Dedication: Dedicated to Edvard Grieg, for providing me with music to listen to.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman franchise or any related characters. Nor do I own the concept of the Id, the Ego, and the Superego…that belongs to Freud. I do own Dr. Katoves and all of his research as well as Dr. Chelsea Miller.


He sat in a small patch of light and waited. Outside of the dim illumination, the rest of the warehouse was darker than even his soul. He sat.

The back of his left leg began to itch, so he scratched it with his other foot. He drummed his fingers on the table in front of him.

Okay, he thought to himself, I am officially bored out of my mind.

What do you mean, bored out of your mind? another part of his brain asked. You haven't even visited me in years! I thought that you'd forgotten about me!

Who are you?

I'm your mind, you idiot! And I've been meaning to tell you—

Shut up, a third voice commanded.

Who's that?

That's, uh…

I'm Id. Pleased to meet you. This bastard who claims to be your mind is, in fact, Ego.

Ah. Charmed.

Would you three shut up? I'm trying to get to sleep!

Was that a fourth voice?

I think so…Superego, is that you?

Who are you?

I think that I'm Id. I could be Ego, though.

No, I'm Ego. I thought that you were Superego.

Wait, I'm Superego? Then who the hell is the new guy?

You are the new guy!

No, you're the new guy!

You are!

You are!

You are!

…he is!

…I can deal with that.

Everyone, stop talking! The voices fell silent. How many voices are there in my head, anyway? The man fell out of his chair as a cacophony of innumerable voices filled his cranium. He could only pick out a few from the chaos.

Hi, I'm Politeness.

Hey there, sweetie. I'm Libido.

What the—you guys have a party and you don't even bother to invite me? Jesus, it wouldn't have been that difficult for one of you to just say, "Oh, Sociability, do you want to come to a little shindig later in the forebrain?"

Uh, I'm, uh…well, that is to say…I'm Paranoia. Please don't tell anyone that you saw me!

We are Legion, for we are many.

Thankfully for what remained of the man's sanity, the warehouse door swung open and flooded the room with light. He stood as a man in a dark coat walked in carrying a briefcase.

"Is that my money?" the man at the table asked. His visitor looked confused.

"Money? Joker, what the hell are you talking about?" the cloaked man asked.

Things swam into focus. The patch of light was not the middle of a warehouse; it was his cell at Arkham Asylum. The visitor was not an underling bringing him money; it was Batman bringing him new information on the whole Jester situation.

He was not some lowly mob boss; he was the Joker.

Batman slapped the files that he was carrying on the crazed clown's table. "Here. These are copies of the police reports on the three cases that we're attributing to this Jester as well as a copy of the chemical analysis that I finally managed to extract from our dear Dr. Katoves."

The Joker looked up from the page that he had been reading. "You didn't place quotes around his name, Batsy."

"What?" Batman was confused by this oddly lucid, yet illogical statement.

"Quotation marks. 'Jester' versus Jester. See?" The Joker eyed Batman closely. "What do you know that isn't in these files?" The Caped Crusader wondered at the Joker's keen ability to discern what he was thinking from nonexistent clues.

"Well…I've encountered him." The Joker closed the files.

"And you were just going to let me sift through red tape? This is much more interesting! You've met him? Did he give you a goodnight kiss?"

Batman ignored the Joker's token witticism. "Yes. I tracked some smuggled chemicals to a waterfront warehouse. After picking the lock, I entered and found Dr. Jonathan Crane on—"

"Scarecrow?!" the Ace of Knaves screamed. "That fear-mongering quack! I should have taken off his gulliver when I had the chance! Oh, to punch that veck in the rot! To cut open his glazzies!"

"…what on Earth are you saying?"

"I've been reading a bit. A Clockwork Orange. Such an inspiring work!"

"…er, yes." Batman looked perturbed. "Anyway, no. Crane is not the Jester."

"Oh, phooey. And here I was, planning to make that effete doctor truly afraid of clowns."

"May I finish?" Batman tried not to lose his patience. I need him for this, he thought. Strangling him would be counter-productive, not to mention in defiance of my vow against killing.

"Eh. Sooner or later."

"Right. After I had spoken with Crane for a few minutes, I learned that the Jester has, indeed, begun to produce a form of your Joker venom." Batman paused and waited for the Joker to stop screaming imprecations and threats against the new villain. "However, he has…changed it. He's added nitrous oxide, cyanide, and an improved form of Crane's fear toxin. I can figure out the cyanide and the nitrous oxide, but why fear toxin?"

The Joker pondered this for a moment. Two and two-thirds of a moment later, Batman began to fidget. Several moments later, the Dark Knight lost his patience. "Well, do you have any ideas?" Batman remembered his mistake in his earlier session with the clown and hastily added, "Any ideas, that is, related to this addition?"

"Several, Batman. For example, adding orange juice to vodka would make a refreshing drink without vodka's terrible aftertaste." Batman groaned as the Joker giggled to himself.

"No, I meant the addition of fear toxin to Joker venom. Why bother? Joker venom kills anyway…and his kills faster with the addition of cyanide." The Joker flipped through the files to Katoves's report, then looked up triumphantly.

