"Hello, and welcome to Channel 7, Gotham. I'm Stacie Richards. Later
today we'll examine newly elected president Alexander Luthor and his
administrations agenda, as well as feedback from other political figures on
Capitol Hill. But first, our top story.
"It's been several weeks since the Joker's daring escape from Arkham Asylum, and the police are still on wide alert for the Clown Prince of Crime. Citizens have also noted a large contingent of super powered individuals patrolling the streets, though officials refused to comment.
"In an unrelated story son of millionaire industrialist Robert Drake has gone missing. Timothy Drake, who caught the media's eye as the poster child for "No Man's Land", is believed kidnapped, though no ransom demand has been made. Mr. Drake is offering a one million dollar reward for any information regarding the whereabouts of their son. More information to follow.
"More on the news, following the weather with Brian. Brian..."
****************************
The winter air was awash with emotions, both joyful and hideous. Fear and elation boiled together at air temperatures of ten degrees as the masses were all bustling over the coming new year.
In the sky and on the ground, moving at feverish paces, were the members of Young Justice. High and low, through each nook and cranny they searched, to no avail, for their wayward leader, mentor, friend. Joined with the Dark Night and his newest protege, Batgirl, they left no stone unturned, no avenue unchecked. All to no avail. Gotham City was a giant beast unto itself, hungry for despair, thirsty for pain. Searching for Robin was like searching for a needle in a stack of needles, only this stack would occasionally toss a rattlesnake into the mix.
In Bludhaven, Blockbuster made advancements in his criminal enterprises, but was stopped short, just barely, by an emotionally distracted Nightwing. In Gotham a wave of robberies orchestrated by Two Face was brought down by the combined efforts of Huntress and Azrael with brutal efficiency.
But the team remained focused on THEIR task. Through and through their goal was clear: Find Robin. But it seemed as though they were working under a guillotine, and each dashed hope brought the blade closer and closer to their necks until the approaching dawn brought an unsuccessful night to close.
Three days until New Years, and still nothing.
"I"m sorry I couldn't do much more," Oracle spoke to Batman through their communications link. "He had too many connections with too many important news reporters."
"Don't worry about it," he said. "You did what you could to keep him out of the news."
"How goes the search?" she asked him. He was in his cave, mask removed, seated at his monitor. The screen flickered with maps and files from any and every source he could find, in a vain hope to unearth some hidden clue to Joker's plan or his partner's whereabouts.
"Not good," he said. She sighed on the other end.
"I'll keep you posted," she said. "Oracle out."
Batman returned to his duties at the monitor, moving at a mechanical pace through each digital leaflet. He would find Robin. He would save Robin. He would be alive when he found him.
He allowed himself one moment of humanity, one moment to gaze back at the costume of his former ward, his lost son.
"Jason," he whispered the name of his long gone partner, the image of his face drowned in its own blood, his body limp and broken, like a rag doll. For one brief moment he could feel his hair, the smell of gasoline and burnt flesh in the air, and the taste of utter rage and despair drown around him.
Then the moment passed, and he returned to his computer, becoming the detective that Tim needed him to be.
******************
*How many moments had passed?* I asked myself as I lay in the darkness. I had been slipping in and out of consciousness for some time. My ribs were broken, skull fractured. Joker, not wanting me to die so soon, decided to fix me up as only his twisted mind could: He stapled me back together.
I could feel my skin taut as the staples stretched each sinew, twisted each nerve ending, but somehow my body felt no pain. No, I had become numb to pain hours ago, or was it days ago, maybe minutes ago. Time had no meaning to me. For the first time I could feel how heavy his mask was, the weight of the kevlar costume. It had stopped the smaller staples from piercing my flesh. Improvising (the Joker seemed to be good at that), and not wanting to damage "his costume", he instead used industrial staples for his "surgery". I could also feel the stretching of something sticky and hard. I looked down to see duck tape wrapped around my broken bones and waist. I had to chuckle a bit at the absurdity of it. Despite the searing agony that I had endured, as well as the fact that most of the bleeding hadn't fully subsided, it kept my ribs in place.
