AN: SO sorry it took so long to update!!! Its been months, I know. I had to finish up high school and go on college visits and by the way... battle scenes are very hard to write, but now that I'm back in business, expect another update sooner than before! At longest two-three weeks, no worries!

3Ididntdoit07

disclaimer:i dont own anything in the story, and thank you for the reviews!!

Moonstruck: Chapter 1


CHAPTER 1

Gotham City

42nd Street, South Renaissance Five Star Hotel

GOTHAM CITY is an expansion of the northwest coastline, guiding into an oasis of frigid Atlantic Ocean waters outside its port lines. Running over three hundred square miles, holding entertainment and business in the heart of the downtown metropolis. Its interlocking skyscrapers sit upon the bay itself, held up by the drifting inverted buttress that create the illusion of a mythical castle in a sky. But Gotham marks the darkest city in the new world, the largest, a goliath among other cities. Seemingly more welcome than New York or Chicago, the city remains a calamity. Within the 2.8 million people that reside in the capital, only small percents remain cherubic. Corrupted by terrorism and a previous communist government, it is a surprise that Gotham remains stabile. The percentage of criminals and urban decay has increased in the past five decades. It is what Gotham's residents fear most: anarchy. People rely on the police department to keep the streets clean of rapists, pedophiles, and murderers. Succeeding in facing mob leaders and taking the ill to Arkham, it was only recently that the Police Department was demoted for a new noble.

Born from the ashen memories of a wounded child, the faithful guardian powered over Gotham City as a new knight in shining armor. But no, it was a dark knight, the label soon given to the metropolis' hero. Black, pendulous, the silent night watcher.

Gotham City marks the beginning of this story and its end, as all revolves in a circle. For all things birthed within this city will eventually return to die as one will learn.

Having barely slept, Bruce Wayne found it difficult as he raced through the city limits, scaling Gotham's soaring buildings and roadways with the dark skies brightening in the distance. He screamed and cursed at himself for destroying The Tumbler, his concealed identity's means of transportation.

But then again… He thought. I don't want to be noticed.

He recalled the events in the previous weeks, taking the blame of the recently deceased district attorney's crimes. Batman was a wanted man now, and even to Commissioner Gordon's dismay, the Gotham Police Department viewed the Caped Crusader as much as a threat like the Joker. How he hated being compared to the megalomaniac, the two were nothing alike in truth. But he let the people believe he was the enemy, being an even greater hero only to his own knowledge.

His stamina had decreased over the weeks of being on the run from the cops, and when the Joker was imprisoned in the Asylum, Bruce Wayne had time to relax. You need to lose weight, Wayne, if you're ever going to catch the Joker again. He noted how he was already out of breath and not even close to the five star hotel the maniac had announced he was at. The Joker was different than the normal criminal, he toyed with emotions before letting them die in peace. Maybe that was what Bruce hated so much about him.

It was strangely quiet; he began to doubt the Joker was even where he announced.

He would have heard the screams already.

As if on cue, like the nasty clap of an April thunderstorm, the roar of particles splitting reverberated in his ears before the heart stopping sound was visual. Golden flames erupted in the distance where black smoke camouflaged in between the dark streets.

He spread his cape, jumped, and soared down to the streets from one of the tall buildings.

-

It had been a while since he had last seen his own blood, gushing out of his body as the ruby liquid cascaded down his arm and dripped off the tips of his fingernails. Cardinal, red, flame, hot with fury, the clowns stared at their wounded boss. They had never before seen anything like it; for it was unimaginable to see Gotham's most dangerous man veritably wounded. And bleeding profusely for that matter.

The Joker was human, whether or not one chose to believe; and every human has their own Achilles' tendon. The henchmen even half expected the clown's blood to be brackish or possibly even an alien green color. Behind the grease paint and scars that covered the man, the mastermind was in fact a simple human being. Of course a debased mortal, he was one who tested the entire extent of the human knowledge and behavioral patterns through gunpowder and possession. He was the devil.

A frightening thought indeed.

But, tonight was different. His henchmen knew there was an awry tension in the air. The boss was acting stranger than the usual maniacal activity, and the Joker knew it too. And it was not the thorazine; he had already been administered antezine to counteract the effects of the powerful drug. He hated to admit it, but he was weak, mortal, vulnerable.

Those were the three word he despised most when being applied to himself. He was not weak. The most feared man in Gotham had a reputation to uphold, and he would not show any weakness.

Painted crimson lips curled into a rotting smile as he laughed to himself at the though. The Joker would fall in love with the Batman before he would ever become weak. And if those hench-clowns ever said anything about this, they would be having a funeral as well.

He just waited now, patiently shifting his feet, for the partner to arrive. It was time for a reunion with the Dark Knight.

But first…

The green haired menace raised his wounded arm, painted red from his own blood, and rolled up his sleeves to his inked bicep where the bloody mess began. Trailing down his elbow and forearm like the veins they spilled from, the blood complimented the purple velveteen suit in the dark. There was the slight metallic scent hanging in the smoky air where one of the men lit a cigarette. He grinned and to the horror of his children, he bared his nicotine-stained teeth into his own flesh. He looked as if he were pure evil, and the henchmen were even more afraid of him now than before.

