Ernestina, Eris, Aequitas: to obtain that which is just we must ask that which is unjust.
AN: It's been a wild ride. This marks the end of…the beginning.
Paltron will strike out on her own. In the next set of interim chapters, 'post-Legacy' arcs will follow Commissioner Gordon, Detective Aaron Lawless, billionaire Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, FBI Deputy Director Dan Murray (OC), and consultant Edward Nashton along with other members of Gotham's public services as they begin to confront the loss of one of their own and the dangerously rising tide of violence in their city.
The question is posed: What wouldn't you do to stop the Joker?
The answer is given: How far is too far?
The debate…has only just begun.
Rating: This chapter is rated M for Joker-style violence and disturbing psychological themes.
For clarification: The events depicted in this chapter occurred on August 25th at TV 18 Studios. They were alluded to when Paltron was watching the news at Green Street Pharmacy in Deus Ex Machina, and again when she arrived at TV 18 in Ruinosus/Servatrix and met Aaron Lawless, Jim Gordon, Lucius Fox and Bruce Wayne.
The following video is taken from the GCPD file of John Doe #387, Alias The Joker.
The victim in the video has been positively identified as Christopher Holden by next of kin. Mr. Holden's remains were released to his family on August 27th, and interred in Southside Cemetery.
Seven others were wounded and treated at Methodist Hospital for gun shot wounds. Three remain in ICU under critical condition. Official IA reports note and the content of this video confirms SWAT acted using the believed necessary force. All members of the responding squad remain on psychological leave and are currently receiving counseling and psychiatric treatment from GCPD Mental Health Services.
Note: As this video contains disturbing psychological content and records the death of a recognizable public figure, no part has been deemed releasable to the public media.
Additional Note: Official copies have been sent to Dan Murray, FBI Director Gotham City Branch and Jeremiah Arkham, Doctor of Psychiatry and director of Arkham Asylum for review and analysis.
Colors are bright. Lines crisp. The camera faces the corner of a room, both adjoining walls monotonous blue screens. A ruddy man sits behind a desk emblazoned with the logo: TV 18.
"And next up, we will have a special guest interview." The man says genially, with practiced poise. The camera pans slowly and steadily to a second chair, where a large, middle aged, and slightly balding businessman smiles back nervously. "GCPSC Superintendent Reginald Baxter will be discussing how officials are seeking to deal with the loss of teaching personnel, and the future of the 2030 school year." An instrumental interlude begins to play, sounding somewhat like elevator music. The reporter swivels expertly to the B unit, and finishes the segment:
"I'm Chris Holden, and this is TV 18 wishing our watchers a 'Good Morning, Gotham'!"
Pause. There are several seconds of silence. The man's smile seems frozen upon his face. Suddenly he relaxes, stretches, and the speakers begin to pick up ambient noise.
"Thanks again, Mr. Baxter." Holden says, rising with one hand outstretched. "I know you've been extremely busy putting the school systems back together, and I appreciate your time."
Their hands meet, and clasp firmly. "You ask me, we should shut 'em down for the semester." Reginald Baxter says gloomily. "Perhaps the year. Going on like this has been tough. Tough on everybody. I know it's about sending a message to the kids, but what do you do when you're short of staff anyways, half your teaching staff just got murdered, missing, or hospitalized, and a 30 year veteran has a nervous breakdown in front of 35 six year olds? We're sending mixed messages to these kids." He frowns, deep jowls appearing on his pudgy face. "And I don't like it. Not at all."
"Isn't it true you've got some satellite classes coming into the high schools?"
"Yeah. Yeah that's worked fairly well. But they're the ones I'm most worried about." Baxter admits lowly. "Child psychology be damned, it's the teens and preteens joining gangs. Attacking police, national guard…even joining those 'Joker-fan' groups on Facebook."
"Joker-fan groups?" Holden asks with alarm. "Why haven't I heard anything about those?"
"We're keeping it on the down low. GCPD, gang task force sort of stuff. We figure the less publicity, the less people'll know, and the less recruits these creeps are going to get."
"I don't like being kept in the dark, Mr. Baxter." The reporter scowls. " If this is important news Gotham deserves to know about it. Parents deserve to know about it."
