Ana (ladyana5) wrote,
Ana
ladyana5

Agent of Chaos (one of three ?)



FIC: “Agent of Chaos”
 
AUTHOR: LadyAna
 
FANDOM: Batman - The Dark Knight
 
PAIRING: The Joker/Original Female Character
 
RATING: NC-17
 
DISCLAIMER: Property of Bob Kane, DC Comics, Warner Bros, Jonathon & Christopher Nolan - this story is solely for entertainment and no profit will be made.
 
DATE: 9/2008
 
WARNING!!!!! This story is about a young woman having consensual, rough sex with The Joker from the movie The Dark Knight. DO NOT read this, then email me, screaming how weird and warped it is. !!!!!You have been warned!!!!! (the scene is at the end of the story, if that helps!)
 
.....There are also some references to rape and torture.
 
SUMMARY: A female author writes a novel with a violent, romantic interest for her female lead character and the Joker sees himself in her work. He sees it as an invitation.     
 
AUTHOR NOTES:
..... bold italics are the Joker’s thoughts; the story is told from the Joker’s POV
 
..... I have tried, as best as I can, to correct any mistakes. BUT I admit I will never be a proper beta! SO, I ask you please forgive said errors in advance!
 
.....Feedback is welcome, but remember I have a soft heart!
 
LENGTH: 105 KB or 30 pages
SPOILERS: I can’t keep track of all the spoilers I use, so read at your own risk!
 
“Agent of Chaos”
by LadyAna
 
The light was finally working correctly. It had been driving him crazy for a while, with the slight flickering and pulsating beam. His men couldn’t understand his complaining, saying the lamp worked fine for them.
 
Then again, they are not the one wiring explosives together. 
 
The television was on, thankfully occupying the others for the moment. His crew was small, so it was good they were so easily engaged. The project he was involved in wasn’t major, simply keeping himself in practice for when it came time to strike at Gotham again. He’d stayed in prison longer than expected, oddly enjoying the tension and stress his presence caused. Eventually, their fear became boring and he escaped. His departure was an utter debacle, of course, involving lots of gunfire, explosives and betrayal on all sides. It was almost predictable, it was so routine. 
 
Idle hands, indeed. I am truly looking forward to tearing this city apart once again.
 
Sean, the one person he could call his “right-hand man,” was flipping channels until it came to a commercial with scantily-clad females. Sean began a diatribe of derogatory comments regarding said ladies and the others chimed in, picking the ones they’d want to perform certain carnal acts and how. The coarse banter continued, even after the program being aired came back on. The Joker half listened, as a news reporter well known in the area interviewed a young woman about her book.
 
“Your critics are saying this novel is more violent than your previous work.” Mike Engel stated.
 
“I’ve heard those reviews and I really wonder what they mean. My technique is not known to be light and fluffy. I think they are taking scenes out of context.”
 
“How do you mean?”
 
“Well, if you don’t understand my character’s motivations, then some of it probably would seem outlandish or wild. But in the circumstances I’ve created, it makes more sense.”
 
Her defense went on for a bit, about how it was perfectly reasonable for her female lead to commit such heinous acts in the name of love and lust. The Joker’s thoughts on the bomb in front of him were interrupted when Sean said, “Boss, did you hear that?”
 
The Joker silently acknowledged his question with raised eyebrows. 
 
“Listen.” Sean said and turned up the volume.
 
“So you don’t deny that?” said the reporter.
 
The lady with the dark hair smiled tolerantly. “Oh yeah, sure, whatever. He’s my inspiration, really! Honestly, I’ve been writing this book for a while now and, of course, daily events affect you, so they show up in a person’s work. He is relevant, so I wanted to portray how a person can be influenced by someone like that.”
 
“Are you saying you understand the Joker?” asked Mr. Engel.
 
“What do you mean ‘understand’?” she retorted. “Let’s face it, we can’t even begin to comprehend his thought process. I find him utterly fascinating from a human psychology point of view. There are reasons people join cults, militias and other extremists groups. My female character is one of them.”
 
