Title: Everything Burns
Rating: T (for now, may increase later…)
Warnings: Mild language; Angst; Violence; Gore. Read at your own discretion. This isn't for children guys.
A/N: Thanks so much to all of the lovely reviewers! You guys are fantastic! Sorry for the wait. Been busy with midterms and all last week was insane. Plus, I was somewhat distracted by Torchwood and Dr. Owen Harper (*sobs*) so there's that ;)
But I'm back now. So, thanks again for the wonderful reviews and to everyone who's added this to favorites and alerts! You rock!
And now, back to the wonderful world of Batman and Criminal Minds XD
Chapter Three: Elementary, My Dear Henchmen
"Bingo! I've got his office, his cell and his home number."
Hotch smiled and shook his head, taking down the numbers. "Thanks, Garcia,"
"Anytime, boss man," she said perkily, turning back to her work as he left. Hotch glanced down at the number and headed briskly back to his office to call Gordon. One way or another, he was going to find out what the hell had happened to his agents. And then he was going to find the man responsible and make him wish he'd never been born.
Gordon hung up the phone and sighed, shaking his head as he made his way down the halls of Gotham General. It was just after midnight now and yet the city still seemed as awake as ever, just a different kind of awake. This time of night, most sane citizens were safely indoors, while the more questionable, criminal element went out prowling the streets, just hoping that they didn't run into Gotham's infamous Dark Knight.
He'd just gotten off the phone with Dr. Reid and Agent Morgan's supervisor, Aaron Hotchner. The other man had been on the verge of jumping on a plane that night to be in Gotham as quickly as he could, but Gordon had managed to talk him out of that, at least. Hotchner had offered the assistance of his entire team of agents, but Gordon turned him down. They didn't need more FBI agents running around in his city. He could handle this himself. Well, mostly himself.
He sighed heavily as he thought about his wife and children, probably still awake at home, wondering when he was going to get back. He'd called to let them know what was happening, but that had been hours ago. It was the one thing about his job that he hated.
He came to a stop outside of one of the patient's rooms and glanced toward a young nurse, "Excuse me," he walked over to her, "Is this Agent Morgan's room?"
She glanced up and consulted a chart in her hands for a moment before nodding, "Yes, Agent Derek Morgan, and a Dr. Newman. We've had to double up, unfortunately. We're over crowded after what happened today at Arkham."
He nodded, "Is he awake?"
"Um… He did wake up a couple of hours ago, sir, but it's after visiting hours and I think it's best if he-"
"I just need to ask him a few questions. I'll be quick," Gordon assured her, showing the young woman his badge. She bit her lip, looking unsure, but nodded slowly.
"Alright. Five minutes is all I can give you, and if he's gone back to sleep, he needs to rest."
Gordon nodded and quietly entered the room, feeling the nurse's anxious eyes hovering on him the entire time. He'd hoped to be able to speak to Dr. Reid as well, but he doubted he'd convince her to let him talk to both of them. Luckily, Morgan was awake when he gently closed the door behind him, though the other man in the bed next to him was not.
There was a bandage on the agent's temple, his arm was in a cast and sling and his dark eyes were slightly foggy. He slowly approached the bed, glancing over the doctor, who appeared to be in far worse shape than Agent Morgan did. As he stood beside the bed, Morgan's eyes slowly roved around to face him and he squinted.
"Commissioner," his voice was slightly strained as he forced himself to sit up a bit, "I was wondering when you'd show up."
Gordon eyed the man somberly for a moment, surprised at how alert Morgan seemed to be despite being pumped full of pain medication and laid up in a hospital bed. "You're a little worse for the wear," he noted.
Morgan smiled ruefully, shrugging and grimacing. "I'll be fine. I'll be out of here by tomorrow. They just wanted to monitor me overnight because of the concussion."
Gordon nodded, pursing his lips. "The Joker escaped,"
"I heard," Morgan sighed, "And before you ask, he didn't exactly give anything away." The FBI agent frowned, "He's been planning this for a while. He asked us what time it was when we were in there and knew when the bombs would go off; he's got to have someone on the inside."
Gordon had been afraid of that. That was the last thing they needed. More mistrust. "I'm already looking into all Arkham employee backgrounds. Most are coming up clean, after what happened with Crane they're more careful about who works there."
"Not careful enough," Morgan said, frowning thoughtfully. "Have you talked to Reid?"
"No," Gordon shook his head, "It's already past visiting hours, they probably won't let me. I did just talk to your boss, though. He's worried."
