*J* (the continuation)

Part Thirty: Chapter 221: Done Playing

Jason sits all alone in the office. He found himself surrounded by a strangely deafening silence. The only sound being that of the ice cubes in his scotch, as he absentmindedly stirs them with his finger. His eyes stare, unblinking, at one of the few blank spots on the wall. He wonders why the Joker hadn't ever filled the space with his Batman memorabilia bullshit? That's what covered the entire room. There were lots of things that overlapped or completely covered up other things, why had he left that one blank spot in the center?

Then he asks himself, why the fuck he should he even care? The Joker was dead and buried. Gone. Over. Past. He wasn't coming back to fill that spot on the wall. So this office full of Batman shit, was now Jason's to do with as he damn well pleased. Jason saw no reason to keep adding to the Joker's shrine to his beloved bat. Jason wasn't the one the one that had been fucking him. He wasn't the one obsessed with him.

The sight of that batsuit only made Jason wish he had never met Bruce Wayne. Bruce, the Batman who chased criminals across rooftops, through the shadows in the moonlight. Bruce, who claims to be the strong arm of justice. Bruce, with all of his discipline and rules. Bruce, who breaks laws when it suits his purpose. Bruce Wayne, the sanctimonious hypocrite. The only useful thing Bruce ever taught Jason, was some fight moves.

Bruce Wayne and his special brand of vigilante justice. He truly was no more than a cowboy with a burlap bag over his head. A one man lynchmob riding into town on a horse, taking out the rustler the sheriff was holding. The sheriff gladly hands over the rustler, because he would rather see the rustler die than possibly be tried and go free. The sheriff is even prepared to cover the tracks of the vigilante, for in his eyes, justice has been served. But Bruce didn't have the balls to kill like they did in the old west. There was no Colt 45 six shooter on his hip. Nor was he throwing nooses across tree branches.

Jason thinks it over a moment. Bruce was more like a bounty hunter. One that foolishly does it without pay or a thank you. When Jim Gordon's incompetent police force blunders, who do they call? No....not the fucking Ghostbusters. They call Bruce, they call the Batman with a batsignal beacon in the sky. Bruce swoops in, beats the shit out of someone, then gives them to Gordon. Where then, they somehow end up back on the streets again.

It was a broken system that didn't fucking work. Jason has often found himself wondering if Bruce got some sense of validation or purpose from it all? Or, was he just a rich bored asshole who liked to gamble with the ultimate playing chip, his life? Maybe he was an adrenaline junkie, perhaps it got him off to beat people within an inch of their lives? Or maybe it was masochistic in nature, that he felt he needed the punishment that came with being Batman?

...Fuck it...

...Fuck Batman...

...Fuck Bruce Wayne...

...Fuck Batman and Robin...

...Fuck Jack Napier and the Joker...

Jason sits his glass on the desk and jumps up. He starts clawing at the walls. His fingers hang on pieces of paper, on tape, on tacks and nails. Ripping. Tearing. Obliterating. Everything Batman was peeled away. Beneath it Jason uncovered a thousand different colors of spray paint, layer upon layer thick, the word HA, over and over again. It was better than Batman. It was better than Bruce.

When nothing but a rainbow of Ha's remained, Jason raised the window and began casting out every figurine, every toy. Every last bit of reminder to a cycle that Jason vow to end. The point of the Joker was to disturb the established order. It was to stand as a reminder that rules are bullshit. To hell with all of it. None of it mattered. Only one thing did, and that was finding Harley.

...Harley...

When it's done, Jason stands in the middle of the room panting. He grabs the glass off the desk and downs the remaining contents. He throws the empty glass right through the window. His hand shoots into his pocket and pulls out some cocaine. He taps it out over the desk. Then puts a finger to his nose and snorts it up. Everything just started kicking into overdrive.