[This Fic will contain strong language, violence, sexual violence, drug use/references, and sexual situations.]

As some of the readers already know, I have been working on rewriting this story. While I reread it and liked the what I had written, it was not entirely what I had envisioned. Some of the characters got...well out of character. I've taken a good majority of the cursing out as it didn't seem to fit the Joker, and also a majority of the sexual innuendos.

A few notes from me. 1. This obviously takes place right after TDK. 2. I have decided to bring in two classic villains in what I hope is a unique and different view. Trying to keep with the dark aspect of TDK, I gave them very different background stories than the comics and etc. So die hard comic book Batman fans, sorry but this will not be following the original story line. I wanted to do something a little bit of fresh instead of trying to reinterpret something that has already been done. Not that those fics are bad, I just want to be different. That really is the only difference. Just based on an idea I've had since watching TDK for the first time. It is going to be more like a comic world though, and a little stretch from Nolanverse. So basically it's an AU. This means I will use some already established characters, and I will use some characters that I just made up. 3. Enjoy if you so choose, and reviews are always welcome.

Although this is technically a romance, it is going to be a dark morbid story. It's not boy meets girl, or Beauty and the Beast. It's a sick, twisted, and at times very sad romance. Though it may seem initially that they hit it off, it's more an act than any actual affection. This is very important to know as you read the story. The female character is not an OC, but her identity won't be revealed up front.

Also...Mia...Just a filler character. She's gone after this chapter. I am trying not to be generic with this, so just wanted to say that this is not Mary-Sue.

This story will be mostly told from third person, centering around the thoughts of the Joker. Once in a while it will switch over to Gordon.

The only thing to fear is fear itself.

"You really should learn to face your fears."

They were being obscenely rough with him, pushing and pulling him along with such force that he nearly kept falling over. As if he was a child that had done something mortifying in front of their parents and he deserved severe punishment. Like swearing in front of important company. Something akin to saying the "F" word in front of dear ole pop's boss. Then they would take the belt to him and beat him until his ass was so raw he couldn't sit down. He supposed he had been a very bad child. At least according to society.

They forced him along without pause despite the various wounds he had acquired; including the deep bruising and contusions around his ankles where moments ago wire cable held him suspended above the city. He was sure he could feel blood trickling down into his socks forming a warm pool in each shoe. If he listened close enough, he could hear the squishing noise emanating from his feet with every step that he took. As they dragged him along he tried to wiggle his toes. To his dismay he could feel blood ooze between them, making it uncomfortable and sticky. Well that was just wonderful.

His hair was tangled and matted to his head from the combination of blood and perspiration that clung to him. As he licked his lips, he felt a bit of dried blood blended with the chalky taste of paint. The salty smell of sweat invaded his nostrils and he could feel an itch that was burning. He would have reached up to scratch it if it wasn't for the cuffs that were digging deep into his wrists. The more he struggled, the more they seemed to rub his wrists raw, bringing a familiar stinging sensation to his skin. Just like the last time. Oh yes, this was not the first time that he had been detained with handcuffs.

No certainly not. In fact, just days ago he had been in cuffs. And before that many, many times. Though the records wouldn't show that anymore.

Men like him did not do well at staying out of trouble. Trouble was drawn to him, and he to it. Not that he minded in the least, he craved it. He craved everything that came with it, including the attention. Nothing excited him more than when someone stopped to stare at his grotesque appearance. The terror in their voice when they realized it was him, when they realized what he could do. Even if they didn't know what he was going to do, they knew what he had done and what he was capable of. Just as it was now. The people in the street who had left their homes to get a glimpse of all the commotion just to have their own story to tell at work the next day. To have their own version of that night that would be spoken of and feared for years to come. "Did you hear about the Joker? I saw him! The Antichrist in the flesh!"

Women clung to the arms of men who tried to appear tough in the face of danger. Mothers shielded the eyes of their children, hoping that they wouldn't glimpse enough to have given them nightmares for eternity. As he scanned the crowd, he saw one such mother. He smiled and winked at gasped and grabbed her son, running back into a building that he assumed was their home. The look of pure terror on her face brought a smirk from his lips, and a butt of a gun into his back.

