**Disclaimer:: I do not own Batman, or any recognizable characters, artistic inventions, etcetera. Bob Cane drew it, Bill Finger wrote it, DC Comics published it, and Warner Brothers produced it. I am merely a boy with plot bunnies in his mind; all I own is a Batman shirt, Batman boxers, Dark Knight, Batman Forever, Batman and Robin, and bubble gum scented Batman body wash.**

**(::. .Meh. I am indifferent about the ending of this. I feel as though I should work on the ending paragraphs a bit, especially Bruce's introduction I got goin' on. Not really diggin' it. The length could also be improved; to me it just looks as if something was left out... Meh, I dunno…. Perhaps I'll work on that, perhaps I won't; although it's highly likely that I won't work on it. House of Cards belongs to Elton John. Not me. .::)**


I hear tell some playboy has kidnapped your heart

With his plane and his plans for games after dark.

Just a pain in his pocket, and the price of a room

Where the second hand sheets smell of stale perfume.

If there's sharks in the water, don't swim where it's deep,

For the taste of success can be bitter and sweet.

It could be you're right that I act like a child,

But you'll be the loser when the jokers run wild!

You're just playing the game, but the stakes are too high!

What will you do when the chips start to fly?

When the deck's stacked against you and the living gets hard,

Oh it's four walls of madness in this house of cards!

⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂ "Ungh—haah, h—harderrr," the painted man with green tinted hair slurred out as the black leather clad hand around his throat pressed him against the brick wall of the alleyway.

For once the owner of the hand actually gave into the purple-clad man's taunting, said man giggled fanatically until he started choking on himself and his vision became blotchy. Grasping onto the forearm of the hand attached to his neck and the fiercely growling man that came with it, he moaned. At least he tried to, that is. What came out was more of a gurgling noise, so instead of vocalizing how he felt he resorted to verbalize it by rolling the hard and slightly moist tent in his pants against his aggressor's firm abdomen. Just as his vision started going dark police sirens were heard round the bend, a block or two away.

Unable to afford getting caught and somehow detained by the Gotham City Police Department, identified, and locked away in Arkham Asylum for the rest of his life, the now disgusted oversized rodent unceremoniously dropped the clown and fled, only after nudging his foot none too gently against the seemingly unconscious man's arm.

What he hadn't noticed as he retreated to the Bat Cave, was the small tick on the under side of his forearm where the clown had grabbed him. Nor did he notice the glued on chip on the back of the tick with the sharpied-over, dull red, blinking light. If he had turned around be would've easily noticed the very conscious man slipping away down the other end of the alley, pulling what looked to be a GPS out of his purple suit jacket. On the top right hand corner of the device was a dull blinking red light.

Just as the Batman reached the Bat Cave just off the property of billionaire typhoon, playboy, industrialist, philanthropist, and owner of Wayne Enterprises, Bruce Wayne himself, the Joker squealed loudly, giggling out in vigor which both frightened and concerned his henchmen in the process.

He knew it!