The Batman: A Laughing Matter(PID:40929756503) Source
posted by alias HeroMotion67 on Tuesday 21st of May 2019 03:09:22 AM
——— 3rd person Sunday, December 19th, 2010 “Fifteen dead, and thirty wounded in a shooting at the inauguration of the commissioner James Gordon. The two gunmen were sporting clown masks and orange Arkham jumpsuits have been apprehended. Upon being detained all they did was laugh. The police fear it’s the return of the mainiac dubbed: “The Joker,” who disappeared four years ago just shy of the first Batman sighting..” A man clicks a remote shutting off the television. In a dark secluded room sits two people tied down to chairs, a man and a woman. A third chair sits there with a faceless body. “Channel Five, am I right? Just a bunch of libtards and republicans fighting amongst themselves over who’s dumber. We live in a society, and this one needs a little bit of anarchy,” The man’s voice calls from the darkness as his faint silhouette emerges. The silhouette moves over to a sink and turns on a light. The shadow forms into a man as the light shines onto him. He’s tall and skinny dressed in a purple suit and an orange vest that seems too short for his stature. On his left pocket hangs a yellow flower. Beautiful, though a strange spout pokes out from the middle. Yet there’s something off about him. He lacks a face, as if it were cut off like the third man in the chair. He puts on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and grabs some green hair dye. The man runs it through his hair, then pulls out a comb to comb it through after the fact, all while humming the tune of Little Drummer Boy. He grabs the severed face of the man in the third chair and starts stapling it to his head. He pulls one corner to his temple. Click. The blood drips out. He runs his finger along and does the other temple. Click. He goes down to the end of his jaw. Click. The other side. Click. He admires his work. But he isn’t done. He goes and fills the outline of the face making sure it’s secure. Mending them together. He then grabs oversized paper clips and puts them through the ends of his cheeks and the ends of the face’s lips, creating a permanent smile. Blood slowly pours out, he wipes it off with a handkerchief, gleefully. The man is the long lost Clown Prince of Crime- The sadistic Joker. He turns around and walks over to the two remaining hostages. The face he put on has been bleached beforehand, leaving it a gleaming white, eye holes cut out showing red circles around his eyes, perpetually open. The Joker’s yellow teeth poke through his flesh. The flesh around them resembles a red lipped smile. He pulls up a chair and sits in front of the woman. She shudders and tries to pull away. “What’s wrong? Is it the face? Yeah it’s new. Still breaking it in. The previous owner left it in really bad shape.” He looks over to the third chair with the lifeless body sitting there. Smiling, he looks back and cracks his jaw. “Wow so silent. Oh yeah, I forgot,” He removes the tape from their mouths. The man spits on the Joker. “You sick freak. You better let us go! Do you have any idea who I am? I’m the boss! I control Gotham!” The man is wearing a three piece blue suit and white cufflinks. He has three beautiful children and a loving wife. Then bang. The man’s life leaves his body, the woman screams and the Joker puts his gun back in his pocket. Blood splatters on his shirt and the yellow flower in the left jacket pocket “Sorry about that ma’am. Now tell me. What’s your name?” She shudders a bit before answering. “V-Vicki. Vicki Vale.” “Ah of course! Victoria! How could I not recognise you! You’re from Channel 6. The good news channel!” The Joker exclaims with excitement. “Now, say your famous sign-off line” “This is Vicki, reporting for your Gotham City. Signing off...“ She trails off with tears trickling down her face along with her makeup. Bang. The Joker shoots his gun. A red flag comes out the barrel saying the very word ‘bang.’ He laughs for a minute. She screams for her life. He then smacks Vicki across the face with the butt end of the gun and grabs her face. “Oh we’re gonna have some fun.” ———— Jim Gordon’s POV Tuesday, December 21st, 2010 I stand there in shock. Three bodies. One without a face, male, no identification. Bled to death. One fully nude, bent over a sink, female Vicki Vale of Channel 6 News. Shot in the head. No exit wound. Lastly, one shot between the eyes. Male, Salvatore Maroni “The Boss.” What kind of man could’ve done this extremely wicked, shockingly evil and vile thing. My heart starts racing. I can feel myself sweating, I need a patch. I look in my pocket for one and pull up my sleeve. There’s already one on there. I need something stronger. I reach into my pockets and find a cigarette and lighter. I run out to the street on the corner of Finger and Kane. I put the cigarette in my mouth and light it. “Commissioner, call