"Of course! That proves that my venom is better than his! His venom kills its victims too quickly for them to feel the full effects…too quickly for them to begin to feel the divine madness! The comedy of the cadaver is wasted in his formula!"

"Yes, but Joker…why add fear toxin?"

"Hm…the only possible effect would be to create a juxtaposition of fear and delight that would have the potential to short-circuit the victim's amygdala, leading to an increase in all feelings and emotions just prior to demise, strengthening the effect of the nitrous oxide…and the cyanide would feed the amygdala's decay instead of speeding the victim's death! Of course!" The Joker pounded the table, then looked crestfallen. "Of course…that does mean that his toxin is, in fact, better…"

Batman blinked. It wasn't often that he blinked from surprise, but the Joker's revelation had taken him completely by storm. "Are you…where did that come from?"

"Where did what come from?"

"That…well, it was almost a dissertation on the effects on the amygdala of—"

"What's an amygdala?"

"You…don't remember saying that? You gave an entire lecture!"

"Batsy, Batsy, Batsy…did my voice change while I was saying it?" Batman pondered this. It had changed a little, but not very noticeably.

"Well, it changed a minor amount, I suppose, but not dramatically."

"Well, then," the Joker said while leaning back in his chair. "It was probably one of the other personalities. Several have begun to form. They've erected a democratic system of government and even fought a few minor wars, I believe."

"You seriously expect me to believe that?"

"…did you read the sign on the door when you came in? 'The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.' Where did you think that you were, Happyland?" The Joker laughed. Batman went to the door.

"Excuse me," he asked the security guard, "but could you bring his psychiatrist? I want to ask a few questions."

"Certainly, sah!" the guard saluted. Batman returned to his seat. After sitting through a few moments of the Joker's rants on the subjects of insanity, spoons, and gerbils, Batman rose to answer a knock at the door.

"Hello," the woman on the other side said. "I'm Dr. Chelsea Miller. You wanted to ask me something?"

"Yes, Dr. Miller," Batman replied. "The man in this cell, the Joker…does he suffer from dissociative identity disorder?" Dr. Miller laughed.

"Him? Multiple personalities? Batman, the Joker doesn't have a personality. He recreates himself every few seconds based on the world around him. Sometimes, he'll be amazingly brilliant and insightful. Other times, he'll be thicker than a brick. Some days, he's a murdering psychopath. Other days, he's a nearly harmless clown."

"Nearly harmless."

"Yes, nearly. Did I answer your question?"

"As much as you could. Thank you, Dr. Miller." She left and Batman returned to the table. "All right, Joker. I believe you. So, the fear toxin is added to create a more powerful reaction to the venom…put that away!" The Joker looked up guiltily and put the yo-yo back on his bed. "As I was saying, after I finished talking with Crane, someone else came to the warehouse door. I hid and the Jester entered." The Joker looked crestfallen.

"What? We already found him? I haven't yet had the opportunity to match wits with him! I haven't been able to meet him in the arena of the mind! What about that chess game that you promised me?"

"Let me finish. The Jester entered, dragging Harley Quinn with him." The Joker shot out of his seat and stood, eyes blazing.

"He has Harley? My Harley? That bastard will rue the day that he was born! I'll take his belled cap and shove it up his—"

"Quiet! You're not letting me finish. Just sit still for five minutes. It'll be painless," Batman advised. Especially compared to what I'll do to you if you don't, he thought to himself. "He dragged Harley in with him and then shut the doors. He spoke with Crane, injected him with some fear toxin, and learned that I was in the warehouse by interrogating the now terrified doctor. At this point, Harley began threatening him."

"That's my girl," the Joker whispered to himself, hoping that Batman couldn't hear. It's been way over five minutes, anyway, he thought to himself. Hey, Id? Ego? Guys? I could use some entertainment over here.

Nothing doing, pal. Pay attention to the Bat. It's important.

Feh. How important could it really be? We'll catch this Jester guy whether or not I pay attention right now.

Well, it couldbe rather important. For example, you just missed the bit where the Jester tried to rape your girlfriend.

"WHAT?" the Joker screamed. "He tried to…to violate Harley? My Harley?" Batman gritted his teeth, but managed to avoid violence.

"Yes. I suspect that he did it just to draw me out of hiding, but I can't be sure. As I was saying, he nearly had me, but Harley intervened and allowed me to grapnel to safety."

"Bastard!" the Joker screamed, ignoring Batman's description of the confrontation. "Oh, he'll regret that one! Nothing can stop the might of the Joker-Batman team, and he's just given me fresh reason to do my damn best!" He shooed Batman from his cell. "Now, get on with you, you flying rat! I have a lot of papers to read, and not much time in which to read them!" Batman left the cell.

The Joker started to sift through the pages of laborious, informative, and, above all, boring police work. "Well," he said to himself, "it's going to be a long day."


Well, I like how this one went. Writing for the Joker is always fun…especially when he's by himself. By the way, the amygdala is an almond-shaped nerve cluster in the brain that is responsible for emotions and such stuff.

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim