Chapter 21:
As soon as he'd exited the cell he moved quickly to the security monitor and saw that The Joker had immediately moved from the cot and was at the door, looking it over, obviously trying to find some point of weakness.
He wouldn't and both Bruce and Alfred waited for the inevitable explosion of frustration that would come once he'd figured that out.
And he figured it out fast, turning from the door suddenly and striding fast across the room, going from one corner to another, spending only seconds at each before moving to the next.
When nothing within the room or along its corners and walls proved useful, The Joker went to the spaces center and looked up to it's ceiling, turning in a 360 degree circle to see the entire surface.
"No grating this time Joker." Batman said aloud, though the lunatic couldn't hear him.
"I should say Sir, you were rather astute in predicting what the madman would attempt, and it would appear you've successfully eliminated all threat of him utilizing any part of the cell as a weapon."
Bruce nodded.
"Yeah, well, last time he hit me over the head with the grate from the ventilation system, so we couldn't have that again. I still can't believe how he got it off of there."
"When one has such little regard for their own well being Master Bruce, they should be considered capable of anything I suppose."
Again Bruce nodded.
He'd had the cell's ventilation system switched out to one which didn't require any sort of cover or grate, so The Joker wouldn't be able to pry it loose and use it as a weapon.
When The Joker saw there was nothing for him to have along the ceiling he tore his gaze from it, again bringing it about the room before beginning to pace frantically, back and forth.
He continued like this for some minutes before tearing off towards the cot, where he grabbed hold of the mattress and attempted to tear it apart.
"He's hoping to find springs inside." Bruce noted. "But the mattress is all foam. And anyway, he won't be able to break it apart as is."
Alfred only nodded, watching in apparent fascination.
With the cot yielding no results, The Joker turned from it and practically ran to the center of the room, where he then collapsed on to his knees, gripping his head between his hands.
And then he began to scream, the sound broken and uninhibited.
"Oh my…" Alfred said. "He's quite mad, is he not?"
"He'll calm down, once he realizes his little temper tantrum isn't drawing anyone's attention."
"Indeed Sir. But what if begins to hurt himself? He's shown himself quite willing, if I recall correctly."
"If he does that, I'll just put him under. And I'll keep doing it until he gets the picture." Batman replied. "Unless he wants to be in a perpetual state of waking up groggy and confused, then he'll keep himself healthy."
"Ah." Alfred nodded.
Abruptly the madman looked up from where he'd fallen, and his eyes seemed to pinpoint right on them, as though he were looking at them.
"He can't see us can he?" Alfred asked, clearly unnerved.
"No." Batman answered, though he himself was taken aback. There was no way The Joker would be able to know where the camera was, considering it was positioned behind a wall, with an opening too small to detect.
They sat in silence for a long moment, just starring as the lunatic seemed to stare back.
"I should hope there isn't any chance he may again escape." Alfred said aloud, seemingly to himself more then to anyone else.
"He won't." Bruce was fast to reply. "That cell is foolproof. He could be the world's greatest escape artist. It doesn't matter. There's simply no way out of that cell from within."
"Yes Sir, I understand that. I'm speaking more in terms of him fighting his way out."
The crusader went silent for a moment before finally shaking his head.
"No." He said. "The Joker is a very capable street fighter. He knows all the tricks. But there's no structure there. No discipline. He isn't trained, not by any stretch of the imagination. He may be capable of taking out any average man, but he's got no chance against someone like me. Not without a weapon or some sort of strategic advantage. And there's absolutely nothing in that room he could use. And he won't be getting past me out in to here."
"Very good then Sir." The older man gave a nod. "And for how long do we intend on keeping our guest again?"
Bruce huffed. Alfred had asked him the same question earlier yesterday, when he'd shown up with an unconscious Joker slung over his shoulder. He hadn't given him any specific answers then, and he wouldn't now, because he honestly didn't know.
The older man had been less then pleased with his having brought the madman back, but as always, while letting his disagreeance be known, he also was fully supportive and ready to assist. So far, all he'd had Alfred do was remove The Joker's shoes and socks, along with his suspender straps. Anything that could be used as a potential weapon. And then he'd had him prepare the cells cot. But that was it.
Alfred had commented on how utterly bizarre it was that, when unconscious, The Joker looked completely harmless, vulnerable even, and what a remarkable contrast that was to when he was awake, and seemed the most menacing being ever to be.
Batman had nodded, saying he'd been struck by the same realization many times, and had never quite gotten used to it.
