"The Joker? Do I really have to call you that?" I asked, his hand still gripping mine.

"What? You don't like my name?" The Joker, I guess, tilted his head. It might have looked playful on anyone else, but it felt more serious coming from him. And telling him I thought his name was even dumber than my online handle didn't seem like a good idea.

"N-no, it's not that." I stumbled over my words a little, feeling a little nervous.
"It's just a mouthful every time I need to call you. Is there something…shorter?" He finally let my hand go and shrugged his shoulders.

"Like what?" He plopped down on the bed next to where I had been seated, I followed because it felt awkward to stay standing.

"Maybe Joe, Jack, Ker?" I tried, but he didn't look impressed with any of those names. I fumbled around for anything, but he didn't give me a lot to work with. Also, the last time I gave someone a nickname, I was 6 years old, and I shortened their name to their initial; it wasn't exactly creative. But with no other alternative, I threw it out there.
"How about J?"

The Joker chewed his cheek for a moment, seemingly thinking it over. I was ready for him to reject it, and I would be stuck referring to my boss as The Joker, like we were in some comic universe… ;)

"I don't hate it." He conceded, giving me a shrug and standing up in one fluid motion. I was surprised because he had just sat down. Does he have trouble sitting still? Does my new boss have ADHD?
He turned and pointed at me.
"But in front of others, call me Boss."

"Yeah, okay." I agreed, at least I didn't have to call him The Joker.

"Oh, by the way, this is your room. Everyone on the team lives on base." J told me. I tried to protest, but I didn't get the chance to say anything because the next thing I knew, he left the room. I stared at the door in absolute bamboozlement.

I felt like agreeing to work for this man was much more trouble than it was worth. But I opened the bag of cash again and took a closer look. It looked and felt like real cash. It was all sharp lines, nothing blurry or spelt wrong, it even had the watermark and security thread. If it was fake, they were pretty convincing fakes.

I sighed and flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ugly ceiling again. If he was willing to pay me this much just for agreeing to work with him, what kind of work was he going to ask me to do? When he said he had an operation going on, I had assumed it would be drugs or petty crime. But nothing I could think of would require a single hacker.

Perhaps he wanted to get on the dark web and needed help with that. I wasn't a big fan of going into the dark corners of the internet, but I had a few times to get things or information I needed. Sometimes you have to wade through dark waters to cross the river.

I didn't miss J, but I do wish he had left with some sort of instruction on what to do. And was he really serious that I had to live here? I mean, I didn't love paying rent, but it was a lot to take in. He might have wanted me to sit in this room all day, but I had things I needed to do. Filled with a motivation I didn't know I still had, I got up and searched for a pen, scribbling my phone number down and leaving it on the bed.

'I need to sort some stuff out; I'll be back soon. This is my number xxxx-xxxx-xx. Call me if you need me.'

I was mostly done with my errands before I realised that running off with the money and only a note behind might not have been the best idea. But it was probably too late for regrets, especially since the money was gone. That had been my first stop, dropping by Big-Hearted John's establishment, or at least the warehouse he called his base.

None of them thought I was serious when I said I had come to pay my debt in full, including the interest. They too had scrutinised the bills, not believing they were real. I had my doubts too, but after a blacklight inspection, they accepted my payment with sour looks. Spike and Fang looked especially put out, the sadistic fucks.

I walked out with my head held high and even had some cash left over. Nearly $1k in fact. But I didn't hang around to gloat, just because my debt was paid didn't necessarily mean I was safe, they could just beat me up for being annoying.

I then went to my apartment. My and Archie's home since we set off on our own, maybe ran off, was a more apt description. I hadn't known that the night of the fear gas would set in motion a series of events that would mean I would have to leave this place. Lemony Snicket said it best: 'A series of unfortunate events' indeed.

This was in truth a shitty apartment in an even shittier part of the Narrows, but it was the home I shared with Archie. It was the safe port in the storm, our lives had always been, the dry land when we had been drowning. It was not only the reason we had been able to stick together, but it had more than likely saved our lives.

I didn't think reminiscing in front of the building was the best idea, though. As soon as I walked inside, I was met by the owner of the building, and it looked like he was waiting for me. Fuck.

"Lexie, can we talk?" Bert walked over to me with hesitant steps. There was only one reason he would come to see me.

"Yeah, Bert, although I think I know what you want to say." He turned to look at me, and I could see he looked a little relieved.

