It was more of the same just about every night. The Batman would arise from the dark and stand above the city of Gotham and search for the criminals. The thieves, rapists, and murderers who ran ramped through the city when the cover of dusk fell. He would stop any and all he could find, and when there seemed to be too much going on, Batman would see the signal arise in the dark sky. It was then the criminals and scoundrels would look up and find their endeavors to be too much of a risk. When they knew the bat was out, their cowardice would take over. Fear kept the city safe, and when the braver ones kept at it, Batman stopped them.
The city was most alive at night, oddly enough.
During the day, when he was Bruce Wayne, the naïve billionaire playboy, this city seemed fake. Politicians roamed along with the mob leaders, cops wandered aimlessly, the company and his coworkers seemed dull, and even his appearances with random models on his arm were less than interesting for the dark knight.
During the night, when he was in this suit and crouched along the rooftops he felt the most comfortable in his own skin. He was Batman more than he was ever Bruce Wayne.
He catches himself as his thoughts delve towards the psychoanalytical part. He can't afford to think like that. He begins to sound a little too much like a certain smiling psychopath, and if h starts doing that all he can think about is the creepy murderer's spiels about them being perfectly alike and such.
And those piss him off to no end.
He frowns as he shoots a bat symbol at the neighboring roof and jumps down, his batrope lowering him to ground level in the alleyway as he seen two men following after a woman. He jumps down straight behind them and even as he stops the two from coming any closer to the woman by banging their heads together and knocking them both out in the alleyway, his mind is elsewhere.
He's thinking of the night, his mask, and that crazy laughter that never managed to leave his mind.
He hated him. If he ever slipped on his rule on killing… If Batman ever snapped and decided to murder, he knew for certain it would be on the clown prince of chaos. If he gave in to the dark side of himself, he knew he would be standing over his dead, smiling corpse.
Though, he would never slip into that place. He would never let the Joker win and send him to his level. They were not alike. Not at all.
It has been weeks since said lunatic has been up to trouble in Gotham. He's been locked up under heavy security. This time around, the asylum figured in order to keep the staff and other patients safe, Joker was not allowed out of his cell for any reason whatsoever.
He was given food on a Styrofoam tray instead of plastic so he couldn't break it and use a piece as a knife, he wasn't given any utensils to eat with, he was given water in a Styrofoam cup and the staff were to slide it into the cell and leave as quickly as possible. They weren't allowed to speak to him and if Joker tried to talk to them first, they were to ignore him completely.
The Joker had a way of getting into anyone's head. He was dangerous.
If someone so insane has so much intelligence to go along with it, they can manage to make their insane logic sound true. They can manipulate a sane person and skew their mind to match their own lunacy. He could turn the most kind, beloved man into a killing monster within a day. It's been proven. It has happened before.
Joker had been humming in his cell contentedly, his face adorned with the scars and stained makeup that formed his trademark smile. He had been sprayed with the fire hose in order to be cleaned, (since none of the doctors wanted to let him out of the cell.), so his face makeup was mostly gone by this point. The green in his hair was gone, leaving behind his lighter colored hair remaining. He almost looked like a normal Arkham patient, if it weren't for the scars still visible on his cheeks.
The doctors had brought in his usual gruel which passed as a horrible excuse for food. Someone probably spat in it, because he probably killed someone close to whoever worked in the kitchen. It was only natural with the number of people he's murdered so far. He didn't eat. He rarely ever did while he was in Arkham. He knew he would be out in a matter of time and could go out and get something much better.
As he spoke quietly to himself in his cell, he looked over and seen the dummies had left the little compartment where they left his tray in slightly open. He could hear through the door now!
As they walked away, he could hear them gossip. "That guy gives me the creeps." The first one muttered, and he could hear the other make a noise in agreement before adding, "Yeah, well, we won't have to deal with him much longer."
Joker made a face and rose an eyebrow in curiosity and amusement as he listened to them speak. He rolled on his back to be a little closer to the door, but not enough so the Arkham security would see him over the cameras being near the open hatch.
"What do ya mean?" Asked the first voice, and the other replied. "You dunno?" He chuckled. "Crazy back there's tests came back with somethin' wrong . Well, like, wrong-er than usual."