Morgan smirked, "Of course he is…" he hesitated for a moment, "We could help, you, Commissioner. Find the Joker, I mean. He's out there somewhere and the BAU could help you predict what his next move'll be."
"Thanks, but I think the Gotham police can handle this. He can't get too far; we've got the city blanketed."
Morgan frowned, "You call in your vigilante then?"
Gordon fought to keep his face neutral, but it was obvious from the agent's tone that he didn't approve of the Batman or his methods. "The Batman is a wanted felon," he stated simply. "Nothing more than that."
Morgan narrowed his glossy eyes and shook his head, "He's a criminal when you don't need him," he said, "But with the Joker on the loose, who's to stop you from using whatever resources you can?"
"Are you accusing me of something, Agent?"
"No, warning you. He might catch criminals for you, Gordon, but he's still a criminal himself. Not only that, a murderer. No one's above the law, not even your Batman."
Gordon's mustache bristled slightly and he met Derek's dark eyes, nodding stiffly, "And the Gotham police are working to find out his identity. Right now, the Joker is our priority and as I recall, we didn't ask for your help on either case."
Morgan tore his gaze away after a moment, "If you want our help finding the Joker, just ask. And talk to Reid. The Joker seemed to take an interest in him. I think he said something to him before he left…" he frowned, brows knitting together, "I can't remember what though."
Gordon nodded, "I'll do that. Good night, Agent."
Reid wasn't exactly sure what time it was that he'd fallen asleep. Nurses periodically came into the room to check up on him and his new roommate – the young Dr. Harleen Quinzel he'd met earlier at the Asylum – but they never said what time it was and there wasn't a clock in the room.
Harley had been unconscious, or in a drugged sleep, since they'd brought her in. She was a bit bruised and cut up, but still her wounds appeared relatively superficial, though he was certain she must've hit her head and the doctors were taking extra care with her right ankle, so he assumed it was sprained or broken. Because she was asleep and the nurses more often than not seemed intent on carrying on one-sided conversations about the Joker's escape and his own medical condition, Reid had quickly gotten bored.
He'd asked his doctor to call Hotch and tell him what had happened and ask him to call Gordon. He wasn't sure if he had or not, but he knew that Hotch would be worried and besides that, with the Joker out there, Gotham needed all the help they could get. He just hoped the Commissioner was willing to accept help from the BAU.
Eventually, he must've nodded off. Some combination of exhaustion and the drugs currently in his system. He was actually surprised to find out how very little he cared that the doctors had given him painkillers. The drugs were the least of his worries at the moment as he looked around the room with bleary eyes, wondering what time it was and how long it had been since he'd fallen asleep.
The sound of Harley's voice caused the young agent to turn his head sharply in the direction of her bed and he winced as piercing pain erupted from his chest. The doctor had said he'd be sore, but well enough to leave by the next day. He just hoped he'd be able to move by then…
"I thought you'd never wake up; it's been hours," the young woman was sitting up in her bed, an old magazine plopped across her knees, her right leg elevated slightly on a pillow and wrapped tightly with bandages and what Reid thought might be an icepack.
He rubbed his temple, nodded, "Dr. Quinzel, right?"
She smiled, and despite the rather nasty bruise forming on her temple, or her busted and swollen lip, she was still quite beautiful. "I told you that you can call me Harley, Dr. Reid."
He held off a grimace and nodded, "Then you can call me Spencer," he said. "How long was I unconscious?"
"I'm not sure, at least two hours. You were out when I woke up anyway," she flipped the magazine closed and shifted her weight on the bed, wincing and screwing her eyes up briefly. "Have you heard what happened yet?"
There was an anxious light in her wide blue eyes as she stared right at him and he shrugged, not sure whether she was referring to the Joker's escape, or something that had happened since he'd been unconscious.
"About the Joker?" she elaborated. "He escaped…"
Reid nodded, "Along with five others, yes," he said, "It was on the TV earlier." He glanced up at the now dark television that was hanging from the ceiling and frowned to himself. Six escaped Arkham inmates was the last thing that Gotham City needed. Especially when one of those inmates was the Joker.
"It's just terrible," she said, her blue eyes darting toward the hospital room door. "…When the first bomb went off I thought 'This is it. I'm about to die' and Dr. McGuire grabbed me and pushed me under the table..."
She trailed off for a moment and her eyes shot back to Reid's. "He nearly lost his arm because of that…"
Reid swallowed roughly. He silently berated himself for not thinking about that sooner. People must've died in that explosion. How many lives had the Joker already taken and he hadn't even thought to consider that? He'd been too worried about himself to think about the families who'd lost someone in that blast.
