AN: Takes place early in their career. Title comes from The The's song 'Boiling Point'. Their fellow costumed maniacs are still few and far between-no Joker yet, not as we know him, but Oswald's got his business going and there's been some murmurings of a riddle-man in the criminal circles.
Christineoftheopera-Seems to us that he doesn't have to be everywhere at once. He always finds us. He's like Santa! He sees us when we're good, he knows when we're killing...Santa's a creep. We never had Santa. You're kidding. Not even in school? Blasphemy! Damn. I was hoping you were the kid that accidentally wrote 'Satan' on his letter.
Johanna Crane-And bruise-free. There's something to be said for that. And really? You went after him with a pipe? I was high, shut up! I should have just taken you with me. But you're so giggly when you're high... Everything's funny. And there was that time you thought I was Frodo... YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH.
The bank is quiet. It's stiflingly hot and humid-a storm's building, but it won't break. It will, though-the skies are rumbling and the smell of rain is nearly suffocating.
There aren't many people in here today-everyone got their business done in the morning. So now, in the midafternoon, it's quiet and still.
As a result, everybody turns when the door opens. It's a large group-a handful of large men wearing tattered clothing, a woman in a gas mask and a long white coat, and a tall, thin man in a mask.
Somebody's finger goes for the silent alarm, but before she can make contact the masked man steps to the front of the group.
"Touch that alarm and you'll spend the rest of your days in a padded cell."
She knows he means it. She was there, in the narrows that night, but she managed to flee before being hit with the gas.
Her mother and daughter now reside in a home upstate.
She draws her finger back and steps away from the counter as he leans forward.
"I need to make a withdrawal." he says, his voice muffled by the burlap. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, so if you wouldn't mind…"
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a guard raise his weapon. What happens next is fast and brutal.
Before he can fire off a shot, the thugs raise shotguns and open fire. When the smoke clears, the smell of powder mingles with the smell of blood and the guard is lying on the ground, no longer moving. The man in front of her sighs.
"We'll have to do this the hard way, I see. Kitty, would you…?"
The woman is already moving, corralling patrons and free-floating tellers into a corner. The Scarecrow leans on the counter, drumming his fingers against the glass.
"If anyone tries anything like that again, you'll all regret it. And somebody silence that brat!"
Everyone jumps and the mother responsible for the crying child hurries to shush it, her panicked 'shu-shu-shu' nearly unintelligible through her tears.
What should she do? The handbook doesn't cover robbery-by-madman. Gunman? Sure. Guy that can set them all screaming with a flick of his wrist? This has to be handled with care, and she hasn't the faintest idea what to do.
"Well?" He sounds a little impatient. "Are you going to do as I said, or do I have to come back there?"
Braver souls than she would have told him to fuck off. All she can stammer out is, "You're a monster."
He laughs at her and the mask makes it so much worse because she can't see him laughing, only hear it…
"Oh, you're a fighter!" He sounds delighted. "Maybe I'll take you with me…come now, little girl, I don't have all day."
"No." She remembers her little girl, sweet Jessica. "No. Get out."
He does not laugh this time, only looks at her.
"Final answer?"
She can feel her coworkers staring at her and she longs to turn around, see what they think she should do, but she can't turn her back on him.
"Go fuck yourself."
"Not possible, I'm afraid."
And then he's moving back, arms spread out as though inviting someone to shoot him.
"Masks on, gentlemen."
Somebody-the mother-breaks free from the huddle and bolts for the door, dragging her child with her. The woman reaches out and pulls the boy back, ignoring his shrieking and squirming.
"You don't want me to shoot him, do you?"
Yes, she thinks, let her, it'll be over quickly for him then, please…
But of course the woman shakes her head and allows herself to be led back. Her son is not returned.
"Lively little chap." She lugs him over to the Scarecrow. "Now stay here and be a good boy, or Aunty Kitty will have to shut you up."
She doesn't realise when the bank starts filling with white smoke, only that somebody's started crying in earnest. She pulls her scarf over her mouth and nose and gets down. Could she run? No, there's nowhere to run, he'd catch her.
She hits the alarm.
"Mommy! Mommy, not so fast, I can't keep up!"
"Come on, baby, keep running!"
The soft wrist in her grip is suddenly yanked away and she turns, screaming, but a police officer grabs her and shoves her back.
"Get outta here, lady, get out!"
"No! No, my baby! Jessica!"
But she's carried away and on the news she sees a monster on horseback and oh god
There's a scrabbling noise and she looks up, the scarf beginning to slip from around her face.
He's scaling the glass*-probably didn't bother trying to pick the lock. He's coming in.
She gets up, coughing, and picks up a chair. She'll be damned if his skinny ass gets anything…where'd he go?
"Hello, little girl."
She screams, the scarf finally falling to the ground, and swings the chair. He sidesteps it and she hits something soft instead.
"I'll take this."
He grabs the drawer and turns to go.
"Happy screaming."
By the time the police come, he's long gone.
THE END
*My grocery store bank (maybe others, but I'm never in them) has a gap between the ceiling and the glass. I can't climb it, but I'm not freakishly tall, either. If he got on the counter, he could probably manage it just fine, and then just leave through the door.