled Hillocks, taking a seat.

"So, Martin-May I call you...?"

"Of course."

"Good. I have been urged to make you aware that the man whose position you are here to fill if successful did in fact possibly die." Yates Goodwin stopped on a dead note as he surveyed Hillocks' response. "Died right here. Well, don't really know for sure. Either dead or on the run. No matter. The point is that working here is a dangerous thing to do and a job on these premises is not without risk. Understand?"

"Perfectly."

"Well then, you're an idiot for applying." Goodwin tapped his cigarette against the ashtray. "The last few guys I had in here all left out of fright, so being employed here must be a stupid idea. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Any job in Gotham City is good to have over living on the streets."

"Yes, but this isn't Wayne Enterprises, bartending at the Iceberg Lounge or even a drug deal in the park. Ace Chemicals means hanging around toxins that could cause internal damage if inhaled at best. All this at a lowered pay rate which, I have been insisted to tell you, has nothing to do with the eight hundred thousand dollars that was stolen last week." Goodwin eyed Hillocks assertively. "So when I tell you that you could end up with pieces of your head scattered across the room that police detectives are still trying to collect with a fine-toothed comb, you better well be prepared for that outcome."

Hillocks gulped. "When you put it that way...I think I'll still take the job."

Goodwin smiled. "Good. A man with a strong stomach is good around here."

"Helps when you're a doctor."

"Actually, yes; that qualification might come in handy. We originally wanted you to supervise the clean-up process before we officially shut down the plant, but since you have a PhD, we figured you could also sub as our Health Inspector to monitor the workers. That'll mean another half on top of your salary, if you're interested?"
"Sounds like a good deal." They shook hands, Goodwin happy he didn't have to hire another stooge to take more money.

"Excellent! Feel free to acquaint yourself to the facility and we'll see you tomorrow."

Hillocks walked to the door but turned back around, confused. "Aren't you going to show me around?"
"Oh, no." said the shocked Goodwin. "No, I prefer to limit breathing time outside this office to when I arrive in the morning and leave at night."

Hillocks returned to the facility, being careful to avoid the police tape cordoning off several catwalks. Several forensic specialists were swabbing sections of the walls and floor by a large broken vat, desperately attempting to find any clue as to who might have perished in this area. Not that they seemed at all hopeful. The only form of enthusiasm around the whole of Ace Chemicals was the workers placing bets on who died where: their gender, age, hair colour, height, weight. Even the shoes they were wearing. It was sickening; a subject that only the most deplorable of minds found in Gotham would linger on. Most of the population, in fact.

The saddest part of it all was the only person on the factory floor who could have won all the bets, provided all the details well...suspiciously well, couldn't say a word. Even if he were interested in being arrested in exchange for the entire sum of money split amongst the workers, he had a job to do. One that would provide an even more lucrative investment in the future. And all he had to do was his job. Provide a few medical exams, make some clean cash on the side and return back home with package in hand. Only trouble was, the package was too big for him to lug out of the facility without anyone noticing.

Hillocks made a beeline for the exit and found the nearest payphone. A few rings later and his contact was on the line. "How was your first day at work?"

"Just peachy, dear. Where's Jack?"

"Where do you think?" muttered Barlow with a sigh. "You get a good look at the place?"

"Yeah; they've redecorated. Fresh coat of paint and brains." Replied Hillocks.

"Touchy, considering those were our friends."

"'Accomplices' is still pushing the definition of our relationship."

"Whatever. I'm in too much pain to talk about this." Sounds of anguish and movement could be heard through the receiver. "I got another assignment from Jack the last time he was so kind as to grace me with his presence."

"Man's got a lot on his mind; Red gone, the gang in disarray on his shoulders. I don't blame him."

"We never asked him to keep the gang alive." Concluded Barlow before hanging up the phone.