“Don’t you think it’s profane, in a way, writing about someone this malevolent in a romantic context?”
 
“What, you think people like that don’t have sex?” she said, amused. “I mean, come on, does he look like the kind of person who’s celibate?” Uneasy laughter trickled through the crowd. “Scary thought, isn’t it?” she said to them. “My novel explores the ‘warped’ idea that everyone, including someone as twisted as my characters, have sex. And it just might not be as barbaric as you think! The problem is we simply make people like this, like the Joker, a monster and then they’re easy to hate. They become this abstract entity. Mind you, I am in no way condoning what he’s done, but I think we need to take a step back from all the emotion clouding the issue. It would be better to understand how people could be, dare I say, fooled into following him.”
 
Without even hearing the rest, the Joker knew they were probably talking about the roving band of criminals calling themselves The Pranxters, in honor of and in alliance to him. It never ceased to amaze him when he encountered supposed devotees of his. He wasn’t sure if she was one or just trying to sell books with such an outrageous notion. Do they not realize, in the end, the devil consumes the foreign and the friend?
 
“Why? Is he not a monster?” asked the reporter, the question eerily appropriate.
 
“What is a monster?” she replied, tilting her head, her face neutral.
 
Clearly, the question caught Mr. Engel off guard. “Well, it’s a form of-”
 
She cut him off with, “‘It’? Did you just say ‘it’?! I think I just made my point. Like it or not, some people are attracted to that kind of person. That is the story I’m trying to tell, about a woman who loves someone she has every reason to hate.” 
 
The reporter said, “Many bookstores have restricted the sale only to adults and I can see why. The man she’s involved with is a court jester in medieval times, who kills people in his kingdom, is hideously disfigured and has a penchant for knives, that he uses to torture her with, might I add.”
 
Nonchalant, she said, “Well, my character doesn’t use explosives! And he only kills those who’ve done him wrong. Besides, does he force her? Does he do it against her will?”
 
“Well, no.” the reporter admitted. “But she doesn’t seem to enjoy it at times either.”
 
“That’s what she does to please him. We all do things to please the ones we love, even if it brings us pain, which I am sure few can claim otherwise. I admit my characters are flawed, but I think my readers understand those who are not perfect and how when life deserts you so many times, you eventually give in to the urge to live in darkness. And you are forgetting there are times she does enjoy what he does to her, even if it is brutal.”
 
“How do you feel about the women’s rights organizations who attack your work as being misogynist or portraying women in the age-old role of submissive?”
 
She shook her head impatiently. “No, I don’t even comment on that except to say I feel a woman who doesn’t acknowledge her sexuality, whatever the interest, is doing a grave disservice to herself.” Loud applause resounded, to which she nodded at the studio audience.
 
Now Mike Engel was smiling. “I hear you, uh, had some suggestions from your critics as to what this book should have been entitled.” 
 
She smiled indulgently. “Yeah, certain ones had me laughing. They were pretty inventive.”
 
“Like what?”
 
“‘Send in the Clown.’” she said with disdain, followed by light chuckling from those watching. “‘Circus Freak’ was another.” She began to laugh softly, the humor mixed with disbelief and contempt. “Although my favorite one I actually considered for a moment.”
 
“What was it?” said the amused reporter.
 
“‘A Harlequin Romance Novel’!” The audience laughed loudly and even the Joker grinned at that one.  
 
Once it quieted down, the Mr. Engel said, “If somehow the Joker reads this book, do you think he would contact you?”
 
“In all honesty,” she said, her face empty, “what most don’t understand is I’m not even on his radar. He’s not aware of any of us, really. Have you heard the expression ‘burning down the kitchen to rid it of the cockroaches’? Well, that’s kinda’ how he sees the world. He doesn’t think of us as real beings, just charred insects after he’s incinerated our lives. Seeing that, I don’t think what I’ve written is going to be of any interest to him. I don’t see him caring about a sci-fi-fantasy-horror type novel. But what most fail to see is that he is, most likely, a superiorly intelligent, extremely intuitive person. Albeit for our decimation, of course!” 
 
