TITLE: Dies Irae (Day of Wrath)

AUTHOR: Kichi

PAIRING: n/a

WARNINGS: M rated for violence, gore, trauma, swearing… ya know.

NOTES: AT BOTTOM (PLEASE READ)

ARCHIVE:

SUMMARY: Sequel to "Mask". The Joker has escaped Arkham. He is driven by hatred and vengeance, not the usual fun and games…

"Often an entire city has suffered because of an evil man." Hesiod - 800 B.C. -Works and Days

He stood over the dead man, trembling with rage. He had thought carving the bastard up would put a smile on his face. Instead he felt like screaming. Seeing the man's face forced him to remember what had encouraged his wrath in the first place, and he couldn't bear it.

" 'Pretty, so pretty..' " A hated voice hissed in his mind. He shut his eyes tight and staggered back. He had to get the hell out of there. He had more yet to do this night and couldn't afford to fall to pieces. But the images wouldn't be banished so easily. He had been so sure of himself too. So sure no one could hurt him anymore. That betrayal stung the worst.

He staggered to his stolen car, flung the trunk open and returned to the house after a moment of indecision. He grabbed the corpse by its wrists and dragged it out to the car. Breathless and sweating he stuffed the corpse into the trunk. He stared at it a moment longer before spitting on the carved face, then slammed the trunk shut with a snarl. He was barely able to open the door, his hands shook so badly. He remembered the night with vivid clarity and began to bash his head against the steering wheel to drive the images away.

"No, no, no.." he groaned and gasped, unconsciously repeating his very own protests from that nightmare. "No!" he wheezed and kicked his legs madly. He felt large hands tearing his pants and underwear off. "No, no, no!" he screamed, until one of the hands locked around his throat. His hands flew up to cover his face and he felt an anguished wail threatening to burst forth.

He didn't understand it. Why couldn't he forget? His past was broken in his mind by vast stretches of blankness. He was good at blocking out things he didn't want to remember. He didn't even have to try. He was fortunate he still remembered the lessons learned through his pain, but damn it, if he had to dwell on the things that shaped him into the man he was then he would be insane.

Yet this, this he could not erase from his mind. It clung stubbornly and was somehow dredging up older pain in the process.

A man towered over him, a knife in his hand, 'Why so serious?' he sneered… A woman shrieking at him, hitting him even as he pleaded with her to stop, thin childish cries, so easily ignored… 'Oh, you're hungry? Well tough shit, brat. It was either food for you or this-" a bottle of alcohol was waved in front of him… 'I wish you were dead!' someone shrieked at him, he felt something ram into his chest, driving the air from his lungs… "Little shit, the best part of you slid down your mama's thigh.."

"No!" he wailed. "Leave me alone!" maybe he was going insane. "Don't touch me!" He shrieked frantically as he felt the other man's erection press against his ass. The man laughed and skewered him. He clutched his head and stifled another cry. "Shutupshutup!" He moaned. He bashed his head against the steering wheel until his head began to swim. It seemed to help a bit, but he was still shaking badly. He forced himself to concentrate. He had plans, big plans. He couldn't break down, refused to fall to pieces. But it was happening anyway. "Just go, go, go." He commanded, wincing as his voice trembled with suppressed emotion. He struck the wires he'd pulled from the steering column together and the car roared to life.

He nearly crashed several times on the way back to his little hole in the wall. He could barely see through a strange haze that had suddenly obscured his vision. He knew what it was, and what it meant but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. If he did the pain would intensify and he was unable and unwilling to tolerate it. 'I never wanted you, should have had an abortion instead of you…' A knife quivered above his face and then sank into the soft flesh of his cheek… ' I hate you, die!' He screamed, pummeling the drunken bastard with his fists, then slashing him open with a kitchen knife 'How does it feel?'

"Shut up!" he screamed swerving to avoid a car and nearly crashing into the front of his house. He staggered out of the car, clutching his head as strangled cries escaped him. "Shutupshutupshutp.." he hissed barreling into the house. …You never were good enough… Always screw everything up… shut your whining mouth you fucking brat… So, so pretty… wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have those fucking gross scars… you crazy freak, your demented… I wish you were dead! I never loved you… he began to scream and put his fist through the decaying wall of the kitchen. He picked up a rusted old toaster and hurled it through a window. He punched the wall again, his fist again putting a hole in the ancient plaster. Then he began to slam his head against the wall again, and again, and again.

