A Dangerous Challenge

by wbss21

The Joker finds himself in the unusual position of victim instead of victimizer.

Hey all my readers! I realize I haven't updated ANY of my stories for a couple weeks now. The reason being, I'm totally stuck, lol. I've got a bad case of writers block and I can't come up with any direction of where I want any of them to go at the moment. Let this be a lesson to not post anything until you've gotten it finished, haha. I am still working on them though. I just don't know how long it will take before I can figure out what I want to do with them.

In the mean time, I found this one story which I wrote a while back but never posted. I think it's pretty good. Entertaining enough. And yeah, I know it has some of the typical, overplayed elements that these kinds of stories tend to have, but hey, I was just starting out with this whole fanfiction thing. Anyhow, I hope you guys like it. It has some very graphic, violent parts, so that's just a warning I'm throwing out there. Otherwise, I hope you like it and thanks for your continued readership!

A Dangerous Challenge:

The Joker's elbow slammed hard in to the solar plexus of the man holding him from behind, and immediately he was released. He wasted no time then in kicking out, in to the groin of another man approaching him, efficiently dropping the thug to his knees before he spun around, smashing his fist in to the face of the first goon. He stumbled back and The Joker turned swiftly, hearing encroaching footsteps.

"Brilliant." He said in nearly as whisper, seeing what seemed ten men coming at him. He glanced quickly to where his gun had skidded across the floor. Too far for him to reach in time. "What the heck." He thought, making for it anyway. He almost was upon it before he was slammed from the side by one of his pursuers, quickly followed by 5 or 6 others piling in from behind, all placing their weight atop him. He pushed against the mass, but there were too many then, and he felt his arms and legs being pinned down by several sets of hands. In the next instant he was being pulled to his feet and held sturdily in place.

"Hold em' boys!" He watched as the group's apparent leader walked in to view from behind them, coming close.

"Well, well, Mr. Joker, you are indeed a difficult man to restrain!" He said, looking up in to the much taller man's face. "Killed three of my boys. Put the hurt on several more."

The Joker smiled.

"I try my best." He answered.

"A sense of humor too, I see. You do well in upholding your reputation."

"That I do Mr…?"

The man laughed.

"Rumenoski. Trent Rumenoski." He said.

"And I'm Bond. Joker Bond." The Joker laughed.

The man looked suddenly agitated.

"You seem rather at ease, considering your current circumstance Mr. Joker."

"So formal!" The Joker mused. "Please, just Joker will do."

"Joker…" Rumenoski said. "You mustn't be so mad so as not to realize your predicament."

Again The Joker laughed.

"Insane, they say I am, but not stupid Trent, my lad. Though for you, I've misgivings saying the same."

The man's eyes flashed in anger.

"You must be crazy, talking to me like that." He said.

The Joker smirked.

"Perhaps. But the error is yours, not mine. You'll soon enough be privy to your own foolery."

Trent abruptly drew his gun from a holster beneath his jacket, pressing the barrel to The Joker's temple.

"And how do you figure that one, Joker?" He said with ground teeth.

"You play with The Joker, Chumenoski, expect the unexpected." He grinned.

Trent eyed him intently for a moment before lowering his weapon.

The Joker could see the confusion in his eyes. The man had expected him to be frightened, complacent. Those were two things The Joker never was.

They stood starring at each other for a long few seconds before Ruminoski turned suddenly and walked away, several feet.

"We'll see how long your boldness lasts, Mr. Joker." He said. "Strip him down boys, tie him up."

The men complied, gripping The Joker tight as they removed his jacket, then waste coat and shirt before doing the same to his shoes and socks, then his pants and under garments. The Joker didn't struggle, keeping his eyes on Trent the entire time, even as they moved him towards a chair in the middle of the room, forcing him to sit while producing a set of hand cuffs and rope.

"So why strip me naked Trentinator?" He asked as they bound his hands behind the seats back and his ankles to the chairs legs. "Is there something I should know? Something you want to tell me?" He smiled as the group's leader came towards him.

"You aren't much to look at, are you Joker?" He said, leaning down. "Rather on the skinny side. Makes me wonder how it is you put up such a valiant fight."

The Joker's smiled broadened.

"Oh, you sly devil you! I just knew your intention was more then mere humiliation."

Rumenoski looked flustered suddenly, standing straight and averting his eyes away from his captive.

"Don't be ridiculous!" He said, straightening out his suit jacket. "I know your tricks Joker. You've proven quite the escape artist over the years. And I couldn't have you picking the locks of those cuffs with some concealed tool from your sleeve, or some such place." He waved a hand dismissively.

The Joker bore in to him, unblinking.

"I see you've done your homework, hmm Trenty-baby?" He chuckled.

"Indeed I have Joker." He said, looking back to the bound man. "They'll be no surprises from you."

The Joker's brows shot up.

"Oh! But hasn't there already been? Clearly, you anticipated an easier task in my handling then was provided."

It was true. Rumenoski and his men had sought The Joker out, finding him holed up in this old, abandoned factory building, where they'd been able to corner him. Subduing him, however, despite their outnumbering him sixteen to one, had proven a difficult accomplishment, taking every man there, and nearly 20 minutes of struggle. It seemed they'd caught him by surprise, but The Joker had managed to shoot and kill 2 of his men before he was relieved of his gun, and even unarmed, he'd somehow gotten his hands around one of the men's heads, twisting it round, snapping the neck in the process, and injuring several others before he at last was brought down. It was no lie. The Joker had indeed earned his reputation as an extremely dangerous man.

Again Trent waved a dismissive hand.

