Disclaimer: I'm poor, so don't sue-you really won't get much. Yeah-I don't own Batman/Dark Knight/or any characters involved...I may own some souls and a purse shaped like a dice-but like I said-I'm poor so don't sue.

Hey, I'm Jack.

This is my first attempt at putting my fanfiction out there.

Please read my story, I'd appreciate it immensly.

It starts slow-and may or may not seem like your thing-but please give it a chance.

This is the first chapter. The rating may go up in later chapters.

I would like to know if I should even bother to continue writing this-so please review to let me know.

Thanks.

-JAc

... my confession

Because I'm diluted and perfectly flawed

I shall live by passion and not by law

And I'm insecure…I need aggression

To feed the spiders of perception

And I'm supposed to be strong and have all the answers

A cannibal in the new church of cancer

But I'm nothing special, I'm not unique

I have many secrets and I EAT the weak

And I'm at an end…at an end...

and there's ...

NO WAY OUT!

I need to find my sanctuary….someplace safe…

Gotta get this outta me….this is my escape

And I think about it all the time

I'm volatile and afraid to cry

But I'm still not comfortable in my skin

And the anesthetics slowly wearing thin

And I need to talk to someone new

I need a different latitude

And I'm in this void…all alone!

Feeling needy…hungry to grow

But I'm suffocating—can't come down

…And there's NO WAY OUT!

-All I see is sadness…All I see is sadness…What's left?

-This will teach them…THIS will teach them.

...you've got to...
push.
Push.
PUSH...
YOUR WAY OUT!

FOLLOW ME!
FOLLOW ME!
THIS IS YOUR WAY OUT!

You are not alone!
- this is where I hide my power
- this is where I become free
- this is where I take control
- and slowly choke your fantasies

- I want to know my day is coming
- see my enemies be punished
- shed my skin again
- this will be my best revenge!

SHED MY SKIN AGAIN
THIS WILL BE MY BEST REVENGE!

-Otep


It was cool out, not yet freezing like it would be in mid winter, but the chill in the air was enough for him to feel the bite through his clothes. He didn't care. How could he? His heart was too frigid and iced over for the weather to have any significant affect on him. Besides, he was sure his sensory perception was skewed anyway.

Skewed or not, at this particular moment, he was too annoyed to think about the weather. His annoyance derived from the discomfort he was experiencing at the moment. He felt naked, normal even. And normal was something he detested immensely. The problem wasn't that he didn't know what was bothering him; he knew what had prompted these distressing feelings. The problem was that he wasn't dressed in his usual attire. He didn't even have his face, his make-up, on, no, not tonight. Tonight, he was dressed to fit in, which was really not all that impossible or even that difficult for that matter. He had managed to blend with the public, despite the deeply embedded scars that marred his face. Tonight, he wasn't bothered by his scars though. Tonight, he wouldn't be bothered by anything; not his clothes, not his scars, and certainly not by something as mundane as the weather.

Tonight was a special night, a night he had looked forward to, not overwhelmingly, but enough to where he had put effort into himself. The fact that he was actually looking forward to something not involving the usual uproar of disorder and chaos was a triumph in itself. Tonight was a magnificent night. . . A night that he was disappointed was coming to a close.

It wasn't a particularly special event that he partook in by means of attendance or even participation. It was not like a mass extermination of the abominations society called 'humans', or like blowing a building to shreds to instill fear and panic into the publics' hearts and homes, or even like a reunion with his batty friend, but it was still an important enough an event for him to prepare for none-the-less.

On this night, the Joker groomed with care and finesse. He made sure to clean his face with caution, leaving not the slightest blemish of make-up residue behind. He slicked his green-tinged hair back and actually took the time to run a comb through it for once. He had removed his beloved purple suit and momentarily traded it in for a more basic design: a simple black suit with a light blue dress-shirt beneath. He did all this in preparation for one thing. . . Tonight he was going to the circus.

Ever since he saw the flyer advertising that a nationally–known circus troupe would be coming to Gotham, the city of filth and despair, he had prepared to go for some time now, and, looking back over the past three hours, it had been everything he had expected; it had made all the preparation worth it. It was only on a rare occasion that actual emotions occurred within him, but tonight, the Joker was genuinely happy. When he first arrived, he stood in line with a euphoric air about him as he patiently waited to pay for his ticket from the small booth that sat outside the main tent. Usually, he would just sneak into an establishment if it required paying, not because he was cheap, but rather because he wanted to avoid the use of any sort of currency at all cost. If he did use money, it would mean, among other things, that he was in support of something as foolish as monetary distribution. This was different though; this was no ordinary event, and even if he detested the entire currency system, he knew that it was what the circus required to continue its routine and that it would be rude to avoid compensation. The Joker was many things, but rude was not one of them, so tonight he paid. He felt that if he was ever going to spend money anywhere, that this would be the best place to do it, even if it did generate a less reputable image of the circus. Oh well, even the seemingly perfect are flawed.