Joker rolled his eyes slightly at their poor grammar. Also the fact his blood was naturally fatal. Since falling in that vat of chemical stew and surviving, his blood was turned some sort of toxic or radioactive sludge. He wasn't exactly sure how or what his blood was but it was… something of the sort. He wasn't meant to be alive, but here he was, listening to the two obvious newbies of the asylum gossiping about him. He was about to get up and comically shut the hatch himself just to give the boys in security a shock, but before he could even roll to get up, the second man added, "When they were doin' those tests on him to try and get him back to normal, they accidentally overdosed him. Shot his organs so out of whack he's only prolly got a month to live. If that." He laughed.
Joker paused.
A few beats went by, before the stock still patient finally moved, shaking a bit on the camera, and then slowly his silent laughter turned into loud cackling, his laugh echoing through his cell and down the hall to where the two new Arkham doctors heard the crazy laughter and froze fearfully. They could hear him, that meant…
"I think he heard us." The first man said fearfully and looked back at the room the Joker was contained in. They reached in their pocket for a pager and just as he picked it up to call security, a voice taunted. "What? Was I not meant to join in on the secret?"
They backed up away from the door but it was too late. Once The Joker decided you were dead, he was rarely proven wrong. The grinning man had managed to somehow get out of the cell. He was standing there at the doorway casually as if he hadn't had to dislocate an arm in order to twist his way out and hit the keypad for the code.
"My, My, they send the rookies out on their first day with the big bad criminals, hmm?" He asked, drawing near. He seemed to not have a weapon, but the two men were fearful, eyes wide and their heartbeat pounding in their ears as the Joker stalked close and laughed. "BAD IDEA."
In what seemed to be a few mere moments on the camera, the maniac jumped up, grabbed the first one's head, snapped it and turned to the other, knocking him over and jumping on his chest, repeating the action and trying hard to crack a few ribs before getting down and straddling him, his arms on his neck and choking him tight until he was sure he was dead. He looked up as he heard footsteps and yelling of security arriving and grinned, darting off to try and hide until they passed him right by and found the bodies. Instead of following them and trying to kill all of them off at once, he darted up towards the Arkham dean of medicine's office was located. He busted the door open, flinging it open and grinning insanely at him and cackled as he begged to live. He was willing to shorten Joker's sentence, to relieve the security for the while, to give him his playing cards or clothes or anything, but Joker was having none of that. He wanted sweet revenge and that was what he was going to get. He ran inside, going for the Dean of Medicine's neck and biting down hard enough to snap something through the skin and let his jaw unlatch, blood spurting all over himself and the room they were in. As blood sprayed, Joker watched and laughed a high-pitched hysterical laugh, watching the pretty red fountain shorten into a dribble and giggled as the man died.
Joker then got to work finding his file in the metal drawers and found his own and read through his information. His eyes widened as he seen the information. The two deceased rookies were correct. It was all here on this typed file. He was expected to die at the hands of 'side effects' from this damn place's testing methods. SIDE EFEFCTS. They expected him to die in some mediocre way such as that?
Joker seen red, yet his face was stretched in a grin as he read the file over and over. He giggled at the words until he erupted into laughter, walking to the bleeding man's copier machine and printed off 100 copies of his own file and then added more and more until the machine was completely out of every type of paper. He giggled and cackled as he picked up as armful of paper and picked up the speakers. "HELLO ARKHAM! IT'S ME! YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD JOKER, HERE!" He greeted with a dark laugh. "I'M SURE YOU'RE ALL TIRED OF THIS PARTY ALREADY. I SURE AM." He said conversationally before he found a swipe key on the man's belt. "SO, I PLAN TO LEAVE WITH A FEW PARTY FAVORS. OR A FEW HUNDRED." He cackled as he ran out, the microphone dropping to its side as he ran out, papers of his file flying along behind him as they slipped from his arms as he ran down the halls and swiped his key along every cell door, letting out almost every criminal this place had locked up. He giggled insanely as he finally let each cell out and bolted for the door, somehow making it out without the security being able to catch him.
Joker made it out of Arkham and out into the stormy weather of the island. Out of the pan and into the fire he went, daring to swim out in the tall waves and not giving a damn. Not that he's ever cared about his own well-being before. Why start now? He asked himself.
He laughed as he struggled to keep above water as he repeated out loud between coughs of water as he swam against the current formed from the storm. "Why start now?" He asked himself between bouts of laughter and struggling to breathe, repeating himself in different tones and inclinations. "Why start now?! WHY. START. NOW."
The manmade island was a blur of sirens, lights, and alarms behind him as the Joker got away, only a mere green dot in the large mass of stormy water between Arkham and Gotham.