The "Ultimate DC Universe" RPG: Season 2.0

[Batman]

The mood is all but tense, as I sit, struggling to fight off an overlapping boredem. I won't be the first to admit that this is simply a waste of my time... but I was intrigued enough by the woman that sits across from me to not simply abandon her. It isn't long before Quinzell is brought a tray of one of the most expensive meals I've ever laid eyes on... but the cost is worth the distraction. By the time she takes the first bite, Alfred's voice booms into my head, ready to either confirm or relieve my fears.

"It seems you haven't cause for alarm, sir. The woman your seeing is Doctor Harleen Quinzell. A Metropolis University graduate, with honors in both psychology and a gold medalist on her graduating gymnastics team. She's currently under employment at the Arkham Rehabilitational Insistute, here in Gotham."

My eyebrow comes to an arch, as I wordlessly acknowledge the information. Of course, now I know where I've seen her before. She publically lobbied to be assigned to the Calendar Man serial killer, when Gordon and I brought him in, shortly before The Monk's cultist killings started. I had thought her to be nothing more than a seeker of fame, as Julian Day was one of the higher profile killers in the city, until The Joker. I can only imagine the irony in the manner of which we've crossed paths now.

"This is marvelous."

I look up, lost in a gaze of thought, as she looks at me. I throw on an apologetic smile, composing myself.

"Oh? I'm sorry, I was just pondering my latest stock tip. Did you say something?"

"The meal. It's one of the best I've ever had,", She replies, a bit impressed. "Even the cuisine I sampled in France wasn't this devine."

I smirk, at that. If only to hide the rather... unfond memories, of my time in Paris, under Henri Ducard's mercenary wing.

"I always did think France's was a bit overrated, myself.", I note. "Personally, I prefer those found in Sweden, especially made fresh."

"You've been to Sweden?", She asks, taking another bite. "That must've been impressive."

"Oh, believe me, Stolkholm has it's...", I half-heartedly reply, with other memories patching through my mind. This time of the tribal bola hunters that taught me the use of a grapple. "...Well, let's just say, Stolkholm has a landscape to die for."

"I'm sure.", She replies. "Forgive the questions. I just don't like to dine quietly. It's so tense."

I smile again. "No, forgive me. I'm just not used to our, ah... unique circumstances."

She smiles, a bit.

"About that... I really feel like I should apologize. You saved my life, which is... strange, I'll admit, but I shouldn't have treated you with such hostility.", She explains. "There's just been alot of stress that comes with my line of work. You see, I'm a-"

"You're a psychiatrist at Arkham.", I note. "Or, so I've heard."

She blushes, a bit. "I, well... I guess I did gain a bit of celebrity, with the Julian Day incident."

"At least we have something in common.", I respond, with a laugh. "Though, I have to admit. I can't imagine doing what you do. After the incident involving that... clown, in Robinson Park, I'm frankly scared of what human kind is capable of, anymore."

"Yes, I heard about The Joker.", She notes, with a hint of disgust. "I'm sure I'll be in for quite an exhibition, when he's brought to our doors. But I'm prepared. As far as I'm concerned, it's minds like he and Batman that are giving the ill minded of this city a bad name."

I choose to remain silent, on mention of Batman. For the moment, anyway.

"Batman?", I ask. "So, you believe he exists?"

"In a world where psychotics like The Joker and Two-Face run free? Absolutely.", She answers. "What intrigues me the most about him, from a professional standpoint, is the fact that he may very well actually believe he's helping these poor individuals by punishing them."

There's an urge to argue my point against that, but it would only greater expose me. Instead, I throw myself back into the role of careless observor, before she can suspect.

"Well, you're the professional, Ms. Quinzell.", I shrug. "If there's anyone to believe of that, it's you."

"Please,", She notes, with a smile. "Call me Harleen. Everyone does."

"Harleen, then.", I correct. "I can't help but wonder, though, how a woman of your looks and talent winded up at Arkham, at all places. Surely, it can't be a dream job?"

She becomes serious, for a moment. "Mr. Wayne, I understand-"

"Bruce,", I note, in a similar manner. "Call me Bruce. Not enough people do."

"Bruce, then.", She corrects. "I can understand how that would confuse you. Arkham's earned a notorious reputation, over the years, but I never let that bother me. The truth is, while the patients do tend to borderline... extremities, I find them the most challenging, and the most intriguing minds to explore."

