Chapter 10 – Special Someone
The circus lay in ruins. Smoke curled in thick green and purple clouds, drifting across broken beams, shattered rides, and the still bodies of the Maroni family. The laughter, so loud moments ago, had died, leaving only silence. The stench of chemicals and blood hung heavy in the air.
But not all of Jack's crew had escaped. Minks, Grimm, and Rico moved in chaotic, desperate bursts, eyes wide, trying to flee the wreckage. Batman moved like a shadow, silent, methodical, scanning the scene with precision.
Grimm, the muscle, lunged, roaring. Batman didn't hesitate. From his belt came a bat-cable, snapping through the air and wrapping around Grimm's arms. He yanked, slamming him into a splintered ride. A grunt, a crack. Grimm struggled, muscles bulging, but the cable held firm, immobilizing him. Smoke curled around them, eyes stinging, lungs burning, but Batman stayed composed.
Rico reached for a hidden knife, fingers trembling. Batman fired a mini EMP taser, sparks snapping across Rico's wrist, forcing him to drop the blade. He cuffed Rico with reinforced restraints, keeping a tight grip as the man flailed.
Minks, unpredictable, darted past debris, knives flashing. Batman threw a smoke pellet, blinding her for a split second. He followed with a grappling hook, snagging her coat and flipping her to the ground. She rolled, scrambled, but a bat-bola wrapped around her legs, pinning her down.
One by one, he subdued them. No lethal force. Not tonight. The city had enough corpses. Each move was precise, calculated, methodical — Batman was a storm, and the trio were caught in the eye.
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By the time Gotham PD arrived, the crew was restrained, exhausted, gas still clinging to their clothes. Officers watched in tense silence as Batman handed over the cuffs.
"They call themselves Joker's crew," he said, voice low, measured. "The leader wiped out the Maroni family. He calls himself… Joker."
Loeb's jaw tightened. "Joker? This city keeps getting stranger. He's alive, he's smart… and dangerous?"
"Yes. And he's careful. Calculated. He thrives on chaos. And there's familiarity… something about him I've seen before. I can't place it yet. But I've seen him."
Loeb rubbed his temple. "Then we double patrols. Any sign of him, we alert immediately. Gotham can't afford another night like this."
Batman didn't respond. His mind was already elsewhere, processing, planning, analyzing.
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Rain slick streets glistened under the city lights. Batman reached the Batmobile, engine growling like a caged beast. He slid into the driver's seat, gloves tightening around the wheel. Alfred's voice crackled through the comm.
"Sir… the clown. Joker. This… man. You sound… unsettled."
Batman exhaled slowly. "Alfred… he's different. There's something about him. The way he moves, the way he laughs. Familiar, like I've seen him before somewhere… but no. Not here. Not now. I can't place it. But he's dangerous. Precise. Calculated. He's scarred this city tonight, and I barely know him."
Alfred's tone was calm but probing. "And yet… you sense more, yes? That this is not the last time we'll see him?"
"Yes." Batman's voice was grim, low. "He'll come back. He always does. And he'll bring chaos. Worse than tonight."
The Batmobile roared to life, tires splashing through puddles as Batman sped into the night. The city seemed quieter now, but the unease lingered. Joker's presence was like a shadow stretching across Gotham, creeping into every dark alley, every unlit corner.
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Jack stood in his hideout, wincing slightly from bruised ribs, moving with deliberate, careful precision. His Joker Gas vials lined the counter, perfectly blended, reactions stable. Not creation anymore — he had already developed it. Tonight, he was perfecting it, adjusting concentrations, tweaking dispersal mechanisms.
Next to the gas, other devices lay in various stages of assembly: small mechanical traps, hidden gadgets, deadly toys designed for chaos. Each one precise, each one cruel. He tested triggers, checked timing, ensured that when he unleashed them, they would be as theatrical as they were effective.
Alone, Jack's grin spread wide, sharp, low. Fingers drumming, eyes glinting in dim light. "Perfect… everything is perfect. But perfect is never enough. Not yet."
Then he paused, turning toward a blacked-out map of Gotham. Red marks, lines connecting dots, the threads of his plan coming alive. His mind raced, calculating, scheming, savoring the inevitability.
A new stage awaited him. The mental hospital. There was someone there — a doctor, someone whose skill and knowledge could refine him, sharpen him, make him more than chaos alone could accomplish. Jack didn't know the full potential yet. But he knew it was important. Vital. Necessary.
His eyes narrowed, fingers curling. "Tonight… you'll see me. And we'll begin. And Gotham… Gotham will remember me."
The storm outside pressed against the windows, rain tapping and wind rattling the roof. Jack Napier, bruised but unbroken, stood amid smoke, gadgets, and the faint green shimmer of perfected Joker Gas. A shadowed smile lingered across his face.
The city slept, unaware, but Jack's next move was already set in motion. Somewhere in the hospital, a figure would encounter him, someone who could change the game entirely.
And for the first time, the city would meet the clown who would redefine fear.
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