I moved slightly, letting my weight shift. My arms were bound together inside a straight jacket. I wanted to make some kind of attempt to break free, but I felt so weak, so tired. I inhaled the air around me. It was stale with the stench of my own blood and sweat. And mold. The aroma of mold was most notable of all. Why did the whole place smell of mold? We were in a factory, weren't we? Or were we in a warehouse? Maybe it was a phone booth. It sure felt that way.
He had been sitting across from me for hours, not moving, just observing me. Even when I was unconscious I could feel his eyes on me, staring at me, no, through me. I could hear him breathing, the slight whistle of wind blowing though his teeth as he smiled at me. Was he always smiling? He just observed me, carefully, like I was some sort of lab rat. I could barely see him out of the corner of my eye, sitting cross-legged on what appeared to be an armchair. It was brown leather, that much I could tell, even in the dim lighting. His pale skin, neon hair, bulging eyes...he was a joke to look at. A clown. Heh....The Clown Prince of Crime. Why did that seem funny?
I tried to adjust myself using my head as a prop, since my arms were all but useless. I could feel the fabric of the couch chaff my skin. My skin tore as it rubbed up against the rough materials, opening old wounds. Something snagged on a stray strand. It tugged on my face as I tugged on it, until I ripped myself away, the shock of something slicing through my flesh coursing through my body. I looked down, and saw it was a staple. The extra weight of my head had not been because I was weak, I realized. It was because the maniac had stapled my mask to my face.
"You....stapled my mask....to my face," I told him as I finally moved to a seated position. His smile only grew wider.
"You do nit rememberrr our zeshion?" He said, attempting a poor Austrian accent. I could only shake my head. So groggy, so confused. Mold and blood. Where was that mold?
Joker reached down and pulled out a tape recorder, and pressed play. Despite the grumbling of the tape's poor quality, I could here Joker and I conversing with each other. Though conversing would be a loose term. He did most of the talking, and all I did was respond in some incoherent babble.
"So, Robin. Kin I call you Robin?" he said on the tape. I gargled something in response. It must have been just after the "surgery".
"Now, vat is your real name, Mr. Robin?" he asked me. I cringed, expecting my true name. But all I heard was a very derogatory response. I smiled in relief, the only relief I've had since today.
"Ah, I zee," he had said, the sound of scribbling following. He had obviously decided to take notes.
"Zo, now zen. Vy deed you become a zooper hero, Mr. Robin?"
"I...ugh....*gargle* humnunimunmmuh..."
"Zpeak up child. How kinn ze doctor cure you if you din't answer me?"
"Ugh....mo...mom.....mommy....."
"Ah, yes. Ze mother. A common moteeve." More scribbling.
"Doctor, what's your prognosis?" A female voice said. Harley Quinn.
"My prognosis, my dear assistant, iz zat zis man iz NUTS!" The sound of paper being tossed aside and something metallic being picked up.
"Clearly zis child tinks dat, by being a zooper hero, he can make his mommy proud und happy, und thus is ze cause of all hiz problems, and ours."
"What do you suggest doctor? Should we remove the mask?"
"Nein, mein libschen. Zat would only compound ze problem. No, obviously ve must attempt to fuse ze boy child mit his costumed personality."
"And how do you suggest we do that, doctor?"
"Simple," he responded. I could hear the sound of a stapler clicking, followed by my muffled attempts to stop him.
"Like this." I shuddered at the sound of my own screams as each staple bore into my flesh. I could hear the violence of the moment, the savagery, my own agony. Most of all, I could hear his laughter. It was sickening. The moment was sickening. I did what anyone would have done when they heard their shrieks of anguish and the muffled sounds of a stapler being bashed against one's skull.
I puked.
"Feel better?" Joker said, turning off the tape recorder. He got to his feet, moved right into my face. I wanted to punch him. No, I wanted to rip his eyes out and shove them back down the sockets. I wanted to rip out his vocal chords and feed them to him rectally. But most of all, I wanted to stop the smell. Why did it smell like MOLD?!? There wasn't any MOLD around!