"I don't know." He finally answered. "However long it takes."
"May I ask what it is that's so suddenly made you feel you can cure him Master Bruce?"
The vigilante looked back to the monitor.
The Joker had since looked away, but remained in the same spot, still crouched. It looked as though he now was starring intently at the floor.
Bruce hadn't told Alfred about the surveillance footage he'd found, let alone shown it to him. He wasn't sure why. Again there was that strange possessiveness he felt. As though anyone else knowing about who The Joker had been was wrong.
He knew it was an absurd notion.
"I found something Alfred." He finally breathed, looking away from the screens and at the older man. "Tapes. Like documented sessions. The footage is of him." He nodded his head towards the monitors. "When he was just a boy. 16 at the most. He was being held prisoner by some insane doctor, performing experiments on him." He shook his head. "Completely horrific experiments. Even I had difficulty watching them. The things they did to him…" He paused, looking distant.
Alfred gave him a completely serious expression.
"Was that the cause for our trip to Washington this past month Sir?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.
Bruce nodded.
"I'm sorry I've kept all this from you." He said. "I've learned so much about him. More then I've ever known in the whole time since our first encounter." He looked down. "He's real name's Anthony."
Alfred looked stunned for a moment.
"Really?" He finally managed.
Bruce nodded.
"I can't be sure of exactly how old he was when it happened, but his parent's were killed in a car accident and from there, he'd been moved around to several different orphanages. I don't know what his life was like then, but I can make a pretty good guess. You know the reputation of Gotham's adoption facilities. They're bad. Today they're bad. Rife with political corruption and reported abuses from the staff running them. 20, 25 years ago, about the time The Joker would have been in the system, maybe even 30 years ago, depending on when his parent's were killed, they were much worse."
"Well isn't there some record of him then?" Alfred questioned, naturally.
Bruce shook his head.
"No." He said. "And that's the thing. When he was maybe 8 years old, they finally took notice of his unique mind. You know the "theory" originally posited by Dr. Quinzel? "Super-sanity" she called it."
Alfred gave a nod.
"Indeed I do Sir."
"It's not a product of his falling in to any chemical baths Alfred. His mind had been that way since he was a child. And when the US government found out, they wanted in."
"Oh, I see."
The detective nodded.
"They took him out of the orphanage he was staying in at the time, brought him to DC, started using him to interrogate terrorists and the like."
"An 8 year old boy!" Alfred sounded astonished.
"Yeah. They'd put him in a room with these men, tell them their only requirement was to talk to the boy, about anything, nothing specific. So they thought they were just talking to some regular kid. But The Joker is hyper-perceptive. That's what's truly special about him. And it's only part of what makes him so dangerous. Ever since I've known him, and apparently since he was a child, he's had the ability to see things. Just from the way you talk, your mannerisms, the way you carry yourself, even just the cloths you wear, he can tell things about you. Things no one should be capable of gleaning from such a small amount of information. So just by talking to these men, just by talking to them, he very often could pick up on their intentions, even what they secretly had planned, whether they would mention those plans directly or not, just by the things they would say, how they would say them, etcetera. Whether they were lying or telling the truth was the simplest thing for him to determine. And even now he displays this ability. It's the reason, beyond the fact he so often escapes his restraints of course, that the psychiatrists at Arkham are so reluctant to treat him. He always turns the sessions on them. Always. They end up being psycho-analyzed instead. And The Joker's the last person you want inside your head. He's absolutely mean, and so easily capable of determining your secrets, you desires and fears, your hopes and dreams and nightmares. He's driven people to kill themselves for Christ's sake! Just by talking to them. Other inmates, doctors, nurses, orderlies. You name it." He shook his head in disgust at remembering all the instances he'd heard of just those sorts of occurrences. He'd even seen it first hand once.
"But to get back to the main point, they kept him isolated. He wasn't allowed contact with anyone outside of the staff of the facility he was living in. Wasn't allowed off the premises. Wasn't even allowed outside without having someone with him at all times. They erased all record of his ever existing because they didn't want anyone else getting their hands on him. And, as to be expected, he eventually grew tired of it, started requesting different things, and when they refused, then he stopped helping them. Or at least, he tried. They started abusing him, trying to force him to cooperate. Eventually he escaped, lived on the streets of Washington. He hooked up with a local gang. Just a group of kids who mostly hustled people out of cash. The worst they did, according to the man I talked to, was rob some homes in the more upscale parts of town. But nothing violent… He said…" Bruce nearly laughed in astonishment. "The man I talked to said he was… said The Joker was the sweetest kid he'd ever known. That he didn't want to even help them rob anyone."
