Two lovers share their early morning smiles as they curl closer into each other under the cozy sheets of their bed. Jack Napier and Jennifer Archer, they had come so far since he'd happened to have bumped into her at a small mom and pop coffee shop. Literally, her tea was spilled all over them both that day. Three years later and here they were, the promising Grad student and the streetwise engineer. But, as it is with anything beautiful in Gotham, it was not meant to last.

Jenny's personal passion was for mental health and counseling. She had found the most affordable way to pursue this dream, by enlisting into Uncle Sam's service. Jack didn't like the prospect but Jenny assured him that her ever being found in combat was slim to none. Neither of them realizing just how wrong of a concept that was.

Two years pass, and she finds herself with a honorary Master's degree in clinical psychology and counseling; and she is brought into the development of testing the benefits of in field counsel for soldiers on active tour. Jack was not thrilled, who's idea was it to give the counselor a gun and ship them off to war? It was preposterous, it was lunacy, and it was something he couldn't talk her out of. She was determined to show that this could be a position just as valuable as a Field Medic in battle.

During this fairy tale, a shadow crept just at the edges of the lovely garden they had created together from their love and friendship. Leading up to the days of her departure Jack never let on how twisted he was tempted each day to become inside. He joked for her. Acted "normally", doing everything he knew in order to push the dark urges and darker thoughts from his mind.

Throughout the months of her tour overseas they wrote letters to each other and did everything a couple could to keep close to each other with such distance between them. It was the last month of her trial deployment, she was set to fly back the next day and begin to help her colleagues continue to lobby for the benefits of this new concept of field aid. Wishing, as many young upstarts do, to push for positive change and advancement for individuals with high risk of exacerbated mental health issues. But then he saw the news on TV report how there had been an attack on Jenny's unit. She had been captured and the station showed her beaten and bloody on a recording the captors made and sent out with their list of demands. Her face pale, lips blue, and crimson streaking across her features. His mind began to loop the cold phrase, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead.

He was enraged, he was scared, he was heartbroken. His Jen was dead. And all because she had wanted a better education and a better life. She played into their rules and their morals and now she was being led to slaughter. He sits frozen for minute. The TV droning in the background. He stands and picks up that damn lamp she had insisted on buying. "Everything we had. Everything we built…gone." His grip tightens on the eclectic colors of the stained glass before violently sending it sailing across the room. "GONE!"

Millions of shards of stained glass shimmer through the air upon impact. He stares transfixed as the hated lamp settles to the floor. Then, he snaps. He becomes an unstoppable whirl of destruction. Walking from room to room through the house he destroys anything he can get his hands on. His face snarling in pain and rage.

He makes his way into the bathroom punching the mirror and hurling the various toiletries at the wall. He pauses to regain his breath and catches sight of his visage in the busted mirror. The cracked distorted image stared back at him and for some reason he found himself laughing.

Moving closer to the reflection he leans over the sink inspecting the person he saw there further. "Well she always loved to see me smile!"

He picks up a large jagged piece of the mirror and brings it to his lips. With a somber expression he works the shard violently up his left cheek. He slowly moves to the other cheek and methodically does the same. Blood gushes down his chin and pooling in his mouth.

He stares at his handiwork in the twisted glass. And finally he smiles and begins laughing. The rough edges of his flesh split his face grotesquely as blood bubbles from his lips and sprays onto the mirror. His teeth, mouth and face covered and stained with scarlet.

He rips his shirt open and carves an X on his chest above his heart. "All for you my dear. Mark an X on the floor. HAaaaHAahaAAhAAaaA" His manic laughter quickly begins to turn into a deep snarl as something in his eyes begins to anger him. The madness he sees in that twisted mirror is unexplainable. He sets the shard on the sink before grabbing both sides of the medicine cabinet that holds the cracked glass. And an inexplicable urge overcomes him, pushing him as he begins beating his head repeatedly into his reflection. He had to get rid of it all. Every bit of the tattered reminders of what he was ripping to shreds in that very moment. Everything that had been hers. Blood and hair smearing further across the surface. Getting on the sink the walls and the floor. Small cuts forming on his face and his lip snags a bit creating a new fount of blood while his torn cheeks continue to weep.

