Falling in to Nothing:
Chapter 1:
"Just six months following events involving the terrorist known only as the Joker, resulting in the deaths of 16 public servants, 14 police officers, including Gotham's once thought sterling, former District Attorney Harvey Dent and former Assistant District Attorney Rachel Dawes, a similar, but seemingly unrelated criminal has emerged, reeking havoc across both the city's underground networks and it's general populace.
Gotham's citizen's no doubt remember the intense, city wide panic resulting from the Joker's fear mongering tactics of intimidation. A reign of terror which finally met its end thanks in no small part to the Gotham City Police Force and the vigilante crime fighter known only as the Batman.
Since that time, in a highly publicized, public trial, the Joker was found mentally incompetent to stand trial and was sentenced, indefinitely, to Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, where he has been residing ever since.
But unlike the Joker, this new killer has refused to show his face, instead making his moves in silence, quietly kidnapping citizens of this city, only for them to be found dead, days later, notes left on the bodies declaring their murderer Gotham's new owner.
Gotham's already weakened organized crime circles have been feeling the pressure as well, with several members of their various gangs having wound up dead, each victim found adorned with the very same message.
As of now, this mysterious killer has eluded capture and left GCPD confounded as to his identity and whereabouts.
Reporting live, Mike Engle, GCN."
/
"Open up. Cell block D." Sandy rapped his billy against the metal bars, calling through to Mike, who sat, working a control panel on the other side.
Mike looked up at him with questioning, and then his eyes shifted to behind the security guard, going slightly wide in surprise.
"Clown's got a visitor." Sandy informed, pointing his thumb back at the large figure standing behind him, draped in black.
Mike nodded, still staring unabashedly as he released the lock.
He watched as Sandy led the Batman through the secured door, the vigilante following closely as they each moved past his station.
He was amazed by the presence of the man, by the intensity coming from him. He seemed not a man at all even, but something more, something beyond this world.
And finally, the guard's intimidation got the better of him, and he looked away.
"This way." Sandy led. "We got him down in solitary, one level below. We thought first we could keep him in with the rest of em' here, you know, our violent ward. But this guy…" He shook his head. "He was too much, even for these psychos." He stuck his thumb back over his shoulder as they reached the elevator shaft. "Just constantly gettin' in to fights. Stealin' plastic utensils from out the cafeteria, stabbin' other patients with em'. Crazy shit like that. I mean, the guys got zero social skills. Just can't get along with nobody, insightin' tussles and riots, tryin' on purpose to piss off the meanest mother fuckers in here, guy's twice his size, just so's he could get in to it with em'. Guys fuckin' crazy. But you already know that." He laughed.
Batman said nothing as they got in to the elevator, and remained silent on there way down.
Sandy cleared his throat, feeling nervous.
He shot a glance over at the crusader, than brought his eyes back to the floor.
"You hear 'bout this new nut case been runnin' 'round Gotham?" He continued to talk. "Police can't get nothin' on the guy. I'll bet you can though." He grinned at Batman.
Batman stared ahead.
Sandy cleared his throat again.
"A-anyway's… Soon as he's caught, I bet any amount of money he'll wind up here." He chuckled. "Probly in a cell right next to laughing boy's."
Finally the elevator reached the bottom floor and the doors slid open with a creak.
"Just down this way." Sandy stepped out first, moving down a long corridor.
The lights in the place flickered in and out.
"Damn power surges." Sandy mumbled.
Batman remained silent, following behind, the sound of his cape dragging on the floor the only reply.
Sandy stopped at the end of the hallway.
"He's just down that way." He said, pointing to where the corridor shot off to the right, another long stretch. "Last cell on your left. You can't miss him. When you're done, just come back up the way we came."
The vigilante turned to head down, saying nothing.
"H-hey! You need me for anythin'?" The guard called after him.
No response.
Sandy watched him for a few, fleeting moments before turning away, letting go a shaky breath.
"Geez, I gotta get outta this city." He mumbled to himself, heading back up.
/
The Joker's cell wasn't a regular cell. Rather then a door and a barred window, as he'd seen with the rest of Arkham's inmates, the whole of the small space was fronted by clear, thick plastic, the only way in, and out, a door directly left of it, which led to another door, that one leading in to the cell itself. Each door was adorned by a heavy, electronic locking device, which could be opened only by card key and a fingerprint verification.
Batman assumed the reason for the cell's design was so its occupant could be observed at all times, without obstruction, both for the purpose of safety, for anyone charged with the patient's care, and for medical study of his behavior.
His assumption would be right, on both counts.
When finally he'd reached the end of the corridor and stood, looking in, he saw the Joker, lying on the room's cot, his hands folded behind his head, one leg with its knee bent, the other resting atop it.
"Joker." He said, his voice cold and filled with gravel.
For a moment the man inside the cell didn't respond, lying perfectly still, and the vigilante wondered if he'd been able to hear him.
But then the Joker lifted his head, just slightly, locking his eyes directly on Batman.
"Well hello there." He said, the faintest grin playing on his lips.
