It was dark. And quiet. Mostly quiet, actually. And he didn't like it. Not one bit. Silence and emptiness. No Audience. His mind felt weak with boredom and medication. Always with the meds. Just pumping him up like he was a car that needed gasoline until he could just barely move. But the headaches were the worst part. He couldn't understand why his shrink had chosen to initiate such obviously extreme measures. Ridiculous. All he had done was play with the guardsman with a crayon. How badly could it have hurt? He hadn't even hit any fatal points, out of total consideration for the insipid lout.
So now he sat, chained in one of their new straightjackets that he didn't really feel like worming out of at the moment, staring at the large metal door opposite to him. Glaring at it and daring it to open its gaping mouth to puke out some sort of living form.
Then he heard the metallic clinking of its lock adjusting itself to open, which it did very, very slowly. Mockingly. His glazed eyes following it until it silenced and stood still. Then the vomit came forth, rushing in clad in a light blue guard uniform and a menacing grimace.
"You. Freak." The guard, Joe judging by his nameplate, spat at the spidery man in the white jacket.
The man grinned, abnormally wide, his yellowing teeth sticking out like tombstones in the night that was his mouth. His lips were dark, peeling red, and the corners of his mouth had been carved to give the illusion of laughter. His hair was dark and green and splitting, fraying in any direction it pleased, falling over his face and neck. His skin looked like it had been bleached, pasty and white, unhealthy and unclean. Around his sunken eyes coal-colored make-up had been crudely applied, and he was abnormally tall and lean, with many of his bones visibly sticking through his thin clothing.
The Joker scanned the guard named Joe from head to toe slowly and critically. "Have we met?" He snapped. "Or are you a fan? Oh, I'd love to sign something for you, but as you can see…" He shrugged his arms. "I'm a bit tied up at the moment. Maybe next time."
Joe snarled and lunged at the Joker, his large hand grabbing the collar of the straightjacket and lifting the light man into the air.
"You Bastard." He growled. "Do you even have any idea what you did to my friend? DO YOU?" The Joker narrowed his eyes down at the surly man's face, grinning.
"What? Who are you talking about?" He laughed. His eyes closed just before the impact of the guard's fist slamming against his face. He felt himself fall to the cold concrete floor. It hurt, but he didn't really mind. It was his turn to move now.
"Oh dear." He whined mockingly. "Just look at this mess. And this was a new jacket given especially to me from Dr. Burton, too! What a pity, what a—hrrk!" The large hands were tight around his throat, the huge fleshy wall of a man crushing him into the piercingly hard ground. He felt his arms threatening to break beneath him, prisoners in the confines of buckles and sleeves.
This wasn't as fun as it should be, the Joker mused to himself, but it was satisfactory for the moment. Pain ripped through his ribs and lungs from the pressure.
This guy has no style. Now, Batsy, on the other hand…that was some fun.
A hairy knuckle broke his already grotesque nose.
This is soooo boring.
"So…Mr. Joe-guard-sir…what exactly is, pardon the expression, your bone to pick with me?" The Joker spoke with a mockingly sarcastic innocence. "If it's because I didn't eat my fruit-loops this morning, I can explain. I was simply too busy. I got these new crayons, I just loooove crayons." The guard's face contorted in anger, a vein pulsating on his neck. "And I was playing with them with a friend of mine, but he took them, you see, and his friends from the sick-place had to come pick him up." The Joker grinned fiendishly. "And I never got my crayons back, and the gave me some medicine instead. And this new jacket. Do you like it? It's not really me, is it? I think it's a little too tight."
Silence. The sound of heavy breathing. Joe leaned in close to the Joker's face.
"I'm going to KILL you, you sick, fucked-up, murdering, faggoty son-of-a-BITCH!" He screamed.
The thin man smiled and whispered, "Minus points on originality, bub. And hey, you better watch your mouth, or I'll get my Batty lover in here to whoop your ass."
The guard's face contorted in disgust. "You're sick."
"You already said that. Twice now."
"I'm going to kill you."
"That, too. Redundant much?"
The large man's thick, trunk-like leg flew up into the Joker's crotch and excruciating pain seared through him like lightning. He squeaked with surprise and gasped for breath. He felt his head lift up by his hair until he was eye-to-eye with the particularly ugly face of his offender.
"You almost killed a guard, who I knew. How you did it with a crayon, I don't know, and I don't want to know. But you have to be disciplined. And you will be disciplined." Joe's lips curled up into a cruel grin. " Your going to be staying in a new room from now on where you'll be well taken care of by a new 'doctor'." He leaned in closer until he was nose to nose with the smaller, gasping man. "And you won't be going anywhere until you're completely cured or dead, got me? Actually, never mind that. Just until you're dead. Okay?"
The Joker grinned, leaned in to close the few inches between their faces and gave him a passionate kiss on the lips.
"Okay." He licked teeth.
Batman swooped down to the police HQ's rooftop, the crisp, bitter wind biting at his lips and exposed cheeks. The blazing light of the Bat-signal burned through the night sky to leave its bright mark in the clouds. Gordon's familiar figure moved out from behind the spotlight, his arm outstretched to switch it off.
"Good evening, Batman. Sorry for this…uh…interruption." He seemed nervous, his eyes darting to behind the large light.
"What seems to be the problem?" Batman kept his voice low and gravely as he flowed towards the officer, who in turn motion to someone concealed behind the spotlight. The bulky form of Bullocks strode forward, dragging a slim person in handcuffs roughly behind him.
"Oh! Mista' B!" Harley Quinn's face lit up at the sight of the shadowed vigilante, who stared at her incredulously. He turned to Gordon.
"Care to explain why she's here? She's been wanted for weeks now." He growled as the harlequin and police chief winced. Bullocks obliviously continued chewing on a doughnut.
Gordon cleared his throat. "She insisted on seeing you, Batman," he said slowly, "She turned herself into the police just a few hours ago…" he fiddled with his hat nervously. "She said it was important, and she wouldn't talk to us."
Quinn suddenly flung herself at the caped crusader, tears trickling down her face, smudging her ghostly-white make-up. "Ya gotta help us, Mr. B!" She sobbed, "I-I-I've been hearing things from my friends at Arkham…an-and…something's happened ta Mr. Jay!" She turned her round face up to him, her eyes pleading, her hands clenched together. "Ya gotta help him!"
Batman took a step back, surprised by this sudden unexpected outburst of emotion. He never could stand seeing a woman cry. Harley's small gloved hands clutched his caped as she hung her head, tears pooling on the roofing before her.
The Dark Knight took a deep breath.
"Tell me what's happening."