Hey guys! Quick disclaimer: I don't own TDK, or any related characters or situations, though that would be awesome. Uh, this is about the Joker, yeah. that's...it.
Since I always write to music, I've included an accompanying track that I wrote most of this chapter to. Listen if you want, don't listen if you don't want. :)
Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End
Accompanying Track: I'm So Sick by Flyleaf
They grabbed him.
"No one informs on us," the tall one said in a deadly voice, holding the scared young man by the neck. "People who do end up dead."
The young man gulped. He was as good as dead. Not even. He was dead. A corpse, usurping a living man's right to walk amongst those with a pulse. The fat one smiled and spat on him.
"But the boss sort of took a liking to ya, and won't let me and Jimmy kill you off." the young man breathed, the relief immense. The fat one suddenly grabbed his jaw.
"But the boss told us to punish you. So this is what we do to talking sonsofbitches like you."
A knife went in his mouth, and before he knew what was happening, a sickening R-R-R-RIPPPP! sound occured. He screamed.
Mutilated.
He stared at himself in the mirror as though it couldn't be happening, as though the ugly, fresh scars on the sides of his face. It wasn't happening, no. It couldn't be.
Yet it was. Everything that he didn't want to lose, was gone in the instant that his face was cut. Who'd work with him? Who'd like him now? This meant no future, and no future meant no money. And no money mean that he couldn't possibly support his girl, who'd been threatening to leave him for a man with better prospects anyway. Everything he had ever worked for in his life was being torn down in front of him, all because of his face, now forever smiling
His life was over. He felt the tears rising in the back of his throat.
And oh! It hurt! It hurt like hell, though the doctors said that he should've healed enough so that he wouldn't feel them anymore. But they burned, aching more than they had on the first day. The salty tears that were now travelling down his face made the damn things sting. He hated the stinging; it drove him insane. He ground his teeth and forced a smile across his lips. He'd stop crying if it killed him.
Oh damn. Damn him, damn the world! They'd pay. He'd make them all pay. He allowed angry tears of hate and pain to flood down his face.
Then it came. The inane, forced, hysterical cackle that hurt his voice and filled the gaps of his bathroom.
"I'LL KILL YOU ALL, DAMMIT! I'LL KILL YOU ALL!"