Finally the physical pain released him. Black spots danced in his vision and he slumped to his knees, utterly spent. A grateful sigh escaped his scarred lips.

Jim Gordon was exhausted. He had been at Arkham for almost twelve hours. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed. They had had an influx of new officers after the Joker had slain so many, which had given him hope, restored a bit of his faith in humanity. But there was only so much a handful of rookies could do. He could not allow them to overlook anything, and wasn't about to sit behind a desk all day like the former Commissioner Loeb. He didn't have that luxury.

The crime scene itself warranted most of his attention, but it was his discussions with Dr. Arkham that had really tired him out. The thought of the madman with an actual agenda for revenge made him feel sick. And the realization that he almost sympathized with the fiend really made him want to vomit.

But that couldn't really be helped. As soon as Arkham grudgingly reminded him of the fact that several guards had thrown the Joker in the cell of a rapist, he felt his stomach turn. He remembered Detective Brock laughing about it, he remembered reading the file and wincing. Especially when he saw the boy without that horrible makeup. And he was just a boy, to Jim. A surprisingly good-looking one at that. He remembered looking up Andy Krekolankis' file afterwards and grimacing in dread. If the Joker had any chance of recovering his sanity, the guards had assured it would be much more difficult for him. The pity he'd felt for the young man had surprised him.

Dr. Arkham had seemed rather dismayed as well.

"He needs help, not more abuse. And I failed in that regard terribly. I can only imagine what he'll do to avoid this place." Jim frowned at the thought. Members of the swat team had reported him falling from the Pruitt building, laughing as he went. His life apparently was not something he prized that highly. Taking him alive this time might be impossible, especially if he was afraid to return to the hospital. "-was almost catatonic for a week after." He hadn't realized Arkham was still talking. "I came to talk to him and he couldn't even look anyone in the eye. I made the mistake of mentioning Andy's name and he began to scream and slam his head against the bed frame. Even before that we had to keep him doped up more often than not. I know people were angry when he was sent here, but he is truly ill. And I'm afraid we've only made it worse. God help anyone he comes across."

He finally left and returned to his office to fill out paperwork, but the day had drained him. He stuffed it in his briefcase and decided to call it a day while he still could.

The sun was long gone by time he got there and the interior of the house was dimly lit. He could tell the TV was on and smiled. He didn't get to spend enough time with his family anymore. Now he wouldn't have much chance, either. At least until they caught the Joker.

"Barb?" he called as he walked in. The kids would be in bed he realized; perhaps she'd fallen asleep waiting for him. He put his briefcase on the table and dropped his coat over the back of a chair and headed into the living room.

At first his mind refused to accept what he was seeing. What the hell..? he wondered. His hand went to his gun, his wife and kids were bound tightly together. A hand caught his wrist and he felt the gun being pulled from his holster.

"Ah, ah, ah.." a voice hissed in his ear, then he felt a shattering pain and darkness enveloped him.

Batman was at a loss. He'd been searching for hours for signs of the Joker's escape route. He saw the area he'd escaped from, knew it most likely that he'd just run straight for the river, but where did he go after that? Old Gotham seemed most likely. He was less likely to be noticed. On the opposite bank was the business district. That wasn't really an option.

He'd gotten a photo of the Joker without the makeup from Alfred, and for a moment could only stare at it in shock. It was definitely not the face he had been expecting. But then again, what had he been anticipating? Someone older, that he was sure of. He showed it to anyone bold enough to be out late. Everyone was eager to spill guts, which was a benefit of being a suspected murderer, but no one had seen him.

He couldn't do anything but look, and listen, and pray the clown slipped up before too many people died. He hated to see it that way, but he had been searching all night and hadn't found a trace of him. He was exhausted, and knew that he would be the one slipping up if he didn't get some rest soon. He had to get in contact with Jim Gordon as soon as possible.

"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.." a voice murmured, a gloved hand slapped his cheek. Jim slowly awoke, his eyes slitting open only to slam shut again as pain throbbed through his skull. He tried to reach up and feel his wound and realized he was restrained. "Ah, ah, ah." The voice crooned again and then snarled in a frightening voice: "Open. Your. Eyes!" The shock of hearing that rabid growl forced him to comply. He felt his heart fluttering in his chest and his eyes locked with his quarry.

"W-what?" Jim groaned. He was shocked into silence by a stinging slap across his face.

