Now

Gotham City, Maryland

"I like my town… with a little drop of poison." sang the man in the purple suit, the lacerated corner of his mouth twitching into a gruesome smile, cracking the thick layer of eggshell-white grease paint.

The Joker hung his head, and stayed completely still for the better part of a minute, increasing the silent panic in city hall, causing the hearts of the dozens and dozens of hostages to race faster than they had for the past twenty minutes.

Finally, a sinister, growl-like voice emitting from the statuesque horror, beckoning one of its lieutenants,

"Harley?"

Harley, a frail blond woman of her late twenties brandishing an Uzi snapped out of her own world and looked up toward the Joker.

"Puddin'?"

"Has an hour passed?"

"It's only been twenty-six minutes, Mister J."

"Is the gimp here, yet?"

"Um, no."

The Joker sighed.

"That's disappointing. Time was when we'd threaten a family of four, he'd come with guns blazing. Now we've got the city's rich and powerful and he can't be bothered, I tell ya, Harley. The man's loosing his edge, it's like he doesn't care anymore."

"No body knows… They're lining up to go and sing."

"Don't, Harley. Tom Waits would roll in his grave." Said the Joker as he picked up an automatic rifle off the bench he sat on.


Earlier

The black dodge barreled down the road running through the woods, the engine rumbling with a seductive roar as raindrops bounced off its tinted windows.

"How far are we?" asked Sayid as he solved the crossword puzzle in a copy of the Metropolis Daily Planet.

"About forty five minutes outside city limits. Seventeen." Said Priest as he sat behind the wheel.

"That counted?"

"I don't make the rules. Sixteen."

"Sevent..?! Hhhh, are you alive?"

"Yes. Fifteen."

"Are you in arts or entertainment?"

"No…. Look, it stopped raining. You mind if we stop? I need to have a pish."

"It's not sundown yet."

"It's cloudy. I won't catch fire, it feels a little humid but I'll be fine."

"Go on then."

Priest took his foot off the gas pedal and pressed the breaks till the car came to a smooth stop at the side of the road. Both passengers stepped out of the car whose engine was kept running. Sayid leaned with his back to the door he stepped out of and opened a thermos he carried, pouring himself a cup of tea while Priest headed into the woods.

"Hey, Sayid. You ever been to Gotham?" called Priest from the bushes.

"No."

"Well it's just like New York. New York below Fifteenth Street on the coldest night in November at half-past-midnight."

"Seeing as how you do mind talking while you're having your piss. Might I ask why were you so eager to volunteer to come here with me?"

"Mona was going to tell me to anyway, only she, I and O'Brien have ever been to Gotham. She can't just up and leave and O'Brien's an idiot."

"I could have come alone. And it's not like I need watching over."

"Well, you're brown, and his is a very paranoid time we live in. Besides, I needed a break from Kroenen."

"You really don't like him."

"I'm sorry; do you like the mass-murdering Nazi war criminal?"

"He's a tool. You wouldn't be opposed to firing a Lugar, would you?"

"I don't use guns. And fuck him. Do you know I met him before?"

"When?"

"World War 2. Castle Wolfenstein. The little shitbag hacked off half my palm before I managed to punt him out of a church tower….. Sayid, tell me you packed a fresh change of clothes."

"Why?" asked Sayid, sipping his tea, "Did you soil yourself?"

"Oh." Said Priest as he emerged from the woods, smiling with glee, thick crimson dripping down his chin and drenching his shirt, "You can say that."


Now

"I'm bored, Mister J." said Harley, uneasily fidgeting with her Uzi, "Can we start killing all these people?"

"Is it time, yet?"

"He's still got twenty minutes to be here."

"Then no." said the Joker, and then got up and took off his jacket, revealing holstered magnums below each arm.

The crowd gasped as the painted mass murderer pulled one of them out, and braced themselves for what they knew was inevitable. But far from firing his revolver madly into the crowd, the Joker whipped it to the side, swinging out the cylinder, taking all bullets out but one then slapped the side of it causing the drum to spin and return and lock into its position.

