Disclaimer:I do not own any Batman Begins/ Dark Knight characters. All other characters are mine.
Another wave of hunger groaned from her stomach, pain clenched at her sides and the acidic taste of bile burned her throat.
But she still refused to eat.
The small tray of canned spaghetti and apple slices was lying dejected in the corner of the room, along with four others each varying in freshness.
Her reasoning was that she had one last attempt at revolt, at defiance, and she would die fighting her captors.
Every 3 hours, a 'radar' alarm would blast through hidden speakers in her bunker cell.
She was sleep deprived, hungry, and ready to fucking die already.
Maybe it was the consistent ear-splitting alarm, or the nausea caused by fatigue and lack of eating; whatever it was, Cat found herself less willing to fight back whenever men in clown masks unlocked the door to administer a painful beating.
This would almost be bearable, given that there were only 2 men landing blow after blow on her ribcage and stomach, but the brass-knuckles they always seemed to carry broke her skin, her bones, and her spirit.
She was so cold in her cell. By the third day of starvation, her body was using all its precious energy and glucose just to keep her heart beating and her brain processing, so she was left with the heating capacity of a block of ice.
Cat had been taught advanced biology when she was nine, and she remembered her parents reciting the timeline of starvation. Day one and two had passed, they were the worst and the most painful. The next few days would be strange and stagnant, as the body adapted to the situation and stopped trying to send the message that food was needed. She would be tired, but not allowed to sleep.
Cat knew that her death could take weeks, even months of agony.
It was a depressing thought.
"She's still not eating, boss."
The thug was reluctant to approach the Joker, sitting innocently in an office chair and shuffling through a degrading pack of cards.
"It's been a few days, the boys 'aint sure what to do about it."
He licked his lips in thought, tucking the top half of the deck under the bottom.
"We haven't been treating her the way she deserves," Joker remarked. "Invite her to dinner."
The thug didn't dare question his strange demands, and marched down the flights of concrete stairs to the basement.
Cat rubbed her streaming nose and breathed heavily on her fingertips, the heat was 3 seconds of relief but this simple task reduced her to dizziness.
The door clanked, as the security lock was breached, and she readied herself for another beating, the mornings punch-up was still shining scarlet from her gut and oozing through her gashed party dress.
The thug had a strange, silky material in his arms, which he threw roughly over her knees.
"Orders from the Joker," He commanded. "Dress quickly and follow."
Cat looked down at the chiffon gown, in deep purple with a plunging V-neckline.
"What the hell?" She croaked, and looked to the thug for an explanation, she received nothing but a gesture with a shotgun to follow orders.
Bruce's fundraiser seemed a lifetime ago, and the cocktail dress was glued to her body with blood and sweat, she struggled to roll it down her waist.
The purple dress, while admittedly beautiful, was wasted on her skinny, bruised, and bleeding body. Her face had streaks of makeup running down from nights of weeping, and the cut on her cheek was scabbing with black flakes. In the shiny door, her reflection was misshapen, beautiful in its ugliness, and she hated how subdued she appeared.
She truly was just a punching bag.
The thug led her up numerous staircases with no consideration for her lack of energy. The air around her began to warm as she neared the surface, and each level of the complex was slightly better off than the last.
By the time she had climbed her fourth staircase and completely lost feeling in her bare feet; her surroundings were almost pleasant.
"Wait here," he ordered, leaving her in a dimly lit room with chestnut-brown walls and a glossy, tiled flooring.
A single, cylindrical wall light filled the entire room with a comfortable yellow glow and Cat was stunned by the lack of fluorescence.
Her shaky legs carried her to the middle of the room and she wished for a window, something to portray that there still was an outside world amidst all this darkness and anguish.
She was use to the silence, so she jumped when a low voice addressed her from the corner of the room.
"You look stunning."
A match was struck, and a large candle flared to life.
"No one can wear terror like you can."
The orange light illuminated a round table, dressed in a white tablecloth, cutlery, two glasses of wine, and a thorny stem protruding, the bud removed, from a crystal vase.
