I don't own the Joker, and I don't own Gargoyles. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction, I'd be swimming in my money-filled swimming pool.

Olympic sized, mind you.

Private Journal of Lieutenant Elisa Maza, New York City Police Department

September 23rd, 2008

Well things just keep getting better out there…for one thing one Arianna found out one of her friends' boyfriend's broke up with her. Which would have been fine, if the little jerk hadn't decided to post some very…compromising…pictures he'd took of her while she slept on the internet (don't you just love high schoolers?). Arianna found out about it this afternoon and decided to drag the kid out of house before dangling him off of the Statue of Liberty by one leg.

I guess it's nice to see that the gargoyle instinct to protect is running strong.

By the way, the kids in the hospital under observation after suffering a nervous breakdown; his parents were very interested in pressing charges, until one of the officers taking their report mentioned just how serious cyber harassment laws are getting these days. To top that mess off Angela spent all dinner glaring at Broadway, who stared at the wall the whole time. Neither one of them would say what was wrong, of course. But I get the feeling that it might have something to do with Demona. They were a bit reserved the other night after they got back from her house, and whatever was wrong then seems to have festered. I'll try and help them sort that out tomorrow night, but it's probably something they'll need to work through on their own. Oh, and half of Tony Dracon's gang has been wiped out. As in dead. As in shot in broad daylight all over the city, many times with automatic weapons, others with handguns, and a few-and this is the really scary part-picked off with precision rifle shots from rooftops as far as three blocks away.

It would seem that the three way gang war now has a new player; the Russian Mafia out of Brooklyn(the borough, not the gargoyle). I don't know if Tony tried to take over some of their turf or if they're just taking advantage of the situation.

The guys on the organized crime unit are being pretty tight lipped about the whole thing, but they did tell me that Glasses was definitely dead (it seems someone emptied a 9mm into his head at point blank range) and that Dracon was holed up in his hotel with all the hired guns he could buy, while the Russians snap up his rackets at gun point. It seems odd to me. Normally the Russian syndicates are content with extorting the immigrants in Brighton Beach and smuggling drugs; a heavy power play like this is out of character.

Like I said, it doesn't feel right.

Anyway, whoever is behind this, I think they could do with a visit from the Clan. Sooner rather than later, before anyone gets got in the crossfire. Let's hope this isn't a sign of things to come…

And last but not least, in the nationwide bad news department, groups of thugs dressed in clown masks have been causing havoc all over the country since the Joker broke out of that asylum. Looks to me like they're trying to throw off the manhunt for their boss by forcing the feds to look in as many places as possible…and succeeding wildly. I talked to a friend of mine in the U.S Marshalls, and he said the entire agency was going nuts and starting to crack at the seams, while Gotham is just leaving off turning into an armed camp.

There we go with the bad news again.

On the brighter side, and it is much brighter, Beth just started her first independent dig in Arizona at one of the old pueblo's in the mountains (about time too, I never thought she'd get off her butt and start pressuring the university to give her full accreditation). Oh, and Lexington called Goliath and asked if it would be okay if they stayed another week in England. It was kind of strange, really, I'd expect them to come rushing back with all that's going on, but oh well. Goliath decided that the clan was strong enough to handle the trouble with the mob. I tend to agree with him on that. Seriously, after facing off with Oberon, the Pack and the Loch Ness Monster, how can a gang war compare?

Somewhere in western New York state, September 23rd, 2008

A large red sedan with heavily tinted windows sped down a dark, empty rural highway far from heavily traveled and, as a rule, more heavily policed, interstate system. But as with all rules, there were exceptions to it, and the night suddenly erupted in a riot of blue and red light as a police cruiser emerged from its hiding spot on a turn off and rushed to catch the speeding red car. The car kept going for a moments, even as the cruiser closed in unerringly on its bumper, and then turned off unto the side of the road.

The drivers side door of the cruiser swung open, and a New York state trooper stepped out. The trooper paused to adjust his broad campaign hat on his head, and then he walked purposefully towards the red car pulling out his flashlight and flicking training it on the cars' windows as he did so. As he got closer, he swore he could hear muffled laughter form inside. Tightening his already grim expression even more, the trooper approached the driver's side window. He huffed in annoyance when he found it still rolled up, and used the flashlight to rap loudly on the tinted glass.

There was a momentary pause and the then the glass began to slowly roll down.

