Disclaimer: As odd as it may seem, I don't actually own anything that has to do with Batman. So if for some unfathomable reason you think I do… you'd be wrong.
author's note: hi there. this is my first attempt at a fanfiction, so it probably sucks. i just really wanted to write something. if you like it by any chance, i'd be happy to write more :)
Chapter 1
Bruce stood on the top of a tall office building. He stared at the people on the streets. People drove down the streets in a hurry to get home from a long day of work, some honking at others impatiently. A few others walked along the sidewalks in an attempt to get some fresh air. People had not always been bold enough to walk the streets of Gotham at night. Crime spread through the city like a virus, but since Bruce had decided to take on the role of Gotham's protector, Batman, the city had begun having a feeling of security. At least at night when the Batman made his presence known, anyway.
"Master Wayne," a voice came from the communicator that was embedded in Bruce's suit, "It's getting a little late isn't it?"
"I won't be much longer, Alfred," the Batman continued staring at the people on the streets.
Alfred sighed. "You made a promise to your guests, sir. I hardly think much will happen if you decide to take just one night off."
"I also made a promise to protect their lives, and that's what I'm doing." There was a short pause as Alfred decided whether or not to argue further.
"I understand that Batman has responsibilities, sir, but you need to understand that Bruce Wayne has responsibilities to."
"What? To go to fancy parties and drive expensive cars?"
"No. To keep promises when he makes them," Alfred let out another sigh. "Is there something bothering you, Master Wayne? You've been acting a bit... on edge lately."
Bruce didn't respond for a few seconds. "It's been three months, Alfred. He's still out there."
"Ah, yes. Him," Alfred said as he began to understand.
"This silence won't last much longer. As much as the police are hoping, he's not going to roll over and play dead."
"Well," Alfred paused, "Since I can't convince you to come back, I guess I can entertain the guests for a while longer. Just hurry up."
"Thanks, Alfred. I'll be there soon."
It'd been three months now. Three months since the escape of Gotham's most dangerous criminal from Arkham Asylum. The Joker. Bruce knew the Joker to well to believe that he had disappeared for good. Although the police had high hopes that he had done just that. Disappeared. No, It wasn't his style. He wasn't going to give up. Not now... not ever. Until they could find a prison strong enough to keep him caged, he would continue to torture the citizens that populated Gotham. He would be back, and Bruce knew it. The only question was when. It was just a matter of time.
Bruce was having troubles with the law himself. He had taken the place of Harvey Dent and taken credit for his murders. He believed Gotham deserved a real hero. One with a face. Someone who could save Gotham without the need to wear a mask. But the Joker had corrupted Dent's mind. He'd twisted his mind until it matched his own and destroyed Gotham's white knight. Bruce knew that all faith would be lost if the citizens in Gotham found out what had truly happened to Harvey, and he knew he had to do something. He couldn't let the Joker have the satisfaction of losing the battle but winning the war. So he did the only thing he could do. He took the blame for it all. The police were given orders to arrest him, should they ever come face to face.
Bruce put his worries aside and focused on what was important at the moment. Protecting the people of Gotham. He left the roof of the building and glided through the city.
An armored truck sat outside of Gotham Bank. It was late in the evening. It'd been dark for about an hour. Inside, the bank tellers sat at the counters, anxiously waiting for closing time. They threw quick glances at the clock on the wall. The people in the lines were also anxious to get home. They waited impatiently for their turns at the counter.
The doors of the bank swung open. A group of five men walked into the building. Some of the people looked back towards them uneasily. One of the men stepped forward towards a counter. A young girl of about 20 years of age, with long brown hair and blue eyes looked up to study the man approaching her. He was tall and muscular. He held his long brown hair in a pony tail. He wore a black jacket and jeans. When she met his eyes she recoiled from his icy gaze. She pulled a strand of hair from her face nervously.
"Can I help you, Sir?" she asked sheepishly.
"Yeah," he replied in a menacing voice. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small hand gun. "I'd like to make a withdrawal." The girl's eyes widened as he pointed the gun towards her. She opened her mouth but was too shocked to speak.
