Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, any of its characters and I am receiving nothing in exchange for this story. It is simply an exercise in entertainment.
A/N: Just another thing I needed to get out of my brain based on my current favorite movie and Heath Ledger's last completed work. It is a little bit darker than my usual fare. Enjoy and review if you would like!
The news was the same as always: violence, death and destruction. That was how it was in Gotham City. If it was not one thing, it was another. At first, there were the typical problems big cities faced. Drug lords, gangs, graffiti, white-collar crime dominated the 5 o'clock hour. Lately, it had gotten worse, much, much worse.
Super villains. That was the issue now. Crazed lunatics ran rampant, blowing things up, killing without discretion. The worst was the Joker. Any other time, a man walking down the street in clown make-up would probably not inspire the fear that this man did. There was an insanity there that the public had never been exposed to before. Scarred inside and out, the Joker had zero empathy, no definite plan. Anyone, anywhere for any reason could become a target. The Joker blew up hospitals, killed city-officials, inspired terror. Within a month, controlled and exploited every iniquity in the city of Gotham. In less than 30 days, the Joker had created such chaos that people rarely left the house, day or night.
In one word, he was evil. And no one could stop him.
Not even Batman. The caped-crusader had first made an appearance nearly six months ago. Most often thought of as a crazed vigilante, he swept around in the darkness, turning the tables on the scum of the city. It was nice to have the bad guys afraid for a change. For a while, life was peachy, people were happy. The slums were shrinking away like ice left in the sun and crime rates dropped drastically. The new D.A. started a city-wide clean up. People were inspired, determined to do their part.
Then the Joker arrived. He started off small, just another psycho to be dealt with. Either Batman or the organized crime leaders would get to him; either way it was of little consequence. How wrong they all were.
His signature cackle was echoing out of the sound system now. Tanya shuddered. As a journalist, she knew she was supposed to be impartial, to remain apathetic. But something about him terrified her to her core. It had been months, and he was still around. No one lasted this long. Not in Gotham.
The news room was silent. It always was now. No one laughed or chatted. You could hear a pen drop. That was the way of the city now, silent as a tomb. Tanya was sitting next to the Editor-in-Chief, Jim, watching the latest raw footage of a Joker attack. An office building's ashes smoldered as Commissioner Gordon assured the city that the terrorist would be caught. Keep hope alive, he instructed. Next to her, her boss sighed and rubbed his temples.
"We're only going to show the last part of the segment," he said, stopping the tape.
"What about the attack?" she knew the answer before the question even left her lips.
"It's nothing the public hasn't seen. It won't do any good to see more death and destruction. That's what the Joker wants."
"I don't think he knows what he wants, except maybe to destroy everything beautiful in the world." Tanya fiddled with the pen between her fingers, her eyes unfocused.
"Are you sure you're up to this?" she knew what Jim meant. It was her job to go out to the scenes of destruction and interview witnesses.
"It's my job isn't it?" she stood up and grabbed the jacket slung over her chair.
"That's not what I asked," Jim's eyes were filled with concern. Tanya knew they were all blessed to have a boss like him.
"I'll be fine. I always am," she winked reassuringly at him. She wished she was not lying.
Minutes later she was outside, bundled against the bitter cold. Her small news team accompanied her to the van. It was routine. They drove to the sight. Tanya stood in front of the wreckage, trying in vain to find people to interview. No one wanted their face on TV. He would see, and God only knows what could happen. Tanya settled once again for the simple interview with some representative from the city. She stood against the stark gray background, trying not to choke on ash and trying to make her face look as if she was listening to the prepared script the government puppet in front of her was spewing.
"Well, you heard it folks," she said with false enthusiasm, shouting slightly to be heard over the wind. "Stay strong Gotham; the storm will pass." she had said this now for weeks. Every week it seemed less truthful.
"Alright, that's that," her cameraman shouted. The sound crew began loading the equipment back into the truck. Tanya stood nearby, watching. She knew that as a reporter, her not interfering with their routine was the most helpful thing she could do. She lounged against the news truck, her long brown legs crossed at the ankle. It felt good to take her weight off of her feet. Her shoes were pointed and uncomfortable. The wind was rushing up under her heather gray pea coat, stirring the fabric and leaving a trail of goosebumps that danced across her dark skin. She shoved a lock of thick auburn hair behind her ear and scoured her pocket for a hair tie. She no longer needed to appear on camera today which meant that simple comforts—flat shoes and jeans and a ponytail—could now be afforded.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a firefighter lingering in the wreckage. He was making no secret of the fact that he was staring at her. Encouraged by her eye contact, he smirked in a confident way, swaggering over to her in his yellow suspended pants.