"Keep quiet asshole," one of the men said. Looking up through clouded eyes and strands of hair he read the badge on the young officer's uniform. Whitmore. He thought about making a smart remark, but decided against it, knowing that the next time they hit him it would probably be in the head. Passing out at his moment wouldn't be very helpful. He had to bite his lip to keep from talking; he succeeded in drawing a drop of blood to add to the foul taste in his mouth. It was not in his nature to be submissive, but it was all part of the plan. There was always a plan. Although he had once said otherwise, he had merely bended the truth. Of course he made plans, however he had no goal. No reason for what he did, it was all just because. Officer Whitmore, I hope you believe that your job is worth all of this, he thought to himself.

It was still quite dark out, the moon barely showing through the clouds. Although the street lamps illuminated the cracked sidewalks and he could see pieces of trash and gum wrappers along the road. There were weeds growing through the cracks, showing that the city was poor at taking care of itself. One more sign of how bad times had hit Gotham.

A few yards behind him the red and blue lights from the patrol cars flashed continuously. They brought the only bright colors to this dark city. He imagined they were still ransacking the building looking for his men. Not that he cared in the least. It would be their own damn fault if they were stupid enough to get caught. Although it wouldn't be a surprise. Most of the men that he chose to work for him were slightly off balance. The rest were those who just wanted to stay on the Joker's good side. The kind that was easily manipulated. Easy to convince and willing to do whatever he asked of them. Protection in return for there service. Or for his slower counterparts "medicine." Not a damn one of them had even realized that he didn't give a rats ass about any of them. Disposable. Just like razors, just use them and then throw them away.

He looked back to the bystanders gathered over by a traffic light. Even though he was captured the fear was so tangible in the air. He could see them all whispering and pointing. Once again he was the center of attention, a spectacle if you will. Sobbing and screaming could be heard, tensions running high throughout the whole city. That's right. You're all scared of the big bad wolf. Don't forget about this night, because it won't be the last. I promise you that, Dear old Gotham.

As much energy as the streets seemed to hold, it all seemed to disappear the closer that he was escorted to them. People held their breath as the police forced him by the crowd. Not a soul blinked as he passed by, not a person looked up to see him. Not a sound, except for the wind whistling through the alleys and the distant sirens behind them. They all stood still like statues. Too afraid to look him in the face. He could only imagine what was going through their head. He did know they were waiting for him to do something so drastic that it would prove to them that the most dangerous man in Gotham is not that easily subdued. It made him feel good, terrifying them. That's right, keep watching, like I'm going to do a trick for you.

Chaos had always elated him. Sure there were other things that gave people that same warm feeling he got. Some people donated to a charity, some people found love, some even had children. But he...he was different. There was nothing as exhilarating as throwing all of those rules out the window and forgetting about the consequences. To know that you are in charge, people feared you, labeled you as unpredictable and dangerous. It felt wonderful to act on those primal instincts that told you to punish your enemies and put the weak in their place. The blood pulsing through your veins, the nirvana of acting on your deepest and darkest desires. That was what he lived for. The second thing that he lived for, was proving that almost every human that walked the streets of this city could be just like him by pushing the right buttons. It could be the threat of hurting a loved one, it could be taking something precious away, money, power, lust, or it could be done just by threatening their own lives. So many different ways to torture people, he had never grown bored with it. How could he, when it was what made him feel so alive? And with Batman, his fun would never end.

That was until he was thrown into a maximum security prison, or worse...Arkham Asylum. The latter being the more likely choice since everyone was convinced that he was completely out of his mind. A neurotic psychopath is what they had called him on the news. He had never thought he was insane. He felt normal, he had a conscious just like everyone else. He just chose to ignore it, it felt so much better that way. Well...that could be seen as insane he guessed. Had he chose to live that boring life as an office worker bound by laws and limitations, he would have seen a man painted as a clown rigging explosives to two ferries and telling them to detonate the other ferry or he would kill them all as insane as well. But he didn't lead a normal life. No, he tried once. Tried to pretend to fit in. But chaos, she found him. They were destined for each other, two lovers. So the chaos had come, turning his normal life upside down. Then he embraced that dark side, like he always knew he should have.

Which reminded him that he was still being escorted by six of Gotham's finest to an armored vehicle, which he assumed was to ship him off to the nearest holding facility immediately, if not straight to Black Gate. It also reminded him that he was in an excruciating amount of pain. It was taking every ounce of strength he had not to limp, or for that matter just give up walking all together and let the team drag him to their destination. But even someone like himself had some shred of dignity. So, he lifted his feet, trying not to drag them; determined to ignore the pain. He would not let them see him weak, he had an image to uphold. He'd be damned if he let them think that his spirit could be broken. No man would ever break him. No one would ever break him.