"The residents and I will always be thankful for what you and Archie did that night." I nodded along, not telling him that I tried to stop Archie, knowing it was a stupid idea.
"But I can't have thugs roaming the halls looking for you, you know the kind of people we have here. It needs to be safe for them." Bert was wringing his hands, turning his skin red.

I wanted to tell him it wouldn't be an issue anymore, that I had paid off my debt, but I couldn't say it would never happen again. Especially not with my new employer and his weird ways. I also knew that if I were ever back in a situation where I needed money for Archie and I couldn't get it, I would 100% do the same thing again.

"I know Bert, I'm sorry." I hung my head, feeling ashamed for putting the residents in fear. Especially when they had all put together to give me money to help out. Bert was a good guy, and I didn't resent him, not even a little bit. He had been the one to rent a place to a 16-year-old who had a snotty kid trailing behind her. No questions, no judgments, just a contract and a set of keys.

"It hurts me to ask this, Lexie, especially when you look like… that." He gestured to my face and the mess it had been made into.
"But I need to ask you to move out." Bert sounded on the verge of tears, but I nodded and held my hand out to him. He looked surprised, but he shook it all the same.

"Thank you, Bert, for everything." This was a rare occasion when I was being genuine, this didn't happen often. His bottom lip trembled slightly, and he gave me a quick nod before he left to compose himself. He was a big man, but he was just a teddy bear pretending to be a person.

I took myself up to my apartment, knowing if I stayed any longer, I might even shed a tear or two, which sounded awful. As I made my way, I was starkly reminded of the last time I came down these very stairs, running like my life depended on it. I shook my head, if I had known they were going to catch me anyway I could have gotten my ass kicked in the lobby. Cut out all that running.

I got to my apartment and sighed at the state of the door; it wasn't off the hinges, but it wasn't far off. Shoving my key into the lock, I unlocked the door, leaving the key where it hung. I didn't need to lock up after, and leaving the key meant I didn't have to see Bert again. I think I would genuinely break down if I had to say goodbye again to him while we both pretended he hadn't gone into his office and cried.

But getting inside just made me more depressed. I was leaving it in a bit of a state. Even my alcohol bottles had spilt out of the cabinet and littered the kitchen floor. How many were piled up for them to tumble out like that? I bent down and picked them up, shoving them back into the cabinet. Maybe having to clean up after me would relieve Bert of some of his sadness.

I went into my room next and grabbed a couple of duffel bags, shoving whatever I had into them and doing the same in Archie's room. We didn't have a lot; we were pretty minimal people anyway. But it wasn't even enough to fill two duffel bags. A couple of sets of clothes, some shoes, a picture frame or two, and a couple of mementos, but that was pretty much it.

What took up the most room was my assortment of self-defence tools. Archie always told me it was overkill to have so many, but I didn't see an issue with being prepared. I was currently on the floor trying to reach for the baton that was under the couch when someone knocked on my open front door.

I looked up to see Ruth standing in my doorway, holding her unruly cat, his grand escape must have been foiled once again, but he didn't look too bothered.

"Hi, I was just packing." I abandoned the baton for now, I didn't want to pull it out and scare Ruth into an early grave… but then again, she was already very old. Maybe a time-appropriate grave.

"Packing? Where are you going?" She asked, looking between me and my packed duffel bags. Hopefully, she doesn't look inside and see all the weapons, I mean self-defence tools, I had already collected.

"I'm moving out." I told her, leaving out Bert and his emotional eviction. If Ruth went down and yelled at him, he might have a mental breakdown. I tried to smile, but I didn't have a lot to smile about currently.

"If it's about rent, you can move in with me—" She tried, but I finally got up from the floor and dusted myself off.

"It's not the rent, Ruth." I felt bad about what I was about to do, but I had to do it.
"I've found another place to live, it's closer to the place Archie will be recovering in, and it's a bit smaller for the time being." I lied. I couldn't believe I was lying to such a sweet old lady.

"Oh, I see. How is Archie?" She asked with a look of deep concern crossing her face. I bit my lip, trying to find the words to reassure her whilst I wasn't even sure what was happening myself.

"He is… hanging in there." I finally got out, plastering a smile on my face. She nodded, I think she realised what I meant without saying it. That it wasn't good, but it wasn't over yet.

"Well, we will miss you, won't we, Mr. Mittens?" She lightly jostled the orange furball in her arms. He didn't look too upset to see me go, only giving a half-hearted grumble.
"Can I have your number, dearie? I would love to visit Archie, once he wakes up."

