Author's Note: This story takes place some time after The Dark Knight and involves the Joker and Batwoman. I put it here rather than in the comic section because I am writing for TDK Joker and my TDK version of Batwoman (whose origin story I may post after this one, but one thing at a time). I hope you enjoy it. Consider this a short introductory chapter.
Disclaimer: I wish I owned the Batman Universe, but I don't.
As consciousness wormed its way through the peaceful darkness of her oblivion, she found her once more alert senses assailed by new input, each vying for immediate attention. Violent shivers wracked her sparsely clothed body. At the back of her mind she was dimly aware that the suit should be regulating her body temperature. She curled herself into a tight ball in a poor attempt to conserve what little warmth she had. Somewhere in the background, a constant but frustratingly irregular dripping was dragging her further into the world of the conscious and leaving a pool of dread forming in the pit of her stomach. Slowly, she was becoming aware that something was wrong.
As her body was once more overcome by cramp-inducing shivering, she realised the surface she was lying on, while not the hard, solid ground, was not particularly comfortable and smelt strongly of sweat, urine and... blood. Her eyes snapped open and she was suddenly on her feet and wide awake. With wide eyes she took in her surroundings. She was in a small, dark room with damp stone walls and a rough, stain-covered floor. In one corner was the thin, torn mattress she'd woken on, it was covered in dark patches that made her want to scrub at her skin until she bled at the mere thought that she'd been sleeping on the disgusting thing. She looked down at herself. The suit was gone, leaving only the small tank top and tight shorts she wore beneath it. Even her boots had been taken, leaving her standing on the freezing ground barefoot. With panic fluttering in her stomach, she slowly raised a hand to her face. Relief bloomed within her when her fingers touched the smooth Kevlar fibre of her mask.
'You didn't think I'd, ah, steal your face in your sleep, didja?'
She spun around and found dark, kohl-blackened eyes staring down at her. The tall, purple-clad man stepped closer, invading her personal space to a degree that only he could achieve.
'Where would be the fun in tha-t?' he asked, somehow creating an extra syllable in a monosyllabic word.
She took three hurried steps backward, trying to put some space between herself and the madman, but on the third step, her heel caught the edge of the horrible mattress and she stumbled, catching the wall behind her with the back of her skull. She pressed against the wall for support as the room tilted violently and a sharp bark of laughter flooded the room with sound. It filled the entire space and grated against her eardrums. Her head instantly felt fit to explode.
Then he was suddenly in front of her, seemingly going from standing in the centre of the room laughing to towering over her with a strong hand around her throat without actually having to bother with the steps in between. Her reaction was instinctual. Her knee came up with all the speed and power she could muster, her hands snatched roughly at his arms and head, one finding purchase in his hair the other firmly grasping the shoulder of his coat, pulling downward with all her might. Within a second her knee was driving into his stomach and, the second after, she used the same leg to kick him away. Gripping her aching head, she tried unsuccessfully to ignore his breathless giggle before scrambling for the door. Logic told her that, if he was in here, there could be nothing anywhere near as horrifying outside the small, dark room. Illogical thought processes told her to pray to every fictional higher power she could think of for the door to be unlocked.
Whether due to divine intervention or the clown's self-confidence, when she turned the rusty door handle, the door miraculously opened offering a brief glimpse of freedom, but before she could even open the door wide enough to slip through, a gloved hand grabbed her loose hair.
'Leaving so soon?' he growled in her ear and threw her back into the depths of the room. She fell to the ground but rolled on impact and was quickly back on her feet facing the doorway, which was once again closed and now blocked by the clown's presence. The laughter had ceased and he was now advancing on her with quiet malice. She tried to sidestep him, once again making a break for the door, but he was ready for it this time and she quickly found herself trapped against a wall, a hand around her throat and cold steel against her cheek. Initially, she struggled but the knife was quickly moved so the point was mere millimetres from her eye and she froze for fear of blinding herself.
'That's better,' he purred, flexing the hand around her throat in a way that cut off her air supply for a few seconds, a warning against any rash decisions. 'You should really be more careful, kitten, two head injuries in one day could, ah, really damage a person.'
Two head injuries? She searched her memory. Everything before she woke up in this place was a blur, but that could be due to sedation drugs as much as anything else. The confusion must have shown on her face, because the clown picked up on it.
'Can't remember?' he asked, an amused glint in his eye. 'Here, let me help.'
