Chapter 1

They were a group of nine, each collected due to the nature of their professions. Two kindergarten teachers, a nonprofit organizer, a veterinarian, the equally giving son of a philanthropist, an award-winning librarian only two days away from retirement, a sign language instructor, a counselor at a veteran PTSD service, and herself, Celine, the designer of an app allowing suicidal persons to interact anonymously with licensed mental health practitioners.

All professions shared the commonality of selflessly serving the public, thus making their kidnapping at the hands of the Joker that much more appalling when word of their taking reached the news circuit.

Snatched at various locations, they were individually deposited into the basement of a crumbling church on the outskirts of Gotham City. Worn, yellow tape around the building cautioned any bystander from entering, though the city never actually got around to demolishing it; leaving it to sit all but forgotten near a patch of woods not unused to being the dumping ground for eye witnesses to nefarious dealings.

The basement was spacious, but dusty beyond belief, and by a few sniffs that made her nose hairs tingle, Celine suspected asbestos to be present. Each of their wrists were latched together securely by rope, and only when they were tossed into the basement were the black sacks removed from their heads.

The librarian couldn't hold back her soft sobbing, nor could the the kindergarten teachers nor the nonprofit organizer. Everyone else sat in a befuddled sort of state, soaking in the surrealness of their situation. Celine meditated with eyes closed; just able to regain a semblance of inner calm when the door leading up the stairs, swung open.

Someone scooted into her, but she didn't mind it, understanding how terrifying and disorienting of a plight they were in. A handful of awful scenarios sped through her head, but she didn't allow herself to linger on any of them. It would only heighten her anxiety and cloud her mind. If they had any hope of making it out alive, she needed to keep her cool.

Half a dozen of armed men stomped down the stairs, each looking every bit as terrifying as the last beneath the dim, amber lighting. They were followed by what sounded like someone skipping down the stairs while humming out of tune a cartoon series Celine had watched as a child but couldn't for the life of her remember the name of.

"Whyyy hellooo boys and girls, sorry to have kept you all waiting."

Every hostage knew exactly who the voice belonged to, and only when he managed to illuminate himself at the bottom of the steps did the panic set in. Strangled sobbing was resumed, and the young man at Celine's side buried himself closer into her, barely able to meet Joker's scour of the occupants.

"I uh, I bet you're all wondering why I've gathered you here."

No one dared speak. Celine studied the Joker, and then his henchmen. They were stiff with tension, eying their boss carefully. She guessed even they were afraid of him. She wondered if there wasn't a person alive who didn't hold some form of unease towards him.

"Simple really...Commissioner Gordon of the noble GPD has uh...someone I want in custody. And after leaving him a riveting, heartfelt letter, he just couldn't be swayed. Which is where you all come in."

Someone stifled a gasp, causing the Joker's lips to peel back into a menacing grin.

"Beginning tonight," he strolled forward, catching the gaze of the veterinarian who eyed him warily, "for every day that passes and my uh...compadre isn't returned to me, I will publicly execute one of you fine folk. Nothing personal."

He took the time to examine each of them. Celine kept hers eye-level with his chest. She'd been told before that when she really focused on something, her silver-cobalt gaze could get a little bit intense. She certainly didn't want to attract attention or potentially set him off. Though not a meek person by nature, she was self-aware enough to know when to turn off her brain so as to not draw attention.

He thankfully skimmed over her, continuing his speech.

"You are all the unsung heroes of Gotham City, instrumental in aiding the young and traumatized." He gave them a round of applause that echoed throughout the room. She couldn't tell if it was sarcastic or not. "And I uh can only hope Commissioner Gordon sees this too. Otherwise..."

In the blink of an eye he whipped out a pistol, aimed it at the veterinarian's head, and pulled the trigger.

It clicked, but no bullet emerged.

This was enough to finally compromise the veterinarian. Tears trickled out of the corners of her eyelids. She shook, shrinking further into herself.

"Gotcha!" he giggled, pocketing the pistol. "I've ah-sent out a video to the dear commissioner, imploring him to see reason. Come tomorrow night and uh...well...I s'ppose we'll see what happens!"

The inflections with which he spoke intrigued Celine just as much as they unnerved her. She figured that might have been the point. From what she read in articles of his misdeeds, he relished in being unpredictable. Was it too out of the realm of possibility that even if Commissioner Gordon agreed to release whoever it is he needed, Joker would still execute them regardless? How much of a man of his word was he?