for you,” Captain Bullock says while handing me a phone. I nod, take the phone and put it up to my ear. “Those will kill you by the way,Thought you quit anyway.” A voice says clearly using a voice changer being the infamous Batman. “What’s In there will kill me first.” I reply referring to the crime scene. “Speaking of, did you see anything we didn’t?” “Depends, what’d you see?” “A sadistic man’s brothel.” “Me too.” He replies wearily. ———— Bruce Wayne’s POV Tuesday, December 21st, 2010 I hang up on the commissioner and think back to five years ago in 2005 before I was the Batman. The take over of city hall. The murder of Mayor Galavan. I then snap back into reality. The tip line, that’s how they found the crime scene. “Computer, tap into the GCPD tip line. Date: twenty-one twelve ten.” The screen lights up, reacting to my voice command. I scroll through the tips and spot one from a blocked number at 9:25 am. “Hi, I’d like to report a disturbance. I heard gunshots and loud laughs then screams. It came from the abandoned apartment building on the corner of Finger and Kane. Please send help.” The recording stops. It’s a female voice. I run it through the system trying to get a match. I first go through known associates of the clown. No match. I put it through a sub system testing every recorded conversation in Gotham city in the past two years. One match. Harleen Quinzel. Deceased. Ex-doctor at the Arkham institute for the criminally insane. I triangulate the location of the call to a phone booth by the GCPD precinct. Strange. How can she have used the tip line if she’s dead? One man would know this. Oswald “Penguin” Cobblepot, the one man in Gotham who knows everything. I make my way over to the armoury to prepare for the confrontation. The glass doors of the case open with a hiss. The grey armour platings sit with the black soulless mask and cape staring back at me. A dark reflection of who I truly am… and once was. I turn around and walk back into the suit as it decompresses, opening it. The under armour shocks the case, having the armour close onto my body. The mask goes onto my head. The lens light up with infrared flashlights invisible to the human eye. The metal clasps onto me sending a shiver down my spine. I exit the cast and go to pick up my utility belt. “Going out sir, should I call master Todd?” Alfred says from the darkness. “No, I’m doing this one solo.” I reply bitterly. “Very well sir, I’ll get the car ready.” He walks over to the port and scans his hand on the side. “Chariot mode,” Alfred bluntly says. The car responds by turning on the afterburners, headlights and opening the cockpit. The sleek, black exterior with red highlights running through it sit there welcoming me into the abyss. I walk over and pull myself in and ready everything. “Iceberg lounge, route four.” The batmobile complies and goes zero to eighty within a second, sending me speeding down the tunnel towards the heart of Gotham. The streets are dark and quiet, almost dead. The car rolls through and parks behind the lounge. I exit the cockpit and step on the cold street. I grapple up to the domed roof of the nightclub. The wind rushes past my face as I go up until I land. A metal air vent peeks out, just big enough for me to fit through. I walk over to it, pull off the metal grate and crawl through into the vent. The abrasive music shakes up the club. The song appears to be “The Bridge Is Over” by Boogie Down Productions. I find the office of Cobblepot and drop down a small burst EMP device. Off go the lights. “What the hell?! Someone go fix the generator!” Cobblepot yells in his thick cockney accent. I drop down silently behind him. After his goons leave and close the door, I toss a locking chip onto the handle of the door locking them out for the time being. I click my gauntlet turning the lights back on. “Hello Cobblepot.” I say bluntly. He screams and goes for a hit. I catch his fist and put his arm in a grappling hold. “Ah god damn it stop! What do you want?!” He yells at me. I release my grip and shove his face on his desk, breaking his monocle with an audible crack. His arm falls to his side. He grips his wrist, tending the wound as I walk to the other side of his quartz slab of a desk. The goons hang on the door trying to get. “I want a location, the address of Harleen Quinzel,” I ask. “Oh her? You’re not the first person to come here looking for her.” He chuckles a bit and lights a cigar. Who else would want her? “Who else came through here?” “The Valeska brothers, arrested in ‘04 for: assault, battery, attempted murder, murder itself and of course breaking and entering. The smart one, Jeremiah, came through looking for her.” Interesting, they never go anywhere separately. “The address, now.” He laughs a bit more. “That’s the funny part. After that she disappeared, no trace.” “When was this?” I ask, “About three days ago.” I squint slightly. Why