The Joker tilted his head curiously. It took him a few seconds to realize her ‘human psychological point of view.’ It wasn’t the sister emotion people often confused it with. It wasn’t sympathy; she didn’t feel sorry for him. On the contrary, it was empathy; she identified with him. 
 
Interesting...
 
She suddenly smiled brightly and pleaded directly to the camera, “BUT, if he does, may I ask he at leastofficially purchase it? I’ll sign it, I swear!” The audience laughed and he smiled again.
 
Then, the reporter concluded the interview, “Thank you, Karen, for stopping by today. The book we are talking about is called, ‘Agent of Chaos’ and the author is Karen Mcgee. I am Mike Engel for Gotham Cable News. Thanks for watching, everyone.” The newsman showed the cover of the book and it displayed a brooding female in the arms of a veiled male, silhouetted in a doorway. The lady held a bow and arrow. The man’s jester cap was the muted colors of the rainbow and he loosely held a long, sleek knife. The silver blade was frosted, encrusted with a twirled design of silver dust, ending at the ivory and pearl handle.
 
The Joker eyes went wide and he stood, coming closer. “That...is beautiful.” he said, the awe clear in his voice.
 
Sean looked back at him, surprised. “What? The book?”
 
The Joker snapped, “Not the book! His weapon!” He leaned down to get a better look.
 
Sean smiled. “How about the book?”
 
“Maybe when I find time.” he said sarcastically.
 
“What about the girl?” Sean teased. 
 
The Joker looked back at him, one eyebrow raised. “She is fetching, I admit...insightful, even.” He had to admit he did notice she was correct in assessing his initial, tedious regard of her. He returned to his seat, looking one last time at the screen that no longer held her image. “However, she’s not on my ‘to do’ list.” 
 
...)(...
 
“What do you mean, ‘a power outage’?” The Joker could not believe what Sean was telling him.
 
“Just what I said, boss. The entire city is without power. They don’t know what caused it, but they say it won’t last long.”
 
A wide grin came to the man in war paint. “Just long enough!”
 
...)(...
 
Well, that was a bad idea.
 
The wound had finally stopped bleeding. The doctor looked up, over his glasses. “No excuses.” he said, clipping the last stitch. “You MUST stay off your feet! Once you’re better, you can use crutches.”
 
The Joker grabbed the older physician’s lapel, placing a gun to his head. “No can do, doc! Now patch me up!”
 
The doctor was not shocked at the firearm an inch away from his face. Having cared for criminals for a while, it wasn’t all that unusual having bad news regarding his client’s health result in weapons being pointed at him. “This is what you get for trying to attack city hall without thinking it through.” he admonished. “Shoot me if you want, but that won’t make your injuries heal faster. All I’m saying is, try bouncing around on that leg and you’ll be battling Batman in a wheelchair.”
 
Knowing he was right, the Joker violently pushed him away. “Take your cash and get out!” The powerful meds were making his head swim and while the sensation wasn’t unpleasant, it was hard to let your guard down around those he associated with. Unfortunately, the narcotics were needed, seeing the pain was nearly unbearable and he usually had a tolerance that made a Green Beret wince. He tried propping himself up on the couch without much success. Sean was hovering about, like a little brother caring for his older, sick sibling. The worse part about it was, for the next few days, he just might need the little twerp’s help.
 
“Is there anything I can get you, boss?” 
 
“Get out!” he snarled, followed by a full roar, “GET OUT!” As the terrified man left the room, the Joker reared around and punched the wall as hard as he could, a clear hole swallowing his hand in thick plaster and splintered wood. He did it again and again, until his strength waned and he thought he might have broken his hand. Breathing heavily, he stopped, blinking away tears, sagging heavily on the couch. 
 