"From where I stand, we handled you just fine." He said.

The Joker shrugged.

"We'll see." He said. "And why, pre tell, have you come to handle me at all? For someone whose come prepared, it seems you've missed the memo on why I've always more or less been left to myself. Oh, I hope it isn't some banal instigator like wanting the local of my financial reserves."

"We don't care about your money Joker." Trent answered.

"Well that's a relief!" The Joker laughed. "Because neither do I!" And his laughter grew uproarious.

"Very funny Joker. It seems it might prove a challenge, wiping that smile from your face."

"Near impossible mon ami." He grinned back.

Rumenoski starred at him in silence for nearly a minute before sighing, beginning to pace.

"Still… not impossible, by your very own admission, hmm Jack?" He stopped directly in front of The Joker, starring down at him, and for the first time that night, saw actual surprise in the madman's expression. He smirked.

The Joker looked up, and for a moment, felt strangely restricted, as though he couldn't speak, an odd feeling of tension rising up in his throat.

"What?" He finally managed.

"Expect the unexpected, isn't that what you said?" Trent went on, again beginning to walk left and then again right. "You see, I'm after nothing so rudimentary as money. No, no, that's far too simplistic a goal for someone of my intellect, for someone of my resources. I'm in no need of financial gain. I've plenty to live beyond mere comfort, believe me. See, what I'm after… Jack, is to build upon my reputation as this city's most formidable, most feared crime lord. I'm new in town, you might have guessed, all the way from New Jersey, and I'm looking to expand my operation. Well, in a city such as Gotham, where competition is so obviously fierce, I figured, what better way to introduce myself then by breaking the most notorious criminal not only here, but in all the country, maybe even in all the world!"

He bent down then, his face mere inches from The Joker's own.

"I've been studying you for months Joker." He said lowly. "Compiling information. You're insane. You truly are. I've observed enough to know the threat of bodily harm, or even death would be insufficient in accomplishing your destruction. You are a fearless man, and I would be lying if I were to say I didn't admire that in you. I must confess, I was not entirely convinced of this until I just now held my automatic to your skull. I'm very experienced in this sort of thing Joker. I've done the same to trained FBI operatives, trained to show no emotion. But even in such individuals, there's always the slightest change in expression, no matter how imperceptible it might seem, you watch closely enough, and you'll spot it, a twinge here, a minimal dilation of the pupils, a twitch of the lip, etcetera. You can spot the fear. But with you… nothing! Absolutely nothing! I've never come across someone devoid of fear. Oh, many people talk a big game, laugh in the face of danger, confront their fears boldly. But it's all an act. In the end, they're all very much petrified. Not you though. You must know you are unique. I find it almost a shame, having to do what I plan on, to such an extraordinary creature as yourself."

The Joker continued to stare at him, his focus unmoved, his eyes intense and alert.

Trent went on.

"I wanted to see it for myself, of course. See if it were true. I don't need to brutalize you to know already that it is." He stood straight then, smiling. "Still, we all have our weaknesses, each of us. Even you!" He touched his index finger to The Joker's nose, causing the bound man to flinch violently away. Rumenoski could see anger boiling in the lunatics face. "Good." He thought.

"Well, I got to thinking…" He continued. "If I couldn't defeat you through the usual tactics of intimidation that I generally employ when moving in on another territory, how then might I go about it? Killing you was an option, but very boring, and that's another quality I've grown to admire in you Joker. Your sense of the theatrical. There's a definite finesse to your methods. And anyone might be capable of one day putting a bullet in your brain. How many times have you been shot? From the looks of the scars on that body of yours, I would say dozens. You're a lucky man indeed, to still be among the living. No…" Trent clasped his hands behind him and turned so that his back now faced The Joker. "I knew, in order to make a real impact upon this berg, both among the criminal element and law enforcement officials, I would have to do something drastic… something unheard of. And then, well, after having studied you for so long, I came to realize, more then killing, what you really enjoyed was the mental deconstruction of others. That's how you really get your kicks, isn't it? Seeing what it takes to break someone that way? And it gave me an idea. What if, somehow, someway, someone was able to turn the tables, reverse your little game and play it on you? What if someone was actually able to break you mentally? Reduce you to a pathetic, sniveling mess of a man and send you packing with your tail between your legs? Of course, it seemed impossible. Anyone who's ever attempted matching wits with you, to psychoanalyze you, has either wound up dead, a veritable vegetable or psychologically damaged. All those poor, pathetic psychiatrists at that loony bin they've always got you locked up in." Trent tsked. "It never turns out well for the other party. You're good at mind games Joker." He turned around, bending down to look his captive again in the face. "But so am I. It's something I pride myself on, much like yourself. And so I concluded to try my hand at the ultimate challenge, and gain control of this town in the process. A win, win, really."

The Joker smiled broadly, suddenly.

"A dangerous challenge Trent." He finally said. "One you'll regret."

"Oh, I don't think so." The man said. "I've already succeeded in gaining the upper hand. I've left you practically speechless. That's got to be a first! You certainly aren't near as talkative as you were when we began this evening together." He laughed. "You see, when finally I decided to do this, I knew that, to ensure my success, it was imperative I learn as much about you as possible. And there I was met with rather an odd stumbling block. It seemed no one knew a damn thing about you!" He laughed again. "Isn't that funny? No one knew who you were before you became The Joker, no one knew what life you'd led. And you certainly hadn't told anyone, hadn't even indicated you yourself knew. But knowing your fondness for manipulation, I figured perhaps that was a ruse on your part. Act like you don't remember, keep every one at bay. Smart defensive tactic. But after researching you, I began to form a different view of your psychosis. Everyone just assumes you to be so mad that you have no actual concept of reality. Well, I don't think that's true. I don't think that's true at all. You've displayed far too great an intelligence to be as out of touch as everyone says you are. Now don't get me wrong, you're obviously crazy. But I say that only because of your disregard for danger. You'd have to be crazy to have such an attitude." He smiled.