He tore at his own arm as if as if the appendage was independent from his body, until his teeth clacked on a solid metallic object. Snatching it by one of the grooves, he ripped it out of the mound of marred meat, spitting the silver bullet and shell on the ground with a splatter of blood.

The hot liquid dribbled out of the scarred corners of his lips and down his chin. At least the main course of the pain was gone. He raised his coal-painted eyes to the men surrounding him and let his arm fall back to his side. They were terrified of him.

Smirking, he walked closer to them half expecting them to back off.

"Wh-what do you want us to do?" One of the masked men asked, the one with the burning tobacco placed between his lips. "We can lead the pigs back h…"

Joker licked the remaining blood off of his lips, and pondered the thought for a moment. Hmm, nope. He strutted up to the henchman, quickly inhaling the sour scent of the cigarette and plucked it out of the man's mouth bringing the joint to his own lips and bit down on the filter, sucking down the burning smoke straight to his already damaged lungs. The combination of tobacco and blood on his maw satisfied the Joker's taste buds, and curled back his lips to snarl at his dog.

The minion did not move to look at his master, but could feel the terrible breath upon his exposed neck.

Blue smoke drifted past his eyes into his face, accompanying the raspy voice in his right ear. The words sent shivers down his spine.

"I make the laws. You follow them or--"

A new recruitment was naïve enough to finish what he thought would be the Joker's sentence.

"You go to Arkham?"

He suggested, right before a .44 caliber bullet shattered through the frontal plate of his skull to his naked brain, spraying blood and bone shards to the pavement. Nothing was funny to the clowns now. Korai Harner stared down the barrel of the same weapon that had taken his friend's life seconds earlier now; his heart almost exploded from his chest.

The Clown Prince smiled wickedly and tossed the extinguished butt to the ground. "Do I need to repeat myself?" He was shorter than his victim, yet the power resided in the simple dark eyes. "Hmm?" The Joker asked again, waving the gun in front of the man's face.

Harner shook his head, stuttering on his first word.

"No….. I-I understand."

As if it was some sort of passcode, the Joker shifted back on his heels and smiled, pulling the gun away. "Good." He squeaked, and looked to the rest of his puppets, expression changing once again.

Gazing over the six--one dead, henchmen, he waved his gun hand around. Licking his painted lips, he spoke one more word.

"Go."

---

The Caped Crusader could taste the ash upon his tongue from the bombing of the Renaissance Hotel. He was never much of a religious man, but he prayed silently to himself: God, please. Let everyone be safe, at least until I get there…

---

Alone once again, the Joker paced around the alleyway with his hand grasping the wounded arm. He growled to himself, absolutely furious. It shone through his devil eyes. Those fucking dogs. The henchmen never did anything right, and lacked the common sense of an ordinary human being. To them it was all bang, bang, shoot, boom, green, green, guns. Nothing was ever about how to rule, just money and using guns as means to get what one wants; never used to upset the established order of the democracy.

Everything started to ache from the tension and aggravated nerves. In a sick movement, he snapped his head from side to side causing the cervical vertebra in his neck to pop. He groaned out of pleasure from the feeling of released endorphins.

He shut his eyes and attempted to relax.

"You look like shit."

He pried his eyes open again, annoyed by the whiny voice from behind him. The Joker's subconscious screamed at himself. Dumbfuck, you should have left him at Arkham if you knew he would be this annoying. Even though the Crane was a few years older than himself, he knew he was more experienced in the mastermind business over Gotham.

The Joker bit the inside of his lip, and without turning around he grumbled. "Inane schizophrenic, calculable, abortive sack-head."

The Scarecrow slithered up behind him, examining the long shaft of a shotgun. He laughed at the Joker's large vocabulary. "You have an encyclopedia in that head cavity of yours?" Unafraid that the younger man would hurt him, he taunted the one he saved.

He only moved his eyes to pierce through the twine sack into Crane's azure gaze.

"I believe the correct term is dictionary, Johnny."

"Fuck you."

The Joker stared at him in amusement, clutching his arm to attempt and stop the bleeding. The Dr. Jonathan Crane part of the Scarecrow resurfaced for a moment where the site of blood on his accomplice transformed him to the doctor once again.

He grabbed the man's arm, causing him to go into immediate shock at someone actually touching him softly instead of having his face dented in. The clown pulled away quickly, caught off guard.

Crane protested, "You're hurt."

"You were a psychologist, not a medic as I recall." He spat.

He rolled his blue eyes, "It doesn't take a nurse to recognize a shattered bone."

"It's just a flesh wound." The Joker replied in a mock British accent, waving his wounded arm around to prove that it was perfectly fine.

Crane snatched the younger man's arm, shoving two of his fingers into the mess of the bullet wound, watching the Joker's expression twist. He looked as if he were to vomit from the jolt of pain shooting up his arm through the rest of his bones and muscle fibers like fire. The former psychologist's digits dug deeper into the wound, almost causing the Joker to scream.

