((This is probably the only chapter that's going to be the reason I had to bump up the rating.))

She's been in her room alone for…what, two days? It's kind of annoying.

Joker sits in his office, sharpening one of his knives. It's a time killer while he waits for another good idea to come up. There are newspapers scattered around messily, as if someone had randomly thrown them after they were done reading them. A good two days of media circus, crying families, and no Michelle for him to torment about it.

She was so difficult. Could not, just could not lose that stupid sense of justice or morality or conscience or whatever it was. Things would be a lot easier if she could.

Well, she's not too important right now. If he needs her later, then he'll just drag her by the hair wherever he wants to go until she decides to cooperate. Easy as that.

Michelle, meanwhile, is sitting in the corner of her small room, having an attack of conscience. Belatedly, but still there. How many people did she kill? Just because she's a selfish bitch? Just because she can't stand to be alone? Just because she wants to be useful to, of all people, the Joker? She killed kids and parents and ruined families and destroyed lives and…and…

"Oh gawd…" Her head is in her hands, face paint washed off, the star tattoo is still dark and vivid against her pale skin, and she's definitely going insane with guilt. The door to her room isn't locked, not anymore, but she doesn't want to go out there because if she does, she'll see Joker and he'll make sure to give her hell about it. She could sit through when he killed the other people, because she could tell herself that she couldn't stop him. It wasn't her fault. She had no choice. She knows she probably didn't have a choice in pushing the button either.

But then, there's always the fact that if she refused to do it, he would've done it instead. Those people would've still died, but their blo…burned ashes wouldn't be on her hands right now. On the other hand, she'd probably be dead. Or missing some part of her body.

Michelle stands up again, pacing around her room. She's thinking about her choice. Again. Joker says that the first time is the hardest, but can she survive a second time? No, she doesn't think so. And then a second idea comes to her. A crazy, crazy idea.

Does she really need this life? Need the chaos and the death and the guilt? Need him? Could there possibly be another chance at life outside the walls?

Another chance at life?

The idea is quickly brushed aside the first time it comes along, but it doesn't ever really leave Michelle's mind. She wonders, ignores it, wonders again. An hour later, she's been thinking about it so much. The possibility of being wanted, needed, loved. It's too strong a pull for her to ignore. Can she find someone in the big city of Gotham that actually wants her? Besides a psychopath that's probably going to kill her one day, and probably doesn't want her so much as want to destroy her?

It's a terrifying idea. It's a wonderful idea. Wonderful to imagine having something worth living for again, it's been so long since she's actually had someone to trust and confide in. Well, it's been so long since she's actually had someone she can now trust to trust. She can learn to trust again. And it's so terrifying to actually imagine having to somehow escape Joker. How's she going to do that? He has the entire factory under his thumb. Everybody works for him. Everyone's terrified of him. If she's going to escape, she's going to have to somehow dodge all of his men, Joker himself, jack one of the cars, and disappear into Gotham. Nobody's going to help her, at least, not any of his thugs. So if Michelle tries it, she's going to have to do it all for herself.

How the hell?

She sits down, and wonders. Should she? Shouldn't she? Can't help but go in circles. She should; she should go and try and escape this, make amends for the lives she's taken. Try and live an honest life, and die guilt-free when Joker finds her again and rips her to pieces. She shouldn't; she can't make it out anyway, there's probably nobody else that cares about her but Joker, and she should probably just get over the guilt and get on with this new life.

She's tired. Michelle lies down on the probably deadly mattress, forgoing a coat or cover or anything because she just doesn't care anymore. She has a dream that night that she can't remember in the morning, but when she does wake up, her mind is made. She's going to escape and try again. After all, there's only so much terror and trouble and heartache that one person can be inflicted with, before something wonderful happens to make up for it all, right?

Right?

