Gotham only shows her true colours at night; when darkness falls and the criminals, scum and whores come crawling out of the woodwork, looking to make the fortune they'll never get. Young women, some more girl that woman, line the streets, bending down to lean in the open windows of cars stopped to examine their goods.
There's a girl, probably no older than 14 or 15. She stands on the corner, shivering in fishnet stockings and a black leotard that emphasises her growing chest. She knows someone's watching her; she can feel his eyes on the back of her head. But that's usually how it starts; glances from afar until they decide whether or not to employ her services.
A small black car rolls slowly down the street. The headlights are off and the windows are tinted. It's next to impossible to see who's in there, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't change how any of them act.
Goosebumps creep up her arms and she rubs them against the night air. It's not that cold and she doesn't feel it. It's the feeling of unwanted attention. The feeling that she's long since learnt to ignore.
A siren wails, getting louder and louder until two police cars appear at the end of the street, racing towards the intersection. The girls scatter at the sound, getting into cars, running down alleyways and into bars until she's the last one standing. The small black car has vanished, speeding off at the first sign of trouble. She turns and runs down the street, towards the cars, smiling just a little as they pass her, turn a corner and speed down a side street and out of sight.
There's a loud crack that cuts the night air. She stops and there's another, followed by a sticky warmth flooding her chest. She stares down at herself in disbelief, watching as the blood starts to soak through her leotard. Her fingertips brush the black material before she pulls them away again and stares at the red stain on her hand. It's funny; it doesn't hurt at all. She sinks to her knees on the pavement. Maybe she's just too high.
She's lying face down on the pavement when the Joker approaches her. He kicks her, and when she doesn't move, he rolls her over with his foot. Her eyes are closed and there's a faint smile on her face. The blood has completely soaked her leotard and stained the concrete below her. He kneels down and pulls the top card from his pocket, sliding it into her slight cleavage. He stands back up and walks away as the blood starts to seep into the Nine of Hearts.