A/N: It's been a long time since I came back to this one, let me tell you.
This story, and its two corollary pieces which I am now posting, were written over a year ago – I was a different person then, at a different point in my life. I was just a fledgling Joker fan as well, and just barely getting into Batman comics proper. I still don't know anything, but since then I've read well past the 'required reading', so to speak – from the start to the present day, I've had a sampling of just about everything in the incredibly extensive, nearly 90 year span of this fandom and comic series. From rogues to riches, I've seen a little bit of everything. My opinions on how the Joker is best written have changed. So have my expectations for him as a character.
They change depending on which Joker I'm writing. With so many personas and takes on the guy to choose from, even in a single contained area such as the Nolanverse, how do you pick and choose? After writing Comic!Joker for close to a year now, returning to Ledger!Joker is like an expatriated native crossing back over into their home country – I understand the language, but things have changed just a bit while I was gone. I haven't seen The Dark Knight for a while now. I haven't read much Nolanverse JokerFic for a bit. I'm in tune with his concept, his wit and dangerous charm… but not with him. That pains me as an author, especially since the bulk of my work (rivaled only by my extensive poetry in the Myst/Uru fandom) IS in the Batman fandom – DCU, DCAU, and Nolanverse. This is a return to form for me. This is me taking what I know now and improving an old classic with it. These two story addendums have sat on my shelves for far too long, gathering dust and waiting to be written. It's time to once again look into the 'chemistry' behind Gotham City as it is in the Nolanverse, and how the Joker would affect it if the system remained unchecked.
We know what happens when it has too much Entropy – but what else can be said about it? The Pressure, for one, would be intense were Batman not around to stabilize things. A gas in a compressed container is under intense pressure, as Gotham City would be in this situation. One of the Gas Laws, Gay-Lussac's Law, states that as temperature of a gas in a container increases, the amount of pressure the gas exerts on the walls of that container also increases. This pressure is caused by the molecules of gas hitting the container's walls and bouncing off of each other – heating the gas up causes the particles to move faster and therefore hit harder, exerting more pressure. Trapped in a doomed city with no way out, and affected by the constant heat the Joker keeps putting the city under, the citizens of Gotham must feel like those particles right now, affected by too much heat and out of control of everything around them, and that's not even mentioning the intense pressure and stress they must be feeling internally. Anyone could crack – and that is precisely what happens here. Come with me and observe this little experiment, and observe what happens when the pressure becomes just a little too high for one wounded city to bear…
Pressure
"As the temperature of a container full of a gas increases,
the total pressure exerted by the gas inside the container
also increases."
- Gay-Lussac's Law
I can't take this anymore.
There's too much heat. Too much pressure. We're all stuck here, and we've been stuck for months now. All the bridges are destroyed, the docks and ferries burned, and the helicopter pads blocked. Gone. Under his use and his only. People are dying in the streets and too afraid to leave their homes – they'd honestly be safer outside with how many murders occur with household break-ins now. Not that they can go anywhere. There hasn't been a way out since at least last December.
It's April now. The First of April, and we're all fucked. Gotham's gone to Hell. Sure, it's never been the nicest place, but now… now we're really done for, and nobody can get in or out. Not alive.
Some prank, huh?
Oh, they've tried to escape. I've seen 'em try. They throw themselves at the walls, trying so hard to break them down, trying to find just a single crack they can slip through to freedom. They try and try, running and scampering back and forth around the barriers surrounding the city now, with personal boats and cars and their own bodies, but with how heated things are these days, all they do is bounce off the walls, off each other, off the buildings.
I saw a little girl get trampled the other day when someone found a crack. The crack was too small for even a child to get through, even with all of them trying to break it open. In the end, only one person got halfway through, but there was a strong metal bar in the way, jutting broken out of the crack. And when they tried to get past it, they accidentally skewered themselves on it, right through their chest. Apparently it just barely missed his heart.
The cries of a dying man aren't pretty, let me tell you.
And of course, he probably thinks it's funny. That smiling sonuvabitch probably laughed when he heard about it; it was all over the news after all, or what little news is left now. And then, grinning, he turned the heat up. And he'll keep doing it, again and again, just because he can. Just to watch us all squirm.
Just to see the tension build.
Shut up, it's the truth! I know – I used to work for the unholy bastard. That's how I lost my eye, you know, why I look like this. I was one of the lucky ones. When he says "an eye for an eye", he means it. He always said he was a man of his word…
What, you don't believe me? You think I'm crazy, don't you? You think I'm just as nuts as he is, just because I was on his side once. Well, I'm not. I'm not crazy – I swear. I'm not insane… not like him…
It haunts me, the stuff I did for him. It scares me. I enjoyed it once. I don't anymore. I'm scared I'm becoming like he is. I honestly don't know how I live through it, some days…
Believe me, I know. I know how that man ticks; I've stared into those terrifyingly black, soulless eyes…
… They… They suck you in like vacuums, you know. They suck you in, and there's no way back out. There like two tiny black holes – there's nothing there, nothing. Not even a personality. Just madness. He can paralyze you with a single look…
… I have no idea how I lived through working with him. How I survived his torture. See, I wasn't a good boy. I squealed once, back when that Bat-freak was still around here. I squealed once and he decided that, instead of killing me, he'd keep me as an example. He tortured me for weeks; it's all a blur of pain to me, you know. Time really melds together when you're in agony. I was so close to death, so close. I should have died there, but I didn't.
