First Laugh

Wayne Manor, Gotham City

6:32 p.m November 9

November always meant a cold night for Gotham City. Street poles caught the algid climate forming a barrier of oxygen trapped on its exterior. Passerbys exhaled warm carbon contradicting with the wind, letting out a dragon's breath from their mouths.

The cave caught influence. From every manmade invention present to the sturdy lifeless rocks to the air and the school of bats creeping up on the hidden ceiling.

Bruce sat alone on an empty wooden chair that he placed personally in the dark cavity, covered in his daywear underneath and a thick blanket comforter on top.

The cave was a hole hidden underneath the body of Wayne Manor. It was his home, much like Wayne Manor was the house of his father. Bruce found comfort in his refuge of isolation, much more than he could ever have from the Manor above. His father's house.

There was a certain similitude between Bruce and Wayne Manor. On the outside, they both had it all. The inviting sparkle called wealth that was suggestive of social accomodation, and company from the upper class crowd. Celebrities, buisnessmen to crooked politicians look upon them with eyes of shallow desire, smiling with empty faces. And one, like the other, was stalked by lust and selfishness, the people who considered themselves friends were nothing more than thieves wrestling each other for a ladder to see the top of the world. Greed. The defining trait of human society.

Wayne Manor and its current tenant also had one thing in common. A secret. One that only few knew of. What seemed to be a clear bright star in the spotless night was rather a shattered soul finding its path with a broken wing, blind and overcome with ambiguities. Everything changed within a matter of seconds. They lost a road only to find a new one along the way. The dark. It brought them love after their loss, and displayed unconditional affection. It consumed them, cherished and cared for them long after light had abandonned them as an orphaned child. Bruce and his father's manor had grown roots in the soil of dark.

Waterfall atop hid a side hole in the cave. The Batman used this as a means of entering and leaving. It was the perfect cover. From the outside it would have seemed that there was nothing beneath the fall. Water made that illusion. And whenever the Batman wanted to get past, all he had to do was ram his Tumbler through the water gate.

But this wasn't the night. This was the night where he "sat out" as Jim Gordon had put it. Now it was time to let the police do their work alone, and watch from the shadows to see if they're finally ready. Too see if the queen that is Gotham no longer needed her loyal dark knight.

One day, when they're ready, Batman would no longer be called for. Nobody will mention his name, mass crime will be a thing of the past. There will be no more pain and suffering, only recovery and hope. That day will come eventually, when a city can stand on its own. And when that day comes, the Batman will go back to his cave never to return again. His legacy will die, forgotten. His image will be nothing more than a myth. And Gotham will live.

Footsteps echoed through the cave, a wrinkled old man dressed neatly in a tuxedo came to clear view.

"How are you this time of night master Bruce?" he asked, wearing a dauntless smile across his frail cheeks. His hands were occupied with a rich twenty first century silver tray. Housed on top were a pair of knives and forks, and on the center was a plate of smoked salmon with couliflowers neat on the side.

"I'm not hungry Alfred," the millionare replied, disinterested.

But the elder butler refused to let down. "Master Bruce are you implying that I went up to that kitchen and cooked this all for nothing?" he inquired like an intolerant mother telling her son to finish off his vegetables.

Bruce didn't respond. Instead he sat quietly with himself, mind wandering.

After a few seconds, the butler grew unsure of what to do. Master Bruce liked to stick to himself at certain occasions whenever at the cave, occupying himself with a crime case. But this time he felt much too distant than usual. There were no cases to be burdened with at the moment. This night was supposed to be his off day. But that was probably just it. So upon concern, he decided to ask his former ward. His hands reeled in an empty chair located in the cave itself, and he took a seat in front of Master Bruce.

"What's the matter Master Bruce?"

It took several seconds to hear a reply. And when there was one, it was statement of denial.

"Nothing Alfred. I just feel like being alone right now."

But still he refused to back down, even more worried this time at what could possibly be troubling the child. "Your'e not such a great liar you know", he informed.

Bruce wasn't quite sure how he would put it into words. "Alfred...How long do you think this will go on?"

He knew the answer to that, they both did. The puzzling part was why Master Wayne would even have to ask. Nevertheless, he reminded him. "For as long as it takes." There was no reply. Alfred began to feel uncomfortable with the eerie silence. "Well Master Bruce just call if you need anything. I'll be upstairs in the study." He picked himself up and put the chair back where it was last found. But as he was about to leave, the master finally gave hint of what had been troubling him.

"Do you believe in destiny?" he asked, still seated, moving not an inch.

That was when everything zoomed into focus.