Immediately Batman felt himself tense at the sound of the madman's voice, that nasal timbre, the unmistakable, mocking tone, as though he knew some secret he refused to ever share.
His mouth inadvertently turned to a frown and he watched silently as the Joker sat up more fully.
The vigilante studied him with scrutiny.
He'd never seen the Joker so close without makeup before. Of course, like everyone, he'd seen the trial, watched the month's long process play out on TV like some damned soap opera, and there the Joker had been stripped of his greasepaint.
But to see him so close, in person without it, was something entirely different.
It was the first time Batman came to realize how absurdly young the Joker was, and what a bizarre contrast that played with who he was and what he'd done.
For whatever reason, the detective had always assumed the madman to be older then him. There was something about the way in which he carried himself, his demeanor which led others to assume he'd lived through a great many years experience.
But seeing him now, just feet away, washed clean of any face paint, Batman could see he was nearly just a boy. 26, 27 years of age, at the most.
He ran his eyes over the madman's features and, perhaps more contradictory still, he noticed then the Joker's good looks.
He was handsome.
Genuinely so.
Not simply the sort of attractiveness brought about by youth, but genuinely good features. He had the kind of face which, with age, would only grow more handsome.
Batman found it unnerving, and so he looked away, focusing his gaze on the one, glaring imperfection of the lunatic's visage.
His scars.
They were hideous.
With the makeup, they'd been horrifying enough.
Without it, they looked so much worse.
Angry snarls of damaged, pink scar tissue, running up along his cheeks from the corners of his mouth, jagged and uneven and deep. And though, by then, they'd long ago healed over, still they gave the appearance of being swollen and tenderly painful.
The scar running fully down, across his lower lip and below it appeared much the same.
Someone, at some point, had done one hell of a number on the Joker.
Batman's eyes shifted then to the madman's hair, noting it had been washed clean of all its dye, leaving it a dirty blonde color. And it was cut short now, close to his scalp.
"Here you are…" He heard the Joker speak. "In full costume and me with nothing to wear."
The inmate pushed himself from the bed, standing, taking hold between his thumb and index finger his orange colored Arkham issued short sleeve, ruffling it.
"They've got such poor fashion sense here." He went on. "And look! No footwear!" He pointed to his bare feet. "I swear, you use your shoe to beat one, measly, and might I add overpaid security guard's head in, and they take everything from you." He placed his hands on his hips, looking dismayed. "Now Batman, I ask you, is that justice?"
He stared straight in to the vigilante's face. And that was the one thing about the Joker the lack of makeup couldn't change.
His eyes.
They were as cold as Batman remembered, dark and unflinching and cruel… Unnervingly aware and intelligent.
Batman's mouth twisted in extreme displeasure.
Any illusions the Joker's appearance might have given about what he was, once he began to speak, were quickly dispelled.
He hated this man.
The Joker smiled, his scars twisting grotesquely, farther up his cheeks.
"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
This was the part Batman had been dreading.
Actually having to converse with the lunatic.
Last time he'd done so, he'd wound up riddled with feelings of guilt and self-doubt. He hadn't recalled feeling that helpless, or that utterly useless, since he was a child. Worse still, he'd been convinced that the death of all those people had been his fault.
Just like his parents.
He didn't want to talk to this man.
Not again.
But he had little choice.
And that was the problem.
If he didn't do this, if he didn't make this one sacrifice, he would have yet more blood on his hands. And that was something he was sure his conscience couldn't take.
"I heard of Gordon's confession." The Joker went on. "Guess he couldn't bear the weight of that little, uh, lie the two of you concocted. Or maybe it was the climb in criminal activity? All this town's low lives seemed to grow their balls back, the moment you disappeared, hmm? Either way…" The Joker suddenly stepped closer to the window, smiling. "They all know the truth now, don't they?"
He stepped away then, turning, his back now to Batman.
"Harvey Dent!" The Joker threw his hands out. "Gotham's white knight, it's people's one, last beacon of hope, revealed to be nothing more then a bitter, hate filled murderer!"
He began to laugh.
All at once Batman felt his rage consume him and he fell forward, smashing his fist against the plastic.
The Joker glanced back over his shoulder, his hands still outreached.
"Temper, temper." He said, turning to face the crusader. "Don't forget now, you're still on thin ice. Some people still want to believe you did it. Don't give them reason to. I wouldn't want you ending up in a padded cell across from mine. At least, not yet." He grinned.
Batman huffed, stepping back from the window.
He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't let the Joker get to him like this, not when he hadn't even gotten what he came for.
He breathed out, applying every calming technique he knew to relax himself.
"I need your help." He finally spoke, his voice low and controlled.
"My help!" The Joker pressed his hands against his chest, his brows rising in astonishment. "Now I've heard it all."
He walked forward, pressing his hands flat against the window, smiling.
"And what… exactly is it you need my help with, Batman?"
The detective could feel his hatred eating him inside out, and he fought hard to control himself. Just being around the madman put him on edge.
"There's been a series of murders recently." He began.
