The Killing Joke

Bruce knew where he was headed. He recognized the coordinates instantly. The Joker was working out of an old slapstick comedy shop. It had been closed for a good ten years or so, but the building still stood and the dilapidated sign was still readable.

Or at least to Bruce it was. He had been to Joe’s Comedy Shoppe at least a hundred times when he was younger. Whenever they went into town, his parents would give him a few dollars and would let Bruce stay in the shop while they did their more mature and boring shopping. He loved that store. Bruce used to bring home all sorts of practical jokes and play them on Alfred: whoopee cushions, electric hand-shakers, electric gum sticks, etc., etc. Of course they never really surprised the old butler, but he went along with them anyway. Even after his parents died Alfred still brought Bruce to the store every week. He was one of Joe’s only loyal customers. There were a lot of comedy stores in Gotham back then, and most of them had Joe’s tricks and more. Most of his customers switched over to the bigger and better ones, but not Bruce Wayne. When he grew older he made sure to help finance the store through his company so it could stay in business. And for a while business was great. But eventually everyone outgrew slapstick comedy, and not even Bruce Wayne could help Joe’s shop by then. Joe ended up moving out west, and Bruce was sad to see him go. He had always been a wonderful friend throughout the years. And good friends were hard to find when you had a reputation like Bruce Wayne’s.

Before he knew it, Bruce was in front of the familiar store. He drove a few blocks more, parking the Batmobile in a dark alley before hopping out and starting towards the building. There were four guards at the front door, and Batman assumed there were a lot more inside too. He took out four little Batarangs, each having a little bit of poison on them, and skillfully threw them into the necks of each guard. A few moments passed and they all feel to the ground unconscious.

Batman made his way past the men and kicked open the front door. He was instantly met with a shower of bullets from at least a dozen other goons. He wrapped his bullet-proof cape around himself and waited until they were all out of bullets to finally attack. When he did, he surprised everyone, including himself. He kicked, punched, tripped, and knocked out each and every goon in record time. Maybe he was just having a good day, or maybe he was too impatient to deal with them right now. Batman assumed it was the latter.

Bruce was fed up with the Joker. He was fed up with him five seconds into their first fight all those years ago. But of course he couldn’t kill him, that wasn’t right. No matter how much Bruce really wanted that son of a bitch to die, he wasn’t about to do it himself. So he had to settle with shoving his ass in Arkham. And then he would break out and the vicious cycle would start again.

Of course he knew it would come to this. He didn’t know when or how, but he knew it was necessary. Batman and the Joker would settle their differences once and for all that very night.

He turned around when he heard someone clapping slowly. The lights were still out but his eyes had adjusted by now. And besides, he had a sick feeling in his stomach that told him it was the Joker. He stopped clapping, and all the noise in the building was now his echoing footsteps. Batman didn’t move, he stayed unguarded. He wanted the Joker to make the first move.

And the man obliged. He got so close to Batman that they were practically breathing on each other. After a long pause the Joker punched him right in the nose, his mask shattering in that exact spot and cracking all around. The Joker grinned at the sound of the bone breaking.

Now it was Bruce’s turn. He readjusted his nose so that the bone could set correctly, and then he bashed his forehead against the Joker’s, causing both men to stumble back a bit. “Didn’t I tell you never to start off with a hit to the face?” the insane man laughed. “I won’t be able to feel any more pain until this fuzziness goes away again.”

“You won’t feel any physical pain,” Batman corrected, causing the Joker to raise his eyebrows slightly. “Maybe I just want to talk,”

“Talk? About what?” The Joker was cracking up by now.

“Maybe about how two men who know nothing about each other can hate one another so much?*” Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. “Situation ring a bell?” The Joker mimicked Batman, crossing his arms over his chest as well and pursing his lips in thought. After a moment he shook his head. “Look, we both know this is the end. And we can’t possibly come to a compromise. One of us is going to lose,”

“And it’s going to be you.” The Joker said, matter-of-factly.

“You’re awfully sure of yourself,” Bruce countered.

“I’m just stating the facts, Batman. Any minute now this building will blow up, setting off other bombs all over the city. You’ll be dead, and I’ll have won.”

“You’re in this building too,” Batman countered. “Or did you forget that already?”

“Oh I didn’t forget. I may or may not get out of this alive, I know that. But I have men who will continue my work for me.”

“So do I. And they’re all in this town, like yours, too.”

“My men are actually on their way to Star City as we speak. The less important ones are busy tying up your little helpers nice and tight so that they can’t get out of the city either,”

Bruce kept his poker face, “It doesn’t have to end like this.”

“Oh, yes, it does.” The Joker laughed manically. “You’re in denial, that’s okay,”

“It won’t end like this,” Batman corrected himself, casually pressing a button on his Batbelt, hoping the man wouldn’t notice.

“Hey!” The Joker yelled, raising a gun to Batman’s head. “I said no backup!”

“You never said that,” he smirked, taking a few steps back. A moment later the Batmobile came speeding through the front glass window, running into the Joker, pinning him up against the wall and knocking the gun out of his hand.

While that was going on Bruce had time to locate the bomb. It was in the middle of the ceiling, right above where he had just been standing. He jumped on top of the Batmobile and launched himself into the air, grabbing it off of the ceiling and landing on his feet again. He quickly deactivated it, shoving it into an empty container into his belt before opening up the door to the Batmobile and getting into the driver’s seat. “That won’t do anything, I’ll just run to one of the other sites and set off that bomb,” The Joker replied, chuckling, struggling to stay conscience. “You’re not going to kill me,” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t necessarily have to save you either, **” came Batman’s reply from inside the car. He was setting it to ‘self-destruct’ mode, telling himself it was for the best. It was for the best that this man was no longer part of this world. It was for the best that he couldn’t terrorize anymore citizens. He got out of the car again, finger on the button as he started to walk out the door.

“Alright, Batsy. I believe you, you can stop now. It’s not that funny,” The man shouted after him, letting out a few nervous, weak chuckles. Batman was joking, right? He wouldn’t actually kill him would he? Once Batman was far enough away he turned to look back at the shop, a frown on his face as he pressed the button.

It was a small explosion, compared to what the Joker’s bomb was going to be, so it didn’t set off any of the others thankfully. Gordon’s men would be able to deactivate all of them. All of his vigilante associates would help, once they were set free.

“You’re sure nothing will trace back to you?” asked Alfred over the radio frequency, breaking Bruce out of his train of thought as he finally looked away from the flames.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he cleared his throat in reply as he started walking down the streets of his city.

“Would you like me to send a car, sir?”

“No, thank you, Alfred. Just call Gordon and tell him about the bombs. I’ll walk home tonight.” And with that he turned off the radio and continued down the streets of Gotham, making sure to stay in the shadows like he always did.