would the Valeska Brothers be looking for her? “Where can I find them? I know you know Cobblepot, don’t play games with me.” I ask with fury, “They said to find them at 278 Laingholm Drive,” He answers, “Thanks.” I turn off the lights and exit through the same vent gracefully ———- 3rd Person Wednesday, December 21st, 2010 “Come they told me, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum. A new born King to see, pa-rum-pum pum-pum. Our finest gifts we bring, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum. To lay before the King, pa-rum pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum,” The Joker sings through the halls of a chemical plant, “I have no gifts to give, pa rum pum pum pum!” A small ginger man by the name of Jeremiah Valeska makes his way towards the mad man at a fast pace. “She’s ready for you sir.” If the clown wasn’t smiling already, he would be now. He makes his way down the halls towards the locker rooms where a woman stands wearing a small leather jacket, red on the left side and black on the right, cheerleading gear under it with blonde pigtails right side sipped in black and the left in red. She lastly has white face makeup with black diamonds around her eyes. This woman is, “Harley Quinn my dear! You look wonderful.” Exclaims the Joker excitedly. “Thanks Mr. J” She replies with a thick Boston accent. She grins as Joker’s gaze falls to a spot of blood on her jacket. “There’s blood on your jacket dear.” His hand rises and collides with her face sending her to the floor. Her nose begins to bleed. “Clean it up, and wipe your nose” “Sorry Mr. J, I’ll get right to it.” She strains to get up and runs along. Valeska walks with Joker down the halls the opposite way. “Valeska, status on my old friend James Gordon and his loving daughter?” “Same routine, date night is this sunday at Chipotle. Also sir, your face.” Valeska of course is referring to how three staples came out. ‘‘Oh sorry about that.” Joker exclaims. He pulls a stapler out of his jacket pocket, holds his face up and staples. Click. One. Click. Two. Click. Three. He clicks his jaw a couple of times and pulls out an eye dropper. He drips a couple of drops in each eye keeping them moist. “What a time to be alive, am I right Valeska!” ----------- Jim Gordon’s POV Wednesday, December 21st, 2010 Four years, it’s been four years and that mainiac still scares me. The funerals. The dead. Gotham was never the same after him and now he’s back. To think I was once friends with that mad man. No, I wasn’t friends with the Joker. I was friends with Arthur Napier. We met in the Academy. He quit after a couple years. The stress was too much for him. Became a comedian. Not a very good one at that. Then the incident happened. He found his wife cheating on him with my very own brother. That was the last straw. He wasn't always right in the head. Had significant OCD. Borderline personality disorder When he saw this happen he grabbed an Exacto knife and slit both their throats. That’s how it started, I could’ve stopped it. I should’ve stopped it. That wasn’t it. He didn’t stop with my brother and his wife. He went for my nephew. It spiraled out of control and didn’t stop until that fateful christmas day. We actually got him. Then not three days later he wasn’t in his cell anymore and the only thing there was his face. Just a face. How he escaped no one knows. “Jim? Are you okay?” I snap back into reality as my loving wife, Lee Tompkins, walks into the study. “You’ve been acting strange since the shooting. You took up smoking again, been going to the gun range more. How can I help?” “I don’t think you can Lee. He was my best friend for years.” “He wasn’t, Arthur Napier was. The Joker is someone else.” “He killed my brother. I can’t just brush that off like he just forgot to pay me back for something. I know he’s coming for me next. I just don’t know how he is.“ “Who says he’s even back. What if it’s a copycat? Or another one of the Riddler’s schemes?” “The Riddler wouldn’t do anything this malicious.” I reply. “But Arthur, he would. He would. All it took was one bad day.” ---------- Bruce Wayne’s POV Thursday, December 22nd, 2010 Harleen Quinzel, the Valeska brothers, the supposed return of the Joker. How are they connected? “Jason!” I call into the darkness of the cave. A woosh goes past me as my gaze pans towards the top of the batcomputer where my ward, Jason Todd, has perched himself. He sits there in his suit. Red base with green highlighting the chest and abdomen black on the other side. Black cape with a small domino mask covering his eyes, securing his identity. “Yeah, boss?” “I need you to watch a stakeout an address, 278 Laingholm Drive. South side of Gotham. I’ve put the address in the batmobile. It should take you there and then come back. Don’t make contact. Report back if there’s any movement.” “Will do.” He nods and makes his way to the batmobile