AN: Welcome to chapter one! I'm glad to see you've made it this far, perhaps you'll make it a bit further and read on. As I said in the description, I'm following the movie, starting chapter one the same as scene one. Hope everyone enjoys and sorry for any mistakes I've missed.
I stand with the thin soles of my old flats stuck to the pavement. Shoulders bump past mine, but I can't bring myself to move forward. C'mon, girl. Get it together. My feet tear away from the sidewalk like velcro and I trudge with false confidence into the Gotham National Bank. To the outside viewer, I am simply an average woman going to make a modest deposit in this common bank, on this regular day. The cash in my bag? Stolen? No way! Look at me, do I look like a thief? Of course not!
With the average height of five foot five, the simple pixie cut with undyed, brown hair, and the practical flats under my unassuming skirt and blouse, no eyes will be drawn to the pear shaped woman with a wad of cash that used to fill the space in the register at chain store she works at. I know I need the money more than them, anyway. I walk a lie of certainty with a doubled heart rate, but my facade of strength hides my fear. My anxiety builds as the line to the teller shortens slowly and steadily. Let's get this over with.
"How may I help you?" a bored man asks the same line as if he's repeated it his entire life. I gulp down a small knot of tension to keep it from escaping in my words.
"Hello, yes, I'd like to-" my voice is cut off by sudden echoing bangs, a noise any citizen of Gotham would recognize: gunshots. My first thought is that they've caught me even before I can complete the crime, but I am corrected when two-or three, I'm not really counting-men in unsettling, yet oddly alluring with unconventional charm, clown masks.
They yell, but their commands are distorted by the ringing gunshots and startled screams bouncing off the high ceilinged building. As teens do in highschool, I follow the crowd and throw myself to the ground. I sit with my back to the counter and hide my purse behind me. With a start I quickly stash my silver pendant under my clothes; I don't want to risk drawing the robbers to it.
I look around to terrified and sometimes weeping faces of the other citizens trapped in the bank. I feel calm. I'm not sure why, maybe it's just that my body used up all the adrenalin it had already when I was trying to pull off my little crime. I'm tempted to laugh. If those clown men knew how incredibly silly I was compared the whole shabang they're pulling off, even they'd laugh. I bite my bottom lip to repress the uprising giggle fit fighting to the surface.
"Obviously we don't want you doing anything with your hands other than holding on for dear life." a gravely voiced male tells us as I watch a bomb forced into the hands of a man who indeed held it for dear life, as his hold was the only thing keeping him from being next to me and being next to me, her, her and him at the same time. The clown handing out the bombs had a very angry mask.
Fat frowning lips lined with a blue five o'clock shadow, perfectly arched brows painted above angry eyes smeared with red, all on top of a surprisingly well dressed man. My nervous giggles rise suddenly when I notice the very mean clown face decorated with a silly red dot on the tip of his caricature like nose. My lips twists against my will into a humorous grin with huff of laughter squeezing between clown turns to me and I immediately regret my lack of self control. He shuffles his squated figure in front of me with a cocked head. His speaking is muffled behind his plastic disguise.
"You like to laugh, cutie?" he asks, his words sobering me, but also somehow stimulating my urge to giggle. "Me too." I just can't help it; I've always loved clowns. That whole Pennywise clown murderers always seemed silly to me. My teeth clamp onto my bottom lip and I wish for the strength to drop my eyes; the mask gets funnier and funnier the more I look at it. I now notice to circle blush marks on the exaggerated white cheekbones. Why's he blushing, what's he embarrassed about? My eyebrows pinch together at the ridiculous questions in my mind.
"Oh, I see." the clown continues cartoonishly, taking note of my contorting face. His voice is very- I'm not sure. It's not growling like his friends, it's like he's smiling behind that mask. I don't know if he is, but I do know it's a voice I can't imagine forgetting. "You want a bomb too, don't ya?" he asks eagerly. I feel my face stricken and reflexes kick in. I shake my head and sit on my hands like a child hiding something they know they shouldn't have.
"No, no thank you." I tell him quietly, not wanting to gain anymore attention to myself. Now it's his turn to laugh; it comes out like a jackhammer of giggles, all high pitched an undoubtedly insane.
"C'mon, girl." he urges through chuckles, grabbing at my arm with a warm leather gloved hand. Another gunshot echoes through the bank, along with shattering glass and the sound of a body falling; someone's been shot. The man releases me and slides behind a desk, the other clown taking cover just as fast, scuttling to reach his partner. Another shotgun shot fires at the desk where a clown's head narrowly darts from view, blasting wood splinters and sending papers flying into the air, only to flutter back down. Before they have a chance to settle, another shell explodes from the barrel.
