The blood leaked down his face as the little blade cut deeper into his cheek. He continued his chant of, "Why so serious?"
"Strenznikov, tell us the codes!" barked the American soldier, shoving the knife deeper into Neil's cheek, his bald black head wrinkling. Neil smacked his blood covered lips, the taste of rust and salt filling his mouth.
"Why so serious?"
"Damn it, Strenznikov!" the soldier shouted, slamming his hands down on the table. He turned his back and pushed the speaker to converse with his colleagues in the booth outside the interrogation room. Neil laughed, pulling the knife from his cheek. The ripped flesh made a squelching sound and Neil poked his tongue through the rips in both of his cheeks. These dirty Americans will never get the Russian launch codes! Neil thought as he cackled aloud. The soldier twirled back around to face him, his eyes slits. He was frustrated but called for the medics as the blood poured onto the grey table forming glittery puddles. Neil tucked the knife into his orange overalls as the world faded away, smiling as two men in white coats grabbed him by his arms and legs and laid him on a stretcher.
Neil woke with a nose twitch. Sticking out his tongue to feel the holes in his cheeks, Neil only felt bumps. Sitting up with a cry, he brought his hands to his face. Stitches and scars were all that remained of his war wounds. He scowled. Now what souvenirs am I supposed to bring back home? he thought. Neil jumped off the cot that he lay in and skipped to the window across the cell.
"Goodbye, lovely toilet!" he called, saluting to the hole in the ground in the corner of the dirt floor. "I will miss you so!" Pulling the small knife out of his pocket, Neil examined the sharp blade. The silver glinted in the harsh white light that hung off the ceiling and in the middle of this particular knife, there was a hole. Striking the knife against the metal walls, Neil bounced onto the window sill, bringing the black handle of the knife up to the glass. As the shards fell around Neil, he flipped the knife in the air and crouched down, sawing at the skinny metal bars. An alarm sounded and the white light changed red, flashing around the room. Sawing maniacally away at the bars, Neil heard a creak as the vault in which he was contained swung open and crashed into another cell's door. Luckily for Neil, his cell was at the very end of the long hallway that held the some of most dangerous criminals. Two bars of four had been thrown to the ground below. As the soldier pressed his hand to the pad in front of Neil's room, he finished cutting the third bar. Pushing his back through the window but still holding onto the sides with his hands and feet, Neil said to the angry soldier that had just entered the room, "Madness, as you know, is a lot like gravity, all it takes is a little push." Neil pushed off from the window and let his body go limp as he fell three stories. The soldier looked down at Neil, poking his head out the window. He grabbed his walkie talkie on his shoulder and turned his head to talk into it, pulling his head from the window.
Neil landed with an oof onto a pile of garbage. Laying in the big dumpster and cackling maniacally, Neil turned his head, long blown out blonde hair swishing around his face. He sat up and cringed, his insides hurt. Neil looked around and spotted a card from a deck. He picked up the joker and thought, Beyond evil there is insanity... Beyond insanity, there is the joker. Leaping out of the dumpster, a glint was seen in his brown eyes. He slipped the joker card into his overalls and sauntered down the street, his left leg limping behind him. As he walked past an electronics store, he paused, shoving the knife with dried blood into his boot. The TV screen stated, "Hero or vigilante? Batman takes on Gotham." A little voice resonated through the inside of Neil Stranznikov's head, "Your mission is to kill the Americans." What better place to start, he thought. Than with their hero?
