J for Joker
-What are the Odds?-
Detective Gordon stood with a group of officers outside the barricaded door to the broadcasting room of Gotham Television. Gun raised, he pressed his back against the wall and waited for the officers in front of him to finish their work. The door had been cemented in by some device, so the officers had been forced to bring acetylene torches. The irony was not lost on him that they were trying to breach the security door that had been designed to keep people out. It's purpose was to stop a force from breaking in and doing just what this mysterious man had done. This man who had swept past all of the station's defenses and taken control of the voice of the city. The man who had shocked them all by using the emergency channel to send out his message.
When the broadcast had started, Gordon and his men were already responding to the report of a triggered alarm at Gotham Television. He had been sitting in his office about to call Ryder, when the crooked J symbol appeared on his TV screen. A few seconds later, the man that only that morning he had been assigned to find revealed himself to the whole city.
The camera fell on the man's face. His hair was wild and green, and his piercing blue eyes were filled with madness. Gordon had listened to his words in stunned silence. He knew he should have been doing something, that this was not supposed to be happening, but he had become entranced by the screen. It wasn't until a few moments after the screen went black, and someone yelled his name from the adjoining room that he was startled from his thoughts. He ran out of the room to gather a squad to head to Gotham TV headquarters. It occurred to him on the way that the alarms probably had something to do with the broadcast.
Staring at the streets as they flew by, he found himself riddled with questions.
Who was this guy?
How had he done the things he had done, and still no one seemed to know who he was? He didn't hide his face behind a mask, yet there was no record of him. The biggest question struck him as he pulled into the parking lot of the building, most of the station's employees and several fire engines creating a scene of utter chaos in the parking lot.
Why now?
This bugged him more than anything else.
What brought this man about now when this city had been silent for so long? So many questions, and Gordon intended to ask them all to the man's ghostly face once they had him in custody, preferably before Crane's men showed up and carted him away.
But first, they had to catch him.
So far, the man had made no attempt to escape the fortified room which had no windows and only one door. The building itself was surrounded on all sides. In short, he was cornered. However, from inside the broadcasting room, he had control of all the communications technology that The Voice used to send its messages to the city, as well as the tech that facilitated the "Eyes and Ears" programs.
He had control, and he had been in there for almost an hour while Gordon's men cut away at the door. So far, he had been using the emergency channel to play softcore porn on a loop. However, Gordon knew the full damage of today's attack would remain unknown until they got inside. This room was the command center from which The Head gathered its information. Yet with all of its heavy fortifications, the man, J, hadn't been stopped. .
The hallway was eerily quiet, everyone waiting in anticipation for the door to open. But perhaps the most disturbing thing to Gordon wasn't the silence but the man standing beside him.
Jack Ryder for the first time in his life looked shaken. His hair had some strays sticking out, his tie was loose, and he chewed his nails anxiously. But, most telling of all to Gordon, was the lack of any trace of a smile on his face. Gordon was now seeing the man in a way he had never seen before.
It seemed this wild man, J or whoever he was, was determined to make fools of the members of The Head. Yesterday it had been Gordon. Today Ryder was taking his turn.
Gordon could see it in his body. Ryder had fucked up and he knew it. He kept muttering to himself. Gordon caught words here and there.
"...How to fix it... She's going to kill me... Not my fault.."
Gordon had a little sympathy for the man.
Only a little.
Suddenly, Ryder snapped his fingers and held them up in an "AH-Ha" moment. "Cameras," he exclaimed, "We need cameras!" He pushed past Gordon's men and rushed off down the hall.
Gordon shook his head in confusion. I hope the man hasn't gone mad.
The officers were nearing completion of the molten circle they were cutting through the door. Only a few inches to go. The two men with "The Big Key," a mini battering ram, stood ready to smash their way in.
Gordon took a deep steadying breath.
He had missed this.
The excitement, the rush he felt gripping his whole body. He was going into real danger for the first time in years. This feeling was the reason he had joined the force in the first place. He wanted to help people, sure, but nothing matched the adrenaline rush you got right before you took down a dangerous criminal. Knowing that this moment was life or death, that it may be you or him. Then the euphoria, of snapping the cuffs on them, knowing you had saved other people from this dangerous person. His heart pounded in his chest. He felt a unity with the men beside him, he knew they all felt the same.
