The infamous Clown Prince of Crime had been on the run for a while. Ever since the government had gone and passed the Superhuman Registration Act, the Joker had been a thorn in the federal governmentâs side. After all, they were trying to rid the world of Batman, and Joker took it as his personal mission to create chaos to demonstrate why they needed Batman. It was really far more selfish than it sounded. After all, who was the Joker without Batman? And then again, what was the world without Batman? Well, he would show them, teach them all exactly the chaos that their precious nation would drown in if the Batman was to be eradicated. So, even after the U.S. Marshals joined forces with the FBI, they were unable to contain himâŠ
After sucessfully tricking the feds into believing he had been capture by making another Rogue undergo plastic surgery and forcing him to inhale large amounts of his laughing gas, the Joker left Gotham and found himself in New York City. Dressed in a bright purple, Italian stripped suit with purple fedora to match. His bloody red grin wide upon his features. He didnât bother to change up his appearance much, since after all, his main mission was to stir the potâsending the masses into panicked hysteria. Although New York wasnât as bad as Gotham, it still was a wonderland to many a rogue and thug. So, when he saw a vigilante engaging a mugger, the Joker stopped to watch in amusementâŠ
Until he realized just who that caped vigilante was. Rage ignited within him, seeing his workâthe greatest of all jokesâundone. The criminal mastermind grabbed his pistol which had been hidding in his suit. Taking a few long steps, he aimed and a shot rang out as the mugger she had been fighting fell to the ground, bleeding from a wound on his throat. The Joker laughed as the man wheezed, he laughed at the look of panic and realization of his impending Death reflected in his eyes. âWeâve been through quite a lot, dearie⊠So, do explain why all my work has been undone,â he said casually, a giggle escaping his red lips as held his pistol nonchalantly, the barrel still pointed at Batgirl.
The city was buzzing below as Barbara was perched up on the rooftop, her gaze following a group of young girls, their laughter echoing up towards her. The sound of being carefree, how she loved it. However, itâs not why they caught her attention, it was rather the hooded stranger who followed them for almost three blogs and showed no stopping. Moving effortlessly from one roof to another, she followed them for another block until she was certain heâd strike. Watching his steps quicken and his hand dig into the purse of one of the girls, Barbara smoothly bounced off the edge and landed light-footed behind him, grabbing him by his jacket and twirling him into an alley, away from any pedestrians. âIf you wanted her number, shouldâve just asked for it and get rejected. No need to look for it in her bag.â Admittedly, she became rusty but the audience was small and the crime forgivable. Watching the man frantic in panic, Barbara tried to calm him down and get a hold of him, pressing his body against the wall with a firm grip. âOkay, no need to panic. Weâll just return the stolen goods and then -â PANG!Â
The shot rang in her ears as she could hear screams of terror nearby, a hollow sound of innocent people running upon hearing the crack of the gun. Barbara met a gaze of shock and fear as it dawned upon her what had happened. Her eyes followed a red line of blood which quickly made its way down the manâs collar. âNO!â She wasnât sure if she screamed but her hands clasped the wound, her gloves instantly soaked with warm blood as the man fell against her, his heavy frame going down and Barbara with him. Trying to stop the bleeding, hearing laughter behind her send chills down her broken spine. It was a sound sheâd recognize anywhere, one that haunted her nightmares, one that made her feel paralyzed. And as the muggerâs breath weakened, her own quickened until he was still. Her knees hit the ground before she spun around, pulling herself away until her back hit a wall and she faced the horrific frame of the Joker looming above her, gun in hand.
She saw his mouth move but no sound reached her ears, she could only hear her own blood rushing through her body, weakening her limbs and the instinct to run set in. But she couldnât move. Her entire body went numb, only feeling her scar burn, almost as if the bullet went through her body all over again. Her lungs refused to let air enter and her eyes went in and out of focus as they filled with tears. Her fatherâs name was on the tip of her tongue - and then Bruce. Anyone. She needed help. Someone had to swoop in. She wouldnât survive this one. Her father wouldnât survive this one. He couldnât get another call like that. Nor one with a worse outcome. She couldnât do this again.
She wouldnât do this again.
Her gaze fixated on the body of the mugger, now stiff, color draining from his face quickly as his blood spread on the pavement, staining the leg of her pants and turning her clothes crimson. And a moment of clarity washed over her and she let out the breath she was holding, collapsing forward and catching herself on her hands.
âIt hasnât been undone. It was built on.â Her voice was low, raw, full of anger and pain and as her head snapped back to look at him, she didnât fear the gun. She feared her own rage. Despite her body aching in every way possible, she moved like her life depended on it - because it did. Her foot shot forward, aiming at his leg with full force before rolling towards him, pulling herself up by grabbing the back of his suit, feeling the fabric loosening, perhaps a rip but she didnât check as her fist was pounding at the back of his neck but Barbara was uncertain if his grossly cheerful fedora feathered her attacks. It didnât matter. Nothing mattered. She just wanted to rid herself of the power he had over her.
