Author's Note: This is just a short story. There is going to be one more part after this. I wrote this after watching a whole bunch of Batman The Animated Series (the 'revamped' ones) and well, this storyline is somewhat similar to the half-hour shows. Consise and to the point. When I wrote it I pictured the characters in the animated series. It's really hard for me to do short stories. I hope you like it.

About-Face

Part I

I was in my cubicle, Friday night, searching through confidential police files. I had been given limited access for a temporary time so I could have some facts with which to work. The whole office floor was pretty quiet right now, given that the time was after hours. My eyes stung from dryness because of staring at the computer screen for hours on end. I hadn't even eaten lunch. Not even a potato chip or a garlic crouton. I could hear the squeaky wheel of the building janitor's trolley. They would close up the building in about another hour.

Not completely standing up, I looked over the wall of my cubicle and saw that the majority of the lights were off, casting the floor into semi-darkness. "Hello?" I called out.

"Hi," the janitor called from somewhere else.

"How long are you going to be?"

"About an hour."

"Okay."

I sat back down and continued to search. But these files didn't turn up anything I didn't actually know. In fact, the psychiatric hospital had been more helpful as far as finding out personal information. They did house him and feed him and medicate him. Well, they tried the last thing, anyway. All my information said that medications didn't work on him. He had some sort of immunity. I recalled a story that one of the doctors told me, about how one day they continued to up the dosage on his sedative, until he had about ten times the normal dose in him. To use the doctor's words, he showed "not one droopy eyelid. Not one yawn."

I exited the police files and adjusted my lamp to make it face the walls of my cubicle. I had posted a lot of inspirational pictures. Some were also crime scene photos. My largest one was a police photograph of him flashing a wide, maniacal grin, his hair a patchy, grass green and his face smeared with white, black and red. It looked like he had been in a scuffle and been disheveled. But he glowed like he'd won the battle. Yet here he was, holding an inmate number over his chest and blazing brightly at the camera. This particular photo was from the Gotham City Police Department. For all the brazen grotesqueness of his mouth, his eyes all but disappeared into the black makeup surrounding them. They were barely visible, and that was the thing that made this photo imperfect. I wished I could just see them, what color they were, some semblance of humanity. Perhaps his pupils contracted in bright light, perhaps they dilated under stress and fear. Perhaps a tear or two streaked down over his cheek, if not from sadness then perhaps from pain.

I was lost in my thoughts. So when someone knocked at my cubicle, I practically fell out of my chair. I was rattled and spun around.

Ron's lip twitched apologetically. "Sorry. Working late again?"

I sighed. "Uh-huh. I'm almost done though."

"I thought I'd find you here. I left hours ago. We're all going out for a few drinks and pizza. Carmen, why don't you join us?"

I glanced again at the police photo of the Joker. "I can't. I'm getting my things ready to go to Gotham City for a couple of weeks. Two more days and I'm leaving."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're still thinking about doing that."

I knew what he was talking about. 'That' didn't mean actually going to Gotham. 'That' meant trying to get an exclusive from him.

I glared at Ron. "Yes, that. I'm going to do it. No one knows anything about this guy. I want to find out. He's just another person!"

"Listen, even their great Batman can't even figure anything out about him. What makes you think you can?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you suggesting that I'm too stupid?"

Ron shrugged. "No. Just that Batman is really smart."

"Oh please!" I scoffed. "He's some weirdo that dresses up in a bat costume, and swings around the skyscrapers like he thinks he's Tarzan. He's almost as bad as that brute in blue tights. Superman? At least he's actually got something to back up the hype. What does Batman have? A couple of smoke grenades and a fancy car?"

"As opposed to a lunatic with some face paints and green hair dye, and a wild agenda to throw Gotham City into complete chaos?"

I clicked closed some windows on my monitor and turned off my computer. "I didn't say he was better or anything," I said sullenly.

"You're not going to get an exclusive. He's a fugitive for the rest of his life. The last I heard he was on the run with his shrink. What was her name?"

"Harleen Quinzel," I replied. "I looked her up too. When she was about fourteen she was admitted at Gotham General for psychiatric treatment. She has some kind of weird obsessive-bipolar complex. I forget what it's called. Apparently she caught her boyfriend cheating on her. His defense was that she was too clingy. Then she tried to kill the girl. So they admitted her."

"Why don't you do an exclusive on Batman?"

I shook my head distastefully. "Who cares about him? I think he's really foolish to try and be a hero when there are already cops doing their job. What about if he gets into real trouble? Is Gotham P.D. supposed to risk its neck trying to save him?"

Ron shrugged. "He's their problem. If you ask me, they should label him a wanted man and cart him off to the nearest psychiatric facility. Anyone who dresses up like a bat and pretends he's a superhero needs to be under constant supervision." Ron paused and looked at me pointedly. "But hey, at least he wouldn't hurt you."

"Batman never interested me as a candidate for an exclusive interview." I stood up and picked up a stack of fat binders off my desk. Ron immediately stuck his hands out. "Let me help you. What the hell is all this stuff?"