Harley was still talking and Reid tried to stay focused on her words, "Of course, we should've seen this coming sooner or later," she said.
Reid frowned, "What?" he asked.
"The Joker escaping," Harley said, turning again so that she was facing him properly. "A cell can't hold a man like that for long. He's brilliant, really. I've only had a few sessions with him, only a couple alone, but you must've noticed it yourself, Spencer. He's a genius." Her eyes were starry for a moment and then she shook her head, seeming to snap back to reality.
"And he's devious and inventive. Of course he'd find a way to escape. It's not that shocking when you think about it, is it?"
Reid slowly nodded in agreement. No, of course it wasn't surprising. He'd only spoken to the man twice, but the fact that he'd engineered an escape wasn't surprising in the least. What was surprising, in all honesty, was that they hadn't been prepared for it, that no one had thought he'd attempt anything at all. It had been nearly six months since the Joker's placement in Arkham, without a single escape attempt, so it was only logical that it'd happen eventually.
"You've had private sessions with him?" Reid asked suddenly, cutting the rest of Harley's speech off.
She stopped for a second, nodding. "Just a couple, really," she said, "I only just graduated, but Dr. Cole used to be the Joker's regular psychiatrist until she just refused to speak to him again, then Dr. McGuire took over and I'm interning under him. He's been talking about dropping more patients and trying to get the new director, Dr. Llewellyn, to take over the Joker from him, when I said I'd like to do it…"
She paused again, blushing faintly, "So for the last few months, Dr. McGuire's been training me, sort of, to take over for him…"
Reid nodded slowly. He remembered Gordon telling them that the Joker had been through several doctors already. He wondered briefly what it was that drove the doctors away, but realized it really didn't have to be much of anything. Just the way he looked at people creeped them out. Yet Harley clearly found him fascinating.
"Maybe we could compare notes," Reid suggested, "Try to figure out where the Joker is and what he's planning."
Harleys' eyes shone and she nodded, "We could do that," she smiled, "I'd love to help, any way I can, just name it."
Reid almost smiled at her eagerness. She was younger than he was, and far less experienced in dealing with people like the Joker, but she seemed bright enough and certainly willing enough. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly it was about the Joker that had her so captivated, but decided that he'd leave that for another time. At the moment, he was tired, sore and his head was killing him. He had enough to worry about without thinking about other things.
He gingerly laid his head back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling, listening as Harley quietly talked to him about the patients, mostly the Joker, and he occasionally supplied his own comments. He felt oddly at ease around the young woman and allowed her to do pretty much all the talking, listening as she spun tales of her college days and her first day at Arkham. It was restful, somehow, and he was able to let his mind wonder to more important things as he listened to her babble on.
Bruce grunted as he pulled a fresh shirt on over his bruised body. It had been a long night, just as Alfred had predicted. And it had started to rain, which hadn't been helpful in the least. He'd managed to catch two of the inmates, young, scrawny men, early on in the night, but the other four remained a bit more elusive.
The third inmate he'd caught was a huge man by anyone's standards, including his own, and the fight that had followed, in the rain, through narrow alleys and into an old storage shed, left him with a few new bruises and an intense dislike of baseball bats. Of course, he managed to subdue the man eventually and delivered him to Gotham PD, but then he'd had to run again because there was no telling who might spot him there and not all the cops were quite as forgiving as they might have been before.
It seemed as if most of them blamed him for Harvey Dent's death… Sometimes, he blamed himself for Harvey's death too. Other times, he blamed the Joker, but lately it was getting harder and harder to pin the blame on the clown when, looking back, there were so many things he could've done differently to stop the end from coming the way that it did.
There had been no sign of the Joker all night, which was a little disconcerting to say the least. Bruce had expected the Batman's presence to draw the madman out, as it had before. The Joker had clearly enjoyed his attention, but he was obviously busy elsewhere. And if the Joker was busy doing something, things were only just starting to get bad.
"Rough night, Master Wayne?"
Bruce's smile was a bit dark as he turned to face Alfred as the older man entered. "Not so bad," he said, shrugging and pretending that the movement didn't make him want to scream. That big bastard had really hit him hard with that bat last night. The armor had kept him from getting any broken ribs, but it certainly hadn't stopped him from bruising a couple.
Alfred's eyes twinkled a bit as he studied the younger man. He was lying, obviously, but still mostly intact and not bleeding this time, so he let it go with a nod and a worried glance at the back of his head as Bruce turned away from him.