Hillocks hesitated a moment. "Yeah, sure Barlow. Hey, you wanna hear my issues? I gotta roll a few barrels of dangerous toxins out of a heavily patrolled factory that you guys made it near impossible to accomplish thanks to your stunt. But nah, don't worry, I'm all good. I got this. I'm a master in the art of bullshitting my way through anything." He hung up the phone and trudged through the muck towards his car. "It's not like I could die or anything." At least he could stay in a separate apartment away from the hassle of a gang in turmoil.

Barlow hung up the phone and leaned on his crutches. Damn his leg and damn everything else. What was the point of all this fuss over chemicals? Why was Red Hood still alive when by all rights it should be dead? Jack was trying to resurrect an idea that no longer had any meaning. Almost everyone who believed in it were dead, and the rest so disillusioned that there was just...nothing. Nothing left but pain. There had been no mourning, no ceremony. The passing of Red, Hammond, Webber and Trent went as unnoticed as a soft breeze in the middle of an open field. After everything they had meant to each other. All that stuff Webber had said that night...

So much regret flowed silently through Barlow's heart. Of course he'd felt a bond with everyone. Why did he have to be so stoic and unemotional? He hated himself for it! That stupid bravado!

God, he had to stop this. It was too late to do anything about it anyway. And the regret...he would have to live with. They may have been his friends deep down, but he still had his family to think of and care for. And unless something drastic happened, if Jack couldn't justify all this resurgence, then he would simply walk out that door with his share of the cash. Even if it was the original twelfth of the total amount, he'd take it. He knew it would be his last out.

Barlow entered The Stacked Deck's empty casino and bar, save for one individual behind the bar. Zed was drowning in sorrow, which was in turn drowning in a sea of alcohol. The heist had hit him bad, and the bad experiences had also scarred him inside. He'd not been the same person since returning. Barlow limped to a stool at the bar and sat down.

"Care to share some of that?" he asked. Zed turned his bobbling head as though balancing an overflowing fishbowl on his shoulders. He considered Barlow momentarily before pouring him a shot glass of the brown liquid, proceeding then to down a mouthful of the stuff straight from the bottle.

"To the spirits in my hand..." he began, holding up his support, "...and the spirits of the damned." Zed choked back the tears, taking in more scotch. "I know what you're thinking, Barlow. I thought it too. Why us? Why did we live and not them? And you know what I figured out? There's no reason. No magical solution that saved our souls. Just. Blind. Luck." Zed was actually making more sense drunk than awake. It made for a somewhat comforting distraction. "Webber might have been here if I'd just taken a bullet for the team instead of him."

And just like that, the illusion was gone; Barlow's emotions came crashing down. He gulped down his shot, wishing he could get rid of his inhibitions and just lose himself to the booze. Not now, not here.

"He is here. They all are." Barlow mentioned hollowly. Luckily, Zed didn't notice.

"You talk to your family yet?" Zed asked. No, Barlow hadn't. He'd not gone home or made contact with his family at all. Part of him reckoned if was because he was trying to protect them in case the police should track him down, but the truth was that he couldn't bear to face them like he was. An emotional wreck, he was having enough time being here amongst others like him. Well, at least one other. Hillocks seemed to not care, Essex never did and Jack was just plain absent from this reality. You'd think his father figure had never existed.

Luckily, before Barlow even thought of an excuse for this question, the phone began to ring. Barlow reached over to answer but Zed held his hand back until the loud ringing ceased. He turned quizzically to Zed who shook his head slowly.

"Marybeth's been calling for days. She heard about what went down at Ace and put the pieces together." He explained solemnly. "But Jack's not taken her calls, not once. Last time, he just ignored me 'til I left."

He should say something, thought Barlow. Anything, just to let her know he was okay. But then again, who was he to talk?

"There's no need to involve her yet." Breathed Barlow half-heartedly.

The cellar door creaked open, thudding against the wall. A shaggy, scraggly-looking man emerged. Essex hadn't seen sunlight in days, not that this was not uncommon for him, but he seemed more bug-eyed than usual like he'd been hard at play for all this time. He staggered up to the bar, pulled a box of cereal out from behind the counter and poured it into a bowl, followed by some milk. He slurped and munched with great glee.

