Under streets lit by the first glow of evening, in the well-policed Gotham City, a robbery was taking place—perfectly normal and entirely reasonable.
A masked gunman was pulling an elderly man's wallet from his pocket and slipping it into his own when a gaunt young man appeared in the shadowy alley.
The gun swung around, its muzzle steadily aimed at the intruder's head. "If you don't want to die, don't meddle in other people's business."
The young man grinned. "What luck. I have two audience members today."
It was a smile of almost manic intensity; merely curling his lips carried an inexplicable hint of madness. Cast in the dim light, that expression was as terrifying as an ogre's.
The robber's finger trembled slightly. If possible, he did not want to fire and draw the police—or Gotham City's dark guardian—but he had the feeling that even shooting would not guarantee his safety.
Seemingly unfazed by the gun pointed at him, the grinning young man raised his thumb to his mouth and bit down lightly. Blood immediately spurted from his finger. He wiped it across his lips, drawing a bright red smile.
"Excellent. Makeup complete. Now, it's time for the show," the young man said to the robber.
"You're Joker!" The robber nearly lost his grip on the gun when he saw that signature look. If Gotham's guardian in the dark was merely awe-inspiring, then Joker was the city's most terrifying presence. Joker's admirers were scattered throughout the city, every one of them utterly mad and twisted.
"No, no, no. I'm not Joker. I'm The Batman Who Laughs. All right, back to business. Today's performance is—throwing knives!" With a flick of his wrist, the young man had three throwing knives pinched between his fingers, though no one knew where he had hidden