Chapter 5! Here you go. Sort of a long one for you! Review please!

The group stood at the back of the theater, knotted as closely together as they could get without being awkward.

No one said anything for a very long time. The air hung heavy in the silence; everyone was simply waiting. Just as Jessica had gathered up her courage and decided to ask one of the drivers what was going on, the laughs started.

They pealed from the front of the auditorium, booming, loud and sudden. Jess jumped as soon as the first cackle sounded, stretching on into a hysterical guffaw. It echoed throughout the enormous space, gaining in strength and lunacy, frenzied and a little frightening, for the source could not be possibly be stable.

Jess looked back to the drivers, whose grim faces became grimmer still at the noise. They waited in hushed anticipation as the laughter faded slowly, only broken by sudden, short lived reprises in the hilarity.

When at last the sound cut out, Jess could discern a silhouetted figure standing on the stage- the figure of a man, about six feet in height, but slouched slightly, strangely. She peered at him through the darkness, her heart thundering so loud she was sure everyone in the room could hear. Billy pulled her closer, protective and unnerved.

At that moment, the lights were raised slowly and the details of the room came into focus. She saw the chipping plaster on the walls and the rotting velvet of the seats and the worm eaten wood of the stage.

She thought she had liked it more when the lights were out, especially when her eyes traveled back to rest upon the man standing on the stage, the hints of the laughter that had just filled the room fading from his face.

The Joker. And there was no mistaking it.

Here was the Joker as she had seen him in her nightmares as a child; tall, frightening, dressed in a dirty purple suit, made up with flaking, messy white greasepaint smeared over his face. His eyes, which glinted in the raw light, were circled grotesquely by black makeup and his hair, greasy and waved, was a light green, as if he had spent too much time in a chlorine pool and not washed himself after.

But then, and perhaps worst of all, there was his mouth. Scars—jagged, raised scars—ran up from either corner of his full lips and onto his cheeks, forming a huge bizarre smile which he slathered generously in red makeup, completing the look of the clown from hell.

He grinned widely at them all, head tilted down, effectively appearing both giddy and malicious.

For a moment, no one could move.

The man on stage glanced significantly at the six drivers behind the Lucky Twenty, and the drivers immediately began prodding the group forward. Jess, looking back, let out a strangled scream when she saw that they had pulled guns out of their cases and Billy, eyes wide with fear, pulled her nearer him, pleading her with his eyes to stay quiet.

This didn't seem like an act any more. This all seemed horribly, threateningly real.

More men, five or six more, suddenly appeared from the other doorways opening into the auditorium, each packing at least one weapon.

They were surrounded. Totally surrounded.

Jessica started to panic, looking around wildly for any way to escape. Whoever this clown guy was, he was obviously insane. He had gathered them all under false pretenses, dressed up as a character from a movie and kidnapped them! Jess dug her nails into Billy's back as the men herded them forward, towards the stage where the clown man stood.

As they approached, Jess marveled for a moment how similar he looked to the person in the movie; almost exactly the same, actually. The way he stood, the way he moved… Everything so closely mirrored the Joker's character in the trailers. And those scars… they looked real, too. Had he done that to himself? Was he some crazy guy who had become obsessed with Batman and fancied himself the Clown Prince of Crime?

Whatever was going on here, Jessica wished more than anything that it wasn't happening.

They were organized by the gunned men into a long line facing the stage where the Joker, or the man dressed as him, stood. Jessica was grabbed by the arm by one of the thugs and forced away from Billy, to the end of the line so that nobody stood to one side of her. She struggled as they took her; Billy tried to fight, too, but was immediately hit in the gut with the blunt end of a gun. He wheezed and doubled over and Jess fell quiet, horrified that that had happened. He had been hurt by them. If this was all a game, no one would get hurt.

The reality of the situation struck suddenly and, despite it almost being too absurd to comprehend, Jessica suddenly felt as though she was going to vomit. She gagged as the thug pushed her into line and he delivered a dizzying backhanded blow to her head, so hard she staggered as he told her harshly to "shut the hell up and stand still." Fearing more repercussions, she did so, staring up with wide eyes at the man on stage.

