When I said this story is taking a different route than I had previously planned. I meant it. After my sixth time watching The Dark Knight in theatre, I was profoundly moved by Heath's brilliant performance and thought, 'hey, I think Joker and Kyra need to meet.'

*blushes*

Then, I recalled his quote, 'I believe what doesn't kill you, simply makes you stranger.'

Hey, now that's a great concept.

Plus, I've kind of bonded with Kyra and my fingers just won't type the words to off her. So…hopefully this new transition will be regarded well. Please let me know you're opinions on this. If it seems like it doesn't fit and will ruin previous hard work then I may finagle with the mass and scratch it.

But rarely do I do that…

*grin*

Oh, and no this will not be another Joker/OC smutty "romance" story.

C'mon, have more faith in me than that.

Chapter 17

A crushing jolt sends my body convulsing to life in a virulent splay of thrashing and heaving. My frantic attempts to regain breathing pitted against violent coughs and congesting clots of congealed blood. I turn over and attempt to vomit. Pushing until my abs burn and arms begin to numb I wretch. Nothing. More intense, labored heaving and still nothing. I start to choke. My head burns and cheeks sting as I desperately try to create an airway. Panic ensues and I ram my fingers down my throat to feel a slick blot of something. I grasp it with shaking fingers and pull strands of dark red globule. I wretch and dispel the remaining gobs of coagulated blood. I watch it flail to the floor like a sea-creature as it jumps into murky depths. Dark and alien it alarms me to think that that came from my body.

Lungs burning in protest, I heave in a sigh of fresh, damp air.

I can do this.

Looking down I realize my cell flooded. I stand to find the brown water over my ankles. Had I not been lying on my back I would have drowned. I watch bits of rubble and foam float languidly upon the murky surface like thick scars trying to staunch the waters pulse.

I fall.

My cell door is left open and I presume Crane believes I'm dead. I am not so naïve as to believe he won't come back to discard any incriminating evidence. Light and shaking my body does not feel my own. My legs and arms have been reduced to little more than stilts. I lift myself to a deformed haunch and force my body to cooperate as I lurch out of my cell. Peering out the door I feel brash and displaced to cross the threshold of my own accord. This strikes me as such a profound and monumental sign that I exit with overindulgent enthusiasm. Splashing noisily, I grimace my way down the flooded corridor as I slip occasionally on the slimy cement bed.

I hear voices overhead. It is a corroborative discord of angry, frenetic tumult which sends a shiver upon me so severe I nearly fall over a second time. It is wrong. This is wrong. Something has happened. Crane would never allow anarchy in his asylum. The large pipes groan and cough overhead as if sick from disease. A secondary sound is a mad shuffling of feet overhead, a scattered clicking of haste.

It is all much too close.

A movement up ahead and immediately I dart to a darkened corner. I listen to the sloshing.

"I hear you." Is the strange voice.

'Oh God, oh God…'

My eyes dart in search of a weapon to find only a frigid, swaying sepia mirage…hypnotic. A light heaviness hints at my body wanting to collapse. My head dizzying, I lean against a cold stone wall for support. A throbbing ache clutches my chest and grips tight with vigorous agony. I could not manage a burst of energy anytime soon. Persuasion seems out of the question.

"Come here..." The voice is embarking annoyance.

My heart sickens and lurches as another thick lump forms within my throat. Panic swells as I dread ripping out another choking clot while trying to escape this madman.

"I…I don't have…a lot of time…" I focus on his pauses. How can the whine and bass of his voice so delicately harmonize in a single sentence? I hear him pass something back and forth in his hands, the slight tapping of a juggled object. The sloshing is now sporadic…he is skipping…and much closer now.

Blackness darkening I collapse into the welcoming filthy dregs.

"There we are…" His voice is low this time.

I look up at his impossibly large form. Shoulders broad and high, he appears to haunch as if winding for an attack.

He rushes me, so quickly I lose all sense of time and space. A wave of silent darkness passes over me as I begin to black out. Strong hands jerk me upward and I part from the water like a drenched blanket, making me feel heavier than I actually am. The close proximity of his pale face illuminates and shocks me alert. His energy is electricity shot through me and my full consciousness is his. A gloved hand burns hard friction against the side of my face, another is tangled in the mess of my wet hair. I can feel his heat through the mauve leather as he slips something cold and hard against the inside of my cheek.

He jerks my head downward and I feel the sly blade start to cut.

My eyes lock onto his and I can't avert. There is too much to process. So much intensity from this man and I just can't fathom.