Well, she thought, like he said we'll just have to find out.

Two of his thugs stayed behind while the rest stormed up the stairs and locked the door.

No one in the basement spoke. No one dared look at one another. Looking meant taking each other in. Familiarization. And if tomorrow proved not to go in the Joker's favor, someone among the group would meet a grisly end.

For as compassionate as every nine of the persons were, they had a habit of attaching themselves deeply to others. It was best, they each figured, to maintain distance. In the end, it would only hurt worse if they knew each other better.

So, they lost themselves to their own musings and worries in the heavy, uncomfortable silence of what was formerly St. Genevieve's Parish.

x_X_x_X_x

"Can't thank ya enough boss. Ya really saved my hide," Morris said, roughly patting Joker's shoulder. "Shoulda given me a couple more hours, nearly had the ingredients to blow that place to kingdom come."

Joker accepted the pat only because of who the individual was.

Commissioner Gordon was, after a little nudging, able to be reasoned with. Within eighteen hours, Morris Grant – his most skilled and dexterous bomb maker – was returned to him, untouched and in high spirits.

"Next time you're stupid enough to get caught," Joker warned, slipping a sharp blade to the throbbing tendons in his neck. "I won't be so forgiving. Got it?"

Morris remembered his place immediately. Was it bad that a part of him momentarily longed for the jail cell he'd been sheltered in? Though he respected his boss's tenacity and imagination, he feared him just as much.

So long's I got something to offer him that no one else can, I'm safe, he thought.

"Got it," Morris breathed out, relieved when the blade finally disappeared. "I ah I hear from Ricky you kidnapped a group of people in my honor. That's awful kind of you."

Joker shrugged, smirking slightly.

"No need to thank me, it was my pleasure."

Speaking of, Joker had almost forgotten about the group of nine in the basement. It was getting late into the evening and they were no doubt on the edge of their seats, wondering if Commissioner Gordon had signed their executions or not.

It made the Joker...giddy with anticipation. He wouldn't kill them as he had promised...he needed to keep his word every now and again so as to guarantee exchanges like this. If he killed his hostages regardless of getting his demands, no one would ever play ball with him again.

But that didn't mean he couldn't indulge in his own bit of fun before turning the do-gooders over.

With a pep in his step, Joker ambled to the basement door.

Celine recognized immediately when Joker's footsteps bounced down the steps. She tensed briefly, then worked on her breathing.

I have no control over this, she reaffirmed. I have no control and that's okay. Life is fleeting and I have done the best I could in the time I've had. Death is only the next stage. The physical body dies, but the soul transcends.

Not everyone was as accepting as she was.

Immediately, everyone tried worming as far as possible from the maniacal clown; some shuddering, others tearing up, someone mumbling a prayer under their breath.

It gutted Celine. What right did the Joker have plucking them out of their lives just to meet his own agenda? Why were genuinely good people being punished for trying to make Gotham a better place? She hadn't indulged in it often, but impulse egged her to set the man straight. Make him think a little, or better yet, hit him hard enough to knock some sense into him.

"I uh...hate to be the bearer of bad news..."

"No," the man still tucked into her, whimpered into her neck.

Though no one else had spoken throughout the day, Celine eventually crumbled and exchanged whispers with the philanthropist's son – Wesley – squeezed into her side. He was just shy of twenty-two years of age and they had passed the time telling each other their bucket list goals. His included traveling to the rest of the six continents, meeting the Dalai Lama (one of her goals too), finding a way to redistribute the way Gotham City was fed as people going hungry each night pained him greatly, and opening up a local academy for orphaned children that not only taught them a myriad of subjects and skills, but aided them after graduation in securing stable jobs.

She instinctively felt protective of him, like an older sister would a younger brother.

Which is why the Joker's next words were so jarring.

"Commissioner Gordon has uh elected not to heed my offer. Such a shame. You folks really strike me as the best Gotham's got to offer. I daresay...your deaths might even cause me to shed a tear." He wiped at his eye, dramatics on full display, nearly causing Celine to roll her eyes. "But alas, a lamb must be sacrificed. And...who...might...it...be..." His voice cleared as he began to sing in a high-pitched tone, peering first at the kindergarten teachers. "My mother and your mother were at the store, your mother punched my mother in the nose. What color was the blood?" He circled around, finger pointing at each person. "P-U-R-P-L-E was the color of the uh...blood."