I can't help but feel that my thoughts of a 'glory seeker' aren't exactly far fetched, the way she talks about them. But that's neither here, nor there. As long as she provides a way to get results, she's potentially making my job easier, and Gotham safer.

"Fair enough.", I respond, holding up my hands in mock surrender. "I guess I just don't have the same flair for costumes and gimmicks as you do."

She laughs, a little. "Don't get me wrong, there is a level of fear that comes with them. It's just-"

A beep interrupts us, just as the topic of conversation piques my interest. She looks down at her purse, which she insisted to take along, incase of emergency. It seems that her fears weren't in vain, as she retrieves a cell phone, and focuses intently on the message displayed.

"Damn it.", She whispers, brushing her hair out of her face in annoyance.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Jeremiah. He's the director at Arkham,", She responds, placing the phone back into her purse. "It seems that there was an attempted escape by one of my patients."

"Oh."

I can't help but feel relief... and yet, by the same token, I regret that feeling. For once, I was able to focus on something other than my mission. And while that is a constant in my life I could never abandon, I do admit... sometimes, I fear for my own sanity, dwelling on it night and day.

"Well, if you want, I could have Alfred take you back, when we're finished..."

"I'm really sorry about this, but... I'm afraid I'm going to have to cancel the meal, altogether.", She explains, throwing the strap of her purse around her shoulder. "The patient is a manic depressive, and if I don't get there soon, he could become suicidal."

"Okay, then.", I respond, pretending to not understand. "Then I'll page Alfred, and have him-"

"No, no. That's okay. I can hail a cab, at this hour...", She notes. "I've asked enough of both him and you as it is, today."

"It wouldn't be a problem, Harleen."

"It would to me.", She replies. "But... really, I do thank you. For both the meal, and saving my life, today. I only wish I hadn't lost my coat, in the scuffle..."

"That won't be a problem.", I announce. "I know some of the top designers in the country. They can have a new one made for you, or better yet, improve upon the last."

She pauses, eyes widened, stunned by my generosity. "Bruce, that isn't... I mean, I don't want you to..."

"Nonsense.", I assure. "Infact, maybe we could even discuss the specifics, say... over dinner? At my house, this time."

"That'd be lovely,", She responds, with a bigger smile, this time. "Say, the weekend?"

"Saturday. Six o'clock.", I reply. "If you need my number, I'll-"

"No. That's okay.", She says. "Everyone knows where Wayne Manor is. I'll just come myself."

I smile again. "Okay."

"I'll see you then?"

"If I'm not dead.", I joke.

She nods, and waves, exiting the restraunt, leaving me to my thoughts.

Perhaps she's right, to an extent, about me. Am I really seeking to help the people that plague Gotham's citizens? Or am I out for some personal revenge stemmed by the loss of my parents? It's an alarming possibility, and worse yet... it's a plausible one. Am I acting out of justice, or vengeance? Should it even be a concequence for me to consider?

My thoughts are kept mum, as I promptly write a check for the meal, and leave. Sundown should be coming soon, and I have work to do. But at least now, I've been given plenty of insight on how to approach it. I guess in the end, I can thank Harleen Quinzell for that...

Barely into the evening hours, I spot the signal in the sky, racing along the rooftops of the East End. Gordon and I haven't spoken since the last time it was lit. The difference, this time, is obvious: The Joker has been captured. But there's still the clear and present danger that Harvey Dent, known now as Two-Face, represents as he's left free on the city's streets.

Jim and I need to discuss this, and come up with a viable solution. Before the city burns in the crossfire.

With a shot of my grapnel line, and a swing over the gap above Adams Row, I've arrived upon the building across from our usual meeting spot. Gordon's brought another individual with him. This marks the second time he's devulged our alliance to someone else... the first being his young daughter, a year ago. I can't help but feel skeptical of this... but if Jim trusts the other officer, I can at least come in with an open mind.

With a leap, and spread of my cape, I take to the shadows between the buildings, and land behind the signal, silently. Gordon and his friend are still talking, by the time I've made it infront of the signal, making my entrance as startling to them as possible. Time to throw on different kind of charm on my own.

"Gentlemen."