I nodded and dug around my duffel bag for a pen and a piece of paper. This was the second time I was giving out my number today, soon my contact phone would be more than just Archie's number and my favourite Chinese take-out place. I was so popular.

I finally jotted it down and handed it over to her, she took it and then moved Mr Mittens to one arm. She then reached up and pulled me down into a hug, and I had to crouch because, while her attitude was that of a giant, she was a short-statured woman.

I awkwardly let it happen; she patted my back a couple of times before releasing me. Before I stood up fully, she managed to pinch my cheek affectionately. I assume all old ladies did this and smiled at her before she left. I never had a grandma, but if I did, I would like to think she would have been like Ruth.

I hadn't realised how emotional leaving this place would make me. It wasn't just my home; I had been surrounded by people all this time. But I shoved all that emotion down, express emotions in this economy? No, thank you.

I got back down on the ground and restarted my attempts at fishing out my baton. I might have just left it if it were a baseball bat, but this baton had flames on the side of it due to one of Archie's late-night art projects, and it was pretty rad. He was always doing that, being inspired by a movie or book, then immediately throwing himself into a new hobby or job hunt.

Thankfully, his art stint was short and inexpensive, and he donated his paints to the local shelter when the motivation to become a starving artist in Paris left him. He decided he liked eating too much, and waiting for the paint to dry was really boring.

His latest inspiration was to become a police officer, which was ironic given his sister's long-standing feud with authority. Maybe he did it so he could arrest me one day, I wouldn't put it past him, anything to win in the lifelong power struggle of sibling rivalry.

He had enrolled to begin in January, but… that would have to be put on hold for a while. He had been watching a ridiculous number of cop movies in his latest hyper-focus. It's why he went to defend the complex instead of just securing the doors and staying inside, he wanted to be a hero. That was a lifelong dream of his. He wanted to protect people; he was a good person. He IS a good person.

I finally grabbed the baton in one last stretch and threw it into the duffel bag. But then wrapped it in one of Archie's jackets, I didn't want to scratch the paint. One last photo frame remained; it was one of my favourite photos of Archie and me. I had my arms thrown around Archie, trying to get him in a headlock because he had tried to take the last cupcake at the complex's Independence Day picnic.

One of the residents took the picture and framed it because they thought we were trying to hug. I loved that picture, though, because we were both smiling, not a Kodak smile either, full, huge grins across both our faces, eyes crinkled mid-laugh.

Which is why I was confused that it wasn't where it usually was. I had it on a shelf near the door so I would see it every day when I came home. A little reminder to not punch the boss of my current job or set the place on fire. But it was moved to the coffee table. That was… weird.

I had a sudden awful thought that Archie had died and become a ghost. And obviously, his first order of ghostly business was to poltergeist and fuck with me. But I checked my phone and I had no missed calls, breathing a sigh of relief, I plopped down on the decrepit sofa. No news was good news.
And I was relieved, but that didn't solve the mystery of the moving picture frames. Come to think of it, the bottles shouldn't have fallen out of that cupboard either.

Had someone been in here? Or… was I being haunted by that crazy I home-run baseballed into the dumpster? Being haunted by Arkham's finest former inmate sounded more likely than anyone being in here. After all, Dumb and Dumber had been trying to get in here for a while and didn't succeed. And the door was still locked when I opened it before. And really, who would break in here? There was nothing to steal.

Even our furniture was older than Jesus, nothing was new. It was all fifth-hand or found in a dumpster. They had all seen better days and probably wished for death.

A creaking floorboard in my bedroom gave me all the proof I needed, and I booked it out of my old apartment. Yes, yes, lots of feelings, I'm out of here!

Maybe I should tell Bert to sage the place, or whatever hippies do nowadays to get rid of spirits. I would have never made it as a Ghostbuster because they might not have been afraid of no ghosts, but I certainly was.

Before I left, though, I dropped by Maurice's apartment, and thankfully, he was home. I offered to buy that motorcycle I had borrowed a while back to get Archie to the hospital. He accepted because his son hadn't been able to sell it, apparently, it wasn't old enough yet to be vintage but not new enough to be cool.

I gave him the rest of the money I had left from paying off my debt and leaving $600 on the counter for Bert, an apology for all the late rent payments. It was still $400, and he was very happy to receive it. I was happy to get a mode of transportation that wasn't the bus because I was going to fight that bus driver. I would rather be arrested for driving without a license than for murder.