The Joker sat motionless, looking back.

"You were someone before you showed up as you are." Rumenoski started again. "There had to be a record, a trail of some kind. Nobody just appears out of thin air. So I went looking. I have to say, Jack, you covered your tracks well."

"Stop calling me that." The Joker answered, his voice soft and even, his tone serious.

"Ah, ah! See? I've managed to wipe the smile from your face already, and I haven't even begun!" Trent laughed. "But still, apply the right kind of pressure to the right people, and you can come up with almost anything. The problem with everyone who's ever tried learning about who you were is that, they never were willing to go far enough, to look deep enough. They didn't want it that badly." He again bent down to eye level with The Joker. "Not even that freak you've got here, the one who dresses as a bat… But I did." He grinned. "It required some torture. Some maiming, killing even, but I got what I wanted. I learned allll about you Jackie-boy, and I have to say, a few surprises, a few disappointments, over all though, a fascinating set of circumstance. I understand why you went mad." He laughed loudly then.

The Joker's mouth had tensed to a thin line and he was eyeing Rumenoski with overt disgust. He said nothing. He didn't know what to say. How did he know that name? Nobody had called him by that name in years. He scarcely recalled it himself, and he'd been certain anyone else who ever knew it had long since been dead. He breathed in deeply. He couldn't let some two-bit drug lord from Jersey get to him. That was absurd. How much could the man know when his own past came to him only in fractions and flashes?

"I've warned you once already." He finally pushed himself to speak. "Refrain from calling me by that name, of I will make your death a slow and painful one."

Trent erupted in to laughter then.

"I'm sure you will Jack! Naked and bound as you are." And suddenly he slapped The Joker hard across the face, splitting his lip, causing blood to trickle out, down his chin.

The Joker's eyes shot wide with fury.

"You disgusting pig, I'll…"

"You'll what!" Trent cut him off. "Kill me? You can't even move, and even if you could, I've got 12 guns trained on you. Make one threatening gesture, and you'll be dead as a door nail, I promise."

The Joker could feel his blood boil and his muscles tense. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this kind of anger, or such repulsion. He wanted with an overwhelming urge to mutilate the bastard. He couldn't believe this even was happening. He couldn't recall anyone having ever angered him like this, not even Bat-sap. This was unacceptable. He told himself to calm down, to reign in his emotions. He could outmaneuver anyone if he focused, he knew he could. Who the hell was this guy anyway? Nobody and nothing he couldn't handle, that's who. He just had to stay calm. Stay calm, he told himself. He wanted to lash out and tear the fool limb from limb, but the imbecile had been right about one thing. If he did that, he'd be dead before he knew what had hit him, and then there'd be no fulfillment of his desire. He'd have to wait. Wait until his arrogant hide came close enough again, and then he'd teach him, he'd show him the grandiosity of his mistake then.

He breathed in sharply, releasing it slowly, trying to relieve the tension he felt. He'd have to talk the dolt in to attacking him. He needed the idiot near enough to get his own hands on him before the others could fire. That shouldn't be hard. This man was fairly intelligent, but hardly comparable to himself. "Just stay calm." He again told himself.

Finally he smiled.

"Alright, Trent, so, you've come here to humiliate me, unravel and degrade me, send the message to all those would be challengers, you are not a man to be toyed with." He chuckled. "Oh, but Trent, the difference between us is, I don't need to know of your past to know who you are. It's entirely unnecessary for me to educate myself on your person to figure out what makes you tick. You understand? Already you've unwittingly revealed all I should ever need to piece together an accurate assessment of everything you are. I've had you figured from the start, and a sorry sight you are, I must say. From Jersey you hail, aye? A hop and a skip from here, but a vastly different city, she is. Only a man of desperation would make the move from the relative safety of such a small city, by comparison in any event, to the perils presented by the ominous and sprawling Gotham. You move to this town for one of two reasons, my dear. Either you're a thrill seeker, in need of an adrenaline rush, or you've come here out of need, a lack of other options. Something's telling me the latter is most applicable. So what was it, exactly? Driven out by those rougher and tougher, and so here you came, yes? Hoping to make up the embarrassment of your inability to hold your own in an easily muscled town? I've been to Jersey, on many an occasion Trent, darling. It's filled, quite possibly, with the most inept group of buffoons I've ever had the displeasure of encountering, police and deviant alike. It's a town I could take over in a matter of weeks. If you couldn't make it there, sweetness, you most certainly won't make it here." He smiled. He could see the man was growing agitated, his lip twitching in anger, his skin turning a slightly darker shade. He knew he was right. And so he continued. "But you couldn't bare the discomfiture of your own inadequacy. So you came here and decided to try your hand against the biggest, baddest man you could. A bold, but fatuous move Trent. And who precisely were you trying to fool? Yourself, most of all. That much is obvious"

"Shut up." The man said at last, looking on the verge of explosion.

The Joker laughed.

"Oh, but you know I'm right. I always am."

The other men looked nervous suddenly, and The Joker felt certain Rumenoski would come at him with just a little more prodding. He observed as the man's hands clenched to fists, his expression growing strained.

He opened his mouth to say more, when he was beaten to it by one of the men.

"Sir!"