Yes, there was nothing quite like this.
Ryder pushed back to his side clutching a small camera in his hands.
"What's that for?" his curiosity demanded he ask at the man's antics.
"Just stay out of my shot. I've got to get this." was Ryder's repy. The man's voice lacked its usual cordial guise.
Maybe he really is losing it.
"As long as you stay out of my shot," Gordon replied, shaking his gun to show what he meant.
Ryder turned a little green. He was determined, but Gordon knew he had never been in a situation like this before.
"We're through," one of his officers shouted, pulling Gordon's attention.
The officers bearing "The Big Key" moved to the door and promptly unlocked it.
Gordon had been expecting a lot of things when they broke through the steel door (dead bodies, armed men to name a few), however, the sight that met them when they all poured through the opening was one that shocked them all into a moment of dumbfoundedness.
A huge party scene had taken over the studio. Music blared from speakers within, and the air was filled with haze that burned Gordon's eyes and caused him to cover his mouth. Disco balls hung from the ceiling, and rave lights flashed on and off showing the dancing and gyrating bodies of those who had turned the room into their own personal club. Peering through the fog, he noticed the people were all wearing Gotham T.V. Badges.
These were the everyday workers who ran this studio.
They didn't stop dancing for a moment, even when the police broke though the door. It was as if they didn't notice, or didn't care. Something else was controlling them.
Gordon's men began to lower their guns in confusion. "Stay alert! Weapons up!" Gordon yelled, but just then his pointman, the furthest into the room, dropped his beretta and waded towards the dance floor. Gordon looked around again. Something wasn't right. Something had to be affecting these people.
The haze, he realized, he has to be pumping some kind of drug into the studio!
"Everyone out!," he yelled, "He has some kind of drug in the air!" The ones who had been closer to the door ran back out, although three more who were further in didn't even flinch at Gordon's order. Instead they began to dance and laugh crazily, joining the employees and their pointman in the center of the room.
This was bad. Half his men were lost in the haze. He needed to clear the air in the room.
What can I do, he thought. The haze filled his lungs, and the beat of the music filled his ears. He felt a pulling at his mind to relax. To have fun.
But what about J? What about his men?
A knife of dread tore through his mind, and he fell backwards against the wall. He felt something hit the middle of his back. He turned and regarded the fire alarm, half in a sense of mischief and half in a sense of panic.
Couldn't hurt, he thought, and pulled.
An alarm sounded and water began to pour from the ceiling.
The water soaked everything in the room, including himself, but it also seemed to be pulling the smoke from the air. The cold drops felt painful where they hit his skin, his breathing was labored, and he felt the loss of the false ecstasy acutely. The pain, however, helped focus him back to reality. It was familiar to Gordon, a learning tool given to him in his police training. However, the people on the improvised dance floor had no such training. Having been exposed to the drug longer, they were all groaning in misery. Some of them screaming and crying as the water hit their skin. They doubled in on themselves and fell to the floor, their senses in overload by the cold water and the sudden loss of the drug that had been fueling them.
As they fell, one man remained standing in the middle of the room, his arms crossed in disappointment, his eyes trained steadily on the officers by the door, and Gordon got his first face to face look at the man who in only twenty four hours had turned their lives upside down.
The music played on and a menace that Gordon had never encountered before seethed under the lights dancing across the man's body. He was staring right into Gordon's eyes; No fear of being caught; No sign that the drug that had so affected the employees and his men had done the same to him. Only, excitement?
"You're early," J shouted over the pounding music.
What does he mean, early?
Gordon was confused by everything that was happening, by the situation, by the lights, and mostly by the man. He found himself frozen to the wall. Caught in the gaze of the villain before him. No words would come to him. He vaguely realized that Ryder had moved up beside him, his camera pointing steadily at the man. Through his own fog, he saw his men rush in, guns held up in front of them as they began to surround their target. The people wailing in pain on the ground flailed and grabbed at the legs of the officers, slurring out their words, begging for help. The sprinklers continued to spray mist and rain while the music and lights blared.
Is this a dream?.
"Get on the ground!" his officers shouted past their pointed weapons.
The man, J, didn't move. Eyes unchanging, a smile spread across his face. Then, through the epileptic chaos of the scene, Gordon heard that same laugh from the broadcast rise sharply through the cacophony.