He walked into the main tent and sat down in the nearly empty bleachers. He was one of the first to arrive. Soon though, people of all ages and ethnicities began pouring in, effectively drowning out the relaxing silence with sickeningly cheerful noise. The Joker went on unnoticed, waiting for the events to begin. No one pointed or screamed at him, or called him names like 'freak', or accused him of being crazy. On this night, he was just another face in the crowd, rather disfigured face, but a face regardless. Children, mothers, entire families sat right next to him, unafraid, and, although he'd never admit, it sort-of made him at ease, to be part of something…smaller. It would have been a humbling experience for anyone else, but for him, it was just another form of entertainment. The lights went down and the main stage lit up illuminating the faces of spectators in the first three rows.

A small child turned and smiled at him. He ignored it, but was soon put in the best of moods as different performances took place on the stage. He laughed, not a sinister cackle, but a genuine laugh at the entertaining wonder that was taking place before him. He adored each act, from the thirteen clowns that packed themselves into the old-fashioned Volkswagen, to the high-wire act, from the jugglers and acrobats to the trapeze artist. He was completely satisfied without the usual carnage…Even if he did dream of the Volkswagen catching on fire and exploding-casting body parts into the air, imagine the tight rope walker losing his balance and falling to his death-his head bursting and spraying blood on the floor, and wish for one of the jugglers to drop his chainsaws and hack something off one of the acrobats-preferably a limb.

Although all of the acts and the pleasantly sinister little scenarios that racked his mind were overwhelmingly satisfying, none of it was what he really came to the circus for. What he loved most about the circus was something entirely different. For the Joker, the most gratifying thing about the circus was that these were his people. Even though they'd never met before and they would never come face-to-horrifying-face with each other, these people were like him. They were outcasts, runaways, unwanted, ugly . . . freaks. But there . . . There, they were shining stars. They were artists. They were respected. They were gods . . . They . . .were him.

Thinking back on the evening, he was glad that he went. The night had truly been spectacular, wonderful. He was a bit disappointed that it was already over and he would have to wait an entire year to see it again.

Suddenly, he was taken out of his thoughts when he heard a car pull up behind him, slowly crunching the scattered gravel on the asphalt beneath its sturdy tires. He had no idea of how long he had been walking. The circus was on the outskirts of town and the trip back 'home', as if resembled anything remotely close to a home, would take at least an hour and a half on foot, maybe two.

"Hey," a feminine voice called out to him. He glanced over his shoulder then finally turned his heel after seeing that the driver of the beat up Camry was indeed calling out to him.

"You wanna ride?" The voice was harsh. It belonged to a woman, as he had suspected, but that didn't seem to take away from its rough brutality.

Without really thinking, he walked up to the car, opened the door, and creepily shrank down into the passenger's seat. He took only a second to glance over at the driver before resting his head on his right hand and looking out the open car window. He didn't speak and neither did she. She just drove. He didn't think much about the situation, regardless of his lack of weaponry at the moment.

One thing about the black suit was that it lacked pockets and compartment space, which meant that he didn't have all of his usual accessories. He only had two knives on him at the moment and, technically, one wasn't even really a knife, but rather a potato peeler. He mostly carried it to intimidate, he rarely used it to flay anyone's precious hide. The other knife was his simplistic favorite, he carried that one merely because he never went anywhere without it. Either weapon would do if he honestly thought he was on danger or if he just needed a quick fix; something to uplift his mood if it ever got down. He didn't honestly think he'd have to use them on her, but, still, he never knew.

The woman wasn't driving a total of five minutes before a siren rang out followed by red and blue lights that could be seen in her rear view. She calmly pulled over to the curb and waited for the cop to pull off too. Within moments of waiting, a police officer lazily drawled up to the car.

"Know why I pulled you over ma'am?" he asked her.

"Uh. . . because you saw me driving," she was quick-witted and quickly, methodically came up with the rest of her response, ". . .and your raging hormones just wouldn't allow you to resist the ultra-sexual female proxy that just oozes from my aura?" she joked, sarcasm dripping from her words.

She smiled. The Joker giggled inwardly, trying to keep his identity concealed. The cop just scowled. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

"Have you recently been in a car accident ma'am?" The officer asked impatiently.

"No, not too recently," she responded immediately.

"Well, you have a dented front end, a broken head light, and the entire front fender is cracked and looks like it's about to fall off." He spoke to her as if she was completely unaware of the damage that had been done to her car. Even the Joker thought that the way the copper was talking down to her was extremely condescending. "Now the real problem is that headlight. That's why I pulled you over. You need to get that fixed immediately…" He pulled out his pad and began to fill out her ticket. "Let's make this easy, okay…can I have your license and registration, please."