"So, tell me, Boy Blunder, how do you feel?"
In my mind I could see Stephanie, cold and lifeless, tied to a pole, her eyeless sockets staring at me, smiling at me, laughing at me. I could feel the cold wind around me as I fell, as my bones crushed underneath my own weight as I tumbled to the ground. I could hear Young El drowning, and me unable to save him. I could imagine Philmont's skull being crushed by the men I refused to rescue him from. I could see my mother and father, dressed to kill, laughing it up at some gala as I was left in the care of nannies that were indifferent. I could feel fear. I could feel cold. I could feel hot. I could feel hungry, tired, thirsty, sweaty, agony, pain, laughing, why were they laughing pointing judging laughing stop laughing pointing judging my faultmyfault lovehatelovehatehatelovestopjudginglaughingpointingscreamingyellingstopstops topmy faultmyfaultstopstopstopstopstopSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOSTOPSTOPSTOP!!!!
"Well, how do you feel?" he asked again. I gazed up, eyes full of tears and my own blood. He smiled at me. It was a warm smile, a caring smile. He placed his hand on my shoulders, then shoved the other in my face.
"I asked how you FELT!!!" he screamed, his gloved hand over my face. I suddenly felt a burning on my face. Like I had been set aflame. I had never felt a burning like this before. My face sizzled like a grease pit as I writhed in agony. I wanted to clutch my face, to smother the unseeing flames, but curses they were bound pain pain pain pain pain painpainpain..... "AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I screamed in spite of myself as he removed his hand from my face. I launched my body to the ground, writhing and squirming in pain, smashing my skull against the floor. I screamed louder than I ever had, even louder than in the recording. I screamed until I though I could scream no longer. Then I screamed louder.
"Oh, did I ever tell you my favorite movie was `Fight Club'?"he said. "Nifty little stuff that is. I guess it really DOES burn the skin. Now, do you want me to make yousie feelie good again?" He grasped in his hand a bottle of vinegar. I could not comprehend, nor answer, so I only screamed louder.
"Tell me, then, how do you feel?"
"P...pain...." I wept. "Pain. PAIN!!!"
"Good." He tossed the vinegar in my face. I could feel the results immediately. My wounds had been fused shut finally, but I could already see in my mind the blisters that were forming as I sighed in relief. He knelt beside me.
"Now that wasn't so bad, now was it?"
I looked him in the eyes. Eyes that didn't care. Eyes like a puppet; soulless, unsympathetic. My body was aching, my brain was throbbing, and my nostrils were all but awash in the putrid stench of mold. I was scared, I was tired, I wanted to go home, I wanted to die. God in Heaven I just wanted...to...
I felt it growing inside me. It started as a chuckle. It grew faster, swelling like a tsunami, surging to the surface. My chuckle swelled, swelled, swelled, until I could hold it down no longer. I no longer cared. I no longer felt pain. I was going to die. And it was just...too...damn...FUNNY!!!!
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!"
"SUCCESS!!!" Joker cried out as I rolled on the floor, laughing at my own personal joke with my own personal punch line. Harley Quinn was by his side, embracing him like they were the happy couple.
"It worked puddin'," she squealed. They watched me longer, taking my madness in like a French delicacy, like a fine wine. I, myself, was no longer aware of their presence. I was no longer aware of MY presence. I could still hear the screams, I could still feel the pain, but it all felt so distant. Like it didn't belong to me. Everything and nothing was funny. My eyes were like peeled grapes, my lungs like sandpaper. But nothing mattered. Even as I stumbled over the Joker's armchair and felt my arm snap out of its socket I felt like laughing.
"Please sedate out little guinea pig hon," Joker told Quinn. "I want him to be coherent for this."
She nodded, and went to work. It took her some time to get me to hold still for more than a second. But she did, and I felt a calmness rush over me as she injected what was most likely some kind of tranquilizer. My breathing was heavy, and I was on the verge of blacking out from the energy I had exerted in my moment of abject insanity.