"No sign of the Joker, then?"
Bruce sighed, slumping back down in his seat and turning keen eyes to the monitors in front of him. "None," he pressed his lips together, "But I'll find him, Alfred. And he'll be back in Arkham before anyone else dies."
Alfred admired Bruce's determination, but couldn't help but think he was being just a bit overly-optimistic in this circumstance. He changed the subject after a beat of silence, "Well, Mr. Rein called again last night, about the construction…"
Bruce sighed and ran his hand over his face tiredly. "Again?" he asked.
Alfred smiled, nodding. Rein was overseeing the reconstruction of Wayne Manor, had been, in fact, for the past seven or eight months. And every step of the way, there seem to be some issue which he needed Bruce's opinion on, calling and day and night. It was to the point Bruce was nearly ready to tell him Wayne Manor didn't need to be rebuilt. They were already behind schedule anyway, but it was so close to completion by now that all they were doing was the final things like flooring, lighting fixtures, bathroom tiles…
As soon as they were done, Bruce knew Alfred would call that interior decorator woman and he'd spend upwards of a hundred thousand dollars just furnishing his bedroom, but it would be worth it to be back in the Manor and not the penthouse. While the penthouse was more beneficial to his billionaire playboy persona, he much preferred not having to drive to get to what Alfred had taken to calling his 'Bat Cave'.
"There seems to be a problem with the cabinets in the kitchen," Alfred told him.
Bruce sighed and shook his head, "I'll call him later," he said, standing again, glancing down at his watch. "I'm supposed to be in a meeting with Lucius and the board in an hour…"
Alfred nodded genially, "Then you'd better get going, Sir. I'll tend to Mr. Rein for the moment… perhaps you could defer this to Mrs. Donnellson?"
Bruce smiled as he pulled his coat on and nodded, "Perfect, Alfred. Let her deal with him for a change,"
Alfred chuckled slightly, watching the young man leave and quietly following him out, trying not to pay too much attention to how stiffly the younger man was moving. Whatever had happened last night, it had certainly left him sporting a few new bruises. And he hadn't even met the Joker yet…
The Joker was pacing back and forth, muttering to himself while his men watched anxiously. If they'd thought he was scary in his white Arkham uniform and unpainted face, they were terrified now that he'd donned a purple suit with matching purple gloves and had somehow managed to both paint his face with that horrible, messy greasepaint smile and give his dirty blond hair a fresh coat of shimmering green dye.
He looked almost ethereal, swearing under his breath, twirling a knife between his gloved fingers, pacing inside what was an old fishing cargo warehouse by the docks. It had been empty for years and the Joker and his men, when he had men, called this place home more often than not.
None of them knew what the clown was planning, or whether or not he even had an actual plan at all. Some of them thought he just made it up as he went along, others figured he must be some kind of evil genius because his plans usually worked out exactly the way he said they would.
He'd been at it for hours, muttering swears and pacing. He'd hardly spoken to anyone except to insult them or threaten them. The seven men seated at the table quickly learned to keep their mouths shut.
They'd only just finished eating their breakfast when the Joker's mutterings suddenly ceased and the next thing they knew, he was standing right next to them at the dingy poker table they'd eaten off of.
His smile was all the more sinister with the red paint stretching across his scars.
"It's time to move, 'gents," he said, chuckling to himself. "We've got a lot of work to do before we bring Gotham to its knees…"
The men were quickly on their feet, leaving the dirty dishes on the table and grabbing their guns and masks and following him out to the beat up white van that had been their getaway vehicle the day before. The Joker stood, pursing his lips and shaking his head at it before he jumped into the passenger seat and the men quickly followed suit.
"Where are we going, boss?" the driver, the small man from the day before whose name was Daniel, though the Joker refused to call him that and instead referred to him as Gladstone for some reason none of them were sure of.
The Joker was smiling a wide, brilliant, terrible smile as he fondly ran his fingers over the silvery blade of the knife in his hands. "Where to?" he repeated, his dark eyes sparkling. "Where to? … How about the school."
"School?" a tall, beefy man leaned forward, not yet wearing his clown mask.
The Joker turned to eye him distastefully, "Yes," he hissed, "The school. Gotham Elementary. Now drive, Gladstone, drive!"
The small masked man nodded, quickly following the Joker's orders. He didn't know what the Joker wanted to do at an elementary school, but then again, the Joker only ever seemed to make sense to the Joker, so he supposed that wasn't so surprising as he pushed the accelerator down as far as it would go and drove.
