Hello, ladies and gentlemen! So, I've got a quick update for you. A little bit has changed since we talked last. I finished my getup. After a painstaking process of editing, restarting, and bringing back scrapped ideas, I ended up with a bright purple suit. It's the perfect level of formality and absurdity. Bright purple suit, forest green waistcoat, light blue button up under that, with an excessively yellow bowtie to finish it off. I've also got a couple more escapades under my belt, mainly robberies with a dash of murder tossed in them for flavor. I've established myself a bit more in Gotham's criminal underbelly. I'm still just a one-man show, so far, but I'm getting recognition now. I've been in the papers a few times, gotta admit, that was pretty cool. Most importantly, though, I've figured out who I am. I said earlier that everything's just one big joke, right? At first I thought I was the punchline, but that didn't quite fit. The punchline is the horror, the terror, the absolute hilarity of it all. So, me? I'm not the punchline. I'm the one who delivers the whole package, bullet by bullet, stab by stab, setup, punchline and all. I'm the... Ooh, one sec, I'm about to go on air. I'll pick this up in a second, alright?
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The man bursts through the doors of the studio, interrupting the crew in the middle of their opening greeting for GCN's daily news hour. Originally their script was going to be about the rash of murders and robberies that left witnesses in a state of shock and describing a cartoonish, pale white man with vivid green hair, a blood red smile that seemed to stretch on forever over crooked yellowing teeth and a garish and overly dapper purple suit. News stations had taken to calling him the Clown, and argued bitterly over which one of them had come up with it. Now, though, the botoxed and hair gelled news anchors were salivating at the man of the hour having literally fallen into their laps. Audiences city wide were confused for a moment at their beloved newsman's sudden silence until a gaunt and very loudly dressed man sauntered into frame, the news crews' eyes never leaving him as he did. The man had the city's attention. And, once he pulled a very large revolver out of his jacket and shot the male news anchor in the face, point blank, spattering himself, the newsman's female counterpart, and the surrounding area with blood, he had their fear, as well. Then, it was like everything happened in a blur for everyone watching. The newswoman screamed. The man, still smiling, with flecks of blood pattered across that smile like rain, flipped the pistol around in his hand and struck her across the chin with the grip, knocking her unconscious and silencing that awful wailing. The man turned towards the stunned cameraman, the camera still blinking that they were live. He wiped the lens off with a handkerchief and looked directly into it, directly into the eyes of the viewers, citywide. "Good morning, Gotham City!" The words were harsh, and the smile never broke. The eyes, surrounded by a ring of black, seemed to stare out at the audience from a well, an abyss. They gave a sense off a danger, of derangement. It was impossible to look away. The man straightened and continued. "Now, heh, I've been something of a hot topic, recently, as I'm sure most of you have read about me in the papers, or heard about me in broadcasts much like the one I'm starring in now." He paced as he talked, chuckling to himself over jokes no one else understood, and gesticulating randomly, waving the gun as he did. Everyone in the room was keenly aware that his finger never left the trigger. "Now, since I've become so popular, I figured it was time I made my public debut! So, here I am!" He waggled the barrel of the gun at the camera, like he was scolding a child. "And don't you worry, I'm here to stay. Heheheh, you're stuck with me, now." He locked eyes with the camera with these last words, his smile more malicious than before. The cameraman shivered. None of them expected to get out of there alive.
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Ooh, this was fun. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had this much fun. There was that mall, but there weren't a whole lot of people there. Malls are kind of dead, anyways. It's sad. Quite frankly, I don't know how half of them stay open. Maybe they're a money laundering front. Agh, later. Later, later, later. Anyways. This was FUN. All eyes on me, and no one could look away. I knew the phones were ringing off the hook with the producers trying to get them to cut the feed, but I'd taken care of that. I'd paid a little visit to the whatever it's called room, where they control that stuff. What's on air. Anyways, I had to clean off some blood after that. Have to look my best, after all. I was about to be on TV.
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The man saw a woman out of the corner of his eye inching towards the power cables for the cameras. Slowly, slowly, he almost didn't even notice her. She was a little shorter, mousey brown hair pulled into a ponytail and outdated looking glasses. He kept his eye on her, and when she turned around to try and yank the cords out of the wall, he fired. He didn't hit her, of he had to be honest, his aim wasn't all that great, but it had the intended reaction. She nearly leapt out of her skin, and stumbled back, away from the wall, and fell flat on her behind. The man walked over to her, a hop in his step, and pulled her upright by the collar of her blouse. "Hi there, missy." He grinned at her, entirely too close to her face. She could smell his breath. He'd eaten something with garlic before coming here, she could tell. She stumbled over her own feet, as well as his as he dragged her over to stand in front of the camera. "What's your name, missy?" "P-P-Patricia." She was terrified, her hands shook and she had tears in her eyes. "It's absolutely wonderful to meet you, Trish. I'm Joker." The man grinned again, looking for all the world like he was trying to be friendly. "P-please. Don't hurt me." It was all she could manage to say. The poor girl felt paralyzed with fear. She didn't want to die. She wanted to see her mom again. It had been so long since she'd seen her mom. Patricia hoped she was doing okay. She hoped she wasn't watching the news. She didn't want her mom to watch her die. "Trishy, dearie, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help. I'm here to make people happy, heh, to make people smile." "Please." The man, the Joker, took a bottle out of his coat jacket. It was an aerosol spray, like that insulation stuff. Patricia remembered her dad teaching her how to use that correctly when they were remodeling their house. She missed her dad. The Joker sprayed the poor girl with the stuff, whatever it was, and she gasped on impulse, breathing it in. Immediately she began to panic, that could have been any manner of chemical monstrosity. What had he just given her? What had he done? She tried to speak, but her throat didn't work right. She barely was able to gasp out a few breaths. "Haa haaa haaagh" she coughed and tried again. She couldn't form the words, she couldn't make her mouth work, she couldn't control her face. She felt her body tensing up, and she dropped to her knees, her arms curling into her chest as she tried to speak again, louder. "Haa Haaa HAA HAA HA!" it was coming out wrong, she was laughing. Then she couldn't stop, could barely pause enough to breathe in. She felt her face pulling tighter, contorting, twisting into a smile that hurt. She felt like she was going to cry, but all she could do was laugh and laugh and laugh "HA HA HA HA HAHAHAHAHA!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!" She tried to scream, but it came out as hysterical laughter. Patricia was afraid. Patricia died laughing.
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