"You've been most helpful," Joker said to me. "I want you to know that, while you've been staying at Casa Joker, we've been pumping the air system with a little experiment of mine.
"You see, it's lonely being the only one on this earth with any sense of humor. So I've decided to change that.
"I'll give Arkham credit, it's a GREAT way to meet new people and swap recipes. Dr. Crane's fear serum was so ingenious. And I found that, by tweaking the formula with my own little pizzazz, it could drive a man insane. Or, at least, male lab rats, monkeys, and whatever I could get my hands on.
"You were my second HUMAN subject after your little girlfriend. Boy, was she a tough cookie. No matter what I did, she kept clinging to the hope that you would come and save her. Even when I covered her in birdseed and had the pigeons peck her eyes out she still believed you'd save her. Frankly, it bored me so much that I completely forgot her on that roof. My bad.
"But it occurred to me; why not use YOU as a substitute? But you were turning out to be such a disappointment. And, since I am a man with a schedule to keep, I couldn't just let you keep clinging to false hopes.
"You see, my formula is perfect, all except for one small flaw: It'll bend the mind, but it takes something else to break it.
"And, thanks to you, I've figured it out. Come New Years Eve, when that ball drops, so will a whole VAT of my new `Joker Juice'. But wait, that's not all. Since it takes a traumatic event to trigger the chemicals, I've laced enough explosives to take out three city blocks. The ones that survive will be so grief stricken that they'll snap, and become little Mini- Jokers."
He moved in closer to me, whispering into my ear. "And you wanna know what's even more beautiful?" He leaned even closer, his lips almost on my lobe.
"IT'S CONTAGIOUS!!! BWAHAHAHAAAAA!!!"
I needed to stop him, I need to warn someone. I needed to do something. But the tranquilizers had worn off, and all I could do was laugh like a hyena. Joker laughed along side me, and soon Harley Quinn joined in. It was like a choir of madness, a song of lunacy sung by lunatics.
And, God help me, I was now one of them.
Forgive me, Steph. Forgive me.....
"It's been several weeks since the Joker's daring escape from Arkham Asylum, and the police are still on wide alert for the Clown Prince of Crime. Citizens have also noted a large contingent of super powered individuals patrolling the streets, though officials refused to comment.
"In an unrelated story son of millionaire industrialist Robert Drake has gone missing. Timothy Drake, who caught the media's eye as the poster child for "No Man's Land", is believed kidnapped, though no ransom demand has been made. Mr. Drake is offering a one million dollar reward for any information regarding the whereabouts of their son. More information to follow.
"More on the news, following the weather with Brian. Brian..."
****************************
The winter air was awash with emotions, both joyful and hideous. Fear and elation boiled together at air temperatures of ten degrees as the masses were all bustling over the coming new year.
In the sky and on the ground, moving at feverish paces, were the members of Young Justice. High and low, through each nook and cranny they searched, to no avail, for their wayward leader, mentor, friend. Joined with the Dark Night and his newest protege, Batgirl, they left no stone unturned, no avenue unchecked. All to no avail. Gotham City was a giant beast unto itself, hungry for despair, thirsty for pain. Searching for Robin was like searching for a needle in a stack of needles, only this stack would occasionally toss a rattlesnake into the mix.
In Bludhaven, Blockbuster made advancements in his criminal enterprises, but was stopped short, just barely, by an emotionally distracted Nightwing. In Gotham a wave of robberies orchestrated by Two Face was brought down by the combined efforts of Huntress and Azrael with brutal efficiency.
But the team remained focused on THEIR task. Through and through their goal was clear: Find Robin. But it seemed as though they were working under a guillotine, and each dashed hope brought the blade closer and closer to their necks until the approaching dawn brought an unsuccessful night to close.
Three days until New Years, and still nothing.
"I"m sorry I couldn't do much more," Oracle spoke to Batman through their communications link. "He had too many connections with too many important news reporters."
