Post by Riley on Feb 23, 2013 17:36:20 GMT -7
The Joker's eyes began to lose their focus, but he was laughing harder than ever. Blood was gathering into a pool around where he slumped against the warehouse wall, and he absently flicked at the tip of the bat-shaped blade protruding from his stomach. Batman wanted him to believe he would die alone, with no audience; so he turned to the exit.
“Don’t you even want to know,” wheezed The Joker between his guffaws, “what’s so funny?”
Batman stopped. That question always meant that there was a greater irony. Some grand scheme in which every detail had executed perfectly. Something he had not seen, but that The Joker had planned from the beginning.
“What is it?” he said at length, when The Joker’s laughter did not stop.
“It’s funny that you just killed me, Batsy! Usually, when two great men fight, and one kills the other, the victory goes to the victor!” He erupted back into his sickening rasping laugh.
Batman thought he was finished and turned to leave again, but The Joker continued. “Don’t go yet. I haven’t even gotten to the punchline! You’ve really never had much of a funny bone.” Then the laugher picked up again, with a gurgling undertone.
“What is it?!” Batman demanded.
“Always so pushy,” The Joker’s voice was growing weaker. “You’d do almost anything to get your way. But I know your rules. There’s one thing the Batman would never do. And now, it’s funny because even though you beat me, Batsy,” his voice was scarcely audible, “even though,” his chuckling was scarcely more than gagging now, “killed me...”
The Joker’s head lolled back. A moment passed, he was not moving, not breathing.
Batman didn’t dare get any closer, but the blade was meant to end the scum’s existence. He had to make sure it had worked. There would be no escaping from this encounter, no miraculous comeback, no stealing away into the night through the hospital window. The Joker had to be dead, or else everything was for naught. He took a step closer.
The Joker still did not move.
Batman carefully, silently strode and knelt by the side of his fallen nemesis. A gruesome smile still adorned the pale scabbed face. Batman reached for his belt and selected a small handheld device, a vitality reader of his own design. He turned his eyes to the screen for a moment to ready it.
Joker’s arm lunged at his throat, seizing tight. Batman grabbed at the hand and tried to pull it off, but it couldn’t be moved. Laughter, strong and loud, began ringing from The Joker’s throat, as he turned to look into Batman’s eyes.
“I win,” he said.
A shrill cackle pierced the air. It was unnatural in its intensity, and only grew louder and louder. The Joker’s body slumped the rest of the way to the ground, his eyes rolled back, and his grip on Batman’s throat loosened, but he laughed and laughed ever harder.
Batman shoved The Joker’s hand away. The arm resisted the motion slightly, but there was no other reaction. Out of the corner of his eye, Batman noticed a light blinking on the vitality reader. He picked it up and saw, to his disbelief that it indicated the Joker was dead.
The laughter hadn’t stopped. It had become so distorted it could hardly be described as human anymore, but it was still pealing from the convulsing form on the floor.
A more thorough analysis yielded the same result, pulse was nonexistent, brain activity silent. There was more of his blood on the floor than in his body. By every measure the machine could produce, the man who laughed was nothing more than a corpse.
It was done.
The laughter did eventually silence, and by the time sunlight broke through the windows in that forsaken corner of Gotham, the convulsing had stopped too. Finally satisfied that The Joker was truly dead, Batman turned to leave.
The Joker's last words stayed in his mind, though. They called to mind another time, when the two men had spoken face-to-face.
“I can kill anyone I want to,” The Joker had said. “Even you. If I wanted. I’ve long possessed that ability, for decades before I met you. But every petty psychopath must eventually come to the realization that there’s more to life than death. If I kill today and die tomorrow, then what difference does it make in the grand scheme of things? That’s why, Batsy, I came to Gotham, and started looking for an heir. Someone else to pass down the legacy, to be the one who could kill anyone. I’m still looking. Perhaps one day I’ll find him.”
It was quite ironic. Batman chuckled to himself.
“Don’t you even want to know,” wheezed The Joker between his guffaws, “what’s so funny?”
Batman stopped. That question always meant that there was a greater irony. Some grand scheme in which every detail had executed perfectly. Something he had not seen, but that The Joker had planned from the beginning.
“What is it?” he said at length, when The Joker’s laughter did not stop.
“It’s funny that you just killed me, Batsy! Usually, when two great men fight, and one kills the other, the victory goes to the victor!” He erupted back into his sickening rasping laugh.
Batman thought he was finished and turned to leave again, but The Joker continued. “Don’t go yet. I haven’t even gotten to the punchline! You’ve really never had much of a funny bone.” Then the laugher picked up again, with a gurgling undertone.
“What is it?!” Batman demanded.
“Always so pushy,” The Joker’s voice was growing weaker. “You’d do almost anything to get your way. But I know your rules. There’s one thing the Batman would never do. And now, it’s funny because even though you beat me, Batsy,” his voice was scarcely audible, “even though,” his chuckling was scarcely more than gagging now, “killed me...”
The Joker’s head lolled back. A moment passed, he was not moving, not breathing.
Batman didn’t dare get any closer, but the blade was meant to end the scum’s existence. He had to make sure it had worked. There would be no escaping from this encounter, no miraculous comeback, no stealing away into the night through the hospital window. The Joker had to be dead, or else everything was for naught. He took a step closer.
The Joker still did not move.
Batman carefully, silently strode and knelt by the side of his fallen nemesis. A gruesome smile still adorned the pale scabbed face. Batman reached for his belt and selected a small handheld device, a vitality reader of his own design. He turned his eyes to the screen for a moment to ready it.
Joker’s arm lunged at his throat, seizing tight. Batman grabbed at the hand and tried to pull it off, but it couldn’t be moved. Laughter, strong and loud, began ringing from The Joker’s throat, as he turned to look into Batman’s eyes.
“I win,” he said.
A shrill cackle pierced the air. It was unnatural in its intensity, and only grew louder and louder. The Joker’s body slumped the rest of the way to the ground, his eyes rolled back, and his grip on Batman’s throat loosened, but he laughed and laughed ever harder.
Batman shoved The Joker’s hand away. The arm resisted the motion slightly, but there was no other reaction. Out of the corner of his eye, Batman noticed a light blinking on the vitality reader. He picked it up and saw, to his disbelief that it indicated the Joker was dead.
The laughter hadn’t stopped. It had become so distorted it could hardly be described as human anymore, but it was still pealing from the convulsing form on the floor.
A more thorough analysis yielded the same result, pulse was nonexistent, brain activity silent. There was more of his blood on the floor than in his body. By every measure the machine could produce, the man who laughed was nothing more than a corpse.
It was done.
The laughter did eventually silence, and by the time sunlight broke through the windows in that forsaken corner of Gotham, the convulsing had stopped too. Finally satisfied that The Joker was truly dead, Batman turned to leave.
The Joker's last words stayed in his mind, though. They called to mind another time, when the two men had spoken face-to-face.
“I can kill anyone I want to,” The Joker had said. “Even you. If I wanted. I’ve long possessed that ability, for decades before I met you. But every petty psychopath must eventually come to the realization that there’s more to life than death. If I kill today and die tomorrow, then what difference does it make in the grand scheme of things? That’s why, Batsy, I came to Gotham, and started looking for an heir. Someone else to pass down the legacy, to be the one who could kill anyone. I’m still looking. Perhaps one day I’ll find him.”
It was quite ironic. Batman chuckled to himself.