Wow….I nearly forgot all about this! Im sorry you guys, lol. Forgive meh? …I have cake.
Anywho…it's been awhile…so im sorry if this come out like crap, but I couldn't let mah Mistah J just hang there in my story vault…so…ENJOY!
All Batman Characters and the like are (c.) DC.
All other characters are (c.) to me, Verrucktteufel. You take without permission or dues, I will hunt you down and feed you to my rats….kay? XD
And with that….we begin….
Darkness…all around him was darkness. Feeling around the cubicle, he pressed against something soft and downy, feeling along it he came to the conclusion it was a bed of sorts. Too short for his entire form, it did however prove to be soft and slightly comfortable. The rest of the day seemed to ooze through the intertwining mesh fencing of time like a thick paste. Mr. Napier, "Joker", continued to stare at the ceiling, locking his gaze at a single crack in the ceiling of his little box, contemplating on the crack, muddling over and over to himself about meager things, playing with a frayed string at the end of his hospital gown (they had yet given him proper attire).
How long had he been in there? It felt like days…his stomach roared rebelliously toward him…once again, he was neglecting his machine. His back was beginning to ache tremendously, any position he laid in was not appropriate for his long figure, and was indeed a great strain on him. Little did he think about Dr. Breck, even though he was the sole reason he was cramped in this tiny hamster cage. For the first time ever, he was a bit unnerved, nay, afraid even. I suppose one would have to be afraid of the unknown, but he? Be afraid? Now that was a joke worth laughing over, indeed! He chuckled softly; his stomach was beginning to growl ferociously toward him.
Then, by some slight coincidence, a small slit in the door beside him opened wide, and inward was thrust a lunch tray. On it laid a full course meal: Real chicken, grilled, lightly seasoned, with potatoes and other delights. Joker licked his lips greedily at the meal and eagerly, without a second thought, went for it. Little did he acknowledge the syringe poking through the slit as well as the meal, this was their intension. As Joker went for the meal, the needle struck his upper arm and had pumped some unknown substance into him.
"ACK," Joker quickly retracted, dropping the plate onto the floor, and rubbing the slightly dripping new wound on his arm, "What is the DEAL?" He screeched. From behind the steel door, a familiar voice called back.
"So sorry Mr. Joker, but you have to understand, this is all for the best you know" Dr. Breck called back through the tiny opening in the door. Confined and annoyed, Joker flung the tray at the steel door, cursing and screaming with all the pent up irritation one would have in such a position. But this was all to no avail, for what would it solve? Beaten, Joker was finally at the mercy of someone…and a mere pest of a human at that.
…………..
"Incredible, simply astounding, no doubt about that…yes…mmhmm…yes yes…"
It was late in the Arkham bio labs; obsessing over the Joker's blood samples from the previous night, Dr. Breck gawked and grew more and more fascinated over his white-skinned "pet". This had no longer become a civic duty for the fair people of Gotham, but a quest for the improvement of everyone and thing.
The test results had come back from the lab mere hours after he had sent them. Skin samples, hair samples, blood samples, and even one of the Joker's own tainted fingernail clippings had all come back, each bearing the same basic code, but also each holding something different. Breck couldn't pinpoint the reason for this, but each sample had toxic residue imprinted into it, as though the Joker himself was a walking, talking Chem. Lab! Such residues should have been washed away years ago, or if not…Joker shouldn't even be alive. But he was, and Breck wanted to know why.
If his skin proved to have some kind of immunity to the smorgasbord of chemicals that altered his appearance ((maybe even mind)), and yet still thrive in the condition that they are in…there may actually be a reason to all those times he's been reported dead and lived…all those escapes he's managed unscathed…perhaps even more.
……….
Light…so much light! First they kept him in eternal darkness, and now it's too bright! Gotta tell'm to turn it down…but I can't speak. My voice, its not there anymore…at least, it feels that way. I want to speak, but there's no blasted noise. Oh well, I'll just turn it down myse…I can't move either. My hands, they're strapped down! My legs too…and im naked! That light is way too bright; I can't even see anything…where's my pants?
There's the doc, maybe he can explain all of this…why is he holding another needle? What's in there? Oh no, no more tests! Gotta get away, if I could just break the straps, but im not strong enough, not enough time…nothing to use…
I can't feel my neck anymore. I can't even turn my head to see what he's doing now. Noises, the same kind as an electric turbine…or a screaming child; is he going to kill me? Is that what this was all about? I can't feel my legs or arms now…everything feels limp and lifeless.
He's pricking my arm…I can feel the serum flowing into my veins…perhaps he's putting me down for good now…yes, perhaps that's how the great Joker finally goes…in a lab, put down like a mangy dog…in his birthday suit. Too bad I lost so much weight; I had hoped to leave a handsome autopsy report, Hahahaha!
So tired now…time to sleep…yeah…sleep…hope Harls doesn't whine too much at the funeral….
………
The dilute, which had been injected into Joker's system several hours before, seemed to have been a success. Dr. Breck was halfway finished with the first acidic coating on the Joker's chest; so far the Chemical Peel was running smoothly…no damage, no allergic reactions, and no rapid heart palpitations due to the dilute. He began to slowly remove the first acid sheet from the Joker's upper arm; a nurse, waiting by the respirator, watched with a wide, anticipating stare.