"Yeah, and kids deserve a good education, free from worries about gangs and drug related violence; good, nurturing homes with two-parent families and a justice system not dependent on the assistance of violent vigilantes." The shorter man shrugs. "But that doesn't mean I can always give it to 'em. Freedom of the press, meet reality. And let me tell you now, sometimes it sucks."
"Yeah." Holden agrees. "Balls."
The pudgy man cracks a genuine grin. "That's it, Mr. Holden, that's just it. But I don't see you using that turn of phrase during live broadcasts. FCC might have something to say about it."
"Roger that." Holden laughs. "There's coffee and Danishes in the break room, if you're interested." He glances down to his watch. "Beck's segment should last another five minutes, and there's commercials on top of that."
Footsteps. Chatter. The clunking of high heels.
"Another great segment, Chris." A sardonic female voice comes from off camera. It is a barely concealed sneer.
"Thanks, Cam." The man replies, shoulders rigid. He turns slowly to face the set.
A blonde-haired woman enters the shot, stalking across the scene. She is slender but not overly short. She is perhaps in her mid-twenties, with immaculate hair that falls past her shoulders.
"You sent her. You sent James. Oh yeah, and on the nineteenth, you sent Tanaka!" Her right index finger jabs the air accusingly.
"Would you rather I sent you instead?" Holden asks, strain apparent in both his voice and expression. "Gotham lost a lot of people that day. Great people. We lost a lot of great people-"
"This isn't about the people, this is about the stories! Resume builders! You give the good stories to everyone else! I've got a masters in communication and Trisha barely scraped a bachelors and you always sent her instead, you gave her a spot on Good Morning, Gotham, for God's sakes-"
"You think I wanted to send Trish?" Holden asks, hands thrown up in exasperation. "You don't think I regretted it then? That I don't regret it now? Do you have any idea how much of an asshole I felt sending her even though I knew her family'd be there and you were free? Stop the Violence was the best thing that's happened to Gotham since the Batman, and I had to have the star power to cover it. And Cam, you just don't cut it!"
"I don't cut it-? I'm the most qualified reporter on your fucking news channel! " The woman snaps.
"Academic credentials don't mean anything, Cam." Holden sighs. "Not to me. I needed someone with poise, intelligence and class-"
"-oh, that's rich, Chris. Real rich." She sneers.
"I don't know who you think you are, Cam. Actually, I do. You think you're an overworked, underappreciated intelligent woman with a right to bitch because her boyfriend left her." The reporter says coldly, crossing his arms. "You probably don't even think you've done anything wrong. But I'm going to tell you now I'm not the kind of whipped jackass loser that's fine with his fiancée cheating on him."
"I didn't do it because I was unhappy! I did it for the stories! Those were great stories, Chris! You'd have done anything for them-" She rushes passionately.
"You were part of a great story, Cam. Ours. Don't you get that? But you're right…. I'd have done anything for those stories. Anything but betray you."
The woman's face contorts, eyes narrowing piggishly. "Bullshit. Does the name Natalie ring a bell?"
"If you don't want to appear so shallow, Cam, I'll share some advice: stop surrounding yourself by deeper people. Natalie's always been a better person than you." Holden says, running fingers tiredly through his thick hair. "I was just too committed to you to see it."
The reporter sighs and begins to walk.
"I wasn't emotionally involved! Not once! You'd never even known if Trisha hadn't told you-!" She calls to his retreating back.
Chris Holden turns regretfully on the spot. "That's because Trisha Tanaka was ten times the woman you'll ever be, Cam." He states with finality.
"She was a Jap twat in trouble with the law!" Shaw shouts, her pretty face gone puffy and blotched. All ambient chatter in the speakers ceases, replaced by gasps of outrage and shock. "Just a pretty face with a decent enough rack to sell your goddamn show-"
"Cam, I didn't fire you when we broke up. I've kept you on, given you a job and I've been more than fair. But I've had it up to here, Cam. Up to here!" Chris Holden says, shaking in fury, ruddy face gone a deep, rich red. "You say what you want about me, about my shitty studio, you snap and bitch and moan to the interns all you want but you do not ever insult Trisha Tanaka in front of me!"