Trent looked away from his captive.

"What!" He nearly yelled.

He was clearly disturbed.

The henchman cleared his throat.

"Maybe, you know…" He nodded towards another of the group.

The Joker immediately looked to where the thug had directed their leader and saw one of the others holding a manila folder.

Trent still was incensed, but for only a moment longer, and suddenly his face relaxed, the fists he'd made coming apart. He ran a hand through his hair, releasing a breath he'd obviously been holding in.

"Thank you Harold." He said in as calm a voice he could muster, though still present was a vague tremble. He walked to the other man and took the folder from him, moving again to stand before his captive.

"Clever you are Jack." He said, smiling. "But I'm afraid, for you, I've come prepared for any tricks you might pull."

"Really?" The Joker smiled back. "You seemed less then composed only a moment ago."

"Yes, well, tell yourself that. Whatever makes you feel better." The man said, flipping the folder open and looking down at its contents.

The Joker smirked.

"Honey pie, I think it's you who…"

"Jack, let me show you something." He was cut short.

He really was growing tired of this ignoramus calling him by that name. Was it the one thing he'd learned of him, thinking it sufficient enough a weapon to break him? He was even more a fool then The Joker had initially thought, if that were the case.

Trent came towards him a few feet, lifting what looked to be a photograph in his hand.

The Joker grabbed hold of his right thumb, ready to dislocate it when Rumenoski stopped dead.

"Recognize this woman?" He said, holding the photograph before his face. A black and white picture of a beautiful, young woman. She couldn't have been more then 23 , 24. The Joker starred hard at it for many seconds, saying nothing. But he'd known instantly, he'd seen that face before. From dreams… nightmares. Some faded, opaque memory he couldn't recall in detail, unsure if it had ever really happened. And yet, the longer he looked in to that face, the clearer it became, more vivid, and suddenly, without warning, without expectation, the recollection came crashing down on him, forced violently and abruptly to the front of his mind, limpid, as he'd never seen before. And at once, he felt as if he were drowning, suffocating, his lungs tightening in his chest, and a feeling, something like he'd never felt before, consuming him whole.

He looked away.

"No…" He chocked.

Trent smiled in malicious delight.

"Jean Napier." He said. "Your wife, correct?"

The Joker kept his head turned. His eyes had shut tight, his face twisted in to a grimace of pain.

"Well, take a look Jack." Rumenoski said, stepping forward, smacking the photo against his captives face.

The Joker refused, not changing positions, not reacting in any way.

"Boys." Trent stepped back, looking to two of his hirelings. "Hold him."

The men complied, stepping to The Joker and taking hold of his head, forcing his face towards their employer.

His eyes remained clamped tight.

Trent sighed loudly.

"You two." He pointed to two other of his men. "Force his eyes open."

They didn't hesitate, moving to the bound man.

The Joker could feel their hands on his face and he tried in vain to jerk away as their fingers pressed in to his flesh, pulling up and down, above and below his eyes. In the next instant, he was being made to stare forward, at Rumenoski, who again, quickly, produced the photograph, holding it mere inches from The Joker's face now.

"Take a good look Jack." Trent said, smiling. "You remember, don't you?"

"No… God…" The Joker's voice came out in a strained whisper and he tried again, desperately, to look away. But they held him fast.

The man turned the photo around then and looked at it himself.

"Good looking broad you had there, Jack." He said, looking back to The Joker after a moment, again placing the picture in his direct line of sight. "Wouldn't you say?"

The Joker said nothing.

Rumenoski eyed him for a moment longer before turning, walking a few feet away.

"From what I heard tell, you'd have killed for her, you loved her that much." He turned back, nodding towards his men, signaling for them to release The Joker. They did and immediately he looked away, in spite of there no longer being a photograph before him.

"Big, tough guy you were Jack." He continued, walking once more towards him. He grabbed hold of The Joker's face and forced him to look his way. "But not tough enough, huh? Couldn't protect her, could you Jack? Huh? HUH?"

The Joker tried to jerk away, shaking his head.

"S-stop…" He stumbled over his own words, his voice sounding suddenly weak. "Stop calling me that."

"But why Jack!" Trent again forced his face towards him. "That's your name, isn't it! Jack Napier, the mob's renowned hit man? You were a real sharp shooter, weren't you? A real expert. Clean, fast, efficient. They'd call you in on all the important jobs, wouldn't they Jack? All the jobs they couldn't afford to screw up? You were their go to guy when it came to the important hits."

The Joker just kept shaking his head, over and over, as though he weren't listening.

Trent continued.

"But you didn't really enjoy the work, did you Jack? It felt bad to you. Wrong. You wanted out. And that lovely lady of yours? She wanted you out too, didn't she Jack?"

"God… stop it, please…" The Joker nearly whimpered, his eyes squeezing shut.

"At least, that was the talk. And then that little lady, she got pregnant with your baby, didn't she? And that was it for you. They needed you on a job. A big job. And you were dumb Jack, weren't you? Told em' no. Told em' you wanted no part of it. Yeah, that was dumb Jack. Real fucking stupid." Again he hit The Joker across the face with the photo. "You should have known, once you're in that shit, they don't let you out. You should have known that Jack. But I guess you're not as smart as all those IQ tests say you are, huh?"

The Joker only continued to shake his head.

"See that boys? He agrees with me!" Rumenoski looked around, smiling, and the rest of the room exploded in to laughter.

He brought his attention back to his captive.

"Guess you had to learn that the hard way, huh Jack? They don't let you out."

"Stop, Stop, STOP!" The Joker jerked violently away, his voice raising.

