Cannibalism; that crazy fuck was trying to see if she'd resort to cannibalism. Sure, she knew he wasn't a nice guy, and she certainly hadn't expected any improvement on her nutritional care…but she didn't anticipate… this. This was… beyond deranged. He really and truly had no boundaries.

Of course not Jezzie…he pushes.. Everyone has limits and he tests them… like some sort of fucked up experiment. He gets off on breaking people down to their most ruthless, animalistic selves. He enjoys reducing people to nothing more than feral savages, and he is literally trying to create a state where rules and societal limitations don't exist.

Why?

Because he fucking feels like it. Because it amuses him.

Jezzie was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and happened to catch the attention of a ruthless psychopath while she was there. Had they met in the street, or in a bank, he wouldn't have even looked at her. His fixation on her blossomed from pure and simple boredom. She was so convinced it was more than that…that she was more than that.

But no. She wasn't. Point made, Joker.

Now it was time to make her own.

It was stupid, really. Without even realizing it, within her mind was information she knew the Joker wanted. Something that should have been so obvious, yet somehow she and an entire city hadn't managed to figure it out. Would the information have even helped if she'd realized it sooner? Maybe. She'd probably never know now.

Without much thought as to what she was doing, she dipped her fingers into the bloody mess that used to be Mrs. Fields' face and wrote her message on every wall. If there was a camera, she wanted to make sure that wherever it was, it would pick up what she wrote.

The knife, which Mrs. Fields had dropped in the scuffle, sat less than a foot from her body. Jezzie knelt down and grabbed it, twirling it delicately in her fingers, a grim smile on her face as she looked at it.

She slowly raised her eyes to the door, and hoarsely whispered the same message she'd painted on the walls,

"I know who Batman is."

Her skin split…so easily. She'd never intentionally cut herself before, so the ease of which it happened almost surprised her. The pain at this point was anything but surprising, and she watched the knife separate the flesh on her wrist without so much as a flinch.

It was a risk, sure. But so was starving to death, or dying of infection. Hell, for all she knew, he was just fucking waiting until she became desperate enough to actually start eating the body, then would just open the door to say "hey! We're back, no need to eat your professor's rotten flesh…"

Jezzie laid down, a small smirk on her face. If she had to go, it would be on her terms. And, at the very least, her death would be irritating to him instead of funny.

She refused to allow her death to become a source of amusement for him.

Her vision became fuzzy, and the ceiling spun out of focus before her slowly closing eyes. A large pool of blood had gathered beneath her arm, flowing steadily from the wound drawn horizontally across her left wrist. It wasn't the most efficient way, she knew…but, she wasn't necessarily looking for 100% efficacy in this situation.

Faintly, she heard a click. She rolled her face to the side, and the last thing she saw were dirty brown shoes.

...

When Jezzie opened her eyes, all she could see was…white. Why was everything so white? Was she in heaven?

No…no, if she was in heaven she wouldn't be in so much fucking pain. And there wouldn't be that incessant beeping.

It took quite a few hard blinks, but finally, the room started coming into focus.

She was very much alive, in what looked like an uncommonly small hospital room, the steady beeping coming from the machinery she seemed to be hooked up to. When she turned her head, she noticed a figure hunched over, sitting in the corner next to her bed. It took a few minutes before she could clearly identify the familiar features of the dozing man. When she did finally recognize him, her reaction was lacking a certain amount of…well, happiness. She should have felt happy, relieved, excited, or just…something. But, she felt nothing.

Must be her weakened state.

"Dad…" she spoke the word in a pathetic croak, and Lucius' head snapped up, his eyes blood shot and sunken.

"Jezebelle…" he was instantly at her side, gripping her hands and resting his forehead on hers.

"I thought I'd lost you." Never had she heard such raw emotion in her father's voice. He'd never even cried for Matthew. But still, she felt…apathetic.

"I-I'm okay…thirsty…"

"Alfred!"

Ah, the small hospital room made sense. She must be back at Wayne's place.

Alfred entered, his entire face brightening at the sight of an awake Jezzie.

"Oh Bella…" He grabbed her hand and held it to his lips, his eyes very wet.

"We were so worried..." His voice cracked, and Jezzie attempted a weak smile.

"She's thirsty Alfred, can you increase her saline?"

The effect was immediate. Jezzie's muscles started to relax with the increased hydration, her head cleared up a bit, and the body ache she'd woken with soon became a lot less acute.

She looked down at herself, taking in her bandage wrapped wrists, and wiggling her toes under the blanket, imagining her ankles were probably dressed in a similar manner.

"How…how'd I get here?"

Her father stroked her hair.

"You were dropped off at Gotham General's front door by…someone. They'd poorly stitched you up and wrapped your wrist in duct tape. You'd lost a lot of blood and…they weren't sure you were going to-to make it." He tried to keep his voice steady, but his hand shook visibly against her forehead.