"I don't know Master Wayne," he answered before setting another foot away from the dark. Do you believe in destiny? His smile was butchered instantenously.

The study room was relatively large. Every corner of the wall had a book case in front, and the lightbulbs in place were purposely made extra bright so as to allow for more comfortable reading. There were only two windows in the room, and both faced the exteriors of Gotham City. Every night, when the police required special assistance, their calling signal could be seen from the windows, monumental and vivid. That was when Bruce Wayne would dissapear, and the Batman was unleashed.

Alfred managed to get himself lost in a book, but not for long. Do you believe in destiny? His concentration had come to an abrupt end. Could he believe in destiny? Is it possible for anybody to believe that the death of their parents was a course of destiny?

Then the spotlight hit clear on one of the windows. Alfred dropped the book that layed in his hands. Batman was called for, Gotham needed him, again. He thought of calling Bruce, knew he would eventually. But now all he could bring himself to do was look at it. The symbol of his father's son. Everything he had gone through to become.

Is this destiny?

Gotham City Police Department, Gotham City

6:42 p.m

Detective Frederick Havington couldn't stop his body from making involuntary shivers. This was possibly the worst time to ever be caught standing outside with less than two layers of clothing. "C'mon c'mon, where the hell are you?" he tuned to himself.

"I'm here," came a silent reply.

"Ogh!", Havington flitched and turned around. He was about to say something, but anxiety came first. He had never seen the Batman before, everybody claimed that he was some kind of ghost or something. Criminals couldn't catch him, and neither could the police for that matter. It was awkward. The one man they had been chasing down was now standing alongside them, visible.

"Who are you?"

Havington thought and rethought about the words that would escape his mouth. 'How do you talk to a Batman?' was the thing he was stuck on.

"Havvvv... Havvingttttonton," he tried his best.

"What do you want?" Batman grew tempered. "Where's Gordon?"

Havington forced himself to calm down, tried to act proffessional. "Gordon's busy. In the middle of a sting operation. He tttold me to call you up."

"About what?"

Instead of having to say anything, there was a light brown folder on his hand that would do all the talking for itself. He passed it slowly to Batman. The dark knight snatched it off his hand and made a few glances at it's content.

"Again," he whispered to himself with dissapointment upon gathering the information.

The detective drew a fresh breath of air, then returned his eyes to Batman. But to surprise, his guest had already left. He was alone on the roof again, as if nothing had ever happened. As if he had been talking to a ghost.

Romano's Eatery, Gotham City

7:02 p.m

His real name is Jack Napier. People called him the Joker. He likes to kill. Everything is a joke to him, hence the name.

The gun on his hands was a 1940 M1A1 Thompson submachine gun, the one gangsters use in the movies. He walked in the diner looking for people to share his new toy with. There were twelve people inside. "Get down my puuuurreeeties!" was his demand after clipping an entire round in the ceiling.

People fell down on the ground. Screams were all you could hear, aside from that haunting boisterous laugh of amusement by the Joker.

"I'm so happy", he sung aloud, dancing across the diner. The hostages made no attempt for the door.

"Oh so happy. I'm so happy, la la la, with pride!" A female brunette thirty years of age wearing high heels and a mini skirt raced from the gound to the door. If it weren't for the heels, she might have had a chance. But the clicks of her footsteps rang like churchbells in the ears of the Joker.

"Ah ah! Oh no you don't!" he asserted, and a school of bullets shot into her body proved his point. "What's the matter people?" he looked into the terrified eyes of his remaining victims. "Don't wanna play?" he came with a sarcastic tone of gloom, forming an exagerrated frown on his face. "Am I not good enough? Well I'm sorry I couldn't bring my happy gas with me, I just didn't have the time right now."

Not one soul dared to look up at the hideous man. His skin was cream white, save for a high pitched red around his lips. He was clad in his usual uniform, which consisted of a dark purple suit, orange shirt underneath, a tie, and black shoes.

Then he thought of a great idea. "C'mon you people," the Joker commanded, grabbing two of the eleven remaining people alive by their arms. They each had a river of tears flowing through their eyes, one was a male in his early twenties, the other was a female in her late thirties. "Okay," he ran fingers down his pants and pulled out a .357 magnum. "Here you go," he handed the gun to the woman, suspecting no chance of cheating. They were much too afraid to be doing that. After she picked it up, the Joker placed himself right behind the woman, raising her trigger hand to the man's head. "Okay, now all I want you to do, is shoot," he told her, pacing each of his words so she could hear them.