I heaved them into Ron's hands and gave a short sigh. "Information on the Joker."

Ron laughed as he stepped aside for me to exit my cubicle. "Do any of these thousands of pages say what his name is?"

"Very funny. It's really frustrating. No one knows anything."

"Maybe you should wait until they catch him again." Ron's face was grim all of a sudden. "This guy is really not funny. He's dangerous."

"Well, I'm only going for two weeks," I said, feeling Ron's anxiety seep into my body. He was right, actually. The Joker was dangerous. "I still have to talk to the doctors at Arkham, Gotham City Police Department, Harleen's family members, witnesses, victims. This is just the beginning."

**********************************

I was sitting at the Residence Inn, in my room. We had been in Gotham for about a week now, collecting valuable information for our documentary. I was placing labels on our disks and making notes. There was no breaking news about another attack by the Joker, and I had not seen any recent footage caught of Batman either. I had brought along all of my photographs, and taped them to the head of my bed. But I had put the pillow at the foot of the bed so I could see the pictures before I went to sleep. It helped me keep my focus. But while I did that, I knew I was going a step too far. Both my editor and cameraman had told me I was taking this too seriously. I was putting too much energy into it, and my editor had told me that I actually looked like I had lost a little bit of weight. I brushed it off and told her she was imagining things, but a quick sneak onto the scale told me she had a good eye.

I had an appointment at a Dr. Charles Hernandez's office in about an hour. He had agreed to give me some time to ask him questions. He was one of the few unfortunate people who had actually been injured while on duty at Arkham. He had almost been strangled to death, but apparently the Joker's intent was never to kill him. While contained in a strait-jacket - well, so they thought - Dr. Hernandez had been in a routine session with the Joker, who had miraculously torn free of the jacket and tried to strangle the doctor with it. Security was usually pretty lax when a patient was in a jacket, and this was no exception. Of course, it was common knowledge that anyone who encountered the Joker usually underestimated him, and those doctors and guards were no different.

My stomach gave a small lurch when I thought about whether I would get to meet him. Maybe I should wait until my next trip to Gotham City to try to contact him. Maybe by then he would be in custody and I would be somewhat safe. Safer than practically broadcasting the fact that I was doing research on him.

I started to get dressed, wearing casual-formal clothes and light make up around my hazel eyes and on my plump lips. My hair was a dark burgundy with red highlights, brushing the flats of my shoulders. I told my tiny filming crew to be ready at nine. We were going to do the interview and then head out for some dinner.

My bathroom was sort of half in and half out of the bedroom. The tub and the toilet were in a room, but the sink and mirror were a part of the bedroom, like a kitchenette.

My room had two entries. There was the door and there was the glass sliding door leading to a cramped balcony. Since I had been in Gotham, I had been spending about an hour at night on the balcony, looking for Batman or his jet fleeting between buildings or over the smoky night sky. No such luck since I'd been here.

So, after I was ready, I stepped out onto the balcony again, searching for anything interesting. I found nothing, as expected. Gotham was a lot more boring than it's reputation suggested. Slightly disgusted, I turned to go back inside, expecting any second for either people in my crew to knock on my door.

But what I got was the shock of my life. I gave a horrified gasp, and almost fell over the edge of the balcony. He was the tallest man I had seen in a long time, towering about foot over my head, the points on his cowl making him even taller. He just stood there like a demon in a cloak, his broad jaw set in a hard line. I had a hand over my heart, feeling it drum in my chest. I also clutched the railing of the balcony for dear life even though my feet were securely planted down. I glared up at his mask, at the white slits. "What. Do you. Think, you're doing?"

"Funny. I was going to ask you the same thing."

"I haven't done anything." Then my voice became sarcastic, since I was still angry at being so taken by surprise. "Shouldn't you be after criminals? Or are you just attacking innocent people now?"

"I came to warn you," he replied calmly, completely ignoring the slight I made.

I slowly released the railing and took a deep breath to steady myself. "About what? Yourself?"

Again he ignored my sarcasm. "You're asking questions about the wrong man. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"How do you know any of this?"

He turned and walked into my room. Inspite of myself, I caught a good glimpse of a portion of his calf, noting the muscles bulging through the fabric. He glided towards my phone and picked up something from under it. He showed it to me with a gloved hand parting his cape. "Stop what you're doing. It's only a matter of time before he learns about you. If he feels like it, he might come after you. Some things are better left unexplored."

I had completely stopped listening. I glared acrimoniously at the tiny device in his hand, a bat-shaped microphone. "You've been...spying on me!"

He looked at my wall, above my bed.

I grabbed his shoulder and tried to spin him around to face me. I failed of course, this man was a Goliath. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

He stared for several moments at the police photo of the Joker, apparently thinking.

"Answer me you jerk!"

He slowly turned to look at me. "I've already warned you."

"This is my job! I've got bills to pay! That's what normal people do!"

There was a knock on my door. "Carmen? Is everything okay?"

I turned instinctively at the sudden distraction, but quickly turned back when I felt a weak gust of air.

He was already gone.

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To be concluded...