There is much to be learned from Blair Valentine.

Her life has drastically changed after the death of her mother, Jane Valentine who was killed by reasons Blair refuses to communicate. Only those close know the truth. If they're even that lucky. The few relatives Blair had were killed by a force marked as "unjustified" by Gotham's police force. Brilliant deviants, they are.

Those who knew were killed in vicious ways, naturally. Deranged, if you asked Commissioner Gordon. But who would dare?

Blair, on the other hand, is attempting to live a comforted life. Daily, she spends time with her best friend and resides in a quaint apartment just off the main street. Though what is held behind her hazel eyes will be forever known by the civilians of Gotham. For quite some time, Gotham was haunted by the terror of the Joker. Now, they won't be so lucky. Then again…why does The Joker take such an interest in this brunette? Hm?

What creates a killer?

Trauma. And any one of you.

If put in the right situations, of course.

Nonetheless, there are places to be hidden: you never know where a killer could be hiding; in your city, or Ms. Whitman down the street for example. You never would guess how simple it is to create a murderer.

No?

Don't believe me?

I'm sure a murderous clown prince would. But of course, you have no need to taking my word on it. Let's just see how noble one adorable citizen is: Blair Valentine.

"And as life breaks, so shall she break."

"Madness, as you know, is a lot like gravity. All it takes is a little push"

I tried to kill you.

You tried to save me.

Ch. 1

'Oh, come on, you little bitch! Scream!'

I dragged my dagger across her skin quickly, the swipe creating a nice gash of crimson which dripped from her arm.

"So, where is she!?" I growled.

"I-I don't know!" Kelly cried, her tears making her thin eyeliner run.

"Her fucking best friend and ya don't even know where she is!?" I slapped her, making her hair flick from the sudden jerk. It was a hard slap; the kind that made a loud crack noise and red cheek. You know, almost the kind where your mother hits you for mouthing off to a teacher…again. Well, you wouldn't know. Though even after all the slaps, you still loved her. You cherished that which like she was Queen Bitch. And yet she left a hole in your wrist, gouged out some muscle with that damn knife she used to cut up onions. The ones you blamed the tears on. Those salty tears that ran down your face after every hit you took; you'd blamed it on the onions being cut. That it hurt. And how you sobbed.

Just like Kelly is now.

But you wouldn't know that.

Because you know nothing about me.

Oh, but you'll want to. Because one day, I'll show this world. I'll show 'em how to laugh…

"Please, just let me go,"

Cocking my eyebrow, I giggled. "Ya really think that's gonna work? After all the shit you put me through!?" Now was time to let myself be shown. She still doesn't know who I am.

"Who-who?" she halted in her blubbering.

Biting my lip slightly, I drew my face closer to hers, eye-to-eye. "Think really hard,"

I watched her pupils moves back and forth between my eyes, the way actors do in soap operas. When recognition struck her, I was sent into a fit of laughter.

"B-Blair? Blair Valentine?"

"Correctamundo, bitch" I raised my knife.

"Blair, that was in Junior High. You haven't forgotten?" her two-toned eyes were wide. Yes, two-toned. She got contacts like that. Why, I'll never know. Nor do I wonder.

"Forget!? Those years were the ones that changed my life," I smiled, gazing down to the scars on my arms; long healed.

"So, this is what you turn into!? A killer?"

"Since when do you judge me!? I'm doing the interrogating here. And you will never know what the reason of my demise was. You, you were just…what might be called an antagonist. But you weren't the final stand…" my mind flashed to memories which I pushed away. "Now, do you know Janean's location or not!?"

"No." she stated, staring me directly in the eyes. Ballsy bitch.

"Fine. Then fucking rot." And quickly, I stabbed her in the chest. I could hear the final breath escape her lungs. The light in her two-toned eyes had gone out as well. "Pathetic." Lighting a match, I dropped the flame on the newly-inert-corpse, walking out shortly before the blaze expanded to the rest of the business in which her death took place. The smell of burning skin filled my nostrils. I could almost see her flesh falling off into little pieces on the slightly wet floor. When burning hair wafted through the air, I wanted to gag, so I picked up my pace a bit; tossing my blade up as I walked, whistling the last song that played on my car radio.

'Useless little which,' a voice whispered in my head.

'But we're anticipating our next target,' another voice giggled.

"Would you stop!? I'm tired of these damn voices!" I mumbled. "And besides, who says we'll find her?

If there's one thing I love about Gotham, it's how incredibly dark the streets get at night. That's something excessive amounts of these imprudent inhabitants of Gotham despise. Not to mention the somberness of it all just sends chills through me.

So I sauntered 'home', if you could even call it that, while ignoring the conversation that was, yet again, going on in my head. It happens a lot when I need a kill.

Especially someone this faulty and bogus. The one which whom I am after has been hiding for too long. And. I. Will. Find. Her.