*Ring* – a shrill alarm rings throughout the empty Batcave.
*Ring* – Gotham City Bank: A tellers hand hits the silent alarm.
*Ring* – The doorbell at Wayne Manner; The visitor Mirrianna Savauge.
Outside Gotham City Bank:
The area is tapped off with police cars barricading the perimeter. Gordon’s car pulls up and before it stops or parks he jumps out and in front of their top negotiator.
“Who’s in there, who’s out? What do you have on casualties, hostages, demands?”
Alfred has answered the door and now escorts Mirrianna inside.
“I’m afraid he’s running a bit late.”
Mirrianna looks skeptically at his excuse.
“To his own house?”
She counters forcing Alfred to realize the absurdity of the excuse; with an answer he figures isn’t quite a lie.
The Joker says as he leans back on his cot, putting feet up. Mirrianna’s gear is all set up, but today she sits beside the cot in a regulated smooth-edged chair, with a clipboard/notepad in hand.
“Aren’t we all?”
He says it so plainly causing Mirrianna’s eyebrow to rise a bit at the blunt and simple statement. Then the edge of his lip starts going up in a sly snarl-like grin, putting his sharp teeth and sinister nature on display.
“Me, I’ve always loved the lure of the enigma, the hint of mystery,”
Mirrianna looks dryly over her glasses at him:
“You mean the façade of being in control of the chaos?”
Alfred shows Mirrianna into the study.
“Alfred Pennyworth, correct?”
Mirrianna asks turning to Alfred once inside room. He nods answering simply:
Mirrianna’s eyes seem to light up, a sudden glint sparked as she looks to him in studied reverence.
“You were there.”
She states breathlessly. As Alfred is a little surprised.
“I beg your pardon?”
Mirrianna looks practically ecstatic to answer.
“The night that Bruce Wayne survived the Jokers plague.”
Another day a different session. Mirrianna stands putting the now full vials of blood back into her case. The Joker sits directly behind her, crossed legged on cot.
“Enjoying my blood are you?”
He asks lulling head back and forth against wall.
“It is serving its purpose.”
His eyes sharply come to her in pointed expression.
She closes case and turns to face him.
“You tell me.”
The Joker smiles sinking chin into chest.
“You will never figure it out you know, for one must become something to truly understand its purpose.”
Mirrianna quickly remembers herself, shaking away any undo excitement as she catches sight of her eager reflection in Alfred’s eyes.
“I’m sorry; you see I’m here to understand.”
Alfred indicates for her to take a seat.
“Please join me. If I am to wait for Mr. Wayne I would love to speak with you in the interim.”
Though still somewhat skeptical Alfred takes a seat across from Mirrianna.
“You see the reason I bring up that night is due to the fact that that was the beginning of the Joker’s reign of terror on Gotham.”
“An unfortunate thing.”
Mirrianna leans forward towards Alfred, as if conveying a precious secret.
“I am in the process of breaking down the chemical matrix of his ‘joker serum’.”
As she talks her passion begins to show, her eyes shine afire with the personal dedication she has to her craft.
“The poison compound that can turn, twist and mutate its victim, killing them in a manner both brutal and instantaneous. If I can isolate the process I can find a way to reverse it.”
“A noble undertaking.”
“Mr. Wayne is the only known survivor, you, his witness. So if I could hear your perspective on…”
Mirrianna began in yet another one on one session with The Joker. This time going back to the night that started it all.
“You were stopped.”
She sits once more beside the Joker’s cot; he himself is lying with his head hanging off of it, bored and unamused.
“Oh so long ago, I thought it unhealthy to dwell on the past, besides…”
He smiles nostalgically.
“I’ve done much better things since.”
Then suddenly his face twists as his eyes go over the details of his thoughts, his eyes creep to the side, looking at Mirrianna:
“Unless you want to talk about that camera trick…”
His legs flutter through the air as he shivers at the delight of his own creativity.
“That one’s a gem!”
The top negotiator has no compunctions answering to Gordon, turning right away with full update:
“so far nothing from the inside, sir.”
“And the security hack? Anything on the surveillance?”
Gordon makes no formal addresses, getting down to business on every front coming right up behind the GCPD’s security analyst who sits in swat gear before his computer with a puzzled expression.
“That’s a good question…”
He shifts revealing to the men the image on the screen – and what should be the Banks security camera but is instead blocked by a piece of paper tapped to its lens with all too familiar green Question Mark.
“Son of a…”
Back to the third session and conversation between Mirriana and the Joker, she continues, unfazed her round of pointed questioning.
“Your victims then, did they understand in the end?”
He lays disinterested on his cot, eyes wandering around the room as though there were anything worth looking at.
“They were obviously unworthy…you know something just occurred to me!”
The Joker’s head rises up alight with the sudden flicker of enlightenment.
“Why am I being punished for their crimes? I believe this is wrongful imprisonment! I demand Justice! A re-count!”
But Mirrianna is unamused, completely unfazed by any of it; completely unperturbed, unprovoked and non-reactive.
“So death was their failing? Not surviving you was their fault?”
“We all choose how to act and react.”
He sits up on the straight jacket version of his forearms now, his feet twitching to the tune in his head as he answers her perpetual questioning.
“And you choose to hurt people?”
“God hurts those who hurt themselves, or so I’m told.”
He laughs but Mirrianna just looks at him – glasses falling to the end of her nose. Her gaze is sharp and piercing as she studies his every infliction.
“Is this all just a game to you? Life and death. Do you do for fun or for revenge?”
Gordon, the Analyst and Swat Captain stand staring at the computer screen and image of the Green Question Mark and calling card of a certain individual. The Swat Captain pulls com.
“Ready the troops, on my mark start leading ‘em in.”
But Gordon is quick to pull rank (and walkie) from him.
“Belay that order boy’s…just…”
Gordon says as he leans in towards the screen, eyes examining when he sees an imprint formed from the back of the paper, a very familiar shape – a batarang.
The Joker rises to meet Mirrianna’s steady, no-nonsense gaze, his own expression an ear-to-ear grin as he answers her question of fun and revenge.
“Why my good doctor…can’t it be both?”
Gordon looks intensely at the image and the message it conveys, completing order:
“Keep up the show.”
Mirrianna’s expression remains unchanged as she writes on her clipboard and pushes up glasses.
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