Disclaimer: All rights to Warner Bros, DC Comics, Nolan etc. I do not own Batman nor any characters involved in the world of Batman. I'm making no profit from this.

Rated M for language, general adult themes and sexual content

"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." -Dr. Johnson

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That First Confrontation

As far as she could remember, the first time she'd ever seen him was in the streets of Gotham, bearing zero facial paint, no custom-made suit or trench coat, not a trace of green hair dye; none of that. All she could recall was a lean, towering man of six-foot or so who kept his head low and his hands tucked away into his slacks' pockets as he walked amongst the townspeople in broad daylight. He ran into her as she was exiting Starbucks when her lunch break was coming to an end to return back to the Police Department where she worked as a policewoman. Most citizens in this city brushed past ya without a first thought about it. They were getting to wherever they needed to be, whether in a hurry or not, but the...way this man bumped into her...it was more of a full-on ram; brisk, abrupt, harsh and rude. It nearly threw her to her feet, had a tavern's brick wall conveniently at her right not broken her stumble.

Angelica Hallett dealt with so many careless dwellers that she thought she was no longer capable of carrying any sort of resentment for any societal tightass, but for some, unidentifiable reason, this particular fellow had pissed her off.

Upon straightening herself back up and spinning around on her heel to see the peaking man stalking off without so much as a curt apology or petty look of remorse, she, in her fleeting state of irritation, hollered at him from down the street.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?! What's your hurry?"

She wasn't sure he'd even heard her, let alone realize that message was addressed for his ears, but after a few moments, he halted suddenly in his tracks, then gradually rotated himself around to meet his dark eyes with the woman who'd had the nerve to announce her dissatisfaction.

An overwhelmingly timid and uneasy feeling washed through her as she actually saw the passersby's face. Even from the twenty or so feet that separated them, she could make out what two gnarly creases disfigured him to a nearly horrifying extent. She fought the urge to cower and run off; pretend she'd never even see him, in anticipation that he'd pursue her. Those kind of irrational thoughts can surface when one is intimidated by someone who gives off such a grim impression.

Angelica never was this cursed city's bravest soul, and even Detective Anna Ramirez had more of a pair than her, so what more could she do than stare back at this odd, mysterious monstrosity of a man while he put on perhaps the filthiest smile she'd ever seen in her twenty-eight years. By God, were his teeth golden, and did they really stand out in the sunlight that blanketed the two of them equally alongside everyone else out here on Bentley Street.

The man and woman must have gawked at one another for thirty seconds before...he was off the other way again, leaving her to stand by, a tad bewildered at the whole exchange, spooked and alone.

Gotham had its unique class of people. There were the good, the bad, the lost, the found, the right, the wrong, the happy and content, the depressed and confused; the list went on. Its standards went beyond those of ordinary big cities. Sure, Gotham's structure reflected places like New York City, LA or Chicago, but psychologically, it varied greatly. Down to the core this city was hideous, even if the happy and content, the found and the good didn't see it.

Angelica was good, but not necessarily saintly. She did her job, she shopped, she cared for her golden retriever, Maya, and she had her group of acquaintances. She was observant of the activity that surrounded her, and she worked to her best abilities to bring up the justice this city could use much of any time.

Luckily, with the Batman keeping the crime rate at bay, her duties were somewhat simplified. A year earlier she couldn't have gone out on patrol at dusk without an assisting copper at her side along with a considerable tin of mase and more than enough ammunition...just in case. With this vigilante taking up a decent savior status, she allowed herself to relax a little while out.

Well, the whole incident eight months back with the gas intoxication had wracked up her nerves intensely for a while, but for the time being, everything seemed...okay. Circumstances were about as adequate as they possibly could be. Just the typical gas station robberies here and there, maybe a grisly murder or rape in the darkest corners of the Narrows from time to time, but all in all, the authorities and the caped crusader had things remaining intact.

As for Miss Hallett, her personal life could have been comprised of a bit more excitement. Having just recently turned twenty-eight that May, she felt caught in a relentless cycle. It'd been over a year since she'd last dated anyone, that last relationship having gone to shit...and with the death of her father came grief that at times seemed to deprive her of even the lightest amount of vigor.

Lieutenant Jim Gordon would keep her occupied all the ten hours she'd remain cooped up in the GCPD, save for the times when she'd get to venture out with him or Stanton on an endeavor of sorts, whether it be a crime scene, mob bash or the officer's favorite, trying to put a stopper in the public suicide attempts, in which case she would be sent to said suicidal man or woman to coax them out of ending their life, and sometimes she'd be successful in getting them to veer their options for the better, and sometimes they would proceed with their building leap or shoot to the head because they knew what they wanted to do and why they were doing it, while Miss Hallett...was oblivious to their reasonings.

