what if you chilled the fuck out? maybe put on a shirt that fits. schmedium wearin’ ass. i’m gonna fight you.

look at that view.

Metal scaffolding pressed rectangles into the meat of my calves, the blood rushing to my head from where I hung upside down. The vat below me bubbled and frothed, a viscous white that could swallow me if I dropped. My nostrils burned on inhale. The same kind of burn you feel when you bleach your bathroom, sanitized and squeaky clean, melting the remnants of epithelial tissue until it’s nothing but a chromosomal slurry. If you mix it with ammonia you’d get mustard gas, and you’d hack up a pink mist of lung and bronchial tissue. 

I hear from Dick that you lost your job and not long after your apartment. I almost break down and look for you, but I know you'll be better off without me. I have no idea that you're living the way you are, stitching up Gotham trash that I'm probably the one to fuck up to begin with. I think that perhaps you're okay, that you have found some peace after what happened.

I could barely look at you when the DNA results came back. Nothing about The Joker has ever been normal, but some of the markers matched what was on file. He raped you and I let him. He took you and broke you and I was too much of a fucking coward to put you back together. I thought it would be best to leave, to stay as far away as possible so that nothing like that would ever happen again.

I was wrong.

I stay busy, keeping my mind on my neverending quest to rid Gotham of its trash. Everything is as normal, until it's not. Bruce tries to contact me, but I refuse his calls, his presence at my door with my brothers trailing along immediately putting me on the defensive.

"What do you want?" I move deeper into my dim, messy apartment, kicking an empty beer can on my way to get one from the fridge. I hear something slap against the counter and I turn back to see a manila envelope. "What's that?"

"Something I need you to see."

I crack open the can and take a long sip. I know what's inside is going to be bad, especially since Bruce found it necessary to track me down. I slam the can down and snatch up the envelope, prying the metal prongs to open it. Shoving a clear spot on the countertop, I dump the contents. A stack of pictures fan out, each one more graphic than the last.

There's a lot of gore and somehow I manage to recognize the victim. A local politician that was accused of assaulting eight women, got off with nothing, not even a slap on the wrist. But now he looked deader than shit, something carved into his chest. My brow furrows and Tim is the one to identify it.

"It's an interrobang." I look from him and then back to the photo, throwing them back onto the counter.

"Okay, and?" Bruce sighs, his hands bracing in the edge of the counter.

"Look at the last picture, Jason."

I glare at him as I snatch up the pile, letting each one flutter down until the final one remains. The white wall is no longer pristine, crimson letters smeared along the plaster.

"It's a..." Bruce starts.

"Riddle." I finish.

~

The night is clear, light pollution from the city blocking out most of the stars. Wayne Tower is in the distance and I tear away my gaze to scan the street below. The killer hasn't been easy to locate, weeks spent moving around along with Bruce and my brothers and interrogating answers out of people.

They didn't know who it was, pretty much useless. Another body, or least a part of it, showed up on the front steps of GCPD, a riddle included.

What is harder to catch the faster you run?

"Your breath." I growl, the pair of lungs giving away the answer.

Testing proved it was another politician, another one that committed atrocious shit and got away with it.

Guess he got what he deserved in the end.

The building I'm standing on is across from a high rise, my binoculars on a lit window. Senator Jacob Smitz is entertaining, a woman that was almost certainly paid for her time. I guess he figured he needed a treat after getting away with fraud. As he begins to fuck the woman, my gaze shifts. I'm not here for him. I'm here for someone else.

The news was good about reporting terrible shit and when I saw the story on Smitz, I knew he was next.

Movement on the rooftop below catches my attention. A figure darts along the shadows, keeping cover as they move closer to the edge. I can see them look up and the moon catches their face, a mask obscuring the upper half. I move without a sound, dropping down and almost missing the ledge as I fall onto the building.

I have my gun out, aiming as I step around a central air unit. The figure is perched on the ledge, ready to jump down.

"Not so fucking fast." The figure freezes and I step closer, gun raised. "Get down."

They do as I say, slowly slinking down. I can see now, the figure a woman, the corset catching my attention. I'm distracted, not prepared for the sharp jab in my chest. I look down, a scalpel sticking out of the protective shell at my sternum. When I look back, the woman is throwing herself off the roof. We're easily ten stories up and I lunge forward just in time to see her slam into the concrete below.

