I don't own Batman, who was NOT created by Bob Kane on his own.
I make no money out of this either.
Tales Calculated to Drive you Batty.
Part III: Knightfall in the No Man's Land of the Long Halloween. Also, Contagion of the Legends of the Dark Knight.
Rebirth.
It had been a revolutionary treatment in more than one sense.
The plastic surgeons only saw it as a chance to test their new, daring skin graft operation on a subject no one would miss or protest over even in the worst case scenario. If it succeeded, however, the possibilities for the future would be incredible indeed. Innocents all over the world, victims of deforming disease, heavy abuse or hideous accidents, could recover their former appearances and existence, their social acceptance. It would be Zsasz's legacy, ironically, the sole good thing he ever would do for mankind. Perhaps a late justification of his wretched existence.
But for Doctor Arkham, it was more than that. It also was a chance to observe Zsasz's reaction. Those horrible scars, mirroring every horrible murder he ever had committed, were the results of his twisted mission in life. They were what he had devoted his whole existence to. And now the operation had been a success, he had lost all of that. His reaction upon waking would be interesting, extremely fascinating, no doubt. Would he react with emotional pain and sorrow? With rage and denial? Either way, the man Zsasz had been would be effectively destroyed. His identity as a murder was everything he had, and now he had that taken away from him. The sum of all his efforts now equaled zero.
Maybe, Arkham dared to hope, he could rebuild something from the shattered remains of that monster?
He opened the right eye first. Then, slowly, the left one. He looked down at himself, at the smooth skin of the body on the bed.
And he grinned.
Against Arkham's expectations, the heavily restrained, powerless man grinned.
"I see. So it worked, after all. Thank you, Doctor."
"Thanks? Are you thanking me? Why? I thought you would be upset. Your scars. We took them all away, can't you see?" Could it be he was hallucinating? Zsasz never was that type. "So, why are you so happy? They defined you, they-"
"No. No, no, no. The scars didn't define me. I defined the scars. And now, fresh anew, I can begin again. Like a newborn. Innocent and pure, free to go bathe again in the filth of mankind. By my own choice. Do you know how few of us are granted that chance, Doctor? Now I can do it all over again. With the experience of age, but with a reborn spirit. So my thanks will be eternal, Doctor."
And his eyes glinted perversely.
"Thank you for giving me a new grasp, both on life and death."
The Day Harley Found Anime.
She clasped her hands tightly together and beamed her best, purest smile. "I have seen the light now! All that abuse, mental and physical, all the cold contempt sprinkled with only the rarest tokens of appreciation, all the moments when he ignored me when I needed him the most... All of that only means he's Tsundere for me! Thank you Japan!" she flung her fists up.
Poison Ivy facepalmed. "As if you needed any more ways to justify him...!"
Harley then pouted. "I'm only kinda upset he hasn't punched me through a ceiling yet..."
Death Trap.
The Joker cackled madly, boasting to his struggling, heavily chained captives. "And so, when the hamster finishes chewing on the rope, it'll drop the weight on that lever, which will activate that mechanic boot, which will kick that bowling ball, which will hit that switch Buddy is standing next to, which will turn the saws around you, and then, SLASHO!, you'll both be-!"
The saws, right then, came alive with a massive and hideous sound that drowned Batman and Robin's agonic screams as they were instantly shred to bits, showering the Joker with blood and gore.
After a moment of stunned, horrified silence, the Clown Prince slooooooowly turned towards the hulking bald henchman in the tiny shorts, stripped shirt and beanie hat. "Buddy..."
"Duuuuhhhh, sorry, Boss, wasn't SLASHO! the signal for...?"
Joker began slapping him across the head.
I was Just Wondering...
"I was just wondering," Joker mused aloud suddenly, "what's the point of having a two-faced coin if you'll mark one of the sides anyway, so it can work as the tails? Doesn't that beat the purpose of the coin being two-faced to begin with?"
Dent gave him a blank stare over the breakfast table. "After all this time, you're really asking that?"
Joker shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe you're hallucinating this after the orderlies screwed your medication up. In that case, I want you to know- I love you."
Dent made a strangling warning gesture with a hand.
"You hallucinated that, too," Joker primly wiped his mouth clean with a handkerchief. "So, why don't you get yourself a normal coin with heads and tails anyway? It'll produce the same effect when flipping it, and it has to be cheaper to come by than silver dollars. Who are you, the Lone Ranger with his mountain silver mine and his Injun sidekick?"
"The coin has to be two-faced... because I'm Two-Face, not Heads-and-Tails!" Dent growled.
It was Joker's turn to stare blankly, as Dent reassumed his angry eating.
Joker then sighed. "Shouldn't you call yourself Two-Heads, then, because that side is called 'heads', not 'faces'..."
"The face is in the head. So shut up."
"Right. Of course. Silly me," Joker rubbed circles on his own forehead. "Leaving the serious questions aside, would you terribly mind if I asked you a very silly question?"
Dent had enough and slammed the plate on his face.
Top Ten Differences Between Batman and Superman.
