This story will include mature content, (eventual) smut, violence, swearing and murder.

Author's Note: Firstly, I want to shout out the-killing-j0k3 for their amazing work and for inspiring me to go through with an old story of mine that I made like... a year ago. She has a fanfiction called Ace of Spades, go give it a read! I'll try and keep the Joker in character with all of his lip-smacking, scar-licking and his stutters. I want to stick to his personality and make him as deviously cruel and apathetic as I can. If you read this book and enjoy it, please let me know by reviewing/favouriting/giving me a follow!
Secondly, this fanfiction has a lot of stalking and boundary-pushing... just putting this out there. The main female character (Juliette) is actually very similar to who I am. Personality-wise, life events and the whole college course thing.
And finally, may I present to you, a fanfiction written by a 17-year-old girl trying to insert (tragic) realism into a fictional universe...

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Joker or any other DC characters, only Julie and other OC's I implement into this book.

Crime & Chaos

" GOTHAM CITY BANK "

by alwaysgeia

Juliette Evans was a first-year college student. She moved from the UK to the US with her mum and dad when she was around the age of 10. After the suicide of her dad, both Julie and her mum were left alone with little-to-no income. No matter how desperately they both wanted to leave the dreadful city, money was the biggest issue in the way of that. Her accent sounded British, but with a tinge of American. At ages 16-18, you'd think most students would find a part-time job or participate in a college club as most American teenagers did... well, not Julie. Even though she was 17, virtually 18, she remained unemployed and only had a few personal hobbies, her mum pestered about getting a job frequently. ("You won't be paid for taking pictures, hun.") Julie's only hobby was snapping photos of Gotham's malefactions and inscribing up her own interpretations of what it was homogeneous to, i.e. the difference in views between the victims and malefactors. Today was a little different in that aspect... She was yet to present her pictures to an official newsagent; this little hobby was hers, and hers only, for the time being.

At the moment, she had the Camcorder contrivance in her hands, a gift her father bought her a few months before his passing. Her finger was yare to press the capture button. Currently, Gotham's Bank was being purloined by a gang of men in frugal, plastic clown masks. Julie had captured them enter the bank with their weapons, something the media would not even get close to getting, even if it denoted staying in a single place all day - Monday was a college-free day - at the most popular magnetizations (for larcenies, of course) in Gotham.

Julie hopped down from the ledge she was laid across on as she heard gunshots. Something was going down. As she peered through one of the broken windows which had been shot through - probably to scare the bank employees - she whipped her camera in front of her face, capturing (most likely - and dolefully - blurred) photos from the scene of the malefaction. What she saw was... strange. There were fewer clowns, about 1 or 2 less, then her eyes wandered to the floor; a couple of bodies scattered around with their clown masks either thrown aside or crushed underneath their faces. Eyes wide and vigilant, they cast glances around the scene. Limpidly, these guys didn't trust anyone - even their own mob members.

Oh, man. She snapped more pictures, then switched to video mode. The red light switched on and recorded what was imminent. The men in clown masks handed grenades to the hostages and pulled the pins. Followed by a few chuckles, one of them threatened: "Obviously, we don't want you doing anything with your hands other than holding on for dear life." A gunshot was perceived from the office, followed by the Bank Manager, a shotgun held between both hands. One clown fell to the floor, killed by the shotgun's impact. Two clowns took cover abaft a desk. This was certainly a surprise for them.

Another shot fired.

"You have any idea who you're stealing from? You and your friends are dead!"

One of the cowering clowns stood and orchestrated to shoot - but the Bank Manager fired quicker, buckshot clipping his shoulder. The clown had fallen rearwards and was out of Julie's vision. As the Manager moved in for the kill, fumbling for incipient shells to ram into his shotgun, the second cowering clown had time on his side and stood up, his gun pointed at the Bank Manager. A burly bullet had been astringently lodged in his thigh. As the first clown made his appearance kenned again, he huskily shouted: "Where did you learn to count?" The second clown turned to him, cocking his head to the side, a nebulous action that resembled a 'what?' expression, despite the mask obnubilating his face.

"That's a lot of money!" A clown said, his hands throwing sizably voluminous duffel bags into a pile, "if this Joker guy was so smart, he'd have had us bring a bigger car..."

A cock of a gun interrupted his casual demeanour, causing the second clown to turn around, staring into the eye holes of the other masked malefactor.

"I'm betting the Joker told you to kill me as soon as we loaded the cash."

With a prompt glance at what Julie surmised was a watch, the second clown tutted, stepping rearwards, "no, no, no, no... I kill the bus driver."

