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Scene: Inner City – Slums. Evening.
The sky was a bruised canvas, smeared with purples and blacks, as rain fell like angry nails onto the metal rooftops of the slums. Each drop echoed in the silence, a ticking time bomb counting down to something the city hadn't seen yet—or perhaps refused to see.
Neon signs buzzed and flickered—false promises of warmth, light, and life in a place long abandoned by all three.
A radio hissed in a nearby window. Static. Then a voice.
"...and in other news, the Senate has passed the new Genetic Regulation Act, further empowering the Taskforce to..."
Silence.
Even the radio couldn't lie anymore.
Footsteps.
Slow. Measured.
Boots soaked from the puddles. A long, dark coat dragging behind. A shadow moved along the alley's spine like a ghost retracing old steps.
He passed a shattered mirror nailed crookedly to a crumbling wall. A fragment caught his face—distorted, cracked.
He didn't stop. Only his eyes moved.
JOKER (thinking):
They still smile in this city.
Still wear their Sunday faces.
Pretending like the blood doesn't stain their hands.
He stopped near a rusted playground, where wind rocked a broken swing. The chains creaked like brittle bones. The slide was corroded, its red paint bled into rust. A roundabout spun gently, even though there was no wind here. Not anymore.
Children used to laugh here.
Now it was just rot and silence.
JOKER (thinking):
Eighty-three years since the comet tore the sky like paper.
They called it a gift. A new age. A miracle.
They weren't wrong.
It was the Age of Unmasking.
[Flashback – a stuttering montage]
A man in a black coat—eyes glowing—grabs another by the throat. Lightning erupts from his veins. Two bodies fall, twitching, eyes burnt white.
A woman screams. Her child glows briefly—then darkens. Her eyes lose all light. Her scream stops mid-air.
JOKER (thinking):
They thought power would make them gods.
But it just gave monsters new teeth.
[Scene change: City square – A politician on a stage]
He grins wide. Cameras flash. His hand waves like royalty. Behind the smiles, something pulsed beneath his skin. A faint aura—red, muddied, like dried blood soaked into silk.
JOKER (thinking):
Kindness is a costume.
Justice is a slogan.
And me?
A scalpel.
[Scene: Back alley]
A boy, no older than ten, pressed against a dumpster, sobbing. His thin shirt clung to his body. His knees were scraped. A thug towered over him, electricity flickering between his fingers.
THUG:
"Where's your power, brat?! Huh?! Did the comet forget you?!"
He laughed. The sound was hollow—more like coughing on smoke. The boy screamed again. No one came. No one ever did.
Until now.
Footsteps echoed. Wet. Calm.
Joker emerged from the dark like a memory reawakened. His mask glistened under the neon glow—silver, plain, with two eye holes that felt more like voids. The rain slicked off his hooded cloak as he stopped five feet away.
JOKER:
"...Enough."
THUG (turning):
"The hell are y—"
He didn't get to finish.
Joker's hand was already on his face. His fingers curled around his skull with surgeon precision.
CRACK.
The screen shattered. The thug slammed into the alley wall. His body folded. His neck bent the wrong way.
Dead silence.
BOY (whispers):
"W-Who are you…?"
Joker knelt beside him, the neon reflecting in his red eyes like a dying star.
JOKER (soft):
"Someone who stopped believing in heroes."
He helped the boy up. Not with kindness. But with necessity. As if even he hadn't yet decided whether he still believed in life.
The rain intensified, drumming like war.
JOKER (thinking):
Once, I dreamed of saving the world.
Now, I just want to wake it up.
[Scene: High Tower – Rooftop]
The city lay before him, breathing in shadows and coughing out light. Thousands of windows, each one a lie. A mask. A face pretending to be human.
He stood at the edge of the rooftop, arms open. The rain soaked him. He didn't flinch.
JOKER (out loud):
"You wanted a savior?"
He looked down.
Then up.
Then at you.
JOKER (grinning beneath the mask):
"You got a mirror."
He stepped closer.
JOKER (fourth wall):
"Welcome to my story."
He tilts his head. The mask shifts slightly. A smirk underneath.
JOKER:
"Let's see how long your mask lasts."
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