"It's like the library of Alexandria down there." He managed through mouthfuls. "Reams of blueprints and formulae. Stuff I'd never thought possible with chemical manipulation. Jack's a fine apprentice. He makes me look like an undergrad." He giggled.

Barlow and Zed took no comfort from any of this. They were waiting to hear more on how all this would actually help them get back on their feet. Essex noticed their indifference and his smile faded.

"Jack says you're to get recruiting." He stated to Barlow. "We need young blood...new blood. Can you handle that?"

Barlow nodded.

"Good. Good." Essex picked up his bowl and, holding it close to his chin, continued eating as he returned to the cellar. Zed looked back at Barlow who kept his eyes fixed on the door.

"Y'know, I might regret staying in the end."

The next day and it was work as usual. Except there was nothing familiar with the meaning of this assignment. Barlow now had to replace the people he'd worked with for almost two decades. For twenty years, they had formed a strong alliance and learned how to work around and compliment the others' skills. Now, injecting new life into the gang would mean disjointed working and unfamiliarity with the kind of ethics behind the gang. Although, those may not mean anything now under new management. Well, whatever new style Jack was going for, Barlow wanted to keep some of the old mandate alive and that meant harsh screening for any applicant. So far, no one had been close to successfully applying. Lots of ex-cons looking to make a fast buck for wetwork. In each and every one, he got the distinct impression that they looked forward to hurting people more than getting paid. Even had one rich guy try to get in on his knifing skills, said he wanted to take a real gamble at life. Barlow told him he'd be better off gambling on Penguin's turf.

Four bars and not a single honest criminal among them. Was that kind of duality a lost art form now? People in Gotham City seemed to wear their criminality on their lapels like a badge; even the crooked cops were almost free to do that...at least, once upon a time. Ever since that shadowy figure showed up, they'd grown accustomed to hiding their sly endeavours and cutting ties with the underworld. Maybe all the honest ones had been scared off by the shadow of the Bat? Well, if you had a weak constitution before, you'd better cash in and leave the game. Because the name of the game was fear and this new guy was using all the tricks you don't find in the book to instil it. Only the strong or stupid remained, and unfortunately, the majority were the latter. At least this way, it made it clearer of the kind of person Barlow was dealing with. Duality didn't exactly have the best name at the moment. He thought he knew Jack; his personality, his views and feelings towards the gang. Maybe he too had learned to play the game well and really was keeping the old regime alive?

Barlow was about ready to leave. He'd been at this for hours and his leg would be able to heal anywhere he decided to go anyway. However, as he was rising from his seat, a woman planted herself down opposite him and crossed her arms on the table. Barlow was, at first, confused as to why she kept staring at him with the kind of intensity you'd see from someone who knew they were doing something not entirely legal. Then it dawned on him that this was exactly what he was doing. "You're here..."

"For hire." She finished. "You advertised, I answered."

"Sorry, we're almost full up here." Barlow shook his head.

"You've been to four separate places and a few dark alleys and not made a single mark." She stated flatly. "You can't afford to let me slip by."

"Impressive." Barlow settled in his seat. "Considering the last few people I interviewed couldn't even remember which city they were in. Refreshing to see someone who can do their homework."

"Let me help you with yours. I'm Malaki." She reached out a hand which Barlow shook.

"Barlow. Surname?"

"That's how they say the Red Hood does it." They hesitated. "Don't worry, I'm just good at homework. I'm not the teacher's pet." A drink was placed in front of her and she took a sip. "Look, I know the kind of calibre you're looking for is hard to find, but if you go searching for them, you'll just find drunkards and morons. That kind of fodder for your regular crime syndicates. They need thugs, but you need sleuths. You need people who can do more than just punch and look tough. I can help you find some...should you need more like me."

"And just what are you?" asked Barlow, leaning forward.

