A/N: Hey guys, it's me again. Please read and review. I apologize in advance for the quotes taken directly from TDK. I don't own anything, and all of that especially belongs to Mr. Nolan.
I was dragged in front of him with the blood still caked and drying on my hands. It made my fingers sticky and the smell made me sick; I wished I had something to wipe it off with. I suppose I should have been happier, at the time, that it wasn't my blood on someone else's hands, but I was still in shock. I had also thought, back then, that they had been my friends, but they were now dead. My animal instincts had kicked in, I suppose. As they say, survival of the fittest. I'm not quite sure that I'm the fittest, but, at any rate, I'm still alive. I realized I had no idea where I was, so I concluded that I must have passed out after the incident. The two goons dragging me across the damp ground were panting heavily, obviously out of shape. The wetness soaked my clothes.
One noticed that I was now awake and stopped.
"Mind walking?" he asked sarcastically, yanking me to my unsteady feet. The other one pushed me forward with a hand in my back. He gun was relaxed by his side. I stumbled forward a few steps, my vision swimming, but I managed to stay upright. It felt like I had a hangover, headache and all. I shook my head a few times, making the pain worse, but my vision cleared slightly. The first thing that struck me was the smell. It was like an old, abandoned cellar, all damp and dirty. I realized my vision hadn't been all that fuzzy, it was just dark where I was. The best I could make out was that it was an abandoned tunnel of some sort. Under my feet, it felt like concrete; the echoes from my footsteps certainly sounded like it.
I had already seen these guys' faces, but they had donned masks the second they had stopped carrying me. Maybe it was just a comfort thing, a safety blanket. I dimly registered that I was clutching something in my left hand, so I brought it up to my face. With horror, I realized it was half of a pool table stick. I wanted to throw it away, but I was holding it in a death grip, my fingers frozen around its bloody handle. I had resigned myself to a fate worse than death, I was sure. I already regretted what I had done. I'd be better off dead. My stomach churned and I dry-heaved, earning myself doubtful looks from the thugs.
"Are you sure this guy is strong enough for this?" he whispered, thinking I couldn't hear.
"No, but do you really want to be the one to tell him that we decided to ditch this guy?" the other hissed back. They both shuddered, falling silent. We kept walking for a few more minutes, I almost falling behind. Eventually, we came to a rusty metal door, the only one I had seen this whole time. "Open it," one said, after we had stood outside the door for a while.
"You open it!" he replied, moving behind me, almost cowering in fear. I began to doubt my safety at this point, more so than I already had, and tried to back away as well.
"Oh no you don't," the one with the gun said, pointing at me now, "You open it." I didn't think my chances of surviving a point blank shot from this gun were very good, so I did as he said. The door creaked loudly as it slowly opened, its hinges almost stuck in place by rust. As soon as the door was open, I flinched involuntarily, expecting instantaneous death. But nothing happened. The figure inside, hunched over a table, didn't react as we stepped in. It was like we were walking on a mine field.
After standing there awkwardly, just waiting for him to acknowledge us, finally one cleared his throat.
"Uh, boss," he began hesitantly, "We brought him, just like you said." The dark figure quickly wrote something, then turned around slowly, moving into the light. The strange mix of the shadows on his face made it even more terrifying than usual.
"Ah, my new recruit," he said, clapping his hands together. "Well, don't be rude, step forward and introduce yourself!" My voice stuck in my throat, I was choking on my words. He walked right up to me, and I found it hard to even breathe. He shook me slightly, his purple-clad hands wrapping around my thin upper arms, and he peered into my face. "Hello?" he asked in a singsong voice, "Anybody home?" I managed to find my voice.
"Yeah," I muttered, "I'm here." I noticed my whole body was shaking, probably from fear, but I was feeling a strange disconnect from the situation. His grin grew, seemingly excited. I couldn't tell if he was faking his enthusiasm or not.
"He's aliiiiive," he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "Halleluiah!" He then took a closer look at my face, then looked at his henchmen. "I don't remember seeing this one in there," he commented, his voice going dangerously low. "Where'd you get this one then?"
"Well, Mikey here found him in a back room trying to hide," he explained quickly. He grinned cautiously. "We dragged him out, kicking and screaming before the tryouts started."