Mainly unnoticed, Michelle slips through the factory building, taking account of everything. The goons are at the front and back doors, armed. The bomb-rigged SUV and the bomb-less black van sit out front. They're probably a few miles away from the edge of Gotham's busiest area, though she's just estimating and can't be sure. There are cameras everywhere; old ones that still work, new ones that have been installed. They watch almost everything happening in the factory. Joker probably keeps his eye on the camera feed. She needs to put him out of commission if she's ever going to escape. After that, she's going to need to get the keys off of him, slip past the guards somehow, drive into the city, and virtually disappear.

Disappearing is going to be the easiest part.

The guards can be slipped past if she just has a mask, and normal clothes. She can talk her way out of it if she just makes her voice deeper. Everything but the last part is sure-fire. But Joker, he's going to be the hardest part. She could try to get out when he sleeps, but when he does, it's completely random and impossible to plan out. And even when he's in his room, one can hear him walking around sometimes, so there's no way to know if he's actually asleep or watching the cameras. She's heard stories about goons trying to get into his room as quietly as possible while he's asleep and he wakes up just like that, so he's probably a really light sleeper too.

This is going to be so damn hard. She not only has to wait for him to be asleep, or unconscious at the least, but she needs to pull the keys off of him. He does keep them on his person, so nobody steals the car and causes trouble. So she needs to get him either completely unconscious, or really, really deeply asleep.

She checks out the goons in the building, asking them if they have any sleeping pills on them. She says that she's not sleeping too good nowadays. They laugh, and they tell her that nobody sleeps too good nowadays. So that's a no.

She can try and knock him out, but with how fast and strong he is, that's almost impossible for someone like her. And there'd be no way to be sure that it'd actually work, even if she got the drop on him. If she tried, and failed, he'd probably laugh at her and then beat the shit out of her. Maybe just go ahead and kill her. She can't risk that, because even if he doesn't kill her, he'll never trust her out of someone's sight again and it's all ruined.

Third option: She needs to tire him out. Somehow. Maybe…she can get him to the point of exhaustion…running around? Physical exertion? No, he'll just have somebody else do any large, exhausting amount of work. It has to be something that he'll do, by himself, with nobody else.

She's got one thing in mind, and she's really, really hoping that something else comes up too. Maybe she can just distract him for long enough…no, that's nowhere near reliable enough. Frame a goon into doing something that Joker would love to punish himself? Great idea, except that unless he's in a really good mood, or a really bad mood, Joker would probably just stab him in the eye or slit his throat and get it over with.

There's really only one option left. Only one that she can actually accomplish single-handedly, anyway; she doesn't trust the goons enough to try and get them in on her plan. Who pays them? Joker does. Who's trying to get them on Joker's shit list? She is. It's not hard to figure out who they'll side with, and who they'll tattle on.

"Ugh, I don't want to do this!" She snaps, at the ceiling of her room, once she gets back from snooping. She has one option left, because if she waits too long, Joker'll come up with another idea and Michelle will be dragged off on another soul-destroying adventure in the name of chaos. She's so desperate. She needs to do it tonight. And so Michelle takes a deep breath, and swallows any self-worth she may have left, as she prepares to start this rapid, haphazard and probably ultimately futile plan into action.

Joker is headed to his room for another quick hour or two of sleep, before he sets his next good idea into motion. It's completely random, like all the others, and very roundabout in what he's trying to accomplish. Not a plan, never a plan, because he doesn't need those. He's got nothing but a goal, and a bunch of chaotic ideas that might or might not eventually cause the goal to be fulfilled.

When he pushes open the door, however, he's just a bit surprised by who's standing in there, looking around. Michelle's out of her room, again, and poking around his. How long has she been here? She's just reading parts of newspapers that are haphazardly strewn about the room, her white-and-black costume standing out against the dull concrete tones. She hears the door open and glances back at him, curiously; after a moment, she smiles. Too warmly.

"Having fun?" He asks, keeping calm about this. Why's she here? She avoids him most of the time. He wants to know why. She turns around, facing him, her hands behind her back.