The woman didn't know what to do. . .she had it written in her movements. The cop didn't notice, but the Joker did. The whole time, he had been staring out his window he was actually listening, smirking at the woman's sarcasm, but now he turned toward her as she momentarily froze. She reached over him and popped open her glove box, pretending to search for something they both knew she wasn't going to find.

After a few moments of false and irreverent searching, she turned her attention back to the officer. Feigning innocence she spoke to the cop.

"I'm sorry, officer…it seems that I've misplaced it somewhere."

The cop looked up from the ticket he had been concentrating on writing. He had a stern look on his face.

"Ouch, the expression on your face tells me you're not too happy about my bad habit of misplacing things," she spoke like a child to a dog, sufficiently degrading both herself and the officer in the process. The officer was not enjoying her sarcasm or the fact that she had no license or registration on her. He was about to let her know just how displeased he was.

"Ma'am, could you please step out of the car," he spoke with a stereotypical, macho-cop voice now, as if he were letting her know that he knew procedure and he knew how to follow it.

She undid her seatbelt and the cop backed away from the door. She opened it and got out. As an afterthought, she turned around and leaned into the car window, speaking to her newly acquired passenger. He turned toward her, acknowledging her presence.

"You might want to get out of the car and start walking. . . On second thought. . . Stay here. . .Or go. . .Really, I don't care," she spoke with a lackluster tone that only confirmed what she had said.

At that point, the woman exited the car, closed the door, and disappeared into the darkness with the cop following closely behind. The Joker adjusted the side mirror on his side of the car to get a better glimpse of what was going on. He wasn't particularly interested in the woman, or the situation for that matter, but was simply curious. His curiosity usually got the better of him, but not all the time. This, unfortunately, was one of those times. He turned an observant eye on the figures coming into play in his mirror. The red tail lights of the car casted an eerie glow in the otherwise matte black night. Not a single star shone through the thick smog that seemed to consume the city. Some nights were clearer, perfectly clear, as if the toxic fumes had burned through the atmosphere and had the opposite effect of the smog. Tonight, however, the dampness in the air mixed with the industrial waste and fumes and blanketed the city in a thick, gray sheet, effectively blocking out the sky.

The figures came more into focus as they walked directly between the two cars, allowing the red beams to penetrate the air and illuminate the scene. It was almost like a horror movie unfolding, except for the fact that the Joker never truly got horrified by anything.

From what he could make out, the cop and the woman were talking. The conversation was obviously getting tenser because their facial expressions became cold and hard and their body language became defensive, hostile almost. As their intangible voices began erupting with renewed vibrancy, harsh sounds began to emanate from somewhere behind the car. The Joker continued to stare into his side mirror at the verbal exchange that was taking place between the two mortal souls that he had just met. He heard the cop yell something at the woman, something that was indistinguishable over the hum of the car's engine, but still recognizably a threat based on the warning and anger in the cop's tone. Then the woman slowly put her hands behind her head and got down on her knees with her back to the cop and facing the back-end of her pathetic Camry.

'Great, there goes my ride,' the Joker thought automatically, uncaring about anyone who was not himself.

He continued to watch the episode unfold behind him, contemplating the thought of getting out and slaughtering them both for sport then stealing one of the cars. He quickly set that thought aside, deciding that he would much rather watch the two of them squirm while he comfortably sat, rather than put forth any effort on his part. The cop had reached to his side and pulled out a pair of cuffs. Just as he was about to clasp the silver bracelets on the woman and effectively restrain her, she twisted her body forward and snapped her left leg behind her, kicking the officer squarely in the knee cap. The Joker knew that it wasn't a professional fighting move; it was probably just something that she had learned from growing up in the city. Although the move definitely wasn't masterful, it would work sufficiently enough to startle the cop momentarily and give her enough time…but time for what? She couldn't escape in such a small time frame, or even have time to fully stand up. With that thought, the cop started to reach for his gun. However, as the copper was drawing, as was the woman, and she just happened to be faster on the drawl. Having found what she knew was there all along, the woman recoiled her hand from her pocket, revealing a small knife. The woman retracted the blade and in one swift movement, she dragged it along the officer's neck.

A look of pure shock and paralyzing horror splayed across the man's face as realization hit him and the crimson flood began to poor from his neck. The red color spilling was enhanced by the Camry's ever-present tail lights. The woman started walking back towards the car, leaving the man to die alone and miserable.

The officer went limp by the time she reached the driver's side door.


JAc: Yeah, so there it is...I would really appreciate reviews. I really listen and want to know what others are thinking. It starts slow, but give it a chance, please. Thanks again.