Chapter 1: A tramp and a socialite
Harleen Quinnzel is one of the 1200 prostitutes that live and work in the Whitechapel area. She is having mixed feelings at the moment apparently, and is laughing hard. She doesn't know why she is not feeling sad or anguished, but apparently the death of that girl, what was her name?.. oh yes, Martha Tabram is making her tremble with mirth. That tart had tried to turn tricks in her turf and now lookey what happened to her. Harleen thought this was going to be a lucky day. 39 stab wounds, who would have known?
The Joker is walking on his way to his hideout and snatches a paper of a vendor's place near Osborn Street. He usually doesn't go out during plain daylight but he just had to get the paper and see how his plan was turning out. There it was in the first page, "Prostitute killed in Whitechapel! Body is found with 39 stab wounds". Magnificent; that was the only word he could think to describe his plan, and it was taking off just fine. He reaches his hideout and approaches the door cautiously, checking if someone is following him. There was nothing behind him except a black cat trying to catch a mouse. He watches this for a moment for he can understand the thrill the cat must get out of chasing his prey, the emotion of the sneaking and the prowl, the excitement of catching it, the delight of making it squeal and the joy of seeing the life disappear from its eyes. He laughs at the sight of the mouse getting ripped to pieces and finally enters the old building.
There's nothing inside other than an old dirty cot in a corner of the room and a simple table in the center of it. Playing cards are all about the table and a glass next to a bottle of absinthe is there as well. There's an oil lamp and a trunk where the man kept the few items of clothing he possessed. He had a thing for purple and you could tell by his garments that he enjoyed wearing it. He sits on the table and takes off his gloves, he pours himself a glass of the spirit and begins to burn the sugar cube. As the little drops of sweetness fall into the emerald liquid he stares and thinks about his new victim. He feels the muscles on his face tighten and sees on his reflection on the bottle that he's grinning.
Bruce Wayne is a very wealthy and well respected man in London. He is close to the Royals and works hard to maintain a good image amongst his peers. But as he drinks his tea that morning and reads the paper a frown falls upon his face. A poor woman has been murdered, and quite a murder it was. Indeed Master Bruce, as his butler Alfred calls him, worries about the common citizen and is also fascinated with the wonderful science of forensics. Maybe he should let this slide, or maybe, just maybe, he should help the police and start an investigation of his own.