A pause. Gordon blinked.
An officer fell screaming, clutching at the back of his knee. Gordon lost sight of J. He's fast! By the time this had registered to him and his men, he saw J appear behind another, a blade tucked against his wrist. It plunged into the officer's back.
The officer collapsed.
J laughed.
Gordon started from his shock. He stepped into action.
"Stop now or I'll shoot," he commanded. J grinned and rushed towards him unconcerned.
In a single, well trained movement, Gordon adjusted on his target and fired. The bullet tore through J's shoulder and brought him to the ground. He fell instantly into a roll, and as swiftly as he had fallen was back up and once more charging forward, seemingly unfazed by the gunshot wound. Gordon trained his gun's sights on J's center mass and fired twice more, striking J with each shot, yet he surged forward all the same, cackling and brandishing his blade.
He was almost on Gordon.
Gordon fired again. Again. Time seemed to slow.
He aimed at that wild, smiling face.
Suddenly, a black blur entered his periphery and swept J off of his feet to the side. A final shot hit nothing but the empty air before him. The blur and J clung together and rolled through the water covering the ground. They slowed and Gordon squinted to see. The Batman!
J freed an arm and raised his knife to strike, receiving a kick in the stomach from the man clad in black. The pair rolled apart and came up on their feet in crouched positions, mirror images of each other.
Lights raved, music played, and the two men regarded each other; One dark and serious, the other with happy recognition rising in his eyes.
J quickly stood and danced in a circle, that stacato laugh ringing through the air.
"Ah, now HERE is a Batman!" J yelled over the noise.
The dark figure slowly rose, raising his hand to reveal a small object.
"Now you see me," his voice was husked in disguise. He pushed a button on the object, and the dancing lights and music went off all at once, leaving the room in utter darkness. A piercing silence hung in the air.
"Now you don't."
Gordon crouched defensively, jarred by the blackout and sudden loss of stimulation. Even the employees and officers who had been moaning in agony on the floor were stunned into a hushed stillness. Suddenly, a quick shuffle of feet, a flurry of strikes; Gordon aimed at the noise in futility. The splash of a body being slammed into the ground.
J howling with laughter.
The lights abruptly came back on. J was lying prone on the floor, the Batman kneeling on his back and holding him down. His hands were zip-tied behind him.
J struggled to catch his breath through his merriment. "SO EXCITING!" he mimicked the Batman's husked voice. His eyes closed, and his body twittered gleefully against the floor as his unrestrained hoots and heehaws seemed to overpower his senses.
It had all happened so fast, Gordon was unsure it was over until Batman looked up and called him and his men to come take the man below him. He moved forward, his gun still trained on the man on the floor, who was now apparently lost in fits of giggling.
"Batman, always good to see you," he commented as two officers hauled the crazed man to his feet. The Batman moved back away from the scene, further into the shadows of the room.
"Always happy to help, Gordon."
"I'm surprised you weren't the first person here." He gave J a final look and holstered his weapon.
"I was busy talking to our mystery woman." Batman was looking past him at J, studying the man.
"Well, I'm glad you made it."
Joker was lifted to his feet by the officers, laughing all the while, "Oh yes! The hero strikes again, welcome back Batman, I have been so looking forward to meeting you."
He was pulled from the room before he could say more. The man is truly unhinged.
"What is the situation," Batman asked pulling Gordon's attention back to the room.
"Not clear yet until we can get more information out of him. He seemed to be using some kind of drug in the haze machine. Turned this place into a party. Surveillance shows him strolling in through the back entrance like he hadn't a care in the world. No one stopped him."
Batman frowned, "We've gotten soft."
Gordon looked around the room at the groaning people on the floor in pools of water. Paramedics were already seeing to the employees, and fellow officers were sitting with their drugged comrades. The two men who J had attacked were being taken away, but appeared to be stable.
At least nobody got killed. What chaos is this?
"Maybe you're right," Gordon sighed, "we have to question him fast and the MCU no longer exists."
Another officer approached, hand coming off of his radio. "Sir? Message for you"
"Take him back to your headquarters for now," Batman replied, "I'll be watching this case." His words were echoed by a ringing laugh from the hallway beyond, "but, be careful Gordon. I can't shake this feeling that this was too easy." He turned to leave.
