“Well,” a voice echoed through the cold, dark room, “is the blood helping you think??”
Michael looked, through squinted eyes, around the room and then upwards to his ankles. He could tell that he had been hanging upside down for some time. His cheeks felt like they were going to explode and his head ached with a throbbing rhythm.
“What?” he spurted out, to the darkness.
“Come on now, child… I didn’t hang you upside down because I wanted fewer answers.” Came in reply.
Michael’s eyes darted back and forth, up and down. He could tell that he was hanging from some sort of rafter, and that his hands were cuffed beneath him. His entire body hurt, and he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. He was scared.
As he looked towards the floor, he felt a large lump in his throat form rapidly. Strewn about beneath him were his friends, the same guys that he had left his house with earlier that night. The small amount of moon light coming in through the window was more than enough to illuminate the deep red floor. The four men had been massacred, that much was clear. Michael could see multiple limbs detached from bodies.
His breathing sped. He continued his search around the room for the disembodied voice, terrified that he wouldn’t figure out who held him captive. Equally scared that he would.
The room he was in wasn’t large, though it looked as if it had been used for storage. There were crates stacked along the walls, and only one window towards the ceiling. Continuing to scan the room, he felt the skin on his arms start to crawl as he heard a low guttural laugh rise from behind him. It rose in volume as he jerked his body to the side, trying hard to spin as he dangled from the chain above him.
Slowly, he managed to turn himself completely around, though immediately wished that he hadn’t. Crouching on one of the crates near the top of the room, a dark figure sat perched. The figure continued laughing as it rose from its position. In one quick movement, it leapt towards the ground and landed directly in front of him, feet splashing in the blood as it did.
In the pale light from the moon, Michael felt his mind fill with terror as he stared into the Batman’s face.
The events of the night flooded back into his memory.
Earlier that evening, Michael had sat at his mother’s kitchen table with his friends, discussing whether or not their plan for the night was actually feasible.
It hadn’t been long since the Batman had been killed, though it had felt like ages. Crime had surged in the city again immediately following his death, and a number of police officers had been killed already. There were talks of vigilantes trying to take his place, though they were being killed off quicker than the cops. The illusion was gone. The Dark Knight that had kept watch over Gotham for all these years had been proven to be mortal – just a millionaire that had used his money to fight crime. Without the fortune to buy gadgets or the rampant myths among criminals, no new crime fighter stood a chance.
As Michael stared around the table at his friends, he had felt excited. They’d been planning this night for weeks, though the actual planning had left something to be desired. They were going to hit two businesses in one night – a check cashing stop and a little pawn shop not far away.
The take wouldn’t be monumental, though there would be plenty of cash and jewelry to sell, and security would be at a minimum. Not to mention the fact that most store owners just sort of rolled over anymore whenever someone tried to take their belongings. Nobody felt like a hero anymore, now that the hope that someone would be there to help was gone.
The first stop of the night had gone off without a hitch. He and his friends had poured out of his little car and ran in, masks on, shouting profanities to try to rattle the tellers. They each carried different guns, and had made sure to fire enough shots into the ceiling to prove that they were serious.
The young women behind the counter had screamed, like he knew they would, but they had also given him the full amount of cash they could get to without hesitation.
High on the adrenaline and eager to finish out the night though, Michael and his friends had not been prepared for their experience at the pawn shop. As the fell out of his tiny car and ran through the front door, screaming as they had done at the last stop, they were all knocked forward when the glass storefront exploded behind them.
Dazed, Michael tried to regain his composure and turn to see what had happened, but before he knew what was happening, the entire shop had filled with purple smoke – purple smoke and laughter.
“What’s your name, friend?” the cold voice from under the cowl snapped Michael back to reality.
“M.. Michael..” he choked out, half due to fear, half due to his brain screaming from being upside down for so long.
As he stared at the Batman, he couldn’t help but think something felt off. Beside from the fact that he was supposed to be dead, the skin around his mouth was stark white, his lips curled at the sides in a blood red smile. He had scratches across his face, and Michael could tell that the suit fit very loosely.
“ M.. Michael?” the figure repeated, patronizingly. “Do you know who I am M.. Michael??”
Michael weighed his words carefully. He didn’t want to give the wrong answer, fearing that if he did, he would end up on the floor with his friends. “You’re..” he began “You’re the Joker.”
The yellow eyes under the dark hood flashed with rage and Michael was startled at how fast the punch came. Dealing a blow to Michael’s abdomen, the figure leaned in, breathing heavily.
“I” the Joker exclaimed, much too loud considering the distance between their faces “AM THE GODDAMN BATMAN!” He laid his hand on Michael’s stomach and pushed, causing him to swing backwards.