"My audience, I do apologize." Spoke the Joker softly, yet remained as menacing as ever, "I realize that many of you would rather be not under the threat of gruesome death, and I realize that all of you are growing impatient with the delay of our main event. Therefore allow me the pleasure of entertaining you with that most wonderful of discarded arts…. Russian Roulette."

The Joker continued amid screams of horror and fainting yelps, "Invented by Mikhail Bakunin and Mikhail Lermontov in 1870 while in a bar in Minsk, for the purpose of impressing a salty trio of whore-sisters and weaseling their way into a free ride, pardon my French. Hehehehhhe.. I'm going to need a volunteer. Anyone?"

"Can I play, Mister J?"

"Harley. Sit down, look remotely pretty."

"Hmph."

"Anyone?" called the Joker, "Tell you what, I'll go first."

The Joker calmly raised the revolver and pressed it to the bottom of his chin, and without a care in the world pulled the trigger.

"Easy as that. Who wants to go now? Oh, I know. How about dear Police Commissioner Jack Grogan? Boys, get me the commish."

Two of the Joker's men went to where the Commissioner was, kneeling on the ground with his hands tied behind his head. He was brought before the Joker, quite against his will. He was kicked in the knees and made to kneel before the murdering clown.

Grogan looked up at the Joker with a look of rage and panic in his eyes, and said something muffled by the gag in his mouth.

"What was that, Jack? You want me to do the honor? Hehehhehh. Why, sure I will!"

The Joker raised the gun to the Commissioner Grogan's forehead and pulled the trigger.


Earlier

"For fuck's sake, Sayid. It was a damn fox that I ate in the woods. A wounded one at that; I put the poor thing out of its misery."

"It's still disturbing," said Sayid, "Don't ever do it around me again."

"Hmph. Lightweight." Said Priest as Sayid pulled up the car by a diner just inside the city limits.

"Do you want anything from inside?"

"No. And don't kill anyone."

"I'll try."

Priest took off his sunglasses as he walked up to the door and pushed it open, stepping into the diner and taking several steps before noticing the gun pointed at him.

"Stay where you're at, shitbag. Get on your knees."

Priest looked around at the patrons, frozen with fear, and then calmly looked at the woman brandishing it, and felt a flash of recognition as he saw the familiar face.

"She said get on your knees, you cunt!"

Before the man spoke, Priest knew he would speak in a British accent, and then it all came back to him, he remembered where he saw the couple, the blonde man and the auburn haired woman of middle age.

"Yolanda!" said Priest with a toothy grin.

"What? How the fuck do you know her name?" demanded the Englishman.

"New Jersey, last November. You were sticking up the place and made a mess of it….. I see that hasn't cooled you off."

"Whatever, get on your knees." Said Yolanda unconfidently, "Give me your watch and your wallet."

"You sure you don't want to let me go for old time's sake?"

"Shut the fuck-"

"Thought so."

Priest reached forward and grabbed Yolanda's wrist, twisted her into an excruciating armbar that forced her to relinquish her gun while Priest used her as a shield between himself and the Englishman.

"Let her go!" yelled the Englishman, waving his pistol carelessly.

"Shan't." growled Priest as his eyes turned a deeper shade of black and his fangs bulged and caressed Yolanda's pale neck to the shock and horror of the patrons, the Englishman first and foremost. Yolanda whimpered in fear and anguish.

"What the fuck??"

"I have this madam's gun; I can shoot you in neck, shattering your spine while I rip through Yolanda's neck. You'd both be dead under two seconds and it'd feel like weeks. But I just gave my word to a chap outside that I would try my best not to kill anyone, I didn't expect that I'd have to live up to that promise, but here we are. Your move, my old China."

"Timmy, do what he says!"

"Fine, fine." Said the Englishman as he laid his gun on the counter and got down on his knees, "I give up, just let her go."

"Toss the gun over to me."

Tim did as he was asked and tossed the gun, and while the weapon was in mid air Priest violently shoved Yolanda towards him, knocking them both to the ground.