"Now, now, it's my turn to talk. Tell me, Gordon. I've heard whispers that the Batman is a wanted man. People tell me he's.. ahahh ha ha.. a murderer. Now I know that just isn't true." He scowled, his tongue lashing his crimson lips. "And I'm pretty sure you know it too. So-" he withdrew a giant bowie knife and Jim felt his heart stutter to a halt and restart with a painful thump. "Let's play a little 'Truth or Consequences'. How'd that be?" Jim had no choice but to nod in acceptance. "Oh, goody. Now: true or false, did he kill someone.. or was it perhaps our old friend Harrrvey..?" Jim swallowed nervously, his throat dry.

"It was.. Harvey." He conceded and flinched as the Joker began to cackle.

"I knew it, knew it, knew it!" he cried, laughing again. "My sweet Dark Knight is truly incorruptible! But maybe… Maybe being on the wrong side of the law has changed his mind."

"I doubt that." Jim said. The Joker turned, his expression enraged, the tip of his blade was suddenly mere centimeters from his face.

"Do you?" he snapped, licking his lips.

"It was his idea- to take the fall. He refused to let you win." He said, knowing he was probably digging his own grave by admitting it and praying he wasn't digging the Batman's as well.

"Hmm…" the Joker merely appeared thoughtful. He shrugged. "What a fucking boy scout. I'm afraid I'm beginning to dislike him just a tad." Jim blanched and the Joker caught his unease and laughed loudly, choking at the end. "Don't you worry, Commish! I didn't say I hated him, did I?" He walked out of Jim's line of vision and returned with three cellular phones. "You see, the bat and I are like two sides of the same coin." He began to open each phone's battery case and tossed the batteries into a pile. "Ya see..? We're both equal, opposite, compliment each other perfectly, balance each other…" he began to remove tiny screws from the inside of each phone and peel open the plastic housing, revealing the interior. One by one until all three were gutted. "Although, I think it's safe to say we can exist without each other.. But god, how boring.." he murmured. He drew in a deep sigh and began to cough again. "Damn it." He muttered to himself. While he tinkered with the cell phones, Jim began to test the strength of the ropes holding him down. They were so tight, they were just shy of completely cutting off his circulation. His feet were tied as well, and when he painfully craned his neck to look behind him he saw chains leading from the back of the chair to- he gasped when the view of the chains was blocked by a corpse. A corpse with a Chelsea grin and half his entrails sitting in his lap. He shivered in dread.

"Relax, Jimmy, you're my guest. Pay no attention to that fellow. He was asking for it." He winked at the pale Commissioner. "Actually, to be more precise, your gonna be my bat-bait." He sighed deeply again. "As much as I hate to admit it, the Batman doesn't really.. like me." He said with a feigned pout which quickly turned back into a grin. Jim didn't know what to say. Reasoning with the clown was laughable. Empathizing with him would probably enrage him. Threatening him was a joke. "That Rachel girrrrl.." he purred. "I think ol' batsy had a crush on her."

Jim sighed; he was talking about Rachel Dawes. Jim knew firsthand that Batman had tried to save her instead of Harvey Dent. He hadn't assumed any romantic involvement behind the decision; he just assumed Batman was the kind of guy who hated seeing women get hurt. But he had seen him again, briefly, later that night. After the fire department had arrived at the scene, he'd gone to see how Harvey had fared. Batman was still on the scene. He looked… Defeated. He'd only caught a glimpse of those shadowed eyes and saw devastation. He'd thought he'd imagined it, but the Joker's words took him back to that night. It made him see things a bit differently. Unbeknownst to him, the Joker was watching every subtle play of emotion across his face.

"I think you know what I mean." Joker brought him back to the present with a rakish leer. Jim focused on him again and saw with a shock that the Joker was shoving tiny wires inside the phone into a little ball of plastic explosive. He then neatly stuffed the plastic explosive inside, closed the case and screwed it up tight. He waved the phone at Jim and swiped his lips with his tongue. "Now, I'm going to have to rough ya up a bit, there Commisionerrr.. Got make my debut in style."

"Debut?" Jim muttered hoarsely when the Joker produced a digital camera.

"Ah, yes. I have to get his attention somehow. And I just can't bear the thought of my buddy being harassed by your boys in blue. How can he come out to play if he's too busy dodging you assholes?"