"What the fuck!?!"

I watched Senator Smitz for a couple weeks after his trial aired, the image of his victim terrified behind the plaintiffs bench cementing itself in my head. I knew that if he got off those charges the cycle would just start over, and it turns out that he was an acquaintance of the first politician I made an example of. So really, it seems only fair that I dig all of them out at this point, like an exterminator only with a better wardrobe. 

"He's with a visitor, Master Todd..." I push open the door to Bruce's office without acknowledging what that even means and come to a stop. Bruce is sitting next to his guest, both him and Selina Kyle looking up in surprise. Bruce greets me, pulling back from Selina, and I yank the sample from my jacket without returning the sentiment.

"Almost got them on the roof attempting to murder Smitz. It's a woman, blonde hair, and the ability to fall off a ten story building." Both Bruce and Selina furrow their brows. "I'm not joking. She literally threw herself off and when I got down to the ground, she was long gone."

"I'll run the test immediately and if they're in the system, there should be a match by the morning." I nod and turn to leave when Selina speaks.

"I'll keep an eye out for any news or sightings." I nod again, looking her up and down before I sneer and leave. What she's doing here, I'm not sure, but Bruce could surely find someone more trustworthy to get his dick wet.

~

Turns out my warning for Senator Smitz to lay low was completely ignored. It didn't take long for his body to be discovered in some seedy by-the-hour type place, another riddle written on the wall with his blood. The news blared out of every possible outlet, saying Gotham had a new serial killer, someone that seemed to be a more dangerous version of the Riddler. It wasn't uncommon for copycats to pop up and that's what they speculated. It evolved into a frenzy and soon it turned fanatical, people calling in with tips that were mostly bullshit.

The sample came up with nothing, no one on file to match. It was infuriating, the only decent lead a dead end. I had to rely on sightings and rumors, more victims turning up. I investigated every single one of them, Bruce and my brothers helping, and a tip came unexpectedly, a whisper in my ear.

~

The night is warm, my jacket abandoned, and my protective suit almost suffocating. Horns honk and yells filter across the city, my focus on anything that might lead me to her.

"Hey, little bird, I might have something juicy for you."

I tense at the voice cooing in my ear, recognizing it before I turn to look.

"What do you want, Selina?"

She's in her Catwoman getup, heeled boots clicking as she moves to stand beside me at the ledge.

"She's been spotted down at the Grin and Bare It." My stomach clenches at the mention of Joker's club, my hands balling into fists. "You might want to hurry. From what I've seen, she moves quickly."

I'm leaping down to the fire escape before she finishes the sentence, my bike roaring from the alley seconds later. I know exactly where the club is, having spent many nights looking for an opportunity to make that green haired fuck pay for what he's done.

I feel a pang at the thought of you, wondering if you're safe, if you're in trouble. I'm deep in my head, not realizing I've reached the club. I park a couple blocks away, right on the edge of security's perimeter. I use the darkness and shadows to move closer, setting up position across the street. I can see the line of people, but no sign of the woman.

After almost two hours, I'm ready to call this another dead end, preparing to head back to my bike.

"-ey, Jason." The voice on my comms makes me freeze. It's Dick.

"What?" I'm in no mood for his bullshit and start to turn off my communication when I see movement across the street. Most patrons are using the main entrance, a door for entry, and the other one for departing. Her movement wouldn't look suspicious to most, but her exit from the alley and her outfit makes my heart pound.

It's her.

"-ran a sample of-"

I follow her movement, blood whooshing in my ears, and drowning out everything else.

"It's a match!" Dick's voice breaks through the fog in my brain.

"A match?" I'm trailing her, keeping with the shadows as she moves deeper into the city.

"Bruce suggesting testing..." I watch as she begins to climb scaffolding set up next to a building being renovated. I can see her swing easily onto the nearby ledge and I begin to climb after her. I'm almost at the top when Dick breaks through again.

"-Goddamn it, Jason. It's her!" He's said something I've missed and I can hear the panic in his voice. Dick never panics, my brow furrowing as I watch her slink along to the opposite ledge, stopping to perch for a moment.

"Jason, it's Nyck." I tear the comm from my ear and crush it under my boot as I rush forward. He's wrong, Bruce is fucking wrong, you wouldn't do something like this, you wouldn't be at the Joker's club. The figure is still perched on the ledge and I step out from behind a central air unit, gun raised in a sickening moment of deja vu.