"You needed a lot of blood but…they stabilized you. When you were safe to move, we brought you back here…to Mr. Wayne's manor."

Jezzie listened carefully, not processing as quickly as she normally would have in a better state of health, but still being able to appreciate the pragmatic, informative way in which her dad spoke to her.

"He…he dropped me off." Though a great deal more healed than when she last used it, her throat was still quite tender, and she couldn't manage more than a quiet rasp.

Her father stopped stroking her hair to briefly look at Alfred, who ducked the front half of his body out of the room, as if communicating with someone. Lucius resumed his stroking, and gently asked,

"Who baby?"

"The Joker." She kept her eyes trained on the ceiling, her vision still somewhat unfocused.

"Why?" It was Mr. Wayne who spoke this time, evidently called in by Alfred.

Slowly, Jezzie lolled her head to the side again, locking eyes with the man she thought she'd known so well. He looked so different now that she knew.

"Because…I told him I know who the Batman is."

The beeping of her heart monitor sounded so loud in the silence that followed. Nobody seemed to know how to respond to that.

Finally, her father broke the quiet.

"Did…you tell him?"

Jezzie maintained her dazed, yet somehow still intense look at Mr. Wayne, then returned her gaze to the ceiling. She was already feeling tired again.

"No."

There was a collective exhale of relief. Lucius lightly brushed Jezzie's cheek with his thumb, just under the nasty cut near her eye.

"Are you feeling alright? Are you in pain?"

Jezzie chuckled humorlessly, and didn't answer the question. In her peripheral she saw her father look to Alfred, who reached over and adjusted one of her IV bags. She frowned then.

"How long… have I been here?"

"One week."

Jezzie closed her eyes.

"And…how long…have I been missing?"

There was a slight pause.

"…two months"

Jezzie tried to nod, but found she could only manage a slight twitch.

"He'll come for me. He…wouldn't have saved me if he was…done with me." Speaking was hard. She was over it.

"What do you mean, done with you?" Mr. Wayne inquired softly, ignoring Lucius' cutting glare. His daughter was clearly in pain; this was not the time for questioning.

"I think…I think he's just, playing…cat and mouse...he just…wants to have fun…" She tried, and failed to keep her eyes open, suddenly overwhelmed by a very good feeling replacing the pain coursing through her veins.

"You think…he just did this for fun?"

"Time to go, Mr. Wayne." There was a tight undertone to her dad's voice. She answered anyway, slurring her hoarse whispers.

"I think…he wants to see… what we'll do. He wants… us to see… we're…just…like…him…"

The morphine drip Alfred increased completed its magic, and the world faded out of Jezzie's vision once more. As she slept, she missed the deeply concerned look shared between the three men.

...

Luckily, Jezzie healed quickly. It took only two days before she could manage solid food, and by day three was moving about with the help of a walker. Plans had been made for her to start working with a physiotherapist once her wounds healed up enough, and even the university was being quite accommodating, willing to help her with whatever she needed to complete her studies at her pace. On the outside, it seemed everything was shaping up to be just fine.

Anxious to get back into shape, Jezzie found herself trying to walk as much as she could, the idea of sitting in the same place for more than five minutes at a time literally making her want to slit her other wrist. Unfortunately, some days she would overdo it, and end up delaying the healing process on some of her more serious wounds. Her head was the biggest problem…her untreated concussion was a growing concern, as many days were spent trying to curb the dizzy spells and random bouts of nausea that plagued her when she walked too far.

About three weeks after she was dropped off at the hospital, the news broke that Mrs. Fields' body had been returned to her apartment. Nobody'd even realized she'd been returned until the smell became too overwhelming to ignore.

The decision to not disclose to anyone what she'd done was an easy choice to make. They would just worry, and frankly, she wasn't interested in dealing with all those…emotions. She simply did what she had to do, and there was no use dwelling on what couldn't be changed. It was already frustrating enough that she once again was cooped up, unable to leave the house; she could only imagine how much worse the overbearing concern would get if they knew all the nitty gritty details of her experience.

Bruce, as he was now insistent she call him, had taken her carefully crafted statement with concerned concentration. Though a little too personally close to the situation for him to remain completely passive, he admirably listened to her recount every horror and atrocity she'd faced since the day she was taken, as well as the events that led up to her kidnapping. To her relief, nobody had taken her to task for her brash decisions that day. Though she knew it was eventually coming, she honestly just didn't wanna fucking hear it at the moment.

Her mental status…well, she wasn't sure. She still found herself completely unable to properly engage with the emotional center of her brain. Anger seemed to be the only feeling she was even capable of accessing…now in fact, the real problem seemed to be controlling her anger. She found herself becoming so ridiculously agitated at even the smallest inconveniences lately…but, in all honesty, who wouldn't be a little irritable after all she had been through? It certainly wasn't an issue she needed to bother her therapist, or anyone else with. She was fine. Once everything was over, and she could leave the house again, life would go back to normal.