He wanted to kick himself for not devising the ambush better. The police had been out in droves and while he was able to cause a decent amount of confusion and City Hall was at least damaged, it was still upsetting to retreat from a war you started. He simply did not want to wrap his mind around the reality he be would be stuck in this dump called “homebase” for any extended amount of time. Trying to get more comfortable, he shifted and agony shot up his leg and throughout his weary form. He held perfectly still, while riding out the pain. Panting heavily, his head suddenly lolled back, a wave of exhaustion mixing with the endorphin and morphine in his system. 
 
Oh, shit...that was intense.         
 
Finally, he stopped fighting the inevitable and fell into a fitful sleep. 
 
...)(...
 
He was humming. It was a jaunty tune, one he couldn’t fully remember, the beat infectious enough to accompany his present pastime. He sat on the man’s stomach, watching with interest, as the knife slit neatly through the flesh. The victim gurgled, too far gone to truly protest, bringing a smile to the scarred face above.
The area was soaked in blood, the stench of sweat, blood and dirt filled the air, telling of a futile struggle against a man whose only goal was to see this wounded mouse suffer and die. Erotic stimulus trickled through the Joker, yet it wasn’t quite enough to use this nearly dead body to release the tension. There was a tentative knock at the door. “Come in!” he said in a sing-song voice.  
 
A reluctant Sean opened the door, carrying some take out food. “Am I interrupting?” he said, his eyes avoiding the gruesome display. 
 
“Um, let me see.” The Joker looked over the victim, mentally checking off some morbid list in his head. Suddenly, he turned away. “Nah, I’m done for now.” Using a cane, he limped over to sit on the couch, snatched a bag off the table and tore into the burgers inside with blood stained fingers.
 
Sean watched in fascination at how the painted man acted like he’d got up from a completely normal hobby. “How’s the leg?”
 
“Much better!” he said gleefully. “The doc says it’ll only be a few days before I can actually walk without the stick. Oh and tell Jon thanks for bringing me the flunky.” he said with a jerk of his thumb at the guy on the floor behind them. “It truly did perk me up!”
 
“Good.” They both ate in silence for a few minutes before Sean simply had to get out of there. His eyes could not stay focused on anything that would keep his food down. “I gotta’ go, but I got you some more reading material.” 
 
The Joker nodded at that. “Great.”
 
Handing him the bag, he watched in amusement as the Joker rifled through the selections inside. Just as he thought, the murderous clown burst out laughing at the book in his hands. It was such an odd feeling to be grateful you’ve pleased your boss, only to be throughly unsettled by his shrill laugh.   
 
“Do you think she’ll sign it for me?” he asked, his eyes flitting over the dust jacket.
 
“Maybe if you asked nicely. I’m gone, boss.” With that, Sean made his exit.
 
The Joker let his fingertip pass over the embossed knife on the elaborate cover, the twirled, glittery design actually rough to the touch, just as silver dust would be. “Beautiful.” he murmured. Knives held a history unto themselves. They had deep meaning in religious rituals, different styles were meant for varying kinds of battle and simply owning them designated a person by rank, class and status. They were meant for much more than opening mail and cutting up dinner! In another life, he could have had the most extensive, impressive collection... To distract his suddenly darkening thoughts, he opened the cover and his world fell away into the pages and mind of Karen McGee. 
 
.....)(...
 
Page 235: Agent of Chaos by Karen Magee
 
Sighing, her head tilted, hips shifting again. Eyes like sparkling onyx held his own black gaze. Mirrored reflections, still, frozen. A pulsating beat was heard by both, felt and seen in twin distended veins. Two hearts pounded fiercely as another hilt, abode to a short metal sheath, found home in her flesh. Gasping, she writhed at the sweet burn. ‘Please touch me.’ she begged, the words strained with longing. Resting his face on hers, the soft skin was lightly kissed. Tears were there, paved, clear lanes, endorsing his deeds. 
 
