~All it Takes is a Little Push~

Jack hunted down the man who had killed his wife. He happened to be a computer hacker, a skilled one too. But this amused "Jack" to no end. He found the "monster", tied him up, and imprisioned him in his own house, threatening to kill him (though he intended to anyway) if he didn't modify his own file to have him be listed as a psychopath. Knowing how much society hates them, "Jack" figured it would be a worse torture to have the "man", though Jack never thought of him as human, make his own record.

The monster was crying, big tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping onto the keyboard. He typed "psychopathic rapist" in the blank space of his file.

Jack, feeling no empathy for the terrified killer, chewed his split lip impatiently. "Hurry it up, come on, come on." Jack felt himself slipping. Losing it. His voice didn't even sound the same, but…he should have expected that, shouldn't he? Nothing was the same anymore. Things were forever changed.

"You're a…you're crazy…"

"A-ta-ta-ta." Jack noted his voice didn't sound like his own. It was dark, fierce; it almost scared him. His head throbbed. What was wrong with him? "I'm not crazy. Shut up, and finish that."

The guy typed in a series of keys. "It's done."

"'Bout damn time." Jack threw the gun across the room, and flipped open his lucky knife. He held the blade just bare inches from the man's face. The monster's terrified eyes made Jack feel strangely satisfied.

Jack picked up the rock paperweight and skillfully sharpened his knife. He watched the sweat beads drip down the guys face.

"You wanna know how I got this scars?" he asked, his gold-brown eyes nearly blackish-green with hate. He decided the bastard didn't deserve to know the truth. Hell, even he could feel the memory slipping. He didn't want the decoration for bravery. Jack Mitchell wasn't a hero, Jack Mitchell was dead.

"I fell, off a cliff." Jack put his blade in the man's mouth. "And you know what? Now I see the funny side. Now, I'm always smiling." Jack glared menacingly at his wife's killer. "I'm just a Fool, walking the earth in euphoria. No name, no past. Just undead."

The man gasped for air, he was terrified.

"Smile for the camera," Jack said as he sliced the man's mouth open. He sputtered, spitting blood. Jack just grinned again, giving him a crazed appearance. "You thought I'd kill you quickly didn't you?" He asked as he again sliced through soft flesh of the monster's face and the man screamed in agony. "Don't you know never to believe a Fool's promise?" Jack laughed, but it sounded high and strange, not like him at all. He shoved the killer to the floor, letting the monster drown in his own blood.

He didn't bother to glove his hands as he opened his own file, and hit the delete key. Are you sure you want to delete the following files? Jack Mitchell, MIA, United States Marine Corps. He hit the return key again without a second thought. Deleting now..file processing…please wait... He tapped his fingers on the desk impatiently, noticing the deck of cards that sat on the hard drive. Deletion complete. And now, it would appear as though Jack Mitchell never existed. To the rest of the world, he was a nameless ghost, a terror of the night. Though rather cruel irony. The real Jack Mitchell had died in a torture chamber somewhere in North Korea. As final justice, Jack hit the return key a final time, and took the deck of cards off the top of the hard drive.

"Blook flan, I'ma sowwy!" he splutterred weakly.

Jack didn't reply, rather he left the monster, bleeding on the floor. Then expertly crossed the electrical wires connected to the breaker. He walked out, letting the door slam behind him. As the house burst into flames, and the pipes exploded, Jack looked back, satisfied. He flipped a card off the top of the deck. The trump. The Fool. The Joker.

Jack Mitchell was dead. The Joker lived.