He rears back a final time and puts all his strength into the next blow. The impact causes the world to go dark.

When next he wakes, he is in a large pool of his own blood. He surveys his surroundings, fitting pieces together. The only thing he remembers is the sear of pain as he mutilated his face and marked his heart. He doesn't recall why or to what purpose beyond the vague but still searing sensation of deep personal loss. He sees through the bathroom door a bedroom ripped to shreds. And all around him is blood and bits of mirror. He stands up gingerly and giggles insanely as the world spins. He shuffles through what's left of the bathroom finding alcohol, a curved needle, and surgical thread.

"Hmmmm I wonder I wonder what wonders you've seen." He comments offhandedly to said needle and thread. His words distorted from the damage done.

With much laughter and pain he splashed water on his face to clear some of the blood away before liberally applying alcohol. The pain was sooo….wonderful. He then took the needle and thread into the decimated bedroom finding there was a mirror on the small closet door where he began unevenly reconnecting the halves of his cheeks. Through grunting and animalistic bellows he finally inspected the final result.

The stitches were secure but unevenly spaced with two on his bottom lip. He gently probed the inside of his mouth and hissed as the tender wound protested. "Not bad. Not bad at all." His speech was thick and clumsy, as his mouth was unaccustomed to the drastic changes to his oral muscles at such violent trauma.

After digging some more he finds some gauze and tape. He tends to the gashes he made on his chest taping the protective bandage on it before donning a green button up shirt he found. Leaving his face un-bandaged he moves into what appears to be a living area. Amongst the wreckage he spots a shiny silver flip lighter. He walks over hmmm-ing to himself. Muttering under his breath various disconnected, disjointed phrases.

"Someone….doesn't matter…what do we have here….interesting…." He picks up the object and casually tosses it from hand to hand. Keeping his head down while his eyes rove the scene before him. "Spring cleaning…"

And with that he steps purposefully into the kitchen and turns on the gas stovetop without lighting the burner. As he lets the fumes drift throughout the small apartment he goes back into the bathroom and picks up the long shard of glass on the sink and pockets the little memento.

He picks up a black hooded jacket from the wreckage in the bedroom and puts it on pulling the hood forward as he makes his way back to the kitchen. Looking through the cupboards he finds a bottle of whiskey.

He begins pouring it on the couch in the living room trailing it on the carpet into the bedroom and spilling it haphazardly across the bed and furniture. He goes to the front door. The smell of gas heavy in the air; he takes a large swig of what's left in the bottle laughing at the sear it causes in his cheeks. He slams the bottle onto the floor and opens the door. Before closing it he flips open the lighter and tosses it onto the couch where the alcohol immediately bursts into flame. A small open felt box lays discarded and forgotten amongst the flames. The tiny plain diamond ring glittering faintly amongst the destruction. Amidst the chaos.

Peals of laughter are heard as he goes down the stairs and out into the night. Behind him there's a small explosion that blows the window out where his kitchen was.

"Feels better already. HAHAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAh!"

Jack was gone, and in his absence a new shadow melded into the stain of the Gotham night.

Those monsters held her for a year in that God forsaken cave in the dessert before her brothers in arms had come close to finding her location. When she had finally made it back stateside, her first instinct was to contact Jack. Find Jack was the only thing her mind kept pressing to the front of her mind. Uncle Sam, in efforts to clean up the political nightmare her lengthy capture had instigated, had arranged for her to be admitted into the nation's top Veteran's Hospital so that she may receive top quality rehabilitation and care. It was shameless hush money to keep her from going to the streets proclaiming how it had taken them a year to rescue her. Besides, if the public knew what she had gone through for her country and was then left to the mercy of the standard VA care system in all its broken glory, there would be a public outcry the politicians would not soon forget.