 

[Saved]

Previously​

Rush Part V

Finacial District, Metropolis

I've been kneeling in this position for a little under an hour. I'm placed perfectly on the top of a building parallel to the police station. My contacts tell me Comissioner Turpin would be back at two o' clock. It's been fourty one minutes. They were wrong.

I hate Metropolis. I almost hate it as much as Gotham. The people here, there's too many. Crime is on a lull, but it's not like they haven't repeatedly tried. But the main reason I hate this city is because of him. Because of Superman. These capes...they think they rule this country. Think that these cities...these people belong to them. They're so ignorant. Everyone knows who this or any city belongs to, and it doesn't belong to a meta-human in spandex.

Superman is the worst of the heroes. The people love him, sing his praises. He's so cocky. He thinks he's a god. Heh, practically is with those powers. He's supposidly not from here, bringing his out-of-town "talent" to "help" these people. Ha. Ha. How foolish.

My fingers grip the trigger, pulling back slightly in impatience as a smile comes across my face. I brought in some out-of-town talent on my own.

Me.

As the cars continue to drive down the road below, a police car suddenly pulls up in front of the station. Could it be? I watch a man step out of the back of the car. He wears a dark blue jacket over a black shirt with a blue tie. No badge. I see him turn his head, revealing his face to me. I stare at his face, paying close attention to the features between my crosshairs. It's him. Time to make this a quick and easy job.

As my finger curls around the trigger and steady my arms I suddenly frown. How sad. This job was easier than I thought. In one second, I'll have killed the commissioner, and be done. But then what? I wait in my apartment for another job to come through? How dull. How pedantic.

Turpin makes his way up the stairs as he is followed by a skinny officer following close behind him. I squint my eye, making sure my aim is perfect before I fire. Just as my finger pulls back on the trigger, and I hear the click of the bullet entering the chmaber, I hear a man yell out.

"Sniper! Get down!"

I watch the skinny officer tackle Turpin to the ground as the bullet leaves the barrel of my rifle. ****. The bullet flies through the air, a silent killer in plain sight. The bullet hits where Turpin should have been, just as I had aimed, only now, in place of Turpin's back is the neck of the police officer.

I watch the bullet rip through the man's neck, sending blood into the air in a concussive motion. The bullet exits his neck and narrowly misses Turpin lying on the stone stairs. The officer drops to the ground, falling on top of him.

"Dammit." I say, quickly disesembling the rifle. I'd imagine the man's struggling to breathe right now, blood running down his windpipe and filling his lungs. Pity. Such a painful way to die. He deserved it for ruining my shot.

As I screw off the last piece of the gun, I place it into my bag and throw it over my back. Have to make it out of here fast. I can hear Turpin shouting and yelling for officers as I make my way to the stairs. My time is running out fast, and if the "Man of Tomorrow" shows up, it'll be even shorter.

As I run down the stairs, I feel my feet gliding over some of them, making me almost litterally flying down the stairs. By the fourth floor, I realize I will be caught at my current pace. I ready myself, and look down the stairwell at the bottom floor. I ready myself, and take my jump. My body falls carefully down the narrow opening between the spiraling stairs. I feel a sudden burst of air alerting me the hard floor is only seconds away. I throw up the strap of my bag, aiming for one of the railings. It knots on the metal cylinder, and I hold on tightly. My attempt stops me from slamming into the ground, jerking me violently up only feet from the floor.

I smile hautily as I let go of the strap, leaving my rifle hanging. What good is a gun if I get caught? I quickly run through the building's hallways, searching for the exit. I make my way into the hallway, sprinting as fast as I can. I feel a rush of adrenaline in my veins as my feet pound against the floor, and then, it hits me. As the people stare at me in fear and confusion, I suddenly stop and stand still, thinking to myself.

"Why am I running?" I whisper. "This is what I've been looking for. The high...the...Rush I've been waiting for."

"Freeze!" A man yells from behind me. I hear the sound of multiple safteys being flipped off the gun. It's over. I smile as I turn around, putting my hands in the air.

"Hello gentlemen." I say with a smirk. I look at the face of the police men, leading the chase is Dan Turpin. The barrel of his gun is pointed right between my eyes, a grimace of both anger and happiness on his face.

"Hands behind your head, criminal! Now!" He yells at me, salivia spewing from his mouth.