Finally, after weeks of putting ointment on skin sores and cuts, and her brain seemingly recovered enough to handle more movement, she was cleared to begin physio. Having already been walking around a little more than she was supposed to, Jezzie was already slightly ahead of the game, though it was still going to take a LOT of work to get her body back to what it had been before. An added bonus was she found the extreme physical exertion to be very beneficial in helping her to manage her anger.

Which was why, after a particularly aggressive session, Bruce approached her as she stretched out her hamstrings, Lucius keeping a watchful eye as he read in the corner. He had felt the doctor's decision to approve her treatment premature, and had stayed close for every session in case she over did it.

Before, it would have made her feel loved. Now, it irritated her. But, she found the anger useful for pushing herself harder on her exercises, so she never complained.

Alfred entered the room with what appeared to be a tray of lemonade, and set it down in front of Bruce, who had taken the seat on the couch closest to Jezzie, taking the opportunity to speak to her while she was in a good mood from all the endorphins pumping through her system.

"So…are you up to…expanding, on what you were talking about before? About why the Joker does what he does…?" He spoke softly, not understanding psychology enough to know what could possibly trigger her, but knowing enough that the girl was clearly traumatized. She'd been very difficult to get along with lately, but he could see that 'difficult' for her right now was her actually trying.

Jezzie stayed silent as she bent over her right leg, which was propped up on a stool, considering her answer carefully. She'd been obsessing over the Joker's motives nonstop, and she wanted to make sure all her thoughts were conveyed clearly. Keeping her mind organized lately was proving extremely difficult, and she wanted to make sure her points were concise and clinical. Everyone had been talking to her like some sort of victim, some sort of porcelain doll that could break at any minute…she didn't want to waste an opportunity to change that mindset.

With a deep exhale, she stood up, responding to Bruce's question without looking at him, aware that both her father and Alfred were also attentively listening.

"He's…obsessed, with the concept of eliminating the perception of good and evil. He…he thinks humanity would be better off returning to a more basic, lizard brained way of thinking." She sat on her yoga mat, continuing a lighter stretch on her thighs as she spoke, the only other sound the crackling of the ice in the lemonade.

"We all have this…this, innate ability to commit horrible, atrocious acts…and he just…wants to show us that. He believes all those… vicious capabilities are who we truly are, and he finds it fun to, expose those evil, animalistic instincts in what society considers to be 'civilized' people. Everyone believes he's crazy, and he wants to prove that he's just…liberated. Who he's trying to prove it to…well..."

Here, she looked up. Bruce stayed expressionless and silent, so she continued, this time, actively addressing her audience.

"He tries to act indifferent, but I think some small part of him actually wants to prove his sanity. I think…the idea of being perceived as crazy bothers him. I don't even think he necessarily realizes it, but he…seems to almost display this- this…this pathological need for people to agree with him. And, if you can't do it, if he gets ahold of you, and you fail to tap into your baser instincts…you die."

She paused again, not for effect, but to see if any of them were going to disagree with her.

Nobody spoke, so Jezzie continued.

"Everything he's ever done…has been specifically done to throw a wrench into people's 'plans'. He started with the mob, then the police, then the Batman…then-then he fucked with the entire city, turning Gotham against the one guy who was actually protecting them! Then, in-in the blink of an eye, he had members of Gotham's own police force trying to kill an innocent civilian, whose only crime was trying to reveal what Joker initially demanded in the first place! Loyalty, in the end, means nothing. We can try to maintain some sort of order with the concept of 'loyalty', and 'morality', but as soon as the narrative shifts, those same loyal, high-class people will drop all pretense and turn on each other like…like rabid fucking dogs."

She could tell feathers were getting ruffled with the almost sympathetic perspective she was expressing, but she pushed on, her tone having become more and more enthusiastic the more she spoke.

"He tried to turn everyone on the ferries against each other, and he almost did-"

"He didn't though." Jezzie had to hold back the smirk at the familiar, grating voice Bruce had subconsciously started using.

"No, he didn't. But I don't think that was because those people are altruistic. I think they were just worried about what people would think of them. It's one thing to agree with it, but it's a whooooooole other story to actually be the person who hits that button; you saw what happened after, the civilians were only too happy to turn on the one guy who almost did, even though he was gonna save them…as soon as they were in front of a news camera, everyone else on the boat couldn't wait to throw him under the bus." Jezzie's eyes glittered, the guffaws that accompanied her words making it clear she thought the whole thing was a bad joke

"Peer pressure… a concept the Joker isn't familiar with, because he doesn't experience shame like a normal person. The more he's pressured to be one way, the more he rebels against it and goes the other way. So, he made a miscalculation." She cocked her head, and though her words were for everyone to hear, at this point, it was mainly Bruce she directed her thoughts to.