Malaki hesitated. She took a breath and also leaned in. "Marine, former. Served my country well, here and overseas."

"So...why should a marine seek out employ from a criminal group that infrequently robs your country?"

"Because my country robbed me." She stated darkly. "My unit was out on patrol and we took fire. Lost a few good people that day. When we got back, I was badly wounded and could expect a pension to support me on my way out with honourable mention." She shook her head. "Negligence. On my part, no less. And that of the other survivors. See, apparently someone high up thought they could save money handing out pensions to vets if they could come up with a good enough excuse. So they blamed the whole incident on us, got us back into a liveable condition before rolling us out the hospital door."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I wasn't off too bad at first. Had a relative in Central City who hooked me up for a while, but that was only temporary. I was on my way to visit a chiropractor when I came across one of my former team members on the street, homeless. His life had taken a bad turn; PTSD, drugs, divorce. His country had turned its back on him and so he turned his back on life. I couldn't bring myself to support the system that had ruined him...or the others. I can assure you, they came to worse ends than he did."

Barlow tapped his fingers against the table. "That's a sad story...but I don't hire people for bringing a tear to my eye."

"I don't expect you to. You can either choose me or not, it doesn't matter. I'll just take my skillset elsewhere." Malaki finished her drink and rose from her seat. "Hope the screening pans out for you." And with that, she walked towards the rear exit.

Barlow sat and watched her a moment before returning to his thoughts. It dawned on him pretty quickly just how silly he had just been. She was the perfect candidate for this job; she had the training, the will and the drive. And he'd just let her walk out of here like a fool. Leaving a few notes on the table, Barlow readied his crutches and moved as fast as he could to the rear exit, which was not helped by the crowd of insensitive skinheads in his way. He walked through the door into the alley, hoping that he hadn't lost her.

"You boys had better back off." He heard her voice from down the alley. She was being approached by two large brutes who had a distastefully hungry look in their eyes. One of them produced a pocket knife.

"Which part do you want first? Breast or thighs?" queried one of the thugs to his friend.

"I don't care, man. She looks tasty all over." The other replied. "Just as long as she's stripped down to the bone."

"Easy." Smiled the first one, brandishing his blade.

Barlow reached for his gun tucked into his belt but before he could even draw it, the danger was gone. In a flash, Malaki had knocked both men unconscious but not before providing them with enough pain to make them think twice before trying this again. It was over so quickly that Barlow swore they just toppled over. He hobbled over to Malaki as she dusted the filth from her hands.

"I expect a good share of each heist." She said. "I won't settle for anything unfair." Barlow nodded, still awestruck. "Good. First name's Sharon, by the way. Honoured to be a Red Hood."

"Is she single?" Zed asked Barlow in a low whisper.

"She's unavailable." Interrupted Malaki. "And she can hear you."

Zed blushed and stayed firmly behind the counter. After what Barlow had told him about what happened in the alley, he was going to make sure he didn't piss her off.

"I meant nothing by it." He attempted to sound confident.

"Sure."

"You'll get used to him." Intoned Barlow.

"Maybe, I just don't know if I'll get used to this place. It's a dump."

"She's seen a fair bit of action over the years. We had plans to renovate or move shop but...plans change."

"Fair." Malaki replied. It was true that The Stacked Deck hadn't seen the kind of numbers nor drawn the crowds it used to as a reasonable front, but it was in a gradually expanding destitute area that the city cared less and less about getting revenue from. At the very least, it had a roof. "So, where's the leader?"
Barlow and Zed hesitated to answer.

"He's-"

"Doing business." Concluded Barlow. He didn't want her first impression of Jack to be creepy. "When he's done, we can set up a meeting."

"Cool. Well, I guess there's only one question left: where's the bathroom?"

"Downstairs one is out of order, but there is one upstairs and to the left." Zed answered.

"Thanks." Malaki began climbing the stairs.