"Or what? You'll shoot me?"

"No! I'll blow your goddamned head off! I'm at point blank range! I wouldn't miss." I smile, placing my hands behind my head.

"Neither would I." The men tackle me to the floor, pulling the mask from my head and strapping thin steel handcuffs to my hands. They think they caught me. They too are ignorant. The metal wiring in the back of my mask is easily ripped off. I could've pulled a thin piece and thrown it into the light above their heads, sprinkling them in a shower of fiery sparks. After that distraction, it would only take one kick to get a gun and shoot each one in the head. Eight bullets to the gun, seven men. I would've had one to spare.

"This guy's got no ID, Turpin."

"I'd imagine he wouldn't. Who are you?" Turpin turns to me, leaning down a bit to stare into my eyes as the other officers keep me restrained on the floor.

"Me? Isn't it obvious?"

"Don't screw around! We could kill you now and say it was self defense! Now tell me who you are!"

"I think he's an assassin, sir." One of the officers says from behind me.

"Brilliant observation, kid." I say in a wry tone.

"Who hired you? Who hired you to kill me?"

"Sorry, assassin's honor." Turpin grinds his teeth, his face turning read in frustration.

"Who are you?" He shouts in my face. I feel his hot breath on my skin, the smell of his lunch pungent and potent. I well up some saliva in my mouth, bringing it forth to the front of my mouth. I part my lips and spit in Turpin's face. My saliva runs down his face, getting into one of his opened eyes. Turpin turns away, aggressively wiping the spit from his face as he yells in anger. A smile comes to my face as the officers lift me to my feet, their arms shaking as they try to keep control of me.

"Deadshot." I say with a smirk. Turpin turns back to me, the trail of my spit still on his face. He grunts at me, his rage still obvious in his expression. Turpin stares at me for a few seconds, dumbfounded at how to respond. After the long pause, Turpin stands tall, and turns his back to me, his face turning to one of the officers.

"Take him in for questioning. Keep this quiet."

 

[Karem-Knight]

Det. Jim Corrigan GCPD

OOC: Just doing a short end of Season post for now.


Standing near the subway system, on the payphone, I make my last phone call to Zucco.

".....Just keeping you informed, chief!"

I say, walking away, millions of people in this city as I walk getting out of the station, some old guy grabs me by the jeans. "Help, NEED FOOD!" Pissed off, I turned around and kicked him in the head, he bounced like a basket ball.

Walking up the stairs, I come out, the bad area of Gotham, well no where is perfect, and I'm not saying Gotham is perfect, believe me. Walking to my car, thrusting the door open, I turned on the engine, the keys inside, I reverse and start my way driving.

Traffic's slow in this area, you can drive more then one yard here, pulling up on a red light, I check the side view mirror.

"REPENT!"​

Gotham City, the hospital, following day:

I wake up, at first, I wonder what the **** happened, and where I am. Then I realize that I'm at the hospital, and looking around, seems I'm in the ward. A nurse comes by, "Oh you're awake!"

"No ****! What the hell happened?"

"Well, the police found you in the middle of the night, sleeping on the wheel, when they tried to wake you up, they couldn't but saw you were alive. It seems that you just passed out, mysteriously."

"Well, get the ****ing doctor!"

"Certainly sir, he was just coming in."

The doctor comes in, most cliche looking doc I've seen, comes into the door looking at me, smiling.

"Ah, how are we feeling Mr. Corrigan?"

"Well, honestly I feel fine, I mean I was just driving and all of a sudden, I woke up here!"

"Hmm, well that sounds.....strange." he looks at all the monitors, checks my heart beats, everything.

"Well, everything seems to be fine and in order with you, Mr. Corrigan you seem, virtually un effected. Seems to me, you just need more sleep. We've contacted your wife, and your work told them you'll be taking the day off tomorrow but you will be back on Wednesday, is that alright Mr. Corrigan?"

"Err, Yeah sure."

The Doc leaves as I watch outside the window, all of a sudden one of the nurses comes by with a piece of paper in their hands.

"Err....Mr. Corrigan?"

"Yeah?"

"This just arrived from you in the mail, from your wife."

Grabbing it, no she wouldn't dare, oh no she ****ing didn't!