"Hey baby, I like see that pretty brown face of yours every night on the news. You and those long legs of yours would look good on my arm. What do you say to dinner?" he waggled his eyebrows at her. Tanya felt her eye threatening to twitch. She was in no mood for this banter, and could not see how he could be. Standing on the wreckage of yet another terrorist attack was no place to spark up a relationship. She pursed her full lips, preparing to politely dismiss her admirer.
"No, thank you," she said curtly.
"Why not?" the man was persistent.
"You're not my type," she said.
"Baby," the man puffed up a bit, flexing under his uniform, "I'm everybody's type."
Tanya bit back a laugh. She supposed he was attractive enough, but there was more to men than that. Stimulating conversation, intelligence, humor, these were the qualities she looked for. She knew firsthand the hard knocks an attractive man could deal and was in no hurry to repeat the experience. Luckily, she was saved from having to respond by her camera crew. Tanya jumped into the van, brushing off the last comment by the man as she pulled herself into the van. She exhaled loudly as she flopped into the worn passenger seat.
"Don't know how much more of this the city can take," Chris, the driver, commented somberly as they passed empty street after empty street. Chris was a middle aged man who had come up slums of Gotham during the depression. He had seen more than his fair share of sorrow. As a result, nothing rattled his cage. But as they drove, he started out of the window, a sadness was in his eyes that betrayed just how much living in this city could take out of you.
"Me neither," Tanya agreed softly. The landscape was desolate, gray buildings, tagged walls and the rusted remnants of parks and monuments that must once have been beautiful. They passed the ruins of the central train station. It was taking time to right the wrongs that had already been bestowed on Gotham. The Batman had destroyed the station and tracks months back, defending the city from a crazed plot. Some resented him for it; the Batman had a tendency to tear through the city indiscriminately, wreaking nearly as much havoc as he prevented. Tanya thought that a few cars and one train were a small price to pay for not having the city tear itself apart. However, her opinion was not popular with everyone.
She and Christ returned to the station, entering through the back door. Tanya unwound the scarf from her neck and hung it on her designated hook.
"How about we break for 15, then get this footage edited?" the Chris suggested. She nodded in agreement. The men trickled out, leaving her to flop down with a cup of stale, burnt coffee. She sipped it with a grimace and looked around at her office. It was a small room, almost a closet. She had done her best to brighten the place. Traces of her personal touch were everywhere: pictures of her family hung on the walls and sat on the desk, she had hung curtains in a bright lilac over her one dingy window and a colorful throw rug covered the dismal gray carpeting. Her walls, a dingy white, were covered from corner to corner in news clippings and pictures. After arriving in Gotham, fresh faced and naively optimistic, she had received what could only be described as a culture shock. Gotham's citizens trudged through their day to day. The rich spared not a second though for the poor and the poor were in a better place still than the destitute. She had never carried mace before, but she quickly added it to her purse a month into living here. There had not been much good in Gotham. The constant stories of murders and muggings had threatened to smother the spark of hope she had for the world. She combated it in her own way, namely by taping every positive story (no matter how small) to the walls of her office. Some of the paged had faded and crinkled over time, but she found it comforting, the small tales of compassion. They reminded her that no matter how bad things seemed, the world was not devoid of caring.
She stared at her most recent acquisition, a photo from a charity ball hosted at Wayne manor. Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, put on a hard front in the public eye. He was a difficult character to like, a man who seemed content to drink and party away his parent's fortune, and their good name. Tanya found him fascinating, but not because of his antics. If one looked closely enough, you could tell that Wayne was more than meets the eye. The money he funneled into nearly every charity in the city spoke of someone who cared more for the world than he let on. Tanya had some half planned notion of meeting him one day. She would like to see what kind of man he was for herself. She knew that his past was laced with tragedy and that tragedy has a way of shaping a human. She certainly could sympathize.
A loud bang from somewhere in the front of studio startled her into spilling the remnants of her coffee. Tanya scrambled to wipe it up, moving toward the door to find out what the sound was. She was willing to bet that someone had dropped a camera. There would be hell to pay if it was broken. She swung her door open and poked her head out.
The sounds of gunshots sent her scrambling back into her office and under her desk. Part of her had expected this to happen one day, especially after Mike Engle had been taken hostage a month back. However, now that she was living this nightmare, she found herself spiraling into panic. She could hear screams, the screams of her coworkers, echoing down the hall. It sounded like a troupe of elephants was rampaging through. Glass smashed, footsteps thundered and the shooting continued. Then she heard the worst sound of all.