The look on Alfred's face was one of pure incredulity.
"I find that hard to believe Master Bruce, you'll forgive me."
Bruce shook his head.
"No, believe me, I find it hard to believe myself. But this man I spoke with would have absolutely no reason to lie. He doesn't know the kid he knew is now The Joker. Nobody knows that, except us. The man said The Joker learned how to perform magic tricks from one of the other boys in the group and would stand on street corners, putting on shows."
"Intriguing. I suppose that explains the madman's rather remarkable expertise as a magician then."
Bruce nodded.
"So what exactly happened then which caused him to become so… well, so criminally inclined?"
"Washington DC has the second highest crime rate in the country, after Gotham City itself." The crusader answered. "The man said The Joker was very small, so small, he said, that he'd have trouble defending himself. So he was a target for other gangs, someone they looked to pick on. They even got to him once, according to this man. He said a group of 3 men beat him badly when he was caught by himself. He said he and his friends didn't want to let him go anywhere by himself after that, but that he insisted, saying he couldn't make any money for the group if they followed him around. Said people would think it was a hustle then. So they let him alone. And then one day he just disappeared, and they all thought he'd finally been kidnapped and probably killed by a rival gang."
"I presume you know what really became of him then?" Alfred said.
"Yes." Bruce answered. "He was kidnapped off the street. But not by any rival gang. It was the doctor from the footage I told you about. Apparently he'd been keeping tabs on The Joker for years. He knew all about him. His history. His time in the orphanages and government facility, and then on the street. For whatever reason he waited until he was well in to his teens before taking him."
"What purpose did he have for him, may I ask?" Alfred interjected.
"This man was completely insane Alfred." Bruce said seriously. "He said he wanted to study The Joker's mind so that he could then replicate it. Apparently his studies involved all manner of torture."
"Dare I ask what types of torture The Joker found himself subjected to?"
Batman shook his head.
"All types. Electric shocks. Sever electric shocks. Various forms of psychological torture. Supposedly they were trying to gage stress points in his mind, breaking points and so on, measure his brains wave lengths, what kinds of chemicals it would release under certain circumstances and situations, etcetera. The doctor specifically would constantly talk down to him, undermine him and abuse him verbally. They injected him with all kinds of drugs and serums, measuring how his brain and body would react to the chemicals. I'm not even sure what most of them were, but a lot of them had a bad effect on him, making him severely sick, or causing him to convulse. Some even caused him to hallucinate and become intensely paranoid. And then of course there was the physical abuse. The doctor had as part of his "team" two, large men who routinely would beat The Joker up, sometimes when he failed to cooperate, other times it seemed for no reason at all. Just for fun."
"Are you quite sure the young man in the footage is the same person as the one now residing in this caves holding cell?" Alfred cut in, clear disbelief in his voice. "It seems to me The Joker would never allow for anyone to treat him so badly."
"I understand it's hard to believe, but something similar happened to him just recently with Quincy Sharp and his guards at Arkham. The Joker is an intimidating figure. But he's not beyond vulnerability. More importantly, if you saw the footage Alfred, you would understand the boy on the tapes isn't the same person as The Joker. Not even. He was just a boy, completely innocent, scared and confused. He had none of the confidence of the man you've met. None of the self-assuredness, none of the malice. He didn't enjoy pain like he seemingly does now, either in himself or in others. He's wholly unrecognizable except for in his physical appearance, his features and build, and his voice is the same. Everything else is different."
"I see." Alfred said.
"But that's only what's on film Alfred." Bruce said. "The Joker did something… something at the abandoned factory which makes me think… which makes me think he may also have been sexually abused."
Alfred's eyebrows rose in shock.
"He was imprisoned there for nearly a year before he escaped." Bruce said in reply. "Most of that time isn't documented."
"Is The Joker himself aware of all this then?" The older man asked.
Batman shook his head.
"No. He doesn't remember any of it. Not consciously. But he has flashbacks, these black out periods where he reverts back to who he was, back to Anthony, and he thinks he's in that laboratory again. It's all buried there, in his mind. But when he snaps out of it, he has no memory of anything. He's subconsciously repressed it."
"And I assume he was having one such flashback when he did whatever it is he did to make you suspect he was, along with everything else, also sexually abused?"
The vigilante nodded.
"And what did he do Master Bruce, if I may be so bold?"
