Disclaimer: I do not own any character, but the unfamiliar ones. It all belongs to it's respectable owners. I'm just playing with them- though the Joker is welcome to stay...

Review. Do.

By the end of the whole thing, I figured that Gotham should have seen it coming. The batman had his own little followers, and mimickers. The jerks who dressed in black latex and went swooping around in a bad imitation of the caped crusader-

Why wouldn't the Joker have his own mimickers?

The fools who would paint their faces, dressed in the Jokers two favorite clashing colors- purple and green- and even dye their hair.

It started small. There were muggings, rapings, and a murder or two- and the Joker was blamed. Everyone figured that he was sending them out to do his bidding.

Then, the Joker was finally arrested, and thrown into Arkham Asylum, and everyone figured that for a little while, maybe they could breath. They thought that the copy-cats would stay hidden until their master managed to break out of the Asylum- again.

It wasn't until a mass of one hundred people- a sea of purple and green, one woman later described them as- swarmed Gotham City hall, armed with AK-47's and pipe bombs, and all painted to look like the Clown Prince of Crime, did anyone realize that these people weren't working for the Joker. They were working completely alone, but in numbers, were just as frightening as the Joker himself.

Forty-seven people were killed.

But my story in particular, doesn't start there. It starts the day before that happened.

I was sixteen, myself, and I went to Gotham High. To say I had few friends was an understatement- I didn't have any.

I was average height. Long brown hair, because I didn't like to cut it, and blue eyes. I had small features- but large eyes.

I was thin to the extreme, due to malnourishment. My mother died in childbirth, with me. My father had abused me as long as I could remember- nothing horrible. Just slapped me around a lot, and told me to get him things from the stores, when he was too drunk to do it himself.

I was quiet. If I didn't see the point to talk, I wouldn't. But I was passionate on the inside. I had opinions.

It wasn't until my ninth hour class, History, did I finally give my opinion- and it was on the wrong thing, apparently.

"Batman rules, there is no question about it. He kicks ass-"

"Language, Mr. Carson," my teacher Miss Skelter reprimanded. Jimmy Carson didn't acknowledge she spoke- he was busy spouting his views. He was tall, with blond hair, and dark eyes. I didn't like him, at all. He had always been cold to me, since grade school.

"I know people say that he's evil, and kills people, but I don't think he does."

I was sitting in the seat behind Jimmy, crushing my pen in my hand, trying to breath calmly, and ignore his words.

"Yeah-" another kid chimed in. "I think the Batman is great! Honest!"

"He fights for good, he's cleaning up the scum in this town-"

"No," I mumbled, my voice quiet from lack of use. "No, he isn't. Not really."

The entire room was silent. My pen broke. Purple ink seeped over my white fingers, flowing through the little cracks on my palms, like rivers full of water. Great...

"What did you just say?" Carson hissed at me. I cleared my throat, staring at my purple hands.

"I think that the Batman is a noble thought- but he's fighting in a battle that he cannot win. Sure, he is putting away mob leaders- but those aren't really the criminals that a masked vigilante should be trying to get. He should be going after the small rapists. The muggers." My father. "Those people."

I sighed. My hands would stain. It was a hopeless cause. And the room was still very silent. Even Miss Skelter was silent, her mouth hanging open, a little.

"Oh, so people like The Joker- they should just be let to run free? Is that what you're saying?"

"Did I say that?"

"The Joker killed my fucking aunt, Kimmy. Carved up her face!" Carson had turned around in his seat, and was screaming now.

"Language-"

"So you're for the Joker? Is that it? Huh Kimmy?" I didn't give him permission to call me Kimmy, and his flagrant use of my given name annoyed me.

"I never said I-"

"But if you aren't for the Batman- you're against him! If you can't make up your mind Kimmy-"

"Don't call me Kimmy!" I shouted hoarsely.

"You're just as bad as the Joker!" Carson hissed, as the bell rang.

I grabbed a few tissues that were on Skelters desk, and she refused to look me in the eye, as I cleaned my hands off the best I could. I heard mumbles of curses as I walked away, and felt anger burn through me, hot and unpredictable.

My movements were jerky as I walked back to my desk, and my knuckles were white on my books as I walked to my locker. The entire hallway had already been formed that apparently I was for the Joker. They kept even more of a distance that usual.

I mumbled curses under my own breath as I walked out of the school, not anticipating going home to my old man.

Suddenly, I was down on my hands and knees, my bag a few feet away from me. A sharp kick to my ribs sent me sprawling onto the ground, the breath gone from my lungs.

"How's that you fucking Joker-lover?" Carson hissed in my ear, I heard a unfamiliar clicking noise.

Suddenly, a hand was tangled in my hair, and I was ripped up off the ground. Two slender hands trapped my wrists behind my back. It was a girl- I didn't recognize her. Blond hair, brown eyes. Pinched lips.

Carson was in front of me, and I saw with an icy stomach, he was holding a switch-blade.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice husky and my throat raw.

There was someone else with the girl behind me, and it was a boy. He was laughing hysterically, a deep laugh. It sent shivers down my spine, just like the high-pitched laugh of the Joker did.

I would almost prefer the Joker, right now, than to Jimmy Carson, and his little minions.