Dear Jim,

I'm sorry to finally say this but, it's over, the past 8 years have been to much to bare, at first I loved, and until recently, I still did, but now Jim? There's nothing I can do, I'm sorry Jim. Please don't contact me, please get yourself into rehab before you come near my family again, what every happened at the hospital, I pray you get better. If you are dying we will visit you, but otherwise, we won't, not until you sort yourself out Jim, not until then.

Jennie.​

I smash the paper in anger, and throw it into the trash, clossing my eyes tring to get some sleep, I've got a lot of thinking to do.

Maybe I should........ Repent.

 

[Saved]

Rush Epilogue

Police Station, Metropolis

It's been a crazy day today. Got hired to take out a public official, police delegate Daniel Turpin. It was suppossed to be an easy job until my shot was interupted. A foolish kid decided he wanted to be a hero, pushed Turpin out of my crosshairs. But the kid? Heh. He jumped right in front of mine. Bullet ripped through his neck. When they were taking me in here, I heard an officer say he died. It's tragic really. The only person on the planet who made me miss my shot, and I don't even get the satisfaction to kill him.

After my shot was obstructed, the cops chased me. I tried to escape, but I realized something during the hunt. I've found myself bored, recently. Nothing excites me anymore. It's as if I'm a zombie, going about the normal motions in life, no thrill to give me the drive and excitement I want. But when the police were after me, I found what I've desperately been looking for. I found that rush I've wanted.

Sure, I could've easily escaped. I've fled from world dictator's private quarters before, hell, I even escaped a job on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic. But being captured, being on the inside, something about it. Knowing my chances of getting out are impossible odds. The challenge I've waited for. The sense of the unexpected, not knowing what could happen next. All these things are starting to make life fun. My only wish is that this sense stays with me for a little longer. Drifting back into bordom and apathy would kill this entire experiance.

As I sit in the uncomfortable wooden chair, chained to the desk in front of me, a man walks in through the door across from me. He, like Turpin, wears no uniform, no badge. His face shows defined features, jaw line, cheek bones, and piercing green eyes. He closes the door behind him smoothly, and glances at me with a sinister smile. I stare back at him, leaning back in my chair. The man walks over to me, soon standing in front of me on the other side of the table. He takes out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth, chewing on the end. After a few moments of silence, he leans over the table toward me, his eyes fixed on my every movement.

"You know, Edge told me if you snitch, I'm suppossed to make it look like an accident." I frown at him. He's either really good at stealth by sneaking in a police station and getting into a securred room, or he's a dirty cop. The more plausible solution is the ladder.

"Who's Edge?" I respond, perking my voice to give the impression of misunderstanding.

"Save it." He says, backing up. "I know he hired you. He told me himself. That's why I turned off the recorder in here, so they can't hear us."

"Clever." I say emotionlessly.

"Come on, man. Or should I say, "Deadshot." Nice name, by the way. Sounds like some pro-wrestler." He looks at my uniform with a mocking smile. "Even got the suit to match." He chews on the cigarette again, pulling a lighter from his pocket. He carefully ignites the flame, and lights the end of the small white cylinder. "So, Edge tells me you're the best shot in the world, that's why he hired you for the hit on Turpin." He takes the cigarette from his lips, and blows a stream of smoke from his mouth. "What happened?" I lean forward, a sly smile on my face.

"What makes you think I won't rat you out?"

"Because," he says taking another breath. "As untrustworthy as I am, Turpin want's to see you pay. Settling a deal with you to put me away wouldn't please Dan one bit. He really wants to see you fry, pal."

"Typical." I say leaning back.

"Come on, Deadshot. Tell me why you missed. It's got to be eating you alive, isn't it? Strangling your pride, pulling it into the pits of your souless being." My face remains solid as a rock, my emotions unwavering despite his petty attacks.

"Actually," I start. "I'm more irritated by you then anything else." The man looks back at me with a surpirsed expression, the cigarette dangling from his mouth. I hear a noise and see the door open, Dan Turpin stepping inside the room. He stares at the man in front of me and frowns.

"Corben, get out of here." He commands, pointing to the door.

"Aw, come on Dan." He says with a tranluscent smile. "I'm just doing some interrogation of my own." Turpin stares at Corben unamused. Corben's smile fades, and he stares back at me. "Remember what I told you, "D"." He says with a wink. He walks toward the door, and opens it, stepping out into the hallway and out of the room.