"Don't worry about it," he said. "You did what you could to keep him out of the news."
"How goes the search?" she asked him. He was in his cave, mask removed, seated at his monitor. The screen flickered with maps and files from any and every source he could find, in a vain hope to unearth some hidden clue to Joker's plan or his partner's whereabouts.
"Not good," he said. She sighed on the other end.
"I'll keep you posted," she said. "Oracle out."
Batman returned to his duties at the monitor, moving at a mechanical pace through each digital leaflet. He would find Robin. He would save Robin. He would be alive when he found him.
He allowed himself one moment of humanity, one moment to gaze back at the costume of his former ward, his lost son.
"Jason," he whispered the name of his long gone partner, the image of his face drowned in its own blood, his body limp and broken, like a rag doll. For one brief moment he could feel his hair, the smell of gasoline and burnt flesh in the air, and the taste of utter rage and despair drown around him.
Then the moment passed, and he returned to his computer, becoming the detective that Tim needed him to be.
******************
*How many moments had passed?* I asked myself as I lay in the darkness. I had been slipping in and out of consciousness for some time. My ribs were broken, skull fractured. Joker, not wanting me to die so soon, decided to fix me up as only his twisted mind could: He stapled me back together.
I could feel my skin taut as the staples stretched each sinew, twisted each nerve ending, but somehow my body felt no pain. No, I had become numb to pain hours ago, or was it days ago, maybe minutes ago. Time had no meaning to me. For the first time I could feel how heavy his mask was, the weight of the kevlar costume. It had stopped the smaller staples from piercing my flesh. Improvising (the Joker seemed to be good at that), and not wanting to damage "his costume", he instead used industrial staples for his "surgery". I could also feel the stretching of something sticky and hard. I looked down to see duck tape wrapped around my broken bones and waist. I had to chuckle a bit at the absurdity of it. Despite the searing agony that I had endured, as well as the fact that most of the bleeding hadn't fully subsided, it kept my ribs in place.
I moved slightly, letting my weight shift. My arms were bound together inside a straight jacket. I wanted to make some kind of attempt to break free, but I felt so weak, so tired. I inhaled the air around me. It was stale with the stench of my own blood and sweat. And mold. The aroma of mold was most notable of all. Why did the whole place smell of mold? We were in a factory, weren't we? Or were we in a warehouse? Maybe it was a phone booth. It sure felt that way.
He had been sitting across from me for hours, not moving, just observing me. Even when I was unconscious I could feel his eyes on me, staring at me, no, through me. I could hear him breathing, the slight whistle of wind blowing though his teeth as he smiled at me. Was he always smiling? He just observed me, carefully, like I was some sort of lab rat. I could barely see him out of the corner of my eye, sitting cross-legged on what appeared to be an armchair. It was brown leather, that much I could tell, even in the dim lighting. His pale skin, neon hair, bulging eyes...he was a joke to look at. A clown. Heh....The Clown Prince of Crime. Why did that seem funny?
I tried to adjust myself using my head as a prop, since my arms were all but useless. I could feel the fabric of the couch chaff my skin. My skin tore as it rubbed up against the rough materials, opening old wounds. Something snagged on a stray strand. It tugged on my face as I tugged on it, until I ripped myself away, the shock of something slicing through my flesh coursing through my body. I looked down, and saw it was a staple. The extra weight of my head had not been because I was weak, I realized. It was because the maniac had stapled my mask to my face.
"You....stapled my mask....to my face," I told him as I finally moved to a seated position. His smile only grew wider.
"You do nit rememberrr our zeshion?" He said, attempting a poor Austrian accent. I could only shake my head. So groggy, so confused. Mold and blood. Where was that mold?
Joker reached down and pulled out a tape recorder, and pressed play. Despite the grumbling of the tape's poor quality, I could here Joker and I conversing with each other. Though conversing would be a loose term. He did most of the talking, and all I did was respond in some incoherent babble.
"So, Robin. Kin I call you Robin?" he said on the tape. I gargled something in response. It must have been just after the "surgery".