Michael could feel the tears welling in his eyes. He fought against them, but the swinging caused his already painful head to hurt even more. Coupled with the sights and smell of his dismembered friends, he felt absolutely overwhelmed.
The Joker turned and walked back towards the crates that he had initially been perched on.
Swinging, Michael watched as he climbed back to the top, very ungracefully. As he reached the top, he turned back towards the middle of the room and squatted yet again, smiling.
“You boys were up to no good tonight, weren’t you Mmmike?” he asked down towards the room.
Michael swallowed hard, but didn’t answer.
“I’m the night, Michael. You can’t ignore the night.” He said, continuing. “You thought you’d scare some people and make some cash.. that this city was yours to do with as you pleased, didn’t you?”
Michael worked to answer, but only found himself capable of mustering a sheepish “Yeah…”
He felt like a child being scolded.
Before he knew it, the Joker had descended from his perch yet again, leaping towards Michael with another splash in his friends’ blood.
“I look like him when I do that, don’t I?” the Joker asked. “I practiced that four times before you woke up, and it still doesn’t feel right.”
Michael stared back at him, petrified.
“Oh well, I suppose he had years of practice and it’s silly of me to think that I could pick it up so quickly. Tsk.. “ he cleared his throat and walked back towards the center of the room where Michael’s pendulum-like swing was slowing.
“Do you see what happens when you act like animals, Michael?” he asked. “You get treated like animals, and then you just look.. dumb. Your friends look dumb, don’t they Michael?”
He bent down, picking up the severed head of Michael’s friend Tony. Michael recoiled as the Joker thrust his gloved hands through a hole in the neck, jostling the head like a floppy puppet.
“Boy, I sure feel silly!” he said, chuckling as Michael screwed his face in disgust. “I made 300 dollars tonight and look at me now, I’m a human casserole!”
Flinging Tony’s head back towards the ground, the Joker turned his attention back to Michael.
“You made 300 dollars tonight, didn’t you? You ready to be a human casserole?” he asked, as he began to laugh his iconic maniacal laugh.
Michael felt the tears coming. He tried to fight them, but couldn’t. “No!” he wailed. “I don’t want to die! It was stupid and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! Please don’t kill me….”
The Joker ceased his laughter, staring down at him with a look of boredom. Michael could feel every beat of his heart, and kicked himself for letting his life end this way. The Joker was right, the money hadn’t been worth their lives. He wished that he could sit at his mother’s table again, he wished he could have another chance to do the right thing.
The Joker scratched at his belly, pulling the heavy suit away from his skin, and then chuckled as it snapped back into place. He reached behind his back, under his cape, and then produced a long barreled pistol from underneath. Michael stopped crying and gasped for air like a baby who had just had a breakdown.
“You don’t want to die?” the Joker asked, smiling.
“No.. Please, I don’t want to die.” Michael said through labored breaths.
The Joker sniffed the barrel of the pistol.
“Ok.” He said, pointing the gun to the ceiling.
The gunshot was deafening as Michael fell hard to the floor, his face now covered in the blood that had been beneath him. The Joker reached towards his utility belt and pulled a small key from one of the compartments. He tossed it towards Michael where it landed with a tiny wet splash.
Michael grabbed the key, but hesitated to free his hands. He knew that the opportunity seemed too good to be true, though for some reason, he felt safer tied up with the Joker than he did untied.
Almost as if he could sense Michael’s hesitation, the Joker drew a long breath, stretched, and then walked towards the exit.
“I’ll leave you to it then, Mike.” He said, opening the large metal door outside.
“Just remember though, if you commit crime in this city again, I’ll cut you apart while you’re alive and then turn your head into a puppet. Kay?”
As he let the door slam shut behind him, he imagined Michael thrashing about on the floor, disgusted by being covered in his friends’ blood, thrilled that his blood wasn’t adding to the pool.
He pulled the cowl off of his head, his green hair matted with sweat. He paused for a moment, silently pitying Bruce for all of the long, hot nights that he had spent in the heavy, hot outfit.
He took a long cold draw of the night air through his nose, and then exhaled, placing his hands on the small of his back as he stretched out. Crouching on crates was hard on his spine, and his thighs ached from all the jumping and climbing.
As he pulled the mask back on, he looked upwards towards the large buildings that loomed ahead of him. He was proud of himself for the night’s work. Not only had he single-handedly stopped a new group of criminals from tearing the city apart, he had also rehabilitated a young man who had turned down a dark path.
He shook his limbs to get the blood flowing. His night was far from over.
“You’re welcome, Gotham.”
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