SLAP! The strike is swift and snakelike. The sudden, smacking sound momentarily seems as though it must come from off camera. "See if make up can cover that, bastard. " The woman spits. "Consider that my resignation."
There is a stampede of footsteps. Shouts of shock and outrage as the reporter cringes and holds his bleeding face. "Chris-!" The man is instantly surrounded by a swarming crowd. Insults are thrown heatedly to the woman slowly growing smaller in the shot. They are not returned except in gesture-a middle finger jabbed crudely behind her head.
A rushed, garble of words as the gathered crowd seeks to share their opinions as one:
"You should've fired that bitch ages ago-"
"Charge her with assault-"
"Just let me at her, let me at her I'll kick her ass-"
"-you believe she be talkin' bout Trisha like dat?"
"It's alright, it's alright!" Holden finally responds, holding his hands up to signal everyone's attention. Over the next fifteen seconds the room goes begrudgingly silent in respect, but faces and posture show a deep-seated rage.
"How much time till we're on air?" Holden asks.
"Little over a minute." A timid intern squeaks.
"Okay…okay…someone tell Beck to stall it if she can. Bring me some ice and have make up come in here stat. And call security. Have Shaw escorted off the property."
The crowd immediately breaks up, and the next sixty-three seconds seem to happen in rapid fire, time-lapse photography. Ice is brought. The make-up crew rapidly surrounds the news anchor, applying cold compress and more foundation. Reginald Baxter saunters in, sipping a coffee and looking quite alarmed. He too is swept into the whirlwind, touched up, and all traces of crumbs and sugar icing are swept expertly off his grey suit jacket and pinstriped tie. The men are seated. Powdered. Glug a last swallow from hidden water bottles. Laugh. Shuffle notes-
"Mr. Holden…Mr. Holden security's not picking up-" that same squeaky voice peeps panicky from off camera.
Unconcerned. Mild intrigue. "What do you mean not picking up?'
"I –I mean there's radio silence-"
And in that moment of absolute, ordered calm, everything goes to hell. Screams. Pandemonium. The speakers blare painfully. Swarms of staff run for the emergency exit heedless and trampling Just stay calm just everybody stay calm! The dolly topples, swirls wildly under a rush of feet and legs, kicked and battered every direction the room is spinning spinning dark figures with white paint an anonymous army of shadowy clowns goes whirring by again and again there is chaos blue screens the lens is cracked trampling shoes falling faces cracking bone dizzying sickening vomitous spinning faster and faster a kaleidoscope of chaos and colors then slower, slower, slowing, stops...
The camera lurches and is righted, filled full to the brim and overflowing with a sinister, sickening smile. White paint. Red smears. Yellow teeth and noisome, infected gums. The scratched speakers erupt in chilling, high-pitched giggles. The camera sways drunkenly, held under arm.
More clowns trickle in the herd shrieks and stampedes away from the emergency exit surrounded, hemmed, pressed as uniformed men with guns enter the shot from all directions, every single face covered in grease paint and a sinister sneer.
Sudden, falling jolt. The camera is handed off again, lolling drunkenly. The Joker's face appears in the unsteady window in an eternal smile. "Alriiiight, everybody! Good Morning, Gotham! You have no idea how long I've wanted to uh, say that. As you all might have guessed, there's been a change of plans for today's show! You're all about to be participants in a little, uh, social experiment! So would everyone please, stay calm and take the tubes of pain-t? "
The clowns surge roughly forward, herding the civilians on to the set in a single file line. White tubes are shoved forcefully into every pair of shaking hands. Those that refuse or drop are beaten severely."Okay, yeah, great." The Joker comments happily, oblivious to the chaos still unfolding behind him. " And now, let's see, today's show…
Is there a Mr. Reginald Baxter in the uh…audience?"
"Step right up, step on up, don't be uh…don't be shy!" The Joker calls invitingly. "Reggie, come on down!" He continues to gesture grandly for nearly thirty seconds, changing his posturing and voice from inviting to quietly menacing.