The man who had spoken to her was barely recognisable. His hair was combed and slicked back, the purple suit was replaced with a blood-red suit and a black waistcoat. His horrid makeup was washed entirely away. The only thing that surrendered his name to her, was the jagged scarring and soulless black eyes; even these appeared bizarrely handsome in the fetching candle light.
She must've been more worn out than she thought.
"Sit," He nodded at the opposite office chair, the only part of the setup that wasn't formal or charming.
Cat sunk into the chair but wouldn't meet his penetrating gaze, instead she watched the flame dance over the candles wick.
"Now a little birdie told me that my boys haven't been giving you the five-star treatment I ordered." The switchblade was still, as ever, in his possession and he twirled it in his fingers absentmindedly.
"I've already killed the people responsible, don't you worry about it."
Joker reached out a hand and caressed the scar on her cheek, ironically the only act of violence he committed against her. Cat didn't even try to recoil, she was so tired and his touch didn't cause her anguish; so for once, she almost welcomed it, if only to remember that not all contact had to be painful.
"I hope we can reach some level of understanding, between the two of us. I have something for you, and if you eat, you can have it."
She was only now realising that a full plate of food was before her. Juicy, medium-rare steak, a side of fresh lettuce and avocado. Despite her resolve, her stomach begged her for the meal.
Cat gave a small incline of agreement, before attacking the food and throwing all cares to the wind.
It was the best plate of food that had ever graced her tastebuds, and it vanished from her plate in a timeframe of twenty seconds. The wine wasn't as welcoming, as she had been supplied water down in the basement, but the taste of something with even the slightest hint of flavour made her ecstatic.
Joker didn't eat from his own plate, and simply watched her eat with a strange curiosity, as if sharing a meal was a peculiarity he didn't yet understand.
Cat downed the last drop of wine and sat back to breathe, after the fit of eating she was exhausted.
"Good girl," He crowed, and clicked his fingers. A thug, dressed hilariously in a waiter apron and button down, marched begrudgingly to the table and snatched the plates.
"Send my complements to the chef." Joker waved his hand at his humiliated henchmen, and Cat couldn't keep the snort of laughter from him. This display of amusement caused a smile to stretch over his mouth and he gazed, unblinkingly, at her now uncomfortable expression.
"The gift?" She stammered, unsure as to why she was plunged into nervousness by the intimacy of the moment.
"Ah, yes. I am a man of my word after all."
A rectangular parcel was slid across the table and the silver wrapping paper caught the flickering candlelight.
It was light in her hands, thin, and appeared to have defined sharp corners.
"A file?"
After unwrapping it, Cat looked up to Joker to guess his reasoning, he had an excited gleam in his eye and nodded at her to read it.
"GCPD property, file 247c, Morg-"
The narration stopped suddenly, her words caught in her throat. "Why?" She finally whispered, the file seemed to grow unimaginably heavy in her grasp.
"Keep reading, sweetheart."
"Morgan. Ashton." Her voice shook at the pronunciation of his name.
She skimmed down the report, already having memorised it all; 'Macrow Alley, December twelfth, male in his early twenties shot in the head at 11:45pm, two witnesses'.
The details section of the report was lengthier than she remembered reading, so she mustered her courage and read aloud once more.
"Officer Cosner, number 378, was completing his patrol westbound down Redpine Drive when he observed three figures in Macrow Alley, facing directly away from the main street. Officer Cosner parked his surveillance vehicle to observe the situation, and identified one of the pedestrians as the infamous vigilante 'Batman'. Officer Cosner than identified a firearm in one of the figures possession, and proceeded to approach the situation to perform an arrest. The following dialogue was recorded by Officer Cosner and sworn inexplicably to be accurate;
"Give me the fucking money, or I'll blow your brains out."
"Listen hero, I think he's serious, maybe I should just-"
"-Stay where you are Morgan, I know a fake gun when I see one."
"Wait, he's gonna shoot!"
"I said get the fuck away from me!"