"Alright, "Deadshot." We had the boys in the lab run a scan on your prints. What are you doing here, Floyd?" Well, I guess police are more efficient than I thought.

"It's obvious, isn't it? I was hired to kill you."

"Tell me who hired you, Floyd. Could make things easier on you. Play it up you're the victim in all this."

"No," I smile. "I'm guilty. You're a big target to miss, depressing you're lackey messed me up." Turpin slams his fists down on the table, his rage starting to get the best of him.

"Danny was a good kid you bastard! He saved my life without a second thought! He was a hero."

"But he couldn't seem to save himself, huh?" Turpin leans across the table and grabs me by the neck of my suit, tugging on the thick tight fabric, pulling me closer to him.

"You watch your tongue, Lawton! Or I swear to God I'll-"

"Do what?" I reply with a smirk. "Harm me, and I'll plead battery and assault. I'll be free to go faster than it took "Danny" to suffocate on his own blood." Turpin stares at me in rage, his eyes burning intensly. I have no doubt if we were in an unmonitored room, he'd be taking some swings at me. But, luckily, this is his turf. And here, I can play the system, bend the rules to fit my whims. Seems fun. Certainly has been so far.

Turpin releases my suit, my body falling back into the seat of the chair. Turpin walks away from me, toward the door. He stops, and wipes his hand over his face, taking a deep sigh.

"This isn't over, Lawton." He says in a surprisingly calm voice. "You attempted murder on a police officer and killed another. In this city, that's more than enough to put you away for life."

Turpin opens the door, and exits the room, leaving me alone again. I could be here for a while. The way things are looking, I'll be convicted for sure...which is exactly what I want. Arrested, prosecuted, and jailed. What's the next step in this ride? Heh. Breaking out. All I have to do now is just sit back and see what happens next. The only thing I know for certain is Turpin was right. This isn't over. Not by a long shot.

 

[Batman]

Death was a funny thing.

Admist the quiet skulking and lurking of which took place within a one man cell in Gotham Central Station, as the brutalizing hours turned into days within the colorless, seasonless, droll asylum of it's own, there had been numerous whipers about the manic killer inhabiting it's space. He had slayed enough people, days prior, to put him among one of the city's most dangerous criminals of all time. Add to that, the vicitims he had taken in the months beforehand of his horrifying resume, and it was hard to say if he really had any competitors for the record of Gotham City's worst serial killer yet.

Yet even as he sat, still covered in the now dried blood of his victims, withering away with the time that was spent trying to negotiate his holding as he awaited trial for pre-meditated multiple homicide, The Joker retained a calm, collective... eerily relaxed demeanor. Sure, there were bouts of shouting and pacing of which the officers guarding the cells were already having nightmares of, but that had been attributed to a bizarre schitzophrenia he had aqquired in whatever made him the monster that he was today.

The truth was, The Joker was just passing the time. If he didn't know whether or not he had truly gotten under his captor's collective skins, he would've drove himself mad. But they were afraid. And that's all the leadup he needed to keep himself delightfully entertained. Tweedle dee, tweedle dum... come this morning, they'll all be done...

Chuckling to himself, the madman's glee was interrupted when, unexpectedly, his cell door opened. In the faded light stood three individuals: One was a police officer, one was the Commisioner - who had obviously taken a step back upon the cell door's opening, and the third was just a common man. A street thug, The Joker guessed, by the cheap attire and array of tattoo's that lined each visible part of his body. The thug looked back, annoyed, as the officer shoved the thug into the cell, promptly.

"Good luck serving your overnight this time, O'Neil.", The officer spouted, threateningly. "You're gonna need it. Meet your new cellmate."

Watching as the bars came to a tight close, O'Neil grabbed them, staring out as the officer and Commisioner Loeb exited down the corridor. O'Neil gritted his teeth, angrily. They had thrown him around like a cheap hood for months, pushing him in and out of holding cells for minor violations and charges. He had been fed up with it all, needless to say. As the officers exited down the hall, O'Neil cleared his throat, and shouted down the halls.