And then he took my eye. And then, somehow, I managed to break out. Drag myself over to the key while he was out and pick the door lock. Drag myself to safety and out of his field of vision. All I remember is collapsing and being found by someone who said she was a nurse some hours later. I'm lucky I ran into someone who knew what they were doing; someone who still cared. You don't see that around here anymore.
He's probably still looking for me, though. Still after all these months.
He's a predator, you know. He… he moves a lot faster than you'd think. He can have a knife at your throat in seconds without you even knowing it until you feel the blade. And he savors every moment of it, every millisecond of your fear, and you can't help but stare at his hideous scars, into his void-like eyes…
… I'm sorry. I just… It's so hard, remembering it. It's like a recurring nightmare; I can't shake it, it clings like a magnet to steel. You can't imagine. You can't even begin to understand how horrific it is… That's why I look like this. Why you thought I was him at first – same type of hairstyle, same ugly carved scars on my face. I forget why he did it, exactly…
… It's coming back to me. He did it because I wouldn't smile for him. He did it because I wouldn't listen.
He's out there tonight. He always takes walks on Friday evenings, always searching for some new thrill. Maybe someone to kill, maybe a hostage, maybe a cheap date, I don't know. But he always goes out tonight, a toxic gas seeping into the city and creeping along the alleyways, corroding all in its path as it goes… Somewhere in this city on this night, he's hiding, watching, waiting to attack. I'm usually indoors by now. I'm usually holed up somewhere. But not tonight – my normal spot got burned to the ground, destroyed either by him or by his followers, and now I'm on the run. Just you and me for now, bud.
But I meant it when I said he was watching us. Not literally, but he's watching. This is all a game to him, all an experiment. We're just an experiment to him. As long as he keeps turning up the heat, we'll all keep hitting the walls until the tension gets too damn high and Gotham destroys itself. He's toying with us, don't you get it? He's tearing us apart and he doesn't even have to do a thing himself for it to happen. This reaction's a spontaneous one.
And here's the worst part. We've let it happen. We're no better than he is. We literally have to kill to live now.
You know it's the truth, don't look at me like that. I had to kill my best friend for water the other week. It wasn't even purified water, and I'm paying for it now – I've been ill for days now. Just yesterday, I saw a mother kill her own son for an apple – she had to choose herself over him, because if she died there would be nobody to take care of him. It's eat or be eaten now. This city runs on his terms, and by his rules… or lack thereof.
We're… we're all living in Hell. There's no other way to put it. This is Hell, and Satan is laughing at us.
… Wait… I hear something. What is it? No, no, be quiet and listen…
… Oh.
Oh no. Shit, no…
I hear him. That's his laughter, his footfall pattern. Stay back…
... Hide, kid. I just saw the corner of his purple coat. Hide somewhere, anywhere, but don't run. If you run, he'll hear your footsteps, and if he hears you, you're done for. Get down and stay down – he's like a wolf!
… I… God, I hate this…
I hate living like a damn animal. It's futile to keep running, I know. I've already lost everything. Why do I even run anymore? He's just going to catch me eventually… Hell, he can kill me for all I care!
What? No, I'm not crazy. I'm not nuts. But I think the container's starting the crack, if you catch my drift. I'm a lost cause; he might as well kill me, right? I'd rather die than snap in two. Besides, if it keeps a kid like you out of his claws, I'll do it. I'll do it for you.
… Stay down, kid. Stay down.
Hey! Hey you! Yeah, I'm over here, you know who I am, don't you, you painted freak? Come on, do it! Come and kill me! Kill me!
… There we go, got his attention… Stay down, kid, stay –
No, dammit! What the Hell are you doing? Don't run from him! Be a Goddamn man!
… Well, fine. It's your funeral, kid. You signed your death warrant as well as mine. It's not like he won't kill me anyway! There's enough pressure in this little glass container without us, it doesn't need any more!
I'm… what the Sam Hill am I doing? I'm cracking up, that's what, offering myself as some sort of sacrificial lamb! I gotta get out of here, I can't let him catch me.
But then again, he's already got me, hasn't he? It's too late to run now… he's seen me, he recognizes me, and there's no way out of this alleyway since he's standing in the way of the exit. Calmly coming towards me. The knife glinting silver in his hand.
He stands over me imposingly, at least a good foot taller than me, a look of calm surprise on his hideous face. Oh yes, he remembers me – the one who got away, the one who escaped his horrors too soon. I'm that one stray particle that hasn't hit the wall yet.
But the container's cracking more each day, and he's here to finish the job. To keep turning up the heat. He's not going to kill me – oh no, not yet. No, that's too easy.
He's taking me back. Back to the captivity I escaped from. And this time, I will break, because he knows I'm already halfway there. Because the pressure is too high to handle.
Because I can't take it anymore.