They trudged under a street lamp and he winced as pale light illuminated his even paler face. His feet hurt like they had been walking for hours. And that damn itch wouldn't go away.

Taking a quick glance around he got an estimate of what he was dealing with. Five men and one woman. Each in their uniform of navy with the small white letters SWAT on the front. He turned back to the one that had spoken earlier. Whitmore, was it? No facial feature could be distinguished through the helmet with the yellow tinted visor that he wore. His badge was sewn to the left arm of his uniform, as was the rest of theirs. He chose to ignore them, their names were not important to him. There was a receiver for his radio clipped to the front of his uniform, and there was a wire trailing up to his ear where there would have been a bud to hear the radio. The cord for the radio snaked over his shoulder and down his back connected the to radio pouch that was firmly secured to his belt. Looking back up from the belt, he noticed that the Kevlar over the uniform, their protection. He saw various pockets on the vest. He was guessing there was ammo in one of the pockets, possibly a flashlight. Beyond that he didn't know nor did he care. His elbows and knees were both covered with padding; the Joker mused over what the hell those could possibly be useful. He had never heard of anyone being shot in the knee or the elbow. Even so they seemed to be dressed for a purpose. The whole team looked the part of the job, from their firearms right down to the leather boots. They all walked in unison never breaking stride, dragging him along all the sound of their boots so rhythmical in comparison to his soft shoes, barely able to leave the ground with each step.

They passed under another light, this one a traffic light; this time a red tint passing over his facial features. The closer the van got, the more the team rushed with a sense of urgency. Eager to lock him up, to put him behind bars so that they could feel even a little safe. Yes, you would all like to think that wouldn't you? That once you put me away everything bad will just, poof, disappear. Because I am all the evil that is out there. You silly, silly people. He giggled softly. There were way worse criminals out there. He had met some of them. And they thought he was horrific because he didn't like their rules.

As if to affirm that they believed him to be so despicable, he was thrown to the ground harshly. Although he was glad to be off of his feet, he could have done without the impact of his face on the pavement. Obviously he couldn't catch himself, his hands bound behind his back. So, smack, he went head first into the concrete sidewalk. It made him bite his lip once more. He spat blood onto the ground. It took some strength to turn over without the aid of his arms, but he did it determined not to give them the satisfaction of thinking they had defeated him. And that fucking itch was still there! If he could just have one little finger to scratch it with.

Trying to ignore it he tilted his head up to see Whitmore. He was closest to him, which goes without saying he had been the one to throw him to the ground. And to think, I might have let you live Officer Whitmore, then you had to go do a horrible thing like that. Tsk tsk. He just laughed, earning confused and disturbed glances from the SWAT unit.

"What the hell do you think is so funny asshole?" The clown continued laughing making the men nervous and anxious. Men did funny things when they were on edge like that. He knew it from experience, and it made the grin on his face widen.

"I said what the hell is so funny," Whitmore yelled in his face. The officer kicked him, a sick thud resonating that reverberated through the clown's whole body. One of the men flinched from the horrific sound of boot on flesh. The pain struck through the Joker's already sore torso like a knife and the wind was knocked out of him momentarily. As he took a short breath he felt the anger swell beneath his skin. That anger that has been there as far as he could remember. The anger that helped drive him. He felt his nails dig deeply into his palm, fists now clenched tightly. The flip had been switched. The game was afoot, as it were.

Whitmore looked down at him, breathing heavily. The Joker's eyes looked like coal, and the seasoned officer had to repress a shudder. Damn this freak. What in the hell is wrong with this guy? This...this psycho nearly killed off a huge chunk of Gotham's population just minutes ago, and he's laughing? How fucking dare he? How dare he mock us like that?

Joker watched him, pulling the thoughts right out of his head. It was so easy to do. A trick that he used all the time. Analyze the size of the pupils, the shade of the iris, how often they blinked. The way they were standing, if their head was tilted. Then he could tell what they were thinking. He formulated in his mind exactly what was going through Whitmore's head.

