Second Laugh

Gotham City Police Department, Gotham City

2:32 p.m, November 16

Gotham City had seen brighter days. Things never got this bad in the past no matter how bad they were to begin with. There had been countless occasions in which they could have, but Batman always found a way to save the day. Now it seemed to be slipping away, and the face of evil seemed to slowly but surely overcome their only hero, saint, legend. Nobody ever thanked him enough for all the things he had done for them in the past, and only now that they needed him did it sudenly become obvious.

Jim Gordon sat in his office awaiting impatiently for the billionare who had just purchased the entire goddamn police force. Damien Crest. His last talk with him on the phone a few hours ago was less than a warm welcome to his throne, but at the moment he meant every word, and still did.

Abruptly, Damien had appeared through the entrance doors for the second time ever, only this time gleeing with a gracious smile. Acompanying him were five oversized men in blue jumpsuits each carrying an enclosed cardboard box.

"Set them over here", he refered to the giants and pointed a finger to the lobby grounds. They all dropped the boxes in the designated spot and left the department with no quarrel. Police staff members all got off their stations to observe what they had in treat, as did Jim.

Damien flicked a switchblade to life and cut through the tape enclosing the boxes. He reached inside and introduced to the curious eyes a fresh batch of kevlar armour plating. "Dive in boys," he invited. "This stuff is nearly state of the art, more expensive and finer than the shit you guys have in the armory."

The policemen who at first were getting ready to yell insults at their new dictator now scavenged through the pile of armor, some trying it on right away, some observing it's quality. "Holy shit man. This is the stuff," came from someone among the school of policemen who were now acting like first graders looting a bag of candy.

Jim hated to admit it, but he was impressed. Maybe things would go rather smoothly. Now he considered taking back those words he said on the phone.

Damien walked towards Jim still with a smile, as if he forgot the prior conversation had ever taken place. "How's your day Jim?"

Normally, he would have prefered a more formal title, but then again this was his authority talking, so he decided to keep shut on that. "Not too bad yet."

"You wanted to talk to me?"

"In my office," he said, leading Damien away from public eye. They each took a seat, in the same places they did the last time they met, only now there was an empty spot.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Jim bluntly.

Damien thought to himself for a few seconds about how he would properly word his answer. "Why do we have so much crime?" he counterasked.

"What?"

"We have so much crime, because those who are supposed to watch over us don't have the means or even morale required. That's why my life is this way, and that's why yours is."

"Morale?" he wondered aloud as if it was a foreign word.

"Yes Jim. Morale. A man needs morale if he's going to risk his life protecting his neighbors. Didn't you hear? The police will be recieving a 14 higher pay, all coming out of Salas treasury. That means more cash for everyone, hence morale."

Confused, Jim sat silently contemplating the idea to himself, trying to come up with any reason against Damien Crest.

"Look Jim," said Damien interrupting his train of thought. "I gotta go; conference calls. You have any questions you call me on the cell."

He left the office, and Jim was alone again, listening to nothing but the rackets that overflowed from outside his wooden doors. "Coconuts."

Ellensdale Carnival, Gotham City

8:21 p.m

The carnival was especially lively this night. Everything had a little bit more fun and laugh in them. An observant eye might go on to say too much. But neither the playful childrennor their humble guardians walking beside them watching at all times nor even some of the staff seemed to understand why, or care for that matter. Nobody bothered looking past the smiling crowd for anything conspicous at all.They eyed by disregarding the answer that layed before them.

Jack Napier, the only clown laughing more hysterically than any clown in the carnival, or the world for that matter. This was going to be yet another party night for him. He had a tight grip on his old world war II antique, the one that went by the name of Thompson. Twelve clips hid underneath his coat, waiting anxiously for a blast. And a blast they would get.

"HA HA HA HA HA HA!" He joined in the joy the children expressed after consuming his special customized cotton candy. Soon after, they fell and died with joy.

"Oh well," he aimlessly rattled the weapon in his arms, caring not at all who it hit as long as it hit someone. A bullet was never meant to be spent lightly. Bodies piled up on the floor, whatever life was left tried best to reach the exit with their lives intact.

"Don't eat candy," advised the Joker as he planted bullets on anything that moved. "It'll make you fat. And if you're fat, you won't be dandy, and you'll be cranky."

"Like a messy rat! A tire track!"

Then, soaring high above from the skies past the moon was his greatest threat. "Or a bat," he snarled and aimed the barrell of his gun hoping to land a bullet on his caped crusader. He wasn't known as being a perfect marksman, so it was to nobody's surprise even him, that not a shot came close. But the bat wasn't about to take that chance. Smoke gas suddenly rained from the sky down towards the Joker, he had to shield his eyes in order to retain sight. Expecting yet another close ambush, the Joker fled blindly away from the smoke, firing his weapon randomly without observing his shots.