"Oh, don't go into the office on your right." Said Barlow. Malaki looked back, curious, but decided to heed his advice and continued upstairs. He also didn't want her to see what Jack had left there from the night of the Ace Chemicals heist. Zed sighed heavily.

"She's smokin'." He smiled

"She'll kill you." Barlow smirked.

"Almost worth it."

Barlow shook his head just as the door swung open and a man walked in. There was a deathly silence as Barlow and Zed both gazed in wonder then in shock at who had just entered the bar. Shivering, unkempt and grubby all over, Hunt shuffled towards the bar. His eyes were bloodshot and clothes torn. The first thing he did was crack open a bottle of water and take a long drink before washing his face in it. He turned back around, soaking and out of breath.

"Hi. How's things?" he humbled.

Suddenly, Barlow dropped his crutches and hopped his way over to Hunt. He grabbed what was left of his collar and slammed him into the wall, swaying the shelves and all the bottles in them.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" exclaimed Zed, who tried to hold back Barlow, but even with a broken leg, the man was built like an Ox.

"You backstabbing son of a bitch!" He growled. "You ratted us out!"

"I didn't! Why would I even-" Barlow pressed tighter against his throat.

"You always wanted Red out of the way. Always pushing for him to stand down! You were just waiting for the right opportunity to have him cut out of the picture!"

"And-And get me killed too?!" choked Hunt. "I was there with you!"

"All the more convincing a lie."

"Barlow, listen to yourself! Let him talk!"

"Where do you think he's been?!" argued Barlow. "He had to lay low so we wouldn't suspect him, and now he's come crawling back for his rightful place at the head of the table!"

"I-" Hunt gasped for air as the pressure from Barlow's arm was increasing. "I killed a cop!" Barlow's eyes widened. He released Hunt only a little so he could talk. "Eckhart. I shot him in the escape. I'm a cop killer! I had to lay low in case they found out it was me!"

Barlow reluctantly relinquished his hold on Hunt who was so weak, he slid to the floor. Barlow hopped back over to his stool while Zed helped Hunt to his feet.

"Are you okay?" Zed asked.

"I need...more water." Replied Hunt. Zed grabbed him another bottle. "Thanks." Hunt took another swig.

"Do they know it was you?" Barlow queried.

"The air in the plant was full of corrosive toxins and fumes. All DNA and fingerprint tests so far have been inconclusive. The entire scene was contaminated the moment it happened." Hunt drank some more. "I may have wanted Red's place, but believe me, not like this."

Barlow nodded his head once. For now, he'd believe Hunt. But only this one time.

"Are we all that's left?" Hunt asked.

"Hillocks is out doing a job. We got a new girl called Sharon and Essex is down in the cellar with Jack." Explained Zed.

"Jack?" choked Hunt. "Jack's still here?"

"Yeah. And he's in charge too." Barlow stated heavily, shooting Hunt a look that read 'Is that a problem?'

"Well, good for him." He drank some more. "Then it seems we're still on the clock." Hunt rose from his seat and began walking towards the staircase. "I know how much he meant to Red. I only wish he knew how much he meant to us."

"Why don't you tell him yourself?" suggested Barlow. Hunt turned back to him quizzically. "Just follow the stench."

YESTERDAY

Hunt waited, jittering in his seat. His contact had told him to meet him outside the café, but Hunt hadn't ordered anything yet and he suspected that the waitress was becoming suspicious of his intentions. He didn't exactly look his best, more like a drug addict coming down from his high. All this time in hiding had made him paranoid. Yes, he'd shot a cop. But it's not like it was anyone special. Heck, it might have benefited the police department in the long run.

Despite his over-observation of the area, he didn't notice the mountain of a man approach the table and sit next to him. Hunt froze, hoping to hell this was actually his contact and not just some random stranger who figured he needed some company over a java. His features were obscured by large dark lenses but something about him looked familiar.

"Flass?" asked Hunt.

"So...you remember me." Flass removed his sunglasses and revealing his face. "I certainly remember you. That night at the electronics store. You kicked me while I was down, or so I was told. Your gang was a right pain in my arse, let me tell you."