"So that's it then?" Prentiss frowned, standing across from Hotch. Garcia, JJ and Rossi were gathered around her, looking at their boss in shock. "We aren't going to do anything about it?"
"There's nothing we can do without a formal invitation, Prentiss," Hotch sighed. He'd called the team in early this morning to let them know what had happened in Gotham and that Reid and Morgan were in good condition – supposed to be released later that day.
"But Reid and Morgan are already there," JJ said, "They're supposed to be doing the custodial, technically –"
Hotch shook his head, cutting her off, "Commissioner Gordon doesn't want our help in this," he said, "I tried to reason with him, but this isn't a federal case."
"We could claim the Joker's a terrorist," Rossi mused, "That would give us some jurisdictional pull."
Hotch shook his head, "I don't want to create tension where it's not needed. Gordon believes Gotham police can handle it and if he changes his mind, he knows how to reach us."
"They are okay, right?" Garcia asked. She was looking particularly pale despite her colorful dress and the large turquoise flower in her hair. Her eyes were wide and she was wringing her hands anxiously. "I mean, a bomb…"
"Reid and Morgan are fine. Morgan might be out of the field for a while with his arm broken, but I spoke to Reid this morning and they're being released this afternoon," Hotch assured her.
He could see how unhappy the others were about not being able to help on the Joker case. They'd all seen the case file, watched the news coverage and posited their own theories about who the man was and why he was doing what he was doing, but with no official invite, they'd let Gotham handle it.
Prentiss still remained stubborn, "Hotch, look what happened when he first started up! The only reason they caught him was because of that vigilante, Batman."
Hotch sighed. Of course they'd all heard the rumors that Gotham PD was actually worth with the Batman, but no one really seemed bothered by that fact until it became apparent that he wasn't quite as innocent as they'd thought he was when five people were killed - not counting Harvey Dent, whose death still remained a bit murky in the best of lights. Some people seemed to believe that Batman had killed him as well, but even Commissioner Gordon, who'd been there on the scene that night, couldn't say for sure what had transpired.
He stood from his desk, shaking his head, "Unless Gordon changes his mind, we'll just wait for Morgan and Reid to return. Now, you've all got plenty of paperwork to keep your busy. Garcia,"
"Sir?" the technical analyst blinked, standing a bit straighter. She was still wringing her hands and probably wouldn't stop being worried until she actually got to speak to Reid and Morgan and see them herself.
"Keep an eye on what's happening in Gotham," he ordered. "If the Commissioner changes his mind, I want to be up-to-date."
Reid couldn't help but be extremely relieved when he finally saw Morgan again. The older agent grinned and gave Reid a one-armed hug, being careful with his left arm, which hung in a sling, pulled tightly to his side.
They'd been released from the hospital with warnings about taking it easy and keeping painkillers on them because they'd be sore for a while to come. Morgan was just glad to finally be out of that hospital bed.
"Have a nice night, Pretty Boy?"
Reid made a face, "I hardly slept at all," he said, "I spent most of the night talking to Harley, actually."
"Harley?" Morgan raised a brow as they made their way to the parking lot where the Gotham police had left their bureau sanctioned SUV that morning.
Reid's face was tinged somewhat pink, "Dr. Quinzel, from yesterday?"
"Oooh," Morgan's grin widened as he went to the driver's seat and then stopped, making a face as Reid stepped in front of him and looked pointedly at his broken arm. The older man muttered under his breath and moved around to the passenger side.
"The pretty blond doctor," he mused, teasingly ruffling Reid's hair, "She liked you, Reid."
Reid frowned and fixed his hair, shooting his partner an annoyed glare. "She was just being friendly," he said defensively.
"Sure, Reid, sure," Morgan shifted, trying to get comfortable despite his aching ribs and sore… everything else.
"So what did she have to say then?" he asked, leaning forward and fiddling with the radio, "Anything about who might be the Joker's man inside?"
"No," Reid shook his head, "But she did have a few sessions with him and she said she'd be willing to go over her notes with us… She, uh, she's being released in a few hours and said she would call and we could meet up later tonight and talk about it."
Morgan raised a brow, "So you two are going to go out for dinner then?"
"No!" Reid's face was now a furious red color and he shook his head. "We're discussing the case, Morgan. Nothing else."
Morgan smiled, shaking his head and looking out the window, "Gordon doesn't want our help," he said suddenly.
