the black raven | THE MIND IS A TORTUROUS PLACE

□ jason □

He's still here. It's the only reason I came back to Gotham.

To fucking kill him.

He fucked me up royally, after beating me to death with a fucking crowbar.

And so my only reason to be here is to kill him. Kidnapping Tim was just something to kill the time as I waited for more ammunition from a friend, but also because I wanted to see if the other guy would show.

If Batman cared enough to save him. I guess he did. Either he learned his lesson or he just didn't give a goddamned shit about my life.

I'm betting on the second option.

That's why I stepped in, after following the girl and her killer. Well, used to be my son of a bitch killer anyways.

But I followed them and watched Batman show up. To save another person he cares for. To make matters even fucking better, he brought the goddamned cavalry with him. And then he ran away, with the girl.

Leaving him and he Bat all alone, while I watched from a distance.

And then I waited for just a second, before I pulled out a modified version of an M1911 pistol, and started to shoot. Not at Batman -- ok, maybe a couple shots his way -- but mostly at my target; the Prince of fucking Crime himself.

I got him a couple of times, and then I dropped down from where I watched, going in for the kill. Well, not the kill, but enough so that I could grab him away from the Bat's reaches.

He doesn't need him. He won't do jack-fucking-shit to him; not with this 'morality code' he's got going on.

So that's why two shots to the ribcage, three to the arms each, and one to the back of the knees let me do what I needed to do.

Grab the clown and disappear.

I know a few bullets raddled off of Batman's armor, so I had a little satisfaction in that.

But at that moment, I wasn't paying attention to him; I had the Joker a foot away from me, my arm swinging for his head, and I knew I would get another shot at him, at the Batman I mean.

And then, with the singular punch to the back of his head, I saw the Joker's body drop to the cement.

I know, I know, that much raw strength into a singular punch? I'm ripped that's for sure, but hey, I've had two years to perfect all of this.

And it paid off, as he didn't move an inch, not until I lifted grabbed his ankle and dragged him off, knowing that Batman was watching the whole scene unfold.

I knew he didn't know whether or not I was here to help him or kill him, since I kidnapped and drugged his son, yet shot up the Joker who held his daughter at knifepoint just a few minutes ago.

And he let me go, for those reasons only. And I honestly don't give a shit. I know I'll give (at least) a quarter of shit later when I get my rounds with him.

I've got a grudge with him, as does he with me. It's just a matter of time now, before I act on mine, having his mistakes weigh less than the price I paid.

But right now, in the present moment, I get to have some fucking fun. Not him, not the Joker, me. He doesn't get to have fun, because I've got him hooked up to the Rack.

His ankles are fastened to chains on one end of the raised stainless steel platform, his wrists chained to the other end. Both chains end up in rollers, of which all I have to do to turn on is flip a switch, and BOOM.

The Joker's body will be stretched like a fucking fruit roll-up. I've still got three more torture methods lined up, each one more fucked than the last.

"Aah, the good old Rack!"

"Shut the fuck up," I'm not taking any of his bullshit.

"Oooh, such a pricky prickly bear today, Jason?" the Joker cooes, separating each word to make them stand out.

I roll my eyes, pushing the Rack upwards so that the Joker's face is tilted downwards, while his lower half is upwards.

Why not throw in a little dizziness and nausea while we're at it, yeah?

A person can only go for so long upside down, let alone being stretched to maximum capacity before their limbs are ripped off, with multiple gunshot wounds.

But hey, who's counting?

"Do you think this is going to hurt?" I ask him, stepping around to go and crouch down to eye level with him. He stares straight into my mask, practically staring into my goddamned soul.

It's fucking creepy. But then again he's a clown, so what should I expect.

"Yes, I do,"

"Good."

And then, standing up and walking to the machine's control panel, I grip the lever and yank it down hard.

Immediately he groans, and I hear the chains unsteadily clink against one another, and I swear I hear something pop.

It didn't come from the machine is my hunch, and the Joker only fuels it. He laughs, probably from the pain, and I see something odd.

His foot -- somethings sticking out of it.

A bone against the skin.

Oh would you look at that, the Rack's working.

As his laughs grow louder, his body growing in length, a smile settles over my face that's hidden behind the mask. And it won't go away, it just stays stuck to my face, and then my eyes crinkle with it.

I walk and crouch to the place I was before, taking a good look at the Joker's face.

His eyes squeezed shut, his unruly smile a mile wide, eyebrows arched -- or dropped in my perspective.

He opens his eyes, almost glowing neon green. I tilt my head.

"Enjoying the view?" I ask, completely serious. He laughs a short chuckle this time. Then his smile fades.

"Are you, Jason?"

□ mara □

I'm still sitting on the glossy stairs long after Dick's left. It's probably been a good forty-five minutes of just sitting here, thinking about my life.

How my decisions fucked it up with the people I care for most, how guilty I feel about that, and how I should express that.

It wracks my brain until it fries, and I'm left with the fact that the only way I can fix this is by going back down and talking to them.

And then learning for myself how to defend me. Aka, taking up Bruce's offer.

Which means talking to Bruce.

But do I want to right now? I mean, he seemed over the top pissed down there, and I don't think however long I've been up here for is enough time for him to cool down.

I stand, take a deep breath, and decide to just go sit outside for God's sake.

I mean yeah, it's probably dangerous to just sit out there, but I'd rather do that than try and go upstairs and have whatever happened to me happen again, or go downstairs and face Bruce's wrath.

So, I listen to my head and sit down on the stairs, shutting the door behind me. I know and keep it unlocked if I need to go back inside.

And then I sit there, settling into the concrete, listening to the wind in the trees and the crickets in the grass, amongst other Gotham city sounds from a couple of miles away.

I smile, for no reason at all. I just do.

And it freaks me out, after my fit of anger from before can suddenly vanish and a smile creep so quickly onto my face.

But it doesn't stay there for long.

Of course, it doesn't, I'm a goddamned Wayne. I live in Gotham, the city I like to call the 'Queen of Crime'.

It vanishes as I gasp, jumping up, my body startled and on high alert.

A tap on my shoulder forced me to turn around, but it was none of my family members facing me.

It's a little girl.