Tonight was the bicentenary celebration of the foundation of Gotham City, an overpopulated metropolis surrounded by the sea, battered by East Coast storms and constant blizzards from the North. It sat on a peninsula, and was a dark, shadowy city whose tall buildings rose right into the cloudy skies. Its people lived in the shadow of those towering skyscrapers. Gotham City aroused the desire of rich men, who saw it as their El Dorado. How could one manage and administrate a city so crowded? Faced with soaring criminality and underground mafia networks, the mayor of Gotham City, Harvey Dent, had ordered the police to make the city safer. The citizens lived in fear and anxiety. Gotham City was beset by racketeering, armed robbery and powerful criminal attacks. Among these criminals, there was one who stood out – a man who called himself the Joker. He was a complex sort of criminal, one who terrorised the people of Gotham City in a way that made them fear and worship him. The Joker was a mischief-maker, an evil, scheming clown. He was also the sworn enemy of Batman, the caped crusader who soared through the night on his quest to deliver justice.
In Wayne Manor, encircled by a great wall atop a hill, Bruce Wayne cast off his role as a journalist to become a super-hero. In his office he opened a door hidden behind a broken old grandfather clock. The door gave way to a stairwell, while the hands of the clock were stuck at 10.47pm, the time his parents were murdered. He made his way down to the Batcave, his secret lair built in a network of caves beneath the manor. The Batcave contained a whole arsenal of high-tech gadgets, computers, several Batmobiles, various gadgets and cutting-edge weapons, as well as a trophy room filled with souvenirs of his past adventures. A large colony of bats lived in the caves, the avatars of his own superhero identity. It was a secret place that nobody knew about save his faithful butler, Alfred. The old man had never revealed Bruce Wayne’s identity to anyone, and was sworn to guard the bat’s secret. Now he entered Batman’s tech room to announce: “You must get to Gotham City; the mayor has alerted police that balloons filled with toxic gas have been released into the sky!” Batman calmly opened his closet of Batsuits while Alfred prepared the Batmobile, the turbo-charged car that could bring him to Gotham in a matter of minutes.
The Joker ran his hand through his green hair, checking his appearance in the mirror to ensure the red lipstick was perfect. He gave himself a demonic smile. Tonight, the inhabitants of Gotham City would choke on his venom, the infamous “Smylex” toxin. He would make those filthy people suffer, those good-for-nothing fools. Batman, that little flying mouse, would surely make an appearance and try to save them, but there would be nothing he could do against the Joker’s army of henchmen and their machine guns. Batman, that imbecile, would soon be going to join his parents. Tonight, the citizens of Gotham would be getting what they craved: money. From his parade float, the Joker would throw out stacks of notes to the jubilation of the starved, desperate population. This would be his victory, for his greatest desire was to see the whole world succumb to his will; he wanted to see the inhabitants of Gotham City choke on his venom even as they stuffed their pockets, drunk with joy. He wanted to see smiles locked on their faces even as they breathed their last. Tonight’s mass murder would be a victory, his victory – the glorious embrace of death!
Alan Alfredo Geday