The constant drone of aeroplanes taking off and coming into land suffused the hot, stagnant air in the departure lounge, making the room seem to vibrate with an energy all of its own. People waiting for their flights stood about in small groups, nursing drinks to calm their nerves or cheap paperback novels to dull their senses, talking in strained voices amongst themselves. A small television set was affixed to a corner of the wall above the bar, making its own contribution to the noise level, but only one person seemed to be paying any attention to it.
On first glance there seemed to be nothing remarkable about the lone figure sat hunched at the bar, an untouched drink in front of him, but a closer look would reveal certain irregularities that marked him as no ordinary traveller. In fact, he was no traveller at all. He'd been at the same post since the early hours of the morning and he had not a passport or a plane ticket on him.
The room was dim, a few of the lights having blown in an electrical fault, and in the uncertain light the heavy coat that the figure wore with the lapels turned up around his neck appeared to be black. If anyone had bothered getting close enough however, then they would have seen that the garment was in fact purple. And if anyone had been brave enough to get even closer than that, then they would have seen that the man's face was disfigured by so much more than the shadows his turned-up lapels threw across his mouth. They almost might have been able to discern a faintly green-tinged hairline beneath the dark knitted cap that hid most of the figure's hair.
Of course, no one was going to see that because no one was going to get that close. Some deep, primal instinct warned the waiting fliers away from the lone figure without their even being consciously aware of it. Although it might have also had something to do with the occasional deep growls and throaty chuckles that issued at random from deep within the man's throat. The consensual birth that had been left around the figure didn't bother him, after all, the Joker wasn't in the most sociable of moods that morning.
Each roar of a plane's engine hoisting one of the great metal birds off of the ground was a reminder of the Joker's failure. Every passenger off on pleasure or business, every nervous flier and loud tourist was a personal slur on his ability to strike fear into Gotham's heart. He'd told that travel agent that he wanted no one to leave the city, so why did the planes still fly? It just didn't make any sense. People should be running scared, panicking, trapped inside their own fear and instead they were just getting on with their ordered little lives as if nothing was amiss. Had Joker not told that travel agent that if anyone left the city then people he cared about would die? What had gone wrong? This was how it felt then to be ignored. He did not like the feeling at all. Even the voice inside his head had stayed silent, not taking any notice of the joke.
His hand on the bar top curled into a loose fist. Hidden within the sleeve of his jacket was a knife, the metal blade cool and smooth against his skin. He entertained notions of releasing its brutality upon the buzzing room, laying waste to its occupants in a senseless gluttony of violence. That would teach them to ignore him. But no, he forced the hand to relax, a slaughter would be too simple, too obvious, he needed something more subtle. He needed something worthy of the Batman's attention.
The small television screen flickered, catching Joker's eye and he looked up to find that his favourite programme was on: the news. His favourite programme because he had made quite a few appearances on it in what was beginning to feel like the distant past. He smiled to himself as a grim-faced reporter appeared on the screen, subconsciously pulling his coat closer around his throat to hide his telltale scars.
People's chatter began to die down as they recognised the reporter's location as part of their city and the gap around Joker closed. A small throng of people pressed up against him, their slack faces turned up to the screen that just a few moments ago had been talking for him alone. It was delicious picturing their reactions if they knew just who they were jostling up against, if they knew that the person they were so carelessly bumping into was the reason for the reporter's sombre appearance. For surely he was what the news story was about, the view of Gotham River displayed behind the reporter was one Joker recognised as having seen the night before, although he couldn't quite remember why. But after all, what other kind of catastrophe could possible have hit Gotham apart from him?
"…This message was received in the early hours of yesterday morning and despite attempts made by the authorities to keep it secret, we've been able to gain access to a copy of it. Here is the disturbing footage that your police wanted to keep from you."
That was strange, Joker thought to himself in the brief lull as technology worked to broadcast the promised message, he didn't remember recording any sort of threat or demands. As far as he was aware, the only copy of his current game-plan was on that travel agent's CCTV camera tape and he didn't think he'd gone back to retrieve that, nor did he think those types of camera even recorded sound. Still, perhaps it wasn't so strange – there were a lot of things he couldn't remember, especially where his personal past was involved. Whatever it was, there was no doubt he would be reminded of it soon enough.