She couldn't do it. Her hands shivered, and there was no way she would bring herself to kill a man. "No, no, no," she pleaded, weeping at the same time. "No please, don't I don't wanna kill him."

Perhaps the game wasn't made clear. So the host explained. "The rules are, if you don't kill him, I will kill both of you."

But still she shook her head in refusal. "No no. Oh God I can't do this. Please, don't," she slurred incoherently, the frown and excitement turned her words into random gibberish.

Either way the man was going to die. "Do it, it's okay," he mumbled, sheeding tears of his own. "It's okay, this way you get to live." In his eyes, there was a chance.

She refused several times, but the man reassured her. "It's okay."

Then the Joker interrupted. "You see? He says it's okay. Now everyone is happy."

The woman tightened on the grip. "Oh God you asshole." She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see herself commit the crime.

Joker whispered onto her ears. "That's it, pull. Pull the trigger."

She would have. A man's death would have been in her hands. But the hero never allows such a thing.

The only lightbulb in the entire diner had just mysteriously broken into pieces. And so did one of the window glasses. The woman panicked and made an attempt to turn the gun on her captor, but she had the disadvantage of having to turn around, while as the Joker behind needed only to raise his gun and fire. And the game would have lost its fun. Instead he snatched the gun off her hands and threw her down. The night light was the only thing at the moment that kept him from blindness. With that advantage, he looked to inspect the cause of interruption, but he had already known the answer. A tiny yet lethal sharp projectile the shape of a bat lying on the ground only confirmed it.

"Ho ho ho. Looks like the Batman wants to play."

Outside Romano's Eatery, Gotham City

7:05 p.m

The Joker had escaped from Arkham, again. The document said three hours ago. And now police got a call of his whereabouts. Romano's Eatery not too far from the department. Problem is, all the special units were out with Gordan making the bust of their lives. And the Joker is not someone you underestimate. Patrol cops would only end up in bodybags. That's why he called the Batman to take the enemy alone.

The light's went out, now came the hard part.

Romano's Eatery, Gotham City

7:07 p.m

The caped crusader was making his own rules. The Joker admired that. Always willing to play along, all the more making the game more exciting.

"Where are you my friend? Miss me already?"

Suddenly, the front door opened loud, following a creeking noise. The Joker turned to it, but nobody was there. The civilians were still down on the ground, several feet away from the door, it wasn't them. But it wasn't the gust of wind that had blown by just seconds a go.

Then one of the hostages told him where the Batman was. Involuntarily ofcourse. All he did was look into her face, and the dark knight's reflection glistened in her eyes, behind the Joker.

But the Joker made a quick check, and he wasn't there. Then he decided to kill one of his captives to call him out. He aimed the revolver at her skull, took a few seconds, and...

Darkness dropped on him from the ceiling, causing a loss of aim, and eventually, a missfire. He tried to fight it off with his hands, a gun would have been of no worth at such close proximity, but darkness was too quick. The Joker threw fists at the air, then suffered several blows on the head. Any normal person would have gone unconscious, but he mustered enough strength to at least make a sprint out the diner. It wasn't going to end there.

Darkness pursued him, needing not to try hard, for the Joker was limping weak on one leg, bleeding slightly on the head due to all the punches he encountered. Once close, Darkness pounced at him, dropping him down, with the enemy on top. Now all he could do was take another round of massive beating.

Batman wasn't quite sure how he wanted to end this. He was enraged at the corpse at the diner, at how this maniac took everything she's ever had, everything she's ever going to have, and smile about it. And this wasn't the first of them. Too many innocents have died in his hands. Too many. There was one answer to end it all. It was the only answer. But it would betray everything he fought for. All the things that define justice. The things made Batman who he is. But that didn't matter at the moment. This was the only way to solve that neverending problem. There was no multiple choice. Don't stop, keep socking the head. Eventually, the answer will be there.

And he would have gone there. Another gateway would have opened itself to him. It would have made sense, had destiny not intervened.

A rifle round soared from above the sky down into the dark knight's heart. If it weren't for his kevlar biweave, that shot would have gone in. The force of the bullet threw him clashing to the ground. Immediately, Batman stopped, and retreated. Someone shot at him, but it wasn't clear who. It could have been from one of the surrounding buildings, or rooftops. The bullet bounced from his body and fell down on the ground, all he felt was a pinch. He picked up the round and fled the scene, avoiding any invitation for another shot. Whoever the shooter was, he or she was a proffesional. Now might not have been the best time for an open confrontation. Joker used the opportunity to get up and walk away. Again. But Batman was saved from doing something he would later regret.