"I wouldn't-"

"I know, I know. He's your knight in black armor, you're as lost without him as I am, hehe." Before Jim could reply the Joker pounced at him delivering a sharp blow to his face. The momentum sent him flying backwards, but the moment he landed the clown was on top of him, hitting him again.

"Bastard!" Jim snarled. The clown laughed for a moment before another coughing fit stopped him. He pounded his chest a moment a scowled before producing a small buck knife. Jim hissed and began to thrash.

"Now, don't be silly, you'll only make it worse for yourself." Joker chirped and brought the knife down in a slashing motion.

For a moment he thought the mad man had missed. Then he felt the searing pain and warmth sliding down his face as the Joker pulled him and the chair upright.

"Won't look good if it all goes in your hair.." the younger man murmured to himself. "Alright, ya ready? Lights, camera, action!"

The sun was rising. He had searched the river's edge and had questioned what felt like dozens upon dozens of people during the long hours of the night. He had tried several times to contact Jim on his private cell, all to no avail. That, more than anything, worried him the most. Jim always answered, even if it was the dead of night and he was at home in bed.

He felt utterly useless, but refused to give up. The Joker would never give up, how could he even entertain the notion? But at last he was done for the night. He needed sleep, and there was no way he could risk being spotted in the daytime, it was simply too dangerous. He couldn't afford to get caught, not with so much at stake. With a weary sigh and a grimace of frustration he headed to his bunker.

He hoped there was some news awaiting him and he wasn't disappointed.

As soon as he turned on GCN he heard what he dreaded and anticipated at the same time.

"-this is a breaking news story: a video was just received by GCN from the terrorist known only as "the Joker" with instructions to play it on air.." the news woman was replaced by a dark screen that instantly grew bright and jumbled as if the camera were being swung about, then the picture swirled again to land upon a scarred and painted face that he'd dreaded seeing.

"Hello there, Gothammm." He began in a dark voice. "I'd like to say I missed you, but the truth is I hate you all and I want to kill you. I'm not speaking to you right now, anyway. My words are for one man, but I will say this. Gotham city is going to pay. You see, I'm not crazy, but I was locked up with a bunch of perverts and whack jobs. That hurt, it really did. But not as much as I'm going to hurt you scum. You see, an eye for an eye just doesn't cut it for me. I'm more an eye for a leg or two type of guy, get it?" he scowled a moment, snarling under his breath, his tongue lashing his lips. Then the camera swiveled rapidly to reveal Commissioner Gordon with a long gash across his forehead. Blood covered his face and nearly obscured the rapidly darkening bruises on his cheekbone and jaw line. "Look here, at your beloved Commissioner Gordon. Do you know how easy it was for me to snatch him up and sprint him off to my den of wickedness?" he chuckled quietly. "Look and learn Gotham, you're all my prey and just as easily overcome."

"Now, Batman, I just want you- and everyone else- to know: this is all your fault. Every life I take, every death is on your head!" he broke off the laugh wickedly. "You had a chance to end my life, you threw me off a god damned building! So why am I here? Because Batman does. Not. Kill. Harvey Dent killed those cops, you know why? Because I lied to him and told him that it was their fault his girlfriend died. Well, it was their fault a little, but it was mostly… Mine.." he broke off giggling. "I set the wheels in motion and the Bat took the blame. Because he knew- Just like I did- that if you pathetic, weak-minded Gothamites realized the truth- that deep down everyone is capable of atrocities, everyone can commit murder with a smile on their face- then you would begin to lose faith in humanity. You would lose faith in goodness, and kindness, and all that pathetic bull shit. You would begin to see the world for what it really is, worthless, meaningless, nothing but a fucking joke!" he snarled his expression growing darker, his voice louder. "You sicken me. Citizens of Gotham, you are nothing but a joke, and I'm gonna deliver one hell of a punch line!" he smiled bitterly. "And Batman, I am very angry with you. Very, very angry. We have much to discuss, and this time, you will listen. Or your pal Gordon, here-" the camera again swiveled to the Commissioner whose features were dark with anger. "Is gonna end up with a permanent grin." The camera caught one last glimpse of his scarred face, his wicked laughter, before it cut out.

"Shit!" Bruce snarled, leaping to his feet.

TBC….

A/N: Damn those cliff-hangers! Although I must say I'm writing pretty damn fast for a change. I already started chapter 3. Also, all reviews are deeply appreciated, so if you like this fic, please leave one and I'll love you forever! :D