"YOU THINK I'M JUST GONNA KEEP WAITIN' AROUND UNTIL YOU OPEN THE DAMN DOOR AGAIN?!", He exclaimed, ferociously. "GOTHAM'S GONNA BE OUR TOWN SOON, YOU CHEAP ****'S! YOU'LL SEE! THIS CITY'S GONNA COME CRAWLIN' TO THE SHANG-HI HEAT!"

But it was useless. The officers had already left, and when O'Neil calmed down, he could swear he heard a couple of laughs, from beyond the wall leading to Gotham Central. Kicking the ground, O'Neil eased his shoulders, and sighed. He was the member of one of the most prestigious gangs in Gotham, and even that didn't mean a damn thing anymore. Not since The Bat came down on them. This town was going to the freaks, and if nothing was done soon, that's all that'd be left of the city. The freaks.

Turning around, O'Neil didn't even notice the colorfully clad figure in the darkness, sitting on one of the only three benches, twidling his thumbs in an idle manner. It was only until he reached the back of the cell that he acknowledged the figure's prescence. But even then, only with a cold stare, as he sat down, and crossed his arms, staring out at the cell bars.

"Why so serious?"

The hair on the back of O'Neil's head stood up straight, as he turned, eyes widened, in response to the errie whisper that came from the far side of his cell. The figure draped in shadow, who O'Neil didn't rightly recognize, stared back at him as he seemed to continuously flash a large smile. O'Neil squinted, trying to make out the figure, but only to fail. All he knew was that whoever it was, the person gave him the creeps.

"What's it to you, pal?", O'Neil finally muttered. "Lots'a people hate getting thrown in the joint."

"Oh, not me.", The figure immediately cut off, cheerfully. "Infact, I find it to be a nice little home away from home. The free meals, the relaxation benefits... the petty brawls, between a schtizo and a homeless wino and his mother."

The figure laughed to himself. "Yep, feels like home, alright."

O'Neil sneered, visibly confused and angered by this pointless talk.

"Yeah. Good for you,", He responded. "Maybe they should throw you in for life."

"They already have, friend.", The figure grinned. "And how I wish I could stay, but... I'm afraid, quite simply, I have far too much to do beyond these walls."

"Right.", O'Neil shrugged off, trying his best to ignore his cellmate. "Well, that's good and all. Best'a luck with that."

Silence defeaned the two's conversation. For the moment, anyway. But just as O'Neil started to get comfortable, there was a hushed giggle that pierced the air. O'Neil turned to his cellmate, as he slapped his own knee, still giggling to himself. With a grunt of frustration, O'Neil simply turned away, trying to ignore the man. But the giggling continued. And as time passed, it became louder. And louder. Until finally, the giggling had evolved into a fully fledged laugh. Finally, enraged, O'Neil shot up from his seat.

"WHAT THE HELL IS SO FUNNY?!", He demanded, promptly interrupting the laughter.

The Joker simply stared at him, silently, without emoting a single reaction. Grasping his knee, the madman simply leered, staring into O'Neils eyes with a sinister scowl.

"Oh, you know. The funny things in life.", The Joker answered. "The things that send a chill up your spine, and tickle your every gland, until you can't help but put on a... well, a happy face."

O'Neil's eyebrow shot up, perplexed.

"Tell me, 'O'Neil'. Have you ever had one of those moments?"

"Yeah.", O'Neil shot off, annoyed. "About every moment before I wound up in this place with you, ya freak."

The Joker scoffed, in an over the top manner. "No smile? Well, this simply won't do. You can't really enjoy the prison experience without a fufilled sense of humor."

O'Neil rolled his eyes, and sat back down.

"I ain't goin' to prison.", He stated, flatly. "I got it made in this town. Every member of the Shang-Hi Heat does."

"Yet you're all without smiles.", The Joker corrected. "Doesn't seem very 'made' to me, bucko."

"And you're livin' the life?", O'Neil asked, questionably. "They're lockin' you up for good. At least I'm walkin' out a'here by morning."

"You and me both.", The Joker stated, with a wave of his finger, matter-of-factly. "Infact, if you want, we could grab a tall cold one tommorow night. I'll even pay for the tab."

O'Neil stared, blankly, as the clown seemed to sincerely mean that. O'Neil smirked, a little. Then, his smirk turned to a smile. A smile to a giggle. A giggle to a laugh. Until finally, O'Neil couldn't stand it anymore. Doubling over, the thug began to chuckle wildly, as The Joker coyly made his way over to him, slowly. The killer began to join in, as tears began to well out of O'Neil's eyes.