Trent suddenly grabbed a fistful of The Joker's hair, pulling his head up.

"It was pretty ugly, from what I heard tell." He said, smiling. "What they did to you and your girl there. Why don't you tell us Jack? What did they do?"

"Oh God, oh God please… don't do this to me. Don't do this…" The Joker sounded on the verge of tears, his voice strained and cracking. It was like he was a different man entirely from the one they'd all seen earlier. Trent laughed.

"Come on tough guy." He pushed. "What did they do? It's not like we don't already know. I'm just trying to help you. You know, they say it's therapeutic, facing your demons head on. So what did they do? I know you remember…"

The Joker could feel the tears stinging at the back of his eyes as the memory flooded his mind, the images, the sounds, the smells even, all so real, so alive. He could think of nothing else. Could see and hear nothing else, as though it were all happening again, happening right then and there. Happening to him… to her.

"God… make it stop." He whimpered.

"Jeanie? Baby? I told him! I told you I'd do it! I walked straight up to Boss Carmine and told him, just like you said I should. Jeanie? You here doll-face?" He looked around the apartment, seeing nothing, but the place was large and he figured she must be around. Probably in another of the rooms. And so he moved along, continuing to talk.

"I have to admit baby, I was a little scared he wouldn't like it. But you should have seen him. He couldn't have been nicer. He said he understood completely, that I had my priorities and they'd just find someone else to do the job. Jeanie?" He looked in the kitchen. Nothing. He then moved down the hallway, leading to their bedroom. "He's a sweet man, Carmine, deep down he is." He kept talking, pushing open the door.

His eyes shot wide and he felt his heart catch in his throat when his saw his wife, bound to a chair and gagged, tears streaming down her face.

"Jeanie, my God!" He moved forward, alarm in his voice. "What in the hell is going on!"

Her eyes were frantic and she shook her head vigorously, struggling to speak against the cloth between her teeth.

All Jack could think was to help her, her warnings failing to register.

And in the next instant, he felt a blunt object against the back of his skull, brining him quickly to his knees. A moment later and he felt two pairs of hands wrapping round his arms, another set relieving him of the gun in his holster before he was dragged to his feet and smashed viciously against the wall and held there.

And then Boss Carmine came in to his line of sight, two, large men flanking him on either side. And there were two men more, in either corner on the far end of the room.

"C-Carmine?" He stuttered, looking wide eyed at his employer. "What's… what's going on? I don't understand this."

The mob head looked back at the taller man with contempt.

"Oh, you don't?" He said, coming closer. "Well, you will soon enough kid. You try and fuck me! ME! Santos Carmine! You think you can just walk out on me like that and not pay the price!"

"Carmine, please…" Jack began desperately. "I thought you understood. You… You said it was alright. You said everything was…"

"SHUT UP!" Carmine backhanded him across the cheek, his ring splitting Jack's skin wide.

"I've got a reputation to up hold, you sniveling little shit. Are you really that stupid? To think you could just walk away? It doesn't work that way Jack. You work for me, you had better be loyal! You know what your wanting out tells me Jack? It tells me you ain't loyal. Tells me you might squeal if ever there was enough pressure put on you."

Jack shook his head.

"No Carmine! No! I wouldn't tell anyone a thing. I swear I wouldn…"

Again he was backhanded.

"What'd I just say! Shut UP!"

Jack froze, his eyes huge and worried. Carmine sighed with agitation, stepping back and running a hand through his thinning hair. He shook his head.

"I'm disappointed Jack. I really am." He began. "You had such promise. You were the best. The best I ever seen. Nobody handles a gun like you Jack. Nobody. Every time I seen you use one, it's like… it's like you're writin' a symphony. It's beautiful. You're an artist son." Again he sighed. "I had such hopes for you." He looked up. "But you failed me Jack. You betrayed me. And now… Now you gotta pay." He turned then, towards Jeanie.

"You know what to do fellas." He said, walking to a recliner in the upper right hand corner of the room, taking a seat.

Jack's eyes moved from his employer's to the thugs in the rooms corners, fear gripping his heart as he saw them moving towards his wife. She began to scream, the sound muffled by the rag as they put their hands on her, beginning to undo her binds.

Jack pushed forward fiercely, but was shoved back with ease by the two, large men who held to his arms.

"Carmine, PLEASE!" He cried, again looking to the mob boss. "Don't do this! Don't!"

His attention was snapped back when he heard Jeannie's screams grow loud. They'd removed the gag.

"JACK! GOD, HELP ME! PLEASE!"

He watched in horror as the two men forced her handily to the ground and he could feel the bile rise up in his throat as he realized what it was they were doing.

"JACK, OH JESUS! HELP ME! DON'T LET THEM DO THIS! DON'T LET THEM!"

Again he pushed against the men.

"JEANNIE!" He screamed, trying in vain to twist himself free. Her screams grew louder, more desperate.

He once more looked to Carmine.

"Santos! God, stop them. PLEASE!" He begged.

The older man refused even to look at him, simply starring ahead at his men as they tore the woman's cloths from her body.

Jack looked back to his wife as tears began to fill his eyes, running down his face, blinding his vision.

"Jeanie, oh God!" He sobbed, his voice coming out broken and strained. Once more he pushed with all his might against the two men, and somehow, he managed then to break free, practically throwing himself towards his wife and her assailants.

"JACK! HELP ME! HELP ME!"

And in an instant, he was upon them, latching viciously to one of the attackers, pulling him off, smashing the palm of his hand against the man's teeth. "Get AWAY from her!" He screamed. The thug stumbled backward and Jack wasted no time in going for the other man, diving in to his body and tackling him to the ground.

