Chapter 3:
The man had bled to death, the other three ending up in the infirmary, some for longer then others.
But no one since then had attempted any attacks on the Joker.
Not for several weeks, in any event.
They'd punished the Joker for what he'd done, placing him in solitary for a week. It would have been longer, but the prisoner's who'd witnessed what transpired explained that it was the four men who first attacked and the Joker had, really, only acted in self defense.
Things moved along without incident since then, much to the surprise, and un-admitted chagrin of the prison warden. He'd thought and hoped the Joker would be unruly and uncooperative so that he might have the opportunity to dish out some "discipline".
A month and a half in to the Joker's stay there, the other prisoner's decided to have another go at him, this time in the exercise yard.
The Joker went to the same spot every day for the allotted hour they were let outside, sitting on a secluded bench near the yards furthest, east end.
He would just sit there and, it seemed to every one else, stare ahead at nothing.
This time it was a group of eight, one of them a massively built black man, the one who'd thrown the detonator to the other ferry though the window.
They approached the Joker without hesitation, feeling safety in numbers.
He wouldn't be able to handle eight of them, especially with Tiny leading the charge.
They stopped in front of the madman, staring down at him.
He continued to gaze ahead, past them.
"Get up, freak." One of them spit.
The Joker didn't respond.
The man frowned, looking to Tiny.
Tiny's face twisted in to a scowl.
"Up." He said. "You tried to kill us. Face the consequences like a man."
At this the Joker looked up, staring the much larger man in the face.
He smiled.
"Like you?" He said. "With your little, uh, posse to back you up?"
He could see the annoyance line the large man's face and his smile grew.
"I can handle you all by myself, clown boy."
"I'm sure you can." The madman pushed.
Tiny inhaled deeply, his agitation growing.
"Get up bitch." His fists clenched. "I'll wipe that smirk off your face."
"Sure you don't need your boysss?" The Joker continued.
"Step up and I'll show you I don't!" Tiny fumed.
"Tiny!" One of the others tried to intervene.
But the large man put his hand up, silencing him.
"Shut it. I'll handle the freak show."
"But don't you think…"
Tiny turned to him then, his eyes raging.
"No! I'll take care of this. Any of you step in, you'll have to answer to me!"
His eyes scanned over the other men in anger.
That shut everyone up.
Everyone knew you didn't mess with Tiny.
He turned back to the Joker.
"So now what clown boy? Ya gonna face me like a man!"
"More like a demon." The Joker replied.
Tiny's expression changed in to one of confusion for a moment, and before he could react, the Joker had leapt to his feet, never taking his eyes off the larger man's face, and kneed him as hard as he could in the groin.
Tiny grunted out in pain, immediately collapsing to all fours, and the Joker wasted no time in grabbing hold of his ears, pulling his head forward and smashing his knee up in to his face, knocking the big man to his back, his nose exploding in blood.
The Joker laughed, stepping to the fallen giant, bending down to look him directly in the face.
"Remember this face Tiny." He grinned, his scars stretching obscenely. "It's the last thing you'll ever seeeeee…"
And without another word, he latched tight to Tiny's face, his fingers wrapping around to the back of the man's skull, laying his thumbs on to of his eyes, pressing down as hard as he could.
Tiny's expression had gone from a mix of pain and surprise to sudden, absolute horror, and he began to scream unrestrained, his limbs flailing madly as he attempted in vain to throw the lunatic from him.
And the Joker laughed, equally unrestrained in his mirth.
The other men stood back, frozen, petrified, unable, or unwilling to act for fear of their own safety.
The anguished cried eventually drew the attention of several guards standing on duty, and only when they came running to the scene did the other inmates respond, stumbling back and turning, running in the opposite direction.
The guards tore the Joker away, but by then, it was too late. Tiny's eyes had been crushed to a sickening, gelatin-like substance, and nothing more of them remained.
"Sweet Jesus…" One of the guards murmured in dismay as they wrestled the Joker away, his hysterics echoing over the entire yard for everyone to hear.
/
They placed him back in to solitary confinement, this time for four weeks straight, a month.
The last time they'd done this, it had been in the hopes no further incidents would occur. Most inmates placed in solitary were, by the end, willing to do almost anything to get out.
Solitary at Gotham County was, after all, a completely secluded, 7.5'X9' cell, purposefully kept without a light source, without any kind of mattress or cot, and only a crude toilet bowl and faucet, with no sink and no warm water.
The only contact with people any prisoner placed there had was when a guard would come by, once a day, to shove a plate of food through the slot in the door.
Most men were, to say the least, docile and well behaved when they came out.
The Joker, however, hadn't seemed to change in the least. Besides his ragged appearance from his having to lay on the dirty, concrete floor and somewhat longer hair, he'd been all smiles, still assaulting the guards with cutting, condescending remarks.
They'd wanted to throw him back in, but Warden Lopez had overruled them, allowing the madman back in to general populace.
And, up until the incident in the exercise yard, it had seemed to work.
The Joker hadn't gotten in to any fights before then, nor had anyone engaged him.
In fact, the lunatic never seemed to socialize at all. He rarely ever spoke a word to anyone, other then the occasional insult to one among the prison staff.
Human contact appeared to mean little to him, and some joked he might be more comfortable in solitary after all.
Though no one actually believed that.
/
"Get in there!" Officer Arnold pushed the Joker from behind, in to the cramped cell.
The Joker stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance.
He chuckled.
"Sure you won't reconsideeer joining me for dinneeer Lucas?" He laughed, turning to look back at the man.
The head of security snarled.
