"Beauty. A lot of people don't understand it. What I want isn't much. Just like Batwoman, I only want a better Gotham."
The Joker played with the dagger in his hand, speaking with interest in that comical yet terrifying voice of his.
At the moment, he and his "guest" were in a warehouse. An ordinary warehouse, right behind one of Gotham's common supermarket grocery stores. The shelves were stacked with rolls of toilet paper, carbonated drinks, and all sorts of miscellaneous things.
But once the rolling shutter was pulled down, it made for a fine enclosed space—a crime scene.
That was exactly what he did. Amid the screeching grind of metal rubbing together, the shutter came down. The warehouse did not fall into darkness, however, because the Joker had brought his own Christmas Tree.
Yes, he knew it was still summer, and bringing out a Christmas Tree was somewhat inappropriate. But the whole world outside was snow-white, wasn't it? Couldn't the holiday come a little early?
"Oh, you're looking at me with those nearsighted eyes, thinking I'm still that madman. Why won't you talk to me? Why are you imitating Batwoman? Why are you so serious?!"
The Joker really had wanted to celebrate today. With a wounded expression on his face, he swayed his way toward the person tied to the folding chair.
Reaching the man's back, he sniffed at his ear and continued softly:
"Still want to look? I'm behind you. Oh, right, let me help you."
As he spoke, the Joker used his dagger to gouge out one of the guest's eyeballs. He turned the bloodstained pupil toward himself. Now he should be able to see, right?
"Mmgh!!!"
The person tied to the chair wore only a tank top. He looked as though he had been dragged straight