"Look, I-I don't want any trouble-" Hunt stammered. "We were both just doing our jobs."

Flass smirked. "Yeah, jobs. Look, it's all in the past and right now, my job isn't killing you, as much as I wish it could be. But at this moment, it would be neither in my interest nor the Commissioner's to have a death on our hands." Flass leaned back in his chair. "Suffice it to say, this is your lucky day."

"How?"

"Turns out, Eckhart wasn't exactly playing by the rules. He was trying to get money from too many pockets. A lot of crossed ambitions he thought he could keep tangling and get away with it. So, icing him was about the smartest thing you could have done. Made everybody happy."

Hunt was relieved. The blood started flowing back into him, warming up his freezing body. "Does this mean you can help me take the gang?"

"Are you kidding? Haven't you read the papers?" scoffed Flass incredulously. "The D.A. and my new partner are trying to rat out corruption in the police department. And that Bat freak is flying around, giving them more evidence than they could ever find even with a full blown investigation. Internal Affairs is keeping a close eye on everything which is why all you get from me is a free latte." The waitress arrived at that moment and placed a coffee to go on the table. "Courtesy of Commissioner Loeb and his friend in higher places. They're big on helping the hopeless. Now take it and go."

Hunt sat still. He let what was just said wash over him. It seemed that he was on his own for now. Hunt stood and turned back to Flass. "I'll get Red Hood. Whatever is left, it's mine. I promise that."

TWO DAYS LATER

...How?

Just how was he going to pull it off? He can't sneak them out the back door. He can't roll them out the front either. And too many cops around to hire anyone out to steal it. For the last two days, Hillocks had been figuring out everyone's routine, carefully planning all possible chances he'd have to snag a drum or two for Jack, but it just wasn't going well. Everyone was either on the storage floor or in between it and any possible route out. He had nothing to bribe anyone with, no reason to even be touching the toxins. All of these impossible obstacles in his way just pissed Hillocks off. If Jack wanted these damn toxins, then he could come down here himself, get a job and steal them all by his lonesome and see just how better he fared. All he could do now was stand here and wait because, at the end of the day, all the barrels would be gone. Today, as it turned out, was the day when every compound produced within the factory's walls would be transported to a disposal facility and destroyed. Even now, they were loading all the stuff onto trucks and sending them on their way.

Hillocks just knew he'd be blamed for this. But honestly, what was he supposed to do? Watch from the catwalks as his first actual mission for the gang resulted in failure. Well, if it was gonna go down like this, he might as well grab a cup of tea. He made his way to the cafeteria and boiled himself a jug. It was deserted except for a couple of loaders taking a break, eating what looked like something you'd expect to come out of the machines on the factory floor. Sure, it didn't look pleasant, but don't let that fool you. It still tasted like shit. Which is why Hillocks made himself a sandwich every day. You'd probably find mould in that. At least something that can lay eggs in your digestive tract that'll pop out of you in your sleep and eat something vital. It just so happened that these two were talking about something else that Hillocks took very little interest in: football. But suddenly, one of them changed the subject. He'd caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall and very nearly spat out his mouthful of grub, although that is what he should be doing anyway.

"Aww man, finish up. Finish up." He heckled his friend.

"Wha? What's with all the buzz?"

"Manager wants to make a speech, wants everyone out front. Nobody's allowed to skip it."

"Shit, why's he gotta run his mouth some more? Dude likes the sound of his own voice too much."

"You tell him that."

"Are you kiddin'? This is the best job I could get below minimum wage, and I already tried everywhere else."

They left the room without even noticing Hillocks at all. Only one thought went through his head: 'Yates Goodwin, I want to have your babies'. With a joyful fist pump, Hillocks made his way cautiously towards the storage area. He watched as people headed off to the final speech. After a while, he stopped trying to be stealthy and just continued on his way. Nobody seemed to care nor notice that he wasn't joining them outside, which almost hurt his feelings somewhat.

