This first one-shot only contains the Joker, the next will be Batjokes.
Discretion is recommended with the fic.
"All these little games are very typical, right?" —Said the homicidal man with makeup to his companion.
The woman did not respond. Could not. The patriarchy had silenced his mouth, and also the piece of tape that the clown had placed in his mouth. The Joker did not like women who talked a lot and in general not to them either.
—Oh, come on, how much less than to answer your kidnapper.-He ran a finger along the covered thigh of the girl—Is there no Stockholm syndrome in these modern times?
It was any girl. I was tied in any way. She was a whore and nobody cared if she ended up dead. That's why she deserved that situation.
The maniac observed the dirty workplace where he had bound her. The instruments he had on his work table were also dirty, rotten. They had their own charm.
—I'm going to do a little job, totally free! Do not tell me it's not a bargain!—He exclaimed between laughter.
The brown-skinned woman shuddered under the threat of those cruel words. He had known that being a foreigner would cause him problems and that Gotham's laws could never be in a good position. For all the inhabitants who were listed, a worthy funeral awaited them, their name would simply come out for a day in a headline of a cheap newspaper. The tears of oblivion began to flow from his eyes.
—Life is unfair, I know.—the other replied while showing her a rusty razor blade.
The Joker decided he had expected enough. He began to pass the sharp object through the girl's neck, as if he were shaving an imaginary beard or shearing an animal. The smooth passage of the metal sheet was making slight cuts on the skin, it was rising to strips to match the shades and agony that the woman uttered. Sounds drowned through the tape and how a good Italian barber came to peel the entire neck whose dermis was raw. The blood began to sprout in small ordered threads, like red ants in a row that stung her all over that area, the victim's eyes were red and dry from both crying restlessly and the pain started to accumulated in her throat.
—Don't you feel the freshness of a good shave?
The clown put the instrument back on the table and sat down to watch his work of art in a nearby chair. If he calculated well, with all those cuts, she would bleed slowly in a couple of hours (or she could die from the friction of the air or infection) but she fainted from the throbbing pain before. He took a while to realize that their breathing was slow: he was excited and she breathed the last breath of life.
He was observing the neck with his eyes open wide, seeing how the larynx and trachea contracted trying to contain the air that escaped through the nose. Suddenly, he got up with a big smile drawn on his face, his gloves were next to the blade that had previously used to make the torture. The girl could only follow him with her gaze and her stomach cringed when she saw that the weight of an adult maniac was above her.
—It's time to make the punchline, don't you think? -He removed the tape from her lips.
Pistol in hand (taken from one of the lapels of his suit) and a final laugh, the mouth of the girl received the bullet in a forced kiss. The hand of the crime clown prince still had fresh blood between his fingers after he had executed the shot, he took out the barrel of the gun full of saliva and wiped it on the hair of the disfigured prostitute, who would not return that night to his tatty apartment. He sighed deeply as his gaze went to his pants.
Now he will need another whore.