"A little."

"Any reason you're in my room?"

"Not much…" Her voice is soft, calm; soothing, almost, as she walks over to him. He doesn't move, because he has no idea where she's going with this. "But my room is cold."

"That's too bad. What are you doing here, again?" He asks, almost tersely, as she walks right up to him. Very close. Too close. She leans onto the balls of her feet, leaning upwards slightly, close to his face.

"I told you. I'm cold." She breathes the words, vivid green eyes half-lidded, a slight smile on her lips, and he just stares, leaning back slightly.

"Then go lay on a heating vent." There are heating vents around here, and they're nice and toasty. Thugs warm their hands over them all the time. Joker's room isn't any warmer than hers is, anyway. He doesn't get what she's getting at until she actually steps forward, closing the space in between them, and leans her body against his, hands on his upper arms. He flattens a hand on her chest and shoves her back a step or two, walking past her.

"If you want that, then there are plenty of other men willing to give it." He just wants to get his sleep, and then start setting up tomorrow morning. She won't be deterred, though, and ghosts his steps, before wrapping her arms around his torso and leaning against his back.

"Those are just guard mutts. Puppies, really. I don't want a mutt." She says it softly, tightening her grip on him. "I want a real alpha. Top dog." She sounds like a whore. A cheap hooker with bad pickup lines. He shrugs her off, though it's more like he grasps her wrists and pries them off of him before jerking back against her and knocking her over, and heads for the mattress on the floor. She's not a good slut.

"What, can't handle women?" She taunts, standing and dancing around in front of him with the back of her ankles against the mattress, leaning forward against his chest again. Her arms come around his neck and she presses herself against him fully, and Michelle offhandedly notes that he's really warm. "Or is Batman the only one you want?"

"Can't you take a hint?" He says, incredibly tired of this, his hand already wrapping around her throat. It's not that he doesn't like sex; it's that he doesn't have time for it. It's easier to just ignore those sorts of compulsions and focus on the work instead. Michelle, however, is making that incredibly difficult. He has a doctor waiting for him in Arkham that's much the same way, though she knows when stop means stop. He does notice, however, that he's been choking Michelle out and she's turning kind of blueish colored. He loosens his grip enough for her to breathe, and she sucks in a gasping breath when he does before beginning to cough under her breath, and leans in her face. "Are we done?"

"Never." She replies, before leaning up and kissing him. Kissing. Him. She's gone insane. Michelle knows that either it works or he beats the ever loving hell out of her for a stunt like this. He doesn't move for a split second, probably out of shock, before shoving her. She doesn't let go of him, however, and when he shoves her, she drags him down with her, onto his ratty mattress. When he shoved her he bit her lip, hard, and now that he's got nowhere else to look but her face, he sees that she's put on her face paint again, and the usually delicate, clean lines of it are blurred. Any other time, she paints her lips a delicate, cherry red, and the lines are clean and never smudged. Now, she's not just wearing her own makeup, but his too, and the cherry red is smothered with darker, messy blood red, and the clean lines are smeared and blurred. Blood runs down her chin from where he's bitten her. She's staring at him, closely now, searching for anger or imminent fury, green eyes wide. The heat between them is amazing.

All of a sudden he growls, low and in his throat, and kisses her this time, though it's hard and vicious and not at all romantic. Michelle knows that she's won this battle of the wills, though whether, in the long run, she's actually won or just lost in a different way is undecided. She doesn't have time to really think about it, however, because he's focusing on working through this fast, already working his hands up under her costume top and pulling it off while continuing to run his tongue along the smooth inside of her cheeks, almost curiously. She jumps at the cold air, this factory is so fucking cold, and he breaks the kiss long enough to growl in her hair, ripping off her bra and grabbing the waist of her pants, already pulling.

"Remember that you started this."