‘I was afraid,” he said, “you had not received my notice for tonight.” Pure rapture paired with his disclosure,“I was, as always, more than elated to witness your weapon etched on my returned note, promising your presence.” An idea came to him, of using her own bow and arrows as another culprit against her, for her...for him. “Flushed, are you?” he teased.
 
Anxious kisses were returned just as light over his jagged visage. “Explore and see.” She invited. His hand lowered, his fingers diving into and motivating the moistened flesh.
 
Head back, eyes closed, she exclaimed her praise,“Oh, yes!”   Writhing on his hand, she was panting, shaking. “You empower me, you give me the reins, the direction I need.” she told him. Watching her desperate display, it was a time to marvel how his cruel touch could create bliss for another. Be it her fight training, her studies or how to love this anguish, he gives her what she asks for.
 
Wounds were succinct on her excited form, the lacerations across her deep enough to make even breathing bring pain. It was time to end her suffering. The short stem in his grip was twisted, causing her full scream to blend with her convulsing wetness. Blooming from within. Enduring his climax would be her last punishment for the night.
 
The Joker closed the book.   He sat up, clamping his hand over his straining erection, squeezing to take the edge off. Distracting images swirled in his mind of pain, blood and pleasure. Night had fallen and he stood, putting full weight on the leg that had been hurt. It did not ache at all, supporting him quite well. It was strong and whole again. Sleep did not seem soon in coming, even though he’d worked out for hours earlier. Exercising was one of the few things that kept him, well, as sane as he was. It was imperative to strengthen his injured limb and clear his mind and body of the rust and filth he’d inhaled in this place.
 
Well, maybe not my mind.
 
His eyes found the book again. “She has a talent, of sorts.” he muttered. Admittedly, it wasn’t the stuff classics are made of, but still...compelling. He envisioned a part where the lead male character, Grinemal and his lady, Perity, a handmaiden, play hide and seek in the royal gardens, where he passionately takes her in a pile of roses bushes. Echoing their playful enticement to each other, he said in lilting tone, “‘Come out, come out, wherever you are!’” The mere idea of her thrashing about, leaves and petals mixing with blood and fleshly joy, made his heart strain with a keen lust. 
 
Flipping the book over, he contemplated the author with the plain name and strikingly dark gaze. Suddenly, he saw her, enraptured with arousal at his own vicious ‘attentions’ and a heated sizzle shot through him. She knows not what she entices, or does she?   Looking closer at the book, he noticed her symbol. It was a bejeweled crest made of silver, pearls, hematite, marcasite and small diamonds. He tilted the book toward the light, revealing two very tiny letters, almost imperceptible. Superimposed on each other, reflected off the center stone was the letter “T” in black, the “P” in white.
 
It had recently been used by The Pranxters as a solicitation to the Joker, hoping he would show up in or around the time of one their crimes were happening. The fact she’d used it here and now was...intriguing. Giddiness flittered within him, the possibility making him smile. In that instant, he decided to see if this novel just might actually be an invitation on her part. And he knew just where to start.
 
Everyone wants something. Now, what are her unique ‘needs’?
 
He sat down in front of the computer and began his research into the life of his latest, favorite writer.
 
...)(...
 
A few days had passed and he was well on the road to discovering his suspicions. He fingered his hands through his dark, greenish hair, surveying his next move. The evening’s events were coming to an end and it was well worth the effort. A woman hung by her hands, strung up from the ceiling, her feet barely touching the floor and she was whimpering softly. His forced intimacies with her was turning out to be excellent foreplay for the main event. 
 
“Why...are you doing...this?” she choked out.
 
The Joker let his fingers play over various instruments, finally picking up the garden shears. He looked at her bewildered. “Don’t you know, when you receive a formal request for your appearance, in good faith, you bring a gift!” He came towards her and she began to scream again.
 
...)(...

part two will follow soon
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