I remember the night well.

I hadn't been expecting anything to happen, despite the fact that I had never been to Gotham City before. I knew about the villains of the city; I knew about Catwoman, the Penguin, the Riddler, Mr. Freeze, and Poison Ivy. I knew enough to know how dangerous the city was. I wasn't afraid.

I thought it was just the place for me. I loved to be in danger; I knew how to handle it. Danger was my middle name.

Being in Gotham was like being home. I didn't think of it as anything else…

I sat on the curb, glancing at my watch. It was nearly midnight…time to get to work.

I stood up, shouldering my backpack and starting down the road. The streets of Gotham were empty and quiet. The summer breeze whipped through my red hair, which I took and pulled back into a ponytail - I didn't want it in my face while I worked.

I hadn't gone far down the road when I heard the sound of squealing tires and the rumbling of a straining motorcycle.

I glanced over my shoulder in time to see a car come around the corner at high speed, nearly tipping over. I stopped; I liked this kind of action, only seeing it but never being in it.

A motorcycle of some kind came flying around the corner after the car. Looking at it, I recognized it from the news stories I've researched before I moved to Gotham as the Batman's pod-thing. Who was he chasing this time? It had to be either the Penguin or the Riddler, though I doubted both.

I watched the car, watching as a man stuck his head out. He was shouting something at Batman, encouraging him? The man didn't sound angry at Batman; he sounded…glad that Batman was chasing him.

The man turned his head, and I swear; we made eye-contact for nothing more than a second. My heart stopped beating for that one second. The man wasn't anyone I could think of off the top of my head. For that one second, I was sure that I knew him, but I couldn't seem to remember who he was.

After that second, he was gone, flying down the road with Batman chasing after him.

I suddenly wasn't in the mood to perform my work that night. I turned and headed back to my apartment. My head ached for some reason as I entered my apartment, turning on the light as I pulled out my hair elastic, letting my hair hang slightly past my shoulders.

Dropping my backpack at the door, I went to the kitchen to get some ice water, which I used the glass to press against my forehead. It eased the pain of the growing headache. With the cold glass still against my forehead, I walked into my bedroom and sat down at my desk, opening my laptop.

I didn't feel tired; I often wasn't. I can't really say that I'm a normal person; I can function as well as a normal person who sleeps eight to ten hours, except I only get two hours, and those are usually during the day. I was born a night person. That was why I chose the job that I did.

A supernatural criminal, that's what I call myself. Ever since I was twelve, that was what I did. I grew up with a normal family, loving parents, a little brother…until they were murdered. I wasn't there when it happened, but I did go out for revenge. At age thirteen, I had managed to establish a criminal life for myself with nothing better to do. What was I supposed to do? No family, no friends, no education…I had been nothing more than a shadow in school, following people I thought were close enough to be people to talked to; I wasn't a friend-maker, nothing more than a loner.

With my laptop set up, I put the cold glass down on the desk and checked for news of another criminal in Gotham. Surely I would recognize that man I had seen when I saw him on the news. Why I couldn't time of his name, I don't know.

I didn't have time to react.

Someone came up behind me and grabbed me, covering my mouth before I could scream…like I was one to scream for help. As I was yanked out of my chair, I used my still free hands to grab the person's head, groping for his neck. Gripping it, I clenched it. In return, that was what he did to me…except he was the unfortunate one.

I finished my fall backwards by throwing my legs over him, coming around to get on him like a piggy-back. The twist backwards caused him to loosen his grip on my neck, and I released his, using one hand to yank a hunk of his hair. He cried out in pain, and seconds later, I had him on the ground, one hand pressing into his back, holding an arm behind him while the other pushed on the back of his neck.

That was when I felt a cold blade touch my neck.

I stopped, breathing softly like nothing had happened. I felt a rough hand grab my arm, and I was pulled to my feet. The person spun me around, and in the light, I was surprised to see who it was.

Now, I knew who I had seen in the speeding car, but it caused me to wonder how in the world he had gotten out that fast as to get to my apartment only minutes after me.

He stood before me, one of his switchblades pressed against my throat. I looked up at him, calmly taking in his features. He wore smudged makeup which only proved that he was out, working as the terrorist criminal that he was. His face was white with coal black makeup surrounding his dark eyes. His scarred mouth was red, and his stringy hair had been spray painted green. He wore his signature purple jacket, and with that, and his scars, I knew who he was.

The Joker.