Jenny didn't care. She let herself be bought. She just wanted to go home to Jack and leave the hell behind. But no matter where her remaining enlisted friends searched, Jack was nowhere to be found… He was gone from the face of the Earth, and her one source of comfort that had sustained her for so long was gone. She felt hollow. The depression sank in like an eagerly waiting stain. And so her life became routine, breathing in and out, making the motions as she was subjected to surgeries and physical therapy to repair the damage done to her body. Broken limbs that had not healed properly, surgically corrected. Burns treated. Scar tissue assessed. But, through it all, her only constant was her closest companion and one of the few survivors from her unit, Andrew. Like a towering sentinel, his broad form never left her side through the two years of therapies and medical care. Until the day came she was finally free to pick up the shattered pieces of her life, given honorable discharge with full benefits. Jenny tried to relive Andrew of his self imposed duty to her, insisting he go back to his hometown in Texas and to keep in touch with her in the years to come. But he was stubborn, telling her that he had nothing to go back to. That he owed her for saving his ass in Iraq, and that he couldn't possibly leave her after everything they'd been through together.

So, the two companions made their way to Gotham; Jenny knew she could have a fresh start anywhere she wanted, but she was drawn to Gotham like a moth to a dark flame. She didn't want a fresh start. She didn't want anything more than to disappear into the shadowy existence and anonymity Gotham had to offer. Gotham, a place people went to disappear, a place where questions were seldom asked and expectations seldom pushed upon you. Her bitterness would blend right in on the streets of Gotham.

~~~xxx~~~

Gotham National Bank was enjoying a nice peaceful business day. Reports of the Joker's escape from Arkham had left customers reluctant to venture through the establishments doors. But after a month had passed and his attention had remained elsewhere the patrons were finally coming in to complete their various transactions.

It was a beautiful summer May day; perpetuating the sense of security amongst the employees and clientele alike. Even in Gotham city, what could happen on such a lovely day?

An unfortunate failure in logic on everyone's part.

Screams and cries of panic met the sound of the large glass doors shattering. Rather than open them, the Joker had deemed it more exciting to send shotgun pellets to do the honors instead.

Masked goons ran in brandishing various weapons of varying firepower and quickly surrounded the room, making sure no one tried to be heroic.

Casually hoisting the gun over his shoulder, the Joker sauntered into the building. His dark eyes glancing over the already huddled inhabitants. He let out a fit of giggles. As he stopped by one man and leaned down as if they were chums.

"Old hands at this huh?" The man kept his face to the ground, desperately avoiding the maniacs gaze.

"Hmmm…you need to work on your social skillsss." He continued making his way to a frozen teller when he stopped suddenly. And just stood there.

Everyone was confused until after a few moments he cleared his throat and obviously nodded his head in the direction of the sign reading "Please wait for teller"

The poor woman's eyes widened even further. Was he honestly waiting for her to call him over? He began to tap his foot with impatience.

Her voice was timid and small as she forced the habitual words from her terrified lips. "N-next please."

His face perked a bit as if he were a legitimate customer pleased to be next in line. He came forward and clunked the gun onto the counter and squinted at her name tag.

"Hiii…Peggy, I'd like to make a rather laaarge withdrawal if you don't mind. Just escort a few of my associates back there to the vault." He licked his lips and made a shooing motion with his hands.

"Hurry along now. You wouldn't want to keep me waitinnng." He turned and motioned for the goons with large bags to follow the poor woman before making his rounds through the prone masses.

His gaze traveled lazily across their forms, nothing of interest popping out to his discerning eye. They were all so very dull, how did they stand it? Ah well, these dullards would serve their purpose for the day. He had been on too long of a break after his escape from Ark-ham and his palms were itching. The drugs they had pumped him full of during his stay at the institution had taken far longer than anticipated to fully release his faculties; poor Bats must have been so lonely without Joker running about town. Now that he was feeling much better, he just had to let his best playmate know he was back and ready for fun.

Joker checked his watch, waiting patiently for the GCPD to respond; they were so sloooow. He knew that Penguin was supposed to be up to something big across town, according to one of his informants, so Batman himself would not likely be arriving to Joker's party at the bank today. But that didn't mean he could not have a little fun and have Gotham's best a brightest serve as his messengers.

Sirens began to wind their wailing call into his ears, ah yes there they are. With a skip in his step he went to stand amid a clump of bank patrons, propping the shotgun upon his hip with flair. His smile broadened as he heard Peggy being returned to the main lobby with her quiet hiccuping sobs. His masked crew began dividing and shouldering the black duffle bags of cash in anticipation of the getaway. None making a move to leave for the car parked in the back alley before Joker had given the say-so.

Joker's grin widened as the police cruisers screeched to a halt in front of the bank, oh this was going to be so much fun. He pumped his shotgun and let out a hoarse cackling string of laughter.