"Well….here we go…" Breck lifted up the sheet…the smell of the chemicals nearly knocking him unconscious; as the fumes dissipated, and his head losing its fuzzy feeling, he looked down on his work.
The skin was a raw, blood red, and bleeding. This was bad. He called the staff attendants, the blood poured over the clean white skin, and dripped onto the cold ER room. He couldn't lose him, no matter how evil this man was…he was too valuable. Gauze was placed, surgeons ready…minutes passed…and it was contained.
A 4x4 square of skin….that was from such a tiny place…Dr. Breck wiped the sweat from his forehead…it was going to be a long night….
……………………
6 months later.
…………………..
Light washed over him, cleansing embracing light; the kind of light that peeks through a child's bedroom window on a Saturday morning, before he rushes to his box of cereal and morning cartoons. Yes, it was this type of sunlight that glistened on Jack Napier's skin…his skin.
Jack woke slowly…rose up slightly, and then fell back onto his downy bed. His body ached, his face, his legs, chest, back, everything. He could barely lift his arm without it stinging horrendously, as if every inch of his body was stung by angry bees. But the light in his room was so bright, he had to lower the shade on the window, less he go blind. Wait, a window? Why was there a window in here? Where was he? The questions flooded him again, but he fought them back. One step at a time….and the first one was lowering the blinds.
He reached for the pull-string, when he suddenly caught a glimpse of his own hand….
The skin…it was no longer chalk white, and his nails were no longer emerald green. They were…normal. His breath stopped; of course the skin was a rubbed-raw red, he could tell there was a tan-pink sleeve of flesh there on his arm, healing itself slowly and proudly readying to be show off. The pain mattered not anymore, as she sat himself up to check his feet and legs, however, vertigo set in and he fell backwards onto the bed once again…
……………………..
The next day, Jack, no longer the notorious Joker in appearance, awoke to find himself in a brightly lit, steel room. A thin sheet of gauze was wrapped around his face, only showing his eyes. He had begun to wish they had covered his eyes…all around he could see doctors and nurses, familiar faces from the Arkham staff, along with Commissioner Gordon, some of the boys in blue and a few stuck up rich suits from the beneficiary department of Gotham…including that playboy, Bruce Wayne. Dr. Breck made his way in front of Jack, dressed in his long white coat, hair greased back as if he were opening for some second-rate downtown show. Perhaps he was…
"Ladies and Gentlemen, It brings me great pleasure and much gratification to unveil to you tonight, the first step of the end of madness and absolute terror in Gotham city!" Breck began, his arms open wide to dramatize the event, "I give you, this evening, the complete first phase of The Jokers rehabilitation process!"
Suddenly, the gauze was snatched from his head. Eyes opened wide, glasses were shattered, gasps emerged, and minds were dumbfounded. The commissioner, one of those who dropped their glass of complimentary wine, only stood there, fixated, before he recalled his ability to speak.
"How can you be sure that…a procedure like this, no matter how advanced, will be beneficial to The Joker?" Gordon called.
Breck smiled and nodded towards Gordon, "The Joker persona that Mr. Napier had created was based purely on his appearance, im certain that altering back to the norm shall be a great step in his full recovery."
Joker could only lay there, strapped to the vertically angled bed, his eyes motioning around. He wanted to speak, but nothing compelled him to…he had no joke, no quirk to throw…
"Oh dear, how rude of me…here, lets show you what the commotion is about…" Breck, with the assistance of a nurse, slowly began to undo his straps. Or were…
"Hold that!" a voice from the middle of the crowd called out, "you can't unleash him!" the voice turned out to belong to the playboy Jack had examined earlier, Mr. Bruce Wayne.
"Are you sure that it's safe? I mean, what you have done is extraordinary, it defies everything that people in your field have thought to be impossible…but this man…no amount of plastic surgery is going to cure him. He's sick." Bruce concluded.
"Mr. Wayne…I don't know whether it's the face that you can't contemplate over the cause of The Joker's condition, or whether you refuse to believe that such a man could be helped…I have found a cure for the sickest, and I shall demonstrate it here tonight!" And with that, Breck released the last strap.
The cold floor sent chills up his spine as he raised himself to his full height, right in front of Mr. Wayne. Silence instilled a familiar cold silence…but it wasn't the same silence. The eyes around him weren't terrified, they were merely shocked…a reaction his was use to, but it wasn't the same. The adrenalin he received from fear was not there…
"Here, Joker…take a look into the mirror…tell us if you like the change…" Breck guided Jack to the mirror on the steel wall.
He looked…and he too was shocked…
Fine black hair wisped behind his ears and over his forehead, strands slightly curled in-between thin black eyebrows, crinkling over his fine, fresh pink skin. It was like looking at a grown baby; the skin was soft, fresh, his own even…he knew it was his. His lips, once a bright crimson red, were merely a soft light pink, pressed together into a normal stoic position. Everything was the same, his nose, his cheekbones, his chin…his face was the same…but the person was different. All except his eyes….those red tinted eyes…burning hellfire, the chaos of his soul…
"Well, Joker…what do you think?" Dr. Breck asked, patting his patient on the shoulder.
"That's Napier….Mr. Jack Napier…Dr. Breck."
heh...well...lay it on me...but just so you know, this is my universe, kay?