"Come on Jimmy, my mom'll kill me if I'm late," the girl whined.

"Hush baby, it won't take long," Jimmy crooned, making me feel sick. He put the blade of the switch in my mouth, and I felt a rush of tears fill my eyes. It was quite obvious, his plans.

"If you side with the Joker- you might as well look like him. You know what his words were, to my Aunt before he carved up her face?"

"What?" I whispered, the blade cutting my tongue a little. My blood tasted like salt and water.

"Why so serious?" He hissed, and I felt a horrible, sharp pain in my cheeks. I saw a spray of blood flash across Jimmy's face. His eyes were alight with happiness. That boy laughed again, behind me.

I let out a shriek, and more blood splattered on Jimmy's face, and he quickly ripped open my other cheek.

"Quick, we gatta get outta here," Jimmy said, and I heard the sound of feet on pavement. I felt something wet strike my cheek- and I realized it was spit, as the boy laughed above me.

He was gone. I was alone, and I felt like I was choking on my own blood. Salt and Water, sliding down my throat, thickly.

Finally, after a few long moments of nothing but salt, water, and tears, I passed out.

----J----

I awoke seven hours later.

My cheeks ached, and I was in a hospital room- what other room could I be in. A doctor came in a half-an hour later, and informed me warily that me cheeks would scar. I had been found too late for them to be able to keep my face smooth. The scars were rather jagged, he said.

He asked if they were self-inflicted. I was so angry, I opened my mouth wide, and tore the stitches accidentally. I howled in pain, until he gave me an injection, which made everything go fuzzy.

It wasn't until a few days later that I realized he took that answer as an affirmative. I didn't know that my father had to promise he wouldn't let me out of my sight until my suicidal stage was gone.

I assume they re-stitched me. When I awoke, my father was there, grumbling under his breath about the insurance not covering all of the bills, and nonsense. He was very angry- but I felt that he would probably take his anger out on me later, so karma would be in balance again. And oh, did Karma owe me a bitch-slap.

I walked out of the place, with the knowledge I would be back later to get the stitches out. I got into my dads clunker of a vehicle, and he drove us home, screaming at me all the way. I stared forward through the windshield in pure anger.

Dad didn't knock me around too much. My body ached with bruises, but nothing was broken, or sprained. My cheeks were bleeding again, had irritated the stitches, for fun.

It was midnight, and I lay in my bed in agony, wishing that I would go to sleep and never wake up.

X----J----X

The next morning was a schoolday, and I went to school dreading the stares. Everyone would have heard about my rant in History, and when they saw my scars, the stitches black against my pale skin, they would think that I had done it out of some sick love for the Joker- which was a complete lie. I may not have been for the batman, but I was not on the side of the Joker. Sure, he made sense occasionally, but I would never drop my life to follow in his footsteps, or anything.

I found that school was... better than I expected. No one spoke to me. Not. Once. As a matter of fact, Jimmy Carson wasn't even at school.

It wasn't until third hour, when I got called into the office, that my day turned for the worst.

There were four S.W.A.T. members, with guns that were larger than me, who immediately upon me entering the office, were all over me. I was being told to get down, another wanted my hands up, a taller one told me to put my hands behind my neck- everyone was screaming at once.

I dropped to the floor, my eyes wide, trying to take in this hysterical scene. A man jerked my hands back, and I was reminded of the fact that it was the second time in two days that someone had done that to me. I expected laughter, which never came.

My Miranda rights were being spoken to me, as my hands were placed in cuffs. With dismay, I felt something wet streak down my chin- blood. My stitches. Once again.

I was being drug out of the school now, and shoved into a large truck which large yellow letters informed me was a S.W.A.T. vehicle.

I was completely still in shocked silence during the entire ride.

"Why am I here?" I whispered, trying to move my lips as little as possible. The man across from me glared.

"Quiet- you know why you're here."

I kept quiet, trying not to cry in anger, and embarrassment. What the hell was going on, here?

Finally, the car jerked to a stop, and I was being pulled out, and drug towards a large place that wasn't completely unfamiliar. It was all over the news, actually.

Arkham. For the crazies.

Shit.

The outside was surrounded by people- reporters and civilians, and they were screaming horrible things at me. Curses. Spitting at me.

I remembered the boy-who-laughs, spitting on me, before he left, and shuddered in anger.

Tears streamed down my pale cheeks- which were still bleeding. The mixed with the blood, and turned it were on my scars- and they seemed to be outraged.

Someone called me the Jokers whore. Another screamed that pedophilia should be added to the Jokers crimes. Women were crying, screaming I had murdered their husbands.

None of it made any sense to my frazzled mind.

Finally, I was pulled inside the Asylum.

"How has she been acting?" A man dressed in a white coat and brown pants asked my captors. He was a graying, older man, with wary, tired eyes, and a thin flinty voice.

"Good. She's playing dumb, though. Put her in with the top ten, and- and him."

Another two men grabbed me, and drug me forward, towards a door on our right.

"I can walk," I whispered.

"Huh?" One of them asked stupidly, the door was opened, and voices streamed out of it, and light

"I said- I can walk," a little louder, and I was pushed into the room, to face whatever was on the other side of the door.