It wasn't really within the regulations to push around the bad guys, but he knew exactly what to say to push their buttons. Whitmore was the type to have never had the urge to rough up a criminal before, then he had the misfortune of meeting the Joker. He thought maybe bringing him pain would bring some sort of fear to this man. He just wanted him to stop being so impassive to this. After all, he had brought so much fear to them. Hell, the whole fucking state feared this man. Just maybe it would finally shut him up for once! He had to have some sort of reaction. Stupid idea.

The clown was no longer amused, and he turned his head up to glare at the commanding officer. He had no fucking idea. Whitmore seemed to sense that something was askew. He was not giving in...he was not surrendering. Whitmore shifted his weight nervously watching the clown. Trying to resist the urge to shudder, he accidentally locked eyes with him. Joker felt the fear radiating from him.

Something in that gaze made him feel like he was looking into his very soul, trying to break him with that stare. Whitmore could feel his nerves getting to him. It would seem that the Joker was succeeding in breaking him down. He shifted nervously. Why after all these years on the force does this one man make me feel so uneasy? Oddly enough he couldn't make himself look away. It was the first time he had seen the Joker in person; and since they had apprehended him this had been the first good look he had gotten of him. No wonder why people were afraid of him, he looked scary as shit.

No single aspect of him was in any way normal. It was all horrifying. His hair was painted with some weird green paint that gave him an unnaturally eerie effect. The paint that he was infamous for was smudged and looked oily; he was without a doubt a twisted clown from hell. Black paint smeared around his eyes made them look so sunk in, and that strange red smile painted around his lips. And then there were those scars. They looked rough and jagged, not smooth as you would think a scar would be. It was as if whatever instrument had been used to construct that twisted smile had been dull. Enough to make anyone nauseous. But the most eerie thing was his clothes, they seemed so perfect in contrast to his face. And they were green, purple, and blue. You wouldn't think of those colors when you thought monster. Whitmore thought about something like Easter, but not ever again. From now on he was going to be thinking of the demonic clown thought brought the flames of hell to this town.

"I don't think you should have done that Officer Whitmore," he snarled, enunciating the consonants in every word making his speech almost sing-song like. He licked his lips, meriting more dried blood and paint on his tongue. But he didn't notice this time, this time all he felt was rage. Turning his head, he looked at the other officers, each too terrified to say anything. There was a scuffle as the female took an involuntary step backwards and his head snapped around in her direction. He smiled wide, showing her his teeth. "What's the matter, are you afraid? Now why would you be afraid of me when I am plainly handcuffed on the ground with six guns pointed at my head?"

He knew the sound of his voice had made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was written all over her face. A rookie. He hoped she did not play poker, she would be terrible at bluffing.

Mia, was pretty fresh out of the academy. This was not what Mia had been expecting on her third week on the SWAT team. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this. She had joined after having been walked all over in the past. She was here mostly to prove that she could stand up for herself. She wanted to prove she was just as strong as any man, but she could barely even swallow right now. Taking a breath she looked him in the eye, "I don't trust you." She immediately regretted locking eyes with him. Those eyes bored through her filled with malice. Those were demon's eyes, no resemblance that there was a human soul in there.

Everyone jumped as a shrill laugh escaped the Joker's throat. "I don't blame you my dear. After all, I am a terrible man. Or so they say." Whitmore looked between the clown and the rookie. There was no remorse in his voice, nothing that even hinted that he had once been a good person. He was still amused, angry or not; he was still getting a kick out of this whole thing. Whitmore's whole damn team was scared shitless.

It was the way he wanted it. They were all scared shitless, so frightened that each of them was off in their own heads. No longer functioning like the well oiled squad that they were supposed to be. Everyone was nervous expecting him to put up some sort of fight or disappear in a cloud of smoke. However he was not that kind of clown. He always planned things out, and made them big. Simply trying to fight his way out would get him killed. No, he had a better idea. It seemed everyone had grown silent, too shaken to say anything. No one moved. He just sat there on the sidewalk waiting for what was next.

If only he could stretch his arms. The dull ache was beginning to turn into numbness, the cuffs a little too tight. There was a pulsing coming from his ankles, and now he could feel the blood starting to dry. It felt dry and itchy. Just like his nose. Just one fucking scratch.

His legs were starting to numb as well, the hard concrete not exactly helping. It made his derrière sore.