The Joker (even though she knew it couldn't possibly really be the Joker, she still thought of him that way instinctively) observed them all in the line, hands behind his back, shoulders hunched in an odd way. He turned slowly and stepped down the stairs on the side of the platform, farthest—thank God—from Jess's position. Still grinning that peculiar grin, he sauntered up to the first man, who Jess had come to know was Austin, and leaned in close.

"Uh, what is your name?" he asked, his voice the same as that on the phone; slightly higher pitched and scratchy, his inflections and emphases a little off—an indefinable voice, one that one would have to hear to understand.

"Austin Starling," Austin replied, in a voice that was stronger than Jess could have thought possible. She knew for a fact that if asked to speak, she would barely be able to let out a squeak.

The Joker nodded, pursing his lips, and moved on, stopping at each man in line to get their names. None of them did anything against him—nor would she, with a gun in her back and the Joker's knife to her throat—until Billy.

"And your name?" The Joker was having fun with this now, she could tell, and it revolted her. He saw their fear, plain as day, and enjoyed it, savored it.

"I'm Batman," Billy said.

Jessica froze. The Joker froze. The whole room seemed frozen in time for hours, everyone astonished at Billy's gall. What had gotten into him? Had he not seen the guns?

The Joker blinked, looked at the ceiling over Billy's head, and opened his mouth slightly, as though about to say something. It was still a few more seconds before any words came.

"Sorry?" the Joker asked, turning his head as though to catch Billy's words in his ear. He blinked rapidly.

"I," Billy said slowly, staring straight into his eyes. "Am. Batman."

Jess didn't really see what happened next. It was too quick. One moment, Billy was standing there, facing off to this psycho in a purple suit. The next he was one the ground, blood oozing from the cut in his cheek. The Joker looked down at him passively, raised his eyebrows and pocketed the little knife he had used. Then, as though nothing had happened, he went on to the next person.

"Who's the, uh, lump, there?" he asked, gesturing to Billy.

"Billy Marsh… sir," the man next to him answered respectfully, trying hard not to look at Billy's bleeding face.

"And who are you?"

"Tom Peters."

Jess felt bile rising in her throat. She couldn't remember a time when she had been more scared or angry, especially as she watched the Joker (It is NOT the Joker!) make his way quickly down the row. Much too soon, he was asking the man right next to her who he was, his eyes straying in her direction. She couldn't help it. She let out a quiet sob as he turned to her, but hardened her expression as soon as he stepped forward.

The Joker stared at her with dark eyes, betraying the madness that consumed him, his ghastly smile widening as he paced, hunched over, to stand in front of her, leaving no room for personal space. He craned his neck and tilted his head, searching for something in her eyes; she thought it might be fear but he didn't show any signs of disappointment upon only seeing disgust and defiance. Instead, a low giggle escaped his throat.

"And this…" he said in that strange drawl, "must be Jessi!" His giggle jumped an octave in pitch. "Our only little girl." He punched each word with surprising emphasis, fingers flicking at every syllable. His hand was large but thin, gloved in white kid leather and Jess was momentarily distracted by it, by the jerky movements it made and the way his fingers danced to emphasize his words.

He was flamboyant but spiky, just as the character of the Joker dictated, and although she wanted to hate him and have nothing to do with his lies and tricks, with his obsession with a fictional character, with the way he had spun them into his web, she was interested in him despite herself; in his story, his mind. Why did he wear makeup? Was he really just a goon who liked comic books? Where were the scars from? Who was he really?

And then… And then there was this awful thing, this realization, this knowledge that made her sick inside: she saw that he might have once been handsome. She saw that his eyes were really kind of beautiful, his mouth was full and, despite the scars, very nice, and his body…

No! Absolutely not. No. Attraction wasn't something a woman could help, but she refused to let it grow past this interest in the way he moved and spoke, the things he said and the way his mind worked. She was terrified of him. She wanted to scream and run away from his intense but apathetic gaze, the lack of pity or compassion in which was frightening and horrible.

But, at the same time, a part of her wanted from the very first to get closer to him, to understand him, to get him to like her.

She sneered at him as he bent closer, examining her face, eyes flicking in an unsettling way from her eyes to her lips to her body back to her eyes; sizing her up, trying to figure her out and succeeding. That was the scary part. Simply by looking at her for two minutes, she was fairly sure he could already read her with incredible ease.