"Now, vat is your real name, Mr. Robin?" he asked me. I cringed, expecting my true name. But all I heard was a very derogatory response. I smiled in relief, the only relief I've had since today.
"Ah, I zee," he had said, the sound of scribbling following. He had obviously decided to take notes.
"Zo, now zen. Vy deed you become a zooper hero, Mr. Robin?"
"I...ugh....*gargle* humnunimunmmuh..."
"Zpeak up child. How kinn ze doctor cure you if you din't answer me?"
"Ugh....mo...mom.....mommy....."
"Ah, yes. Ze mother. A common moteeve." More scribbling.
"Doctor, what's your prognosis?" A female voice said. Harley Quinn.
"My prognosis, my dear assistant, iz zat zis man iz NUTS!" The sound of paper being tossed aside and something metallic being picked up.
"Clearly zis child tinks dat, by being a zooper hero, he can make his mommy proud und happy, und thus is ze cause of all hiz problems, and ours."
"What do you suggest doctor? Should we remove the mask?"
"Nein, mein libschen. Zat would only compound ze problem. No, obviously ve must attempt to fuse ze boy child mit his costumed personality."
"And how do you suggest we do that, doctor?"
"Simple," he responded. I could hear the sound of a stapler clicking, followed by my muffled attempts to stop him.
"Like this." I shuddered at the sound of my own screams as each staple bore into my flesh. I could hear the violence of the moment, the savagery, my own agony. Most of all, I could hear his laughter. It was sickening. The moment was sickening. I did what anyone would have done when they heard their shrieks of anguish and the muffled sounds of a stapler being bashed against one's skull.
I puked.
"Feel better?" Joker said, turning off the tape recorder. He got to his feet, moved right into my face. I wanted to punch him. No, I wanted to rip his eyes out and shove them back down the sockets. I wanted to rip out his vocal chords and feed them to him rectally. But most of all, I wanted to stop the smell. Why did it smell like MOLD?!? There wasn't any MOLD around!
"So, tell me, Boy Blunder, how do you feel?"
In my mind I could see Stephanie, cold and lifeless, tied to a pole, her eyeless sockets staring at me, smiling at me, laughing at me. I could feel the cold wind around me as I fell, as my bones crushed underneath my own weight as I tumbled to the ground. I could hear Young El drowning, and me unable to save him. I could imagine Philmont's skull being crushed by the men I refused to rescue him from. I could see my mother and father, dressed to kill, laughing it up at some gala as I was left in the care of nannies that were indifferent. I could feel fear. I could feel cold. I could feel hot. I could feel hungry, tired, thirsty, sweaty, agony, pain, laughing, why were they laughing pointing judging laughing stop laughing pointing judging my faultmyfault lovehatelovehatehatelovestopjudginglaughingpointingscreamingyellingstopstops topmy faultmyfaultstopstopstopstopstopSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOSTOPSTOPSTOP!!!!
"Well, how do you feel?" he asked again. I gazed up, eyes full of tears and my own blood. He smiled at me. It was a warm smile, a caring smile. He placed his hand on my shoulders, then shoved the other in my face.
"I asked how you FELT!!!" he screamed, his gloved hand over my face. I suddenly felt a burning on my face. Like I had been set aflame. I had never felt a burning like this before. My face sizzled like a grease pit as I writhed in agony. I wanted to clutch my face, to smother the unseeing flames, but curses they were bound pain pain pain pain pain painpainpain..... "AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I screamed in spite of myself as he removed his hand from my face. I launched my body to the ground, writhing and squirming in pain, smashing my skull against the floor. I screamed louder than I ever had, even louder than in the recording. I screamed until I though I could scream no longer. Then I screamed louder.
"Oh, did I ever tell you my favorite movie was `Fight Club'?"he said. "Nifty little stuff that is. I guess it really DOES burn the skin. Now, do you want me to make yousie feelie good again?" He grasped in his hand a bottle of vinegar. I could not comprehend, nor answer, so I only screamed louder.