and leaves in a flash.. ------------ Jason Todd’s POV Thursday, December 22nd, 2010 I arrive at the address being a small suburban house, two levels. Don’t contact my ass. I make my way around the house to a back window and break it open with my elbow. The glass falls on the floor with giant shatters. It’s a small room. Nice, has a chair. A smaller sized bed. Pink wallpapers. Like it was made for a young girl. That’s not the important part. I open the door into the hallway slowly. I peek through to see four men in the main room. All wearing clown masks. Two have bats, one has a machete and one is empty handed. So I do what any one man army would do. I walk into the room, clear my throat, and speak. “Hey ladies, you know where I can find Harleen Quinzel?” They all look at me. One of them speaks. “No, but we can find you an early grave.” I drop a smoke pellet, grab my bo staff and grin. The goons flail, trying to hit me. I run in and slide on my knees through them, whilst doing this I swing the staff against one of their knees, shattering the patella. I spin back around and throw a birdarang at the hand of the man with the machete. He grabs his hand in pain and falls to the ground. This doesn’t stop him however. He picks it up with his other hand as the smoke clears. He runs at me with it and goes for a slice. He hits the staff as I block the blade and elbow him in the jaw, knocking him down for the count. Two left. One with a bat, the other empty handed. I throw a concussion grenade disorienting them for a tad while take the bat and break it across his head. Last one. “Okay, last chance. Where’s Harleen Quinzel.” I ask. A female voice with a thick, high pitched Boston accent calls out of nowhere. “Right here toots!” I turn around quickly only to see a woman with a white face and mallet. Then. Black. ———- 3rd person Sunday, December 24th, 2010 “Okay and you have my cell right?” Gordon asks in a worried tone as he and Lee make their way out the door for a Sunday night date. The babysitter inches them out. “Yes I do, go have fun. Babs and I will be fine.” She says in a reassuring tone closing the door on them. She turns around to face the ten-year-old red haired girl. Her accent changes revealing her true self. Harley Quinn. “Okay Babs, what are we doing today?” The girl, Barbara Gordon smiles cheerfully. “Um, I have dolls!” She answers with glee. Knock knock knock. Harley rises and answers the door. The Joker walks through, smile and all. “So this is the Commissioner's sweet daughter.” His tone changes from gleefully to unimpressed and blunt. “So cute; Harley my dear. Have you gotten the bird?” “Why yes puddin’ Everything’s ready for our grand entrance!” The Joker’s eyes light up. He’s happy. ---------- Bruce Wayne’s POV Sunday, December 24th, 2010 “Jason, come in. Report back to the cave. Jason?” He hasn’t reported back for two days. Something’s wrong. He may be hot headed and a rule bender but he always reports back. I get up and go down to the batmobile. “Chariot mode.” The car opens and lights up. I input the destination of 278 Laingholm Drive. Where I last sent him. The cockpit closes me in, I flick a switch turning on the internal lights and press the accelerator. The car pulls up to the suburban home. I exit the car. “Trojan mode.” It deactivates everything and camouflages itself like a chameleon hiding from prey. The door to the house is askew. Strange. I go in and see nothing but a television sitting on a cart in the living room. On the screen is a timer. T-minus 10 minutes. What’s happening in 10 minutes. I send out a small drone to scan the house for a bomb or people. Nothing to be found. What happens in 10 minutes ------------ Jim Gordon’s POV Sunday, December 24th, 2010 Ten minutes till Christmas. Funny. The year went by so fast. From one case to the next. The Riddler, the return of Bane, even the Batman copycat. Boy, that was a strange one. Lee and I exit the restaurant and make our way to the lot. The rain pelts down like bullets. I grab my phone out of my pocket to call the sitter and tell her we’re on our way. I grab the cold phone and dial the number. I can hear its ringing and going through. No answer. I call again. No answer. What’s going on? What the fuck where is the babysitter that I overpay? My body takes over as my mind becomes disengaged. It’s happening. Arthur’s going for Barbara. That sick bastard. Going for my ten-year-old-daughter. I start running. I don’t stop running. I won’t stop running. ———- Bruce Wayne’s POV Sunday, December 24th, 2010 Three minutes until the timer is done. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened yet. Two minutes. The screen goes black, then a boy holding drums appears. “Today we have a special broadcast of little drummer boy,” a man announces on the small television unit. The boy looks distraught. Then he starts singing. I press my comlink to the cave, “Alfred, is this broadcasting to all of Gotham?” “Sadly yes.” What’s he planning? “Can you triangulate his location? Alfred?” No response. Monday, December 25th, 2010 Bang. A bullet goes through the child’s head and the Joker goes on stage “Hello Gothamites, Merry Christmas! It is I, your not so friendly clown prince of crime, the Joker! Today we have a very special presentation this fair Christmas. We have your dark knight’s boy wonder, Robin!” The wall falls behind him revealing Jason, tied to a chair. “And of course we have the commissioner’s loving daughter Barbara.” A woman brings the young Barbara onto the stage, hands tied behind her back and gagged. “Look at this ray of sunshine, little cutie pie. Now, both of them will die in five minutes unless James Gordon and the Batman can get here in time. Here is the Channel 6 building by the way. Toodle loo.” The unit shuts off. Then a tick tick tick. A bomb. I pull up my cape to shield me from the blast. Boom. I’m not thrown back. Nothing happened but some confetti. No matter I need to get to them. I make my way to the building as fast as possible. No time to lose. ------------- 3rd Person Monday, December 25th, 2010 “While we wait, boy wonder, I’m just gonna beat you with this crowbar.” The joker picks a gold rusty metal crowbar off the ground and starts hitting Robin senselessly. He laughs for the world to hear. “Let’s try it with my eyes closed.” The mad man puts his left hand over his eyes and swings. The end of the crowbar goes into the boy’s eye. He screams, however he isn’t dead. Upon removing the crowbar a small chunk of brain matter leaves it. Laughs echo throughout the bones of Gotham. Then a crash through the door and a scream from James Gordon himself, “Arthur! Let them go!” He checks his watch. “Nope, you’re late.’’ He pulls out his gun and shoots Jason in the head. He turns to shoot Barbara but a shadow breaks through the window tackling her. The Joker still shoots. The bullet flies through the air and makes its home in the stomach of the child. She screams. Gordon puts his gun away and makes his way to his daughter. The Batman rises up and looks to the body of Robin. “What did you do!” He asks furiously with only rage in his heart. “You were late. I did what I must.” The Batman screams as he goes to tackle the mad man. He places his hands around the Joker’s throat and squeezes. The Joker struggling to breathe presses a button on his wrist. Acid sprays out of the flow on his chest hitting the mask of the Bat, melting away a portion of it by his left eye and making it visible showing a man who lost everything Batman stumbles back. “Well, that’s my cue to leave.” The Joker exclaims. Batman gets back up as the Joker grabs the door handle towards a hallway. He throws a batarang at his hand, impaling it. He doesn’t even flinch and still opens the door, blood dripping from his hand. “You’re not getting away.” Batman mutters under his breath. He runs after him. Gordon calls an ambulance and follows the bat. They get through to the hallway. Gordon follows close behind. “Arthur! What did you do?!” He yells into the abyss. “You know James, one thing I’ve always wondered about you is, why so serious?” The Joker chuckles after saying this and pulls the blade out his hand and throws it back at the bat. He catches it upon arrival placing it in his belt. “You need help Arthur!” The Joker’s tone changes. “You don’t know what I need! You never did. When I needed help you just brushed it off. You don’t know anything about me. Arthur is dead. The Joker is all that’s left.” He shoots three times at them. The bullets hurtling through the air all hitting various points upon the floor and wall. Batman pulls out his grapple and fires it at the Joker’s leg. It impales his thigh squirting blood around the wound. “Harley dear, I could use some help.” The woman Harley Quinn, formerly Harleen Quinzel, comes out of one of the rooms down the hallway and swings a mallet at the Bat. He catches it and punches her in the face twice each with more force the second breaking her nose with a crack. Her grip loosens and he breaks it over his knee. He tosses her to the ground with his face bloodied. “Your lackey can’t stop me Napier.” Batman retracts the grapple pulling him towards them. All sense of morality leaves the dark knight’s body as he punches the mad man’s face. Again and again, and again. He punches to no end. Each one with more anger and furiosity. Anger for Jason. Joker’s face starts coming off as he laughs. Gordon stops Batman. “You’ve done enough.” He rises up and then begins to leave. “I like you Batman. We’re destined to do this for a long time.” He laughs again. And doesn’t stop. Batman leaves, fists bloodied. Anger in his heart. Anger that won’t leave for a long time. He’s failed his parents. He’s failed Gordon. He’s failed Jason. He’s failed Gotham. ———- -hero
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