The men around them started to shift uncomfortably. The Joker had stood there staring at her for too long, much too long. A tiny sneer curled the corner of his lip and he glanced to the side at them in annoyance, then immediately returned his attention to her when enough of them had fallen quiet under his gaze.

"Listen," he said, staring into her face, his features way too close, but she refused to look away or turn her head. "This is what I'm gonna do for you." He licked his lips and looked skyward, choosing his words. "I know this must be hard for you," he grinned, "I can see that in your eyes. So I'm gonna give you a little gift. That… That's just the kind of guy I am. I'm allowing you, as you are the only female in this building, to have your own room. The better to protect your privacy." He tilted his head, eyes reflecting a sort of crazy mock-concern. "Does that help whatever crisis you're going through here, Jess?"

"No," Jessica's voice shook as she answered. "No. I'm… I'm not staying here."

"Oh yeah," the Joker nodded, voice shaking on the edge of a laugh. "Yeah. You are, Jess."

His hand floated up and lightly touched her shoulder, fingers sliding down the length of her arm before Jessica jerked away from him violently, turned her back on him, and ran as fast as she could toward the exit.

The Joker's insane laughter echoed through the auditorium as she booked it out of there. When she was at the door, she heard the laughter pause for a moment as he sardonically declared, "Ooh! I think she likes me!"

His cackling resumed as she opened the heavy theater doors and slammed them on the awful noise.

In the playhouse, the Joker had calmed down. He was still turned toward the door the girl had left through, really unable to believe her pluck. He didn't let his surprise register on his face, however, and after a moment looked back to his men.

"Go get her," he ordered, flicking a finger towards the entrance. Three thugs immediately dispatched themselves and the Joker turned back to the remaining members of the Lucky Twenty. The one he had cut was glaring at him, bloodied hand against his face, and the Joker gave him an ironic smile.

"See, you can't act like that," he said to the room at large, meaning the girl. "Or, uh, that…" He flicked a hand towards the bleeder. "If you act like that, people will get hurt." The men looked at each other nervously, a few muttering things under their breath. The Joker ignored them. "Listen. All I want is for you to follow my rules. You do that, you'll be fine." The men were silent, but he knew they accepted. Their lack of riot told him so. "Okay."

He took a slow breath and looked up, then turned slowly on the group and paced into the shadows, knowing his thugs, the men who already worked for him, the ones the Lucky Twenty would soon be replacing, were already leading the newcomers to their rooms backstage, rooms that had been converted into apartments for these people.

He was building an army of the best, small enough to control, large enough to inspire fear. The decision had been made on a whim and he had concluded that twenty was perfect. The girl was vital, he knew. He didn't know why, but she was. And he was not going to let that go.

It was all a game… like poker. And that little girl was the ace up his sleeve.

Sure, there were rules to the game. His rules, actually. That's what made it his game.

His rules. But he never said he wouldn't break them.

Jess burst through the emergency exit door in the lobby of the theater, old metal screeching as she flung it wide from the latch. She shut her eyes, expecting the bright light of the sun she had left just twenty minutes ago.

No sunlight permeated her eyelids, however, so, confused, she slowly blinked them open.

Darkness. It was much darker that she had left it. Startled, Jess looked up at the sky to see deep blue and black, twinkling with stars. How long had she been in that theater?

A car honked and she jumped, turning towards the sound. There was nothing recognizable to her from earlier. The fences and quiet road seemed to have vanished and in their place was a busy, mid city arterial, with cars lined up down the block at a red light. Skyscrapers split the skyline—structures that, earlier, Jess was positive had not been there.

She turned around to look back at the building she had just left. It was still a theater house, but the exterior was much different than the one she had entered.

A rush of blood hit her head and she staggered, suddenly dizzy as she realized that she was in a completely different city than the one she had been in twenty minutes ago. Not only that, but it was night time here.

She turned around woozily on the spot and suddenly saw an old newspaper clipping taped to the large front window of the theater—BUILDING CONDEMNED, it read. But the thing that had taken her interest, the thing that made her mind race and her head spin, was the name of the newspaper: Gotham Times.

Gotham. The Joker. Night time. New buildings. What was happening? The Joker! Gotham!

Jess heard the thugs who were chasing her clang open the door as though through distant ears. She only vaguely felt their arms around her, dragging her back inside, before she fell against them in a dead faint.