Officer Cosner then observed the firearm release a series of SWCs that ricocheted off the alleyway walls. Officer Cosner observed the 'Batman' assault the armed man, and tie him up with wire. The man lying on the ground, identified by his Driver's License as 'Morgan, Ashton, J', had suffered a head wound to his left frontal lobe and was named 'deceased' by 11:49 pm. Officer Cosner failed to apprehend the 'Batman', and performed an arrest on the incapacitated male for homicide (see file 279c)."
Nausea began to fill every corner in Cat's body, her mind was blank and her palms sweaty.
The file dropped itself back onto the table.
Her vision was blurred around the corners, and her breathe inconsistently rapid.
"Surprise!"
The Joker threw his hands into the air in sick triumph. She could barely breathe let alone speak, instead the stared at the file.
It was so vivid, so real in her mind, and something about the report hooked her to the point of doubting everything she knew about her brother.
Joker could be lying, manipulating her, creating a false report wasn't difficult.
But this brought her mind back to 11 years ago when she first read what she thought was the truth. Even then, something about it nagged the back of her mind, but she put it out of thought.
Now, she recalled it clearly.
'Left frontal lobe'.
'Left'.
Her brother was right handed, how could he possibly perform a clean shot such as that?
"It was that…it was him…he…"
The words were falling out of her throat like vomit, in fact it was that moment that her stomach's entire contents emptied itself beside her chair.
"I told you so," Joker sang, gleeful at Cat's peaky expression and continuous retching. "You would see things my way."
All that delicious dinner was gone, leaving Cat with a hideous emptiness, she found the will to turn back to the Joker, who was tucking the file away and regarding her far too casually.
"You thought that 'Batman' was a hero? You thought that Gotham was a safe place? Turns out everything is a lie. With me? You know where you stand. I kill those that oppose me and look after the loyal ones, I'm a man of my word. And what of this 'hero'? He lies for years to save his own hide, he cowers behind a mask and drapes himself in the flag of righteousness; ultimately he is as corrupt and unpredictable as the city he protects."
Cat still didn't say a word.
"Gotham is sick, it's plagued by greed and this 'social hierarchy'. They eat each other for money and for power."
"You know betrayal better than anyone by now, still think that you're on the right side there?"
"So, what do we do? What do we have to do? When a crop contracts a disease the farmer burns it, making way for a new and healthier harvest. I introduce a little chaos, a little beautiful anarchy, and Gotham is forced to see itself as the way it is; full of people ready to kill each other for their own, disgusting, self-preservation."
"I target a 'little guy', no one cares, I target the 'Mayor' and suddenly it's 'Loco-ville'. Say what you will about my system, but it is fair, I allow natural selection to dictate who lives and who dies. In Gotham, the man with the heaviest wallet is king, now, now, tell me how that's fair?"
Joker looked up at Cat with quizzically raised eyebrows, once again with an unfair innocence that was his parasite.
She was forced to glance away.
"Now you, you are an outsider, like me. Batman weighed your life, much like your brothers, and found it not worth the effort of protecting because you don't crap on a toilet of gold."
"I see you, I see the worth of your mind and your conviction. Join me, have a little fun, and teach Gotham that virtue and value are at opposite ends of the board."
His hand fell on hers, she was dangerously close to giving in and accepting him. If not for his words, then for his hand not to move and take away the comfort it brought.
But Cat noticed the blade gleaming, wickedly, from his coat pocket and the wistful delusion faltered. He was a killer. He had blood on his hands.
"You…you repel me." She mustered, her hand flying back into the coldness of her own lap.
"You think that because I have a tragic backstory, it excuses the formation of a killer? I still hold my morale, though you have mutilated yours. You should know, bitterness is a paralytic. Revenge can't break someone."
He seemed mildly deflated at her words, it concerned her that he wasn't angrier.
"Very wise," Joker nodded, leaning back in his chair. "But you are entirely wrong if you think revenge is the only card in my hand."
Someone grabbed her roughly from behind and hoisted her off the chair.
This time, Joker didn't oppose the violent way Cat was handled and nodded at the man over her shoulder.
"Get her in the van and load the weapons. Oh," He added, as a side thought. "And get her something else to wear. We have to be presentable for the funeral."