Celine froze as Joker's finger landed on Wesley, who trembled even further into her hold.

"Welp, c'mon fella. No time like now t'a-."

"No."

She hadn't even realized it left her mouth. And apparently neither did Joker as he did a double-take.

"If you're going to execute someone," Celine said with all the ease of discussing the weather, "make it me."

Wesley's arms instinctively tightened around her own.

"Please no," he whispered.

"It's okay," she murmured back.

Joker stared between the two.

"Make it me," she reiterated. "I'm older, I have no family, and I've lived a decade more than he has. It only makes sense."

After a few seconds, he shrugged.

"If you uh insist."

Wesley's grasp weighed her down, but Celine shook herself free of it. Or rather, the two henchmen still standing guard in the basement, yanked her free of it.

They pushed her, causing her to stumble forth. To everyone's surprise, Joker caught her by the upper arms, tugging her upward. They stared at each other for a moment, her bound hands hovering above his chest.

He devoured her with his gaze, but it was less sexual and more analytical. Like he was trying to pry into her mind and soul. She should have been startled by the intrusion, but instead, found herself mirroring the action; peering past the dark brown irises, wondering what churned beneath.

Strong self-beliefs. Slight delusion. Entitlement. Self-perseverance at all cost. Semi-lunacy. Trauma. Apathy. Self-awareness. Nihilism.

She tried taking a step back, somewhat overwhelmed by the weight of these observations. But Joker didn't budge his grip an inch, seemingly in a trance as he continued inspecting her. She wondered what he was able to detect. She considered herself a straightforward person, so it couldn't have been much to marvel at. Her nature was the complete antithesis of his.

In the blink of an eye, a knife was pinching into her throat. She flinched, but made no move to cower or cry, maintaining eye contact with him.

"Don't ya uh know it's rude to stare?"

He cocked his head, bathing his scars with his tongue.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, dropping her stare.

The knife slipped beneath her chin and lifted, forcing her eyes back up.

"Is it the scars? You can tell me sweets, I won't uh execute ya for it. That'll come later."

He leaned his head back and cackled at his own joke.

She answered only when his laughter tapered off.

"The physical body is only a vessel," she told him quietly. "It's the presence within the vessel that holds my interest. I'm not looking at your scars, I'm looking at you."

His jaw slacked at this. She got the feeling this wasn't what he expected her to answer with.

Joker retracted the knife and flung her unceremoniously towards the steps. This time, no one was there to catch her. She had seconds to break her fall with bound hands; and she did, though her knee caps struck the edge of the stairs in a way that momentarily made her lose all the air in her lungs.

She felt his presence behind her, and then a sharp smack to her butt.

"Up and at 'em, can't keep the dear commissioner waiting."

Celine pushed herself up, expecting him to rush the stairway in front of her. But he continued to loom behind her, the hand that had slapped her lingering at the base of her spine. Her legs, despite throbbing something fierce, slowly but surely ascended the steps.

The main floor of the church housed dust-coated pews and nailed to the stage was a life size replica of a crucified Jesus Christ, expression bloodied and set in agony. Some of the roof had collapsed in and when Celine gazed up, she noticed a few stars twinkling back at her. The stars, the full moon, and a few eye-watering lanterns were the only sources of light.

Despite her unnerving situation, she couldn't keep her eyes from roaming around. She noticed a folded-out chair sitting in front of a camcorder on a tripod near the altar. She noticed Joker had many more henchmen in his service than the basement had led her to believe. She counted at least fifteen, and she'd have let her eyes continue to wander, but they refused to budge upon landing on a dark-haired man with a streak of silver running through his greasy pompadour. She knew that face. And its familiarity forced her feet to grind to a halt, causing the Joker to run into her.

A pair of hands settled on her waist to regain balance. They didn't remove themselves.

"There uh, a reason ya stopped? Or did ya just want an excuse to feel me closer?"

His laughter ricocheted through the empty church. None of his henchmen joined in.

Celine continued staring. The recipient of her stare lowered his gaze, staring resolutely at the floor. He wasn't but twenty feet from her, and she had to fight the urge to tip toe closer to him.

"You're Aesop Gogola," she blurted when the last of the Joker's laugh seeped out.

His shoulders rose and stiffened.

"You owned the art gallery on Simmons Street. You showcased a lot of your original work too."