"Tell me, then, how do you feel?"
"P...pain...." I wept. "Pain. PAIN!!!"
"Good." He tossed the vinegar in my face. I could feel the results immediately. My wounds had been fused shut finally, but I could already see in my mind the blisters that were forming as I sighed in relief. He knelt beside me.
"Now that wasn't so bad, now was it?"
I looked him in the eyes. Eyes that didn't care. Eyes like a puppet; soulless, unsympathetic. My body was aching, my brain was throbbing, and my nostrils were all but awash in the putrid stench of mold. I was scared, I was tired, I wanted to go home, I wanted to die. God in Heaven I just wanted...to...
I felt it growing inside me. It started as a chuckle. It grew faster, swelling like a tsunami, surging to the surface. My chuckle swelled, swelled, swelled, until I could hold it down no longer. I no longer cared. I no longer felt pain. I was going to die. And it was just...too...damn...FUNNY!!!!
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!"
"SUCCESS!!!" Joker cried out as I rolled on the floor, laughing at my own personal joke with my own personal punch line. Harley Quinn was by his side, embracing him like they were the happy couple.
"It worked puddin'," she squealed. They watched me longer, taking my madness in like a French delicacy, like a fine wine. I, myself, was no longer aware of their presence. I was no longer aware of MY presence. I could still hear the screams, I could still feel the pain, but it all felt so distant. Like it didn't belong to me. Everything and nothing was funny. My eyes were like peeled grapes, my lungs like sandpaper. But nothing mattered. Even as I stumbled over the Joker's armchair and felt my arm snap out of its socket I felt like laughing.
"Please sedate out little guinea pig hon," Joker told Quinn. "I want him to be coherent for this."
She nodded, and went to work. It took her some time to get me to hold still for more than a second. But she did, and I felt a calmness rush over me as she injected what was most likely some kind of tranquilizer. My breathing was heavy, and I was on the verge of blacking out from the energy I had exerted in my moment of abject insanity.
"You've been most helpful," Joker said to me. "I want you to know that, while you've been staying at Casa Joker, we've been pumping the air system with a little experiment of mine.
"You see, it's lonely being the only one on this earth with any sense of humor. So I've decided to change that.
"I'll give Arkham credit, it's a GREAT way to meet new people and swap recipes. Dr. Crane's fear serum was so ingenious. And I found that, by tweaking the formula with my own little pizzazz, it could drive a man insane. Or, at least, male lab rats, monkeys, and whatever I could get my hands on.
"You were my second HUMAN subject after your little girlfriend. Boy, was she a tough cookie. No matter what I did, she kept clinging to the hope that you would come and save her. Even when I covered her in birdseed and had the pigeons peck her eyes out she still believed you'd save her. Frankly, it bored me so much that I completely forgot her on that roof. My bad.
"But it occurred to me; why not use YOU as a substitute? But you were turning out to be such a disappointment. And, since I am a man with a schedule to keep, I couldn't just let you keep clinging to false hopes.
"You see, my formula is perfect, all except for one small flaw: It'll bend the mind, but it takes something else to break it.
"And, thanks to you, I've figured it out. Come New Years Eve, when that ball drops, so will a whole VAT of my new `Joker Juice'. But wait, that's not all. Since it takes a traumatic event to trigger the chemicals, I've laced enough explosives to take out three city blocks. The ones that survive will be so grief stricken that they'll snap, and become little Mini- Jokers."
He moved in closer to me, whispering into my ear. "And you wanna know what's even more beautiful?" He leaned even closer, his lips almost on my lobe.
"IT'S CONTAGIOUS!!! BWAHAHAHAAAAA!!!"
I needed to stop him, I need to warn someone. I needed to do something. But the tranquilizers had worn off, and all I could do was laugh like a hyena. Joker laughed along side me, and soon Harley Quinn joined in. It was like a choir of madness, a song of lunacy sung by lunatics.
And, God help me, I was now one of them.
Forgive me, Steph. Forgive me.....