"Oh, my god…" A woman at his elbow exclaimed, her hand flying up to her mouth in a gesture of horror. Encouraged out of his thoughts by this reaction, he raised his eyes expectantly to the screen and almost let out an exclamation himself. He was not met with a shaky recording of his own helplessly grinning face and mocking laughter, but a clear, crisp transmission of a face he didn't recognise speaking in a cultured German accent. That wasn't right, that wasn't right at all.
The recording was of a man sitting calmly on a straight-backed chair, hands resting placidly on his thighs as he talked evenly to whatever recording equipment had been trained on him. Unlike the few messages Joker had recorded, which crackled with the clown's frantic instability and hungering madness, the one recorded by this unknown man was in stark contrast controlled and untouched by emotion. Except for the unaccountable, weirdly futuristic get-up the man was dressed in, the recording might have been a sombre academic lecture to be transmitted to eager students.
"No doubt by now," the recording spoke to the hushed departure lounge, "you will have realised the fate of your Gotham River, frozen solid by me. Know that this is only a small demonstration of the power at my command. If you do not give me what I require, then your city will enter a new Ice Age."
The only thing that kept the cultured man's words from being as clear as they could have been was a transparent helmet worn over his head. It was reminiscent of the costumes worn in science fiction movies made before space exploration had actually been made possible. The helmet was of a curved, rectangular shape, closing around his strong-featured face in smooth perfection and bolted onto the bulky pale blue suit he wore with a thick metal collar. The suit itself added to the anachronistic spaceman image, the effect enhanced by the mysterious tubing that could be seen just beneath the material in the lining, traversing all around it like a complex road grid.
"The cold is a surprisingly destructive force. A city can quickly become besieged by cold temperatures. Roads become blocked, electricity goes down and water supplies freeze into uselessness. Life could not be supported for long in such an environment. I would not like to see the citizens of Gotham suffer from such a fate.
"However, to help yourselves, you must also help me. All I ask in return for keeping your city safe from the cold is a small sum of money. A mere fifty million dollars. I also request nothing more than that my personal freedom not be taken from me.
"I know you will not disappoint. If you do, Gotham's fuel supplies will be the next to freeze."
With a smooth electronic beep, the recording finished and it was the news reporter's face being broadcast once again. "We can only ask ourselves if this terrorist threat will be handled as appallingly as that of the Joker's. At least there has been no word of the fugitive Batman since he allegedly tried to assassinate Commissioner James Gordon. Hopefully, by now he will have learnt his lesson and will stay out of this situation.
"When we tried to get a statement from the authorities on the recorded message from the terrorist calling himself Mister Freeze, they refused to…"
But the reporter was talking to an empty room, save for one lone figure sat hunched at the bar. The departure lounge had been fled from with the ending of the transmission, as if its threat could be outrun if only one could get far away enough from the place one had heard it. What they really hoped to achieve by running was unknown by Joker, who hadn't even realised that he was alone. His entire existence had shrunken down to that television screen, his whole reality depended on his being able to grasp the idea that there was someone else waging war on Gotham, and when war was waged on Gotham it was waged on the Batman. A muscle twitched deep within the line of the Joker's clenched jaw. Once he had grasped that idea, he thought to himself, he would squeeze it and squeeze it until he had choked it to death. Gotham was his and he didn't like anyone else playing with his toys. Did no one have any manners anymore?
For a moment he was so angry, so consumed by jealous rage that he almost tore the departure lounge down around him. But that would have been the reaction of a crazy man and if the Joker knew one thing, he knew he wasn't crazy. He was the only sane one in this madhouse of a universe. So, he did what any sane man in his position would do, the only thing a sane man could do in this nutty old world – he threw back his head and laughed until tears ran from his eyes.
Some men wanted to freeze the world, others just wanted to watch it burn. Joker vowed that fire would soon meet ice.