Even with some dark knight on call around the clock, Angelica was afraid of this city. She often contemplated taking off. She'd had her mind set on settling down out in Arizona, someplace or another, to take up her duties there. She'd sure as hell be safer, and she'd be potentially lengthening her longevity, like actually making it long. She'd seen more cops die at the pistols, hands or other weaponry of crooks than what was acceptable. Then again, would leaving Gotham behind really give her the umph she needed? Really, this city had its thrills, dangerous as they were.

There was that cycle, though, that lingering, tedious cycle. She'd get up each morning at six and be out all day to return back to her apartment usually no earlier than 9:30 at night. Not she she always had to work that long...she just had other obligations, obligations that differed from what her idea of fun was. She had to babysit her three-year-old niece while her sister tackled the afternoon shift at the firm. Maya wasn't generally content going a couple of days without a good walk around the neighborhood, so of course her owner carried out that task every evening, though what really had been getting on her nerves lately was her lack of a social life, or really anything that would have appealed to her. She hated to admit it, but truth be told, she was stuck in a rut, perhaps a twentysomething woman's worst nightmare.

It could have been worse, though, right? She could have been a jobless derelict, or a five-dollar hooker, or some fugitive who got by on blood money and stays at only the lowest rated hotels the city had to offer. She had her mother, her sister, Isabella, her little niece, Ramona, and her well-blossomed sense of self-acceptance and established security.

Abnormal. mind-altering gas no longer clouded the streets or took lives of the innocent, and no significant turmoil went detected. The mobs were sticking to the shadows in fear of the Batman as were the herds of thieves, rapists and killers.

Angelica even let that eerie portrait of a man fade away with all the other distasteful memories that cluttered her mind after some time.

Summer was not vengeful in striking the city that year. It snuck in gently with warm nights starting early in June to comfortably hot days by the 21st. If something brash was going to strike Gotham, it wasn't going to be a newly arrived season.

Quite the catastrophe had gone down at the Gotham National Bank one morning towards the end of that month. Apparently, the heist that'd occurred was far from simple, or commonplaced, for that matter. A group of clown-masked men had invaded the building, though only one made it out alive.

Angelica took in the scene as the most captivating in a long, long time. There was probably enough broken glass scattered about to mould a monstrous swan or even a replicated Statue of David. There were a total of six bodies at the scene, several in different locations, and several splayed out right in the lobby. And who could miss the gaping hole in the wall from where a school bus had crashed through only some hours before.

No tellers had been killed save for a couple of men who suffered mild injuries, and the manager, who did meet his demise. The bank's manager, Robert Kultman, was found with what appeared to be a smoke bomb lodged into his mouth, his eyes half open as he laid on his back, his body cool to the touch and his own drool having pooled aside him, some still dripping off of the bomb when he was found. It had also appeared that he'd been shot in the stomach several times judging the blood that soaked nearly the entire front of his shirt.

"Well, at least this isn't the worst case scenario," Detective Ramirez supposed alongside Hallett while forensics were wrapping up, gathering what evidence they could scrap up in an attempt to uncover exactly what went down in here. "This place is mob-ran; gotta say these people kind of deserved an intervention...maybe not one like this, but…"

"Mmhmm, they could've hit a daycare center. They chose wisely, I'd say," Angelica suggested, right as the lieutenant signaled for her approach. "BRB," she said before meeting up with Jim. She could hear leftover shards crunch beneath her shoes as she headed across the room, and she could even swear she'd caught some glimpses of splattered blood here and there. This had been one of the more pretentious heists in quite some time for sure.

"Miss Hallett, I've gotten word on a few of the tellers; all of them suggest that the one who got away removed his mask before getting into the bus. They say he wore facial paint; red smothered all over his lips, white all around his face, and black just around his eyes. None of them could make out too much from their distance, but all we know is that he is no-one we could identify at the moment. Also, they prospect he made off with roughly fifteen grand. He deliberately left one bag of cash behind."

"So we're dealing with a John Doe. Did they report any communication on his behalf?" she inquired while her attention landed on yet another dead goon being hauled into the ambulance. She had to admit these sort of cases really gave her adrenaline the boost she needed, the kind that'd help her get through the rest of this Friday before the weekend; a blessed couple days of she really found essential.

"Um, oh...yes, just one, quick statement from what they could interpret. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, or I mean, as he put it,stranger."

"Ah, so that's about all we have at the moment, then?"