Gordon looked from Batman to the officer. "Sir, it's Crane. He wants the perp brought to Arkham."
Gordon winced and turned to the Batman. He was already gone.
Thirty minutes, just make it thirty more minutes and this God forsaken night will be over. You can go home, wrap up in your pink fluffy robe, and read some good romance novel while drinking hot cocoa. This was the mantra that had been playing over and over in Harleen's head for the past few hours ever since Batman had left her standing confused and alone in the locker room.
Her focus had disappeared with the Dark Knight, and four hours of hell had commenced. She had slogged through her meetings, her notes not as neat as they usually were. She was running on fumes, but she still had one more session that was nearing its end. Then she could rest. Then maybe she could process the last twenty four hours.
The voice of her patient caused her to break from the mindless doodling in her notebook.
"I go around in circles, but always straight ahead. I never complain no matter where I am led."
Round in circles? That is my day in a nutshell. She sighed in exhaustion and focused on what she had been writing. J over and over in different shapes and styles. She sighed again. I need some sleep.
"You seem distracted Doc," His eyes glanced down at the notes on her lap, "Anything on your mind?" His smile was a calculating one. Patients often tried to get the doctors to talk about themselves, which was of course against protocol. So instead of answering, she redirected. It was time to wrap up this session.
"The nurses told me that you seem to be reacting to the new medicine well, you haven't been having as many nightmares as before?"
Nigma laughed, "Nice dodge there Doc, don't want to talk about," he looked down at her notebook, "J?"
She closed the cover to hide her writing, "I would rather hear about you."
He leaned back in the chair he sat in and stared at her, "Yes, instead of nightly I would say more like once a week. Though, one may classify my waking life as a nightmare in and of itself." His gaze went up towards the ceiling and he began to hum a tune which instantly sounded familiar to her. She listened for a moment before true recognition hit her. A fear spread down to her toes and she felt drawn to ask even though she knew the answer.
"What song is that?"
"I believe it is Bohemian Rhapsody." and he continued on with his humming.
Harleen's body seized up and her mind immediately went to the night before.
Nigma studied her intently. He watched his doctor freeze and her eyes go wide with fear, or maybe excitement?
"Why that song?" She asked in a sort of daze.
"Hmm, I heard it playing last night from outside the cell. It must have been coming from the city somewhere. It played shortly before the sweet sounds of mayhem flowed in."
Mayhem, yes that is an apt description. Last night had caused nothing less in her life.
When Harleen remained silent lost in her thoughts, Nigma prompted, "So, what did happen last night? All us inmates are dying to know?"
Harleen swallowed and considered if she should tell him or not, finally deciding it couldn't hurt anyone.
"There was an explosion that blew up the MCU downtown."
Nigma suddenly stood up, pulling against his cuffs, and did his best interpretation of a dance with the little movement available to him. His laugh ringing in the air.
"Oh, how fantastic! An explosion." He sat down, still with a knowing smile on his face, "though I must admit doc, the TV said it was a planned demolition. How strange that you would phrase it as an explosion."
His smile for some reason made her angry. It reminded her too much of him.
"I simply misspoke. I thought you said you didn't know what happened."
"Knights and Knaves. You're still looking for the one that always tells the truth."
"Don't you think the truth is important Mr. Nigma?"
"Oh, definitively so, but I awoke one day long ago to the realization that truth is simply in the eye of the beholder. You believe the truth that I am insane, whereas I know the truth of my sanity. Ah, now who to believe? How do we decided? I suppose society must choose, but can we trust the masses? Looking back on history they haven't got too great of a track record."
"However, In the end the truth that wins is the one that has the most power behind it. I alone believe my actions have a rational purpose, but one against many often loses," He smiled and once again focused his attention on her, "Unless of course I can convince you otherwise. Then there would be two of us." He paused in consideration for a moment and spoke more to himself when he said, "but would that finally make me sane or just make you crazy too?"
For a second, Harleen actually found logic in his words. Another riddle? Or a truth?
"You are here Mr. Nigma for a reason. Do you remember why?"
"Killing people, I expect."
Again, his nonchalance with the fact that he had killed brought her mind back to J. What could cause people to think like that? Did she really want to know that answer.
"Yes Mr. Nigma. Your lack of remorse and inability to see what you did as wrong is part of the reason you are here instead of on death row."