The trooper ensured that his light was shining directly into the drivers face when he came into view.

The driver was a man in his late twenties or early thirties, with long blond hair, wearing a business suit that didn't quite fit him. His most striking feature, however, were the jagged, pale scars that stretched from both sides of his mouth. The trooper was shocked into silence by the ghastly visage, and it was the driver who broke the silence;

"Is there a, uh…problem officer?"

The trooper rolled his eyes this one thinks he's a joker, huh? He thought

"Sir, do you know how fast you were going?"

"Umm, let me think…ninety miles an hour?"

The trooper blinked.

"That's right sir. Do you know what the speed limit is on this highway?"

"Sixty-five."

The trooper shook his head in annoyance.

"Let me see your license and registration." he curtly ordered.

The man smiled, making the jagged scars looked even more horrific. The trooper suddenly had a feeling of déjà vue as if he had seen that smile someplace before, but he shook the feeling off, not wanting to be distracted from the jerk driver he was about to ticket.

"License and registration." the trooper barked again.

The smile got wider,

"I…don't have any." the driver licked his lips, "Licenses or Registra-tions."

"Are you trying to fuck with me pal?" the trooper demanded.

The man in the car let out a screeching laugh before flick his tongue across the scars in either side of his mouth, "Sorry officer, but I just don't sw-ing that way." The man waggled his eyebrows, "But I am flattered."

"All right, get the fuck out of the car, smart ass."

"You know, they say cursing is a sign of low intelligence."

"Get. Out. Of. The. Car."

"Oh okay, if you insist."

The trooper stood back to let the driver open his door.

And then the driver flung his door open, slamming the metal into the troopers legs, hitting them with a sickening crunch of steel on bone. The trooper screamed, before falling to the ground and reaching for his sidearm. But driver, fast as a pouncing tiger, swung himself up and over the door and unto the troopers body armored chest, knocking the troopers wind out. As the cop lay gasping for air, the driver let out a ragged, cackling laugh at his struggles.

The fallen policeman's eyes widened even further as he realized who the driver was.

The Joker grinned like a fiend as he reached into the hip pocket of his sport coat and pulled out a wicked looking folding knife.

He flipped the blade out and laughed.

The trooper managed to take in lungful of air and pull his pistol at the same moment.

The Joker slammed his foot down on the trooper's wrist, breaking his grip on the pistol, and his wrist, bringing forth another scream. Joker laughed even louder, and fell down to pin the trooper with his knees while placing the knife to the trooper's throat.

"Please…please…" the trooper gasped,

"Please…please...what?" the Joker demanded, giggling wildly.

"Please…don't kill me…"

The Jokers gleeful expression took on a mocking expression and he narrowed his eyes as if in contemplation.

"Ummm…hmmm…wellllll…"'

His face broke into a grin.

"No."

The joker rammed the blade into the policeman's neck and swiftly withdrew it, bringing forth a spurt of blood that sprayed across the gritty blacktop.

The scarred madman held the struggling trooper down as his blood drained from his body, admiring the color of the pooling liquid in the glow of the sedans halogen headlights and the flash of the police cars roof lights.

After a few moments, the trooper's eyes closed for the last time, and the joker moved to crouch by his side. He dug into the dead mans pistol belt, taking the cops baton, tazer and pepper spray. He scooped up the troopers 9mm handgun before casually tossing his new arsenal on the passenger seat of his car. The Joker then dragged the lifeless trooper's body to ditch that ran along the side of the road and rolled him in. He Looked back at the flashing lights of the police car, eyeing them speculatively before heading back to it, looking both ways on the highway to check for cars. He opened the driver's side door of the cruiser and yanked the recording device off of the dashboard. He tossed it unto the highway and giggled slightly when it shattered to bits and then swaggered back to his car.

He thought about signing the crime scene somehow; he couldn't drop one of his cards because he'd left them all back in Gotham city with his normal clothes and weaponry, having paused only briefly on the way out of town to carjack and murder the owner of the sedan and swing by one of his stashes to issue orders to his clowns and grab a duffel bag stuffed with some of the cash he'd taken from the mob. Besides he was trying to maintain a low profile…at least for awhile. Which meant he couldn't have as much fun as he normally did.

The Joker let out a martyred sighs ad climbed back into his stolen car.

The sedan sped off down the highway, passing a green highway sign that read NEW YORK CITY-100 MILES.