No! Not weak. He yelled at himself on the inside and pulled his pained expression quickly into a fit of laughter as he yanked away, catching the sack in his talons. His lips curled into the wicked smile once more and he stood straight, cackling. With the criminal's mask unveiled, Crane stood as vulnerable as a small child. The Joker laughed at the sack; as if some magic trick, a black knife appeared in his hand, pointing it towards Crane's heart.

Through the laughter, he wheezed out, "They told me you were like this."

"They?"

Ignoring the repetitive question and moving onto his own explanation of Scarecrow's tactics, the Joker eased in like his previous victim. "You know, all criminals in this town believe in their sort of code, if you will, their own morals, that the whole world is in their entire hand." He demonstrated, clutching his fist tightly to Crane's unchanging expression.

He tossed the sack at the man's feet. "Gotham's Dark Knight deserves a better legionnaire, not a handful of rookies. I'm above your standards; this is my city." It was then that Scarecrow understood the power the younger man had over him. The Joker was probably able to give Hannibal Lecter nightmares. The porcelain painted face, bloody smile, and coal eyes mesmerized him; if it was not for the little bit of chewing gum in the back of his molars he could have sworn he would forgot to breathe.

The sudden shadow flashing past his peripheral vision caused the masked man to take a sharp breath and evade the third rival who interrupted his and the clown's meeting. Windows shattered from above as a result of the Bat's whisky entrance. Crane stumbled back as he recovered, looking up to see the caped crusader looming above like the grim reaper himself.

"Y-you…" The blue eyed menace wheezed out, narrowing his eyes to make sure of what really just happened.

Was the Batman really here himself, not just some fake?

Had the Joker's plan really worked?

Was--

His thoughts came to a halt when the streak of purple, white, and green crashed through the black as the Joker sprung from his feet onto the Batman with a dagger in his hand. He could clearly hear the sound of the wind being knocked out of both of them as they collided like two cars on a highway. The younger one grunted quietly and regained himself in time to avoid a Kevlar reinforced glove aiming for the clown's temple.

His lips curled in a yellow and red smile. "Oooh, hehe. Didja miss me?" He clicked his tongue at the last comment in a flirtatious manner towards the raging bat.

What he did not expect was another question as the Batman growled through clenched teeth. "How did you get out?" he roared. Okay so he was not going to be as easy as the clown had thought as he dodged the questions. No, answering the Joker's direct questions was as if he were bowing down to the crazy man. He hated the man behind the mask, both of them. They both related back to Rachel somehow in his mind and refused to ignore any other possibilities. Engulfed by his hatred, he got his next fist ready for the painted face.

Crane looked back and forth from the clown to the bat. This was not going to end on a pretty note, someone was going to end up in the back of a police cruiser and another bleeding on the pavement. Ha sure, like either of those would be him, he thought as he fingered a shard of glass on the ground next to him that had been a souvenir from the shattered windows above. The sharp edges dug into the fleshy palm of his hand, drawing blood.

He winced. Not at the glass, he was not a child. But at the sound of the Batman's knuckles crashing into the side of his legion's skull, echoing across the alley way as if the caped crusader had just hit a home run in the World Series. It was the small nick of time he needed.

With his boots gripping the asphalt he raised his heels and pushed off the tips of his toes, lunging towards the enemy with the makeshift knife in hand.

Senses heightened from the adrenaline pulsing through the billionaire's veins, the simple gravel crunching beneath the rubber boots was all the Bat needed to hear before he spun on feet, forearm raised and Crane could only wince as the scallops from the Batman's armor shot into chest, shoulder and sliced his right cheek.

He fell backwards, letting out a simple grunt in utter defeat.

The Clown Prince of Crime steadied himself, wiping the blood off of his lips with a gloved finger. He shined his yellow teeth as he laughed at his ally's failure. He often wondered if the other villain was capable of fighting off the Bat by naked hands, as he had always gloated. Guess not.

Smack!

Before he even had time to ready for another attack, the black bat was ahead of the pursuer and smashed the Joker's grin into the aluminum side of a nearby dumpster. He was not so lucky himself.

Batman stepped back after immobilizing both enemies and watched as the violet clad one slumped down into a bloody heap, holding his stomach and the side of his face. His dark eyes were squinted shut and lips curved back in a wolfish snarl. Blood and saliva trailed out of his teeth in a dark crimson line down to the asphalt.

The Joker was a monster now, separated from the grinning mastermind.

I've never seen him like this before.

He's… a different person.

Joker isn't here.

This isn't the Joker.

The maniac behind the scars is in front of me now. Thoughts ran quickly through Bruce Wayne's mind while he watched the seemingly creature in front of him transform. It sent invisible shivers down his spine, triggering a deep shudder that stopped his heart momentarily.

This isn't the Joker…

He found himself locked in a gaze with the psychopath's unnerving dark eyes. If it were not for the black mask around his eyes, the fear would have been written all over his still face.

He sloppily yanked a pistol out of his trench coat, letting his arm lay dead at his side with the weapon, as another glinted silver with the old blade. He was intent on killing, expression unchanging.

This isn't the Joker.

---