The hollow darkness shook with the cackles of a madman.
The mask-face chaffed at the remnant that was the face of Walter Kovacs; Unseeing, furious, Rorschach swung the pipe at every giggle, only to slice through nothing but shadows. A blackness so absolute that even now his eyes fought to adapt to it.
"So, what's your story?" Came the voice, and he swung again; but now the thing was laughing behind him. "Who are you, Ink-Blot-Man?"
Even as the beast boiled within him, Rorschach stood still, letting the pipe's tip droop to touch the ground.
Again, the laughter. "Haha, touched a nerve, did I? Now let's cut it open." The words ended in a twisted snarl.
He ducked on a whim, hearing the swipe of a blade pass over his head, even as he lunged with the pipe. This time there was a solid connection; a crack of a rib and a bemused grunt resounded. Not letting up, Rorschach pushed his knee into what he assumed to be the groin; yet another grunt as the figure slumped before him.
"You don't get the last laugh," he said coldly, as he readied himself to swing the pipe again.
Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in his thigh. He stumbled back, feeling the blood-slick handle of a knife buried there. There was a flash as a matchstick was kindled; as he slit his eyes to look at the unexpected flash, he realized the danger too late.
Another knife swung at him, glinting only briefly in the meagre light before embedding itself in his forearm. He growled, whipping the arm out, a pain spasm making him drop the pipe.
"Say cheese!"
The words were followed by a lanky form that suddenly latched onto him, wrenching free the knife from his thigh. He let his left hand jab the man's face, once, twice. His hat fell off, somewhere to his right. But now a hand was roughly gripping his mask-face, as if trying to-
"No." he gasped, as the mask, nothing but a mask, was wrenched off.
All of a sudden, he felt… naked. Once more the face of Walter Kovacs was bared to the elements, and his eyes burned with inexplicable shame.
"My face…" he said- no growled- "MY FACE!"
He kicked out with his good leg, catching the aggressor in the chest. The muscles of his left thigh spasmed and he fell, growling like a mad dog.
In front of him, he saw that the matchstick had ignited a small, growing flame in the sandy saw dust that covered the floor of the warehouse. It was then obscured by a shoe clacking in front of his- no, not his- face.
"What, you think this piece of Dalmatian fur is your face? Wow, you're crazier than me."
The apparition lowered itself into his field of view. It was heavily bruised, and its grin was redder than white.
"They call me the Joker. Want a gig?"
With a terrible calmness, Rorschach spat in that face. It felt good.
A horrible expression writhed across the Joker's face, before turning into a wild smile. "You know what you need? A reason to love your own face."
Rorschach ignored the words, tried to prop himself up. He stopped as a bloody knife appeared an inch to his neck.
"You are dead," he said simply. The clown roared with laughter.
"Well look at you! Already gaining a little self-esteem? Good! Now, I want you to see this…"
He stepped back, allowing Rorschach to rise slightly. The fire was now close, and he felt its heat; it was numbed however, by the chill as he saw the Joker.
The lanky clown man stood there, devilish in the flickering red light. His tattered purple coat hugged his form desperately, the hands emerging from the sleeves almost skeletal. Those hands, that was where Rorschach looked. Not the wild grin. Not the green hair. Not anything but the knife held oh-so-close to his mask-face, almost touching, by those skeletal white hands.
"No…"
The grin widened, but he didn't see it. He looked as the blade relaxed an inch, then slowly pricked the morphing fabric.
"NO!" He roared, as the beast boiled over.
Pouncing forward, carried by pain and fury to drive men mad twice over, his hand wrenched the knife from the surprised grasp of the Joker. His mangled forearm did not stop him from grabbing the mask as it fell, frantically swinging the knife to ward off the Joker.
As the madman leapt back with a bemused snarl, he pulled the mask-face over his head, feeling… whole, again. He threw the knife, surprising the Joker with his own maneuver, as it cut into his flamboyant collar to pin him with a rusty crate.
The clown laughed as he wildly kicked, trying to keep Rorschach from him. But Justice is to be served. Rorschach knows this, even as he looks through the single eye-hole ripped into his mask-face by the Joker's stab. Eyes watering from the sudden smoke and grabbing a flailing leg, he pulled, wrenching the Joker from his pinned position with a yelp. Pinning him, Rorschach grabbed the knife, holding it above his head.
"Smile!" he roared, swinging the knife in a horizontal slash, just enough to split apart the clownish abomination's cheeks open in a crimson grin.
With a strange laugh-sob, the Joker kicked him off with surprising strength- straight into the now fast rising fire.
The red tongues of fire snaked their hellish paths across his back as he rolled clear, trying to extinguish the flames. Eyes watering, he continued to roll, realizing that the flames were gone; and yet he could still feel them.
Getting to his knees, he whipped back his head, expecting to see the Joker leering down at him. Instead, he saw nothing but the ever rising inferno. The Joker was undoubtedly gone.
He got up, groaning as the weight shifted on his mauled thigh. He limped to the doors, almost stumbling over the unconscious man he had left in his wake. Without looking back, he slipped into the shadows, letting their coolness soothe his minor burns.
Coat all but ruined, mask-face mutilated, and multiple injuries. The Joker was not an easy foe to face; he should have expected this. He had underestimated the clown. A fault on his part, then.
He'd heard a joke once, of a clown who went to a doctor because he was sad. Today he had been the doctor; he'd made the clown smile.