Batman landed on the grassy floor intact and posed for a leap. But the Joker flared sparks of gunshot without any recognition, and Batman had to hold himself back. It would take only one out of the fifteen shots he was firing to end the game, and the possibilities of that happening could not be comprehended.

And at that moment, it seemed that this time the Joker was going to have things his way. He was beyond the blinding smoke now and just outside the carnival entrance still running only this time he could see perfectly well where he was. Batman would have to wait his turn.

What caught the Joker's eye was a yellow cab standing on hold with the driver in it and the keys in the ignition. He raised the Thompson's field of vision onto the driver's head and sprayed his only form of love, penetrating through the winshield and slamming the driver as hard and precise as cupid's arrow.

"It is time for the Joker to make away with the Jokermobile!" He taunted himself to all the twenty or so audiences still heartsunk at the carnival massacre. Then he retreated into the yellow cab, pulled the dead driver away and sped through the road, mindless of the three young children he ran over on the way.

Jack Napier drove in the night with his headlights blinking high for what seemed to have been seven minutes or so, and just when he thought everything would end well, he noticed a loud thump crash above the ceiling of his getaway vehicle.

"You bats don't seem to quit do you?" He took his hands off the steering wheel and replaced them with his elbows as he was reloading his Thompson. Only a second after he was all done, he began firing at the roof of his car spreading his bullets in a patternless motion.

A car rooftop was not sufficient protection. Batman had to veer clear of the bullets which tore through the metal material like it was paper. He was running the same risk he was faced with in the carnival. Only the chance of him getting a bullet was much higher this time. Everything happened in a matter of seconds. He had to reconsider, and fast. Waiting for the Joker to run out of bullets was out of the question, there had to be other options.

Jack Napier understood the seriousness of his situation. Batman had come to take him away once and for all. He would be sent back to Arkham Asylum, he would go mad, the jokes would be up. But that didn't stop him from laughing his head off as he continued firing his weapon.

A heavy force fell out from the rooftop and rolled back, he felt it from the car. He glanced at the side mirror and witnessed one of the greatest things he had ever seen in his entire life. The man in black was hanging desperately onto the butt of the car, his hands losing grip.

"HA HA HA HA HA!" Joker immediately veered into a sudden left turn onto the freeway trying to shake off his masked nemesis. He looked into the mirror, Batman was still in his reflection.

"Arrrgh."

The freeway was a mass of cars driving at dangerous speeds throughout Gotham. Right now, it was the perfect weapon.

His cab found the nearest car to be a red Suzuki driven by a 38 year old male. He aimed his car in front of the red and bumped his trunk on it's nose.

Batman saw the red Suzuki approaching so close to him. This was it. When the nose was close enough, Batman mustered all his strength and rappelled his arms around the red car, pulling his body on top afterwards.

It was unbelievable. Batman was still in the mirror. His disgusting face remained, still plaguing the troubled mind. Only now, he was looking from somewhere else. Batman was standing on top of a moving car.

This gave Joker a few snickers of frustration. He stuck his head out of the side window and brought his gun with him.

"Sayonara scatman!"

Joker delivered a spray of lethal injections at the driver of the red Suzuki. While the driver did indeed die as he intended, Batman, the thorn on his side, the devil, Lucifer himself, had dissapeared.

"This night belongs to the Joker!" The proud villain declared. Everything was going so smoothly now. Batman, that menace, was gone. He took a deep relaxed breath and shifted his eyes to the rode. He observed the side mirror once more and realized, Batman wasn't there anymore. The only man in the big picture was himself.

He wondered then when the next time would be that they met once more. Little did he know that their next encounter would be a little sooner than expected. A small black glint appeared from behind, growing larger and larger. Now it became solid, and was racing passed every other car in its path. It was a vehicle, but not a car. It was black, large and excessive on protective metal plates on the hull. Like a tank driving on the road.

Batman was growing quite fond of his Tumbler. A tank on the road, except faster, accessible, and much more dangerous. There was one feature in particular above all that made him proud.

Combat mode. Just with the flick of a button, he could play his turn as a master of the rules.

A single homing rocket traced the Joker's back left tire and blew it to debris. Unable to sustain any control, Napier slid with his car past the highway crashing into any barriers that came into his path. The car took a short dive down into the city block and crashed with excessive force.

Jack Napier tried to budge the door open, but it was jammed. He pulled himself out from the side window and ran away from the smashed car with his machine gun in hand.

The dark knight suddenly came out of nowhere and delivered a smack on the Joker's face before he could even point his gun.

"Not this time."