We are so fucked. No question about it. Fucked. I don't know who the hell these Russian mobster looking motherfuckers are, but I'm not getting the feeling that we're not gonna be friends. They ain't saying shit to us. But there is a gun on us. That sorta cuts out the need to chat and get to know each other I guess.
Mark's not doing good. Honestly, I don't if he's gonna make it without immediate medical attention. He bled out a lot of blood in that car. Plus, getting shot in the guts is a place you really don't wanna get shot. It's likely an organ or two are riddled with holes. Which means internal bleeding. Or the organ can't function properly, which will start this domino effect of shit that'll likely kill him.
Before the vehicle stops the Russians put bags over our heads so we can't see where they're taking us. Fear is starting to set in now. The inside of this bag might be the last thing I'll ever live to see. Yep, this is the point at which people like me start thinking about their lives, all the things they've done, everything they never had a chance to do... But not me, my life sucks. No family. No kids that I'm aware of. Never been married, thank God. Have a criminal record a mile long. I'm wanted by the cops as we speak. However, I don't think I'm ready to die just yet.
I'm drug out of the vehicle by both arms and shoved forward. I can hear Mark's moaning and wincing from the rough way they're shoving us around. Finally I'm pushed down into a chair and I can feel them tying me up. Which isn't good at all. In my world they only tie you up when they plan on torturing your ass...
"Sir, men ees tied," I can hear one of the Russians saying.
A few moments later I can feel the bag on my head being raised. And before I know it, I'm staring at a man with white skin, green hair, and red lips.
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"Boss?" I ask in confusion.
"Sort of," he gives me a smile. It's then that I notice he has eyebrows and Mr. J couldn't have grown his that fast. This wasn't the Joker. But it wasn't Mr. Jester either. He was in a shipping container bound for America... But he had the Joker tattoos. "You're not Mr. J."
He stares at me for a moment and then a small smile spreads across his face, "Yeah, I am, just not the one you're thinking I am."
"W-what's that supposed to mean?" I ask as I'm trying to figure out who the fuck he is.
His face becomes straight, but I can see my words have agitated him. "I am the Joker. The first. The original. The eldest. The Alpha and the Omega," he twirls his wrist exactly how the boss would, "But I am not the Joker you know as your "boss". I am the one who created your boss. But for all intents and purposes, I'm the Joker who has you tied to a chair right now...So shut up and listen," he points a stern finger at me.
"W-what's going on here? Who are you people?" I ask as my eyes take them all in.
He rolls his eyes and looks over at the man next to him and nods. The next thing I know, that dude is punching me in the face. And he hits hard. He's had training on how to hit like that.