Carmine had by then stood up.

"Stop him, you fools!" He ordered angrily.

Jack and the man wrestled on the ground with vicious intent. The young hit man was on top, ready to smash an elbow across the thugs face when he felt a strong pair of hands rip him away and hurl him across the floor. He looked up in time only to see six, giant men nearly upon him, and quickly, they'd latched tight to his arms and legs, lifting him from the ground and slamming him hard against the wall, knocking the wind from his lungs. He breathed in sharply. Four men held him now, so tightly he could scarcely move an inch. And he watched in utter dismay as the two assailants from before again made for his wife.

"OH GOD, NO!" She screamed.

Jack tried with all his might to move, but it was useless. All four men were in the least twice as thick as he, twice as strong, and all four held him in vice like grips, the pressure from their hands causing him to bruise already.

"Oh God!" He cried, tears streaming in rapid succession down his cheeks. "Santos, please!" He again began to beg. "I'll do anything! Anything! Just please… Please don't hurt her!"

The mob boss said nothing still, only continued to ignore the young man's pleas.

"Please…" Jack's voice grew weaker as still he tried in vain to break free. "Please, I beg of you…"

He watched and his sobs grew near uncontrollable as they stripped his wife naked, her screams for him to save her filling the room as one of the attackers unzipped his pants.

At once, Jack felt his knees buckle and he slumped forward, held up only by the men. And Jeannie's screams grew louder still as her attacker fell upon her, forcing his way inside her.

Jack's whole body shook without restraint, racked by his sobs, his sight blinded by tears. All he could hear then, all he knew was the man's grunts over his wife's own chocked cries. He felt then the bile rise up in his throat, forcing itself past his lips and on to the floor.

And after a while, his wife had stopped screaming for him and only cried in silence, his own sobs growing weaker, more subdued, the only sound to be heard now coming from the men, who took their turns rapping her, all six of them. And he could do nothing but watch. And after a time, it seemed to him like a dream, like it wasn't real. It couldn't be real, he began to reason. It couldn't be. Yet the tears wouldn't stop coming to his eyes, running down his face, no matter that they'd long since grown silent.

He prayed for this nightmare to end, for he and his wife to be left in peace. And as the sixth man at last finished, leaving Jeannie a bloodied and ravaged mess on the floor, Jack allowed himself for one, fleeting moment to hope it would soon be over.

"Now kill her." He heard Carmine's voice suddenly. "Cut the baby from her stomach and slash her throat."

Jack's eyes grew wide suddenly and he felt a surge of strength.

"NO!" He screamed, his voice breaking with the intensity of it. "NO!" He pushed forward and could feel himself breaking away when a hard, sharp object raked itself across his jaw, knocking him backwards again. One of the men had pistol whipped him. His head spun, and he felt disoriented and frail as he was again slammed against a wall. Things only began to clear when he saw one of the men move towards Jeannie, who was by then completely out of sorts, unaware.

"JEANNIE, NO!" He screamed, somehow finding his voice once more, struggling still against the hands which held him. "JEANNIE, PLEASE! LISTEN TO ME! RUN! YOU HAVE TO RUN!"

Her only response was to groan, her hands moving about, directionless and lethargic. She wasn't hearing him.

"JEANNIE, MY GOD, PLEASE!" He continued to plead.

He saw the man approaching her draw a large blade.

"Oh God…" He cried. "GET AWAY FROM HER! PLEASE, JESUS, STAY AWAY!" He pushed weakly forward. And in the next instant, he heard Jennie scream out as the man sunk his knife deep in to her stomach. The bile again rose in Jack's throat and on to the floor. His lids shut tight. He felt dizzy, like he was being spun round and round, uncontrollably, never ending, and he thought very literally for a moment that his head might come off from the motion. And at once his wife's screams filled his ears at what seemed a thunderous volume and he could hear nothing else. Just that sound. Loud, unforgiving, unrelenting, like a room filled with countless televisions, all turned on, all with the volume at maximum. He thought his skull would cave in. And then the screaming changed, to a strange, gurgled noise. And it went on and on, forever it seemed.

And then it stopped.

And there was nothing.

His eyes opened, slowly, filled with blurred visions, and then all he saw was blood. Blood everywhere, soaking in to the carpet, covering the limp body of his wife. And once more he threw up, slumping forward, his body now devoid of any strength. He no longer had even tears to shed.

It was over for him.

Carmine stood then, walking dismissively past the broken man.

"You know what to do with him." He thought he heard the mob boss say. "Beat him up a little, than get rid of him. I don't care how."

The next thing he knew, he was again being lifted to his feet and dragged from the room. He heard them splashing something about, and knew, vaguely, in the back of his mind, what it was.

In the minutes following, he heard the roar of flames and soon after they had pulled him from the building and thrown him in to the trunk of a car, slamming the lid shut.

He prayed for death as a release from his suffering.

"Please God, please…" He chanted under his breath. "End this… End this…"

It seemed an eternity had past when the trunk again opened and he was pulled violently from it. He looked around, dazed, confused. Yet somehow he became aware that they'd arrived at a factory of some sort, and from the smell now filling his nostrils, it registered somewhere in his mind it was a chemical plant.

"Up! Take em' up!" He heard one of the men speak and he was pushed from behind. He lost his balance then, falling to his knees.

"Get up!" Another voice ordered, a hand wrapping tightly around his thin arm and forcing him to his feet. Soon he was being goaded up a flight of metal stairs, up to what looked like some sort of grating and a cross walk. He didn't know. He didn't care.