As the two crooks were on the ground, Priest headed to a table where two young women. They shirked as he reached below the table, only to see hi retrieve a cell phone wrapped in tape.

"You should start running."

"What?" asked one of the young women.

"I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to Bonnie and Clyde."

"What?" asked Tim, "Why?"

"I'm giving you a chance, Timmy. We crooks are meant to stick together. Now get up and leg it. And nobody dare stop them, alright?"

Yolanda and Timmy exchanged a look of before scrambling to their feet and bolting toward the door.


Sayid listened intently as he sat inside the car and adjusted the radio knob. The music's pitch had grown low and was becoming overcome by static, it soon become obvious to Sayid that his efforts were pointless as it was not a problem with the reception.

Soon enough the music was cut and a deep, toneless voice droned.

"Good evening, Gotham. This is the Joker speaking."

Sayid's eyebrows rose as he listened to this most odd broadcast.

"Sometimes I can only remember the day I made, and there sometimes I remember cycling down Kane Street, in that vision I have pigtails so I'm not sure what to think. Point is; for as long as I remember this town has been run by the greedy and the corrupt, the self-serving politicians and fashionless mobsters.

"And just when we were at out lowest, when we were about to despair, arose a man in a black rubber suit to dispense justice with unabashed ruthlessness. This will not stand, I, as a proud citizen of Gotham refuse to give in. I will not be ruled by bat or by the harsh baton of authority. I have taken it upon myself to give this city the kick in the pants it really needs, which is why I've taken over city hall.

"The mayor is here, as is the commissioner, the public advocate and a group of multiethnic and adorable little, innocent children. And unless the Batman shows his ugly mug over here in one hour or less, I will start killing people. I hope you have a pleasant evening, please enjoy yourselves as we return to your scheduled programming."

The static rose and was soon replaced with music.


Now

"Well," said the Joker as he took a whiff, savoring the smells of blood and cordite, "That ended quick."

Screams of horror echoed through city hall as the Joker slipped his gun back into its holster and stepped over Commissioner Grogan's body, without noticing or caring that he had stepped into his brains.

"Time?"

"We're Seventeen minutes away, puddin'." Said Harley, "Why don't you kill someone else, Mister J?"

"Because his hour isn't up, yet."

"But-"

"That was different; there was no telling which one of us was going to do. When the hour is up, people WILL start dying."

The Joker took his jacket back on, and then picked up his Thompson and asked,

"What did you say the time was?"

"Sixteen minutes to go."

"Sixteen? Well, fuck it. Let's pretend a whole hour has passed."

The Joker turned around, preparing to fire into the crowd, only to be met with a figure cloaked in black.

"Joker…" said growled the Batman.

"Bats, you took your sweet ass time getting here. Don't you care about these people anymore? Huh? What have you to say for yourself?"

"Let's get this over with; what do you want for their lives?"

The Joker took a step back, sizing up his adversary.

"Are…. Did you loose some height? I seem to remember you…. Taller."

"What do you want for these people's lives, Joker?"

"And who said I intended on sparing them if you came?" asked the Joker as he gave Batman his back, while a number of his men aimed their machine guns at him.

"In that case what's to stop me from feeding you your arm?"

"A general lack of balls. Face it, if you had it in you, you would have done it over two years ago when we first met." Said the Joker, "And as for what you can do…."

The Joker spun around, expertly took his aim and pulled the trigger. Batman was torn from his feet and knocked to the ground.

"…You can lay there for a few seconds. Boys, bonfire time."

Amid cries of horror and screams of outrage, the Batman was doused with gasoline.

The Joker stood before his fallen enemy who lay flailing on the ground, lighting a pipe with a wooden match. He took a few consecutive puffs, glumly looking upward toward the skylight.

"This doesn't feel right; I always thought the end of us would come after a long, drawn out battle of wits, detective versus criminal mastermind, and bat versus clown. It's a shame that it's going to end this way, with you getting set on fire like some other unlucky asshole… Hell, bats, I'm gonna miss ya."

And with that, the Joker dropped the match, setting the Batman ablaze.


R&R.

Next Chapter: Weirdness.