Ace Walker: Son of Joker

             Ace sat on the cold floor of the damp basement, basically his home now. He hated to admit it, but he missed the orphanage he had spent his entire life in. That place was his paradise. There were kids who beat on his small body, strict overseers who saw humiliation as punishment, and short recesses. That sweet sunlight on the fenced-in pavement. He missed it. He had friends there. He had some freedom. It was literally the only world he knew: small, but his days were episodic with the other kids. Of course he had alway wondered who his parents were, nearly everyone did, but he had never expected to know them, let alone meet them. Or at least this man claimed to be his dad when he snatched him from his old home, threatening to blow up the place up if they didn't cooperate and hand him over. Ace didn't want his friends or any of the other kids to die, so he went with the purple-clad man. He still had nightmares about that night and he was sure the other kids did too.

         And now he was here. In the man's basement. Locked in the dark. His 'dad' didn't want him about while he was working. His dad told him he had a surprise for him later. Ace didn't like the way that sounded. Normal nine-year-olds like surprises. He used to like them, but not since coming here a few days ago. Surprises meant pain. That much he'd learned. But according to his dad, pain meant he would get stronger. Yesterday, surprise meant touching hot coals and laughing. Why laughing? Ace had wanted to know and asked the man. "Because pain is funny. If you learn to laugh at it, nothing will ever hurt you. The world will be full of laughter." This was followed up by some sick cookie laughter and more coals. Ace sat back against the wall and stared at his hands, still red and blistered from the day previous.

        In the darkness, he could make out what was considered his room. Concrete floors and walls, no bed, windows, or real light other then the dim ffluorescent lights. There were a few spray cans resting up against the wall next to him but he didn't feel like coloring. He was looking at the boy in the glass watching him. The other boy was thin, but long. He looked like he could be twelve though. His hair was straight blonde and a few inches long. The clothes he wore were a baggy pair of khakis and a filthy old grey tee. No shoes. No socks.
Ace put his head back against the floor, tracing a little stick person in the chalky dust. He missed his old home and the few friends he had. He craved the sunlight, but the best he had now was a stick guy and a sun with a smiley face. He day dreamed of his old bed, wishing he could go back and snuggle under the coarse blankets and sleep. Instead, he slept on the floor of his captor's basement. Ace wanted to go home.

 
      'A while later, the door opened and the now familiar figure stalked down the stairs. "Get up Ace. I've got something for you."
Ace started when he heard him approach. He hesitated. "Wh-what is it?"
The man cackled his signature laugh. "Now now. If I told you, would that be any fun? Hm?" He yanked the boy standing by the arm and up the stairs. Ace blinked as his eyes adjusted to the different light. He hated this room.

        The brick walls of the old firehouse were chipped and blackened with age. Pictures with some faces crossed off, others circled in marker and maps of the city were hung carefully on the walls. Tossed on the floor were assorted containers and bins of explosives and odd objects. Playing cards, grenades, and clown masks. In one corner, it glowed a bright from the sloshy, fizzing liquid his dad would drink. In the center, it was relatively clear of clutter. His dad stopped, his tall figure now a few feet in front of Ace with his back to him. "Take off your shirt and lie on your stomach."
Ace knew not to hesitate. He did as instructed for fear of risking the short temper of his green haired father. The man could be heard digging through the piles of objects for a few moments. "Ah ha! Perfect!" A few more sounds of clanking metal and then a low hissing sound.

        Ace was facing away from the man, but he could see a flickering orange light that differentiated from the colorless fluorescent from the wall in front of him. The light of a flame. The light went out as if on a switch, something was tossed back into the piles, and the man walked over. Without hesitation, the pain began again. The searing hot branding iron descended on Ace's bare back and hissed as it burned the exposed skin.

         He cried out, struggling to get away from the torturous pain ripping at his entire back. The man put his foot on his head and shoved his cheek against the floor with a slam. "Now laugh!" His father commanded through gritted teeth as he tried to hold down the boy with his weight, pressing the brander down harder. The young boy only remained conscious for a few seconds before giving in to the black.