"I was… I was trying to help him, trying to tell him I wasn't going to hurt him, and he kept cringing away from me and begging me not to 'do this', he said. So I asked him what he meant, and then he kept looking around the room like he thought someone else was there. And when I kept coming towards him, trying to show him I meant him no harm, he suddenly started to… to take his cloths off and started mumbling something about how he could do it himself, saying I didn't need 'them' to help."
"Oh dear…" Alfred remarked. "And I gather he didn't recognize you."
"No." Bruce shook his head. "He thought I was the doctor from the tapes."
"What did you do?"
"I grabbed his arms and told him to stop." Batman answered.
"And his reaction? Did he snap out of it?"
Bruce shook his head. "He just sort of went limp and looked away. He was completely afraid. When he's himself, when he's The Joker, he isn't afraid of anything. Least of all me."
"How dreadful." Alfred said, looking back to the monitors. "It almost makes one feel badly for the man."
"Well certainly his life's been anything but easy." Batman said. "It isn't an excuse for what he's become or what he's done, but it emphasizes the fact that he needs help."
"Well I suppose with everything you've told me, it would be rather a shock if he hadn't turned out the way he has." Alfred mused.
Bruce went silent then, remembering how he'd held The Joker down, back at the factory, and told him, essentially, that he was weak for having lost it. And now here Alfred was, his most trusted and loyal friend, saying essentially the opposite.
He wasn't sure how to react to that. So he said nothing at all.
"If I can help him remember, then maybe I can rehabilitate him. And maybe fill in some of the gaps which still remain about him and how he came to be. Everything with him gets fuzzy after he escaped the doctor. There isn't much information at all. I still don't know how he came to don the red hood even."
"A word of caution Sir." Alfred said. "Though you are a man expert in many things, extraordinary in a great many fields, more then any other man I've ever known even, I feel it is my duty to point out that psychiatry is not among them. You should be sure to tread carefully in this endeavor. The Joker is clearly a deeply troubled individual, and any badgering him over the head might result in the opposite of whatever results you intended."
"I know that Alfred." Batman said, his tone annoyed. "You don't need to tell me to be careful!"
"I'm only saying that you should know your limits Sir."
The crusader breathed out heavily.
"I don't have time for this!" He insisted. "I have to meet with Gordon."
"And tell him of your active pursuit in gleaning The Joker's whereabouts?" Alfred remarked sarcastically.
Batman stood abruptly, turning, his cape swirling behind him.
"I'll be back in a few hours." He said, his tone flat. "Don't, under any circumstance, go near or enter The Joker's cell. In fact, I'd prefer for you to leave the premises all together."
"You said yourself Sir that the room is inescapable." Alfred countered.
"I know what I said. I'd just rather be safe then sorry."
"I understand Master Bruce. But if it's just the same, I'd rather stay."
"Fine." Bruce answered. "But remember, stay away from his cell."
"As you wish Sir."
/
Alfred was entirely displeased by the time Bruce had pulled out of the cave and left him there alone. He couldn't help but feel the vigilante was acting rashly and not putting as great an amount of thought in to his most recent decisions as was characteristic of him. He felt Bruce was acting on emotion, more then rational.
He shook his head, looking to the security monitors, starring with fascination at the man inside the holding cell. The Joker had since moved to the room's cot and was now sitting on it, cross legged. He still was finding it almost impossible to associate what the master had told him of The Joker's past with the lunatic he'd so far encountered. He couldn't really imagine the madman as ever having been a child, let alone any sort of innocent taken advantage of and abused.
He just prayed Bruce was right and that the information he'd found was legitimate, that he wasn't being duped by some elaborate scheme of the maniacs. He himself certainly wouldn't put it past The Joker, not after everything he'd seen of him.
"What are you doing to my son?" He asked aloud, absentmindedly, starring at the screen.
And as if in answer, The Joker suddenly began to speak.
"Is Batsy still there? Or has he left; run off to attend his so called duties?"
Alfred started, looking wide eyed at the image.
"Well, I suppose I'll find out soon enough as is." The Joker continued, looking straight ahead. "He'll no doubt come storming in, ready to reduce me to so much dust if he finds me talking to you." He paused. "Of course, assuming you yourself are there, Alfred."
The older man felt his chest tighten in alarm then and he leaned back slightly, glancing quickly towards the cell across the cave and then back to the monitor.