About an hour after she hears his breathing slow down, as if he were sleeping deeply, Michelle quietly sits up and groans under her breath. She's so sore, and she's going to be even sorer tomorrow. Her hair is a mess, there's pulsing pain on her shoulders and neck on chest where he's bitten her, hard, and she halfheartedly notes that there are thin slits on her arms and her legs where he cut her with a knife. When did he get the knife out? She can't remember. She's going to have trouble walking later on, too. Rough bastard. Fucking animal. She can't think of enough derogatory terms for him, while pulling on the long purple coat at the foot of the mattress.

She pulls on her bra and underwear again, keeping the coat on, and then sneaks over to his pants thrown near the door of the bathroom and digs through them, jabbing her fingers with a knife once or twice, before finding the set of keys she needs. She then quickly hunts down the top and bottom of her costume, and it's a little hard to find them because they've been ripped off in a hurry and thrown across the room, and sneaks out of the room with a last glance to Joker. He looks calm, and she hopes he's tired, because fuck is she tired.

"Goodbye," She breathes as quietly as she dares, before slipping down the hallway, dodging the rooms where the thugs are sleeping, and back to her own room. She made sure to keep the coat on so that if anybody saw her from a distance, they'd think she was Joker and steer clear. It worked. Back in her own room, she drops the coat and grabs the civilian clothes thieved from one of the thugs' bags, and since they're men's clothes they're exactly what she needs. She keeps the bag and stuffs her costume into it, because she's very attached to this costume, and throws it over her shoulder, pulling the thug's spare rubber mask over her face. Time to escape.

Michelle swaggers down the hallway, mask over her face, and bag over her shoulder, and heads past the thugs walking the halls without trouble. She drops the purple coat in Joker's room, right next to the door, so maybe she has more time to escape later on when he's not being suspicious of why his coat is missing. Her clothes are baggy enough to hide her figure, and since she doesn't have to talk, they never know. She's heading past an open door, when she hears one call to her.

"Hey, come in man. We just startin' the game."

She freezes. Either she walks in, and possibly gets caught, or she walks past, and definitely gets caught. So she walks in, and sits down at an empty chair settled around the card table. There are three masked men sitting around the table, and they're all playing poker. They deal her cards and start the game, while Michelle tries to find an opening to escape.

"Hey, you hear?" One asks, shoving a ten dollar bill into the pot.

"Hear what?" Another asks, before laying his cards down flat on the table. "Fold."

"Pussy." The third mumbles, tossing in a chip. "What, Rocko?"

"Joker got ass." The first announces, as Michelle flinches slightly and then recovers by putting a couple dollars in the center of the table. She's no good at poker, but at least everyone has a great poker face on. One of the thugs snort, and the other shakes his head.

"That? A'course I heard that. Everybody heard that."

"Have to be fucking deaf not to." The third thug mutters, staring at Michelle and then the first thug. There's no poker face to try and see through, and he cusses under his breath when he remembers that. "With that one chick, right? Mariah? Melanie?"

"Think it's Michelle." The second one states, and the first, Rocko, smacks him with his cards.

"Fuck you. Yeah, Michelle, whatever. That one with the retarded costume. Swear, she's bipolar or some shit."

"I know, right? But she's got to be out of her fucking mind to want to fuck Joker." The third one states, and Michelle herself stays silent. They all lay down their cards. The second thug wins the pot. Everyone cusses.

"Sucking up, maybe?" Michelle offers, in as deep a voice she can, and apparently, they buy it.

"Sucking something else." The third one says, and they all laugh. Even Michelle, though she forces it. Rocko deals the cards.

"Why we talking about this whore again?"

"'Cos there ain't nothing else to talk about."

"Alright, let's just ask. Would you guys fuck her?" Rocko asks, putting a five into the pot, and everyone thinks about it a moment. Michelle, though disgusted that they're talking about her like this, for a second wonders if she were a lesbian, and there were a copy of her, would she fuck herself? She then realizes that it's a completely idiotic idea and brushes it aside.