There were still a dozen vats remaining and absolutely no one to stop him. He slowly rolled the first barrel onto its side and rolled it down the corridors towards the carpark. Empty. Completely unguarded. He was almost skipping with excitement when he arrived next to his Ute and left his first catch behind it. The sound of the dullest speech of the century could be barely made out around the other side of the compound, but at least it sounded like it would take about as long. Hillocks returned and, just like before, rolled his second barrel back to the car. It was so simple. So easy. It was difficult not to sing. Finally, he had the toxins outside the building and no one suspected a thing. Hillocks high-fived himself. All he had to do was load the chemicals onto the back of his Ute and...

Crap. He tried with all his might. He pulled and grunted and strained until he was red all over but there was no lifting. They were either too heavy or he was too weak.

"Damn it! Don't do this to me!" Hillocks grunted, trying desperately to unleash some kind of inner strength. "Fate, this is all your fault! You did this to mock me!" His plan was unravelling faster than a curtain on Cat Island. Even now, he could hear the rounding up applause. Someone would soon round that corner and spot him and he knew that there was no going back from there. But his only other option was to roll the barrels back to certain destruction. Which could be very well where he headed after returning to Jack in failure. He was dead either way. "Come on, please!" he cried desperately.

"Hey, you." Called a voice from across the carpark. Hillocks sighed; he had been caught. He straightened up to see it was the two loaders from the cafeteria, probably heading in through this entrance to return their lunch break quicker. They looked from Hillocks to the barrels and back again with a curious expression shared between them. "What are you doing?"

"I-I'm doing work for the Manager." Hillocks blurted out. "Goodwin asked me to take these barrels to the disposal facility myself. He doesn't want to pay transport fees for just two barrels." This all felt like a total blur. It kept spilling from his mouth and there was nothing he could do to stop. When he'd eventually finished saying this, the two loaders again looked between Hillocks and the barrels and then back again. Surely this would never-

"You need some help loading up?" one asked.

"Seri-Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks!" Hillocks smiled and as offered, the two men loaded the barrels onto the back of his Ute. After some criticism of the Manager's cheapskate manner and a handshake, Hillocks was driving away with two stolen vats of dangerous toxins. He still had no idea how he'd managed to pull it off, but one thing was for sure: no one would ever believe it.

Hillocks wore that shit-eating grin all the way back to The Stacked Deck. He showed it off to Barlow when he pulled up outside the joint then kept flashing it at Zed and Hunt as they wheeled the toxins inside.

"There's just no denying it now." He smirked. "I am a true master of the art of deception. I am a god."

"All hail." Muttered Barlow sarcastically.

"What is this stuff exactly?" asked Malaki, leaning against the bar. "It doesn't look stable."

"Of course it's not stable!" chimed Essex, emerging to help Zed and Hunt bring it downstairs. "It's exciting!"

"It's heavy." Moaned Zed.

"It's the future of Red Hood." The voice startled them all. They turned around to see him stride up the stairs and into the bar. For the first time in days, most of the gang got their first look at Jack. He seemed over-tired yet somewhat inspired. Despite the lack of sleep, new life was bursting through him. He gazed upon the vats with hope and ambition, something which was now shared with the rest of his crew. "Hillocks, you've done a good job and more for us than you know."

"Shucks...boss." replied Hillocks, proud of himself.

Jack turned to their newest member. "Malaki, welcome aboard. You've joined us at a very important moment. When I saw the potential of these chemicals, I knew that they would change the face of Red Hood forever. I have great plans; tools we can use to instil the kind of fear into the hearts of Gothamites greater than the Batman ever could! No one would dare interfere with us, not even him. But the flying rodent isn't our end-goal. There will be more later. I don't want to spoil the surprise. Until then, it's business as usual." He straightened himself up. "I'm back, boys. And I'll be with you every step of the way."

