The Joker's locked up. And yet, somehow, his crimes are continuing. Wanton killing, playing with innocent lives, games… Perhaps the Joker is a better magician than everyone thought. Perhaps there's someone else behind it all. Or perhaps it's simply a multiplayer game that has started.

It's not so much of a story as a collection of thoughts from various people – some unnamed. There is a plot and characters, but it is choppy and will not flow like most stories.

The whole point of this is to make you think. To make you realize that everyone can find a reason to – even momentarily – put aside the seriousness in our lives, even if all one can manage through their insanity is a simple

Twisted smile.

A/N: Thanks for stopping in. I'm not quite sure what sort of effect this'll have on people, but we'll see. My beta wasn't all too fond of it, as she's not really into psychological things. But I want to know what you think about it. Leave me a review and let me know, all right?

twisted smiles – I: A New Player

"Why so serious?" Though the Joker had said this in front of a relatively small group of people, it had gotten out and was now widely seen as "his" line. No one said it anymore. No one wanted to even come close.

The horrors that the Joker had caused upon Gotham City were starting to clear up. Many people were still affected negatively from them, but for the most part, recovery was right on schedule.

But his line lingered. It was the one scar upon the city that would never fade. "Why so serious?"

- - -

"Come now," a soft voice crooned. "Why the look of terror?"

A man struggled against his bonds, looking around the room. He was tied to a chair underneath a singular light in an otherwise empty room. Though his mouth was bound in no visible way, he was completely silent – not even mutterings of fear escaped the thin, pale lips. His eyes went back to the camera, and the figure behind it.

"What do you have to say to the people of Gotham City? Anything?" the figure asked.

The man's eyes, wide with terror, looked up to the figure. "What do you want with me?" he managed, squeaking slightly.

The voice laughed. "I wouldn't want to ruin the fun for our lovely police department, would I?" it teased. Suddenly the camera moved, showing a view of the wall to the right of the man. "Unfortunately, I'm a tad camera shy," the voice continued, and footsteps were heard, "so you will not be seeing my face. But I will tell you this."

She was interrupted as the man starting whimpering. "No, no please."

"A game is starting," the voice continued over the pleading. "And I want us to have some fun with this one. I know I am already …thrilled."

The man screamed. Crimson splattered across the wall in front of the camera and slowly dripped down. There were a few moments of relative silence, then the camera swung back to the view of the man. He was propped up against the wall, knife in his heart, and cheeks cut right up to his ears. A look of horror was frozen in his dead eyes.

On the wall behind him, written sloppily in blood: "wHy so seRiouS?"

The video was sent to the television studio. But after watching it, they were unsure whether they could show it on the morning news. It was far too gruesome.

But finally it was decided that they would end it after the voice stopped speaking. However, a copy of the entire video would be sent to the police for investigation.

- - -

A young woman looking no older than 25 or so, stood in her shower, face tilted upwards, letting the warm water drench her face and hair, streaming down her body, tracing every contour. She reached up, touching her cheek. Touching the healing scar. The scar that ran from the corner of her mouth to her ear. The unsettling line ran through her head. "Why so ser-- ?"

"Honey? Are you almost finished?"

She blinked a couple times, regaining her bearings. "Yes! I'll be right out!" Shaking herself from the morbid memories, she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel.

The scar had a match on her left cheek. The left cheek, however, also had a thin white scar running perpendicular to her forced smile. This scar, however, was much paler, and obviously more than a decade older. All three scars were thin and white, and marred her otherwise perfectly smooth face. To all but those who knew that they were there, they were invisible.

She leaned closer to the mirror, wiping away the droplets of water and condensation to see her reflection. She frowned slightly. And yet still smiled.

Gently, she touched the reflected scars. Her eyes were cold, and corners of her mouth downturned.

Her lips slowly formed the words swimming around in her head.

"Why so serious?"

- - -

"Sir! The man that was killed in that video; we found him."

"Well, why are you hesitating? Who is he?"

"His name is… William Ullerman, sir. He was a manager at the local supermarket. Forty-seven years old, divorced, but three children."

"So what does the Joker want with him?"

"I don't know sir."

"How did the Joker even get to him? Isn't he in some crazy house?"

"Yes sir."

"He has no connection with anyone outside, so he couldn't've contacted any accomplices. So how'd he do it?"

"No clue, sir."

"Perhaps we should ask him."

- - -

The Joker. Two of them in every standard deck of 52 cards. A wild card in many card games; otherwise useless and tossed aside. And also the name of Gotham City's most notorious criminal thus far. The man was currently rotting, however, in an asylum. Isolated room. Restricted access. Guarded 24-7.

He glanced at the door, as he seemed to be doing quite often, as of rather recently. For no particular reason, as far as he could tell. Just because he could. Not as if he had anything better to do.

He was bored.

He looked back at the wall straight ahead. It was, like the other three walls as well as the ceiling and floor, covered in a soft material so he could do no damage to himself should he decide to start running into it or bang his head against it.

He chuckled a little at the idea. Why would he think of doing such a thing? He wasn't crazy.

Crazy.

Now there was a word that had been used to describe him quite often. But he was sure that he wasn't. No no no. He was merely… happy. Entertained.

Captivated, even.

He was one of the few people in the city – in the entire world, he guessed – that could appreciate life for what it was: A game.

A game with no rules.

A game that he intended to play with no inhibitions, no regrets, and no guilt.

He would play this game until he could win.

And should he lose

He smiled. His scars lengthened the crazed grin.

He wouldn't lose.

He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes, his grin not faltering for a second. A smile upon his lips. Crooked. Warped.

Twisted.