A crackle of static came over one of the teams' radios followed by the voice of Jim Gordon. "Gordon to SWAT team, where is he now?"

Whitmore was the one to answer, finally breaking the silence. "Squad leader to Gordon. We have him detained at rendezvous point commissioner. Waiting for your orders sir." An awkward silence ensued as he waited for a reply. Again he shifted his weight, doing anything to take his mind off of the fact that he was within three feet of the most dangerous criminal in the world. Taking a glimpse down, he saw the the clown was still undaunted by any of this.

At last there was an answer. "Keep him there, I'm going to drive the bastard myself." Whitmore didn't even bother responding. The tension there was so high that he couldn't have kept his voice calm even if he wanted to. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he removed his helmet to wipe away the sweat that was running down the side of his face. It was the stress rather than the heat that brought this on. Anxiety was all he could feel; he just wanted to go home to his wife. If he could just tell her everything was alright, maybe he could make himself believe it as well. She would be so relieved to hear that the psycho was behind bars where he belonged.

He had thought about putting his helmet back on, and decided against it. It was almost over now.

The Joker watched as the rest of the team reluctantly removed their helmets as well, weariness setting over on all of them. Those stupid morons, he thought. They just left themselves wide open! That would be their downfall.

The weary clown took the opportunity to look up at the building that he had been dangling from just twenty minutes ago. The red and blue flashes from the patrol cars were barely distinguishable from here. The building though, the building loomed over the city. He didn't remember it being that tall. From the ground it looked more intimidating. Lucky for him Batman didn't have the heart to let him die. He knew that he wouldn't; it wasn't part of his moral code. It was so exhilarating manipulating such a strong-minded man as him. If he could mess with his mind he could do anything he wanted to! Nothing would stop him.

There had been rumors being discussed amongst the crowd while they had walked to the van that Harvey Dent had been found dead. Batman the supposed murderer. That was wrong the Joker thought to himself. If that masked vigilante couldn't kill him, why the hell would he kill Dent? Stupid people of Gotham. Just pick someone, just so long as you have someone to blame. This was exactly what he had set out to prove, the city was corrupted and it always would be. Not even the Batman could change that. If he was correct, then the bat would be long gone by now. The rest of the force would be after him to have someone to crucify over the body of their beloved Dent. That worked out in his favor. Even he couldn't have planned this out any better.

Though he had not gotten himself into this expecting to be strung upside down 20 stories above the ground, but it had been a possibility. So there was a back up plan. There was always a back up plan. Out of all the lessons that he had learned as a child, that was the one that had stuck with him. Actually that was the only thing that he had retained from that miserable period known as childhood. More advice than a lesson really. Don't leave yourself without a way out. And he never did.

Speaking of which, it was about time to start. He had waited just long enough to put the city in to some sort of comfort, believing that he had finally been caught. Just what he wanted. Manipulating people and their emotions was his specialty.

He found it flattering that the Commissioner himself had planned on taking care of business. It was so like him to take charge, but Jim Gordon was not part of his plans tonight. If he waited any longer the good old commissioner's wife would be most displeased to hear of her husband's untimely death...again. Oh Jim was going to owe him one. He had earned some shred of respect from the Joker for the little stunt that he had pulled. Even he had been fooled, and that was a task within itself. So he was going to let him live for now.

And as all the officers shook with anticipation, the Joker forced himself to his feet awkwardly, quite a task without using one's arms. His body screamed at him as he put weight on his injured ankles. Ignoring it, he pushed himself to a standing position earning him the frantic attention of the officers. Six gun barrels stared him in the face.

"Now now gentlemen...and lady," He said as an after thought. "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to point?" He chuckled, obviously amused by his own joke.

The clown rolled his neck around in a circular motion; and turned to the man that had kicked him earlier. He didn't budge, but instead stared intensely back at him. He seemed to be the most calm of the six. The most calm, but definitely still terrified. It was the paleness of his skin that gave him away. Then there was that look in his eyes. The deer in the headlights look. What the Joker referred to as the "oh shit" look. He was trying his best to prove that he was still in charge. Just like everyone else Whitmore dared to think if he acted tough enough that the Joker would back down.

"Hey now, you get back down. We don't want any funny business from you. So just get back down on the ground, and I won't shoot you in the face." Joker just smiled at him, mocking him.