10. When Superman acts as a callous, insulting, condescending, deranged dick to his friends and teammates, it's because of red kryptonite. When Batman does it, it's because of Frank Miller.
9. Superman's clinically obsessed little omnipotent imp who constantly harasses him at least has the good sense not to dress up in Superman's clothes.
8. With one of them, Wonder Woman doesn't have to fake her orgasms.
7. One of them has a jokes and pranks obsessed villain who isn't lame. The other one has the Prankster.
6. When Superman wants to turn back time, he flies around the world really really fast. When Batman wants to turn back time, he kidnaps Father Time and hangs him from a flagpole thirty stories high until he relents.
5. Superman thinks keeping the clothes from your dead sidekicks in your trophy room is kind of creepy.
4. Superman can watch The Mark of Zorro without breaking down.
3. Batman's young distaff counterpart doesn't have romances with horses.
2. Batman is watching you right now. Superman is hearing you right now.
1. Superman thinks Iron Man so could defeat Thor with enough preptime. Batman strongly disagrees.
Credit Where Credit Is Due.
"Animal Man?" Batman repeated.
Superman nodded. "He says he needs talking with you. It's a private matter, apparently."
The Dark Knight sighed as he moved towards the meeting hall of the Watchtower. There, he found Animal Man standing with a large black bat perched on his shoulder. "What do you want? I'm short in time right now."
"Good evening to you too, " Buddy Baker said. "Recognize this little fellow?" he asked, touching the bat's head with a finger.
"Should I?"
"Well, really, perhaps not. But you should remember his great-grandfather. He's told me his great-grandfather was the bat who flew through your window that fateful night when you were agonizing about your choice for a costume."
"... are you serious?" asked Batman.
"Oh, yes, I am," Animal Man nodded grimly. "And that poor bat died in poverty, without ever receiving the credit he deserved for his inspiration. So, I come here tonight as his family's representant. We are going to sue for a 60% of all Batman related memorabilia over the ten years of your superhero career."
"..." Batman said.
"I'm serious, " Animal Man reiterated.
Batgirl and Batwoman stared at him, in complete disbelief. "... you want WHAT?!" Batgirl exclaimed.
"Royalty payments over the unlicensed use of my inspiration for your images, " the Batman said. "And don't say it can't be done. A black cavern bat just beat me in the courts, and if he can, I goddamn sure can too..."
"What about Bat-Mite?!" Batgirl asked. "Did you slap him with one of these orders, too?!"
"Well... the courts dictated he fell under the parody fair use clause..." he had to admit.
Self Made.
"I'll take those pearls the lady's wearing," the man walking out of the shadows raspily told them, with a huge crooked smile and a gun aiming at them in his hand.
"What...?" Thomas Wayne growled. "Never! Why you dirty rat, you'll never lay a hand on my-"
"Outta the way, Pops!" the man told Thomas, squeezing the trigger. As the mortally wounded man fell to his feet, the thief pocketed his gun back. "Well, it's done, lady," he told the woman now walking over her husband's dying body, ignoring his last frantic attempts to reach for her. "Joe Chill delivers no matter what."
"What do you mean it's done?" she asked, pointing at little Bruce. "The payment was for both of them!"
"Actually, nah," Chil huffed, pulling the gun back up. "It was for both of you," he corrected, shooting her through the head. As she fell, he shook his head. "Listen, lady, I draw the line at kids." Then he looked at Bruce. "So the other half's in my account by tomorrow, right?"
Bruce nodded."Thank you, . And don't worry. I'll always have a place for a man with your talents at my side."
"- and that's how Joe came to work for me," Owlman explained, as the old butler walked away. He smiled at his counterpart's steadily building rage. "Then tell me, I'm curious. How did your parents die?"
Batman slammed a fist on Owlman's face.
Lines.
It's like reciting lines for a play.
By now, that's what it is. The others, somehow, can't see it, because there's something that blinds them, something that acts as a barrier of sorts keeping them from the truth. Whether that is self-imposed or not doesn't matter. Maybe it's the very same thing keeping them sane. Perhaps they would become just as insane as him, if they were just as enlightened.
It's like a game with lines they have all learned to heart by now, even if they don't realize it. Possibly, deep inside, without ever actually realizing it, the Bat, who is the most intelligent person he's ever met after all, knows it too. Maybe he's taken it badly, and that's why his moods are so bad. Maybe he knows, subconsciously or not, how he really isn't saving anyone; they, like everyone else, are just dancing through a dark dream, and the instant the dreamers stop dreaming them, it all will be over, as if they never had existed. The Joker can appreciate the delightful fun in that, and how it actually enhances living and dying, over and over. No one else surely could. Not even Harley. She only would cry, even if sometimes, she comes so close to the truth.
That's why he won't die. He's never been alive in the first place. None of them are. They're just ghosts, shadows projected on the wall, a staged shadowplay that just won't end; it'll keep repeating itself, Joker suspects, as long as mankind exists. That's delightful and enjoyable as well.
