Meli-Mel150-You're telling me.
The dummy looks like Joker.
Well. It's not a dummy. Scarface is a dummy. This is technically a mannequin, done up to look like Joker. And it's good; it's the same size, the same proportions, the same horrid tailored purple suit. But instead of a head, there's a TV screen there. Sometimes the clown will come on-just his head, to complete it-and. Talk to him. It's been here for his admittedly brief periods of consciousness for...he's not sure how many days. He doesn't know. All he knows, really, is that he's going to die down here.
Or maybe that's just a fool's hope.
Today, the screen is blank. Jason's been awake for longer than usual this time, at least half an hour. He's not restrained, but he's not stupid. He knows the door's locked, and if it isn't, that's because somebody's waiting on the other side of it. Or it's booby-trapped. Or maybe even both. Besides, his ankle's...it's not...it's broken again. Or. It's half-healed, he can hobble-barely, painfully-but stairs? Probably not.
Everything hurts, but not as bad as it could. Nobody's been down for...a few sleeps, but there's a tray of food over there. He's not hungry enough to risk it. Last one had Joker toxin in the water, and his ribs still ache from that.
He hates that goddamn mannequin. The way it slumps in the chair all comfy, the way it feels like it's watching him, the way he can never remember what pose it's in. Like now. He could've sworn it had an arm flung over the back of the chair. But he's tired, hungry, hurting and possibly still reeling from whatever Harley shoved down his throat last time, and he was wrong. The arms are hanging down.
Unobservant, stupid little fool...no wonder Batman left you.
A surge of anger and pain chases the chill from his fingers. This is the mannequin's fault, making him remember…
To hell with it. To hell with it and Batman and Joker. Joker wants to talk at him so bad, he can come down here himself.
He heaves himself up and struggles towards it. He'll pay for this, but…
At least someone'll come down while he's awake.
He takes a swing at the TV-
-only for a hand to snatch his wrist.
The sudden upset to his already precarious balance sends him plummeting towards the floor, held half-up by the hand. Joker stands up, pushing the damn TV to the ground and oh God no please no he didn't mean it-
"Naught, naughty, Todders!" He goes limp. It's his only defense. "I come down to keep you company, and this is the thanks I get?"
"No, no…"
The expected hit doesn't come. He's left half-dangling while Joker twists and bends to turn the TV on. It shows a lab, and an inmate. And Harley. Richardson's there too, but not Crane. What…
"-vitals are fine," Richardson's saying. "He'll live or he won't, but Jonathan's gone ahead with treatment on unhealthier ones than this."
"Aw, thanks for doin' me a solid!"
"Mm. Remember, veins, not muscles. Otherwise he might...pop. Again."
What the hell are they doing?
He risks glancing at Joker, but the clown's just giggling and dancing a little in place.
On-screen, Richardson leaves and Harley stomps forward, syringe in hand. The inmate looks more than a little apprehensive, but he's still while Harley injects him. She backflips away and. And the man. He starts screaming, awful, agonized shrieks. He's jerking, he's...rippling...he's growing. Like Bane.
Joker drops him to clap and he can't quite break his fall. There's an awful tearing noise-flesh, it's flesh, the bones are ripping out of the man's goddamn back-and then silence.
Not all of him is big. His leg is normal-sized still. So's his head, but his eyes. They're not. They popped open, gooey white and red leaking down his cheeks.
Joker turns to him and crouches down, gathers him in his arms and cradles him against his chest.
"Now you be a good boy, Jason," he says between giggles, "or that'll be you. Maybe you handle it better, maybe you won't."
He nods, trying not to shake, and Joker kisses his temple. He shudders. He can't help it.
"You ungrateful little brat-!"
And that's all the warning he gets before his head's slammed into the tiles. When he wakes up again, he's tied to the chair.
There's no mannequin this time.
THE END