"As much as I would like to cooperate with you Officer, I made plans for this evening. And those plans, well they just don't seem to involve going to jail tonight. So if you'll just let me go, I would hate to be late," He was cut short by the sound of one of the other members taking the safety off their hand gun. A strand of green hair fell into his face as he turned to look at the man who until now had gone unnoticed by him. He was visibly shaking, fearing for his own life. The kind of man that would screw every single one of the others over if it meant he was going to live. The Joker hated men like that. They were so easy to bend, so weak minded. They were no fun at all. As dull a sport as bingo. Then he turned back to Whitmore.

He looked shaken. "Just get back down." His hands were trembling now, barely able to keep a hold of the assault rifle that was aimed at the Joker's head. He seemed to be trying to remind himself that the man was in handcuffs, but there was that thought of all those whack jobs that seemed to love him. They could be hiding anywhere, ready to strike at his command. Suddenly he regretted leaving his helmet off, but he sure as hell wasn't going to bend over in front of this psycho and let him know that he was afraid.

"Sorry. But once again officer, I have plans. I hope you don't mind." He licked his lips again and offered a grin to Whitmore. All this talk was just to keep them distracted long enough for him to wiggle his hand into his back pocket. All part of the plan. Scare them and keep them looking at his face. It was difficult wriggling his fingers into the sweat soaked fabric of his pants. His gloved hand felt slippery, also drenched in sweat. Finally his fingers managed to penetrate the pocket flap. There kept tucked away, was a second detonator. Too bad that they hadn't thought to search him before they put him into his cuffs. Guess protocol went out the window when you're frightened enough to wet yourself.

"You don't mind, do you?" He smiled as his hand came in contact with the box shaped object with a small raised bump in the middle. The button to his salvation.

Whitmore and the rest of the cops were starting to get antsy. Like mice being cornered by a cat.

"You stay back. Don't do anything stupid! I am ordering you to get down on the ground or I'm going to shoot!" At that notion, the rest of the team took the safety off their guns and he found them all ready to shoot him. Too bad they weren't going to get that far.

"Ummm...No?"

It took less than a half second for him to push the button in and then he watched in glee as everyone turned around and the earth trembled. There was an eerie red gleam in his eye as an explosion ripped through the night sky. All traffic lights on the block went out leaving the Joker and the SWAT team enveloped by the pitch black streets. He imagined that some debris had fallen on one of the utility poles. Not expected, but very, very favorable. Everyone's eyes were now attracted to the skyscraper that he had been hanging from moments before. This was his back up plan. Maybe he couldn't blow up those ferries but he sure the hell was going to blow something up. The night just wouldn't be right without it.

The C4 had been set up in the middle floor, next to most of the main support beams. All of this well thought out. He had procured the schematics of the building months before this night. It had been the most strategic location for the explosion. The effect was that the building imploded on itself, crumbling down on the the bystanders and the cops that were still in the building. Debris went sailing everywhere. A bizarre shower of jagged sharp steel and glass. If it rained in hell, this would be what it was like. It was glorious.

For the moment it seemed that the SWAT team had forgotten about him, too horrified to turn away from the burning building in the distance. He smirked and continued to dig through his pocket. There in the bottom was a bobby pin. Which he had learned was very good for picking locks. And he was very good at it. 30 seconds was all it took to free himself from those dreaded cuffs. He rubbed his wrists, trying to bring some feeling back into them. Before he did anything else he brought his hand up to take care of that damn itch. Much better.

Through curls of oily hair he looked up again, to his surprise not one of them had turned around. Everyone still mesmerized by the fireworks. Keeping one eye on the team he dug through his jacket pockets and pulled out his blade. This one was his favorite, it was the one that had caused his scars. Someone else might have found that mortifying, but to him it was a reminder. It was his souvenir. He had used it on that phony batman and every other person that he had deemed worthy enough to bare the same scars. He had seen it as...sharing.

He rubbed the handle, thankful to have it back in his hand. Thankful to be able to use it again. As he flipped open the knife, two things happened then. One was that a very loud voice yelled into the radio, "This is Jim Gordon to SWAT team! Put him down! PUT HIM DOWN!" All at once they all came out of their trance, turning back to the Joker frantically. Whitmore cursed himself for taking his eyes off of the bastard for even a second.