"Eh…maybe. There any other women around in this question?" The third asks, looking over his cards again.

"No, just Melanie. Michelle. Whatever."

"Eh…maybe. Depends on if she's a good fuck or not." The third says again, finally putting five dollars into the center of the table.

"Think we can assume that she is, from the fucking noise next door." The second states. "I'd fuck her, as long as Joker wasn't around."

"But Joker's fucked her already. If you fuck her, that means you're fucking Joker too."

"Oh, don't start with that shit! It don't work like that. What about you, Rocko?"

"Me? I'd fuck her. We're kind of desperate though, so our word don't really count none. I'd fuck a dog if I had a dog around here." Rocko states, before glancing up to Michelle. "What about you? Would you fuck her?"

"Me?" Michelle mumbles, dropping a twenty into the pot. "Eh…nah. We don't know if crazy is an STD."

As she says that, all the others start laughing, and after a moment, Michelle joins in. The third thug slaps her high-five.

"Heh, amen to that. We don't need anyone else as fucking psycho as Joker in Gotham; city couldn't handle it." Rocko states, before flattening his cards. Everyone else does too. Michelle is almost hesitant to lay hers down. Royal Flush.

"You're a fucking cheat!" The second snaps at her, grabbing her by the front of her shirt from across the table and dragging her towards him, a knife in his hand.

"Come on," Michelle croons, pulling her pistol from her pocket and leveling it at the second thug's head, "Let's not fire off any unwarranted accusations." He lets her go, and she settles into her seat again, Rocko and the third thug sitting there. "I ain't playing for money anyway. Gotta leave, Joker's orders. You guys divvy it up." She tucks the pistol away, grabbing her bag, and turning for the door.

"Yo man," Rocko calls after her, and for a minute, she thinks she's been caught. Her long hair has been tucked into the back of her shirt, to hide it, but what if they figured out she's not a guy? She turns around, watching them.

"What?"

"You won, come get it, you lucky fucker." He gestures towards the pot, the second thug now nursing a black eye from behind his mask, and Michelle walks back hesitantly, collecting the money. "Eddie here's just a bit excitable. Arkham, yannow." Eddie glares at this from behind his mask, but says nothing. The third thug slaps her on the back.

"Good luck. Pretty cool bastard, you know. Most of the guys 'round here are uptight, nervous pricks."

"Charlie got a point," Rocko says, as Michelle tucks the money away in her pocket. She might need it later on. "We hafta be, with who we're workin' for. Joker kills two, three of us every week. Ten 'r twenty when we actually work. Our days are numbered, boys." Eddie and Charlie nod at this, gravely, and Michelle feels pity for them now. They know they're going to die, and they're such nice guys, but they probably don't have any other choice if they're already at a point low enough to come to Joker for work.

"Hey, thanks guys. Name's…Jack." Michelle tells them, almost hesitantly heading towards the door, and they nod and wave.

"See you Jack." Rocko says, and Charlie deals the cards again.

"Ya mean, 'We hope we see you, Jack'."

"Oh, don't go all fucking depressing on me. When did we stop talking about the good things, like pussy?"

"Fine, why don't we talk about pussy again?"

"Let's."

"Yeah, let's talk about Rocko loving dog pussy."

"Oh fuck you, man."

Michelle smiles as she walks out the door, and she's a little more hopeful of finding guys like that outside Joker's influence. She walks out the front door, jingling the van's keys at the thugs guarding the door as a show of what she's going to do, and they nod, letting her through. She throws her bag into the passenger's seat and starts the van, driving away and towards the city, throwing her rubber mask into the passenger's seat when she's far enough away from the factory to relax.

She's a little more hopeful, and though she's very sore, she's looking forward to life outside. She's hopeful again.

She's turned the tables on Joker, after all; what's not to be proud of about that?