A brief silence fell over The Stacked Deck. Jack waited patiently, his eyes closed. Slowly, what he was waiting for rose up faintly. One by one, the gang began clapping, building into applause. His words had done their job. For almost a week now, the Red Hood had been divided and crumbling, but he had brought new hope and raised morale. They were his now. Truly his. Jack opened his eyes directly at Hunt. He too was applauding, lighter than the others. He nodded his head at his new leader and Jack gave him an imposing bow.

"Now go on, get outta here!" Jack smiled at the gang. "Tomorrow we plan for our next heist!"

The group began to gather their things. Barlow approached Jack.

"Great work. Red would be proud of you." He whispered before heading out the door along with the others. But as they thinned out, Jack noticed someone unmoving in the corner. She slow-clapped from her perch and waited for Jack to focus his attention in her direction. It was Marybeth and she didn't look pleased.

"You coming, Jack?" asked Essex from the cellar stairs.

"I'll be a while, Ess. You start without me." Jack replied. Once Essex had disappeared below, Jack walked towards his girlfriend.

"So...you find the time to play with your toys downstairs, you find the time to make speeches...but you can't find the time to pick up the phone and talk to me." She seemed nearly in tears.

"I had work to do." He said. "The gang would be gone without me."

"And in all that time, you didn't think that you should take some time for yourself?" she asked. "I know what happened. I know Red is gone."

"There was no use in mourning."

"For god's sake, Jack! He was my friend too!" she snapped. "Don't think I don't know how you feel!"

"If I didn't act, then nothing would be left!" returned Jack.

"There doesn't need to be, Jack! This gang was on the out anyway, and now you're trying to keep it alive. Don't you see? This isn't you 'working'. This is your mourning. You're doing this for Red, not yourself!"

"You have no idea why I'm doing this." Hissed Jack. "This is for nobody but me. I brought us together. Red's death was a stepping stone, but you would have just gotten in the way!"

Slap!

It was a shocking blow, but what was even more surprising was the sensation that Jack felt from it. There was pain...but there was more. It felt...good. Deep down, coursing through him, growing warmer, the slap had awakened a feeling within him. He stepped closer to Marybeth. "Hit me again." He said in a low, calm voice. With tears coursing down her face, she obliged.

Slap!

The kiss she got in return was as much a surprise as the slap had been. At first, she was so angry she wanted to hurt him so badly. But the feeling diminished slowly. If she could hurt him and have her way with him upstairs at the same time...well, that was fine by her.

That night, Jack experienced pain and pleasure; the yin and yang. Scratches and bruising dotted his body. Marybeth seemed possessed, and Jack couldn't care less. He didn't know what it was that he was truly interested in: her or the pain she could inflict upon him. Did this mean anyone could make him feel this way? Whatever it was, it didn't worry him. In time, he would be able to explore it to an even greater extent. His plans would involve a great deal of self-discovery and so far, he was liking everything he found.

It feels good to be back! Hard to believe, eh? You all thought I was gone. Well...I was for a little while there. There was a lot I had to focus on and a lot of movement in my life. There may be something a lot bigger than this FanFiction that may come out for audiences around the globe in the coming years, so I might let you all know how that pans out, but recently I took a break and got inspired to tackle this project again. It's been fun revisiting all my old ideas and utilising what I've learned into creating a much broader plot and better sequences of events to culminate in the ultimate birth of The Joker! When and who it will happen to is still a mystery.

Suffice it to say that, barring any great need to return to my other work, I'm here to continue this story. And I would like to thank my ongoing supporters who have kept me uplifted and inspired to come back: TheJokerMan (thanks for all the messages and words of advice), Loki son of Laufey, Jason Todd (hope this isn't a foreshadowing), doggy bye, Keywee and MintierBadger. Most of you even reviewing and favourite-ing the story before its first chapter! You have no idea how much that warmed my heart to see and I hope you all enjoyed the first instalment of the new story. Thank you all so much for being so patient and hopefully, I can finish this series off without any more severe time jumps. I'll see you all next time!