"Hey!" a different man yells aggressively, tugging at my curiosity enough to search for its source rather than ducking down for cover like my fellow citizens. I hear the shotgun cock and my eyes meet the face of the manager of Gotham National Bank; who knew he could shoot like that? I watch the two not dead clowns meet as the bank manager continues shooting and yelling.
"Do you have any idea who you're stealing from?" he demands, never lowering his weapon. "You and your friends are dead!" he promises, approaching fast. My eyes shoot back to the criminals. They converse quietly and, with a nod, ready their guns to pounce. To my surprise and apparently that of the less sharply dressed of the two, the clown with the strange voice stands and shoots the manager as casually as someone might wave to a friend. The bullet pegs him in the abdomen and leg.
"Where did you learn to count?!" the other man says, rising from his cover and rushing off to the volt room. Now in the ringing silence of frightened people, the suited clown's footsteps carry through the air as he stalks between the rows of people. I swallow, the danger of the situation steadily becoming real. My spit gurgles in my throat for a second before going down my esophagus. I bite the side of my cheek when I receive a nasty side eye from the man to my right for the noise. I mean, really? Sorry I made a gross noise, but gimme a break! How could that kind of thing even matter to him in a situation like this? I close my eyes and breath in carefully, not daring a sound that might summon the clown.
Speaking of, I realize he's forgotten to give me a bomb when I notice the eyes of other people noticing. I lock eyes with a few of them. What? Do they want me to jump him or something? What kind of idiot do they think I am? I look away, my eyes drifting for something to lock onto other than pleading faces. My hands are beginning to go numb under my weight, but I must not move them; I must not move at all. Must not move. I repeat this over and over.
The phrase stops abruptly when my wandering eyes are met by the funny looking clown. Dammit, I don't care what anyone says, but clowns are funny. The man cocks his head at me again as though intrigued, and I pray to god he doesn't give me a bomb. Before he can, his partner renters to the room dragging two duffel bags surely full of cash behind him. They both exit and repeat the action until a modest pile of six bags are slung together.
"That's a lot of money." one comments in a scratchy voice. "If that Joker guy was so smart he would've had us bring a bigger car." he observes. Joker? Never heard of him before; I wonder if Batman is on top of this guy. I huff another half chuckle. Probably not considering the situation at hand. I feel eyes watch me and I know that that man heard me just now. I freeze, knowing that if I look to him, I wouldn't able to hold back in the face of a clown.
"I'm bettin' the Joker told you to kill me as soon as we loaded the cash." the same man says, cocking his pistol in the other man's face. I can't help but watch the serious turn in events. Despite everything, those goofy smiles are testing my strength.
"No, no, no, I kill the bus driver." the accused man defends himself quietly and slowly.
"Bus driver?" the other asks, still with his gun pointed. "What bus driver?" his voice is angry, but I have a feeling having his question answered a second later didn't please him considering the bus driver being referred to crashes through the bank wall, carrying death on swift wings. The remaining clown leans back in mild surprise. The school bus parks and its emergency exit back door is swung open to, huge surprise, another clown mask.
"School's out, time to go." the newcomer jokes. "He's not gettin' up, is he?" he questions with a glance without real concern as the money bags are quickly tossed into the vehicle. "That's a lotta money." he grunts greedily. "What happened to the rest of the guys?" yet another question answered immediately with death, answered with a bullet in the chest. This guy's serious business. The remaining clown strides forward and for a second I'm afraid he's coming for me to deliver the long awaited for me, not so much for the bank manager, the clown approaches the wounded man.
"Think ya smart, huh?" the manager grunts with effort, "The guy who hired you will just do the same to you. Criminals in the town used to believe in things. Honor, respect. Take a look. What do you believe in, huh? What do you believe in?!" he shouts the last words. Despite his quietness, I can hear the clown clearly.
"I believe whatever doesn't kill you, simply makes you" he speaks deliberately and firmly, making each word sink in before pulling the plastic from his face. "Stranger." he finishes strongly and I crane to see his face. For a moment, I think I might have mistaken the mask removal, but I see his face is smeared with paint. It doesn't look like facepaint-greasepaint, maybe? I only see for a moment before his back is turned to me and he strides to the bus. My eye catches a string from his coat pocket. I trace it back to the manager and gasp when I see it attached to a canister wedged between his jaws.
With a heavy thunk, the weapons and mask are chucked into the bus and the door slams closed. The engine revs and the wheels roll forward. Less than a yard is enough to pull the pin from the canister in the poor man's mouth. It emits a dangerous looking yellow gas. Police arrive seconds later and the situation is wrapped up surprisingly fast. Even deactivating the bombs went smoothly. At least the first few minutes did, I left as soon as I could; I suppose I'll just spend my cash on the rent or something.
As with everyone fanfiction, I'm testing the waters. If anyone out there wants to see this updated, please let me know in the reviews or by following or favoriting. Also, please tell me of anything you find lacking or I should improve on. Thank you for reading!