"Enjoy your time in their freak." He spit, slamming the door shut, enveloping the cell in darkness.
The Joker shrugged, turning away and feeling his way to the opposite wall, where he sat, leaning against the cold concrete.
If he thought very hard about it, he could vaguely recall a time in his life when he'd been confined to a small, dark space, much like this one. Though any details of it escaped him. He only had the distinct feeling that he'd experienced this kind of state before.
As it was, it didn't bother him. He knew it was meant to. But he'd been alone so long, being so now had no impact. Even when he was surrounded by people, he felt no connection to them whatsoever, and he thought he may as well have been alone then as well.
He closed his eyes, completing the darkness by blocking away the miniscule streams of light which stole in to the cell through the small gaps between the door and the ground.
He could almost sleep in this quiet.
Almost, if not for the constant, unending noise in his head.
He dreamed while awake. That was how he liked to refer to it, the unrelenting working of his brain.
He dreamed of the world and its cruelty, of people and theirs. Of the bleakness of life and how pitifully they all tried to shield themselves from it's harsh reality.
And he dreamed of exposing them to it; of exposing them to themselves.
Social conditioning was a powerful thing, he realized. It was a strong motivator.
The people on the ferries, they hadn't blown each other up because of fear. They'd been afraid of their own guilt, afraid it would consume them whole.
People were trained these days to believe killing was wrong, and sometimes, that ridiculous belief could overpower even the will to survive.
But still, he knew, deep down, everyone was capable of taking a life. You just had to figure out exactly what it was they couldn't bear to lose or couldn't stand to bear. Everyone had their price. Everyone was willing to compromise their supposed beliefs and commit so calledacts of immorality under the right kind of pressure and motivation.
Everyone but himself.
But then, he knew that was because he didn't really believe in anything. He had no motives, nothing that drove him to act the way he did, nothing he feared, nothing he worried over losing.
And so it was impossible to force him to compromise, to get him to act against his wishes. Because there was nothing one could use as leverage against him, not when he cared for nothing.
Batman had found that out the hard way.
That thought made the Joker smile.
The Batman, so used to getting his way through intimidation and physical violence. But it hadn't worked on the lunatic. There'd been nothing he vigilante could use against the Joker, nothing to threaten or entice him with, nothing to persuade him with.
But Batman was an interesting sort. The Joker realized he hadn't ever encountered anyone like him before, someone so very like himself.
It seemed he too was beyond compromise, that there was nothing that could be done to make him let go his beliefs. Which told the Joker he really did believe in what he preached, not like everyone else, who only were pretending to believe, to make themselves feel better.
No, Batman believed with all his heart and soul in what he practiced, and he wasn't willing to drop it.
What made it more interesting still, the Joker thought, was the fact that the Batman very much did feel fear. He did fear lose. There were things which could be used against him, taken from him, things which could be used to hurt him.
And that's what made him unlike the Joker.
But still, like the Joker, Batman refused compromise. Still, he remained uncorrupt.
And the Joker found that fascinating, and exciting.
Because, in Batman, he'd found a true challenge.
Someone who wouldn't be so simple to push over the edge, someone who wouldn't go down without a fight. A great fight.
Like that woman, the Joker thought. What was her name? Batman cared about her deeply, that was painfully obvious. Her death no doubt impacted the crusader greatly. Easily as much as it did Harvey. And yet, he hadn't broken like the DA had.
He'd been too strong.
Indeed, it would take a tremendous amount of prodding then to get the vigilante to crumble.
The prospect of finally achieving it, of getting Batman to snap, was almost too much, and the Joker found himself giggling at the notion.
He'd almost gotten him to that point. Batman had almost killed him, he'd almost compromised his one rule.
Almost.
But that's why he loved the vigilante.
He would provide endless amounts of fun, he was sure.
His mind turning back to the people on the ferries, the Joker thought maybe he just hadn't made himself clear enough.
They'd all be dead now if Batman hadn't prevented him from turning that key, and the next time he pulled a similar stunt, one which involved people killing each other in order to go on living, they'd remember how the last group had foolishly let their ethical standards get in the way and how they'd wound up because of it.
The Joker doubted very much that a second experiment would see social conditioning win out over instinct again.
As it was though, Batman had stopped him from blowing them all sky high, and now it would take some leg work getting them to understand just how serious he was when making a threat.
And that was fine.
He could think of nothing more fun then widling away at people's hope and optimism. It made it all the more sweet when they finally realized how incredibly false and fleeting that hope was, how fake; their devastation at the epiphany compounded by their previous refusal to acknowledge the ugliness of life and the world.
That thought made his mind shift to the lie Gordon and Batman had concocted for the public, trying desperately to save their spirit.
Really, the Joker thought, it was better this way, because when he got out, he would expose the lie to the citizens of Gotham, and they'd all realize that their hope had been based on a fabrication, and their resolve would crumble to dust.
And it would be riotously funny to see them break, and to know it wouldn't have come so easily if not for the actions of the Commissioner and his new playmate. To know that, if they'd just told people the truth, they wouldn't be in for such a rude awakening and a hard fall.
It would be the feeling of loss which destroyed them. Having the promise of light and good snatched away from them which finally would make them buckle and succumb to the darkness within them all.
Gordon and Batman had no idea the great folly they'd committed, how the two of them, through their one lie, had single handedly led people to the cliff side. And now all they'd need is a little push. And it was he who would give it to them, right over the edge.
His laughter grew at the prospect, and soon it was echoing off the walls of his tiny cell, and filtering out, underneath the door, down the corridor, to the ears of those standing watch.