The Scarred

Chapter 8

The Joker's manic laughter echoed off of the interior of the van as she took her seat, assumingly next to him based off of the proximity of his voice.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" The Joker crooned, his voice dripping with playful malice. "A little birdie all alone in the big bad city."

Penelope's heart raced with nerves and anticipation. She could feel his gaze pierce through her, as if he could see into her very soul. Just then, the van revved before taking off to who knew where.

"Ah - don't be afraid, toots," The Joker said, his voice oddly soothing. "I'm just here to show you a good time." His deeper tone sent shivers down her spine.

"How could I believe that?"

"You can't." He answered bluntly. "Think of it as a - uh..." He smacked his lips. "A trust exercise, of sorts."

"The bag over my head set the tone for that, I guess." The Joker giggled.

The rest of the ride was silent, save for Joker's occasional humming and commentating. She eventually lost her perception of time, however her body slowly grew tired. Just as her eyes began to start closing, the van was parked and doors were opened. Suddenly, the bag was ripped off of her head to be face to face with Joker.

"Wake up, sleepy head!" He then exited the van, Penelope following slowly after.

It was pitch black, however the distant city skyline somewhat made up for it. Based on the distance, they were a good half hour from the edge of the city limits. If it wasn't for the lights, she would've thought they were lost in a barren wasteland of sorts. They stood on a large patch of dirt-covered flatland, practically surrounded by random piles of what looked like junk.

"C'mon." The Joker caught her attention and she turned towards him as he started walking towards the back of the van, throwing the doors open. "Welcome to our little playground." He drawled more to himself.

They both stared into the miniature arsenal of weapons; knives of every size and shape, handguns, shotguns, and an assortment of explosives. Penelope's eyes widened as she took in the deadly array, swallowing hard as her heart pounded in her chest.

"Pick one," The Joker urged, his grin widening. "Go on, don't be shy."

With a trembling hand, Penelope reached for a small throwing knife. It was lightweight, the blade glinting menacingly in the dim light. She held it awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

The Joker chuckled, stepping beside her and motioning to her hand. "Feel the weight, the balance," he guided. "This isn't just a knife, y'know. It's an extension of you."

Penelope's grip tightened, a spark of something unfamiliar flickering within her. She glanced up at the Joker, who nodded encouragingly. He then looked up and around before wandering into the wasteland, shuffling around and huffing before he called her over and met her halfway.

"Now, I want you to throw that knife," he nodded at the object, "at that poster." He pointed and she followed, seeing a large poster that stood tall of what seemed to be an old billboard advertisement. "Got it?"

Penelope paused, then quickly nodded and stuttered. "How do I throw it?" She practically asked in a whisper.

"Well, first, you're way too rigid. You need to shake out, loosen up." The Joker shook out his hands. "Relax." Once he noticed her become less stiff, he continued. "Now, you need good posture. So straighten up." He performed the actions with her. "Since you're obviously a righty, stick your right foot forward and left foot back. Hold the blade," He stepped closer to her and moved her hands into the right position with the grace of a newborn foal. "Handle up, and throw." He then patted her hand and stepped away, motioning towards the target.