No one spoke. Aesop continued glaring at the floor.

"Do you remember me at all?" She finally took a step toward him, Joker's hands slipping from her waist. "I used to come in all the time. Your piece...A Summer in Purgatory...that was my favorite one. Do you still have it? I meant to ask if it was for sale, but you closed and never opened back up."

She frowned when he continued ignoring her. Was he refusing to answer because of his boss or because he was embarrassed at being noticed?

"Well?" Joker's voice tore through the silence. "Aren't ya gonna answer the poor girl, Ace? She's about to get her brains blown out. Least ya could do is indulge her."

Aesop lifted his head and met her eyes. She suspected he wanted to do anything but engage with her. However, one glance at Joker and he was rolling back his shoulders, straightening a little bit.

"Yes, that was my gallery."

He re-scanned her, tilting his head slightly. His eyes were a depth-defying hazel. She had a difficult time not losing herself in them.

"You-." Aesop ventured a step closer to study her better. "I remember you."

She was pleasantly surprised.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I was tempted to call the police on you a few times. You'd just stare at that piece for hours. I thought there was something wrong with you."

Startled, Celine chortled, holding a palm to her quivering chest.

"I'm sorry," she said, biting her lip. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just that...that piece really got to me. A lot of times I felt like I entered a hypnotic state."

Her acclaim was slowly but surely easing Aesop. Enough for him to take another step forward and lower his semi-automatic to his hip.

"I noticed you crying a few times," he said. "What were you thinking about?"

Though he'd abandoned painting long ago, the artist in him couldn't help but gravitate towards her. She was like a connection to the past. A connection to when things looked like they would work out for him. Similarly, who didn't like to meet someone appreciative of their work?

"I uh," she hesitated, fingers drumming against each other, "I thought about a lot of things. Paintings usually don't do anything for me. I skim over them more often than not. My interest is a fickle thing. Difficult to gain, but once it's yours, it's yours forever."

Aesop tried to fight his smile, but it was giving him a run for its money.

"A Summer in Purgatory grabbed me immediately. The first time I saw it I thought about this casino in the Midwest my aunt and uncle took me to. It was one of the saddest places I'd ever been. No one but the elderly were there. They all sat glued to slot machines or smoking up a storm at the bar. You knew they were burning through their social security checks, hoping they could strike it big. I'd never seen so many people on auto-pilot before. It made me think that if I was the Devil, that's exactly where I'd set up shop. My clientele would be endless. People wishing to relive their youth, wishing they had bodies that made them feel invincible, wishing they had more time, wishing the cancer wasn't spreading. The first time I saw your piece, purgatory on Earth is exactly what I thought of."

He was transfixed by the answer, as were a growing number of persons in the room. Some of the henchmen – while not the brightest in the bunch – couldn't help but feel enamored with the certainty the woman spoke with. And be amazed that she could be so open when her death was on the horizon.

"The second time I looked at it," she followed up, "I thought about my cousin Lauren. I thought about how much I had hurt her when I was young because I was hurting too and needed an outlet for that pain. Nothing physical, but I wasn't very kind with my words, and I took advantage of her friendship, thinking she would always be there. That was one of the times you probably found me crying. She doesn't talk to me anymore, and with good reason. But I miss her, and I wish I could turn back the clock and just be...different than I was."

Aesop nodded along. Years later and her crying finally made sense. He was glad he hadn't given in to his staff's urging to call the police.

"The next few times I saw it I thought about all sorts of things. I thought about the Snow White play I was in and how I dunked the clothes of the actress who won Snow's role, into the toilet and pretended I didn't know who had done it. I thought about how badly of a drinker I was in college and how I invited a really sweet guy I was getting to know, to come to my place, but passed out before he got there. When I woke up the next morning, he had blocked my number. I thought about how insecure I used to be when I was around prettier women, and how that fed my loathing of self and others. I just didn't know at the time, you know? That someone else's beauty isn't the absence of your own. I think that was the reoccurring theme of all my thoughts. Being young and naïve...who I was before I became better. The experiences that broke me so that I could rebuild and be who I am now. It's a very...cathartic painting. Like I bathed in holy water, you know?"

"Y-yes," Aesop stuttered out, pleased at her commentary. "I felt much of the same after I finished painting it. Or maybe that was just the relief of getting it out."

He hoped she didn't ask about where the painting was now. He didn't think he could answer without feeling shameful.