"I may very well be speaking to myself." The Joker went on. "But hey, I'm crazy, right?" He laughed. "So any sort of like behavior shouldn't be thought unusual. Dare I say, expected even? Well anyway, if I know you Alfie, and I do, you're probably at this juncture wondering exhaustedly over what ever is the matter with Brucie-Boy, pondering without respite over his decision to again bring me here, questioning no doubt the soundness of such a decision. And you're right to do so old man. You're boy, after all, and I'm sorry to say this, truly, is in need, severely in need, of intervention. He's quite delusional, you know. You see, he harbors a great many, supposedly sociopathic, frowned upon tendencies, which he plays out every night… out there, on Gotham's so-called criminal element. He takes his feelings of rage and confusion and hatred, and he lets them out on those he considers deserving. It's how he makes himself feel better. You see, Bat-boy secretly hates himself for having those feelings. He thinks it's wrong. The only way for him to deal, then, it to find some form of justification, which conveniently, others have deemed acceptable. Oh, you should see him Alfie! He takes great pleasure in his work! In inflicting pain on to others. But he's chosen who he attacks so very carefully. The dregs of society, at they've been labeled. Those unfortunate souls uncared for and even scorned by the general populace. So instead of inviting their scorn and scrutiny, he elicits their applause! Very clever, our Bat is. He's fooled them, as I'm sure he's fooled you, in to believing he does it all out of some unshakable drive to see justice done. To prevent from ever happening again what happened to him as a boy. But no… no, that's not the real reason. Though he's so deluded, he's probably convinced himself it is. He just likes to hurt, plain and simple, to dominate. To experience that feeling of euphoria which bursts through his veins with the knowledge of being more powerful then everyone else, of being stronger and faster, and smarter. Oh, oh, oh Alfie, I just know this is hard for you to hear! And you're doubtless right now trying to convince yourself it isn't true! That what you're hearing is nothing more then the ramblings of a deranged psychopath, playing games of manipulation. Sadly however, no. I'm completely serious. You want to know how I know this deep, dark secret dear old Brucie would like nothing more then to keep hidden away? Well, I'll tell you. When you've been engaged in as many physical fights with the lad as I have, it becomes painfully apparent, to be honest. Though I could tell this about him since when we first met." He laughed. "You see, he keeps. hitting. Over and over. Even when you've absolutely no chance of fighting back. Even when you've been rendered unconscious, he continues to lay it on, nice. and. thick. Of course, for those with an eye more keen, the evidence lies more so even in the look in his eyes, and the way his mouth curls every so subtly to a smirk. He loves it. Not that I have a problem with that. As well you know, I myself enjoy similar fair. But what I absolutely cannot stand is how vehemently he denies it. It makes me ill, quite frankly. And not many things these days do that." Again he laughed.
And then suddenly he stood, and began pacing around the room, gesturing wildly.
"Doesn't he understand!" He said, his voice rising, sounding suddenly angry. "I only wish to help him! He's completely blind! He thinks I want to hurt him! That I want to take away everything supposedly good in his life. But he's a fool! I don't want to do that! If I did…" He stopped, shaking his head, scoffing. "If I did, there's so much worse I'm capable of. He doesn't even know how angry I could make him, really. I could push him to kill me in an instant. Destroy the imaginary barrier which he thinks keeps us apart. The one he thinks his will power holds in place, heh. I hold back only because I know he isn't ready to accept that he's capable of all the things I am, that the very nature that resides in me resides in him also. He might kill himself if I push him over the edge now. And then what good will I have been to him? None, that's what!" He threw his hands up. "Everything I've ever done to him was only done in an attempt to show him how meaningless it all is! Nothing has any unacceptable consequence in the universe. No action is wrong. He's utterly despondent because he knows this, deep down he does, but he can't accept it! He fights against it with every ounce of his being. But he never can win against what's inevitable. Until he learns that, he'll never be happy. I only want…" He stopped moving then, slumping against the wall. "I only want him to be happy."
And then he went silent, completely, sliding to a sitting position, saying nothing more.
Alfred breathed in sharply. He couldn't believe the rant the lunatic had just gone on! Or the fact that he'd been speaking to him! Worse still had been the things he said. Alfred knew Master Bruce would be furious, that he would never condone what he was about to do, but he couldn't just sit by and let the madman malign him like that.
Releasing the breath, he reached then for the intercom button, pressing it.
