A Jokers Riddle

Chapter 1

Well, this was another fine mess you've gotten yourself into Jason Todd.

A tight but pained groan escapes the lips of a man. His head lulls back as he squirms against the chains that bound his wrists tightly behind his back. The rigid side of the chair dug into his shoulder blades. They had already begun to throb. The smell of dead fish floods his senses and he immediately builds the scene.

He was in one of the warehouses by the Gotham Harbor.

Original.

His helmet was on- the low lives still were too scared to remove it- his jacket was on, and his gun was gone.

The gun was probably the biggest con.

The single dangling light above leaves a glare off the smooth crimson shimmer of his helmet and as he tilts his head to the side. Pain shoots down his side.

The pain was normal.

That was normal, totally normal, the dried blood clump on his side, and his leg was normal. He didn't go a day without bleeding.

"What are we supposed to do with the boy blunder?" a voice comes and Jason squints beneath the helmet, a little taken aback by the voice, and lets out a laugh, making it twist into a snarky childish laugh. He lets his head bob back and forth as he wheezes.

"You gotta be pretty mentally challenged to pull that one out." He exclaims, searching for their faces in the darkness.

The room was dark but sticky with humidity.

It wasn't the most comfortable conditions but he was used to handling surprises. The room was warmer than a normal room would be. Feet shuffle against the concrete floor and a group of men emerges from the dark, the little light above making their figures glow eerily, shadows dancing up and down their bodies as it sways in perfect rhythm.

Jason feels every searing breath burn through his chest as if breathing was now a hard task rather than a natural occurrence. He stares at the group. Most of them seemed to be pudgy-looking men. And he finally manages a bloody smirk. "Is this supposed to scare me?" He answers, wiping the blood from his bottom lip with his shoulder. "You all are a bunch of rookies, look at you! I'm almost offended, I've seen Disney movies scarier than this!"

Two men of the three, chuckle. They all wore black tanks and jeans added with cheap dollar-store clown masks as a poor attempt to add to this dull theatrical effect.

One fiddle with a crowbar, hitting against his palm as he takes a good couple of menacing steps toward him. Their masks were torn- painted with red paint- clown masks.

They looked like they were purchased at your local party city. It didn't seem like the normal maniac clown costume that Joker's goons usually wore. They looked like a cheap teenage rip-off party. He lets out a labored breath in disinterest. "I would like you to know that I want you to. Go. To-"

A goon lunges forward, holding him by the shirt and tipping the chair back over the ledge they were atop. Char and all, the chains rattle at the movement, and the man's hand trembles. He was barely strong enough. "Now we don't care about no identity kid, we wanna know where Batman is!!!" he spits and Jason's helmet is splattered with it.

The second goon steps up fingering the top of a worn, rough, wooden baseball bat. He chuckles for a few short moments before twirling the bat in his hand. He sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. The sound of the breath made him cringe. Some people didn't have to do anything to be annoying.

He stops twirling the bat on his fingers, the rough, familiar wood rough against his half-gloved hands. "And don't worry. We'll make sure you'll suffer slowly. Just how you like it. Choose your words wisely."