"Bus driver? What bus driver-" The tail terminus of a yellow school bus suddenly smashed through the front of the bank, slamming the first clown into the teller's window. The hostages screamed. A man hopped out of the rear door of the bus, peregrinating towards the duffel bags. "School's out. Time to go," he glimpsed at the first clown guy who he had just hit with the bus, amusement in his tone, "that guy's not getting up, is he?"

The silent clown didn't say a word, instead just loaded the bus with the bags, his gun in hand.

"That's a lot of money..." repeated the bus clown, unironically reiterating what the other clown said earlier. Julie would wager her left hand that he was going to get killed, too. "What happened to the rest of the guys?" Yep. She called it. Clown number 2 shot him in the chest without a word. The wounded Bank Manager examined the scene unfold, his eyes on the silent clown. Just as the clown hoisted his foot to get inside the bus, the Manager ceased him:

"Think you're smart, huh? Well, the guy that hired you's just gonna do the same to you."

With a shake of his head, the clown stared him down, letting him talk. "Sure he will. Criminals in this town used to believe in things..."

The clown turned back to the Manager, crouching over him.

"Honour. Respect. Look at you. What do you believe in, huh?!" yelled the Manager, wriggling on the marble floor in agony. "What do you believe in-"

"I believe..." he put a grenade in the Manager's mouth, a purple thread knotted around it, "whatever doesn't kill you..." he pulled the clown mask off, "simply makes you..." he licked his lips, "stranger."

Makeup. He had makeup on underneath the mask. Deathly ebony circles around his eyes, cracked white face paint and two immense scars lined against both sides of his mouth. Red paint covered his disfigured mouth. Julie had only just noticed, but he was donning a purple suit and a light blue button-up shirt. An overall terrifying - but somehow comical - appearance. Wouldn't want to see this clown at a birthday party... His curly, greasy green hair seemed to glow in the sunlight from the window Julie was recording from. The clown gave the man a grin, stained-yellow teeth peculiarly completing his clown look. The thread knotted around the grenade was annexed to the clown's suit. Her finger hovered above the recording button to turn it off, but she hesitated. Screw it.

As soon as the recording light dimmed, a loud beep was heard from her camera; a signal that the video saved. Julie's optics widened as both the clown's and banker's head turned towards the window. Fortuitously lowering her camera, a glimpse of her face was revealed, engendering a target for the clown. The purple-clad man had swiftly prehended a knife from his pocket and threw it towards her, scarcely missing her head by an inch. With a sharp intake of breath, she ducked from the window, camera in hand. "Fuck fuck fuck." She hissed, stumbling a little by a shrewd turn.

As Julie reached the road, a line of school buses drove past. One, in particular, caught her eye; it had just taken a sharp right from... Gotham's Bank. It coalesced right in with the other inculpable school buses but she wasn't fooled. That very bus gradually drove past her. She looked up at one of the windows and noticed the clown staring right at her, a tight frown composed on his white scarred face. He watched her look up at the bus window and their eyes met. He stared; black, beady eyes bored into hers. That's all he did. It scared her more than if he was smiling.

He analysed her under a scrutinising glare. The light of day revealed her hidden depths; her lush warm complexion, irises that were effulgent and viridescent, like the earth on a crisp, summer morning (they reminded him more of clean dollars or the day he chose to paint his hair green), the amber in her tight curls appearing akin to the sun from abaft the gloomy grey clouds of Gotham City. It was refreshing. He let a grin form on his daunting face, imagining her head of hair with a knife sticking out of it.

Alas, she didn't want to stand there like a lost duckling, she sprinted between two of maybe five school buses to reach the other side of the road, earning a frustrated honk from a car driving in the left lane.

"What a feisty little thing-ah," he observed aloud, smacking his lips together. He let a minuscule giggle escape from his crimson-scarred mouth.

A streak of red and blue flashed past the yellow school buses. Cop cars. Boy, were they late.

After she had crossed the line of yellow school buses, she had headed straight to The Gotham Times. Her reason for this was pristinely for apperception and fame for imperilling her life to film mob members purloining a bank, but all she received was a disappointment. Yeah, I almost died doing this, what have they done? Those bastards at The Gotham Times sent her video to news channels and printed their newspapers with her (clear) pictures. Hardly any credit whatsoever went to Julie for her strenuous exertion. In tiny writing at the bottom of the newspaper's page, it wrote: 'Photos captured by a pedestrian'. Bastards.

When her hissy fit ceased, she caught the next bus home, mumbled a "hey, mum," and turned on the TV. The first channel that showed on the screen was the news channel GCN. She sighed in annoyance when the news reporter said a few words.

"The video shown was caught by a civilian. The images are disturbing."

Watching it on a TV screen instead of a diminutive, low-quality square looked a lot preponderant.

At least she knew who the masked man was. The 'Joker', they called him. Did he not have a name?