See disclaimers in prologue

Who's Laughing Now?

Part One

**

"Clowns are of human nature. Clowns are not representations of fictional characters. Clowns are not figments of the imagination. We are human, we are real and we are alive. The clown is an essential part of our human soul. We nurture and care for the clown in us so that it always continues to grow." --Clown Creed, 2000

~*~

Bruce Wayne stood rooted in the doorway of his study. He felt the Joker walk past him. If it was possible for a being to radiate evil, this man did. He'd cost Bruce as much as a human being could take away from another.

Slowly, Bruce turned his eyes to the broken metal base and the puddle of liquid mixed with fake snow and the obliterated light pink porcelain rose. Watching the water spread for half a second, he swallowed his pain and threw aside the paper, and his dark Armani jacket. He had work to do.

Realizing he was out of time and options, he tore opened the bottom drawer of his desk, not caring about the drawer. Beneath the false bottom lay a brown package the size of a large text book. Withdrawing it, he kicked what was left of the drawer closed and rushed to the nearest window. As he opened the French doors and jumped down onto the lawn, he tore open the brown paper and began filling his pockets with the contents. A utility belt was sorely missed, given the current situation, but he'd make do with what he had. Hitting the wet green grass, he sped around that wing of the house, past the fountain and over the hedges—a semi-short cut to the driveway. Sure enough, at the bottom sat a black car.

Stepping into it, the Joker looked up the hill and waved. Bruce took off as fast as he could, looking to clear the trees that lined the drive. As soon as he was free, his shoes skidded to a stop on the asphalt as the door closed.

As hard as he could, he threw a Batarang at the license plate. The car pulled off, but the electromagnet inside helped it catch the bumper and stayed on for several seconds, before dying and clanking to the ground amidst the brown gas emitted from the exhaust of the fleeing vehicle.

Bruce had them.

Without bothering to retrieve the evidence of the encounter off the road, he immediately went back to the house. As he did so, he tore something else from his pocket. Powering up the device, the LCD lit without hesitation, and he saw the tracking piece that had been placed on the vehicle before the Batarang had dropped off. He clearly saw the line of the car's movements as he headed back into the city.

Entering the study through the already-opened French windows, Bruce headed immediately for the clock against the furthest wall, and down to the cave. He had no idea what kind of game the Joker was playing this time, but he would NOT be party to it, nor would he let Robin be.

Not when the rules had suddenly so drastically changed.

It was well before Batman's usual time to be out and about—but there were always circumstances that dictated exceptions.

* * *

The Car, a long, black vehicle, both unique yet unidentifiable shot out of the holographic rocky façade at the base of the cliff that ran along the shore. The dark automobile sped through the afternoon sun and down the two- lane road that hugged the coast, towards the city.

Within, the Dark Knight gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mind grinding away at the problem at hand.

"Oracle," he said aloud. The voice recognition software made the connection for him.

"What can I do for you, Boss?" Barbara Gordon's chipper voice asked. That alone told him much—and complicated his situation far worse.

"Do a security check of Arkham," he ordered. "While you're doing that, give me Robin's last known location." The homing device that had been attached to the Joker's car suddenly stopped, near midtown. Moenech wasn't one of the Joker's usual hangouts.

Oracle's voice cut into his thoughts. "Timmy's walking the widdle puppy dog at Brentwood. Want me to hail him?"

"Arkham?" Batman asked. He turned off the secluded Coast Drive about a mile and a half east of his target.

"Everything looks good there. What's up?" Barbara's voice held a bit of curiosity and amusement.

Batman wished he had answers for her. "Status on the Joker?"

"You're REALLY paranoid, you know? He's been in 'therapy' all afternoon. Personally, I think the electroshock is a waste." The only kind of electrocution Barbara wanted to see the Joker face was from the electric chair—though she'd never say that out loud to any one. Not after all they'd recently been through with Dick, and how he'd actually beat the Joker to death.

"Send me the video feed!" Batman ordered.

"Are you going to start talking, or WHAT?" Barbara asked as two monitors lit up between the seats. "These are security cameras sixty-seven and sixty- nine. Now what's going on?"

He stared at the black and white images of the Joker, straight-jacketed and giggling inanely as they removed the electrodes from his forehead.

"What time did it start," he asked as he glanced form the monitors to the road, then back again.

"One-thirty. Is there something I should be looking for?"

"Put me through to Timothy," he ordered. There was a moment of static, and then he could hear the connection being made.

"What's up?" Tim whispered.

"Is everything all right there," he asked. He hated how the words tasted in his mouth, suddenly.

"The Dean's dog just chewed a hole in my pants, which Alfred's going to have a bird about, but other than that, life's as peachy as it could be in Brentwood Detentionary. You need me to do some work?" The young man sounded anxious to escape his current surroundings.

Without responding to Oracle or Robin, he cut the connections.

Already knowing what he'd find at the 900 block of Moenech Avenue, he continued on his course. Sure enough, the car was abandoned in front of a vacant business at 913 W. Moenech Ave. There was no sign of the Joker or anyone else for that matter. They were thirteen miles from Arkham Asylum. Whatever was happening—the game was afoot.

~*~

Continued in Part Two

"Since the early days of the circus and sideshows, people have been afraid of the clown and the clown's persona….A few studies that have attempted to remedy this fear have proven that the fear of clowns is more difficult to remove than the fear of loosing a limb in a freak elevator accident." –argonews.com