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Chapter One

Jack Napier walked down the hallway, smiling (there wasn't really anything else he could do). Nearly thirty years ago, he'd killed Carl Grissam and now he owned the mob, something he'd wanted to do before Grissam had died.

Memories were clouding his thoughts. Twenty-nine years ago, he'd been known as 'the Joker.' Thanks to Batman, he'd fallen into a vat of chemicals, which turned his skin white, hair green and had given him a large and permanent grin.

It seemed to end before it had really begun. Falling off a building and being saved by Bats himself (the whole 'can't kill people' rule) really seemed to put a damper on things. He'd gone back to crazily ruling the mob from the inside in seconds after that, dying his hair and using make-up to colour his skin normally. A year later, he had Harley and a son.

That was a strange experience – for thirty seconds. Jack didn't change, he was just the same: crazy and violent to everyone, no matter whom they were.

Jack, if possible, smiled wider. His son had left eleven years ago and, in all honesty, Jack really enjoyed not having him around. It meant just him and Harley, no one to get in his way with different ideas and no way Jack would wake up and realise half of his knives were gone. If anything, Jack's son was stranger in the head than he was.

Now, to complete this perfect world, Batman had stopped being Gotham's Dark Knight (he must have retired). But the Bat was at least ten years younger than Jack... and he was fifty eight...

'Napier,' said someone and he turned around, staring at the heavily muscled man in front of him. 'There's someone here to see you.'

'Where is he?'

'In your room.'

Jack arched an eyebrow. 'Okaaay.'

'Do you want me to make him leave?'

'Do I look like I need you to make him leave? Who is he, by the bye?'

'Claims to be your son.'

'Hm.' Jack took out a small pistol, stared at it for about two seconds then shot the muscled man in the stomach.

The man fell forwards and Jack said, 'Thanks for the news.'

--

The door opened and Jack couldn't help thinking how typical it was of his son to keep the room dark, except for the moonlight shining through the window. A dark figure was sitting in a chair, face concealed in darkness.

'Where were you, huh?' Jack asked. 'Your mother was worried sick. We asked everyone we could but no one had seen you.' Jack was lying through his teeth, not caring if his son knew this or not. Well, Harley had been worried sick, but that was Harley. 'You left when you were seventeen, kiddo. Eleven years later and – hey, does your mom know you're here?'

'Probably not. If she did... would I be talking to you?'

'Guess not.' Jack peered through the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of his son's face. 'So... where've you been? Are there girls involved?'

Silence from the other side of the room.

'Same as before,' said Jack, shaking his head. 'Too secretive... must get it from your mother's side.' He waited. 'Afraid?'

There was laughter from the other side of the room. It sounded like wheezing, laughing and coughing all in one. Jack didn't flinch – he couldn't even if he wanted to. His eyes narrowed in interest.

'Explain,' he said.

'Nothing to explain.' The figure stood up and swirled the chair around with his hand, face still concealed. 'Heeey! You kept these!'

Jack ignored this and said, 'Freak.'

There was silence. Then, 'You wanna know how I got these scars?'

Jack stared. If he could see his kid's face, let alone the scars, it probably would've worked better.

'Already know. You stole knives when you were little, doesn't really take a genius to figure –'

'My father,' said the figure, taking a step towards Jack, 'was... a psychopath, if you will, and a fiend.'

Jack noticed this was different from the story he'd fed his son all these years. He still grinned.

'He comes home one night, crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit.'

Jack was a little surprised. This was different.

'He takes the knife from her, laughing as he does it. He turns to me with the knife. "Why so serious?"' His voice ended in a rough growl.

Jack swallowed. This was wrong. This was the real story. Had this kid been remembering every second of this for the last twenty years of his life?!!

The figure took another step towards Jack. 'He comes at me with the knife. "Why so serious?"'

Jack's son stepped in front of the light, in front of Jack. Jack's jaw dropped open. He vaguely realised that a switchblade had been stuck inside his mouth, pressing up against the inside of his left cheek, but that wasn't mattering now. His son was wearing make-up, a red swipe over his lips and scars, large black circles around his eyes. He was wearing a purple suit and his hair was dyed a green/yellow, still showing his original brown in some places.

'He puts the blade inside my mouth,' the Joker said, staring back at Jack. '"Let's put a smile on that face."'

Jack whipped out his gun and pointed it at his son's head.

The Joker nodded slightly, took the switchblade out of Jack's mouth, lifted up his hands and grabbed Jack's pistol. For a second Jack thought he was going to take it, but instead was trying to aim it right through the middle of his head.

'You better explain to me what you're here for or I will shoot.'

The Joker blinked and said, 'Okay. Shoot away.' He started humming tunelessly, waiting.

Jack rolled his eyes and –

The door burst open and Jack's hand went down. Harley Quinn was standing there, looking slightly confused. Her eyes went from the Joker, back to Jack, and she stared at the Joker. Her eyes widened and she brightened.

'PUDDIN'!' she yelled, throwing her arms around her son. The Joker had temporarily become a statue, but Harley did her best.

'Oh, puddin', where were you? You look so different now! Well, your hair looks the same, but you dyed it and – is that make-up you're wearing?!'

The Joker blinked slowly and Harley saw him swallow. 'Puddin?' She looked over at Jack. 'Mr J...'

'Don't mind him, Harley,' said Jack. 'He's just a freak now.'

Harley's jaw dropped and Jack felt a pain in his upper arm. He looked and saw a switchblade deeply embedded.

Jack yelled and smashed the pistol into his son's face.

The Joker fell backwards, blood dripping out of his nose. To Jack's surprise, instead of a yell of pain, it was the same laugh that came out of his son's mouth. In fact, it must've seemed hilarious to the Joker that he'd been hit it the face with a gun because he was finding it hard to stop laughing.

Jack stared, ignoring Harley's frantic yelling. His crazy, freak of a son was the new Joker and, frankly, as much as Jack hated to admit it, a lot scarier than Jack himself.

The Joker opened his eyes, trying hard not to laugh. 'So I'm the freak?' he gasped. 'You have a permanent smile! And – your make-up's running.'

Jack noticed that his son's make-up was done quite roughly, because through the white he could see tanned skin, the same colour as his son's neck.

'We'll see you later, kiddo,' said Jack, speaking to his son as if he were a toddler. 'Mommy and Daddy have to talk now. Just stay here, we'll be back.' He grabbed Harley's wrist and pulled her out. She was staring hopelessly at her son, who was still laughing and gasping for breath.

The door closed, leaving the Joker against the wall, under the window, laughing.

FIRST CHAPTER!!! Feel so embarrassed for no reason. Please review. I own NOTHING.