Again a laugh, "Then why, dear doctor, would I ever want to see things differently?"
He had her there.
"If you can find sympathy for your victims, then maybe you can find a pathway to peace."
"Did you know that there is a crime for which you can be arrested while attempting, but not after you have committed it?"
She knew that riddle, "Hmm, I don't think suicide suits you Mr. Nigma."
He smiled, "I suppose not"
"We will talk more about your nightmares in our next session."
"We go round and round doc." As the attendants came to escort him away, Harleen followed him out the door and stared after his retreating form. It was finally time for her to go home. She would take tomorrow off like she should have done today. She would forget the last twenty four hours. She would hope no one else came looking for, and try to supress the fear that they would.
She shuffled her way down the hall. Her head hung in exhaustion and a little despair.
Unfocused, she did not register the people running past her. Nor did the sound of shouting gain her attention.
Harleen returned to her office and gathered her things. It was past time she get out of there.
As she locked up her office, she wove her way to the exit without bumping into anyone. She was way past small talk at this point. However, Harleen overheard some conversation that made it through her exhausted mind and caused her to pause.
"...nowhere else to take him so they brought him here."
"That's right, since the MCU was destroyed. They can't send him to general population, he would cause a riot."
"I heard Dr. Crane requested he be brought here anyway. He is at the top of their hit list since he destroyed that place and took over the TV."
"He sure is making waves, he didn't come quietly from what I heard. They're bringing him in now, though. The police finally brought him down."
Harleen dropped her purse, and its contents went scattering everywhere, but she didn't care. The people who had been talking turned and stared at her and she couldn't help but ask,
"Are you talking about the man from the TV earlier?"
"Yeah, the police caught him at the TV station. They are bringing him in the south entrance now."
She was running before she even realized her feet were moving. The people were calling out behind her. She had left her bag, but she didn't care.
Why was she running towards him? She wasn't sure. But she had to see him again. Maybe to make sure he was real, that it hadn't been a nightmare. That there really was a man out there who seemed to live without fear, who saved women from rape and destroyed buildings for fun.
She had to see him again.
As she turned around the final corner, she stopped dead and pulled herself back. She couldn't show up wildly like that infront of her peers. She took a calming breath, straightened her clothes, and turned the corner.
As she rounded it, she saw that most of the high ranking doctors along with a squadron of police congregated at the entrance. They all hovered around a man who sat on a row of benches. Both of his arms were handcuffed to his legs, and he appeared to be the worse for wear. His shirt was torn, his hair hung to the side. His pale face was covered in blood, and Harleen wondered if it was all his or someone else's? The people in the room gave him a wide berth, perhaps subconsciously. The circle they made around him was large enough that he couldn't reach them if he got free. So, even in this sea of people, he stood out. Even from here, with his head bent and his shoulders slumped, Harleen could tell that he was smiling.
"Ah, Dr. Quinzel, I see you have deemed it time for you to grace us with your presence. We have been calling you on the speaker for over ten minutes." Dr. Arkham's voice cut through the chatter and drew everyone to silence. Briefly, her focus was pulled from J to the aging man . All eyes turned to her as she walked from her viewing point at the edge of the room, to join the other doctors. She couldn't go home now, she had to know what was going on, what was going to happen to J.
As she was about to throw back to Arkham that she was indeed supposed to be off her shift now, she was stopped dead in her tracks. A laugh, that laugh, rose through the room. This one not an imitation like the one that Nigma had made earlier, but the real thing from the man himself.
The room was silenced, and everyone paused to regard the man. Harleen could sense that many were disturbed, and that she could sympathize with completely. It had been such a short time, but it felt more familiar to her now than frightening. As it continued, she found herself taking one step then another, then another, until she was standing toe to toe with the man who had been plaguing her mind for the last 24 hours. The man she still wasn't convinced was real.
She reached out her hand to touch his wounded shoulder, unaware that everyone else was staring. That everyone else had been too intimidated to get close. As her finger brushed his skin and the heat of him radiated up her hand, J stopped his laughter and raised his head to look in her eyes. They were the same ones from the night before. Just as manic. Just as dangerous.
He spoke to her in a whisper, no one else could hear, "Harley Quinn, what are the odds of seeing you here?"