• Special

    Freak. That word had been ringing in my head for the past… as long as I’ve been in business. Sure, at first, the word meant something. It stabbed, and it carved, and it created. But now, I’m done. Now… I’ve become the word. So… that said, I don’t know why Gotham continuously repeats the word.

    I’ve walked the streets of Gotham for years now, and no one, no one, gets it. Them, they scheme, they plan, and then they fail. And during their failure, they decide that I too have plans. The thing is, I don’t. I do things, and along the way, people die. It happens, it’s the price to pay for a little… anarchy.

    Is there something wrong with that?

    Most of the ones I kill are of little value, boring, and frightened. Those that aren’t… they’re almost to the top. The top is the Batman. He’s not a squealer, he’s almost too much fun.

    I find it funny. People think I don’t notice them, but I do. And far too well. I see them all, I get them all, and that’s why I hate them all. The Batman, the one I don’t hate, I don’t quite understand him. I know it’s not just those I like, that I can tolerate, that I don’t understand. Harley’s proving useful, for a pawn, and I understand her.

    Maybe it’s those that are… ah… special, that I don’t understand.