And it was easier to drive than I had imagined it would be. I think I had found something I was a natural at. I might get a licence…eventually. I would definitely get one once Archie woke up. I didn't want my cop brother to arrest me for breaking the law. But until then, I guess I'm driving on the wild side.

Thankfully, Maurice's son had filled the tank for the new buyer, hoping to entice a couple of prospective buyers with test drives, but to no avail. Good news for me, though. It was late afternoon by the time I got back to the motel, pulling my motorcycle into the parking lot and parking it near the front went off without a hitch.

I checked my phone again, but no missed calls; maybe I got lucky and J hadn't realised I had left.

"The runaway returns." I heard someone call out behind me. I spun around, and J was skulking in a doorway, arms folded, and what was that on his face? He came out further in the light, and his whole face was covered in paint. Was this some make-up tutorial gone wrong?

"Yeah, I'm back." I faltered back a step as he walked toward me.

"Did you see my note?" I asked, not knowing how to address what was going on. His whole face was covered in bone-white paint, haphazardly put on and smeared in places. His eyes were encircled in black, looking like empty eye sockets. Was he trying to look like a skeleton? But then what was the blood-red smile? He had covered the scars that spanned his cheeks to make one large smile across his face.

"I saw your note." He answered, finally coming to a stop in front of me. Coming closer, I could see he applied the paint himself, his hands littered with spots of white, black and red. Halloween had long since been over, so what was this?

I wanted to tell him he was too old to play dress up, but he didn't look to be in a jovial mood.
"I just had to tie up some loose ends. Now, I'm all yours." I explained, throwing in a joke to lighten the tension between us. It seemed to work because he grinned and relaxed.

"Come on, meet the team." He walked past me, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Taking a second before jogging to catch up with his long strides, why were his legs so long?

"The whole motel is a front, there are empty rooms and a front desk clerk to look legit. But only the team uses the rooms, if anyone comes sniffing around, though, it looks good on the surface." He explained, and I thought that was clever.

The mob used restaurants as fronts for meetings and various businesses to launder their money. A hotel hiding a base wasn't far from that. And it was convenient that everyone had rooms, as long as I didn't have to pay a high rent, it was all fine by me.

We walked through a few hallways before it opened into a roofed courtyard. This must be the gathering place because it seemed like this was the team I was supposed to meet. They were all sitting on various mismatched chairs or upturned crates. And they looked how I expected they would, like they were straight out of a prison gang with a few crazies thrown in for good measure.

Everyone was covered in tattoos; some even shaved their heads for more real estate. The few who didn't have ink were twitching and pacing; they were either on drugs or needed to be on the type prescribed by a doctor.

As soon as I walked in with J, they all looked like they wanted to fight or straight-up murder me. Delightful. J gestured to me with a flourish.

"I want everyone to welcome our new addition to the team, Lex. Introduce yourself." J then walked away and sat next to the only normal-looking person in the room.

This felt like I was the new student and had to introduce myself in front of the class. Except this class was made up of people who should probably be in Black Gate or Arkham. I wish I had brought a weapon with me; I only had my laptop in my backpack, and I would rather use my skull as a battering ram than damage it.

"Hi, I'm Lexie." I began, suddenly one of the nastier-looking men jumped to his feet, apparently, I had managed to piss him off in three words. Even for me, that's a new record.

"She works for me now, you cross her, you cross me." I heard from J, who was glaring at the man. He looked reluctant, gripping the shotgun strapped to his belt.
"Sit." He added, and that made the man sit back down, though not happily. He was still glaring at me with murder in his eyes. I was making friends already.

"As I was saying, I'm Lexie, I'm the new computer geek here. But I know how to handle a baseball bat, so don't try anything." I looked over to J, wondering if my introduction was sufficient.

"I think we could all use a…demonstration of your skills." J looked more excited than anyone, and I'm surprised it took him this long to ask.

"With a baseball bat or my computer?" I asked, which made him smile broadly.

"Computer...for now." He suggested, and I shrugged. I walked over about to sit next to him. I wasn't too sure what I could show them, but I'll think of something.

As I was making my way over, the guy with the shotgun stepped into my way, making me bump into him. I sucked my teeth as he towered over me, he was starting to piss me off.