The Joker's voice rang out, not enhanced or dulled by technology, but clear and terrifying.
"Good evening! Ladies and gentlemen, this night can go one of two ways. We just want what we came for, and we'll be on our way. Co-operate and no one will get hurt. Or at least, no one will die." He laughed that terrible, bone-chilling laugh.
"What do you want?" that was Jim's voice, authoritative as ever.
"That pretty little reporter of yours, the one that covers my handiwork," there was the laugh again, "You know who I'm talking about? Curly hair, pouty lips, voice like sugar? " Tanya felt instant nauseous. It swooped in with the fear, paralyzing her. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm in her chest.
"Tanya's not here," Jim spoke again.
"No? Are you sure about that?" the Joker sounded genuinely curious, the way one might sound if they were soliciting door to door.
"Yes," she heard Jim's voice waver. He was feeling the fear too, she was sure of it.
"Well then, that's too bad." The footsteps continued, coming ever nearer to her door. Tanya was shaking, crouching behind her desk. She heard the thugs crashing about, and several women screaming. She could run, she could run right now and never be found. Frantically she glanced around, spotting her window. She leapt to her feet and rushed toward it, clawing to get it open. The frame squealed in protest as the window scraped up the track. The cool air blew in chilling her to the bone. It was like a savior. She hoisted her leg up and positioned it outside of the window. It took more dexterity than she thought she was capable of to maneuver herself into position. She was nearly out when a scream sounded again. Incredible guilt nudged in the back of her mind, outweighing the fear. The people out there, her friends and colleagues, were going to be killed brutally if she ran. She knew that even if she escaped, she could never live with herself if afterwards.
Taking a deep breath, she made a decision that could cost her life. She wiggled back out of the window, placed her shaking feet firmly onto the carpeted floor, and walked out of her office. It took what felt like an eternity to walk down the hallway she knew so well. She had a fleeting thought that this was her death march. If this was to be her end, then she would go without fear. She steadied her gait, and then plunged headlong into the newsroom.
The sight that met her was worse than any nightmare she had ever had. The Joker had Jim pinned down to a desk, a knife in his mouth. He was grinning, happy with the chaos and the look of fear in her boss' eyes.
"Did I ever tell you how I got these scars?" he asked, his voice deceptively conversational. He wiggled the knife idly, drawing blood.
"Stop!" Tanya suddenly found her voice. The Joker looked up, greasy, black rimmed eyes gleeful. With a casual flick of his wrist, he cut Jim and then straightened to standing. Jim rolled to the ground with a groan, leaving a wet trail of crimson behind him. Her coworkers were huddled in various places, clutching each other, some bleeding and already bruised. No one moved to help Jim or her. The Joker did not need guns to control the population. His reputation was more than enough.
"Well, well, well. Hello gorgeous." he sauntered toward her. He was more grotesque than cameras depicted. The white cream of his make-up was running together in the creases of his skin, mixing with the red and black. Up close the scars were worse, rising from his face in a cruel charade of a smile. "I was afraid you weren't going to show up. Then we'd have to go through these fine people one by one until we found you. That would be a shame. Who would cover my little escapades?" The Glasgow smile drew back and widened.
"What do you want with me?" he was circling her now, like some kind of vulture.
"So quick to get to the root of the problem. I was always admired your journalistic prowess." this game amused him; her fear, evident as she wrapped her arms around herself, it all amused him. He reached out and grabbed her; instinctively she shied away. He laughed in response. "I'm not going to hurt you," he lowered his voice to a purr. "You're far too useful for that." Tanya felt her heart stutter, certain that she was having a heart attack. She had no such luck. The Joker turned around to his thugs. "Let's go boys!"
Several of the thugs shot off their guns just to hear the screams. They filed out of the doors, kicking bodies and wreckage aside indiscriminately and taking computers, laptops and cameras with them. The Joker turned his painted face back to her.
"Ready, my dear?" He smiled at her, his voice a shallow imitation of Clark Gable. He seized her around the waist. She fought, kicking, screaming, and attempting to pull his hair. It was to no avail. The Joker swung her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift as though she was nothing more than a piece of luggage.
"No!" This time the scream did not come from Tanya's lips. Jim was up again, his face covered in blood. Without sparing him a look, the Joker raised his gun and fired.
It was Tanya's turn to scream. She screamed as he carried her out of the front doors. She screamed as he tossed her bodily into the back of the dark van. She screamed as the musty bag went over her head. She screamed for Jim, she screamed for herself, she screamed for the world she lived in. She screamed until she felt the butt of a gun connect with the back of her head and her world slid into a miserable darkness.