Before she had time to contemplate what help he could possibly offer, he had pulled her forward off the wall by her neck and slammed her right back, her head colliding with the damp brickwork with a sickening crack. Her vision instantly darkened then returned in a burst of colourful fireworks behind her eyes. Nausea threatened to claim her but she managed to suppress the feeling with the thought of what the clown might do to her if she threw up on him. She felt herself being pulled forward again and she struck out. She knew it was a weak effort, her arms felt as though they'd been filled with lead while she wasn't looking and her hands refused to curl into fists, and it only lasted a few moments before he had both her wrists in one hand above her head and the knife was back in her peripheral vision.
'I was only trying to help,' he snickered. She wriggled in his grip, in response he shifted more of his weight to the hand holding her wrists, sending pain shooting down her arms and making it virtually impossible for her to struggle free. Still, she tried, until the knife blade was slipped under her mask. Her breath hitched and she tilted her head back in a vain attempt to get away.
'Now that I have your at-ten-tion,' he said, twisting the knife so that one side of the blade sank into her cheek and the other lifted the bottom of the mask away from her face. She hissed softly, drawing air in through her teeth against the pain.
'What do you want?' she asked, her voice cold. Carefully concealing any emotions he could use against her.
'I wan-t the Bat Man,' he said it slowly, drawing Batman into two words.
'I can't help you with that,' she informed him, beginning to struggle again.
'Oh, I think you can,' he said, pushing the knife further beneath her mask, slicing deeper into her cheek in the process. She flinched away from the fresh pain but heeded the warning and stilled her movements once more.
'How?'
'Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, kitten.' He pulled the knife out from beneath her mask, making her gasp, and replaced it with a finger. Her struggles began afresh as he slowly, teasingly began to pull the mask upwards. She was beginning to panic in earnest when, suddenly, he was gone. She slid part-way down the wall, her hands dropping to her face, straightening her mask like her life depended on it. And it did, in a way. If he found out her true identity she would never be able to go back to that life.
A hand grabbed her chin and pulled her up, she looked up to find him wearing a wide grin that bunched his scars in a way that accented every horrific peak and valley. She tried to shake him off, but he held firm. With her hands now free she attempted to fight him off, but in a flash the knife was there ready to lash out at any fingers that came too close.
'What?' she snapped in frustration.
'I want you to take your, ah, face off.'
'You first,' she snarled. The blade was in her mouth.
'Now, there is no need to be rude,' he admonished. 'Didn't your mother teach you manners?'
She remained silent and the blade was removed.
'I won't take it off,' she assured him quietly. She would never willingly reveal herself to him. For a moment a dark expression crossed his features before it was gone and the grin was back. He stepped back and spread his arms wide, the knife had disappeared again.
'Let's play a game.'
She watched warily as he searched his pockets for something. She tensed as he pulled out... a crayon, a scrap of paper and a dirty envelope. He broke into a fit of laughter at the look on her face. 'Wha-What were you expecting? A bazooka?' He continued to chuckle as he scribbled something on the paper, shoved it into the envelope and sloppily licked the back and stuck it down. Then the knife was back in his hand and he was on her. He grabbed the back of her head and pressed the blade to her lips. 'Sh-sh-sh, this won't hurt a bit.'
Slowly and deliberately he sliced down diagonally across her lips leaving a deep cut that crossed her lips nearly dead centre. Before she had a chance to wrap her head around what had just happened, he pressed the seal of the envelope to her lips, leaving an imprint of her lips and the cut in the fresh blood on the paper. He was admiring his handiwork, with the envelope and her face, when a phone sounded in one of his many pockets.
'That's my cue,' he sang, shoving the still-wet envelope and the knife into his jacket, and skipped toward the door.
'You won't get away with this, Joker,' she shouted at his back and felt her heart sink as his high-pitched mocking laughter filled the room.
'Do people actually say that?' he snickered, turning back to face her. 'Batwoman, batsy, kitten. I already have.' And he was gone, his laughter echoing back to her as he walked away.
While Batwoman began to prepare herself for what she knew was to come, Kate Kane, the wealthy, socialite alter ego, slid down the wall to the ground and hugged her knees to her chest. With the adrenalin caused by the Joker wearing off she was beginning to feel the cold again. Kate was scared, terrified but, as long as she had the Batwoman, she knew she would be okay. The Batwoman could resist the Joker. Kate could not. As soon as the mask came off she would be finished. She needed to escape before that happened.