"You got a problem?" I asked, to which he only responded with a growl. Great, so I'm dealing with a Neanderthal who had crawled out of his cave and ended up in Gotham.

I simply sidestepped around him, but not before my hand dove into his coat pocket and fished out his wallet. I slammed my shoulder into his for a distraction and gave a small 'oops' as I walked past and sat next to J. He had watched the exchange with a grin, so I'm glad I didn't rely on him for a save.

I booted up my laptop on my knee and quickly took out this guy's ID from behind the screen. I didn't want to ruin the magic, and maybe it would give me some legitimacy if all these idiots thought I was a witch even for a little bit.

With his name, social security number and previous address, I found all kinds of fun information in less than five minutes.

"So, Graham Ryan Fraser." I looked over my screen, and his eyes widened a little as I called out his full name. I love to see a man with fear in his eyes. I took a few minutes to prepare everything, but everyone waited with bated breath and silence.

"You went to Gotham Heights High School, and you were not a smart child; you cruised by with a F-average and did not get your diploma. I'm sure your mother, Mary-Anne Fraser, was not proud of you. Even less so when you were arrested for a failed robbery attempt, the elderly cashier realised your gun had no bullets and beat you with an old pipe until you were admitted to the hospital and jail afterwards. Which was followed by a string of similar failures. You have never pulled off a crime successfully. The only success you ever found was in collecting STDS, currently, you have a nasty case of Gonorrhoea, and your doctor says your antibiotics are ready to collect. Although I don't know if you'll be able to afford them, what with two baby mommas taking you to court for unpaid child support? Not that you're allowed anywhere near those kids or… within 500 metres of any school."

The whole room was silent as they all stared at Graham. He was shaking, but I wasn't sure if it was in embarrassment or barely concealed rage. I tucked his ID back in his wallet and frisbeed it back to him. It smacked into his chest and fell to the floor as he stared at it dumbly.

"Next time, move out of my fucking way." I closed my laptop with a soft click and a grin. The man whose laundry I had just aired out for everyone looked ready to charge at me, but was frozen in his tracks when J burst into loud laughter.

He was doubled over in his seat, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. I was proud of myself; I had hacked four different confidential records sites. The police and court ones had been a little tricky, but they didn't take long. I had hacked into them in my old days, and since then, they hadn't upgraded their security much. Which was good news for me.

J managed to subside his laughter long enough to dismiss everyone else from the courtyard.
"That was a neat trick." He chuckled again before relaxing back in his seat.

"Was that enough to prove myself?" I asked, stowing away my laptop back in its case.

"I would say so, what do you think, Dell?" The Joker looked at the man who looked the most normal of everyone. He was sitting at J's side, but he leaned forward in his seat so I could see him.

"I was impressed." He nodded at me.
"Name's Dell." He gave me a small wave, and I nodded my head at him.

"Dell? Like the computer?" I asked, the name instantly ringing a bell for me and my geek senses, was he another hacker?

"Uh, yeah. I, uh, attempted to kill my stepdad with the Dell computer he had in his office; he was a wrong-un if you catch my drift. He didn't die, but he did need to have his skull reconstructed. I got the nickname in Juvie, and it stuck." Dell smiled at me, and I tried to keep my face as passive as possible.

"Okay." I commented, not knowing what else to say apart from that.
"My old handle was like my nickname online, 'Secret Shadow'. Thankfully, mine didn't stick, though." I felt compelled to fill the silence because of how awkward I felt at Dell's crime confession. I had thought he was the most normal, but he still might be.

"Shadow, I like that." J spoke back up, and my eyes flew to him. Excuse me?
"I think we've found your name." He grinned at me and my wide-eyed stare.
"Welcome to the team, Shadow. Dell, show her to her room when she's ready, will ya?" J stood back up and walked off, whistling to himself a jolly tune.

"Nice to meet you, Shadow." I whirled back around to Dell and shook my head.

"I didn't mean that I wanted to be called that, it was an old username that's embarrassing. I was just making small talk." I tried; I did NOT want to be called Shadow by these people. This is why small talk is dangerous and should be avoided! It was already making me cringe; it wasn't as bad as Secret Shadow, but it wasn't much better.

"You think I want to be called Dell?" He asked, and I looked back at him. he shrugged his shoulders.
"No one likes their name, but when the boss gives you one. That's your name now."

I nodded at his explanation, at least mine was only a reminder of my old hacking days, not the day I tried to kill a man. I guess I could live with being called Shadow, for now at least.