~~~xxx~~~

Jenny scratched absent minded doodles upon her note pad in the office break room of the Community and Family Counseling Center. It was a small establishment, with only herself and two other counselors on staff in a small three office building. She reached to check her phone only to realize she had left it upstairs in her office. Breathing a sigh she banished the thought of walking up to get it; checking the clock on the break room wall she wrinkled her nose, "Well, looks like Alejandro is not going to make his session. Again." She noted the time for reference when typing her notes later and stood with a groaning stretch. She would check the GCPD sheets tomorrow to see if Alejandro had ended up in jail or, worse, killed. Leaving the break room she heard the noise machines quietly whirring outside the two office doors of her colleagues. At least their clients were showing up, must be nice. She slowly trudged her way up the stairs and to her waiting office; deciding she would gather her things and leave through the back stairs connected to her lonely upstairs office. After six months working in the non-profit offices funded jointly by Gotham City and Arkham, Jenny could honestly say this city was in deep shit. This center was a shallow pass at addressing the severe lack of mental health facilities offered to the public, severely underfunded and understaffed.

Her right ankle ached sharply, breaking her from her frustrated thoughts, there was a thunderstorm forecast for later this afternoon and what was left of her once busted up body was making sure to tell her about it. Jenny rubbed her eyes, foreseeing a glass of Muscato in her future. And a bubble bath…yeah. She nodded decisively, yes wine and a hot bubble bath were just what the doctor ordered. Picking up her phone she quickly thumbed out a text to Andrew, begging him to stop and pick her up her favorite bottle after his shift before heading to their shared little apartment. She stowed her phone into her purse, not expecting a response as Andrew seldom had time to respond while on patrol, being an internal affairs officer with GCPD certainly kept one busy. Especially with Commissioner Gordon making such concerted efforts to crack down on internal corruption within the force.

Jennifer made her way down the sidewalk, Andrew hated living so close on the edge of the Narrows, but Jennifer had insisted it would save them money as it was so close to her place of work. He had eventually relented, and promptly invested undue amounts of money into an upgraded security system for their small townhouse apartment. It had been a fixer-upper, the landlord neither interested in fixing the lot himself nor caring what they did to the site so long as it wasn't out of his pocket. The old brick house was really quite a steal once it had been renovated, but they certainly weren't going to broadcast that fact to the slumlord they'd been renting it from.

Later that night, Jennifer soaked contentedly in her garden tub filled with hot water and bubbles, her glass of wine set to the side at a reachable distance. In the living room, Andrew sat reclined back on the couch, his feet propped upon the coffee table sipping a beer as he watched the news replay the headline events of the day. Andrew shook his head, the Joker hits up a bank and the Penguin tries to take down Batman again. This town was such a mixed bag of nuts, Andrew glanced at the alarm system panel, double checking that everything was active and secure. He knew they weren't as close to the Narrows as others may have been, but it was still close enough, and he knew those lower on the crime totem pole would be all stirred up by the days events and begin to crawl their way out into the lighter side of Gotham. He didn't want to be an easy target in their path.

Draining the last of his beer he got up and threw it in the trash; making his way down the hallway he knocked on the closed bathroom door. "Hey Jenny I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

He heard her bid him goodnight from within and then made his way to his bedroom after, of course, double checking that the windows of Jennifer's bedroom were well and secure.

Author's Note:

Hello readers, welcome to the first chapter of my Dying Breed ReWrite. After reading the original version of this story, I felt dissatisfied with the way it had been executed, I felt the concept was good but the writing was jumbled and directionless and just overall poorly conveyed. So, I'm re vamping it and taking a slightly different approach. I hope you enjoy, dear readers.

Anything recognizable as other people's stuff is obviously not my stuff. I earn nothing from it and do not claim it as my own stuff. Thank you.