The Trickster

•Suit of a gentlemen, a costume of a killer•

I carefully scoop up the ashes with both of my hands and drop them in the trash situated next to my desk. Looking down at my dusty hands I think about the future plans for my enterprise. Of course there's the major problem with that fishy scumbag, The Penguin but there's nothing I can really do about that now. It's a delicate situation that will take time. I can't rush the process, well I could... but what's the point of ruling a half blown up city. There's not a lot of potential in that.

Right now I have to concentrate on the things that I can change, like the transporte of my 'merchandise' and Jack F. The idiot on the street that had the audacity to smirk at me.

I lift my head to look at my vintage 1950's business phone. It's the type of phone where you need to spin a wheel to dial a number. Not only is it pleasing to the eye but it's also impossible to track down the caller. It's the perfect gadget for business calls.

I pick up the phone and dial the number of one of my associates, Mark Tanw. This mother fucker has everything you can ever dream for. But it comes with a price. After an hour of talking with a guy that can keep a conversation going for days, my voice is dead. Did Mark do most of the talking, yes. So why is my throat burning? Well, let me tell you.

When I first started my business... my 'enterprise' if you wish to call it like that. I will always wear the same suit. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a black suit with black dressing shoes, a black tie, black leather gloves and a yellow sky mask. I patch up the holes of the mouth and eyes with a yellow material that you could see truth it, if you got close enough. Like I said nothing out of the ordinary.

Every high class criminal wears a suit, that's why the next morning of my first ever heist, I was shocked when I read the headline of the newspaper. The title was 'The Trickster' (what a wonderful name by the way) underneath it was a picture of me pointing an AK-74 at a hostage. If you are wondering, YES I look amazing in the picture. I can't say the same for the guy at the other end of the gun. He looks like he's gonna simultaneously piss his pants, vomit and cry for his mama. I remember him being one of my least favourite hostages in the building. Always crying out 'please don't kill me, I have a family' and 'have mercy on me please, don't do it for me but do it for my kids.' First of all did I know his kids, no so why will I give a shit. Secondly, if you're gonna plead for your life, for the love of god make it original. I'm pretty sure the rest of the hostages were on my side when I put a bullet in his head.

Next to the picture was a long ass paragraph only talking about meee~. It said how easily I convinced the cops to fulfil my demands, how calm and collected I was during the whole situation and finally how all that led up to my master escape plan. That's how I got my name 'Trickster'. During the whole text, the journalist that wrote the paragraph about yours truly refers to the Trickster as a guy using he/him pronouns. I guess wearing a suit and not having that many curves gave the illusion of me being more of a 'masculine' person. Which is AMAZING! It adds to the name Trickster. Everyone in Gotham city thinks I'm a dude! Out of the mask I can sit back, relax and watch the world burn. For god sacks they don't even have a clue of my gender! I'm a girl if you were wondering. A basic medium length brown hair, brown eyes, 5'8 girl. I will never be suspected of being a rich psychopath, trusty for blood and always ready for a fight, men.

Me? Never~

Getting back to why my throat needs water. Usually when I have a 'business' meeting I wear my golden mask. Inside, there's a built-in voice modifier. So when I talk it Automatically lowers the pitch of my voice. Again playing with the lie that the Trickster is a man. Sadly, I don't bring equipment home. I keep copies of my costumes in different warehouses around Gotham city. That means when I do a business call from home (like today) I have to forcefully lower the pitch of my voice. During the years I got better at it but it still hurts when I do it for too long.