Metal scaffolding pressed rectangles into the meat of my calves, the blood rushing to my head from where I hung upside down. The vat below me bubbled and frothed, a viscous white that could swallow me if I dropped. My nostrils burned on inhale. The same kind of burn you feel when you bleach your bathroom, sanitized and squeaky clean, melting the remnants of epithelial tissue until it’s nothing but a chromosomal slurry. If you mix it with ammonia you’d get mustard gas, and you’d hack up a pink mist of lung and bronchial tissue. 

I hear from Dick that you lost your job and not long after your apartment. I almost break down and look for you, but I know you'll be better off without me. I have no idea that you're living the way you are, stitching up Gotham trash that I'm probably the one to fuck up to begin with. I think that perhaps you're okay, that you have found some peace after what happened.

I could barely look at you when the DNA results came back. Nothing about The Joker has ever been normal, but some of the markers matched what was on file. He raped you and I let him. He took you and broke you and I was too much of a fucking coward to put you back together. I thought it would be best to leave, to stay as far away as possible so that nothing like that would ever happen again.

I was wrong.

I stay busy, keeping my mind on my neverending quest to rid Gotham of its trash. Everything is as normal, until it's not. Bruce tries to contact me, but I refuse his calls, his presence at my door with my brothers trailing along immediately putting me on the defensive.

"What do you want?" I move deeper into my dim, messy apartment, kicking an empty beer can on my way to get one from the fridge. I hear something slap against the counter and I turn back to see a manila envelope. "What's that?"

"Something I need you to see."

I crack open the can and take a long sip. I know what's inside is going to be bad, especially since Bruce found it necessary to track me down. I slam the can down and snatch up the envelope, prying the metal prongs to open it. Shoving a clear spot on the countertop, I dump the contents. A stack of pictures fan out, each one more graphic than the last.

There's a lot of gore and somehow I manage to recognize the victim. A local politician that was accused of assaulting eight women, got off with nothing, not even a slap on the wrist. But now he looked deader than shit, something carved into his chest. My brow furrows and Tim is the one to identify it.

"It's an interrobang." I look from him and then back to the photo, throwing them back onto the counter.

"Okay, and?" Bruce sighs, his hands bracing in the edge of the counter.

"Look at the last picture, Jason."

I glare at him as I snatch up the pile, letting each one flutter down until the final one remains. The white wall is no longer pristine, crimson letters smeared along the plaster.

"It's a..." Bruce starts.

"Riddle." I finish.

~

The night is clear, light pollution from the city blocking out most of the stars. Wayne Tower is in the distance and I tear away my gaze to scan the street below. The killer hasn't been easy to locate, weeks spent moving around along with Bruce and my brothers and interrogating answers out of people.

They didn't know who it was, pretty much useless. Another body, or least a part of it, showed up on the front steps of GCPD, a riddle included.

What is harder to catch the faster you run?

"Your breath." I growl, the pair of lungs giving away the answer.

Testing proved it was another politician, another one that committed atrocious shit and got away with it.

Guess he got what he deserved in the end.

The building I'm standing on is across from a high rise, my binoculars on a lit window. Senator Jacob Smitz is entertaining, a woman that was almost certainly paid for her time. I guess he figured he needed a treat after getting away with fraud. As he begins to fuck the woman, my gaze shifts. I'm not here for him. I'm here for someone else.

The news was good about reporting terrible shit and when I saw the story on Smitz, I knew he was next.

Movement on the rooftop below catches my attention. A figure darts along the shadows, keeping cover as they move closer to the edge. I can see them look up and the moon catches their face, a mask obscuring the upper half. I move without a sound, dropping down and almost missing the ledge as I fall onto the building.

I have my gun out, aiming as I step around a central air unit. The figure is perched on the ledge, ready to jump down.

"Not so fucking fast." The figure freezes and I step closer, gun raised. "Get down."

They do as I say, slowly slinking down. I can see now, the figure a woman, the corset catching my attention. I'm distracted, not prepared for the sharp jab in my chest. I look down, a scalpel sticking out of the protective shell at my sternum. When I look back, the woman is throwing herself off the roof. We're easily ten stories up and I lunge forward just in time to see her slam into the concrete below.

"What the fuck!?!"