"Everybody, down!" one of the other men yelled as the group of thugs pulled out their own guns. There were several screams from the crowd as they threw themselves to the floor. One of the thugs shot into the ceiling to show that the gun was loaded and ready for use.
At the counter the girl was still frozen, staring down the gun barrel pointed towards her. The man with the long hair grabbed her arm and flung her over the counter. She landed on her stomach, which knocked the wind out of her, and she gasped for air. The man jumped over the counter and looked at the other tellers staring in horror.
"I wouldn't think about hitting that silent alarm if I was you," he pointed the gun in their direction.
They backed away, frightened. He gestured for one of the thugs to follow him down the hallway behind the counter. One of the other men ran to follow him, jumping over the girl lying on the floor on his way to the counter. The long haired man looked around the corner. Two security guards were coming to investigate the sound. When they rounded the corner, the long haired man and his accomplice bashed them over the head with their weapons. They continued down the hall until they reached their destination. A vault was at the far end of the room. The two men ran back to where the hostages were kept.
The long haired man called to one of the thugs from behind the counter. "Go ahead and tell them it's clear," he shouted. The thug nodded in response and pulled out a radio.
"It's all clear. Let's get this show started," he placed the radio back in his jacket and looked out the window at the truck parked outside.
The doors of the armored truck swung open. Two more thugs hopped out. They wore colorful clown masks. Another man followed them out. He was different. Instead of a mask, his face was covered in chalky, white make-up. Deep scars carved his face into a permanent smile. He moved his head from side to side, stretching, as he walked towards the glass doors.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said as he walked into the building. There were some gasps as people realized who was behind the hold-up. He was well known in Gotham city. "Sorry for the inconvenience folks, but I have some business to take care of," he made his way to the counter and jumped over. He paused to stare at the guards sitting on the floor, watched by one of the henchmen.
"Tisk, tisk, tisk," he shook his head. "You haven't been doing your job very well, have you?" he laughed. The men gave him a terrified look. "Oh, don't look so nervous," he said in a comforting tone. He patted one on the head and laughed as he continued down the hall. In the room with the vault, a thug was already working with some tools.
Outside the bank, the police were just arriving. Commissioner Gordon stepped out of a police cruiser. He walked towards Detective Ramirez, who was standing by her car.
"Do you know what's going on?" he stopped in front of her.
She frowned. "It's him."
Gordon paused before he answered. "Are you sure?"
"Someone with a cell phone was able to call 911. He described-," she looked at the notebook she was holding, "a 'man wearing a purple suit and covered in make-up'," she looked up. "There's only one person I can think of to fit that description."
Gordon sighed. "I want to get a line in there. I need to talk to him."
The Joker stood over the thug working on the vault. He sighed impatiently. "Anytime now would be nice."
"I've almost got it."
The Joker looked at the clock above the door. He started humming intolerantly. "Ya know what?" he pulled out a gun. He aimed the weapon at the thug and shot into his head. "I'll do it." He grabbed the tools from the man's hands and went to work. The other two thugs stood shocked. He laughed at their startled faces. "If you want something done, do it yourself," the Joker smiled.
A goon wearing a clown mask walked into the room. He carried a cell phone.
"Ah. Gotham's finest have decided to join our little party," he took the phone from the thug. "Helllooo?"
"Joker," Gordon almost answered straight away.
"Commissioner!" the Joker mused, "Long time, no see," he laughed.
"What's going on in there? What are you doing to those people?"
"Calm down, Lieutenant. I haven't done anything to them… yet," he chortled.
Gordon took a deep breath. "What are your demands?"
"You don't deviate from the book, do you?"
"Answer the question."
"Well, now that you mention it, I'm quite famished. Maybe you could pick me up a cheeseburger from Burger King," he laughed.
"Enough jokes. This is serious," Gordon was losing his patience.
"Do I look like a guy who makes jokes to you?" he questioned.
"Just answer my question."
"Do ya know what I really want?" the Joker paused to think. "Silence."
"Joker?" Gordon called into the phone. He heard nothing but a dial tone. He cursed and hung up the phone.
Author's note: most of the lines in the part where the Joker talks to the Commissioner are not mine. I watched them on a movie once and thought they could work here really well. I believe the movie was Paul Blart: Mall Cop (which is a really funny movie)