"Do you know what the number one fear in the world is? Before death?" Bruce shook his head, his expression stony. He obviously wasn't pleased with her take on the whole thing, but still, he didn't interrupt her.

"Public speaking. The fear of standing up and making a public spectacle of yourself with your words, with your genuine self…that is what most people are afraid of. The opinion of others, of complete strangers! I think the fear of the stigma they may have faced upon survival prevented every, single, person on that ferry from being able to push the button. The fear of what everyone would think of them, ultimately, overshadowed their fear of death. The criminals, well…we know what happened there. That prisoner was given a sentence reduction for his brave actions, but I'd be willing to bet with the way he was killed in prison that his choice wasn't so popular."

Normally, she'd be able to keep a more biased take on the whole matter. But her entire presentiation had her audience wearing very unimpressed, dark expressions, her father's holding more concern than anything else.

"So…you're saying you agree with him? That deep down, everyone's a monster, and he's just…ahead of the curve?" The way Bruce spat those words out, Jezzie suspected he'd heard them before. Perhaps from the actual clown himself.

"Well…it was the case with Harvey Dent, wasn't it? Gotham's white knight? Some might argue that if he was corruptible, anybody is." The surprise on their faces, though fleeting, was enough to confirm what she was already certain of, and she moved on without giving any of them chance to comment on the second lie she'd called them out on, though she did keep a deviant smirk on her face, thoroughly enjoying the shock effect she'd caused.

"I believe human instinct, is to survive. I believe that when put into the right circumstances, mental or physical, people can turn very feral." She thought of her own situation, what she'd been capable of, though she kept her face neutral.

"We, as normal people, understand that being feral…well, it's not a normal state to be in. Humans have morals, and those morals help us distinguish the line between good and evil. The need to be feral is driven simply by the body releasing adrenaline in an extreme situation, basically in a life or death, fight or flight circumstance. For him…the life-or-death situation is the middleman. He's constantly in a state of fight mode. Constantly. He can't not be."

Jezzie broke eye contact to look out the window, now a pondering, almost dazed look on her face.

"It's…hard to say how he became like that. Obviously, there's been some sort of damage to his brain, and his amygdala is not working properly, but…was his brain injured as a kid? Was he physically or mentally abused? Maybe a mixture of both? Did it happen in the womb? It's so hard to speculate without a brain scan." Here, Jezzie scowled, mentally berating the lack of actual hospitalization the patients went through at Arkham. Upon requesting one, she'd been informed by the asylum that nobody had ever bothered to do a brain scan of the Joker.

"He doesn't like being referred to as crazy. That's a very common point in most of the files at Arkham, from all his psychiatrists. It's possible that the word was used to describe him in his youth, perhaps by medical professionals, and he developed an aversion to it.

"Harley Quinn was…a sad case. Having her fall in love with him wasn't just a means to an end, it was a challenge…break the mind of a well respected, well renowned psychiatrist? And not just break it, but… manipulate her into completely devoting her entire existence to him? That's some…cult level manipulation. Unfortunately for her, when he broke her heart, she failed to survive. In his mind, she simply wasn't fit enough to survive. Love is a weakness, and it will kill you."

Having finally spoken the psychoanalysis out loud instead of just in her head or on paper, Jezzie's brain continued to churn past where it had stopped before, the ability to bounce her ideas off actual people helping her to understand a whole other perspective to the situation. Now, her words were spoken more in thoughtful reverence than to anyone in particular.

"Ya…it's…basically a perversion of a cult, if you think about it. Most cults provide validation, so they prey on weak minded people who seek that…the Joker's cult, though…it's not about greed. It's not about power, or sex...it's not about control. It's about... liberation. The freedom to do what you want when you want, and letting go of the need to just, control everything, the concept of which is just an illusion anyway. The only thing that is ever certain is chaos, so just…let it happen.

"He's even managed to twist the idea of everything we know about the stereotypical cult leader. His only goal is to change people's minds. When you almost killed him," she nodded to Bruce, "he wasn't scared. He was elated. He was literally willing to die for the cause, like some sort of fucking martyr. Recognition isn't what he's after, infamy isn't what he's after, power isn't what he's after…he's…he's after a revolution. What he's trying to start…it's like he's…like he's trying to convert people to a religion that's based solely on anarchy. And whether you survive or not…whether he survives or not…he just, thinks it's hysterical."

"Jezzie…" It was her father's voice that spoke this time, following a long silence. "What exactly are you implying? That we're… dealing with, some sort of crazed, demented Messiah?"

Jezzie huffed out a sardonic laugh, and almost imperceptibly shook her head.

"No…no dad, he's not the Messiah. He's the fucking antichrist."