His face cleared, and he went back to smiling with the rest of his mouth. It may have been meant to comfort me, but it only succeeded in making me more terrified.
"So, what's your name?" he asked, extending a hand in my direction. "Mine's Joker, but you can call me Mr. J, boss, whatever floats your boat," he continued, looking at me expectantly. I glanced down at his hand, consciously checking for fatal joy buzzers or something. I deemed it safe, I suppose, because the next second I was holding his hand.
"L-levi. Levi Driver," I answered, my shaking voice revealing my fear.
"Ah, you got nothing to worry about, amigo!" he said, reassuring me, "I'm just a harmless mass murdering clown is all!" He broke off in a laugh that sent shivers down my spine. "So, Levi, wanna give me all the gory details?" I shuddered inwardly, trying to keep my mind from it, but it jumped there anyway.
It had been a normal evening, with Mr. Gambol playing his normal game of pool with the other guys. I was just sitting around, there if needed, which I usually wasn't. The main reason I was there because I knew people. Gambol owed a favor to a good friend of mine, and that's why I was there. A debt. I was just glad of the protection it granted me.
The other guys started poking fun at me as usual. I was tiny and pale, the farthest thing from anyone's mind when asked to picture a mobster. I could never tell if they were being serious or not. In retrospect, I guess they were. Maybe they deserved their fate. Anyway, they always made fun of how weak and quiet and 'nice' I was. I always ignored them to the best of my abilities, and Gambol usually stayed out of everything. On this particular evening, however, we had a change of plans.
There was a quiet knock on the door, and Gambol sent one of his other goons to check it out. The rest of us waited in anticipation, ready to make a break for it. But, after a few seconds, he came back with a look of genuine surprise followed by five or so men carrying something wrapped in trash bags.
"Yo, Gambol. Somebody here for you. Say they've just killed the Joker. They brought the body," he explained, mildly puzzled. Gambol stopped in the middle of his game, looking just as surprised. Something didn't feel quite right to me about the whole situation. We had heard about our boss' demand for the Joker's body previously, but we didn't think anyone would actually be able to pull it off. Without stopping to think, I fled to another room. I left the door open a crack, so I could still hear and see. No one noticed me, as usual, but this time I was thankful.
"Why would they need so many guys to just bring in a body?" I whispered to myself as the body was dropped unceremoniously on the pool table. Gambol walked over fearlessly and pulled back the trash bags slightly, revealing the Joker's seemingly lifeless face. I recoiled instinctively, kind of like you do when watching a horror film. Gambol seemed satisfied.
"So. Dead? That's five hundred," he said, reaching into his pocket. I saw the slightest movement beneath the plastic, and screamed silently. Then, simultaneously, three of the Joker's men forced my coworkers to the floor and two of them pushed the Joker into a standing position. Gambol turned around, sensing that something was amiss, but it was too late. The Joker had him.
"How 'bout alive, hm?" he asked. To me, he sounded as if he were gloating. He put a knife to his mouth, grabbing him around the back of his head. I shrank back into the shadows of my room. Gambol and my 'friends' looked absolutely terrified. You mess with the Joker and he retaliates by killing you. Plain and simple. The Joker paused, obviously relishing in the moment.
"You wanna know how I got these scars?" he whispered. I was fascinated and horrified at the same time. To Gambol's stunned silence he nodded. He began, "My father…was a drinker. And a fiend. And one night, he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit." He paused, to take a breath and to lick his lips.
"So, me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it. He turns to me and he says, "WHY SO SERIOUS?" He comes at me with the knife. "WHY SO SERIOUS?"' He paused again, the lip-licking now accompanied by him sticking the blade in Gambol's mouth.
"He sticks the blade in my mouth. "LET'S PUT A SMILE ON THAT FACE!" And…" he said, looking over at one of the others, "…Why so serious?" I quickly averted my eyes, unable to watch. When I finally looked back, the Joker gave a satisfied not to the new corpse decorating the floor. "Now," he continued, pulling the rest of the trash bags off, "Our operation is small. But there's a lot of potential for…Aggressive expansion!" He was holding a pool stick, examining it, almost. "So which of you fine gentlemen would like to join our team?" They stared at each other, unable to speak.
