The assistant District Attorney ignored the press and cameras as he strode into the building. After months of chasing the Joker, they finally get him locked up and he manages to escape, blowing the brains out of some new recruit's head in the process. He let out a dark chuckle. Recruitment for the police force would definitely fall after that one.
One determined reporter managed to make her way inside the doors, following him to the elevators. "Mr White," she said breathlessly. "Mr White. Do you have a comment on the Joker's escape?" He turned around and she shoved a microphone into his face. "Come on Mr White," she said, smiling and panting. "Just a little something for today's newspapers. Something about the loss of a promising new recruit at the hands of a criminal that the city will recapture at all costs?" She suggested with a wink.
He jabbed at the elevator button before looking at her again. "You want a statement?" He said, trying to bite back his annoyance. "Go to hell. A man is dead and you vultures have to chase me around. Just go to hell."
A blessed release came as the elevator doors opened, allowing him to leave her standing in the lobby with that bloody microphone. Frustrated, he pressed the 'close doors' button repeatedly. Today was not a good day to be a public servant in Gotham.
He studied his appearance in the elevator's reflective doors. Not bad if he did say so himself. Smoothing back his hair, he glanced at his watch. Ten minutes until his meeting. The Mayor, Commissioner Gordon, the District Attorney in a meeting that was sure to be pure hell. The Mayor blaming everyone bar himself; Gordon denying responsibility for leaving a new cop in charge of the Joker (which he probably wasn't responsible for anyway); and the D.A. telling everyone what he thought should be done while not actually making any plans himself.
Another glance at his watch. There was still time. He'd go to his office first. Maybe have a stiff drink. Oh what the hell, he thought as the elevator doors opened. If there was enough time, he'd have two.
The hallway to his office was long, narrow and quite isolated; the only thing to look at being names on office doors. Still, despite the lifelessness of the hallway, he got the uneasy feeling that someone was watching him. Hell, he thought. It was probably just nerves. The Joker had broken out; everyone in Gotham was probably getting this feeling.
His office door glided smoothly open as he entered. Without looking back, he pushed it closed behind him and headed for his desk in search for his bottle of scotch.
"Tough day at the office?
He froze at the voice, bent over the desk in the process our pouring himself a glass. Gulping, he poured double the amount he originally intended to pour and straightened up, clutching the glass in his trembling hands.
"Interesting," the Joker drawled, lingering over the different syllables. "Very interesting."
His hands trembled as he raised the glass to his lips. He absolutely refused to turn around until he had a stiff drink inside him. It was a matter of principle. His hands were considerably less twitchy when he set his half-empty glass back down on the desk. Before he could turn around, a purple leather glove clamped down over his mouth and an excruciating pain overcame his senses.
The Joker pressed up against the assistant D.A.'s back, pushing the knife blade in to the hilt. He could feel the blood seeping through his clothes and he could hear the man's muffled screams. He leant his head closer to the assistant's ear and smiled. "How does it feel, to know you came this close," he slowly withdrew the blade and stabbed it back into a higher part of his back. "And yet you still couldn't get me?"
Slowly, the Joker withdrew the blade once more and stabbed it into the side of his neck. Blood cascaded down his body and his screams intensified. The Joker cackled as the assistant bit down on his gloved hand in a desperate attempt to make him remove it. In a hacking motion, he worked the knife blade through the man's neck almost severing the head. Blood was everywhere now, covering the assistant, the Joker, the desk and dripping into the glass of scotch. As the man's thrashing motions ceased the Joker released his grip, allowing him to fall to the floor.
Next to the glass of scotch and blood the Joker dropped the top playing card from the deck before leaving the room. The blood on the desk slowly seeped into the card, turning the King of Spades red.