THE KILLING JOKE

Part 9: The Joke's On You

Gotham City had woken up to something it had never seen before. In the early hours of the morning, posters and billboards bearing a new, unsettling message began appearing across the city. They were everywhere—plastered on walls, buses, and even the sides of buildings. The image was unmistakable: Jack Napier, with his bleached white skin, green hair, and twisted grin, staring directly into the camera with wild, gleaming eyes. Below his grinning face, a slogan stood out in bold, blood-red letters:

"Vote Jack Napier: The Only Choice Left for Gotham."

The posters were jarring, absurd even, but they were impossible to ignore. Citizens gawked at them as they walked by, some shaking their heads, others laughing nervously, as if hoping it was some sort of sick joke. But the real nightmare hadn't even begun.

As night fell, televisions across Gotham flickered to life with an unplanned broadcast. It didn't matter what channel people were watching—the same eerie image appeared on every screen in the city.

The scene was dimly lit, a flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling casting long shadows over the dingy room. Jack Napier sat in a wooden chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring directly into the camera. His green hair was slicked back, and his face was painted in a grotesque parody of a clown—white skin, smeared red lipstick, and dark, hollow eyes that glittered with malice. His suit, a gaudy purple and green, seemed to radiate the insanity that clung to him like a second skin.

But the most disturbing part wasn't Jack himself. It was the figure tied to a chair behind him—a hostage, their face obscured by a burlap sack, trembling violently. Their hands were bound with rope, and a strip of duct tape covered their mouth, muffling their desperate pleas. The room around them was bare, except for the dim light and the sense of imminent danger that hung in the air.

Jack smiled into the camera, his eyes wide, almost playful, as if this were all some kind of game.

"Good evening, Gotham!" he said, his voice sickeningly cheerful, the exaggerated grin on his face stretching impossibly wide. "I hope you've all seen my new posters. Aren't they fabulous? I worked really hard on them. Spent all night making sure they were just perfect."

He chuckled softly, his laughter low and unnerving, echoing in the silence of the room. He leaned closer to the camera, his expression growing more intense, more manic. "But you see... the posters are just the beginning. Oh, no, no, no. The real fun starts now."

He stood up suddenly, knocking over the chair behind him with a crash. The camera wobbled for a moment, following his erratic movements as he paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I know what you're all thinking. 'This Jack guy? He's a joke, right? A clown? Just another lunatic trying to make a name for himself.' Well..." His grin faltered for just a second, his face darkening with something far more sinister. "You'd be wrong."

He turned sharply, pointing directly at the camera, his voice lowering to a menacing growl. "Because I am the future of this city. And you're going to vote for me. All of you."

Jack paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Then he laughed again, this time louder, more unhinged, as if the very idea of running for mayor was the greatest punchline of all.

"Now, I know what you're thinking—'Why should I vote for some crazy guy with green hair?'" Jack's voice took on a mocking tone, and he began to pace in front of the camera again, his movements exaggerated, like a performer on stage. "Well, Gotham, let me give you a little... incentive."

He turned back to the hostage, who was now sobbing behind the burlap sack. Jack sauntered over to them, running a hand gently over their shoulder, his fingers trailing down to the tape over their mouth. He yanked it off in one swift motion, making the hostage yelp in pain, but they didn't dare scream.

Jack crouched down beside the hostage, his face inches from theirs, his grin widening as he spoke to the camera. "You see, Gotham... elections are all about choices. Freedom. But let me be very clear about something..." His voice dropped, cold and deadly serious now. "If you don't vote for me..."

He snapped his fingers, and the hostage flinched violently. Jack chuckled at the reaction before continuing, his voice soft and menacing. "If you don't vote for Jack Napier, you'll die. All of you."

The words hung in the air, suffocating and final. There was no humor left in his voice, no laughter in his eyes. Just a terrifying certainty.

He stood up, straightening his jacket and adjusting his tie as if he had just given the most reasonable explanation in the world. "It's simple, really. You cast your vote for me, and you get to live another day in this lovely, crime-ridden, corrupt city. But if you don't..." He grinned wickedly, his eyes gleaming with sadistic glee. "Well, let's just say I'll have to start cleaning up Gotham in my own way. And I guarantee you... it'll be a blast."

Behind him, the hostage let out a muffled whimper, their body shaking in terror. Jack leaned in close to the camera, his eyes burning with a terrifying intensity.

"So, Gotham... what's it going to be? Vote for Jack, or watch your city burn. The choice is yours. And remember..."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small revolver, spinning the barrel with a flick of his thumb. The sound of the cylinder clicking into place echoed ominously in the silence. He leveled the gun at the back of the hostage's head, the grin on his face growing impossibly wider.

"... You either laugh with me, or you die."

He paused, letting the tension build, his finger hovering over the trigger.

"And by the way..." Jack's voice dropped to a chilling whisper, his eyes locking onto the camera. "You can call me... The Joker."

He said it with such weight, such terrifying finality, that the name seemed to hang in the air long after the sound left his lips. The Joker. It was a name that Gotham would never forget.

Before anyone could react, before the horror could fully register, the screen flickered, and the broadcast cut out. The last thing anyone saw was Jack—the Joker—smiling that impossibly wide, twisted smile, his finger tightening on the trigger.

And then... black.

The city plunged into a stunned silence as televisions went dark. No one moved. No one breathed. The image of the Joker, with his wild eyes and grotesque grin, burned into the minds of every citizen watching.

And for the first time in years, Gotham wasn't just afraid.

It was terrified.