"No one? Hmmm? No one named Mr. Reginald Baxter? No one at all?" The Clown stops, expression cold. He begins to pace, a bright, hallucinatory figure before the crowd of dark suits and dress pants. The drab people are trembling, looking away, avoiding his gaze. More than one falls shakily to the floor. This continues for nearly two minutes, the echoing footfalls punctuated only by soft sobs and moans.
But finally the Clown finds what he is looking for. The third civilian from the left. She is young. Short. Has studio makeup running in long smears down her pallid face. During this long ordeal, she has not once raised her eyes from the floor. The Clown stops. The girl stiffens.
Curiously he cocks his head, although pondering childishly what should happen next. The Joker leans forward until his nose nearly touches the top of her dark hair. He raises a gloved hand and lifts her chin roughly, forcing her to stare into his greedy yellow eyes. "You haven't seen uh, Reggie, have you, doll face?" He asks boredly, his free hand absently twirling a switchblade.
"H-him!" The little intern squeaks piteously, her trembling arm now raised and pointing to the right. "It's h-him!"
"Good girl." The Joker pats her cheek with a seductive purr. "You just had that uh, that intelligent look about you. Knew I could count on you. It's why you go the job, see? I'm a good judge of character. You looked like the type of person who'd be smart enough to betray a stranger in order to save her skin…. After all, it's not like it's anyone you know, right?" The Joker titters and winks knowingly. Then, as abruptly as he grabbed her, he releases her and wheels to face the frightened crowd. The girl collapses, forgotten, on the ground.
"Okay, next question!" The Joker announces. "Is there a uh, Trisha Tanaka?"
There are ten seconds of sickening silence, broken only by the Clown's heady breathing. "Has anybody seen her?" He heckles the crowd, poking and prodding as though expecting to find her hidden amongst them. "Anybody seen Trisha? Real short. Dark hair. Slanty eyes. Nice tits…have you seen her? No? And not you, either? No? No-oo? But isn't this TV uh, 18?"
"Trisha Tanaka is dead." An authoritative voice rings. There is a sudden, sinister hush. It seems as though the speakers have malfunctioned. But then-
A ruddy man steps forward. Chris Holden. "But you already knew that, didn't you."
The Joker smiles lustily. "And behind door number three…" He breathes. "Mr. Holden, I presume." In slow, purposeful strides the Joker approaches the news anchor, hand outstretched mockingly. Christopher Holden stares down at the hand, then into that painted face with cool, controlled contempt. In the background, the transfiguring employees begin to sob.
"What. You're not…scared?" The Clown feigns surprise.
"Get off my set." Holden demands with the utmost dignity. "Get out of my studio."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Chrissy. Ya see, I've got a hmmm, segment. A segment to shoot. And you wouldn't want to get in the way of breaking news, now would you?"
"Don't take the paint." Holden ignores the Joker to address his co-workers calmly. "Whatever he does, whatever he promises, don't put it on."
"I'd uh, belay that little order if I were you." The Joker interjects. "Ya see folks, if you put the paint on, I'll uh, I'll promise not to hurt you."
"You're a murderer. Your promises mean nothing." The reporter returns. Beads of sweat have begun to form on his brow and upper lip, and his reddish skin has gone pale.
"No…you see, that's a mistake, folks. I'm a man of my word!" The Clown counters grandly.
"You're a liar."
"Am…not." The Joker hisses.
"Mike Engel is a friend of mine." Holden states curtly. "You promised not to hurt him or kill him if he cooperated…but you intended to. You dressed all of those civilians up to have them killed by the SWAT team. And if Batman hadn't stopped you, they'd all be dead. Along with the SWAT members, too. "The Joker licks his lips as though parched, drinking the man's words greedily. Even now the prospect is still salivating.
"That was your point, wasn't it? Getting them to kill themselves out of grief? Or at least destroy their lives. No, Mr. Whoever you are, if you want to make yourself a video, do it. But you'll do it without the help and support of me or this studio. We're not going to help you destroy Gotham." The reporter concludes. Behind him, men and women in suits apply streaks of greasy white paint with shaking hands.
"That's…too bad. " The Joker says in mock disappointment. "We could've used the uh, star power."