That's why they won't kill him, no matter how much they hate him, and even if they do, it won't stick. It's an exercise in futility. It's a shadow trying to kill another shadow, but the light bulb hangs too far above, far from either side's reach. Shadows can't turn their own lights off; they only can and should ever go after the motions of their play.
Joker isn't sure if they're in a comic or a movie or a television show or a book or all at once, and frankly, the exact choice of media doesn't matter to him. But he knows the rest, the really important part, in the bottom of his black and otherwise empty heart. He has no identity, no sense of self, unlike everyone else; so his lacking soul is open enough to the single universal Truth, which slides easily into him.
He jumps off the ledge to make good his escape, spreading his arms and laughing, and the play follows its course, as the Bat throws the cable around his legs and once again saves him from decorating the sidewalk. Tonight's function won't end with his death. Hanging upside down, he keeps laughing, enjoying the feeling of the cold breeze on his face. The breeze, of course, is as scripted as everything else.
He has no internal script to follow, he's only a force of nature, as much as that breeze; simply one that happens to be self-aware. That's why he doesn't think of regrets or loved ones as he hangs. There's no shame or wonder about any other path his life might have taken. That was never an option. He couldn't ever be anything but The Joker. Otherwise, he wouldn't be himself, and without being what he is, he couldn't even exist in the first place. That makes just perfect sense! Ah ha ha ha ha!
It's past midnight, and he's pummeled and bloody after hours of struggling and killing and escaping, but he isn't tired or sleepy. An actor, no, not even that, a role, can't be tired, can't show sleepiness, unless the script says so. And he's beyond that. He isn't supposed to be human. He's a plot device, a mechanism in perpetual motion, lacking even the pretenses the Bat surely hides under that cowl.
In a way, he supposes, that might be considered as sad. Tragical, even. But, as he's just told you, he can't really dwell into what could have been. Mainly because it never could have been. Otherwise, it wouldn't be.
They lowered him like a shaking, guffawing marionette joined to a single string.
That One Cover.
"I really don't want to do this," she said.
"And do you think I do? Listen, you may think I love doing this crap, but you know what? It was actually a lot more fun in the old days. You still remember the old days, don't you?"
She rolled her eyes. "Are you trying to tell me I'm too young to have clear memories of back then, or old enough to be senile already?"
"Don't give me that, you know I'm hardly one to call others out on their age. All I'm saying is, perhaps you don't remember the fun bits too much because all your gigs from back then were forgettable crap..."
"Hey!"
"I'm sorry, but that's right and you know it! Tell me about one single story people remembers from that one in its own merits that isn't the one where you debuted and defeated fucking Killer Moth. That's sorry, girl, and you know I love you, but at least I had the story about the boners, and the one with the utility belt, and the one about-"
She tossed her hands up. "Stop before you get to the point where you say you actually saved my career."
"Look, it was a great story and you can't deny that either. I'm sorry you took the shortest stick there, but at least it gave you something new and different to do! It's not like I actually-"
"I know. I still don't want to do this."
"You think that put YOU on the wrong path? Girl, it put me on the path where I had to rip my fucking face off and then run around with a rotting flesh mask on. That's as low as you can get in this biz short of starring with a donkey in a Chuck Austen story about sodomy. Your character was fleshed out, while mine just became more Flanderized and shallow... you know, missing the whole point of that story! If you ask me, I ended up being a bigger victim than you!"
"I'm sure the paychecks ease the pain," she said, fighting the urge to ask him what 'Flanderized' did mean. He was weird like that.
"Boy, they do! But it isn't like you're paid in peanuts either. And that's thanks to... whom, again?"
She sighed. "Please, please, stop it already..."
"Without that story, you'd still be sharing a house with Betty Kane and you can't escape that fact!"
"I said I'm aware of that already!" she said, as the makeup artist finished applying the big, red grin plasted all over her face. "Fine, let's just get this over. The sooner I can wash this thing off my face, the better."
"Okay, let's get into positions, everyone," the artist instructed as Barbara stood before the tropically clad Joker, and forced a grimace of pain and terror as he grinned and placed a finger on her cheek.
"They are so recalling this thing after a fuss," Barbara whispered between clenched teeth.
"As long as they don't take the money back, what do we care?"
"That's true, I guess..."
Batman v. Superman- Dawn of Understanding.
"Can you bleed?" the armored figure asked, his voice coming out amplified, harsh, robotic and inhuman. "Because you're going to bleed."
"I'm sorry, I think I don't understand your question," Superman said as he landed before him. "Why are you asking if I can right before stating I will? It seems you already know I can, so I don't see why to ask in the first place. I don't think you can even say it's a rhetoric question since it serves no purpose that way either. I don't get it, are you trying to joke? I heard you weren't the joking type. Are you joking because you want to make friends with me after all, or because you want to humble me before making me bleed? If it's the later, if you're so cruel, why do you care what you fear I'd do to mankind? I'm sorry; can you please explain anything of that before we start?"
Batman realized there was no way that idiot could be as much of a threat as Luthor had said, tossed his hands up, and walked away.
Riddle Me This, Is This Going To Be Continued…?