Rachel awoke to four glaring signals informing her of her location: the blinding white lights, the rhythmic beeping of the assorted machinery, the dulled pain that seemed to consume her entire body, and the distinctly unpleasant aroma of disinfectant. Gotham City Hospital was no different to any other throughout the country; it was bright, crowded, and a place despised by all, even the doctors and nurses that occupied it. Rachel groaned as she tried to move, prompting a flood of medical interns to shuffle into the room. At their head was a short, stout woman who began to bark orders at her blue-coated minions before turning to the patient and smiling warmly. Rachel tried to echo the expression, but even moving her lips was a chore. Her facial muscles were stiff and resistant, and so she quickly submitted to their protests and relaxed as much as she could, sink further back into the well-plumped pillow.
"How are you feeling?" the doctor enquired politely, perusing through the array of medical charts she had before her.
Rachel blinked forlornly. "...good, I think. I feel stiff, and achey. But a lot better than I felt when those scum were kicking me in."
"The stiffness is a common side effect of the meds we've used to numb your pain," the doctor explained, ignoring Rachel's half-hearted quip. "Hawkins, how are her vitals?"
One of the interns turned and carefully examined the monitor at Rachel's bedside. "Good, Doctor Bailey. O2 levels are high, her stats are all stable..."
"When will I be able to leave?" Rachel interjected. "I need to get back on the job, I've got cases to sort through..."
"And look where that got you the last time." The new voice was laced with cynicism and irritation, as well as a blatant disregard for both Rachel's injuries and political correctness. The speaker stepped into the room and her firm gaze settled on the patient; attired in a thick brown trenchcoat that obscured her no doubt athletically-built figure, she was stoic and imposing. Fairly tall, her raven-hued tresses were pulled carelessly back into a loose, sloppy ponytail that hung lifelessly across her sharply straight shoulders. Her darkly hazel eyes, tainted with horrors that no-one of her age should have yet had to endure, burrowed into Rachel, who wasn't quite sure where to look or what business this newcomer had in her ward. The doctor and her interns, however, seemed to recognise her importance immediately, and exchanged nervous glacnes between themselves. A moment of awkwardness ensued, which Doctor Bailey dismissed by placing her charts noisily on their rack.
"I'll let you two talk, we were done here anyway. Interns, move on to the arrythmia case behind Curtain Seven," she called, leading her group out into the hallway.
As they left, Rachel eyed the steadily-approaching trenchaot wearer. "So who are you? Those guys seemed pretty intimidated."
The other's brow creased into a frown. "You're not?"
"What can I say? I guess trenchcoats aren't so scary after you've been beaten and bruised by three gangsters," Rachel shot back.
"Don't pretend you were helpless. One of those gangsters is hospitalised with a GSW, and the other has scarred retinas. Only one got away unscathed," the stranger returned swiftly. "The name's Renee Montoya. I'm with the GCPD, and I've been assigned to your case."
"My case?"
Montoya grinned, almost sadistically. "Miss Dawes...welcome to protective custody. I hope you like me, because we're going to be spending a lot of time together."
Doctor Bailey reappeared in the doorway as if on cue. "Miss Dawes? You have a visitor. Mr Harvey Dent is here to see you."
"I'll leave you to have a little chat with Dent," Montoya murmured as she followed Bailey from the room. "Have fun."
Rachel was left to stare blankly at the ceiling, awaiting Harvey's entrance.
Just as The Joker can take a deep breath and compose himself, he is faced with another threat. It seemed as though this night was never going to end for the Clown Prince of Crime. But make no mistake, he loved every minute of it. He wouldn't have blown up the police station if he didn't!
After abandoning my pursuit of the burglar, I turn my attention back to The Joker. He's a madman in every sense of the word.
My head snaps as I hear sirens off in the distance, it's not just one car, it's many partol cars accompained by the thump of a helicopter. I run across the roof top, my cape becomes rigid as I fly towards the sirens.
The helicopter's explosive demise blinds me for a second. I quickly recover and shoot leap off the building, gliding towards The Joker's vehicle.
I thump hard against the armored car's roof and almost roll off the truck before catching myself on a safety bar. I quickly pull myself up and crawl across the rooftop, heading towards the car's driver.
Just as The Joker can take a deep breath and compose himself, he is faced with another threat. It seemed as though this night was never going to end for the Clown Prince of Crime. But make no mistake, he loved every minute of it. He wouldn't have blown up the police station if he didn't!
As soon as The Joker sees Batman leaning down over the windshield, his heart suddenly skips a beat. Finally! A chance to rid Gotham of one of its worst idealists! The Joker stealthily opens his glove compartment again and retrieves his M16.
"Hello, Batman," The Joker greets his assailant. "Why so serious?"
And in the next split-second, The Joker opens fire on the shadowy figure perched atop the Jokermobile. Batman's reflexes are impressive as he manages to escape from the bullets' paths. Nonetheless, The Joker continues to put holes in the roof of the van in an effort to hit the Batman. When the gun suddenly clicks as its clip is emptied, The Joker tosses it aside and slams the brake.
Batman is flung into the street. As he is recovering, The Joker opens the steel grate and commands, "No one, under any circumstances, will come outside and engage the Batman. This is my fight."
And so The Joker exited his vehicle, slamming the door on the way out. Then, to display his prowess, the madman pulled out a knife and effortlessly tossed it from one hand to the other.
"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of being formally introduced."
As the Batman makes his attack, The Joker counteracts accordingly. With his right hand, he deflects one shuriken with his knife. Meanwhile, he slinks his body into a position so that the second shuriken narrowly slips past.
As the Batman makes his attack, The Joker counteracts accordingly. With his right hand, he deflects one shuriken with his knife. Meanwhile, he slinks his body into a position so that the second shuriken narrowly slips past.
"Now, was that nice?" The Joker asks in a mockingly reprimanding tone.
The Joker slings his knife at Batman. The attack, however, is merely a distraction as The Joker reaches for his belt and wraps his hand around a revolver.
"Batman, why don't you want to play with me?" The Joker calls out, forcing a childish pout. His grip on his revolver releases, and The Joker extends his arms in a Christ-like pose.
"Give it time, Bats," The Joker replies while wiping blood from his mouth. "You run around pretending to be a bat. Clearly, you're right on the cusp of insanity!"
The Joker literally breaks down into uncontrollable fits of laughter. He laughs so long and so hard that it seems as though he won't stop. Finally, he regains his composure and, while wiping a tear from his eye, states, "Hello? Kettle? This is the Pot. I just thought you should know that you're black!"