'Surely, this is god.'

Weakly, I grip his fist and guide the blade out of my mouth. His wild eyes flame with curiosity.

I place the blade just below my jaw line. Involuntarily, my chin twitches. He examines me with dark eyes as I watch, not completely there. Angrily, I slap my hands over his wrists which I cannot feel through the thick, wool suit. They do not budge as I try shake them anxiously. Effortlessly, he fights my hold and stills my urging. Placing strong hands on either side of my face, the blade winks beside my left eye.

"You want to know how I got these scars? Hmm?" He nods his head as if to answer for me as he pulls my face closer.

"Tell me how you got the ones I can't see." I dismiss him. My fingers lax over expensive cuffs and my back painfully arched in accommodation to his height.

The Joker's head quirks to the side as he tongues the right side of his scars. Then he snaps his face towards me.

"Wrong answer! Try again!"

The voice is high yet full of bass, hysterical with amusement he pushes me away just before striking an angry blaze across my face. Instinct and gravity working against him, my fall eradicates his initial target as the flesh above my right eye is abused. Stunned into shock I cradle the right side of my face. Terrified fingers search the long, deep wound. It is all far too quick for me to react verbally. I blink several times to find that my eye had not been damaged. It stings but I can see. Puffing in confusion and shock I sit shaking with adrenaline and furious with insult.

The Joker jogs a few steps around me, passing the wet knife from hand to hand as he hums darkly.

"You know, you should really let me work on that face." He sweeps his head low as a predator might. Curling his fingers to gesture them cupping his own scars as an example.

"Just around the mouth…" He licks his own then fakes a quick advancement. His face wrinkles in annoyance when I don't immediately flinch.

"You want to hide, mm? I…am gunna give you a reason to…" With shocking speed he moves for me. I remain stationary as he practically hurls his body against mine. We collide against the nearby wall and again the blade is introduced. The Joker's breath is hot against my face and his energy pure fire…glistening eyes the dark coal that fuels it. I gasp not from shock, nor pain, nor fear…

… but awe.

He is miles above me.

I begin to cough, so violently he releases just to see what all the commotion is about, as I fall to my knees. Head cocked, he stands and watches with smacking lips. I continue to retch and choke on what feels like wet cotton lodged deep within my throat. Grimacing, I pull another giant clot from within my throat. I hear it release as if I were ripping fabric. I toss it aside and inhale intoxicating gasps of air. Tender cords rasp with each breath drawn as torn strings still cling and vibrate stubbornly. I place quivering fingers over my temple to catch my breath as frigid water hugs my thighs.

Indignant eyes scale the height of this man as I admire his awkward but deliberate posture. I fold my arms over my stomach to feel only bones. The metallic oil harasses my tongue and thickens my throat, urging me to curl and vomit.

Ungainly, I attempt to stand and examine his towering six-foot frame as I am dwarfed by those too-high, square shoulders. I tongue to corner of my lips in contemplation. His posture twitches questioningly as he squints his eyes and smacks his swollen cheeks at this action. I quirk my gaze as if telling him a deep secret and rasp.

"What…?" A guttural sound emits and I cough to clear the wreckage.

" …do you think Crane's screams sound like?" I finish.

"Be…" More coughing gargles my words. "…cause, between you and me…I'm a bit curious." I finish as I stroke the split skin over the right side of my face. I finger the tender folds to feel the bone underneath, like velvet. I wonder exactly what my scar will look like.

"Why don't we upset his little world…?" I step closer, careful when I deliver the word, 'we.' Deathly afraid he will turn on me in an instant and lop my head off. Although, I doubt he's a man who would make such a delightful act quick.

The Joker is quiet but his expressions, those animate mannerisms which draw me so are alive, vibrant, and pulsing with radiating thought. A flash of movement and immense pain follows deftly, violently and shakes the breath from me. My brain knows he is kicking me but it can't register the pain. I can hardly feel anything after the first wave of agony. It is all converged and I can only see the flash that is his foot. A man is gone, pure energy replaces and fills this human vessel. His fury beats me in a rush so mad I can taste the intensity that drives passion. Metallic, only sweeter and slightly acidic.

Overwhelming.

And I have a better understanding because of it.

I want to become this intensity.

I want to be this energy.

I listen to his groans and shrieking laughter as he pummels me. For the first time in Arkham I let myself lose my mind.

'This must be initiation…'

"…and cut this scarecrow down." I sputter between another clot. Vocal cords tighten in response to the effects of this unfelt pain.

The energy pauses and I can breathe again.