When they'd reached the top, he was again shoved from behind, more forcibly this time, and he stumbled forward, on to his hands and knees. The four men were upon him quickly, pushing him over, on to his back. They began to kick him then, viciously, their boots sinking deep in to his rib cage and stomach. He did nothing to resist, to protect himself, only laid still, making no sound. One of the men produced a thin, metal pipe and began to beat him without mercy, over his arms and legs, then his face and torso. Still, he made no sound.

"What in the hell's with him?" He heard one of the men say. "It's like he'd dead already. Don't he feel it?"

"Fuck if I know. It's givin' me the creeps though. Let's just get this over with."

He again felt himself lifted.

It would be over soon.

He thanked God silently.

They'd begun to move once more towards the stairs when there suddenly was a commotion among them, and a loud clanging filled his ears.

"Jesus Christ, it's him!" He heard one of the men scream. "It's the bat!"

Jack looked up. All he saw was black. A large, black blot of nothing, it seemed.

"Move! We've gotta get outta here!" Another of the men yelled out.

"What about him?"

"Forget him! Just… throw him!"

"What!"

"Over the railing. Come on! He won't survive that."

He was suddenly being violently jerked, then pushed.

"Hurry! Hurry!"

And soon he was up against the grating, and in the next moment, he felt his stomach drop, his feet no longer planted on the ground and he sensed very quickly he was falling, the sound of rushing air filling his ears. The last words he heard came from a voice he didn't recognize. Someone screaming out in alarm, yelling "No!" And as abruptly as it all had happened, he hit something wet, and everything went mute as he rapidly began to sink. And in the moments to follow, his skin began to burn as if on fire, and then his eyes and his lungs, the smell of the place infesting his senses a hundred fold, and he knew, for certain then, he was going to die. And again he prayed for it. It had to end. It HAD to.

And then, everything slowed, as if time itself had stopped, and he felt suddenly as though he were floating, weightless, the green hint of everything at once amplified and intense. And just as swiftly, the quiet ended and the sound of rushing water invaded his ears, and he was being thrashed and thrown about as though he were a rag doll, a cool rush hitting his skin.

"It had to end. It had to." He kept thinking, over and over.

And then, forthwith, there was air filling his lungs, hitting his face. He could breath again. And there was something solid beneath his hands and feet. On instinct, he sucked in sharply, before he began to cough and hack, unrestrained, uninhibited. It hurt, badly, causing him to gasp out with each inhalation, every movement sending shots of cutting, burning pain through his body. He was sure his nose was broken. It felt like his whole face was, and several of his ribs.

Only after many minutes did his convulsions stop and when they did, his eyes at last began to open. He stumbled forward, bringing his hands up, in to his hair. Everything was in a haze.

What the hell had just happened?

Where was he? WHO was he? He couldn't remember! Images kept flashing before his eyes and he shook his head, trying to clear them away. This… This was bizarre. Why was… What was going on? Why did… Why did every thing seem so… so… funny? Funny… It all seemed so funny!

Suddenly he began to laugh, and what started out as quiet giggles soon grew in volume and intensity, until, for no reason he could put forth, he was in absolute hysterics. Everything he saw, the loud sounds, the screams, the glimpses of destruction, of death. It was hilarious! Unequivocally, unabashedly hilarious! The whole damn thing!

"A theatre of the absurd!" He shouted, stumbling forward a few steps more. "This world! What a joke! My God, what a joke! Hee… hehe…WHAT A JOKE!"

"What a joke… what a joke…" The Joker mumbled to himself.

"What's that Jack!" Trent bent down so that his face was directly in line with his captive.

"A joke… a joke…" The Joker continued to mumble, his head shaking back and forth. He wouldn't look up.

Rumenoski moved in closer, and brutally, he backhanded The Joker across the face.

"Speak up Jack! No one can hear you!"

Finally, the bound man's lids lifted and he looked to his tormentor. Tears had filled his bright, green eyes and were now running freely down his face, his brow creased in pain, anxiety.

Trent smirked, and then stood straight.

"Look at that boys!" He chuckled, gazing around the room, to his men. "He's crying! Who'd have thought anyone could actually make the so called "Clown Prince of Crime" cry, huh? Let alone little old me!" And his laughter grew louder.

The rest of the room quickly joined in, and expressions of congratulations could be heard throughout, going on and on, for nearly a full minute.

And then, abruptly, it was cut in to by a peel of laughter, louder then the rest.

All eyes fell quickly upon The Joker, who was doubled over from his own hysterics. Confusion gripped the surrounding men and soon it was only The Joker's laughter which filled the space.

Trent frowned.

"And what exactly do you have to be laughing about… Jack?" He emphasized the name once more, trying, again, to upset his captive.

It took a minute for The Joker to answer, his laughter had grown so strong, and he shook his head from side to side.

"Y- heehee… Y-You're so p-heeheehee… pathetic!" He finally managed, erupting again in to giggles.

Rumenoski's lip twitched in annoyance.

"Me?" He pressed a hand against his chest, than forced a chortle. "Last time I checked, Jack, it wasn't me who was tied to a chair, stripped naked, and crying over my dead wife."

The rest of the men laughed at their leaders comment.

To Trent's surprise and growing anger, his observation did not halt The Joker's apparent and sudden amusement.

He continued to shake his head.

"No… N-no…" He chuckled. "Y-you're so… mind numbingly stupid Trent!" He went on. "Such a s-sorry case…"

Rumenoski could feel his skin growing hot, his hands clenching to fist involuntarily.