Rubbing the back of his neck in moderate frustration, he shrugged. "Yeah, it would appear so. Once we have everything cleaned and taken care of in here we'll head back to the station and try to look deeper into this."

…

Not long after the bank heist had another ordeal broken out, this one having more of a personal effect on just about everyone. Angelica was filing at the station when that film had aired. Jim called everyone into the break room when the clip unraveled an introduction of their city's latest threat, that threat being a man whose face was coated in red, black and white warpaint and had the most yellow teeth she'd ever seen on a person. That and those knobbly scars that crooked along either cheek from the ends of his lips tentatively reminded her of that man who'd bumped, or rather, rammed into her in the streets only days prior. Then again, it only made sense that he was the same man...what with the unmistakable corn tinge that stained those molars and the severe scarring. She hadn't told anyone of that encounter, for she thought little of it to begin with, but now maybe she had something that Jim could use to their advantage.

The brusque video ended with this 'Joker' fellow not only harassing this guiltless Gothamite, Brian Douglas, but the lives of citizens who were lined up for death if the real Batman refused to come forth. Deciding not to wait and see if the Batman would come out of the shadows from which he lurked, Angelica went straight to her boss with what minor albeit potentially useful information she did have regarding who this new-come terrorist was.

...

"He didn't have any of that paint on when I saw him. All I could see were the scars and the yellow teeth. He wore his hair down like that, though it seemed more unkempt, I don't know, maybe more combed out...it looked more greased up in the recording, wouldn't ya say, sir?"

Pacing about his office in a bit of a frenzy, the lieutenant was at loss for words, and yet, this was something. Surely something could be done with what she had to say.

"Yes, it looked so...and you didn't happen to see his license, or get a name, I'd assume."

"...Um, no," she answered with a thin lip, all of the hope she did hold now suddenly melting away. "He brushed past me and smiled one creepy-ass smile, then was on his way."

"Well, then what can we do?" he sighed as he took a seat, sipping what cold coffee he had leftover from that morning. "We can collaborate with the Batman and do what's feasible to put a stop in all this, and in the meantime let's pray that things don't get too out of hand."

She could only nod in accordance, as she chose not to have faith in much good resulting in the weeks to come along. After what happened eight months back with the gas leak that left over a hundred civilians dead and more than that injured, she was well aware that any bliss that lingered about Gotham was ephemeral.

Growing up here in this city had instilled heightened defensive skills as well as more than enough common sense to not allow everyone trust. The innocent had to die everyday, that much was simply inevitable. Her efforts alone improved little, but at least she could value what little her work did affect. Commissioner Loeb and Gordon were phenomenal in what they did. The irritatingly discreet yet thankful Batman really kept the criminals in check. Nothing was perfect, certainly, and never would be, even with this useful vigilante hanging, well, gliding and swooping around.

But this Joker...who was he? Where was he headed from that particularly graphic vlog? And could he be stopped?

Angelica thought about this frighteningly eccentric clown-man on her way to her sister's house from the station. He was all that was on her mind, as wrong and sickening as that was. His odious features still permeated her focus at her sister's while she babysat Ramona.

She snatched one of the few copies of the tape the department had before she punched out. She was going to re-watch the video, gut-wrenchingly disturbing as it was, and see if she could infer anything more than what she already knew, that being practically nothing.

Going against what was healthy or pleasant, she ended up watching the tape twelve times over on her laptop as she sat at her desk, taking even the pettiest notes on this freak's mannerisms and actions. She wrote down word-for-word what dialogue was exchanged between both him and the victim. She repeatedly thought back to the very afternoon she crashed into this guy. She reflected hard on that look, that godawful grin he presented her with, as if to mock her for calling him out on his churlish public behavior.

He was young. It was difficult to tell this by the video and with all that paint he had caked on, but from what she witnessed that day some time earlier when his face was clean of anything of that sort, he appeared to be not a day older than thirty. As far as his voice went...well, there simply was no pinpointing exactly what age that nasally tone could surmise. It didn't sound old and rustic, but it didn't really sound too youthful either, minus the giddy chipperness of it. Of course those parts where he'd growled demands at Brian sent chills of nausea through her whole system. She could have thought of a billion better things to do than analyze this clip, but for the sake of the civilians who weren't far from dying at the hands of this maniac, she had to dissect this recording for what it really was, and why it was even. For now, she could only guess what this 'Joker' was after. She had a nasty feeling it was more than money, something much more. More intricate, perhaps.

His guffaws before the camera would haunt her dreams all through that night, enough so to prevent her from watching the tape again.

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Thank you for checking this out. Please feel free to express your feelings whether constructive or praising.

-JLM