A/N: So, I'm jumping on the Bandwagon, but hey, when inspiration kicks in at 1am in the morning, you've just got to write… and when the final result comes, what do you do? Ignore it, or post it on FanFiction? R&R.
Who is the Batman?
"A
lone warrior," Commissioner Gordon tells Gotham Daily outside
City Hall, shielding his head with a briefcase from the rain,
"A man whose dream not only inspires us, but--"
"The
lying son of a bitch, he knows nothing of the Batman!" The short
and stoutly built man at the bar, who had been watching the interview
with disdain, was now speaking bluntly, and his remark certainly
earned him a few extra popularity points with his drinking buddies.
After all, most of the Gotham citizens shared his view now-a-days,
the press included.
"So you say you know the Batman?" asked the barmaid, pausing from polishing an already clean glass.
"Course
I do," swaggered the man, taking another sip from his beer,
"I've met him."
A chorus of 'no you haven't' words
floated around the pub, but were quickly 'shushed' by the owner, who
was a tall man with a mane of shocking black hair and a personality
to match. Everybody knew when to listen to Tom Gibson, and usually,
when he said something, everybody listened. The customers turned
their attention back towards the small, crackling television set that
was positioned on a corner shelf, snippy remarks at the ready.
"...he is a man whose dream continues to give us hope, even though his own spirit has been ..." Gordon took his glasses off and wiped them before replacing them on the tip of his nose, "Broken severely beyond repair."
"Broken?
How has it been broken?" asked a female reporter with a flushed
face and messy red hair, "You know his reasoning?"
"I
know it, I choose not to discuss it with open sources," hedged
Gordon.
"And what sources do you discuss it with...?"
"I'm sorry, I really do have to conclude this interview, but I say this to you, citizens of Gotham..." Gordon's expression became controlled - dignified, even, as he addressed the city, "Never let your hope die."
- -
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. What does 'Commissioner' Gordon know about hope? Hope... ah, now that's what really defines a person. I mean - look at me - I have no hope! I don't even have a dream. I merely... want to control things. And look at what I have accomplished! Everybody knows me! Everybody looks at me - or at least - they try to look at me - but do you know what? They can't stand the SIGHT OF ME! These people... they pretend to like you... but they're all liars. But - looking at 'The Batman' for hope? For 'inspiration?' Ha, ha, ha. THAT MAN LOST EVERYTHING BECAUSE OF ME! WHY WOULD PEOPLE LOOK UP TO HIM? Hm? Why is that?"
The Joker was chatting in a conversational tone to his two accomplices, as he sat perched in a light brown armchair which was directly beneath the window of an apartment he had just 'gate crashed.' He withdrew his sharp gaze from the telescope to glance over at them, and he wasn't disappointed. Their expressions would have been unreadable to most people, he speculated, but he could see the flicker of doubt behind their eyes. So why was he choosing to ignore this trace of uncertainty, that was beginning to appear more and more? Well - the Joker regularly ranted when he wasn't speaking in an almost friendly tone to his two employees' - but this was only when they had just taken a pill that would remove all of his ramblings and despairing thoughts from their incy wincy minds. After all, he couldn't have them turn into traitors now, could he? He had to keep them... sweet.
"Maybe...
maybe they think if they look up to the B-Batman instead of you,
Boss, then they... then they..." the less drugged up employee
spoke in a heavy voice, rendering the Joker's thoughts.
"Then
they what, Tony?" The Joker's dark brown eyes widened with
curiosity, and he began to lick his lips, leaning forward with an
imploring expression.
Tony swallowed, his painted make-up running
down his face as the room temperature began to increase. His hands
were balled into fists and he looked as if he was in pain, but it was
clear he didn't know why. "...will survive... but they know deep
down that y-you are the... best."
"That's very nice of
you to say Tony," said the Joker in an almost kind voice, "Pity
I poisoned your drink, isn't it?"
"You... what...?"
"I'm
sorry, I thought I was perfectly clear - I poisoned your drink."
The Joker stood up from his armchair and walked over to Tony, who was
leaning against the opposite wall, his cheek pressed against the
broken radiator for coolness against his burning skin. "W-hy
would you do that..." breathed Tony, his voice becoming weaker
every second.
"Well, I found out that you were going to go to
Gordon about me Tony ... it seems the pills I've been providing
haven't quite... worked to their full potential. You've been
having doubts, haven't you?"
"N--"
"DON'T
LIE!"
"Yes... yes... I have..." Tony glanced at the
Joker before looking at his accomplice, Dennis, who had been stone
cold for quite some time now. The Joker followed Tony's gaze and he
smiled widely.
"You
killed Dennis?" queried Tony, his face muscles tightened as he
attempted to sit up straighter.
"And I thought it was going
to take you longer to fathom it out..." the Joker continued to
smile as he straightened up and began to waltz towards the door,
opening it quickly. "Oh, that drink I gave you..." he
paused and glanced at Tony again, "You'll die in twenty-four
hours, but that's so long away! Tell me Tony, does it feel like your
insides are burning? TELL ME!"
Tony was now covered in sweat,
his answering tone a groan of pain. Suddenly he let out a blood
curdling scream, salty tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Shh Tony, I've decided to be nice to you, even though you've been rather... unloyal to me. This entire building is about to go kalooey. See ya."
And with that, The Joker left the apartment building in a quick pace, his face now disguised with an elegant masquerade mask which he had found in his pocket a few moments ago. Within a few minutes, he produced a small control box, and licking his lips manically, he pressed the button.
As the fire and fumes began to cloud the air, along with a scream of agony, he hummed a hauntingly happy - yet certainly out of sync tune - before skipping away from the scene of disaster.