The Joker's laughter cut abruptly then and he locked eyes with the group leader.

"How clever you must fancy yourself, hmm Trent? Surly, now, you'll simply have to be taken seriously, won't you? Reducing the greatest criminal mastermind of our time to a blubbering mess of tears and snot!" He laughed. "Oh, but Trent, my darling, you've made an egregious error. Most egregious indeed."

The man starred at him intently for a long moment, saying nothing. And then, suddenly, he smiled and laughed.

"Have I now?"

The Joker's smile widened.

"Yes. You have."

"Yeah?" Trent asked. "And what's that?"

"You overestimate your intelligence, dear… and underestimate my own. Did you really think it would be so simple? The most qualified, the most world renowned psychiatrists have tried their hand at me, baby-face, and all have lived… and some have died to regret it!" He laughed loudly. "You'll be no different."

The Joker could see the sudden unease in Rumenoski's eyes, insecurity. He continued to talk, and as he did so, he snapped first the thumb of his right hand back, and then his left. The pain ripped through him, and yet, his expression never changed, he made no sound, broke no sweat.

"You're a loser Trent. Always have been, always will be. Your desperate attempts on me are nothing more then a last ditch effort to prove to yourself otherwise, but deep down, you know there's no escaping the truth. You'll never outrun what lies beneath this thin charade you wear. A joke Trent. That's what I said. You're nothing but a joke. One who's punch line has long since past."

Rumenoski's face contorted suddenly in to rage.

"I'll fucking kill you clown!" He fumed, coming quickly forward. The Joker smiled. And when the man had come within his range, hands outreached, ready to choke, The Joker slipped his right hand through the cuff, throwing his arm in an arc, around Trent's shoulder's, pulling him close. And in a swift movement, his other arm came up, spinning Rumenoski so that his back was now to him, his right arm pressed against the man's throat as his left grabbed hold of his gun. It all happened in a matter of seconds, and Trent watched as his men had barely time to begin lifting their own weapons before, systematically, they were gunned down, a bullet exploding between each of their eyes, in rapid fire succession. Before he could even process what had happened, he was shoved forward forcefully, stumbling, losing his footing and falling. And then his ears exploded with another gun shot and he spun round in time to see The Joker removing the ropes from around his ankles. He'd shot them off and tossed them to the side before turning his attention to the man on the ground. He moved quickly forward then.

Trent's eyes grew wide at the encroaching figure.

"G-get away!" He began. "Get away from me!"

He couldn't believe this. He couldn't believe this had happened. And how? How had he gotten free? How could he have so quickly taken every man there out?

The Joker stopped mere inches from where Rumenoski lay and he bent then to look him in the face.

"H-how…" The man stuttered.

"You had one thing right, Trent." The Joker smiled. "No fear." He held out his left hand to reveal the dislocated digit. It hung unnaturally, grotesquely. Trent looked suddenly ill. The Joker laughed.

"Oh, don't be so shocked! I can't begin to relate the number of times I've escaped restraints in just this manner." He went on, popping the thumb back in to place, and then the other. It made a horrific sound. "You can't always expect to have a tool to pick the locks. That would be foolish… You know I'm crazy Trent." He reached out and touched his palm against the now terrified man's cheek, gently. "You just didn't know how crazy."

"D-don't… d-don't kill me…" Rumenoski stumbled over the words.

The Joker frowned in disgust.

"You are truly repulsive." He said, his voice hushed. "Not worth my time…" He stood then. "But I promised you, didn't I? I promised your regret." And at once, without another word, he knelt, and jammed the barrel of the gun against the man's stomach, pulling the trigger.

Rumenoski cried out in pain and soon began to whimper.

The Joker stood then and moved away, towards his cloths which lay in a pile, several feet away.

As he put them on, he began again to speak.

"You'll die Trent, though it will take some time before you've bled fully out." He looked to the gasping, struggling man on the floor as he pulled his shirt over his shoulders. "But you will die. And you will suffer."

Finally, he pulled his socks on and stepped in to his loafers, smoothing down his suit jacket.

He glanced to the side then, to the manila folder which lay, fallen on the floor, its contents spilled halfway from it. He moved towards it, not knowing why, lifting it, turning the picture to face him, starring at it.

Rumenoski's whining had faded in to nothingness then, and he traced his long, thin fingers along the shape of the woman's face. His brow furrowed and at once that same feeling from before, that foreign sensation consumed him, his lungs restricted, as though he were suffocating.

He lifted his fingers to his face then, touching them to his cheek. Wet? He pulled his hand away and saw the glistening film. What? And suddenly, the feeling of oppression was replaced by rage and he turned abruptly, tossing the photograph violently aside.

"No more of that." He whispered to himself, moving towards the buildings exit, at the far end of the complex.

Trent had begun to crawl along the floor, trailing blood behind him. As The Joker moved past, he clumsily reached a hand out, towards the madman, brushing against his leg.

The Joker turned then, viciously.

"D-don't l-l-leave me h-here…" Rumenoski began to plead, his voice weak.

The Joker's face twisted to a frown.

"Take your filthy hands… OFF ME!" His voice rose uncharacteristically and he kicked, hard and swift, at the dying man's head, knocking him back.

He watched as the pathetic heap moaned and wavered along the ground.

Suddenly, he smiled, and then he began to laugh.

And as he turned, his laughter grew, until it began to echo off the walls, filling the space whole. And still, he could be heard, even as disappeared, through the door, out, in to the dark of night, his laughter drifting in, ringing in Rumenoski's ears, even as he felt the strength go from him.

It was the last sound he heard.