"Begging your pardon, young man…" He began, stiffening his voice to a hard edge. "But I will not sit idly by whilst you lambaste and assassinate the character of Master Bruce. You do not know him nearly as well as you fancy, and certainly not near as well as I do. I have known the Wayne family for longer then you have been alive, and I've known Bruce since the time he was born, before there was any Batman or nights of super heroism. Far longer then you. And I can tell you, unequivocally, that you are wrong about him. He is a good and decent man. One so virtuous, in fact, that he has taken it upon himself to lend you a helping hand. And it has to be said, any creature so vile as you yourself are would elicit nothing but scorn from anyone less moralistic. Master Bruce pities you, however, and so, against my own approval, has taken you in, rather then throw you back to the dogs of Arkham, in the hopes that he may cure you. I can see, however, that he indeed will have his hands full with the task. You seem wholly irredeemable to me, and are quite gruesome, if I say so myself."
The Joker sat through the older man's entire speech with a look of astonishment, and by the end of it, Alfred thought he'd been successful in dashing and discrediting the lunatic's diatribe. But his own hopes were themselves destroyed when, after a few, short seconds of silence, the madman erupted in to hysterics, his head falling back, letting loose a long, loud peal of laughter.
"Oh, that's rich!" He crowed. "That's just too much! I see he's got you fooled, as I suspected! You, heehee, you actually believe that hoopla he's given you about wanting to cure me! Ohh, heehee, that's riotous! It really is!" He wiped at his eyes as tears squeezed from their corners he laughed so hard. "Silly old man! Don't be so obtuse! It's nothing but another excuse! He's got me here because he wants me here. He wants me near him! And whether he's aware of it or not, it's because I'm the only person in this world he can relate to! Certainly that person isn't you! You crusted up stiff! With your pathetic need to always remain proper! To keep stoic and unaffected! Presenting to the world the gentleman's gentleman!" He laughed sharply. "You're fooling no one Alfie, least of all me! I know you're type and I know it well. Let me see… You never could stand the reservation you're culture imposed upon you. And of course you longed to break from it in some way. Doubtless by involving yourself in activities requiring a distinct lack of inhibition. I'll just bet you dreamed of a career in the arts, hmm? As an entertainer of some sort? Oh, but you poor boy, you were without the one element necessary to see you through to success, weren't you? And yes, you guessed it. I speak of talent, Alfie! You have no talent. Though I'm sure you had an honest go of it, yes? But alas, you saw quickly it was a road which lead to no where, and so you abandoned it. A wise choice, to be sure. But it wasn't enough, was it Alfie? No. You still longed for excitement, adventure! An escape from the mundane existence you'd grown up knowing, coming from a long line of servants, as I'm positive you did. So you probably did what many young men in your position do. Something foolish and brash, like joining the armed forces. Am I right?" He laughed. "Did you join the royal guard, Alfie? Well, regardless, something happened which led you to realize that out there isn't all roses, hmm? Yes, I'm sure it must have been the horrors of war, ha. It made you come running back to the life you'd known. A life of servitude and control. You figured it was the right way to be then. The only sensible way to be. To rebel against the base behavior inherent in all human beings. To do your best never to display such supposedly vulgar, reprehensible behavior, to never succumb to such repulsive desires as those you observed in others… and unquestionably felt yourself." He chuckled. "Oh, but Alfie, my dear, you cannot repress completely whatever is in your nature. You still pine for something exceptional in your life, don't you? Some sort of escape from the normality of it all. I'll just bet you immerse yourself in mystery novels, hmm? And it must thrill you inside to play lab assistant to our dark detective, no? Lending out your oh so valuable opinion, helping him to crack the case, as it were, heehee. But I know a secret Alfie. Deep down, underneath that unshakable loyalty you so proudly display towards your master, beneath your fierce support of his every action, you're jealous. You're jealous of the life he leads, of what you no doubt romanticize to be his great exploits, out on the city street, living the life of a superhero, as you put it. And that's also a large part of the reason for your loyalty, is it not? You feel guilty harboring such thoughts, and so try to compensate by standing by his side, no matter his decision. But don't think the resentment you feel whenever he looks to shield you from danger is so well concealed as to be undetectable! I saw it there in you, clear as day, when he pulled you away from me and pushed you behind his body. Oh, poor, poor Alfie! How torturous your existence must be! How unsatisfactory."
The room then fell silent, no noise coming from the intercom.
The Joker waited patiently for it to come. And then it did. The sound of the intercom link being cut, and the lunatic exploded in to laughter.
"Oh Alfie, Alfie!" He practically shrieked, his voice pitching higher. "Didn't Batsy warn you? You never should talk to me!"