The Inevitable
The Inevitable - A Batman Joker story. Chapter 6.
He slowly pushed the door open. The chill of the room immediately rushed Batman's body, almost immediately reminding him of Victor Fries and his battle over the cure. The icy mist began to settle in the room as the lights lit up. The room had a strange lighting to it as most morgues do. Taking a couple of brisk steps in, he spotted one of the trays that had a small white note on it. It simply read "Here. -G."
Batman stood there for a long while, just looking at the handle, as if it would open itself it he stared long enough. That, of course, never happened. Breathing in deeply he gripped the handle, his leather gloves squealing a bit due to the friction.
The tray came out silently.
First his feet.
Then his waist.
Then his torso.
And finally his face.
He had been stripped of his clothing of course, a white sheet laid across his body. His eyes were closed, but his smile was still on his face. That smile...
The vigilante stood there for what seemed like ages. He studied Joker's face in almost an endaring way, as if he had been denied it for too long.
Batman inched his hand forward but stopped in his tracks hesitantly. The damage of the disease went further then just Joker's face, it went from what looked like on all of his body. At least, from what he could tell. Letting his curiosity get the best of him, he let his glove touch the cloth covering Joker. Sifting it downwards a little, his suspicions were justified. The disease had spread to even his torso, and probably further down. There was a small black tip of something on Joker's skin. Pulling the cloth down a bit more, a tattoo of Batman's symbol was revealed on his chest.
He had no clue how to react. None at all. But his body reacted anyways, and what he found was tears. Because the more he pulled the cloth down, the more he discovered. Underneath the Batman symbol, the words could clearly be read.
"Only you
can make this
world seem right."
The words trailed all the way to his waistline. Batman put a hand to his face, trying to furiously rub away the oncoming tears, and slowly knelt against the floor, his head making a gentle tap against the tray as he leaned forward in sorrow.
The song -was- meant for him. He -was- singing to Batman. He wasn't just being psychotic. He meant it.
Batman stood there for a long while, just looking at the handle, as if it would open itself it he stared long enough. That, of course, never happened. Breathing in deeply he gripped the handle, his leather gloves squealing a bit due to the friction.
The tray came out silently.
First his feet.
Then his waist.
Then his torso.
And finally his face.
He had been stripped of his clothing of course, a white sheet laid across his body. His eyes were closed, but his smile was still on his face. That smile...
The vigilante stood there for what seemed like ages. He studied Joker's face in almost an endaring way, as if he had been denied it for too long.
Batman inched his hand forward but stopped in his tracks hesitantly. The damage of the disease went further then just Joker's face, it went from what looked like on all of his body. At least, from what he could tell. Letting his curiosity get the best of him, he let his glove touch the cloth covering Joker. Sifting it downwards a little, his suspicions were justified. The disease had spread to even his torso, and probably further down. There was a small black tip of something on Joker's skin. Pulling the cloth down a bit more, a tattoo of Batman's symbol was revealed on his chest.
He had no clue how to react. None at all. But his body reacted anyways, and what he found was tears. Because the more he pulled the cloth down, the more he discovered. Underneath the Batman symbol, the words could clearly be read.
"Only you
can make this
world seem right."
The words trailed all the way to his waistline. Batman put a hand to his face, trying to furiously rub away the oncoming tears, and slowly knelt against the floor, his head making a gentle tap against the tray as he leaned forward in sorrow.
The song -was- meant for him. He -was- singing to Batman. He wasn't just being psychotic. He meant it.