Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! You know yourself. I do not own nor have anything to do with the Batman franchise. My Batman is Bale, my Joker is Heath Ledger, and let me take this opportunity just to say how much I loved his performance, and rest in peace. My Alfred is of course Michael Caine.

I love feedback, everything but non-constructive criticism. Don't like it? Don't read it! But if you do, a review or two would be much appreciated. Let me know of any suggestions, or if you've got a story for me to check out, and enjoy!


Bruce Wayne awoke to the rich aroma of fresh coffee, and the intentional clearing of a throat. He shifted slightly in his armchair, wincing a little at the pain in his neck and shoulders, having slept the past three or four hours bolt upright. His butler, Alfred was at his side, complete with breakfast tray and raised brow.

"Is there something the matter with your bed, Master Wayne?" Bruce stretched and sighed.

"I'm finding it difficult to sleep." Alfred set down the tray and picked up the remote control. He cleared his throat again and nodded toward the television mounted on the wall nearby.

"Well, I'm afraid to say you won't be finding it any easier, sir." He turned on the television, already set on Gotham Cable News. Bruce snapped to attention as the familiar scarred face of the Joker appeared on screen. He was silent then, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"That was Commissioner Jim Gordon speaking about last night's shock escape from Arkham. Most of the patients have since been rounded up, but there are reportedly seven still on the loose, including the Joker. Civilians are warned to be vigilant, as all missing inmates are considered dangerous, and potentially armed. It has been..."

"He's escaped," Alfred interposed. Bruce's face creased into a wry smile.

"Thanks for clearing that up for me," he said, standing and stretching his aching limbs. "Things have been a little quiet around here anyway. I guess it couldn't last."

Alfred muted the television as old footage of the Joker's initial threat against Bruce's alter ego was replayed. "I don't care to listen to him," he said, by way of explanation. "I was rather enjoying his little hiatus. Try to eat something, Master Wayne. I make your breakfast for your health, not mine."

He smiled, handed Bruce the remote, and took his leave. As delicious as Alfred's cooking was, Bruce found it difficult to swallow more than a mouthful or two, and soon overturned the contents of his plate onto the ground below his window.


"We can't even begin to understand what happened last night...I can only assure you that it was through no neglect of our own that he managed to escape. The Joker was watched night and day, I can't offer an explanation, not right now...it's a...terrible, terrible thing. We lost several of our staff last night. His mind is just a mystery, beyond my comprehension."

The unpleasant whiff of burnt toast snapped Angelica Bessette out of her reverie before the tube. She dragged herself up from the sofa and sauntered over to her kitchenette, still half-listening to Arkham's rather rattled head doctor. A thick cloud of smoke surrounded her old toaster, pea green and decidedly past it.

"Waste not," she muttered, as she gingerly removed the blackened bread. Her mother's most-used phrase. Eight years today. She felt the lump rise in her throat as her moistening eyes wandered up the wall to the clock, just about to turn nine. Breakfast would have to be taken downstairs.

She hit the red button and tossed the remote onto the sofa as she left the room. The last image, before the screen shrank to nothing and the door shut, lingered, loomed in the darkness of the hallway: the Joker, hysterical, on the day of his admission into Arkham. From the squad car to the asylum's enormous double doors he had laughed, his head thrown back, hair a dirty, tangled mass of curls. He didn't care. No walls could hold him for long.

Arkham had been the only institution willing to take him, but they never would again. Angie trembled slightly in the dark of the hallway, and her fingers groped feverishly along the wall, almost in a panic, for the light switch. Her heart pounded, and she almost laughed in spite of herself.

The Joker. He had an impact, that much was for sure.

An audible sigh of relief escaped her as the overhead lamp flickered into life, revealing what she had known all along, that she was entirely alone.


Just a bit of an introduction. Here's hoping you want more!