The second was that the clown grabbed the female officer and pressed the knife to her pretty little throat. She squirmed beneath him. He licked his lips and whispered into her ear, "Now dear, the more you struggle the more it's going to hurt you know?" Illustrating for her, he pressed the knife further into her skin, earning a small drop of blood. Warm tears spilled onto his gloved hand as she sobbed.

"Please...please." Mia sucked in a shaky breath. "I don't want to die...not now." She closed her eyes and whimpered. More tears poured out as he pressed his cheek to hers.

"I like it when women beg," he said while licking his lips again. He looked down at her, noticing her brunette hair pulled into a tight ponytail. No makeup, plain. Natural beauty though. She might have been attractive to him, had she not been bawling her eyes out at the moment. Too young and inexperienced to put up any type of a fight. Too bad, he liked it when they struggled. Regardless of all that, she still worked very well as a hostage. Perhaps even better with the whole sympathy thing.

He had everyone's attention now. And he was relishing in it. Tightening his grip around her waist he whispered into her ear. "Tell me dear, is this the first time you've ever begged for your life?" Unable to answer she just nodded, eyes closed tightly. She was trembling, making it all the better for him.

"Let her go," Whitmore screamed. His hands were damp, barely able to keep hold of his rifle. He tightened his grip. God damn it, he was not going to let this rookie die. She was barely even 25 for fucks sake! They were not going out like this. Not to him.

Joker shook his head, cackling. "Oh, you tell the best jokes Officer Whitmore. But mine are better." Keeping his knife pressed to Mia's slender throat, he raised his other arm into the air, holding it straight up like a child would do in school. He grinned devilishly at the other officers as he bent down to smell Mia's hair. "You smell very nice," he said tauntingly. God how he loved this part. The torture.

"Put your hand down! I will fucking shoot you! Let her fucking go!" The Joker looked up with a smirk and raised his eyebrow. Whitmore tried not to flinch as his partner Carlos took a step backwards. Something was very wrong. They were losing control of the situation too fast.

"Well. Only because you insisted. You have a wonderful night Officer." With that he brought his arm straight down in a quick, swift motion.

Before Whitmore could figure out what was going on, there was the briefest moment of agonizing pain as a bullet pierced through his skull. Mia let out a piercing scream as Whitmore's body fell to the ground with a thud.

"Oh my god!" She lurched forward in an effort to get to her dead squad leader, resulting in the blade digging deeper into her skin. She stopped at once feeling warm liquid flowing down into her uniform.

The sound of thunder filled the air as four more shots rung out, four more bodies falling to the ground. Each member of the team murdered except for the girl still in the Joker's grasp. She stared ahead, mouth agape. She was so helpless...they were all gone. Every single one of them.

The radio crackled again. "Whitmore! What happened? Answer me!"

Joker looked from the woman's face to the receiver that was clipped to her shirt just above her chest. Keeping the knife as a warning, he used the other hand to grab the radio, purposely grabbing more than just the radio. Mia flinched.

"Hello commissioner. It's your favorite criminal...the Joker. But I guess you already knew that. Just so you know...it's awfully messy over here. Bring a broom and a mop." He laughed into the receiver. He was silent for a moment. Then he added in a taunting tone, "Oh and commissioner? You have a good night."

He dropped the receiver leaving it hanging by the cord and looked at the woman that was trembling in his grasp. Tears were streaming down her beautiful face. Her eyes were closed tightly, praying that this was all just one horrible nightmare. Now what was he going to do with her? Slowly he reached up to touch her face and caress it. Wiping the tears away just in time for more to come flooding out. So fragile and vulnerable.

"Now now. Calm down, you're getting blood all over me." He held his sleeve up for inspection. Sure enough crimson staining his purple coat. "Open your eyes," he said sweetly.

She shook her head slowly, moaning. This can't be real. This can't be real.

Rage swept through him. When he gave orders they were meant to be carried out. "OPEN YOUR EYES!" He shook her violently for good measure.

Slowly she opened her eyes, fearing what he would do if she didn't listen. He was holding up his blood soaked sleeve in front of her face. Her chest rose and fell quickly, hyperventilating. "Look at this mess. That's from you," he said calmer this time.

She concentrated on his sleeve, not wanting to anger him anymore. "I'm sorry...please."

"Oh dear, I'm not going to kill you. Not this time. You were the only one that was truthful with me tonight."