"I know, I talked to Hotch a few hours ago. It does make sense, Morgan," Reid pointed out, glancing over at him, "I mean, the Joker is their problem as far as he's concerned and they let him escape. He doesn't want to look weak for asking outsiders to help."
Morgan frowned, "Maybe, but the Joker is more than just Gotham's problem. What happens if he decides to leave the city? What if he goes somewhere else? There are innocent lives at stake here, Reid."
Reid shook his head, "The Joker isn't leaving Gotham any time soon," he said confidently.
"You sound sure,"
"I am. This city is one of the most crime riddled cities in the country," he said, "Not to mention, they have something in Gotham that the Joker can't find anywhere else."
Morgan frowned, "And that would be?"
Morgan made a face, "Right, 'the Batman'," he snorted, "For all we know, they're working together."
Reid gave him and incredulous look before turning his eyes back to the traffic. "Come on, Morgan, even you don't believe that."
"Okay, maybe that's a little out-there," Morgan admitted, "But the Batman is still a criminal. No one is above the law,"
Reid frowned thoughtfully, "I think he's doing good here, Morgan. I mean, despite the Joker and everything. Batman's cleaned up this city a lot. There aren't nearly as many criminals as there used to be out here. Organized crime has taken a huge hit; they're crippled because of him."
"They're crippled because of people like Gordon and Harvey Dent," Morgan said, "Batman's a murderer, Reid,"
Reid pursed his lips, "I'm not sure I believe that," he said slowly, "It doesn't make sense for him to kill any of those people. He's never killed anyone before and he's had plenty of opportunity to do so. He didn't even kill the Joker and he could have."
Morgan shook his head, "He's a vigilante, Reid, you know how most of them profile. They put themselves above the law and take out the criminals by killing them."
"But the Batman hands them over, Morgan," Reid counted, "He hasn't ever handed Gotham police a corpse. So why kill those seemingly innocent – or not so innocent if you count Maroni – people? It doesn't make sense or fit his profile."
Morgan remained adamant, shaking his head. "Even if he's not a murderer - and all the facts say he is – he's still a criminal. No police department should allow a man like that run their city without any consequences. It's not right."
They sat outside of the school for several hours, the Joker watching the children and their parents and teachers and staff come and go and bustle around doing their jobs. None of his men were sure what he was waiting for, but at one thirty they heard a bell ringing and students and teachers flooded around, entering into the main building and the Joker grinned, sitting up, his back cracking several times from sitting in that stiff position for so long.
"Get ready, boys," he said, reaching into the back and snatching a rifle into his gloved hand. "The fun is about to start!" He laughed, a high pitched, giddy laugh that sent shivers down the men's spines. They never wanted to be on the wrong end of a laugh like that. The only thing scarier than the Joker laughing, was the Joker angry.
They sat in silence for a minute or two more until the bustle died down and the Joker threw his door open, jerkily motioning for the men to follow him as they crossed the street. There were two men in police uniforms standing guard by the school's gates.
The Joker laughed loudly, and the men turned around, eyes going wide, faces draining of blood as they opened their mouths to scream and reached for their radios at their hips.
They never got the chance when the Joker lifted his rifle and fired two concentrated blasts right at them, leaving them both dead, riddled with bullet holes, on the ground. The clown's eyes sang of madness as he skipped through the gates and the men followed him right into the school where he shot the old receptionist who tried to grab the phone and call 911.
The small army marched down the hall and came to a halt outside of two large double doors marked 'Auditorium'.
"What are we doing, Boss?" the beefy man, whose nickname, for obvious reasons, was Bulldog, asked.
The Joker grinned and turned to him with that wide, insane grin, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Today, gentlemen, this school is having the 'Say No to Drugs' talk. All the little kiddies and their teachers all gathered inside to discuss the dangers of strangers with candy! And I think… I think they need a more… in-ter-est-ing lesson!"
He clapped his hands together, spun the rifle in his hands and viciously kicked the door in, grinning like the Cheshire cat as he stepped inside and pointed the gun toward the ceiling, letting a hail of bullets loose with a deranged giggle.
As screams filled the room, the Joker bellowed over the uproar, laughing as he sauntered further inside.
"Hell-oh, kiddies!" he greeted them, holding the gun threateningly in his hands. "Have we all been good boys and girls?"
A/N: So… Yeah… There's chapter three. Not really sure what to say about it, honestly. Slightly nervous… And really not sure about the title. It's kind of 'Punny' … I think I've been reading too much Sherlock Holmes.
Hope you guys enjoyed it! Please review!