Jonathan Crane looked into the Joker's face, and realised he was scared. Fear had always fascinated him, but at that point in time, he didn't care remotely about his synapses or electrochemical imbalances, or his pounding heart, dry throat and sweating hands. No, he cared about the knife that was drawing a thin line of blood out on his throat. Just a little more pressure was all it would take…He tried to keep himself still.
"So, I hear you've been having a, uh, a great time in my…ab-sence. Now that's not polite, is it? When we know so little about each other, too. So…"
The Joker licked his lips and whispered into the Scarecrow's ear,
"You want to know how I got these scars?"
"Where I grew up, there were gangs, and we're not talking about our, uh, little…mobsters and drug runners, no, no. I'm talking gangs of psychos and freaks – like me – who are in it for the kicks and nothing else.
Now my gang, we used to carve people's faces. Just to show where we'd been. And one day, another gang's, uh, leader ends up with my knife in his mouth.
When I'm done they're all after me and the town is just going cra-zy, all of them trying to find little…old…me. And they know who I am, they know my face.
So, one night, I take the knife and carve myself a nice…smile. Now no-one recognises me. Now I can get out. I collapse in a gutter, and get out of town in an ambulance, to a hospital miles away, where I stitch up my face…and run."
Next time, I'm going to kill off a bank manager.
"I'm crazy enough to take on Batman, but the IRS?! No-o thank-you!"
The IRS being the tax people, I think...I love animated Batman :)
MWAHAHAHA.