Mia looked up at him confused and he smirked. Licking his lips he whispered into her ear again, "Remember? You told me you didn't trust me." Mia nodded, unsure of where this was going. Please god. I don't want to die.

She took a shaky breath and watched silently as he inspected his sleeve. Nonchalantly he asked her, "What do you use to get blood out? Is there some trick?"

"I...don't...know," she answered in between sobs.

"Some help you are," he shoved her away from him. The clown turned away from her, uninterested. Mia felt her hand automatically go up to her throat, thankful to be alive. Warm blood spilled over her fingers; hand trembling she tried to apply pressure. She stayed petrified as he started digging through Whitmore's pockets.

There was a metallic clinking as he pulled something out of one of the pockets. Holding up dangling keys he winked at her. "Bye bye now." And with that he stood and stretched. Without even a glance behind him, he walked away from Whitmore's body. His shoes creating a soft echo in the darkened streets.

He turned to his left as several men dressed in purple exited the vacant building adjacent to the van. Just as several more in different buildings would be doing as well. Fifty of them in all if he remembered correctly. His snipers all dressed identical to him. Each of them unaware that they were just pawns to him. As he opened the driver's door, he watched as they each took off in different directions. Previously he had given them each an address to return to. For safety he had told them. Whether or not they realized he was lying, he didn't care. The whole town would be out looking for him so he needed a distraction. So he made one. Knowing Gordon, he would search the rough neighborhoods. That's what they expected of him, to hang with scum. No one would be expecting him to be hiding in a ritzy neighborhood. It was irritating to him. Just because he was what he was automatically he was associated with trash. Wouldn't Gordon be surprised when he found all those fifty jokers, none of them the original!

Her eyes closed tightly, she heard a rumble as the ignition started. Streams of tears fell down her cheeks, mixing with the blood in her now soaked uniform. A few moments later the sound of the engine faded away, and slowly she opened her eyes. Nausea swept over her suddenly and she lurched over as her lunch spill over her uniform and the pavement. She didn't even bother to wipe her mouth, and she could feel snot running from her nose. What the hell did it even matter?

Gunshots. Plural. What in the hell had happened? He knew that they should have just taken in him in the damn squad car. It had taken him too long dealing with Dent to arrive in any sort of timely manner. Screw the damned armored van. It had been for safety. To protect his men. To get them away from all of the civilians. So stupid, he had outwitted them again! There was no safety when it came to the Joker. He knew it when he heard the gunshots, but his humanity didn't want to admit it. So, he ran as fast as his already tired limbs would let him.

As Jim Gordon approached the scene he saw five bodies. "Damn it," he yelled. Each with a gunshot to the head. Their expressions frozen on their face. Each sprawled out motionless. Gordon felt the same familiar anger that he felt any time the Joker was involved. He looked up at the windows of the buildings that were supposed to be vacant. He had thought removing him from the crowd would somehow falter his plans. Obviously he had outsmarted them all, thinking of every scenario. Damn it! And now Batman was a fugitive. How the hell were they ever going to bring this monster down?

Sobbing came from the sidewalk, and he saw the youngest of the team shaking in the road. Shit. He ran, coming to her aid. Damn it..he had cut her. Mia just whimpered as Gordon knelt down and tilted her head to the side, inspecting the wound with a flashlight.

Jim pushed his glasses back onto his nose as he reached for his radio. "Dispatch, this is Gordon. I need EMT's at the rendezvous. Multiple casualties. One Minor injury."

"Roger Commissioner. This is dispatch. Sending an ERV to your location now."

He sighed heavily and turned to Mia. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, probably scarred for the rest of her life. The look in her eyes said that she would never be the same again. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and Mia flinched. "Mia...Mia. I need you tell me what happened here."

She looked up at him through bloodshot eyes. She tried to focus on him, but the tears wouldn't stop coming. Vaguely, she was aware that her hand was still covered in blood. His hand was where her's had been, over the cut on her neck. This was not what she had signed up for.

"I quit."

The beginning of this chapter describes what Joker would have thought if he had led a normal life, this is a clue to his past. Look for this in future chapters.

Black Gate refers to Black Gate Penitentiary. This is the prison in Gotham

The stunt that the Joker refers to is the scene in TDK where it is revealed that Gordon had faked his own death.

All officers besides Gordon in this chapter are not from any variation of the Batman Universe.