Issue #9 – Be Batman

It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all.

And so on.

Robin's brain throbbed. The first therapy session had ended hours ago. How many he wasn't certain. His eyes felt heavy and weak in the total darkness, but Harley had propped a giant speaker next to the cage—it blasted "It's a Small World" on an endless loop.

"I've always found music affects my mood," Joker explained. "For instance, when I hear Bob Dylan I'm a sociopath, but Chuck Berry puts me more in a psychopathic mood. But being a teenager, you probably listen to your Kyle Kobains and your Charlie Manson, where it's all angst, angst, angst."

"Actually," Robin said. "I've always been a Tom Petty kind of guy."

"See! You're already getting into it! Quipping and jawing like that. Keep it up! But we're really going to stretch that grin until you can't stand it!"

And then the music started. Of course, it was the version of "It's a Small World" everyone knows. The one from the theme park, with the high pitched voices that drone on endlessly. When Tim was little, his mom and dad had taken him there. Back then the animatronic children had been creepy, like a hundred homicidal puppets. That was several years before he met Scarface.

And then the song looped. Robin had lost count of number of times he had heard, "It's a small small, it's a small small world." It hadn't taken long for the words to become a dagger in his brain. About five minutes, actually. And that had to have been about, well, uh…Robin had no concept of time, but it had to have been at least five hours.

At least. Five long grueling hours. He ached from Joker's beating, his emotions were still fragile from the 'therapy.' He needed sleep. And even if the speaker wasn't blaring straight into his ear, there was always the matter of the homicidal maniac running around—dropping your guard and taking a nap wasn't a good idea.

Tim yawned. The song started over again. "I wonder how long it would take to make a noose out of my leg hair," he muttered.

It's a small world after---ksssht! The music stopped, and the lights lit up one by one, burning Robin's eyes. He squinted, and through the colored spots, he saw Joker's grinning face.

"Good morning, dear boy. Aren't you going to chirp out a pretty song like a good robin?"

Robin watched him lower his head, hiding a smile as he took a step towards the cage. "I trust you slept well?"

Robin's hand tightened into a fist. That's it. Just a little closer.

"I see the therapy still hasn't loosened your tongue any."

Another step. He was right next to the cage. Robin lunged forward, throwing his fist through the bars, straight for Joker's face. The Joker bent backwards like he was doing the limbo. "Whoa, but I see we're still a little feisty!" He laughed. "That's good. That's what I like to see. That youthful spirit always bubbling so free. But you know what one of the problems with young people these days is? They don't have any good role models, nobody respectable to look up to."

Robin rolled backwards into a crouching position. The cage was small, but there was just enough room to leap out of the way of another dart. He couldn't dodge them forever, but he could at least make the Joker work for it. Maybe make him slip up.

"I think that may be one of your bigger problems," Joker said, pacing back and forth. "Look who you model yourself after—a man who dresses up in bat pajamas and prowls the city at night. That can't be healthy at all! What kind of role model is that? And he's always so solemn." Joker stuck two fingers beside his head to mimic bat ears. "'There's always something wrong in Gotham. Is anything ever right in this world? This bat-pole is too far up my bum for me to even crack a smile.' It's no wonder you're so depressed, Robby! You need to look up to someone a bit cheerier. Someone with better people skills." Joker gripped the bars of the cage, and he shoved his face against them. "Someone who…smiles." His teeth appeared like razor blades.

Robin started to lunge, but he felt a prick in his back, and he fell flat on his face. His head throbbed, and he rolled over to see Harley Quinn holding a blow gun.

"I got 'im, Mistah J.! First try too!"

"Wonderful, Har! You know, Robin, Harley here is a big fan of those extreme makeover TV shows."

"I stole the first season of Trading Faces on DVD just yesterday!"

"And she's been dying to try out a few of the techniques she's learned." Joker reached into his pocket, and he pulled out the key. As he unlocked the door, Robin tried to push himself up, tried to lunge forward, but his arms buckled beneath him and he fell to the cold steel again. Like before, Joker grabbed him by the hair and yanked him from the cage. Robin's shoulder crashed against the floor with a hard thud, throbbed, but before he could worry if it had been dislocated, he had been hoisted into the air again. This time it was by the waistband of his briefs. Harley covered her mouth to hide a giggle, but the Joker cackled as he carried Robin over to a table.

Robin tried to blank his mind. The pain was bearable. The humiliation, however, made him seethe.

Joker threw him onto the table, and Harley pushed a cart just into his field of vision. Joker pulled on a Hawaiian shirt and slicked his hair back, getting into character. He began to talk flamboyantly. "What ARE we goin' to do teday, Har?"