"Yes! Haha! Yes! Finally, a smile!", The Joker announced, proud. "Hell, we could invite the GCPD along, if we wanted!"

This only seemed to make O'Neil laugh even harder, as The Joker slapped his shoulder, hard, joining him in a cackle that echoed throughout the corridor.

Then, O'Neil felt his throat open.

The thug winced, in extreme pain, as The Joker held a sturdy piece of broken glass to his throat, digging into the flesh and bringing up blood. O'Neil tried to scream, but his vocal chords were already severed, as The Joker violently brought down the makeshift weapon that he had hidden upon his person, during his arrest, under an infected patch of dead skin. Bringing out the blood ridden shard in his hand, The Joker laughed, wildly, as O'Neil held his severed throat in pain, desperately clinging to any life left within him.

"Oh, don't stop now, friend!", The Joker exclaimed, bringing the shard down again, hard. "You've got it maaade in this town, remember?! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Blood flew, as O'Neil's face, arms, and neck were prestinely cut into, and in some places, cut off completely. Flabs of flesh slid across the cell's floors, as The Joker wildly dug into it, pulling out each and every organ he could find inside the corpse. Little did he know, of course, that an officer was making his nightly rounds, guarding the cells, just across the corridor. As he made his way in, from Gotham Central, he could hear The Joker's manic laughter echo all around him. Curious to this, the officer ran forwards, grabbing his nightstick, before approaching The Joker's cell door.

"Okay, what the hell are you-"

The officer's eyes widened, as The Joker looked up, blood draped all over his mask, with a clear joy emitting through his eyes.

"Please excuse the mess."

The officer had to keep himself from vomitting, as he turned away from the sight, and screamed throughout the corridor.

"JESUS CHRIST, SOMEONE GET IN HERE! SOMEONE GET IN HERE, GODDDAMMIT! THE JOKER'S KILLED A PRISONER! THE JOKER'S KILLED A PRISONER!!!"

The Joker laughed, wildly, as officers stormed in, and violently wrestled the psychopath to the ground, admist O'Neil's innards. But even as he was pinned, cuffed, and even slammed into the concrete, The Joker's laughter never ceased for even a moment. It was just too funny. That punk had actually had the nerve to think that his kind were the people who had it easy. That he was the one that could get away with anything, in this god forsaken town. But boy, was he mistaken!

"What the hell is going on here?!", Gillian Loeb's voice echoed, as she piled through the officers, only to see the horrifying scene infront of her. "Oh, my god...?!"

Grabbing the nearest officer, Loeb barked into his face.

"I WANT THIS MANGY FREAK PUT INTO ARKHAM THIS INSTANT!"

"B... But m'aam, we've tried!" The officer explained, as The Joker was brought to his feet. "The head doctor guy there just called us about it morning. They just don't have the vacancy right now, especially in maximum security."

"THEN GET THE VACANCY!", Loeb screamed, shoving the officer aside as she stormed out. "THIS IS NOT THE KIND OF PLACE TO HOLD THIS MANIAC, DAMN YOU! I WANT HIM IN THE MOST CRAMPED CELL ON THE BLOCK, UNTIL WE CAN GET HIM TRANSPORTED THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

The Joker stared out at the entrance of the cell, as the Commisioner left. He could only conjure up one response. "Now there's someone who needs a smile."

"Let's go, freak!", An officer commanded, as three of them dragged the madman out, over the virtually unrecogniseable corpse.

But even as he was put into a straight jacket, and thrown into another cell, The Joker held a grin intact. Because the truth was, all was going exactly as according to plan. Those officers had been so pre-occupied with their Commisoner's loud and unprofessional rants that they had failed to notice when the madman had slipped a cell key from one of the officer's holding him. They had failed to find the key, as The Joker slipped it under his seemingly 'unbreakable' mask.

They had failed to prevent what was sure to be the worst day in Gotham Central's two hundred year history.

And the laughs came even louder, as The Joker cackled himself to sleep, dreaming about the coming days ahead. Tweedle dee, tweedle dum... Come next morning, they'll all be done!

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"