"The last time you were in," he recalled, "you stared at it from open to close."

She appeared worried.

"I'm not the reason you closed for good, am I?"

A chuckle burst from Aesop's throat.

"Absolutely not. That had to do with...circumstances outside of my control. But you...you stood there for nearly four hours. What thoughts had you mesmerized that time?"

Her brows furrowed as she scratched at her chin.

"Oh yes!" She snapped her fingers. "It was an essay I had read from- do you know who Lester Heilig is?"

Aesop shook his head.

She went to continue but was interrupted by a voice behind her.

"He's a German philosopher specializing in metaphysics."

Celine turned, unsure how to feel at the Joker knowing this. It was also the first time he spoke without some sort of inflection in his tone. Like the man behind the makeup chose to voice this.

"Yeah," she said, smiling halfheartedly. "He'd written a theory on why he thought miracles occurred. Did you read that one?"

He didn't answer her. She got the feeling engaging with her wasn't planned. A stormy expression was brewing on his features.

Probably best I speed through this. I'm sure my yammering only makes him want to kill me more.

She returned her attention to Aesop.

"So, Heilig wanted to tackle the question of how miracles were possible. And, he believed God to be responsible. Not the Christian or Judaic or Muslim God...not a man, but rather an omniscient entity made up of limitless energy. His theory was that in order for God to make miracles possible, it had to work through the mathematics and physics of this realm. That is...God can't just conjure up a miracle out of the blue, it has to work through people."

Aesop appeared puzzled, so, she rethought her explanation.

"Okay, so let's say you have a daughter that needs life-saving surgery. But no surgeon can do it because it's too complex. You pray, even if you're not religious, for a miracle. For your daughter to be saved. And just when you lose all hope, a surgeon practicing in exactly what your daughter's surgery requires, pops up. Maybe their flight got delayed so they chose to stay in the city for a little bit. Maybe they got relocated from across the country to your hospital at just the right time. Who knows how they got there, all you know is they did, and they completed the surgery and your daughter's life was saved. The timing of it all would lead you to assume it was a miraculous event, even though the surgeon's appearance can be explained, right?"

"Right," Aesop followed.

"That's what I mean-what Heilig meant about God having to work within the limitations of what is scientifically possible. Heilig believed God can live and work through any one of us...sparking an idea or decision or desire to create what is needed at the given time. Heilig also believed God wasn't monogamous to one religion. Because this entity can live within any one of us, and we are all of various creeds and beliefs, miracles aren't contained to persons of one faith."

"But what makes some people lucky enough to experience miracles and not others?"

Everyone's attention snapped to a lanky, balding henchman in his mid-thirties. He hadn't quite caught on to what the lady was rambling about, but when he finally did, he couldn't keep the question from exiting his mouth.

"Excellent question," Celine praised. "And the exact one I was pondering on that day. Heilig had no answer as to why some were lucky enough to experience miracles and others weren't. So, I tried to theorize it myself. There are two instances in my life where I can say things worked out for me in a seemingly miraculous way. I uh...I mentioned I used to be a really heavy drinker. There were two times where I got behind the wheel of a car and drove, so drunk I can't even remember doing it. And in both instances, I crashed my car. I should have gone to jail, but for some reason, I didn't pass out or wait around for the police to come. Something urged me to get out and run. That I got into no serious legal trouble...it ended up at the pound both times...still astounds me to this day. And for it to happen on two separate occasions?"

A few of the henchmen nodded, impressed she evaded such a fate. Throughout the duration of her account, they had lowered their weapons, focus solely on her. Joker noted this and would have demanded that focus back if his wasn't just as tightly trained on her.

"I wondered what made me special enough to have these miracles occur," Celine pondered. "And I have no proof of this...but...I think it's because...even at my worst, love still thrived in me. Love for others, love for nature, love for animals. I used to be embarrassed to show that emotion, but it also hurt to deny I had it. This mentality stole years from my life because I was too focused on pretending I was as cold and emotionless as everyone else was."

Her statement had a few of the men contemplating their own mentalities.

"This is just my belief, kind of a mix of personal experiences and reading the perspectives of astrophysicists, spiritual leaders, and mystics...but...I think love is the international language of the universe. It is the vibration, the frequency that passes through all. It is the language of God. And so long as we are open to it...willing to surrender when the time comes...so long as our souls don't give in to the despair or the temptation to harm others without remorse...then...I think miracles are possible."