"You can threaten me, threaten my staff all you want. But if you want to broadcast anything you'll have to kill us. All of us. Just like you killed that cop. I knew him, too. He was good Kid. And yeah, you scared the shit out of a lot of people with that video, but it had some effects that someone like you could never anticipate." Holden continues, his very voice beginning to shake.
"Oh?" The Joker blinks owlishly. "Such as?"
"Now Gotham knows we don't have to kill you to win. We don't even have to catch you. It doesn't matter if we're killed or tortured, if we choose to eat each other…Connolly was right. You're not God. And no matter how much chaos you throw at this city, no matter how much hell you unleash, if one person, just one, is still willing to stand up to you…you lose."
"That's uh…and interesting theory. But you see the problem with your little old theory is after awhile, there ain't going to be anyone…left." The clown smacks his lips appreciatively. "Uh, how many of the rest of you agree with Mr. Holden here about the whole dying thing? Remember, yearly reviews are coming up soon so tenure and raises might coun-t on it…"
But the crowd behind them has disappeared into a bleak, Cheshire anonymity. The innocent and perpetrators have become indistinguishable. "Oh, no one?" The Joker jeers. "So very…disappointing."
The clown turns back to the perspiring reporter. "See?"
"There's still the Batman." Holden returns calmly.
"I know." The Clown replies, sensuously slicking grease and paint-sodden curls behind his left ear. "I know. Ya see, there's some very, very strange folks like…well, like you and Johnnie and the Bat who seem to uh, think that if you don't let me, I can't use you as a part of my…hmmm…greater plans. But you're wrong. So. Very. Wrong. You see, this is much, much more fun, don't you think? This little conversation here? I don't know about you but I'm terrible at improv. I'm more of a uh…situational sort of humor guy. So it's much better to have an ex-per-i-enced conversationalist like you do the talking uh…for me."
There is a long, long pause. Chris Holden shuts his eyes once in defeat.
"I'm a great judge of character, Chrissy! You're so honest. Idealistic. Just like our friend Johnnie! I'll at least give you that. Ya see, I could've gone for the biiig networks. Some big names. I even considered CNN! But I didn't-tuh." The Clown enunciates, hefting a heavy, blunt blade from his innumerable pockets. "I choose this studio. Ya see, Chrissy, I choose…you. Just watching your show I could tell you were the type of misguided do-gooder who'd rather die than live the rest of his life knowing he's a ball-less coward. And I admire that, Chrissy. I really do."'
"So it didn't matter what I did." Holden states bluntly. "You were going to kill me anyways."
"Uh… yeah." The Joker confesses candidly. " Pretty much. Any um, more last words?" The Clown says, twirling the meat cleaver, it's long, rectangular blade near white in the sheen of the studio lights.
Chris Holden blinks. Trembles. Opens his mouth. "Natalie, I lov-"
There is a sickening THWACK and a crunch of bone as something dark and red goes dripping down the lens. The speakers blare with cries and yells, sobs youbastardyoubastardChris, Chris ohGodChris-! and the crackle of static from the overload. The handle is visible in a gaping pool of blood, shocking scarlet spurts in splaying arcs. The Joker smiles appreciatively, then rips the headset from the dying reporter's ears.
Pausing only briefly for dramatic effect, he turns purposefully towards the blood-splattered lens. "Good Morning, Gothaaaamm!"
He frowns, furrows and wrinkles appearing in those deep, pocked cheeks. One purple-gloved finger reaches and taps three times on the tiny microphone. "Is this uh, is this thing on-?"
Final Note: What follows is the death of GCPSC Superintendent Reginald Baxter, which was broadcasted on public television on August 25th to more than six million viewers. The FCC has made it illegal for networks to air any part of this publicized clip under pain of a $250,000 fine per second of film. As this footage has since re-appeared on other media outlets such as popular networking sites Facebook, MySpace and YouTube, FBI is working with those companies to remove clips and de-activate participating accounts.
Facebook groups In Joker We Trust, Scars and Stripes Forever, Laugh Sinner the End is Nigh and Why So Serious have been disbanded and their creators brought in for interrogation. Thirty members of these so-called Joker-fan groups are currently in federal custody for questioning, with over two hundred more under surveillance by FBI and homeland security joint task force teams.