"We're going to make him handsome!" Harley exclaimed, and she dumped a bucket of white goo on Robin's bare chest. He almost winced. The cream felt like it had been kept in a freezer overnight. It was cold and sticky, and the two of them began to rub it over his body. His ribs ached from being struck with the cane the day before. Just below his throat, there was a burn wound from the tazer. They made sure to rub the cream in extra carefully there. Over his chest. Across his stomach. Along his arms and shoulders. Up his neck, into his mouth, into his nose. Jam it into his ears. Luckily the mask protected his eyes.

Harley began to rub it on his feet, cranking on each of his toes as Joker had done to his fingers. Over his shins, up his legs, up his thighs. Higher. Higher. Robin winced. Suddenly he felt sick. He thought of Stephanie, holding her on his bed.

"Is this okay?"

"Shh, Tim, it's fine. You're doing fine."

"Oh, be careful, Harley," Joker said. "I don't think any girls have touched him down there before." He laughed, and Robin growled. He actually made his body hop on the table, but that was it. He had been trying to rip out Joker's eyes.

"There!" Harley said, stepping back to admire the work. "Not bad, but it's missing something."

"Oh, I know," Joker said. "But what? Hmm. I wonder if DaVinci ever had this problem…not knowing just what that something else his art needs…"

"I know!" Harley snapped her fingers. She reached back to the cart and pulled up a bucket. Robin recognized the smell. It was paint. They dumped it over Robin's forehead, and he saw droplets of it fall on the table. It was green.

"Oh, now he's starting to look real handsome," Harley said. "But he still needs something." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tube of lipstick. She pressed it against Robin's mouth, running it up his cheeks, almost to his ears. "There we go!"

Joker held up a mirror. "What do you think?"

His skin had been dyed white. His hair had been dyed green. And now a huge, ugly grin crossed his face.

Just like the Joker.

"Now you look like a real man!" Joker exclaimed.

After that, Joker decided it would be good to do some role-play. "It's always healthy to see things from someone else's perspective," he explained. He wrapped a piece of cloth over his shoulders and put a Lone Ranger mask over his eyes. "I'll be Robin," he said. "And you be the Joker!"

Robin's legs were still weak, so Harley Quinn propped him up. He tried to swing at her, but his arms just kind of swayed in the air.

"Holy flying doughnut holes, Batman!" Joker exclaimed. "The Joker, despite being devilishly handsome and hilarious, just killed another one of our partners! Let's get him!" Joker lunged forward and kicked Robin in the stomach. Robin doubled over, and Harley let him drop to the floor. "Oh no!" Joker exclaimed. "I think he has a gun!" Joker dove on him and started to pound on him. Lefts. Rights. Boots to the ribs. Stomps to the sternum. Robin coughed and gagged. He spat blood onto the floor.

"Whew," Joker said, wiping his face. "That was fun! Let's do another!" Harley propped Robin up again. "This time," he said, putting the cape over Robin's shoulders. "You be Robin, and I'll be the Joker."

He walked a few paces away, wiped his hands over his face to get into character, and then he turned to Robin. "Robin? Say, haven't I already killed you? Oh well, guess I'll just have to do it again until you learn to stay dead." The Joker leapt on him again. This time the beating was worse. Robin's nose cracked. Blood began to ooze into his mouth.

"That was splendid." Joker clapped his hands. "Ooh, let's do one more! Oh, I know! We'll let you live out your life long fantasy." Harley held Robin up again, and Joker sneered as he leaned down. He dragged his long fingernail over Robin's chest, drawing blood in places, scraping a line out of the paint. When he stepped back, he motioned to it. He had drawn a giant bat. "There. See. I'm letting you act out your fantasy. This time you get to be Batman!"

But... Robin thought, his mind becoming hazy. But I don't want to be Batman. He thought of how many times he had said it. Over and over. I'm not Batman. I won't be Batman. I'll never be like Batman. As the Joker pushed up his shirt sleeves, chuckling as he cracked his knuckles, Robin thought: I wish I were Batman. Batman would be able to handle this. Batman would have found a way out by now.

The Joker's fists pummeled him worse than ever. Even Harley joined in, putting a boot or eight into his ribs. When they finished, they picked up Robin like a slab of meet and threw him back into the cage. He lay there, bleeding, coughing as he tried to draw breath in a pool of his own blood. The Joker blasted "It's a Small World" again, but even though his eardrums throbbed, Robin still managed to pass out.