"But, there's only one spot open right now, so we're going to have…" he paused, breaking the stick over his knee, "tryouts." He compared the two pieces, then threw one into the midst of the group. "Make it fast," he sighed, leaving. Three of his expendables followed, leaving only the two I would later wake up to see.
The others were dropped to the floor, still shell-shocked.
"You heard the boss," the one I now know as Mikey said. He and the other guy pointed their guns at the competitors. I suppose I must have gasped or something, because Mikey's head jerked towards my door as if pulled by an invisible string. "Hold on, Tom, I think we've missed one," he whispered, deliberately walking towards the room I was concealed in. I desperately shrunk back, but it was too late. The door was yanked open and there I was, looking like a child trying to hide in a closet.
Mikey chuckled gruffly and grabbed me by the back of my shirt. He literally threw me into the main room, right into the midst of the tryouts. My face pressed against the floor, I could see the fear and desperation in the other men's eyes, and I knew that I sure as hell didn't want to die.
"Well, get on with it," Tom said, almost mockingly. There was an instantaneous scrabble for the stick. Besides getting a couple of scratches and bruises from the initial fights, my fingers were able to wrap around it. I may not have been the strongest or the toughest, but I was quick. It felt good in my hands; the power I had never felt before represented by a broken piece of wood. I scrambled to my feet, the makeshift weapon out in front of me.
One came at me, and honestly, I don't remember who. I suppose it was the shock. He tried to wrestle the stick from my grasp, as desperate as I was to live. Without hesitation, I put all of my strength behind a thrust to his gut. It was met with some resistance, but with all of my weight behind it, the skin broke and the pointed end sunk in deep. I twisted it, for good measure, then yanked it out, my foot propped against his chest for leverage. I couldn't tell, for sure, in the small glance I took, but I seem to remember the Joker's men looking slightly impressed. Two more to go, I thought.
The next one was easy. He was still lying on the ground, unmoving. I was able to stab straight through his throat, no problem. He made a weak gurgling sound, the blood bubbling up from behind his lips. My second kill. I didn't know who I was anymore. The third, he had been waiting. He had hung back while I killed the first and second, and now he was after me.
He ran at me, which wasn't exactly his best move, as I tripped him. He landed flat on his back and all of the air whooshed out of him. Placing my foot on his stomach, I raised the stick above my head. Using all of the strength I had left, I brought it down hard, like you would a shovel, and stabbed through his heart. I wonder now if it hurt, if he had time to feel it.
I remember pulling the pool stick out, the Joker's men rushing towards me smiling and congratulating me, and my legs feeling like Jell-o. I remember my legs refusing to support me anymore, me collapsing to the floor, and then…nothing. The next thing I remember was being dragged like a corpse to the Joker, which I may as well have been. Dead man walking.
I remained silent in response to his question, and the Joker gave an exasperated sigh. He slung an arm around my shoulders like you would a best friend, and smiled winningly at me.
"Come on, pal. There's really nothing to be afraid of. We're all friends here!" he explained, trying to put me at ease. I shook my head, shying away from the touch that turned my blood to ice. "Fine, whatever. Go sit in a corner or something," he grumbled, turning to his henchmen. "Well?" They explained the whole thing in bloody detail, and I shivered as I was forced to live through it once again.
"I'm impressed!" he said to me once the whole story had been told, "Especially that someone of your…physique was able to pull it off!" I didn't respond, I only stared at him numbly. I could tell that he just didn't know what to do with me. He shrugged suddenly, as if he had been having a conversation inside of his head, and he turned to his lackeys.
"Well, I'm convinced that Mr. Driver here will be a valuable asset to our team, " he began, and the two nodded enthusiastically, "So I say we keep him. Get him a bed and the finest clown mask we have to offer." He moved to stand in front of me once again. I vaguely felt his fingers on my left hand, prying open my grip on the pool stick. He retrieved the bloody hunk of wood and examined it once again, and then looked up at my face. "Welcome aboard, Levi."
(So there you have it! You have no idea how many times I had to watch that scene to get it right. Let's just say I can now quote the entire thing perfectly from memory. Anyway, thanks for reading! More to come shortly!)