She was met with dead silence.

"Anyway," she met Aesop's eyes, "I uh...I guess I just wanted to say thank you for painting that piece. It always made me think, never the same thoughts twice. To this day it's still one of my favorite bits of art. And I meant to tell you, but by the time I got the courage, your gallery was gone. If you don't mind me asking, what did you ever do with the piece?"

"I uh-." He cleared his throat, unable to meet her stare. "Sold it." For morphine and cocaine.

She smiled.

"Well, I hope whoever has it appreciates it just as much as I did."

His nod was tentative.

Recognizing nothing more would be said about his time as a painter, Celine relocated her gaze to the chair in front of the camcorder. The angst she had felt in the basement was considerably lighter, perhaps because she finally got to tell one of her favorite artists just how much his work meant to her. She had to scoff at the timing. Moments before her death and now she was able to do what she'd been longing to?

C'est la vie, she thought wryly.

When she took her first step, the spell had been broken. Every gun in the vicinity was back to aiming at her. But she ignored them, continuing her patient pace to the chair. She heard footsteps behind her, alerting her Joker was close behind. She was shocked he had let her go on for so long without interruption or to make a smartass remark. Maybe it was his own form of mercy?

She lowered herself into the chair and crossed her legs. Her hands came together and settled in her lap. She waited.

Joker stared at the back of her head. It took him a moment to withdraw his pistol.

"Wait!"

Both Joker and Celine looked at Aesop.

"Um..." He hesitated under their scrutiny. "You can't shoot someone else from the basement?"

Joker didn't care for the love-struck look Aesop was watching the girl with.

"Toots volunteered," he answered with a shrug, pressing the pistol to the back of her head. "Who am I to deny her?"

Aesop's shoulders slumped. He did little to hide his anxiety. In fact, though they were better at submerging it, Celine's words had stirred loose a few of the men's humanity. They too would have preferred someone else be the first sacrificed.

Joker sensed this and that only made his grip tighten around the handle. Did this self-righteous shit really think a spiel about love saving the day would save her? He snorted. Not fucking likely.

He grew irritated when she failed to react to the pistol at her head. But it shouldn't have surprised him. When he had taken her in in the basement, he saw a resolve that matched his own. Strength existed in quantities within this woman and even though he didn't intend to kill her, he couldn't deny he kind of wanted to. Kill or fuck the kindness out of her, he wasn't entirely sure.

Everyone waited with bated breath for Joker to make a decision. Only Morris was aware he wasn't planning to go through with the execution, but he was on his way back to headquarters to finish up the project he'd been working on prior to his capture.

"I'd uh ask if you had any final words, but ya had a fucking lot of them."

She stayed quiet, which heightened his irritation.

He cocked back the hammer and paused, but she still didn't react.

Leaning down so that his lips were brushed up against her ear, he murmured, "Brave little bitch, aren't ya?"

He thought she'd maintain her silence, but she surprised him by turning so that their lips were nearly touching.

"Takes one to know one," she answered softly.

She then had the audacity to wink at him, which drove the Joker wilder than he'd care to admit. With an air of finality, he swung the butt of the pistol as hard as he could, striking her in the temple and knocking her out cold.

A collective breath was released in the room.

Joker gestured in the direction of the basement.

"Morris has been returned safe and uh sound," he said. "Soooo...return our guests to their humble abodes...now."

Everyone scurried toward the basement, except for Aesop, who approached the knocked-out woman.

"Ah ta-ta-ta," he said, waving his index finger in a no-no motion, "this one stays. Think it's best we uh get better acquainted."

Aesop looked like he wanted to argue, but at the last second, decided against it.

"Sure boss."

Joker pocketed his pistol and to Aesop's amazement, scooped the woman up from the chair like a delicate bride, pulling her close to his chest. They met other's eyes.

"Please...don't hurt her...unless you have to."

Joker's cackle did nothing to ease Aesop's nerves.

"Aw, have a little crush because she complimented your painting?" he mocked. "Don't worry Acey my boy, I'll be as chivalrous as possible."

Aesop frowned at this. Chivalry was dead, and he was staring at one of the men who no doubt helped kill it.

He settled for a nod and followed his boss to the vans, praying for the first time in over two decades for the woman to survive her encounter in one piece.

This story is also posted on AO3 under my pen name uglycourage.