"Ahhh, ha ha, ha." The Joker responded quickly, wagging his finger at the crusader. "So I've heard. I've also heard our mystery killer has the city in quite the panic, targeting the good and innocent people."
Batman's eyes went momentarily wide, surprised by the Joker's knowledge of the situation.
"You know?" He asked. "How? You have no access to newspapers down here, no internet or television."
The Joker shrugged.
"I have my ways." He said simply.
The crusader frowned.
"Then you must also know the killer's been executing members of the mob. The same gangs you took over before being caught and put in here."
"Mmm." The Joker turned away.
"He says Gotham is his now. That he's its new 'owner'."
The Joker said nothing to this.
"Do you know who it is?" Batman asked pointedly.
The Joker looked back over his shoulder at him.
"In a word…" He smirked. "No. But I'd sure like to find out!"
"That's where you come in." Batman said. "I need your help finding him."
The Joker turned to face him again.
"Now Batman, what could I possibly do to help… What is it they call you now? The world's greatest detective? I'm sure you can figure this one out on your own." He winked at the vigilante.
Inadvertently, Batman's hands clenched to fists.
"Whoever it is, it's clear they've taken their inspiration from you." He said, his voice a controlled growl.
The Joker's brow rose, sticking his lower lip out and raising his hands in puzzlement.
"And…?"
"We haven't been able to find him…" The crusader pressed, praying he wasn't forced in to outright saying it.
He knew the Joker knew what he wanted, but the lunatic enjoyed nothing more then to see him squirm, and would drag this out for as long as was possible.
"I'm sorry…" The Joker still held a look of confusion. "I'm not sure what it is you're asking."
Batman nearly lost it again, wanting badly to smash his fist against the madman's smug face.
Last time he'd done so, the Joker had only laughed.
He breathed deep, telling himself to stay calm.
"I need your help." He reiterated. "I need you to help me find him."
"Ohhh…" The Joker said. "I see." He began then to pace up then down the tiny cell. "You want me…" He placed his hand against his chest. "to help you…" He pointed to Batman. "catch the killer?"
"You understand how these people think. The way their minds work…" Batman began to explain.
The Joker waved his hand.
"Which is just your way of telling me nicely you think I'm craaazy." He looked directly at the crusader, smirking. "It's alright. Apparently, so do they." He pointed upwards, indicating the world above.
Suddenly he began to pace again.
"So… you think, because I'm… crazy…" He stopped, smiling at Batman. "That I somehow possess some kind of special insight in to the minds of other crazy people? And because of this special insight, logically, I should be able to deduce the killer's next move?"
"You've proven adept at manipulating the minds of the mentally unstable." Batman went on, his already tense body stiffening more. "That would indicate an intricate understanding of how their minds work."
The Joker laughed.
"Oh, but Batman, no two minds are identical. You never know for sure how someone's going to react. Especially someone who's mentally unstable, as you say."
"But there are patterns." Batman argued. "Typical types of behavior associated with certain groups. Most people react similarly to any given situation."
"True." The Joker agreed, nodding.
"The killer is striking seemingly at random. He leaves notes on the victims declaring the city his, but gives no indication of how he intends his actions to make his declaration a reality, or even what he means by it. He seems to be targeting members of the mob and innocent civilians with equal intent."
"So, is this your Clarice Starling to my Hannibal Lector?" The Joker grinned.
Batman said nothing.
The Joker shrugged, looking suddenly bored.
"Whoever it is…" He began. "likely they're killing innocent civilians only as a means of throwing you off their trail."
"But each of the victims have been found severely mutilated." Batman said.
"Well now, I didn't say they weren't enjoying their work." The Joker wagged his finger at the detective, grinning. "But clearly, if they haven't yet been captured, they can't be entirely stupid."
The madman leaned back then, regarding Batman in silence.
"So tell me Batman, how does it feel? Things are only getting worse out there, hmm? And the people of Gotham have very little to believe in anymore. Did it make you angry, that without any real regard to the consequences, Gordon would just shatter the illusion of hope you sacrificed so much to give to them?"
Batman's mouth twisted noticeably to a frown, his teeth beginning to clench.
The Joker's smile broadened.
"I'll give you credit. It was a valiant effort. But your one mistake Batman, your one, fatal error, was in forcing on people false hope. Their faith in good was predicated on a lie. Delusion can last for only so long. Eventually…" The madman fluttered his hands outward. "It all comes crashing down, and then they all pay the price of being blind. Suffering's born of denial."
Batman couldn't stand to hear him speak anymore and finally, he lost it, again smashing his fist against the plastic, the window vibrating violently beneath the impact.
The Joker erupted in to laughter then, watching as the crusader turned away in rage, heading back down the hall.
"It could have been so much easier Batman…" The lunatic called after him, still laughing. "If only you'd let them see how ugly the worldis! They would have been prepared for what's coming! They could have been ready! And now, because of you, they're not! They're not ready Batman! They're not ready because of you!"
Batman tried desperately to block it out, but even as the elevator doors closed, he could still hear the Joker's laughter, echoing off the stone walls of the asylum.