In Hell, Joker sat on a chair piled from the bodies of demons. Their vicious heads were beneath his feet, letting out soundless wails, their tongues tied in knots.
Joker held a pair of large eyeballs in his hands, juggling them up and down. It was far too boring here.
So boring that he wanted to kill every demon in Hell. Yet there was no death in Hell, only eternal purgatory and pain. Joker was certain this Hell was his punishment.
He missed Gotham City more than ever. Just think of it—that place shrouded in dark clouds, driven by chaos, abandoned by the gods.
Wonderful!
While everyone wore mournful faces, worrying about work, wages, life, tomorrow, and countless other troubles, all painted gray—
Joker stood out like a splash of color amid the gray-and-white scenery, dancing across Gotham's grand stage. He danced the ballet Swan Lake, bringing those people a colorful world.
Why be so serious? Better to have a good laugh and mock this shitty world together.
But Joker was now racking his brains for a word even more unpleasant than "shit" to describe Hell.
Just look at what was here: bad guys, bad guys, and more bad guys. Heinous villains, like a sticky swamp giving off a nauseating stench.
Those Hell Lords who looked so imposing and infinitely powerful were, in Joker's eyes, nothing but hippos spiraling shit out with their tails, flinging their droppings everywhere and feeling smug about it.
This was not the life Joker wanted. He needed special treatment.
He wanted to see good people, then watch them break down and gnash their teeth as they tried to kill him.
He needed it too badly. The feeling was stronger than drugs, so strong that Joker felt his brain itching. He wanted to pull it out